Three thoughts hit me in rapid succession when consciousness returned. One, I had to pee. Two, where am I? Three was really just several expletives strung together. Clutching the covers to my chest, I sat bolt upright. The other side of the bed was empty. Good, that will make the walk of shame slightly less embarrassing.

No sign of my bag, or my clothes, not even the dress from last night. If need be, I'd raid his closet because I'd walk out of there barefoot and in sweats. If he even owned a pair. If he had anything, it would be a gold lamé tracksuit.

A smoke grey silk robe lay neatly at the foot of the bed. Not wanting to wander around naked, I put it on. The hem fell to my feet and I could practically wrap it around again. Obviously it was his, and permeated with his scent, settling into my lungs and relaxing me. Damn, demons must be as bad as vampires when it came to pheromones. Hopefully they don't think the same way about mixing scents. At least it wasn't some other woman's or one he kept on hand for his fling of the week.

Clothing, check. Now for a more pressing matter. The best candidate for the bathroom seemed to be a doorway off to one side. I wasn't disappointed. Far from it. The walk-in shower could fit four people comfortably with shower nozzles mounted at several different angles in the walls. I half expected it to feel like being in a carwash, but the pressure was set to non-blasting. Next time I'd have to try the giant cobalt bathtub set underneath the window facing the ocean. No, no next time! I mentally slapped myself.

I borrowed his comb, which I meticulously cleaned of hair afterwards and flushed the strands down the low flow toilet. There was a new toothbrush, still in its package, waiting for me. When I was done with my teeth, I burned all DNA traces with a quick curse before tossing it in the trashcan. Not for the first time I wondered what it would be like to not worry about leaving potential focusing objects behind.

Looting his closet was a last resort, so there was no viable option but to put the robe back on while hunting for my things. I girded it like armour and drew up battle plans in my head, weighing the pros and cons of 'borrowing' any car that might be in the garage. Any hope for a hasty exit died with the smell of cooking that wafted in when I opened the bedroom door. It seemed that the chances of getting my gear and getting away clean were equal to a snowball's in the proverbial hell. My need to run flared high.

Steeling myself, I crept downstairs and into the kitchen. His back was to me as he worked at the stove. Good Lord, is he singing "Brown Eyed Girl?" The original version, too, with the line "making love in the green grass." My cheeks grew warm, thinking of the colour of my eyes and his green sheets. Like the man, his voice was rich, complex and beautiful. I leaned against a corner cabinet with my arms folded, listening appreciatively, but with an amused smirk plastered on my face.

When he finally turned around to flip the pancake onto a plate, he froze momentarily before clearing his throat and switching off the stove. He hastily removed the apron he wore, but I caught a glimpse of the design: a little red devil roasting marshmallows on his pitchfork. Maybe it was just my imagination, but his ears looked pinker than usual.

"Good morning, little witch. I was beginning to wonder whether last night's wine was too much for you." And there's the attempt to save face for catching him at kitchen karaoke, I thought with a smile.

"I rarely sleep much the night before a job," I said by way of an excuse and climbed onto the tall chair at the island's counter where two glasses of orange juice and sets of silverware already were. Al set the plate with the fresh pancake in front of me. "Um, do you have any peanut butter?" I asked, tucking my hair behind an ear.

"Peanut butter?" his dark brow furrowed.

"When I was a kid, my dad couldn't cook worth beans. So he put peanut butter on pancakes, French toast, waffles, anything to try and hide the burned taste. It's still the only way I'll eat them." My face flamed and I stared at the swirls in the marble. Suddenly realizing I was swinging my feet like a child because only the tips of my toes could reach the crossbrace, I forced myself to wrap them around the legs to keep them still. A jar of chunky natural peanut butter, still cold from the fridge, was set down next to me.

"Thank you," I murmured, still embarrassed as I slathered the pancake. God, this is so weird.

I caught glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye. His clean curls, the colour of newly brewed coffee, gleamed in the midday sun. He looked good in crisp, charcoal slacks and a steel blue linen chambray shirt. Then again, he could probably pull off just about anything. All that and he could cook, too. Or at least enough to not ruin pancakes. Watching him and flickers of last night, to say nothing of his scent, made me acutely aware that I wasn't wearing any underwear and the robe was very thin.

And this is why you don't go home with random men! I berated myself. You start thinking, hey, this is nice. But work gets in the way, or they run screaming when they find you're a demon, a thief, or both. Not to mention you can't keep the normalcy act together long enough. The ones who didn't care about any of that usually weren't relationship material. Not like I was, either. But anyone I had anything in common with was bad news.

Truthfully, I had been a bit offended when she had made the request, thinking that my cooking was subpar. I knew that reference was correct, having learned to golf with Rachel and Trenton. But when she looked so forlorn and embarrassed I couldn't refuse. Hell, I had wanted to hug her so tightly that every piece someone had broken inside of her was melded back into place. Not that she seemed likely to accept comfort this morning. Rather, she looked like a skittish deer, ready to bolt from the Big Bad Wolf.

Then again, I supposed that neither of us were accustomed to spending the next morning with our partners. I doubted that any of the models and actresses who had graced my bed would have eaten pancakes, even if I would have cooked for them. And certainly not covered in peanut butter and drenched in half a tree's worth of maple syrup.

Even though she was a walking paradox of a hot mess, she was not using me to further her career, nor the kinky thrill of doing it with a demon. On the contrary, she seemed to be more afraid of me taking advantage of her. And there had been a time not too long ago where that fear would have been very much justified.

She was absent-mindedly swinging her feet again, the long toes barely brushing the crossbar. I tried to hide my grin. In stark contrast to the innocent behaviour, her breasts bounced slightly with the motion. And the robe, like liquid smoke, left nothing to the imagination.

The need for my species to survive warred with common decency. It was still odd to discover that I had any, especially after years in Hollywood. Only the thought of her running, or worse, finally settled the debate. Stifling a sigh, I pulled the potion I had placed, not hidden, in a cupboard earlier and set it in front of her.

Wide puzzled eyes took in the bottle then rose to my face. Her feet had stopped swinging and were probably hooked around the chair legs as if holding on for dear life again. My ears were hot again. I cleared my throat and adjusted my rolled up cuffs before meeting her gaze. "This is a contraception curse."

Her wide mouth formed a perfect "O" as realization and then a furious blush swept over her. I would be hard-pressed to name who looked away first. I gripped the cool marble countertop and leaned, not sagged, into the stance. She tightened the sash until I thought bruises would ring her waist.

"It's already invoked," I said more to the stone than to her. And in true witch-turned-demoness fashion, she leapt to an incorrect conclusion.

"Keep these in stock for all your flings?" she sneered and folded her arms under her bosom. Fury flared too high for me to appreciate the effect of the posture.

I spun and began flinging open cabinets and drawers. "Does it appear that I maintain a ready stock of contraception at hand, never mind demon-specific ones?" I demanded, yanking a drawer from its sliders to send silverware flying all over the floor in a metallic cacophony. She suppressed a flinch as I threw the drawer past her head to land in the living room. She had not moved a muscle save for that twitch of her face, now red from anger instead of embarrassment, remaining utterly still. It was a survival tactic developed by the abused in an attempt to not provide an excuse for the abuse to continue, and hope that the abuser would forget about them. I should know. I had ingrained that behaviour in countless slaves and familiars.

"I have so very many demonesses falling into my arms that I can barely supply the demand!" I threw a knife to land with a thunk in a cabinet.

"Just give me my things and I will go." Her normally alto voice was low and tight with control.

"Your bag is on the couch," I gestured and turned away, suddenly weary.

Silk the colour of her voice rustled faintly as she went to retrieve her clothes and as soon as possible escape the Big Bad Wolf I had just proven myself to be. The slight rasp of denim on skin pulled me around in surprise. I had expected her to retreat upstairs to change. Instead, she was tugging on her jeans under the robe in the middle of the living room, not bothering with underwear. The evidence was plain on the back of the silk of how the pheromones I had been emitting while throwing my fit had affected her.

"Wait," I said.