Playing With Fire Read Online Free PDF Page B

wasn’t alone.
    Now that I was awake, I wanted him with me again.
    “Angel,” I croaked, my wild eyes feverishly searching for him in the darkness. I needed a glass of water, el pronto. I think something had died inside my mouth and rigor mortis had already set in. When I earned no response, I tried again. “Demon.”
    Still nothing.
    Had he left? Oh, he had. Bastard. He’d abandoned me.
    I closed my eyes and a picture of him formed in my mind. He was severely hot—but he wasn’t handsome, if that made any sense. He looked savage and feral, like something you should fear, yet couldn’t because you wanted so badly to tame it. Hair as black as midnight framed his face, and his eyes were so blue they sparkled. I would have said they sparkled like sapphires, but there was a predatory glint in those eyes of his, dangerous and wild, nixing any thought of precious gems.
    He was tall. Six-four was my guess. He’d been wearing black from head to toe, blending into the room’s shadows. The scent of blueberry muffins, ashes and untamed jungle had wafted from him. I rolled to my side, burrowing deeper under the covers as another black web formed in my mind. He had to…
    I must have fallen asleep again because the next thing I knew, my eyelids were fluttering open and taking in the sunlight. A long while passed before I was able to orient myself. The room appeared hazy at first, everything slowly slipping into place as if someone had wiped my line of vision with glass cleaner. I saw my peeling ceiling…my yellowing walls…my brown shag carpet…my men’s loafers…my—Men’s loafers?
    My eyes blinked open and closed, then traveled up a pair of black pants, a firm butt, a belted waist and a well filled out black shirt. Ah, the Angel of Death, I realized, relaxing a little. He hadn’t left me, after all. Once again he was standing at the side of my bed. He had his back to me as he spoke to someone on a walkie-talkie.
    “Subject is roughly five-six, slim, straight brown hair, hazel eyes—mostly green. Full lips.” He paused. “Uh, really full lips. Small scar on left shoulder. No tattoos…unfortunately.”
    Who the hell was “subject”? I wondered groggily. Me? It sounded like me. Maybe creatures of the otherworld preferred to keep things all-business.
    “Subject has stopped writhing, and her skin is no longer tinted green. The bruises under her eyes have faded. Subject seems to be on the mend.”
    His voice was low and sexy. I might be weak, but I wasn’t dead—or was I? I shivered. My gaze swept over him once more. He was as deliciously tall as I remembered, and so wonderfully muscled I would have liked to wrap my hands (legs—whatever!) around his biceps. Obviously, he worked out. A lot. His shoulders were wide, his back broad and his ass total, quarter-bouncing perfection. I bet even Sherridan’s twins couldn’t compare.
    “Are you God’s minion or the devil’s?” I asked, my voice weak and raw. I’d put my money on the devil. (If I had any money, that is.) God had probably banned me from heaven months ago, when I filled my ex the Prince of Darkness’s apartment with rotten fish while he vacationed with the girl he’d dumped me for. (One rotten fish for another, you could say. Not that anything could compete with Martin.)
    The angel/demon spun around, and those crystalline blue eyes pierced me. Hot, so unbelievably hot. I sucked in a breath, my hormones sizzling to life despite my condition. Seduction and danger poured from him. He had golden skin, a chiseled face with the shadow of a beard, and shaggy, windblown hair. The black locks fell over his forehead, almost shielding the arch of his brows. His nose was slightly crooked—from being broken one too many times?
    “Hello, Belle. Glad to see you’re awake.”
    The sound of my name on his soft, kiss-me lips was intoxicating. I fought the urge to reach out and trace my fingertips over that dark stubble dusting his jaw. I fought the urge to grab him