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Chapter 46

Meg looked out into the darkness. The incubus Larial, whom she'd first met in her law office just the day before, stood beside her, one strong hand resting on the small of her back.

"The storm is magnificent," he whispered into her hair, "full of rage and power and hunger. But you would shame the storm, and make it as weak and mewling as a kitten, if you released your passion. Ah, Megan. Let me pleasure you. Let me give you all the magic in my body."

Meg felt the thunder as much as she heard it; felt the rumble in her belly, in her breasts, in the tingling of her skin. She said, "I'm your lawyer. I represent you."

"You are doing so much that is good for my kind, beautiful Meg. You'll give so much of your time and your effort to our lives. And what will you get in return? Only money? Money is cold, and it won't kiss you awake in the morning. It won't fill you, or tease you, or lick you, or bring you to ecstasy. It won't make you scream with pleasure . . . like I will."

"It won't damn me to Hell, either," she said.

"I won't damn you to Hell, Meg. Perhaps you can teach me to love. Perhaps we can find love for each other in our searches for pleasure. In Hell there is no place for love—did you know that? You didn't, did you? I can see it in your eyes."

"That's ridiculous," Meg said. "You're saying that the only people in Hell are those who don't love anyone."

"Or anything. If you truly love your work, or your hobbies, or even your pets, you can't go to Hell. Love will save you. You could save me, Meg. You know about love. You know what it is. Teach me."

Meg felt the incubus's hands cupping her breasts, sliding down her belly, undoing the clasp and zipper of her skirt. His movements were so familiar; she closed her eyes and she could imagine the hands belonged to Dan.

And anger tightened her muscles, and rage soured her stomach.

Dan, you bastard. You embarrassed me in front of my clients. In front of my uncle. You had the balls to call my house and try to enlist him in helping you make up to me. You were sleeping with some other woman while you were dating me, and even if we never said we were exclusive, I wasn't seeing anyone else.

The hands kept slipping . . . sliding . . . caressing.

"You know about love," he said in Dan's voice. "He showed you what love was."

Love, she thought. I know about love, all right. He showed me what love wasn't. And you're just like him, aren't you? You want to use me, too.

Well, it isn't going to work this time.

She turned, both angry and aroused, and ripped Larial's zipper down, and yanked his pants down around his knees. She wanted to hurt, to embarrass, to shame Dan—but Dan wasn't with her, and Larial was.

She tripped him backwards, and when he collapsed to the floor, slapped him once across the face. That was for Dan.

I can't love you, you bastard. You're just like Dan.

But I can use you.

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Framed