Page 2 of Devil Wears Nada
He laughed, following me. “That’s a quaint human interpretation. Hell is more like… an extremely exclusive corporate high-rise with terrible management and excellent aesthetics.” He leaned against my doorframe, utterly unself-conscious in his nudity. “And I don’t have horns. Unless you’re into that sort of thing, in which case I could try to manifest some once my powers return.”
I tossed him a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Put these on.”
Van caught them, holding the items up with obvious disdain. “What material is this? It feels… common.”
“It’s cotton.”
“Hmm. Not silk? Not cashmere?” He rubbed the fabric between his fingers with growing horror. “Is this… a blend?”
“It’s that or nothing.”
“I choose nothing.” He tossed the clothes aside with a flourish.
Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t—dammit, I looked down.
“Fine,” I said, digging deeper into my closet. I pulled out a blue silk robe I’d bought in a moment of self-indulgent luxury. “This is pure silk. Happy?”
Van’s eyes lit up. He took the robe reverently, sliding it over his perfect shoulders with a sigh of pure pleasure. “Mmm, acceptable. You have good taste for a human.”
“I’m a fashion designer.”
This caught his attention. He looked me up and down with new interest. “Are you? How delicious. Then you must know your way around the finer things.”
“I design bespoke clothing,” I explained, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Custom pieces for clients who can afford them, which lately hasn’t been enough clients.”
“Show me your work.” It wasn’t a request.
I hesitated, then led him to my workroom. It was the largest room in my apartment, converted from what should have been a second bedroom. Dress forms stood like sentinels around a large cutting table. Bolts of fabric lined the walls, and my sketches covered every available surface.
Van moved through the space like he was in a temple, touching fabrics with surprising reverence. “You create beauty,” he murmured, and for the first time since he’d crashed into my life, he seemed sincere.
“I try to,” I said.
He picked up one of my sketches—a suit jacket with an asymmetrical closure I’d been struggling with. “This is wrong,” he said bluntly, reaching for a pencil. Before I could protest, he made three quick adjustments to the line of the collar. “There. Now it honors the wearer’s form.”
I stared at the sketch. He was right. It was better.
“How did you—”
“I’m Vanity,” he said simply. “Beauty is my domain. Creating it, recognizing it, celebrating it.” He turned to face me, the silk robe parting to reveal a strip of that perfect torso. “Speaking of which, you’ve been averting your eyes from me since we met, and yet your pupils are dilated, your breathing is shallow, and—” he inhaled deeply, his eyes half-closing, “—you smell of desire.”
“That’s inappropriate,” I managed.
“Inappropriateness is relative.” He stepped closer. “In my realm, it would be inappropriate NOT to act on such obvious mutual attraction.”
“We don’t know each other.”
“Details.” Another step. “I know you create beauty. I know you rescued me rather than leaving me naked on your human roadway. I know your heart rate increases when I do this…” He reached out and traced one finger along my jawline.
I caught his wrist. “Stop.”
“Why? You want me. I can tell.”
“Because I don’t just jump into bed with anyone who falls out of the sky, demon or not.”
Van tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly puzzling piece of art. “How tediously moral of you. Though I must say, restraint does look good on your face.” He leaned in, his lips almost brushing my ear. “I wonder what surrender would look like there instead.”
The bathroom mirror shattered with a crash.
