“I’ll return with donuts forthwith,” SJ said, one hand finding my elbow and giving it a gentle squeeze. My mouth wouldn’t work to retort. My entire being had been reduced to a scrambled mess of roiling hormones as I watched his perfect backside as he sauntered away.

20. It’s a Date, Big Boy

Chapter 20

It’s a Date, Big Boy

SJ

I returned—forthwith as promised—with a largeish box of donuts, and a satisfied grin plastered across my face. I made no move to hide it. I’d just had an enlightening conversation with my new friend at the donut stall, which had me feeling much more confident about the next task I had planned for Jemma.

My grin only widened when I saw the way her eyes went wild and hungry at the sight of me. Although her expression was most likely directed at the box of donuts.

She was with a customer, so I squeezed past them to the back of her little stall, where she had some form of flimsy-looking metal and fabric chair that I’d watched her unfold from her car earlier.

Her eyes followed me, and it wasn’t until I was seated that she turned the full force of her quirky personality back on the unsuspecting customers. And they melted under her bubbly sweetness.

Something squeezed inside me. Was this the real Jemma, and I was on the receiving end of the snarky version because of who I was … of what I was doing to her?

Or was the version she showed me a deeper layer that she kept from everyone else?

I thought I might do unspeakable things to know the answer to that. Which was, frankly, the stupidest sentiment I had ever entertained.

She’s just a soul. And we have a job to finish with her.

But those spicy girls did warn me not to continue down this path.

Are you truly going to pay heed to a pair of nipple-mouthed dream-women?

“How many did you get?” she demanded. Startled, I blinked from my reverie, finding her standing over me, wrapping her vibrant, yellow thingamajig around her tighter.

“A dozen. Are you cold?” I asked, leaning forwards.

She eyed me for a long moment, blue eyes boring holes in me before she nodded. “It’s suddenly gotten chilly, can’t you feel it?”

I shook my head. “My Lucifer blood is like an internal heating system.”

She tilted her head to the side, regarding me. “Lucifer blood?”

“Yes. Our family name is Lucifer. And hand in hand with the name go the horns and the hot blood.” And the responsibility for Hell, but that was not a subject I wished to discuss with Jemma Bliss.

“Must be nice. I hate the cold,” she remarked, rubbing her arms vigorously.