Charley Davidson isn’t your everyday, run-of-the-mill grim reaper. She’s more of a paranormal private eye/grim reaper extraordinaire.
However, she gets sidetracked when the sexy, sultry son of Satan, Reyes Farrow, moves in next door. To further complicate matters, Reyes is her main suspect in an arson case. Charley has vowed to stay away from him until she can find out the truth…but then dead women start appearing in her apartment, one after another, each lost, confused, and terrified beyond reason.
When it becomes apparent that her own sister, Gemma is the serial killer’s next target, Charley has no choice but to ask for Reyes’s help. Arsonist or not, he’s the one man alive who could protect Gemma no matter who or what came at her.
But he wants something in return. Charley. All of her, body and soul. And to keep her sister safe, it is a price she is willing to pay.
“My goal in life is to have a psychiatric disorder named after me.”
“How would you like your eggs?”
I tried. I really did. But I glanced at his crotch and it came out anyway. “Fertilized?”
“Have they even seen the Winchester boys? Sammy and Dean’s existence proves there is a god and she is a woman.”
“What do you want?”
“You,” he said, his voice lowering an octave. “I want you, Dutch, body and soul. I want you in my bed every night. I want you there when I wake up in the morning. I want your clothes strung across my apartment and your scent on my skin.”
“Whoever is in charge of making sure I don’t do stupid shit is fired.”
“Is that what you think? That I follow you around to keep your ass out of trouble?”
“If so, you’re not very good at your job.”
A huge smile spread across his face. “True enough. So what’s eating you? Because, sadly, it’s not me.”
“I may not have any skeletons in my closet, but I do have a little box of souls in my sock drawer.”
“Freaking men. It didn’t matter what the problem was, they saw only three solutions to it: food, sex, war.”
“I could hardly be responsible for my actions when everyone around me gave me every opportunity to sink to their low expectations.”
“We could make this work, you know.”
“I will knee you in the groin.”
“I could give you a night you will never forget.”
“Because you will be writhing in agony all night and I will laugh unmercifully. It will be unforgettable.”
“What’s your specialty?”
“Oh, you know. Madness. Mayhem. Debauchery. And even with all that going for me, I can still make a mean mojito.”
“It’s all fun and games until someone loses a testicle.”
Reyes leaned back against the bar, crossed his arms over his chest, and studied me from beneath those same ridiculously long lashes. Men and their freaking lashes. It was so unfair. Like the exorbitant cost of designer shoes. Or world hunger.