Demon Cant Help It

CHAPTER 10

Jo was in the bathroom washing her face when she heard the rap on her door. She patted her face dry, tossing the facecloth over the edge of the sink, then headed down the hall to the front door.

Who was it? It was times like this when she really wished she had one of those little peekholes in her door. Instead, she stood with her hand on the doorknob, waiting to see if the person was still there.

Another loud rap nearly made her hop out of her skin. She clapped a hand to her chest, then called, "Who is it?"

"The Good Humor man."

Jo frowned, even though she recognized the voice. She pulled open the door, the wood sticking on the uneven floorboards.

"Maksim?"

He leaned in the doorway, holding out a container of ice cream. "You better let me in. We're having a Chubby Hubby meltdown."

Jo stared at him, utterly confused both by his appearance at her place and by his words.

"Chubby Hubby?"

He wagged the ice cream at her, and she saw the name. "Ah. Well, we wouldn't want that."

She stood back to allow him in.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, following him as he strolled to the kitchen and put the ice cream into her freezer.

"I just thought you might still be nervous, and I wanted to make sure for myself that you are fine." He turned and smiled, his pale eyes roaming over her. "You look fine."

She blushed, realizing she was standing there in a tight black tank top sans a bra and baggy plaid pajama bottoms. Her face was newly scrubbed, and her hair was in a ponytail. She probably looked like a teenager ready for a slumber party.

A very vivid image of a slumber party with Maksim popped into her mind. None of it fit for teenage consumption.

Maksim's smile deepened as if he could read her mind. Again his gaze grazed down her body, and she fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She didn't like this. She felt totally caught off guard. Unprepared for him. But instead of covering herself, she walked over to the cupboards and pulled down two bowls.

"We shouldn't let the ice cream go to waste. Since you took the time to bring it over." She kept her voice calm, but she didn't meet his gaze.

"I agree." He said, leaning on the kitchen counter, watching her bustle around, which did not help her feel in control. His eyes on her, nor her frantic bustling.

Plus she had the feeling he was imagining other ways of how to not let the ice cream go to waste. Or maybe she was just projecting that on him. She certainly had a few ideas of her own.

"Don't go there," she muttered softly to herself.

"Go where?"

Figures the man had good ears along with all the other good parts of him.

She shook her head. "Just talking to myself. I do that." She said the last part pointed like a warning—something he should be wary of.

He wasn't. "I do, too."

She nodded, busying herself with her search for her ice cream scoop, which she wasn't even sure if she'd unpacked yet. Or if she'd even brought it with her.

"Damn it," she muttered, bracing her hands on the counter, Maksim's sudden appearance and her own flustered reaction overwhelming her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly beside her, his large warm hand on her bare shoulder.

"I can't find my ice cream scoop," she blurted out, feeling ridiculously close to tears. Then she looked up at him, her vision slightly blurry with the threat of waterworks she was trying desperately to suppress. "I'm sorry."

Maksim's eyebrows drew together over his green eyes, confused and taken aback by her reaction. For which she couldn't blame him.

"That's okay. You can just use a spoon."

His solution was so simple and so sincerely said, that Jo laughed, even as stupid tears rolled down her cheeks.

Before she could say anything, explain her utterly crazy behavior, Maksim scooped her up in his arms, hesitating only for a second as he got his bearings and located the living room.

He headed to the couch, and she expected him to set her down among the overstuffed cushions. Instead he sat down with her cradled on his lap.

The action was so kind, so caring, and Jo couldn't seem to stop herself. She broke down, sobbing against his chest, while his strong arms held her.

Helpless. Yet another feeling that, being a demon, Maksim was not familiar with. Okay, he did feel helpless about his sister—and her disappearance. But not helpless like this.

He stared down at Jo as she pressed her face against his chest and cried like her heart was breaking. And he felt very helpless—and overwhelmed.

He tightened his arms around her, each racking shake of her slight body pulling painfully at something in his chest.

"Shh," he whispered. "Shh, it's okay."

Her fingers curled in the front of his shirt, holding on to him as if she'd come apart if she didn't cling to him. He held her fast, mumbling that everything would be fine over and over, hoping she was okay.

Finally her crying subsided to small hiccups, but still she didn't lift her head.

"Jo?" he asked softly, "are you okay?"

"Not really. But I'm trying."

He was silent, not sure what to say. Finally he said, "A spoon really will work just as well."

Jo began to shake again, and he closed his eyes, silently castigating himself for bringing the ice cream scoop up again. Clearly it was upsetting for whatever reason. Then Jo raised her head, and he saw she was laughing.

He blinked, thoroughly bewildered.

"I'm sorry," she said amid her giggles. "A spoon will absolutely work fine. I guess it was just the last straw of a very stressful day."

Maksim considered that. "And did crying help?"

Jo nodded. "A lot. But it didn't help your shirt much." She brushed at the large wet patch she'd created. Maksim caught her hand, holding her fingers.

"Since meeting you, I'm getting pretty used to being covered in bodily excretions."

Jo made a disgusted noise, then laughed again. "Now that's hot."

"Definitely," Maksim agreed, looking down at her, finding her wide smile breathtakingly beautiful. Without further thought, his lips captured that lovely mouth, needing to feel it against his. To taste her. To feel her breath as his own.

Jo froze as Maksim kissed her, startled by the suddenness of it. Then his lips moved against hers, velvet heat slow and sensual, and she melted into him. He nudged her lips apart, his tongue brushing fleetingly, taking small tastes of her. She sampled him back, savoring heat and the sweet tang of his breath.

His hands, broad and strong, splayed across her back, keeping her tucked tightly to him. Her own fingers slid up his torso, caressing the hard muscles of his chest and shoulder, then over the column of his neck to the sharp cut of his jawline.

She moaned as one of his hands left her back and came up to cup the back of her head, angling her so he could deepen the kiss even further. She allowed it, loving the feel of him hard against her, yet his lips silky smooth, his tongue hot.

She loved him taking control.

Control. The word flashed in her mind, then dissolved like ice-cold water in her veins. The hand that had been caressing the cut of his jawline, the hair at his temples, stopped. Then moved back to his chest, as she levered herself away from him. She half-scrambled, half-fell onto the sofa away from him.

"I'm—I'm sorry. I–I shouldn't have…" She was breathless and her words came out in a dazed jumble. "I—that was, umm, I'm sorry."

Maksim's breathing seemed calmer, his wits more gathered, which made her feel even more stupid for being a blithering idiot.

Then he wiped a hand over his face, and she noticed his hand was shaking. Seeing that he was affected, too, made her feel better—not that it should. Nothing should be making her feel better. What was she doing?

"You don't have to be sorry," he said, his voice husky and even more accented than usual. "I don't want you to be sorry."

"I–I just don't think this is a wise idea for us, Maksim. I've got—a lot that I'm trying to deal with, and I–I just can't."

He nodded, but she didn't get the feeling he agreed.

"I think you are great. And I do appreciate you being here for me tonight." God, her words sounded lame to her own ears. Especially when she did want him. She so wanted him.

But she couldn't go there. She couldn't lose control of herself again. Too much was at stake for her now.

He nodded again, then laughed, the sound dry and humorless. "I don't usually get the ‘it's not you, it's me' speech."

"Maksim," she started, but didn't really know what to say. She couldn't really comfort him. That was the speech she was giving him, and it was for the best.

He rose then, wiping his hands down the front of his pants as if smoothing away any wrinkles would help him gain control of the situation. She understood that feeling. She'd lived that way her whole life. Keep things ordered, keep busy, and that would keep things safe and keep her in control. She didn't like to lose control.

Every time she ever had—she'd paid for it. She closed her eyes; she was paying now.

She opened her eyes when she heard Maksim's feet on the wooden floorboards. He was leaving—and her first instinct was to stop him.

No. Let him go. It was for the best.

But instead of going to the door, he walked into the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open. The suction of the seal releasing sounded very loud in the quiet apartment.

He was taking his ice cream. She supposed she couldn't blame him. As all over the map as her behavior was, if she were him, she'd probably take her ice cream and go, too. He'd probably decided he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

And that was a good thing, she told herself. Then she wished she believed as much as she told herself she should.

He returned to the living room, and she saw she was right. He had the pint ice cream container in his hand. Then she noticed he also held two spoons in the other.

He lifted the items in the air. "Let's have some ice cream."

"Maksim," she said slowly, not wanting this to be any more difficult than it already was.

"Just ice cream, Jo."

She stared at him. Somehow she didn't think there was anything as simple as just ice cream with Maksim.

Just tell him no.

"I bet all you've eaten tonight is some of that awful-looking mush in the bowl in the sink," he said, then waving the ice cream temptingly.

She smiled despite herself, shaking her head at both his accurateness and his persistence. "And ice cream is a better meal than yogurt and granola?"

"It definitely tastes better. And this happens to have peanut butter and pretzels." He scanned the label. "Let's see it has vitamin A, calcium, of course, iron, and even vitamin C." He gave her an impressed look. "That's pretty healthy."

Jo shook her head again, then held out a hand for one of the spoons.

Maksim couldn't believe he was fine with this. Relieved and content even. That sitting here on her sofa, with nothing touching but their knees, alternatively taking spoonfuls of ice cream from the container he balanced between them, was enough for him. Was this what he'd fallen to? And as a demon, one would have thought he'd already fallen as far as he could go.

"This is good," Jo said, taking another large scoopful. She'd eaten over half the container, which pleased him, too. Another oddity. Pleasure from feeding her. Strange.

She nibbled at the creamy confection, savoring each bite.

"See. Much better than that other stuff." He grimaced at the thought of her earlier snack.

"I like yogurt and granola."

"I'll forgive you."

She regarded him, narrowing her eyes speculatively. "You don't look like you'd have a sweet tooth. You look like a low carb/high protein guy who spends most of his time in the gym."

He took a bite of his own ice cream, relishing it before he answered, "Is that a compliment or an insult? I can't decide."

She laughed, the sound stroking over his skin. Then she licked her spoon clean. He watched, finding each lap of her tongue intensely, painfully arousing, imagining that small pink tongue licking over his flesh, savoring him.

Oblivious to his desire, she set the utensil down on her coffee table.

"That was wonderful. Thank you." She leaned back against the pillows of the sofa looking like a content cat, her eyes growing drowsy, her eyelids heavy.

He wished he'd done more than share a container of ice cream with her to make her feel so satisfied, so sleepy.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice slurred with exhaustion. "I'm falling asleep on you."

He nodded, even though he wasn't sure if she was looking at him from under her dark lashes.

"Yeah. Well, I think you need some rest."

"That's the general consensus," she repeated with a sleepy half smile.

Maksim watched her for a moment, then finished off the last of the melting ice cream, wondering why he wasn't more irritated with the evening's chain of events. He'd wanted to sleep with this woman—not watch her doze on the sofa. He'd wanted their kissing to continue, but he'd let her stop without even forcing the issue.

And he wanted her right this minute with an intensity that was a little frightening, but instead he eased off the sofa, being careful not to jar her, and put both spoons in the sink and the empty container in the trash.

He walked back in the living room and again studied her. She now slept. He supposed he should be insulted. It was bad enough she was turning him down—but clearly she was wasn't struggling with the same raging desires he was. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight, that was for sure.

But instead of feeling angry or resentful or even annoyed, he felt—okay. She needed her sleep. He knew that. And there was always tomorrow. It wasn't like he was giving up. He was just giving her a break. For tonight.

He grabbed a fleece blanket from the place where it was folded on the back of the sofa, and draped it over Jo.

Then he did something he couldn't say he'd ever done in his life. He kissed a woman's forehead.

"Good night," he whispered, and left the apartment.