Demon Angel

newness in his response, a newness in the impatience and the force of it. His lips moved over hers, heated and insistent, and laced with a hunger that matched her own.
    She shouldn't have been matching anything—certainly not hunger.
    And bringing the kiss to a halt shouldn't have been difficult, but she lingered over it before pulling away. She answered the question in his gaze with a mischievous grin, and twisted her hips, a teasing rub against his arousal. " Not kissing you would have been a repression of your free will."
    "Stopping represses it," he said ruefully. "But I don't think half an hour would be enough, so it is best we stop now when we can."
    Best that she withdrew from him, as well. She hid her reluctance as she unwound her arms from his neck and backed up to sit on his desk. His hair was mussed by her fingers, his lips reddened from her mouth. Had she hurt him? Her stomach dropped. It would have been so easy to do so without noticing, as lost as she'd been in that kiss. She looked down, stabbed her fingers into a container full of metal binder clips. Crushed one with a pinch. She knew her strength—she did not know him. Not anymore. "What were your other reasons?"
    "You're cheating," he said. His gaze fell to her fingers, then back up to her face.
    She reviewed their exchange, realized he was right. It was his turn to question. Dammit. "Then continue the quiz, Professor."
    He smiled, and she would have given anything at that moment for the power to shift into a schoolgirl's uniform. To sway her plaid skirt-covered ass in front of him as she crawled across his desk. She sighed.
    Lucifer had taken the fun out of everything.
    She shook her head at his puzzled expression. "I was wondering how many students you've had on this desk."
    There was something wicked in the way his eyes glinted with laughter, something sinful in his slow, "I thought of you as I had every single one."
    Images flashed in front of her eyes—forbidden sex, bent over the desk, rough and slick. Young, nubile limbs and his masculine strength. She had to swallow her jealousy before she said, "Liar."
    His smile widened. "If you want the truth, you'll have to ask in the trade." Obviously considering his own question, he brushed his thumb against his jaw, rasping the afternoon stubble. She tensed, expecting him to ask about the missing symbols on her skin.
    It was senseless to be so ashamed of it; but, whether she liked her role or not, her identity had been tied to her demonic powers for two thousand years. For Hugh to have evidence of how easily Lucifer could strip her of her abilities, how she'd been degraded, how little she mattered to those Below—the thought was mortifying. Even demonkind would like to reject her; in that, she was no better than the nosferatu.
    But it was almost as difficult to answer when he finally asked, "If the nosferatu and Lucifer are setting me up for Ian's murder, then why do you try to thwart it? Do you intend to betray your liege?"
    She shrugged, and told him what she would have told Lucifer. "It will be difficult to fulfill my bargain and drive you to your death if you sit in jail. Keeping you free will allow me better access to you." Another clip flattened between her fingers. "What were your other reasons?"
    "To be certain I didn't lie to myself about my past, and my reason for slaying you: to give you freedom, aye—but at what expense?" He drew a deep breath. "And to capture you, in whatever form I could. I have done nothing but search for you since that night. My work, this career is but an excuse to find you again."
    She fought to keep her voice hard, emotionless. "Do you not know I'll use this against you?"
    "I know." His hands clenched in his pockets, as if anchoring himself to the spot. "Do you not still wish for your freedom?"
    "The bargain changes the price," she said quietly. "Before, fulfillment required my service. Now it requires your death. What is this girl to you? Was she worth your Fall?"
    His brow furrowed. "Savi?" At her nod, he said, "I hardly knew her then. It was only after I had Fallen that I returned here to San Francisco to see how she fared. Her grandmother took me in; and, as soon as she recovered, Savi did, too. I did not Fall for her. She was the catalyst, but not the cause."
    "Why does she live with you?"
    He smiled slightly. "She is rebelling. And I had an empty room over my garage."
    She heard more than he said: he'd wanted the company, wanted to ease his isolation. Had