Free Demon's Plaything by Lydia Rowan Page A

do too. Meet you there?” she said.
    “Yep.”
    ••••
    Fifteen minutes later, they settled into the booth in the back of the Diner, this time, the tension arcing between them, but a deeper, more profound sort than the casual feeling out, flirting, and ultimately anger that had marked their previous meeting here.
    “Fries and a strawberry shake, right, Doc?”
    She nodded, and Demon conveyed the order to the waitress, who nodded and walked away. He looked at Shayla, illuminated under the harsh lights of the restaurant. Her skin was dull and ashen, bags were stark and prominent under her eyes, and her posture, usually so sharp and neat, was slumped, her shoulders looking weighted. This was taking a toll, ebbing at the fire and energy that, even after their short acquaintance, he knew was a part of her.
    Even still, he found her beautiful, more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. He was in dangerous territory, but he couldn’t step back, couldn’t let go.
    “Shayla,” he said, his voice a whisper.
    Her gaze flitted to his, and he put his hand on the table, silently begging her to reach out. The internal struggle was clear; she was debating what to do, whether to reach out, but in an instant, her eyes cleared and she laid her hand atop his, breathing out a sigh as she did. As he wrapped his fingers around hers, which were strong, capable, but still slender, fragile-feeling in his, a deep and heretofore-unknown satisfaction spread through him. For Shayla, competent caretaker that she was, this was a huge step, he knew, to reach out to someone, take comfort and support, no matter how subtle or ultimately small it was.
    Gazes locked, they sat in silence, fingers intertwined as the seconds passed. A small voice in the back of his mind urged him to pull away, to step back before he added to the hurt that she was facing. But the more selfish, and much larger, part of him, dismissed the thought.
    “You can’t keep doing this, Shayla,” he said, breaking the silence.
    She gave a noncommittal shrug, but the fact that she refrained from outright denial was significant.
    “Why did Ian even get you into this? Drugs? Gambling?”
    She sighed again, seemingly with her whole body.
    “Maybe. Or maybe it’s something else altogether, something simple, something complex. Who knows?” she said quietly, looking away from him, her voice distant and defeated-sounding.
    Anger flared in his chest. Ian was an asshole, worse than that, he knew, but until this very moment, he hadn’t wanted to do the man harm. Seeing the anguish on Shayla’s face changed that, and he found himself squeezing the hand that wasn’t holding hers into a tight fist.
    “Fries and strawberry shake.”
    The waitress’s voice broke the spell, his anger, and her pain, and Demon was grateful for the distraction. He’d never met a woman who pulled him in so completely, and he needed to be careful.
    “Thanks.”
    He flashed the waitress a smile, which she warmly returned. That got a smile from Shayla and a little of that fire reanimated in her eyes.
    “So charming,” she said as she pulled her hand away and grabbed a fry.
    The feeling of loss was immediate, but he kept the smile on his face.
    “A smile never hurt anyone, Doc.”
    “True, though I wonder if you’re a little embarrassed to flirt with a woman old enough to be your grandmother.”
    He smiled even brighter at the hint, small though it was, that she held some affection for him.
    “Why, Dr. Rodgers, is that jealousy I hear?”
    “In your dreams,” she said sarcastically, though he heard a note of sheepishness in her tone.
    He also grabbed a fry, taking the moment to pretend that they were just two normal people getting to know each other. But they weren’t, and this moment couldn’t last, so he dived back in.
    “So you were saying. About Ian…”
    Her smile slipped and then faded altogether; his disdain for Ian flared again.
    “Ian. Ian,” she said, the love she held for