“Because you give such fantastic blow jobs,” he called over his shoulder, loud enough for everyone in a ten-yard radius to hear.

My face went red hot, and I kept my eyes locked on the back of his head so I wouldn’t see how many people were giving me speculative looks. Brian loves to embarrass me. He thinks it’s funny that he can make this tough broad with the multiple earrings and the tattoo blush. When I’m in a good mood, I think it’s funny, too. I wasn’t in a good mood.

I’d taken the train in from Bryn Mawr, so my car wasn’t here. Brian would drive me all the way out there, then drive all the way back to his condo in Center City. If I was a good girlfriend, I’d ask him to spend the night, spare him that extra drive. I doubted I would, though: not tonight.

We didn’t say a word to each other when we got in the car. He was still grinning a little, enjoying my lingering embarrassment. I curled my sour mood around me like a security blanket.

After he’d paid the exorbitant parking fee and got onto I-95, he opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off immediately.

“If you’re planning to make another blow job comment, you won’t get another one for at least three years.” I can hold a grudge that long, easy.

He laughed and put his hand on my thigh. I was irritated enough to push him away, but like I said, there is a lot of physical chemistry between us. The touch of his hand on my thigh instantly raised my pulse. And when his hand came right back, I let it stay.

“There are only two ways to coax you out of a bad mood,” he said, watching the road instead of me. “Teasing and sex. You looked like you were in a bad enough mood to need a little of both.”

I wanted to argue with him, but his fingers were moving up my thigh, finding their way to my zipper. When he started sliding the zipper down, I gathered my wits enough to grab his wrist.

“Shouldn’t you be concentrating on driving?” I said, but my voice came out a little breathy. There’s always a lot of traffic on I-95, and technically he really should have had both hands on the wheel.

“I’m concentrating enough. What are you wearing under these jeans?”

My face heated. I really didn’t want to be jollied out of my mood, but it was hard to stay pissy when I was squirming with desire. Still, I tried.

“White cotton granny panties.”

A taxi cut us off, and Brian had stomp the brakes to prevent us from rear-ending the cab.

The near-death experience didn’t faze him. “You don’t own a pair of white cotton granny panties.”

Yes, Brian is that well acquainted with my underwear. “I didn’t pack enough underwear for an extended stay, so I bought some in Topeka.”

“That so?” He gave me a sly look out of the corner of his eye. “Show me.”

I grimaced. “Knock it off, Brian. I’m not in the mood.”

He grinned at me. “I’ve noticed. And I’m doing my best to change that.”

Why is it I never come out on top when arguing with Brian? Maybe because he’s a lawyer? Never stops me from trying, though.

“Is that why you came to pick me up?” I asked. “Because you want to get laid?”

“No,” he said slowly, patiently, “I picked you up because you’ve just been through hell and you don’t need to be alone tonight.”

I crossed my arms and hunched down in the seat. “You don’t get to make that decision.”

“You could have told me to shove off. But you didn’t.”

I groaned and shook my head. The guy was like a little yappy dog that sinks its teeth into your pants leg then refuses to let go. Which is why he wins so many arguments with me-most sensible people would run the other way when I was in this bitchy a mood, but not him.

“So are you going to show me these new white cotton granny panties of yours?” he continued. Yap, yap, yap. Grrr. Grrr.

“Have I mentioned that you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Yup,” he said cheerfully.

And, damn it, I couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, you win. I’m not wearing any panties. There. Happy?” I tried to sound grumpy, but it didn’t work.

“Ecstatic!” He reached for my zipper again. I batted his hand away.

“Please can the foreplay until we get off the Expressway, okay?” Those of us who know and love it refer to the Schuylkill Expressway as the Sure-Kill Expressway, because you take your life in your hands every time you get on it. And I’d rather Brian take my life in both his hands instead of just one.

Hot-blooded though he was, Brian didn’t have a death wish, so he kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel until we’d gotten all the way past the Main Line and were on our way out to the suburbs. Then the banter and suggestive comments started again. And yes, he coaxed me into showing him my invisible panties. We’re lucky he didn’t slam into a tree while he inspected them.

By the time we reached my street, my jeans were distinctly damp, his khaki trousers were about ready to explode, and I was seriously considering jumping his bones in the car.

Until we pulled into my driveway, that is, and I saw a very familiar, very unwelcome car parked there.

I muttered about twenty-three curses under my breath. Brian’s shoulders slumped, and he groaned in frustration. Nothing could kill the mood better than a visit from my big brother, Andrew.

Andrew got out of his car and leaned against the driver-side door, waiting.

Brian shook his head. “I guess this means I’m not getting laid tonight, huh?”

“Apparently not.”

“Bummer.”

He startled a laugh out of me and I turned toward him as I undid my seat belt. I reached out and touched his face.

“Thanks for coming to meet me,” I said. It was a bad precedent to thank him for doing something I’d specifically asked him not to do, but I couldn’t deny I felt better now than when I’d gotten off the plane.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, turning his head to plant a kiss on my palm.

His kiss seemed to burn, and I realized I would need a cold, cold shower tonight before going to bed.

I reluctantly lowered my hand from his face and reached for the door. He touched my arm, and I raised my eyebrow.

“Your zipper,” he reminded me with an evil grin.

I mumbled a curse and zipped up.

“I love you,” Brian said as I slipped out.

“Love you, too,” I replied automatically, then dragged my luggage out of the backseat. “Drive safe.”

“Your place or mine tomorrow night? We have unfinished business.” He leered at me, and I probably leered back.

“Mine,” I told him, and he nodded agreement.

I took a slow, steadying breath as he pulled out of my driveway. Then I turned and headed for my front door without sparing a glance for Andrew.

I felt him following me, but I didn’t turn around until I’d unlocked my front door and turned the lights on.

“Wait here,” I said over my shoulder, then closed the door in his face.

I dropped my bags by the front door, then retrieved my Taser from the coat closet. I don’t carry it very often — by the time I’m called in to deal with an illegal demon, it’s already in custody and contained. But sometimes it’s comforting to own the one weapon that can bring a demon to his knees.

I checked the battery — good to go — and turned off the safety. When I opened the door again, I pointed the Taser smack-dab at Andrew’s chest.

Now, you might think this is a strange way to greet my own brother, but the last time he’d paid a visit, we’d gotten in one hell of a fight, and the bastard had punched me. Knocked me out cold. When I came to, I’d seriously considered filing assault charges against him. In the end, it hadn’t been worth the hassle, and I knew nothing would come of it. Yes, technically assault was a violent crime, and the state could throw the book at him. But though he’d knocked me out, he’d hit me with only human strength. If he’d hit me with his full strength, I’d be dead.

Oh, did I forget to mention my brother is a demon host? Ever since he turned twenty-one, the legal age of consent. I’ve never forgiven him.