The Devil Inside Read Online Free Page A

was so not in the mood to hear it. Val, standing beside him, easily read the look on my face. She reached over to put a hand on my arm—right where the demon had crushed my muscles—
    and smiled up at Jenkins.
    “Let me give you a word of advice, Mr. Jenkins,” she said. “I love Morgan like a sister, but if you say anything to her right now, I might end up having to pull her off you.”
    Her smile was sweet as spun sugar, but her tone was utterly convincing. Jenkins looked unsure of himself and I almost felt sorry for him. If this had all happened to someone else, I might have said he hadn’t done anything wrong. But it had happened to me, and forgiveness isn’t one of my strong suits. Just ask my family.
    Jenkins took her at her word and nodded curtly. He unlocked the stun belt without speaking to me. I clamped my jaws shut to keep myself from starting anything, then let Val lead me out of there as fast as my legs could carry me.
    Naturally, I’d parked in a two-hour parking spot, so my car had been towed. Val drove me to the impound lot so I could get it back, along with my luggage, before finally checking into the hotel. The good news was the snow had stopped overnight, and the roads were all nice and clear. Val wanted to talk, but I insisted I needed a shower and a change of clothes first. I met her at the dinky little hotel bar about an hour later. She’d changed out of her business suit and into a pair of gray wool trousers and a midnight blue turtleneck. This was her idea of casual wear. Me, I was feeling pretty ornery, so I changed into a pair of low-rise black leather pants and a lowcut emerald cashmere sweater. The sweater tended to ride up my rib cage and display my tattoo. There were only four other customers in the bar, all 16 / 226
    Jenna Black, The Devil Inside (2007)
    Morgan Kingsley #1
    men dressed in business suits, and I felt each one of them take a good long look at me.
    I’m not one of those women who pretends she doesn’t know she’s attractive to the opposite sex. My style might be a tad aggressive for a woman, but it goes well with my height and my bone structure, and I’m used to being stared at. I even enjoy it—though my boyfriend, Brian, hates it. He keeps asking me to tone down my wardrobe when we go out in public. We’ve been dating for a little over a year, and we have enough physical chemistry to set the bed on fire, but he still doesn’t know me well enough not to make that kind of request. I always wear my sexiest outfits when we’re going out. Funny how we end up staying in for so many of our dates.
    Val had already ordered me my favorite drink, a piña colada. Yeah, I know I looked silly with a total of seven earrings in my ears, wearing black leather pants that showed my tattoo while drinking something so froufrou. But I hate the taste of alcohol. Whatever I drink has to mask the alcohol or I just can’t force it down.
    Val laughed at me when I plopped down in the chair beside her and took a long, grateful swallow of my drink.
    “Should I ask why you brought black leather pants on a business trip to Topeka?” she asked, still smiling.
    I grinned back at her. “Call it a premonition.”
    Actually, I’d brought them because they made me feel feminine and attractive. Yeah, I know black leather isn’t what most people consider feminine, but judging from the way guys look at me when I wear them, I beg to differ.
    Her smile faded into a look of concern, and she cocked her head. “So tell me what happened.”
    I told her. I didn’t enjoy reliving the memory, but after she flew out here to save my ass, I owed her the full monty.
    She was frowning when I finished, and her martini glass was empty. She ordered another, and I stirred the melting remains of my drink.
    “Why didn’t it take you?” Val murmured, biting her lip. I sighed. “I don’t know, Val. I just don’t get it.” I’d spent most of the last twenty-four hours examining the question from all angles, but