KnockingonDemon'sDoor Page 2

  Tabby pulled the elastic from her long auburn hair and let it tumble around her shoulders, offering Michelle a dazzling white smile that would have made her orthodontist proud. Michelle had only been at the resort for one day and had just met Tabby, but she knew her type all too well. Head cheerleader back in high school, dating none other than the star of the football team, belittling anyone who didn’t fit her standards—flirty, well built, popular, and lacking any real ambition—which made the assignment of fitting into the Bunny Club all the more challenging. Michelle was great at undercover work, but since she had little tolerance for brainless bunnies getting into the role was harder than she anticipated.

  “His name is Blake Ashen. We call him Ash. And he’s a total badass,” Tabby purred, making no secret of how she knew and confirming what Michelle had already suspected. Every bunny in the resort had most likely sampled the dangerously handsome man. Tabby wet her painted lips, mischief lingering in her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I think he’s just the guy to initiate you into the Bunny Club.”

  From what Michelle could tell the Bunny Club was one big, sex-crazed fraternity where nothing and no one was off limits. She shivered. She had a healthy enough appetite for sex, but she was choosy about her partners. Women like Tabby who thought they had the world by the ass had no idea how badly indiscriminate sex games could really end for them.

  Tabby twisted on her stool to afford herself a blatantly sexual appraisal of the charismatic barkeep. “Well, well. It looks like he’s checking you out too, Sunny.” Tabby arched a perfectly manicured brow. “So what are you waiting for? Get on over there and get initiated, girlfriend.”

  Encouragement sounded from the other bunnies around the table. “Go on, Sunny.”

  She took a moment to mull it over and then as she warmed to the idea, she thought, why not? All they’d done was given her a good excuse to talk to him.

  The initiation part she could do without.

  Michelle eased herself from the table and made her way to the bar. As Ash stepped out from behind the counter to bring a patron a drink, her glance raced over his fine athletic body, dark hair and even darker eyes. His navy work pants hugged his body in all the right places and the crisp white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, displayed scrumptious corded muscles. His heat reached out to her like a seductive weapon and sent her pulse skyrocketing. Acutely aware of the raw desire searing her insides as well as the hot moisture pooling in her pussy—and suspecting he was aware of it too—she paused for a moment to study the scars on his face and the symbolic Chinese god tattoo on his forearm. A demon with a god tattoo. He was either very confused or trying to balance the bad with the good.

  If he was going for the balancing act he was wasting his time. Demons had no good in them. She should know. Her mother had been killed by one before Michelle had reached her teens, leaving her with an overbearing, overprotective father to rear her. As a teenager she hadn’t been as sympathetic to that overprotectiveness as she should have been, considering he’d lost one woman and was trying his damnedest not to lose another. Instead, she’d spent her days trying to get out from under his thumb and her nights learning all that she could about demons. Other than her mother, who was also a “seer” she’d never told anyone she could “see” them, least of all her angry, disbelieving father who’d eventually given up on trying to shield her, turned to the bottle during her late teens and drank himself to death before her nineteenth birthday.

  But just because the majority of the population weren’t tuned into their frequency and couldn’t see them prowling the nights, didn’t mean that demons didn’t exist. She blamed demons for her father’s self-destructive behavior every bit as much as for her mother’s death.

  She slid onto the plush stool in front of the bar as Ash made his way back to his station. Her rebel years and her own ink gave her the perfect conversation starter.

  “Nice tat,” she cooed, stepping into her Sunny role. Her gaze panned over his rock-hard body, then moved back to his face to linger around his sensual mouth—a mouth that could undoubtedly do the most delicious things to the hungry little spot between her legs and ignite every inch of her naked flesh. Good Lord… Pleasure shot through her and the sexual energy emanating off him had her clit swelling and knocked her off balance. She swallowed and as she reveled in the sensations she worked to find her next words. “Looks like Nathan Wong’s work.”

  “Thanks,” he shot back and let his glance leisurely move over her body in return, blatantly taking his time to peruse her every curve, specifically the swell of her breasts. The sudden image of him moving his cock in and out of her cleavage came out of nowhere and hit her like a supernova. She planted her hand on the bar and swallowed hard as she resisted the urge to squirm—right into his arms.

  Even though she braced herself for it, a darkly seductive smile nearly dropped her to her knees. “You know Nathan?” he asked. Sultry heat lingered near her bellybutton for a moment, giving her the impression that he was checking out the butterfly tattoo beneath her body-molding sweater. Not that demons had the ability to do such a thing. They might have excessive emotions and strength, heightened senses, be able to move between worlds at will as they sought out pleasure and charm their way into most “seers” pants, but the one thing they didn’t have was x-ray vision.

  “So do you? Do you know Nathan?” he asked again pulling her focus back.

  A warm tingle moved through her, and as her nipples ached in a way they’d never ached before she nodded in response to his question.

  His eyes left her belly and moved to her face. “I’ve showed you mine, are you going to show me yours?” His wicked grin and the suggestion behind his words had her heart racing and her pussy dripping.

  Concentrate, Michelle. Concentrate.

  Without answering his question, she clamped her legs together, leaned across the bar and ran her index finger over his markings. When her finger touched his flesh, a soft yellow glow flashed in his eyes. The flash of color disappeared so quickly that, if she wasn’t looking for it, she never would have seen it. She fought the urge to snatch her hand back, forcing herself to keep the intimate contact a bit longer. As her fingers played over his arm, any lingering doubts she had to his identity were instantly gone. Ash was most definitely a demon. The yellow glow in his eyes confirmed it.

  He watched her as if he too was gauging her reactions.

  “What does the symbol mean?” she asked, even though her studies into mythology had told her it was a Chinese god symbol used to ward off bad spirits.

  “It means ‘mother’ in Chinese.”

  She supposed it didn’t really matter why he would lie to her about such a little thing. He was a demon, after all. A demon who could walk in the day and cause a flash fire in her pussy without even trying. That quick color change in his eyes had verified it. She’d gone up against enough of them to know that when they felt passion—either from anger or arousal—their eyes changed color. For a brief moment she wondered which one he felt when she touched him, then buried the stupid thought in favor of more important ones.

  Forcing herself to return to professional mode, she took a moment to think things through. She didn’t know how or why he was able to walk during the day. All she knew for certain was that where there was a demon there was danger and every instinct she owned told her to do something about it.

  But if she wanted to find out why so many girls were supposedly dying on the slopes and going missing from this resort, she had to play by mortal rules this time. That meant killing him was out of the question. Too many employees would notice he was gone. She had to get close to him and stay there, no matter how much she despised him for what he was.

  Chapter Two

  She knew.

  Blake watched the way she watched him. His heightened senses and gut instinct told him she knew what he was, confirming his suspicions that she was indeed a “seer”. He took a moment to absorb and digest the turn of events. Everything f
rom the way she acted, to her body language and the way her intelligent eyes surveyed him with careful precision—as well as every patron in the room—told him she was the farthest thing from a brainless bunny. Her every nuance alerted him to the fact that she was a damn cop. Hell, he’d been beaten around by enough officers to know when he was up against one. He considered that bit of information longer. So not only was she a cop pretending to be a bunny, she was a damn “seer” who knew what he was. And didn’t he just know that nothing good could come from that. As he took in her carefully concealed inquisitive look it occurred to him that she had to be wondering how he could day walk. He in turn was wondering what the hell she was after.

  “I never did catch your name,” he said.

  “It’s Sunny.”

  Of course, he mused, resisting the urge to roll his eyes heavenward. Determined to find out if she was going to be trouble for him, he decided to draw her deeper into conversation. “What can I get you?”

  She pouted plump, naked lips and his traitorous cock stood in salute. Instantly, his mind envisioned the image of that mouth wrapped around his dick. Fuck… This was so not the time for his pleasure-seeking senses to be taking over. After a quick glance at the bunny table she said, “I’ll have what they’re having.”

  Blake glanced at the round of Daiquiris. “Strawberry?”

  “Yeah, yummy,” she said, licking her lips. “My favorite.”

  Blake didn’t take her for the kind of woman who drank girly drinks. She seemed more like a no-nonsense, Labatt’s Blue beer drinking kind of girl. His kind of girl… If she wasn’t a cop, that is.

  As Blake went to work on the drink, he asked, “So what brings you to the resort?”

  She batted long lashes over deep green eyes and tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder. Her actions seemed stilted, forced even, which led him to believe she was having difficulty taking on her role as a bunny and dumbing herself down. Not much wonder. She was far too bright for such a portrayal, but despite her awkwardness, she still didn’t fail to arouse the hell out of him. Since his unforgiving work pants left little to the imagination, he angled his body to hide his erection. What the hell was it about her that aroused him to the point of distraction and had him thinking about going against his own best interests and fucking her?

  “I’m an instructor. Here for the ski season.”

  With a nod, he gestured to the group behind her. “Are you a live-in, like the others?”

  Sunny angled her head and wiggled her fingers at her friends. “Yes. I’m Tabby’s roommate.”

  He made a noise, a half grunt, a half chuckle and then said, “That should be interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Sunny pulled a face, obviously waiting for him to enlighten her.

  Blake turned his attention to Mac, who was twirling his empty whisky glass on the bar. When Mac gestured to Blake for another, Blake again poured him a soda pop and slid it across the mahogany bar. “Right back at ya, Mac,” he said and then leaned across the counter in front of Sunny to pick up the conversation where they’d left off.

  “Yeah, you two just don’t seem like a good fit,” he said, testing her.

  Even though he could tell her mind was racing, she answered without a moment of hesitation. “Oh, Tabby and I are two peas in a pod, really. We both love to shop.” She held her index finger out and began adding digits as she continued her litany. “We wear the same size clothes, have the same taste in food and,” she stopped to pitch her voice low. Her smile was slow and inviting when she added, “The same taste in men.”

  The dilation of her pupils told another story. She wasn’t into ski jocks or playboy bartenders.

  He had to hand it to her, she was quick on her feet and despite the situation he found himself admiring her abilities. “What do you do in the off season?”

  She gave a low throaty chuckle and in a movement that felt far too erotic to him, she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. The enticing scent of vanilla reached his nostrils, and he resisted the urge to groan in sweet agony. Vanilla. His favorite. Of all the fucking scents she had to be wearing…

  “You’re a man of many questions.”

  He shrugged. “Comes with the job, I guess.”

  “And here I thought bartenders were supposed to just listen.” Her sexy grin made his blood pulse hot.

  Okay, she had him there. Despite himself he smiled back, enjoying her quick-witted humor. Damn. He shouldn’t be smiling. He hated this woman. Or rather, he hated the cop in her. But much to his dismay something in his gut softened, telling him she was as out of place in this fucked up world as he was. “Okay, you talk, I’ll listen.”

  She took a tiny sip of her drink and went on to explain, “Just because it’s the off season in Canada, doesn’t mean it’s the off season everywhere. I usually travel to Thredbo Resort in Australia and instruct there. Have you ever been? It’s quite beautiful. If you’ve never been you should go. I’m sure they are always looking for great bartenders.” He noted the way she quickly redirected the conversation, and decided to let her ramble to see where it would lead them.

  “Yeah, I’ve been,” was all he offered.

  After a moment of silence she asked, “So what do you do when you’re not bartending?”

  Hunt for my sister, avoid the cops and kill as many heartless, full-blooded demons who find their way to earth as I can. Demons that want me to be their fucking mule.

  Just then Blake glanced up to see Tony, his replacement, move toward the bar. Knowing he had to ditch Sunny before she got in the way of his investigation, and his upcoming meeting with Trevor, Blake offered her a smile full of sensual promise and gave her the answers any bunny would want to hear. “I play.”

  Except it wasn’t playtime. It was time to meet with Trevor and find out what the scary bastard was up to.

  Michelle watched him close out his cash and switch shifts with the next bartender. As the two men exchanged a few words, Michelle studied the easy way Ash moved and the way his hard muscles rippled beneath his snug work shirt. Everything about him wreaked havoc on her senses and toyed with her suddenly overactive libido. Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips as his body tortured hers in the most delicious ways. She clenched her fingers—as well as her legs—and sucked in air, cursing her all-too-human response to him. He was throwing her off her game, and in a resort where women were going missing, she needed all her wits about her.

  She marshaled her thoughts and went back to observing him. She put him to be around six foot four, which was much taller than her five-foot eight frame. Even though she was thoroughly trained in the field of martial arts, she knew it would take more than her skill and strength to take down this demon. She made a mental note to re-dip her dagger in holy water, her weapon of choice when going up against monsters.

  Then let him see how well balanced that god tattoo left him.

  Mac, who’d seemed to take up permanent residence at the bar, sidled up to her. Despite the fact that she clutched an icy strawberry drink, still full, he asked, “Can I get you a refill?” and then proceeded to rattle the melting ice in his empty glass. The sour smell of stale whiskey on his breath nearly knocked her over.

  “No, I’m good, thanks.” For a quick moment she risked her undercover role by stepping out of character and conjuring a polite smile, her heart and sympathy reaching out to him. Since he wasn’t a ski jock, or a hot bartender, she suspected any other bunny would have immediately dismissed him by offering their back. But she recognized this guy from her preliminary research. He’d lost his girlfriend a few months ago on the slopes, and guessed he was looking for answers in the bottom of a bottle. But his girlfriend wasn’t the only one to mysteriously die and be whisked off for cremation, and Michelle didn’t believe for one minute that all their deaths were from accidents, which was why she insisted on being involved in the investigation. Hopefully by the end of the week she’d have some answers, and get to the bottom of their disappearances.

 
When she twisted sideways she noted the way Ash’s eyes narrowed as he watched her private exchange with Mac. The odd way he was looking at Mac—sympathetic and sincere—made her feel a little vulnerable, a little disconcerted.

  “Well, I need another,” Mac said, wobbling. Michelle reached out to help him right himself, thankful that Ash had switched him to soda pop earlier. Which begged the question, why would a pleasure-seeking, soulless monster care if Mac drank himself to death?

  “I got you covered,” the new bartender said, grabbing the bottle of Jack Daniels. Before he could pour, Ash came around the counter and nudged the guy.

  “I thought you were going to show me your new snowboard.”

  “I was?” Mac asked. His brow furrowed as though working hard to find an answer through the fog.

  “Yeah, come on, you said it was back at your room.” Giving him little choice in the matter, Ash hooked an arm under Mac’s and hauled him to his feet. Michelle stared on in mute fascination.

  Ash’s hand brushed against Michelle’s as he maneuvered around her and her body instantly reacted to his touch. Lust sang through her veins, reminding her how long it had been since she’d felt a man between her legs. But this was no ordinary man and his pull was strong—stronger than any demon’s she’d ever felt before. She knew if she wanted to walk away from the resort alive, she needed to be extra careful around him and gain some control over her more basic instincts. And she wasn’t talking about the ones that nagged her to kill him.

  Bleary eyed, Mac tried to find his balance. If it wasn’t for Ash holding him, he would have folded facedown on the floor.