My Immortal (Seven Deadly Sins #1)(30)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Damn it. He had her. He’d chosen the right angle to play her. She couldn’t resist the idea that she would actually be helping him by letting him help her.

"Okay. I’ll stay in the house. Thank you."

Both the house and the man lured her, more than she wanted to admit.

Damien hadn’t lied to himself in 150 years and he didn’t want to start now. He wasn’t inviting Marley Turner to stay in his house solely out of altruism, though he did legitimately feel bad that she was spending so much of her hard-earned money on a hotel. But he could admit he also wanted her near him, he wanted her to be in his house, in his space—He wanted her to come to him on her own terms, and he wanted to show her all the power of taking pleasure for herself.

When she had tried to leave his house that morning, defeat in her eyes, a tremor in her voice, looking rumpled and sexy and insecure, Damien had lost the will to resist. If he’d ever really had it. He had denied himself much in the last century, and despite knowing it was wrong to take advantage of the attraction she would inevitably feel for him because of the demon influence, he wanted to do just that. Wanted to enjoy the beauty of desire on her face, total capitulation to the pursuit of her own pleasure.

She was sitting across from him, eyeing her plate with suspicion. He had convinced her to order alligator and now she was poking at it, frowning. She moved it around and around, breaking the nugget of meat into three pieces, leaning closer and closer to it like she could ascertain its taste purely by her stare. She stabbed a tiny piece with her fork, lifted it, licked it. Her face cleared a little and she put it in her mouth. She chewed slowly, reflectively, then commented, "Not bad."

A whole piece went in her mouth and she smiled. "Pretty good actually. It tastes like chicken."

He had the sense that’s how she approached everything—with caution, then when she was ready, when something had earned her approval, she gave that approval wholly and without hesitation. He wanted that from her for himself, a confident, trusting approval, and it shocked him, scared him, aroused and intrigued him.

Here was a woman who could actually say no to him, who could resist the lure of the demon. She could shatter his resistance, disassemble the carefully constructed life he had created for himself, and show him that his compromise was merely that—a half-hearted, cowardly attempt to distance himself from his inescapable reality.

She had the compassion of Marie, the strength of Marissabelle, and together the combination was beautiful and potent.

He had already given in to it.

"Only chicken tastes like chicken," he said.

And he could only be what he was.

He was Damien du Bourg, servant of the Grigori demon, and ultimately selfish. He had spent a hundred years giving to women, fighting against his own passions, certain he had been changing, evolving, growing as a human being.

Yet with one woman, in the space of three days, he had been shown he hadn’t changed one iota. He was still selfish, and all the rationalizations about exposing Marley to the pleasure of her own sensuality formed an honest layer covering the deeper truth—he wanted her, and he would chase, with all his powers of persuasion, until he got her. It was still about him, and he truly was a bastard.

She laughed at his comment and ate another piece.

He was going to catch her, of that he was certain. There was already acquiescence in her eyes, though she had possibly a few more days’ resistance in her.

When she came to him, she would think it was her idea. She would think she was in control.

And very possibly, she would be.

I wish that I could say that I held my head up with a demeanor and dignity befitting a woman of my rank and breeding. I wish that I could tell you that from that moment on I devoted myself to acts of charity and self-improvement, that I expended my energy in spreading the word of God to the slaves, or other such noteworthy efforts.

I did not.

Instead of using the moment as a lesson on the entrapment of sin, how the tendrils of lust can grasp you, entwine you, and pull you further into a dense jungle of sinful conduct, and walk steadfastly away, I did just the opposite. I felt the tug of sin and I went toward it. I found myself looking at my husband through new eyes, through the vanity of the coquette, through the interest of a woman who is curious to understand what makes men and women disregard all sense of morality for the privilege of sexual exploration.

Whereas before I had been content when my husband ignored me, I now coveted the very idea of his attention. There were secrets of seduction, and I wanted the answers.

So I turned to my maid.

"Gigi, my appearance has taken a turn for the worse," I said the next morning as I stood in front of the full-length looking glass. "I need to correct that."

"Oh! Very good, Madame." She bobbed.

"How should we go about this?"

"Well… what exactly are you trying to achieve, Madame?"

I could have been subtle. I could have said that I wished for better health, to look less fatigued, for an edge of sophistication in dress and hair.

Instead I revealed exactly what I was thinking. "Monsieur du Bourg has lost interest in me. I need to seduce my husband, Gigi."

Her dark eyes went wide, then she smiled broadly. "Oh, yes, Madame, I think that is an excellent plan. Monsieur du Bourg will be most pleased."

"So I need your help. What should I do? " Staring at myself with critical eyes, I knew that at the moment I was not a woman who could seduce a man, nor was I a woman a man would desire. I looked small, pale, fragile, and as if mere breathing were an effort for me. The woman on the porch had not been voluptuous at all, but she had what I lacked—strength, confidence, passion.

Gigi was taking my question seriously. Her eyes narrowed and she tapped her finger to her lip. "Pudding. That is where we start."

"Pudding?"

Gigi’s plan, it seemed, revolved around avoiding Damien for several weeks while she overfed me rich, creamy foods and took me for long walks along the river to increase my strength. Then, with my hair dressed, a revealing gown, and a flirtatious manner, I was to approach Damien, shocking him with my transformation.

He would be unable to resist, Gigi assured me.

I had my doubts, but I had no better plan, so I took to tromping about on long walks that put a flush to my face and fatigued me, and I forced myself to swallow significantly more than I was used to eating. Those first few days were a struggle, but after two weeks the walks had become easier, and the bodice of my gown didn’t gape so appallingly. I spent a great deal of time darting into doorways whenever I saw my husband approaching, so he wouldn’t see me.