“Morgan,” Brian started, and I could hear him slipping into his persuasive lawyer voice.

“No, Brian. Don’t push this.”

He held up his hands in surrender, and I thought I was home free. He slipped an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward my bedroom. I went with him, but my mind really wasn’t on sex right that moment. Which says something about my state of mind, because I’m always thinking about sex when Brian’s around.

We kissed as soon as we stepped over the threshold. I melted against his body and opened my mouth for him, stroking his tongue with my own, but my heart wasn’t in it. I thought I was faking it pretty well, but when we lay down on the bed together, Brian pulled away a little bit.

He was leaning over me, one leg thrown over mine as his face hovered inches away. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking idly.

“It’s more than just being sleepy,” he murmured. “Come on, Morgan. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I mentally cursed him for being such a sensitive modern male. A drunken Neanderthal would have suited me better at the moment. We could have some spirited sex, I’d fake an orgasm, then he’d go away happy and leave me to my gloomy thoughts.

I speared my hand through his hair and tried to pull his head down to mine for a kiss, but he wasn’t about to let me distract him. He pulled back a little farther.

“Talk to me,” he urged.

“There’s nothing wrong, Brian. I’m just tired is all, so I’m not quite myself.”

His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t quite a glare, but it wasn’t a happy look, either. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

I wriggled out from under his leg and sat up. It was my turn to glare, and I’m better at it than he is. “Because there’s nothing to tell!” I snapped. Okay, so I was lying, but I had no desire to share my worries with him. He just wouldn’t understand.

He sat up, too, and now there was almost a yard separating us on the bed — a nice metaphor for the emotional chasm that was forming.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said. He was trying to keep his voice mild, but anger crept in anyway. Brian isn’t very comfortable with anger, which is why he’s no good at picking fights.

Anger and me are bestest buds, so I’m damn good at it. “You will be if you don’t drop this.”

“Damn it, Morgan!” Oh yeah, I was making him feel much more at home with his anger right now. “I love you.” He made it sound like a curse. “You can talk to me. Share things with me. It’s what people in love do.”

“I’m not the touchy-feely, crying-on-shoulders type of girl. I’ve never pretended to be.”

“It’s not ‘touchy-feely’ to answer me when I ask you what’s wrong! For God’s sake, it’s a simple question. All I’m asking is for you to share just a tiny bit of yourself with me. Is that too much to ask?”

I ran a hand through my hair and tried to tamp down my anger. He was right. But so was I. If I told him about the notes, about what was bothering me, it would lead to a long, heartfelt discussion. And it wouldn’t matter what I said, he wouldn’t understand.

He tries his best, he really does. But he’s never been the kind of control freak I am. He’s never understood why I’m so fanatically anti-demon. And he’d never understand how the thought that I might be possessed — even when I knew it was just a product of my overactive imagination — could turn me into such a quivering bundle of nerves.

“I’m sorry, Brian,” I said. “I know you think I’m being a coldhearted bitch, but I can’t help being who I am. And I’m not the kind of woman to open a vein and bleed all over her boyfriend. If it were something I thought you could help me with, I’d talk about it.” I wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but it might have been. I’d have to wait until I had a problem I thought he could help with to see.

He shook his head and slid off the bed. His anger had faded, and now he just looked hurt. “I’m not asking you to open a vein,” he said softly, not looking at me. “I’d be happy with even the tiniest crumb, but you just won’t give it to me.”

I held my breath, sure this was it, the moment I’d been dreading — the moment he decided I was more trouble than I was worth.

As usual, I’d underestimated him.

“I’m going to go home now, before we have a chance to do permanent damage to each other,” he said. “But I’m not giving up on you, Morgan. I love you, and eventually I’m going to figure out some way to make you trust me enough to talk to me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I stayed sitting on the bed as he walked out of the room. He didn’t even slam the door when he left. I took a couple of deep breaths and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants legs.

Much as the thought of losing him made my heart ache, I knew the best thing I could do for both of us was to break up with him now, before I had a chance to hurt him any more. Because if he was just staying with me because he believed he’d change me, then our relationship was doomed. If I were a good, nice person, I’d save him a lot of heartache and set him free.

I guess I’m not a good, nice person. That sucks.

The weekend passed uneventfully, which was a nice change. Brian called on Saturday, just like he said he would, but it wasn’t a very productive phone call. I suppose the fact that he didn’t break up with me over the phone could be considered a good thing.

I awoke Monday morning feeling much better, having slept well for three nights in a row. Maybe the sleepwalking had run its course.

I decided after all the unpleasantness that I had to make the first move to patch things up with Brian, so first thing Monday morning, I went online and ordered a big, honkin’ vase of white roses. I had them sent to his office. I wasn’t up to a mushy card, so all I said was I’m sorry I was such a bitch.

I spent a lot of time smiling as I rode the good ol’ Paoli Local into Philadelphia. I could just imagine what the rest of the stuffy lawyers in Brian’s firm thought about him receiving flowers from his girlfriend. He wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks. But I knew the ribbing wouldn’t bother him, that he’d probably secretly enjoy it.

I got off the train at Suburban Station and walked to my office near Liberty Place. It was a beautiful March day, sunny and warm and full of promise. I was feeling damn good about myself for once.

My office building houses two mid-sized accounting firms, a private investigator, and me. We make for an interesting assortment. I don’t keep what you would call regular office hours because I travel so much. But whenever I’m in town, I try to spend a little time there, catching up with the paperwork. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork that goes with being an exorcist. I have to document every exorcism and file a report with the US Exorcism Board, our governing body.

I hadn’t even finished booting up my computer when someone knocked on my office door.

“Come in,” I called, not fully paying attention yet. I was trying to will my computer to hurry up and get booted. It was past time I upgrade to a new one, but it was such a hassle I kept procrastinating.

My computer was still chugging away when I finally gave up and turned to the doorway. I froze in surprise when I saw Adam White standing there.

Adam is the head of Special Forces, the branch of the police department that deals with rogue demons. Coincidentally, he’s also a demon himself. There are lots of people — including me — who think this is a case of the fox guarding the henhouse. But in some ways, it’s very practical. Adam can take on another demon in hand-to-hand combat and win. That’s not something you can say about us mere mortals.

When he saw he had my attention, he smiled and took a seat in front of my desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He’s quite a treat to the eyes, and he knows it. About six-two and a little over two hundred pounds, all of it sculpted muscle. Short, dark hair that’s almost black, and bedroom eyes that remind me of hot caramel.