CHAPTER 2

Three nights later and he was striding across the casino floor like he owned the place. His tailored, black suit was impeccable and the tie was a pale, muted blue with a paisley print in a darker color. As always, his confidence and charm made him the most attractive man in the room. Her stomach flip-flopped when he sat down at her empty table. It was a fairly busy Thursday night, but the casino had two other blackjack tables open and she'd just gotten off break.

"Hello, love."

"I'm surprised to see you here," she said.

He cocked his head to the side. "And why would that be?"

"Our awkward conversation earlier this week."

"That? That's nothing. I'd like you to share my bed. Or floor. Or wall." He flashed a wide grin. "But my charms don't seem to work on you, love. I've survived worse than a little rejection."

Hazel laughed softly under her breath. "You're kinda out of my league anyway."

"Nonsense. Don't sell yourself short."

"What are you, handing out self confidence since you have so much already?"

"Just to you, darling," he replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in humor.

"What do you do for a living?" she asked, shuffling the six decks of cards at her table.

"What do you think I do?"

"Lawyer?"

He chuckled. "Close, but not quite."

"Do you enjoy it, whatever it is you do?"

He shifted is gaze to the floor, letting several seconds pass before he finally said, "Of course. "

Hazel narrowed her eyes. "That didn't sound very convincing. "

"Most of the time I do," he amended.

"It's fulfilling?"

"Is any job?"

She shrugged. "Touché. This one certainly leaves something to be desired. "

"And what do you really want to do?"

"Be a writer. It just doesn't always pay the bills. " Hazel finished shuffling the decks and stowed the cards away in the holder.

"What if I could make that happen?"

She smiled at him. "So you're a literary agent?"

"Of a sort, I suppose. What if I gave you success as a writer in exchange for something small?"

"Oh, yeah? Something like what?" she asked, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward.

"A trifle, nothing you'd miss." His voice was deep, gruff. His eyes were shining. And a small, superstitious part of Hazel shrank back in fear.

"Not interested. If I didn't earn it myself, then I'd just be another hack. Besides, you don't seem like an agent. You seem like a mob boss."

He pulled back, a brief moment of frustration flashing across his face. So he wasn't used to being told no to sex or to shady deals. Hazel watched as he quickly schooled his expression. "I could get you to the top of the New York Times best sellers list and it'll just cost you your soul."

"My what? My soul?" She furrowed her brows at him. "Very funny. Ha ha. You're much too cute to be the devil."

"I'm not, love. I'm Crowley. And the deal is real."

"Funny joke, Mr. Crowley, but I'm not that naive." She looked at him, trying to figure out if he really was joking or if he was unhinged. Not that she was still entertaining the thought of sleeping with him, but it'd be a damn shame for womankind if dark and delicious was a nutball. He looked back, his gaze steady and clear, no hint of madness. "Plus," Hazel added lightly, "what kind of shit would I write without my soul? Fifty Shades of Grey?"

Mr. Crowley tipped back his head and laughed loudly. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, darling?"

"Are you playing, Mr Crowley?" she asked, looking down at the green felt table and back up to him and his oddly handsome face that she couldn't get out of her head or her fantasies.

"No, I've got business to attend to." He stood up and and buttoned his suit jacket. "And love?"

"Yes?"

"It's Crowley. No mister."

"Like Cher?"

"Like God."

She'd experienced his dry sense of humor before, so it really wasn't reaching too far to say that his claim of being god or the devil was just a poor attempt at a joke. And yet, there was something about him that made him stand out. The bartenders always served him first. People quickly moved out of his way when he walked by. And she always felt his presence when he was in the casino. Like some sort of magnetic field around him. But still. Either he was exhibiting his dry humor or he really was certifiably insane because having charisma and a dominant personality didn't mean you were something other than a man.

Since he'd propositioned her a little over a week ago, she couldn't stop thinking about him and what he'd be like intimately. Would he be gentle and giving or forceful and demanding? The later, she'd decided. Most definitely the kind of guy who wanted to call all the shots. But there was also a playful side, or at least she liked to think there was. A side that would make it fun and pleasurable with no strings attached. Not that she was the kind of woman who could handle fun with no strings attached. She'd had two significant relationships that lasted for two and three years, respectively. There had been a couple flings shortly after the breakups, but those were a product of her grief, not because she'd really wanted to have sex.

He made her want to have sex, though. Dirty, filthy sex on the floor of his twenty-third floor penthouse suite. He'd undress her or force her to undress herself while he sat in an armchair like it was a throne and watched with that enigmatic smirk. Or at least that's what she fantasized about when she was in bed alone with the sun close to the horizon.

Tonight she was sitting in front of her computer after a long night at the casino. She typically left work around two in the morning. The small house she rented on the western side of the city was about twenty minutes from work. The neighborhood wasn't great, but she had an old revolver that had belonged to her dad and a tendency to make herself invisible, even to would-be criminals. By two-thirty she was usually eating a microwave dinner in front of her computer while she attempted to work on one of the hundred plus short stories she'd started and never finished. By five or six in the morning, she was ready to pass out in bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. Day after day.

The only excitement lately had been Crowley and his shameless pursuit. The feminist in her wanted to be annoyed at a man who thought everything he wanted should just fall at his feet. The woman in her was intrigued by his magnetism and blatantly flirtatious behavior. Despite it all, she found it flattering and fuel to the fantasies he'd already inspired in her mind. Whenever she wasn't occupied, she found herself thinking of him. She'd even started a couple short stories that featured someone like him. Or at least her idea of who he really was instead of who he presented to her at the casino.

Minimizing her word processor, Hazel pulled up an internet browser window and chewed on her bottom lip. After a long moment of lightly running her fingertips over the keys of the keyboard, she sucked in a deep breath and typed, "Crowley deals," before hitting search.

The first six results were about Aleister Crowley, the creepy occultist. Most of the other websites were also about him. The seventh, though, was a message board on a website that looked like it had been created in the nineties and not updated since. The first message was posted by a guest to the website, asking if anyone had encountered a demon named Crowley who would give you your deepest desire if you promised your soul. There were three pages of discussion from board members and guests, many of whom claim to have heard of or met him.

The posts that mentioned physical description said he was average height, dressed in all black, dark hair, English accent, friendly, charming, and the consummate businessman. Everything her Crowley was as well. Of the three pages there were a couple people who seemed to be frightened-people who claimed to have made a deal with Crowley and were worried about paying up. Those two cautioned others to think twice before summoning the demon by burying a box containing a list of items at a crossroads.

It couldn't be real. It had to be a group of roleplayers-LARPERs. People who acted out their fantasies like it was real life. Demons didn't exist. And the man who frequented her casino every now and then certainly wasn't one. It was ridiculous to even consider it. Beyond ridiculous. It was probably some elaborate joke and he probably played games with all the LARPERs on that message board.

Hazel closed the browser and stared at clear blue water contrasting with the taupe sand that made up the wallpaper of her computer. It was some beach in Bali. Somewhere she'd never been and probably would never go to. That sensation of feeling sorry for herself began welling up in her. She was stuck in a city she didn't love, working a job she almost hated, and the only excitement in her life turned out to be a man who played make-believe games involving him being a big, bad demon. Pathetic.

She had twenty minutes left in her shift and it couldn't possibly go any slower. Mondays were the worst. Everyone had lost all they could afford to lose of their paychecks over the weekend and gambling hangovers prevented many from stopping in to occupy her long eight hours. She was carefully organizing the piles of chips for the twentieth time when she felt that electricity that meant HE had walked in the door.

Hazel looked up and saw him walk past the slot machines by the doors and over to the bar. Within a few seconds, he had a glass of what she assumed was the most expensive whiskey in the place. And then he turned to her and caught her gaze from across the room. She swallowed hard and held eye contact for as long as she could before nervously dropping her gaze to the table. He was walking over. She didn't even have to look to know it. Powerful men commanded attention. He was NOT a demon. That was just stupid.

"Hello, love." That voice. That sexy, smokey, gruff voice that she couldn't get out of her head. Why was he playing games and pretending to be a demon?

"Hello," Hazel replied, looking up to see his tongue touch the rim of his glass after taking a sip. "Would you like to exchange for chips?"

Without saying a word, he pulled five one hundred dollar bills from an old silver money clip that obviously held ten times that. What did he DO? How did get have so much money?

She took them and gave him twenty dollar chips. Trying not to think about anything but doing her job, she forced a smile and said, "How are you this evening?"

"I could be better, darling. I thought a little taste of you might put me in a better mood."

"I'm sure a taste of that whiskey will make you feel better." Hazel dealt him two cards and then two for the house, one facing up.

He motioned to stay and she flipped the cards over to reveal the house had won. "Do I make you uncomfortable, love?"

Hazel swept up the chips and added them to her bank. "No. Yes. You... men don't hit on me like you do."

"Mmm, pity. But fortunate for me, I suppose. Aren't you the least bit tempted?"

She dealt another hand. "Tempted?" The house had a jack facing up. He had a two and a nine. She watched him tap the table for another card.

"Don't I tempt you?" he asked.

"Of course."

That smile of his made her weak in the knees and he was currently using it to his advantage. He won the hand and she paid him from the bank before waiting for the next bet. Instead of betting, he said, "Do I tempt your body or your desire for a bestseller."

"You can't make me a successful author," she stated, dealing another hand. He'd laid down a hundred dollar bet and his hand was good-a twenty.

"I can do many things, love. You have no idea." His growly voice made that spot between her legs ache.

"But you're not a genie who grants wishes."

He stayed and he won the hand. Of course. He always won the big hands. "Never said I was a genie."

"Well, I think it's silly that you insist on playing this little game where you pretend you're the devil and you're buying souls for favors." He bet twenty bucks and she dealt his hand.

"Not the devil either, darling."

"Devil, demon, whatever. You're a grown man who is obviously successful; you're too old for make-believe." He asked for another card and busted. She took his chips and waited for his next bet.

Crowley picked his whiskey up and took a long sip from the glass, obviously savoring the taste before swallowing. He made it look sexy, sensual. Hazel looked away quickly.

"There's a big world out there, love. You never know what might be in it. Maybe even things you don't believe in. Like me."

"Yeah, sure." She finally looked back up at him. "Bet?"

"Penthouse?"

"No," she told him. "Not that kind of girl."

"Your name on hardcovers displayed at a bookstore?"

"You can't do it."

He chuckled softly. "And if it could?"

Hazel didn't even pause before saying, "No."

"Fair enough, love. Sorry to hear it." He left a hundred dollars in chips on the table, picked up his drink, and left.

The encounter with him the previous day was equal parts nerve-wrecking and frustrating. And maybe just a little bit exciting too. He made her nervous, but she was also irritated that he insisted on keeping up this charade that he was some mysterious demon. It was too silly and should have made her find him less attractive. Unfortunately, it didn't. After wrapping up her shift on this slow Tuesday night, she grabbed her purse from the locker in the back and headed out the employee exit on the side of the building.

Her car was parked on the far end of the lot since she liked to eat her lunch in privacy sometimes. Normally, Hazel was very aware of her surroundings as the heels of her shoes clipped across the pavement. Tonight she was thinking of Crowley and the way he shamelessly pursued her. Despite everything, she still found it a little flattering. And that was annoying.

She was halfway to the car when she heard a scuff of feet behind her. Turning around, she found a tall man dressed in a suit. His hair was just long enough to brush the collar of the white dress shirt. Without a word, he grabbed her upper arm. Hazel heard a shriek of fright and surprise jump out of her mouth. She twisted her body to pull herself away from him.

"What are..." she tried to ask him.

"Come with me," he told her.

"No. Let me go. Now," she demanded, trying to yank her arm away from him. He had a firm grasp on her and wasn't letting go.

"I'm serious," she said. "Let me go." There was panic in her voice now. The parking lot was dark and an empty and this man had empty eyes and an expressionless face. "Let go," she repeated.

Before she completely lost and starting kicking her assailant in the legs, she heard another voice say, "Let go of the lady."

"Crowley," she said, anxiety evident in her voice, looking to him for help. The man who had grabbed her so forcefully, digging his fingers into the flesh of her arm, immediately let her go and backed away.

"Sorry," the man said. "Mistaken identity." With that said, he turned and walked back toward the casino.

"What just happened?" she asked Crowley, rubbing her arm. There would probably be bruises from that man's fingertips.

He shrugged. "Rude customers, I suppose, love. I heard you scream."

"Oh. How did you get here so quickly? I didn't even see you here tonight." Her mind felt jumbled and the world seemed surreal. A few seconds ago she was thinking of him and walking to her car on autopilot and now she was mentally recovering from nearly being attacked by a stranger in the parking lot before he rescued her. He had to have been directly behind the man.

"I was on my way to my car," he explained.

She swept her eyes across the parking lot. There were no other cars around them. "Where is your car?"

He smiled at her. "I must have got turned around and looked on the wrong side of the parking lot."

Hazel pushed her hair back away from her face. "Oh. Uh, thank you. For, uh, making him go away."

"You shouldn't walk through dark parking lots if you don't have something to protect yourself, darling."

She shrugged and took two steps back from him. He made her uneasy. If given the choice, she'd pick him over the mystery guy that had grabbed her, but it would be a close call. "It's not a bad area. And there is a light by car."

"Still," he said, stepping toward her. "Walk you to your car?"

"I'm-I'm okay. Just a little shaken."

"Really, love. I wouldn't dream of leaving you alone right now. I'll behave myself."

Hazel pulled in a deep breath and blew it out of her mouth. He seemed sane and concerned and harmless enough. Maybe. "My car isn't that far."

"I see it. I'll just walk you there and send you on your way."

He fell into step beside Hazel, his hand lightly on her elbow, guiding her to the vehicle. It felt gentlemanly and sweet and her unease at being accosted in the parking lot began to fade as they made their way to her ten-year-old blue sedan that had seen better days.

"So, you probably drive a black Mercedes or something, right, Mr. Penthouse suite?" she said, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled softly. "Something like that."

"You're sweet to walk to me to my car, but this really isn't necessary."

"I'm many things, love. But sweet isn't one of them. I always have an ulterior motive."

She felt her heartbeat increase and adrenaline flood her system. What kind of motive? Rape? She'd turned him down after all.

He seemed to sense her tension because he moved his hand to the small of her back and said, "Trying to make myself look like the hero so you won't be able to resist me. Is it working?"

"I-uh-maybe." So maybe it was. Something about him made her feel like nothing could touch her. He could handle any problem.

He grinned, flashing her his white teeth. "Very good. But, alas, my time is up. We've arrived at your car."

The yellow light from above cast a soft circular glow on the parking lot. Her car was directly in the middle. You could see the chips and small dents on the body of the car this close. She fumbled in her purse for the keys and unlocked the door with trembling hands. Sure, she was nervous. But this also felt like the end of a date.

"Thanks for... for walking me," she said again when she turned to face him.

Crowley took a step closer to her, and then another. Hazel took a step back and found her ass pressed against the window of the back door. "Did I tell you my fee for walking you to your car is a kiss?" he asked softly.

"N-no, you didn't." And as much as she felt she should tell him that she wasn't about to just lay a smooch on him, she actually really wanted to. She'd been fantasizing about him for weeks.

He took one more step forward, which brought his body flush against hers. Hazel tilted her head back to look up. While he wasn't a tall guy, he still had a few inches on her. Unconsciously, she found herself licking her lips as he slipped a hand up to cradle the back of her neck and the base of her skull.

"Oh, god," she murmured, closing her eyes and waiting for the press of her lips. The warmth of his hand on the back of her neck felt delicious.

He laughed softly, allowing a puff of warm breath to caress her face. "Oh, Crowley," he corrected.

She didn't have time to repeat what he'd said before he gently glided his lips over hers. It was a teasing, tentative kiss, one that left her burning for more. Hazel lifted her hands and grabbed the lapels of his expensive suit for balance as she pushed up on her tip-toes and kissed him back. The boldness of the move was so unlike her and must have set off the animal in him because he collapsed on her, pressing her back against the car.

His knee was nestled between her thighs and his tongue was gliding over her own. She groaned in desire, feeling faint and consumed by need. His hand on her neck was scorching hot and she wished that their clothes would disappear. Never had she ever been so enticed to have sex on her car in the middle of a parking lot with a man she didn't even really know. A man who insinuated he was a demon. It was madness.

Too soon, he pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. She could hardly catch her breath as she stared into his eyes. Just as she made the decision to lean forward and kiss him again, she heard the sound of her car door open. He'd reached over beside her hip and pulled the handle. "Drive safe," he whispered.

"But..." Hazel protested, looking from the open door to him.

"If you ever feel like you want to be a little less than perfectly good, give me a call. I'd love to corrupt you, darling." She looked down to see him slip a white business card into the purse hanging from her shoulder.

And then he was gone. The warmth of his body missing from against hers, his dark back retreating across the parking lot, blending into the night. She was too dumbfounded to call after him, even though she desperately wanted to do so.

Hazel drove home, but couldn't have told you anything about the drive. Her lips were still tingling from the touch of his. His kiss had been forceful and confident and oh-so-delicious. It would just add fire to the desire he had already kindled in her. She stripped off her clothes as soon as she got into the house and stepped into a hot shower where her hands seemed to dip down to the apex of her thighs of their own accord. After a few minutes of manipulation with her fingers, she orgasmed, her legs almost buckling with the intensity of it.

Turning the cold water up, she finished washing her hair before getting out and putting on her pajamas. The first thing she did, even before nuking her dinner in the microwave, was check her purse. The white card was sitting on top of her wallet. Hazel held her breath as she pulled it out and looked at the embossed black letters neatly printed in the middle.

Crowley

King of Hell

Mobile: 666

She read the card multiple times before flipping it over for the joke. No "haha, gotcha" on the back. What the fuck? Seriously? Was this all part of his game?

Feeling a little sick to her stomach that she let some guy get under her skin so much, Hazel tossed the card in the kitchen trash can and pulled a dinner out of the freezer. King of Hell. Yeah, right.