Sculpting a Demon

Sculpting a Demon

Lisa Fox

Lila Callahan lives a subdued life, devoting all her time and energy to her sculpting. When her best friend coerces her into performing a love spell, the last thing she expects is to wake up the next day with an outrageously sexy demon in her bed.

Arien is a fallen angel with a penchant for mischievousness and a talent for all the most decadent delights. He promptly turns Lila’s quiet, controlled world upside down and sparks fly between them, both inside her bedroom and out.

Arien shows her sides of herself she never knew existed, and Lila finds the love and passion she has always secretly longed for. But when Arien learns the true nature of her spell, he knows there is trouble ahead. The denizens of hell are only supposed to answer calls for greedy, lustful, malicious desires—and her little love spell was none of those things. There’s a way for Lila to have him for her own, but only if she’s willing to take a risk.

Chapter One

“Nice,” Lila said aloud in her silent loft as she examined the phoenix sculpture she had been carving all afternoon. She shifted her weight, trying to get the feeling back in her lower regions and winced as the pins and needles prickled her legs.

She rotated the stand, carefully checking the phoenix from every angle, and zeroed in on a tiny flaw in the carving. Well, almost nice. Bending back over the sculpture, she carefully enhanced the wing detail, happily losing herself once again in the creative bliss bubble that always enveloped her whenever the work was going exceptionally well.

When the doorbell rang, Lila almost shattered the delicate wing she jumped so hard. She shot a frown toward the door, wondering who it could be. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

The bell rang again, an obnoxious, persistent series of buzzes. Groaning aloud, she stood up and brushed the shavings from her jeans. Obviously whoever was out there was not going to go away, however much she wished they would. She gave the sculpture one last longing look, and then answered the door.

“Surprise!” a high-pitched female voice screamed as a body barreled into hers. “Lila!” the woman screeched, and Lila smiled while she tried to untangle herself from her visitor, her very best friend from New York, Angelique Durand.

“What are you doing in Pittsburgh?” Lila asked. While it was wonderfully surprising to see Angie, it really wasn’t all that shocking. Angie always had a habit of popping up in the most unusual places. Lila held her at arm’s length so she could get a good look at her. “You look fantastic,” she added, more than a little jealous of the slinky black Versace dress her friend wore.

“Torque is here this weekend and I got the short straw,” Angie said, breezing by Lila into the loft.

“What’s a Torque?” Lila asked, closing the door.

“Torque is not an ‘a’. Torque is a he,” Angie said, heading for the kitchen space. She placed the bag she had been carrying on the counter and rummaged inside. “And he’s the very most hottest, hippest designer in the entire northern hemisphere.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lila. “For the moment.”

Lila balked. “If he’s so hot, what’s he doing here?”

“He’s
from
here,” Angie said, pulling a bottle of very nice red wine out of the bag. She held it up for Lila to see. “Wants to make his first major debut at
home,
as it were. Put Pittsburgh on the map or some such nonsense.”

“And you’re, what? Going to interview him?” Angie wrote for one of New York’s top glossy magazines. The kind of magazine that didn’t deign to give precious ad space to just anyone. If they sent her here after him, he really must be the current god of the fashion scene.

“No, I’m here for the full-on schmooze,” Angie said, struggling with the corkscrew. “Cocktails, dinner, nights on the town, you know how it goes. And I get the absolute pleasure of listening to him go on for hours and hours on what I’m sure is his very favorite subject, his very own fabulous self.” The cork came free with a loud, pleasant pop. “Where do you keep your glasses?”

“You sound excited,” Lila said, and retrieved two glasses from the cabinet over the sink.

“Oh yes,” Angie replied, matching Lila’s sarcastic tone. “Should be a blast.” She handed Lila a glass. “Let’s have a toast.”

“To what?” Lila asked, raising her glass.

“To fashion! Beauty! Art!” Angie said, touching her glass to Lila’s. “And most importantly, to
amour
!”

“Right.” Lila laughed, and then took a sip of wine. “So, how are things in The City?” she asked. “I miss it.”

“I still don’t see why you ever left,” Angie muttered.

Lila shook her head. They had been through this too many times to count. For Angie, New York was the only place worth living. “Because I, unlike you, do not have a trust fund. At least here I can actually afford rent
and
food.”

“Overrated,” Angie said, her high heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she strolled through Lila’s loft. “Who needs to eat when there’s so much to do?”

“I’d rather eat,” Lila said. “Besides, I’ve done more shows in the year I’ve been here than I did in all the years I lived in New York.”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Angie said, the wine swishing dangerously in her glass as she moved. “Big fish, small pond and all that.”

“Something like that,” Lila said under her breath. Mostly it was that Pittsburgh offered her opportunities New York never would, not unless she somehow became an heiress or transformed into Rodin. Though she doubted even Rodin would catch a break in the New York art scene without the right connections or finances.

“Oooo,” Angie said, stopping in front of the six-foot-plus sculpture in Lila’s workspace. “What’s this?”

“It’s not finished,” Lila said, refilling her glass of wine.

“Well, obviously,” Angie said. “He’s got no face.” Her eyes trailed down the stone statue. “And not even a proper package, poor boy. But I do like it. It has definite promise,” she said, her fingertips tracing the abs Lila had painstakingly chiseled into the block of alabaster.

“I guess,” Lila said, coming to stand beside Angie. “I started out trying to do a modern take on the
David
, but it’s not really working. There’s something…” She frowned, frustrated with her inability to put what was wrong into words. “Missing,” she finished with a shrug.

“What you need is inspiration, girlfriend,” Angie declared. “How long has it been since you’ve even seen a real, live, naked man, hmmm?” When Lila didn’t answer, Angie nodded her head. “Just as I thought. For your own good and continued sanity we clearly have to go out and find you some
stimulation
.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Get those creative juices flowing.”

“No way,” Lila said. When Angie got that gleam in her eyes, it meant something outrageous and probably illegal in most states was brewing in her devious little mind. “I refuse to let you loose on the unsuspecting people of Pittsburgh.”

“You’re no fun,” Angie pouted. “Don’t worry,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ve seen that look on your face too many times not to know that no matter what I say you’re not going to budge. Not even for a hot night of gloriously anonymous, earth-shattering sex.” She began to pace the loft, tapping her finger against her lips. “Well, if we can’t go out…” She let her voice trail off and then a bright smile bloomed on her face. “Then we’ll make him come to us!”

“What?” Lila asked, blinking hard at Angie’s sudden burst of enthusiasm. This couldn’t be good. “Who—?”

“Candles,” Angie said, cutting her off. “I need some candles and a pink scarf or cloth or something and some red chalk.”

“What are you talking about, Angie?”

“We,” Angie said, spinning on her Manolo Blahnik heel to face Lila, “are going to perform the most stupendously powerful love spell ever. We’re going to conjure you a man!”

“We’re going to
what
?” Lila gaped. “Are you kidding?”

“No joke,” Angie said. “I did a four-page spread on love spells last month. Four pages, Lila. This wasn’t some front-of-the-book filler fluff. I interviewed oodles of witches, warlocks, shamans and
santeros
. For the most part it was all utter drivel, but
this
spell,” she said, ransacking Lila’s kitchen drawers and cabinets. “This is The One. They all said so.”

“You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you?”

“Positively mad,” Angie replied absently. She put the matches and candles she’d found on the coffee table and began searching Lila’s closet.

“I don’t need a man,” Lila said, folding her arms under her breasts.

“Of course you don’t need a man,” Angie said, her head buried in the closet. “Who does? But they do have their uses.”

“I don’t have time for all that,” Lila protested. “I have work to do.”

Angie sighed, sat back on her heels and looked over her shoulder at Lila. “Yes, I know. Work, work, work. Always sculpting. Always alone. Very admirable. Very, very boring. Would you please get over yourself for five minutes and have some
fun
?” She turned her attention back to the closet, rifled around some more and then pulled out a long white scarf with pink zigzag designs. “Close enough,” she said. “Now where do you keep the red chalk?”

“What makes you think I keep red chalk anywhere?”

“Work with me, Lila,” Angie said. “It doesn’t have to be chalk, just…chalklike.”

“Chalklike?” Much to her chagrin, Lila found herself contemplating what she had that would qualify as chalklike. Getting caught up in the craziness. But Angie was a walking whirlwind, a living, breathing force of nature unto herself, and it was impossible for Lila not to get caught up in Hurricane Angie. And really, why not play along? What harm could it do? Lila looked around the loft, her eyes came to rest on the statue. “Chalklike,” she murmured, approaching it. She lightly caressed the biceps. Taking sandpaper from her workstation, she scraped alabaster dust into her wineglass.

“That’s why you’re a true artist,” Angie said, grinning wildly. “You know how to think outside the box.”

Lila snorted. “Yeah,” she said, and held up the glass. “Is this red and chalklike enough for you?”

“Perfect,” Angie said, arranging the scarf on the coffee table. “Now use it to draw a heart on this.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously, stirring the mixture with her finger. She painted a large heart in the middle of the scarf with her fingertips.

Angie placed the candles inside the heart, sat down on the floor in front of the table and gestured for Lila to do the same. “Now,” she said, and picked up the candle on the right. “This candle represents you.” She handed it to Lila. “Hold it up and speak all the qualities and fabulousness that you are going to offer the man of your dreams. While you are doing it, I want you to concentrate. Pour your energy into it. You have to
feel
it, Lila.”

“This is ridiculous,” Lila grumbled, holding up the candle.

“Stop being such a fuddy-duddy.”

“A what?” Lila said, offended to her core. “What did you call me?”

“You heard me,” Angie answered. “Do it.”

“Fine,” she said, and gave Angie a quick, disgusted side-glance. She squared her shoulders and focused on the candle. She exhaled one long breath and… Nothing. Nothing at all. Her mind was a total blank. What did she have to offer a man? She wasn’t beautiful like Angie. Or rich. Or witty. Or even all that smart. Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what to say.” She let out a small grunt. “I put out.”

“Lila!” Angie snapped. “Come on, be serious.”

“I am serious.”

Angie shook her head sadly. “You really do need one of those life coaches. Get you some self-esteem,” she said under her breath. “All right, then you’re just going to have to repeat after me.” She took a deep breath. “I am sexy and smart and talented, and I appreciate art and books and intellectual conversation.” When Lila didn’t respond, Angie elbowed her in the side.

“Ouch!” Angie’s elbow was sharp. “I am sexy and smart and talented, and I appreciate art and books and intellectual conversation,” she mumbled.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Lila sighed. “I am sexy and smart and talented, and I appreciate art and books and intellectual conversation.”

“Better,” Angie said. “I offer my perfect mate passion and creativity, loyalty and laughter. I offer him my love.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Do you have to be so dramatic?”

Angie favored Lila with a flat stare.

“Right. Fine. I offer my perfect mate passion and creativity, loyalty and laughter. I offer him my love.”

“Very good,” Angie said. “Now put that one down and pick up the other. This one represents the man of your dreams. Hold it up and speak all the qualities you are looking for in a perfect mate.”

“This one is easy.” She wrapped her hands around the candle, held it up and closed her eyes. “He should be fun, adventurous, spontaneous. A risk taker but not reckless. Smart. Educated. Strong, confident, even a touch arrogant. Not a bad boy exactly, more like…wicked. Wicked sense of humor, wicked thoughts, wicked in bed.” She grinned. “And he has to have a great big cock.” She opened her eyes, hearing her friend’s laughter. “You laugh, but that’s important.”

“Don’t I know it,” Angie agreed. “Nice choice, by the way. Though I think I would have gone with something more like, ‘Please send me a smoking-hot stud, preferably one who looks exactly like Hugh Jackman, who lives to make my every dirty fantasy come true.’”

“Oh, that’s good,” Lila said, staring at the candle in her hand. “Can I do it over?”

“Too late. You had your chance,” Angie said breezily. “It’s time to begin the spell. Put the candles back in the heart, light them and then repeat after me. When you’re saying the spell, you have to move the candles slowly together until they finally touch. And, Lila,” Angie gave her friend a warning look. “You have to mean it. It won’t work otherwise.”

“I get it already,” she said, and lit the candles. “Let’s do it.”

You have to feel it
, Angie had said, but Lila wasn’t sure what she should be feeling. Something about the way Angie had said it though reminded her of a yoga class she had taken back New York. The instructor was always going on about “awakening the energy” in their bodies. Supposedly, this channeling and directing of the body’s chi would allow them to reach some kind of transcendental plane or something. All Lila had ever felt was sore.