How to Kill an Incubus, #1 [SAMPLE]

H2KAI 3: The Big Oh Crap

CHAPTER THREE

Not even a dirty martini could quell my rage and I freaking loved that drink. The guy at the bar already knew this. He’d made me three already – very dry, three olives in each glass – and it wasn’t even happy hour yet.

“What’s eating you up?” a guy’s smooth voice asked from beside me.

I jerked my head in his direction and was met with sea-green eyes, fiery, red hair and what was obviously genuine Armani.

Great.

Darryl Winer was sitting in a bar stool beside me, wanting to know what was “eating me up”.

Could this day get any worse?

First, I woke up to an empty bed that morning. Scary Russian Guy had, apparently, taken off sometime in the early hours and hadn’t even left me a note or a goddamn card. I’d only had one one-night stand before him and the guy had even told me his favorite color after sleeping with me. SRG had only casually mentioned owning a hotel; I had no other info about him.

Of course, I didn’t expect cuddling and breakfast in bed with him – I was under no illusions that what happened the night before was once-off – but the whole mystery was eating up at me. I liked knowing the facts and the fact that I knew next to nothing about SRG pissed the crap out of me.

The simmering anger I’d felt – mostly at myself – continued in the shower as I thoroughly scrubbed the memory of him off my body. It continued as I pulled on yet another stupid skin-tight dress – ruby-red this time, to highlight my jezebel status – and went downstairs for a big breakfast.

And it almost came to the fore when I bumped into SRG himself on my way out the large, lavish dining room after an incredibly delicious, hearty breakfast of bacon, toast and bacon.

He was with an older, silver-haired man who was clad in a smart charcoal-black suit and was at least a foot shorter than SRG, which made him roughly my height. SRG’s hair was pulled back out of his face in a low ponytail and I was horrified to discover that I itched to run my hands through it. He was in a sky-blue V-necked T-shirt that matched his eyes, black low-slung jeans and incredibly scruffy black motorcycle boots. Divine was the first word that came to my mind, despite the fact that I found it difficult to believe that he could possibly have any shares in a hotel of this exquisite standard, looking the way he did.

He’d glared at me – yes, glared at me – and said nothing before leading his companion into the dining room without so much as a backward glance. No “Morning, Rae” or even a small nod of recognition. Those blue eyes of his had just turned arctic and he’d ignored me as if he hadn’t broken into my hotel room last night and fucked my brains out.

I’d felt like a prostitute. I certainly looked like one.

Darryl Winer sitting next to me ten hours later at the bar, asking me what was “eating me up”, was not helping matters. He wasn’t supposed to know I existed, let alone talk to me. I was being sloppy.

“Meeting someone?” I asked him, tipping back my glass and downing my vodka drink. I’d consumed olive after olive as well and was beginning to feel a little ill.

“Are you?” Darryl countered, and I looked at him. He really was attractive with those green eyes of his. Cassie Winer was right to be jealous of anyone that so much as blinked at him.

“Flying solo tonight, I’m afraid,” I casually replied, motioning to the bartender – Dan – to get me another drink.

“Tad Thornberry not with you tonight?”