Free Demon Can’t Help It by Kathy Love Page B

way to one of the stalls.
    Shoving the door closed behind her, she again propped herself against the stall wall. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. The nausea had subsided, thank God. But her head. She pressed a hand to her temple. What a strange feeling as if her brain was too—full.
    She rested there for a moment, eyes still closed, not moving.
    Finally the strange sensation dwindled slowly away. Still she didn’t move. She wasn’t ready to go back out to Maksim. She didn’t want to face him. Embarrassment replaced the nausea—just a different type of sick feeling. Embarrassment and dread.
    She knew she’d seen desire in his eyes. She knew he wanted her. While that was awkward, what was worse was that she wanted him, too.
    With just the likely unintentional brush of his thumb, she’d wanted him with an intensity she couldn’t deny. Just that easily. What the hell was wrong with her? She prided herself on willpower. On control.
    Although she couldn’t recall why now. She hadn’t been in control of anything for so long, she wondered if she’d only imagined her restraint. Look at her, she was in this restroom, fighting yet another bout of nausea, because things were happening to her that she couldn’t alter.
    She wasn’t going to think about any of this right now. She was going to get herself composed. She was going to go out there and thank Maksim for a nice meal. And she was going back to work. That was the best strategy.
    She ran a shaky hand over her face, but didn’t move. Instead she rested her forehead on the stall door. Just another moment.
    After a few seconds she heard something. Like the pattering of bare feet on the tiles. But she hadn’t heard the door open.
    Frowning, she lifted her head. And she could have sworn the three-stall restroom was empty. Even in her agitation she’d managed to make note of that. Maybe she’d been wrong.
    She stepped away from the door slightly, listening. The footfalls had stopped. Jo held her breath, a sudden shiver of apprehension making her skin tingle and hair stand up on the back of her neck.
    The bathroom was freezing, she realized, trying to slough off the strange sensation as just that, a matter of temperature. Cold tiles and humming air-conditioning.
    Then she heard another movement, like an impatient shuffle. Carefully, silently, Jo backed away from the door more, until the backs of her legs made contact with the toilet.
    She stared at the door, waiting. Her breath held, her heart racing.
    This was ridiculous. She should just call out and see if anyone was there. Or just exit the stall. She opened her mouth to ask who was there, but no words formed. She willed herself to reach for the latch on the door, but her hands stayed limp at her sides.
    When, after a few seconds, she heard nothing more, she bent just a little, peeking out underneath the door as much as the narrow stall would allow. Underneath, a few feet from the door, she saw small bare toes. Bare feet, just as she thought, facing her stall.
    Real fear filled her, even as she tried to tell herself she was being ludicrous. It was a child. Probably nervous, maybe because she’s being allowed to go to the bathroom by herself for the first time.
    But without shoes?
    Well, that was apparently the case, and surely lurking in her own stall wasn’t putting the child at ease. Still Jo couldn’t seem to bring herself to move.
    Just as she’d managed to raise one of her hands and start reaching out slowly for the latch, the feet turned as if to exit the bathroom. Jo stared at the crack between the door and the stall wall. A flash of dark hair and multicolored clothing crossed past the narrow gap. Rainbow stripes.
    A chill coiled down her spine like a long, creeping snake. She shuddered, watching the space around the door. She listened. No sound. No footfalls. No opening of the door. Nothing.
    She forced herself to release her pent-up breath, blowing out long and slow. Then she flicked the lock