The back of the sofa was between them, and she wanted nothing to separate them, not the sofa, not clothes, nothing. Without releasing his hold, he shifted and came around the side, crawled over so he was kneeling in front of her. He pushed her backward with his body, and she sprawled onto her back as he came down over her, his mouth still fused with hers.
This was better, much better. The long superhard length of him pressed against her, his erection like steel pushing at her belly. She was going to go up in flames any moment. She was burning from the inside.
The pain came out of nowhere. One second she was drowning in the dark sensual promise of his kisses, the next, a red-hot poker was drilling into her skull. Every muscle in her body clenched.
Ash went instantly still against her, then slowly backed away.
“Are you okay?”
She heard the words through a fog of pain and for a moment, she couldn’t answer.
“Faith?”
He sounded really worried now. She forced her eyes open. At least her vision wasn’t blurred; she could make out Ash’s almost scared expression.
“I’m okay,” she ground out. It was a lie, but the pain was receding to a manageable level. “Just a migraine,” she said when he continued to stare down at her.
His eyes narrowed. “You have a headache?”
Chapter Seven
“A real headache—honest,” Faith said with a weak smile. “I have some painkillers in my bag. Would you get them for me?”
Ash stared down at her and tried to slow his heart rate. She’d scared him. And even now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something seriously wrong. Her face was so pale, and he could tell from the way she held herself that she was hurting.
“Pills,” she reminded him.
“Shit, sorry.” Casting her one last worried glance, he scrambled to his feet and headed into the kitchen where she’d left her bag. He grabbed it, then got a glass from the cabinet and filled it from the tap.
She was lying exactly where he’d left her, her eyes closed, her figure tense. After putting the glass on the table, he crouched down beside her. He opened the bag and found the bottle of pills, read the instructions, and shook two out onto his palm.
“Faith?”
When he got no answer, he touched her lightly on the shoulder. Her lids flew open and she gave a little jump.
“Here.” As he held out the pills, she parted her lips. The lips he’d been kissing only minutes earlier. He placed the medicine on her tongue and reached behind him for the water, cupping the back of her neck while she drank to hold her steady. Her eyes closed and he laid her back and straightened.
But she didn’t appear comfortable. He crossed the room into the hall and found her bedroom. After grabbing a pillow and the bedspread, he hurried back. She hadn’t moved, and he gently lifted her head, placed the pillow beneath, and covered her with the spread.
As he sank down into the chair opposite, he was shaking.
She’d scared him. Some big, bad demon, he was. It had been so long since he’d kissed a woman that his immediate thought had been he was doing something wrong. Or that he’d sprouted horns, or something equally demonic. Jesus. At least his dick had stopped throbbing. His erection hadn’t survived the shock.
It had been going so well. At least it had seemed to be. She’d been responding. She’d wanted him, he was sure, and he’d been all ready to let her have him. For such a prickly woman she’d gone all soft and pliant in his arms, and she’d tasted so sweet. He’d been planning to taste her all over. At the thought, his dick gave a little twitch.
Thank God.
He picked up his half-empty glass of wine and gulped it down in one go, then poured the rest of the bottle into his glass and studied her.
As though she could sense his scrutiny, she blinked open her eyes. “If I forget to tell you,” she murmured, “you’re a great kisser.”
“Thanks.”
Her brows drew together. “Which is sort of weird, because you’re really not my type.”
Her words were slightly slurred—he presumed the drugs must be taking effect.
“You have a type?”
“I do. Men in suits and ties. Nice men, with short hair…” She thought for a moment. “And definitely no tattoos.”
Ash rubbed Lucifer’s sigil wound tight around his upper arm. “Well, the tat I can’t doing anything about, but it so happens that tomorrow I’m due a makeover.”
This was his and Ryan’s I-will-if-you-will makeovers, ready for the first of their meetings tomorrow afternoon.
“You are? That will be nice.”
She closed her eyes and eventually, her ragged, little breaths evened out until she was breathing smoothly and he was sure she was sleeping. He rose slowly, leaned down, picked up her bag, and headed into the kitchen, closing the door softly behind him.
Humans were so fragile, but was this normal? Was she ill?
He pulled his cell from his pocket and punched in Ryan’s number.
Ryan answered after the first ring.
“Is Faith all right?” Ash asked without bothering with a greeting.
“Ash?”
“Yeah. Is Faith ill?”
“Where is she?”
“At her place and she had this headache.”