Tamie had changed her outfit four times. How do you dress for a date with the Devil? Jeans, a fancy dress, and a negligee all lay in a pile on her floor. It was a cloth grouping of failed disguises. She tried to remind herself that she’d asked for this. The dealer was an author named Debra Anastasia who was of questionable sanity. Satan Jack had seduced Tamie from afar. From pages. Even though his hand had never run down her cheek, her skin was branded as if it had.
Tamie was almost out of time, if he was on time that was. She slipped her negligee back on and pulled on her jeans. She tucked the flimsy satin into the pants. The resulting outfit was sexy and casual. Her doorbell rang.
Jack was early. If it was Jack. She thought briefly of calling Debra Anastasia and cancelling the whole thing. Her daydream had gone too far, here in her real world, she couldn’t entertain a man she barely knew.
She stumbled down the stairs and decidedly past the telephone. Her curiosity had her by the neck. Or breasts. Or anything. She looked at her front door. Smoke was seeping in the sides like an impatient cloud was waiting on the opposite side. Tamie glanced in the mirror above her fireplace. Her hair was wild from all her quick changes, but she refused to pat it down. It fit her actions, reckless and daring.
She strode confidently to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open.