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MY FAIR SUCCUBI
Urban Fantasy, Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
My jaw dropped. Careful?
Steamed, I grabbed a steak knife off the table. With my other hand, I took off my dirty baseball cap and shook down one of my long, bright red braids. I held the braid out from my head at a straight angle and in fast, jerky motions I sawed at the base of my braid and hacked the entire thing off, then tossed it down on the table.
Noah rolled his eyes at my dramatic show.
"Watch," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
Sure enough, less than a minute later, I felt the hair follicles on my scalp slither and the familiar tingling that told me my hair was growing back. I grabbed a handful of the sheared ends and watched in disgust as they grew, my hair pouring down my shoulders and over my shirt, returning to the lengthy, flame-red curls.
"Do you see this?" I jerked at my T-shirt. "I'm wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt, cargo shorts, and a baseball cap. Not exactly seductress material."
"Zane's shirt, I noticed."
Grrr. He was missing the point entirely! "What I'm trying to remind you of is that no matter what I do, I can't disguise how I look. I've shaved my head. I've worn thick glasses. I've done everything short of wearing a ski mask, and it's no use. I could go out in a trash bag and someone would still hit on me."
"You know," I went on, angrily rebraiding my "new" hair, "I thought this dig would be good for my career. I could finally set myself up as a serious archaeologist. But it's like I'm the Hooters girl at the church social! The men leer at me constantly. Someone tries to cop a feel if I so much as bend over. And all the women on the team hate me because they think I'm blowing you just to get you to sponsor the dig."
"You are blowing me," he interrupted with a hint of a smile.
"Not to further my career," I bellowed. "Remember that whole 'have to have sex every two days' thing? Hello? Succubus?"
He gave me a patient look. "I wouldn't be out in the jungles of Yucatán spending a small fortune on sonar—"
"Radar equipment if it wasn't for you. So they do have a point."
My eyes narrowed. "You are so not helping your case right now, buddy."
Noah chuckled, showing me a glimpse of the good-natured, strong protector that I usually adored. He moved to my end of the table and pulled me up into his arms. "Poor Jackie. I'm sorry this isn't turning out like you want." His warm hand stroked my braids and down my back.
My bad mood rapidly dwindled now that I was pressed against his hard, sweaty body, and I slid my hands up and down his bare, damp skin. He felt so good against me. Really good. It reminded me that I was due for the Itch in a short time, so I reluctantly pulled away. "Unless you want to make out on the floor, maybe we shouldn't touch."
I wanted him to protest, to kiss me senseless and prove me wrong, but all he said was "You're right," and released me. Spoilsport.
I sighed. I hated the days up to the full moon.
"I brought you a few presents from town," he said, returning to the other end of the table.
Sitting back down, I clapped my hands in delight. "Edible things?" In this part of Mexico you could get a lot of standard stuff from the big Walmart in Mérida or the local tedejon, but I missed the small luxuries, like Pringles or my favorite shampoo. Noah was constantly bringing me boxes of treats as a result. Last week it was foil-wrapped Ding Dongs, which I tore through in about five minutes.
Succubi weren't known for their self-control when it came to food. Hedonists for the win.
Noah smiled at my delighted expression. "Part of your present is edible, yes." He disappeared under the paper tablecloth and reappeared a moment later with a large cardboard box. The words "Pop-Tarts" was printed across the side of the box.
I squealed. "Oh my God! Pop-Tarts! A whole case!"
"I had them special ordered for you in Mérida. They're chocolate." At my second squeal of delight, he chuckled. "Try not to eat them all in one day."
I eyed the box with hungry, avid eyes. "They might last two days." Maybe three, if I paced myself. It was so hard to find chocolate Pop-Tarts in this part of Mexico.
A radar discovery and Pop-Tarts. This day just got better and better.
Noah seemed pleased, his eyes so blue they glowed in his tanned face. "I never thought I'd see a woman get so turned on over a package." His voice had dropped to a huskier octave, showing that he wasn't totally immune to my charms just yet.
Encouraged, I leaned over the table, my voice turning into a purr. "Show me your package, and I'll show you an even more turned-on woman."
His eyes flashed and I recognized the interest there, fighting the lethargy that always set over him before the full moon. "Your other present first," he said.
"Whatever floats your boat," I breathed, clamping my thighs together so they'd stop quivering with excitement.
Hot diggity, I was going to get laid today after all!
He leaned over the table, placing his hand on the dome of the silver platter. I couldn't wait to find out what was underneath. This was why he'd sent everyone away from camp to be alone with me—the reason behind the big production.
"If that's a milk shake under there, they're going to have to pry me off of you with a crowbar," I warned, my eyes glued to the tray.
He lifted the lid.
A tiny turquoise box with a bow lay in the center of the plate. It looked like … a ring box.
"Shit," I blurted.