by Marie Harte
“Me too.” Gear grimaced. “Iris did you no favors there. Where is she, anyway?”
They glanced around. Sadie saw Orchid and Otis arm in arm. Orchid looked like a wood sprite, and Otis was a zombie biker. Not too original, but he did appear authentic. Iris stood in the shadow of an incredibly attractive man dressed in a business suit, holding a briefcase.
“Who is that with Iris?” she asked. “Because…just, wow.”
Rose craned her neck around Joe to see and agreed.
Gear tugged her closer to him. “Okay, that’s your one and only wow for the night.”
“Gotcha.” She gave her underworld lord a kiss on the cheek. “You still have one to use.”
“I’m saving it for later,” he said, then whispered in her ear, “for when you show me what you’re wearing underneath that dress.”
She smiled and gave him another kiss. “Oh, you earned that.” She paused and whispered into his ear, “Harrison Moonchild Blackstone.”
He covered his face with his hand, and she laughed so hard she cried. She’d finally weaseled his middle name out of his father, and she was so excited to have that kind of ammunition over him she didn’t know what to do with herself.
“I could kill my dad,” Gear gritted out.
“What? What’s so funny?” Elliot wanted to know.
Gear squeezed her waist so hard she squeaked. “Nothing. Just a private joke between me and Hades.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he growled, then gave a frustrated laugh. “I know I’m going to be paying for this for the rest of my life.”
Sadie grinned. “You got that right.”
Iris and her giant hottie saw them and came over. A decent crowd had filled the party, and Otis and Orchid’s house accommodated everyone with ease. They’d planned their party to the nines, using a caterer Elliot swore was out to get him.
“Hi, guys.” Iris looked amazing in a medieval costume. She wore a brown velvet dress—square at the neckline but hinting at a full bosom—that fell to the brown slippers on her feet. Lined in gold, with formfitting sleeves draped at the wrist, a corset belt, and a matching squared headpiece, Iris’s costume guaranteed she could have passed for a real medieval lady.
Unlike Sadie, who was pretty sure her odd resemblance to Maleficent wouldn’t win her any true-to-life awards.
“Who’s your friend?” Rose asked.
“Smoke, meet—”
Next to her, Gear and Elliot gaped. “Smoke?” they said at the same time.
“So much hotness under that hat,” Elliot whispered. “You look so, so…”
“Civilized,” Iris offered.
“Thanks,” Smoke grumbled, glaring at them. “It was her idea.”
“Well, I didn’t have anything that fit him. He had a suit he hadn’t worn in forever, so I let him borrow the briefcase and glasses.” The black frames had no glass in them and turned him into sexy businessman personified.
“Don’t wear that to Blackstone Bikes,” Gear said. “You’ll scare our customers.”
Smoke chuffed. “Yeah, right.”
Blackstone Bikes was Gear’s new baby. His business would take off, Sadie knew it. He’d shared so much with her last night, from Brian’s surprising confession and invitation to rejoin the crew, to what he wanted to do with his business. She’d agreed on his choice of logo, but had added black to the blue color motif.
He seemed so upbeat and happy that she hadn’t been able to resist smiling or laughing all day. She’d never been so pleased with life, and she worried she might be dreaming it.
She knew they’d have hard times. That sometimes little fights would flare into bigger ones. But the important parts stayed with her. His kindness and thoughtfulness, and their shared sexual chemistry, drew them closer with every intimate encounter.
She’d been so alone for so long. And though he’d had a partner, Gear had admitted he felt the same. But now, with Sadie, he felt complete.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him mouth to her, making a heart in the air with his fingers: “You complete me.”
“Idiot.” She kissed him, leaving black lipstick on his lips. She smeared it on, wanting her mark there for everyone to see.
A glance at the group showed everyone focused on them.
“What?” she snapped. “Can’t I kiss Hades without it being a huge deal?”
“There’s my Xena,” Gear said with a laugh. “Always ready to fight.”
“Did someone say fight?” Thor asked in a booming voice as he joined them, dressed as…Thor. Handsome yet somewhat smaller than the Norse god in stature if not attitude. “Bring it, oh angelic host, underworld king, and Tony Soprano!” He did a double take at Joe and Rose. “And the Raggedy family?”
“That’s so lame,” Smoke said and snickered.
Thor glared at Smoke, but Sadie saw the humor in his eyes. “Lame? Nice suit, Mr. Mundane. Clark Kent wannabe.” Thor held out his mighty Styrofoam hammer at Smoke and swore he’d smite him but good. “A business suit? Really? Ugh.”
Elliot just stared.
“Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies,” Sadie said in a low voice and watched his jaw snap shut.
He glared at her. Then, not to be outdone by Thor, he started in on the Norse pantheon. The guys laughed and teased. Her father pretended to threaten people with mob hits, laughing and enjoying himself. And Otis and Orchid headed over to join the fun.
Sadie stood with her loved ones—and her own private demon she loved to distraction—and knew she’d never forget this Halloween.
The day she’d finally dared the devil to love.
And he’d accepted.
For more Marie Harte check out
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Chapter 1
“Two dozen red roses and I’m sorry I screwed your sister?” Josephine “Joey” Reeves stared at the thirtysomething guy in front of her counter, thinking she must have misheard him.
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound so good.” He sighed, finger-combed back his trendy bangs, and frowned. “I was going to go with ‘Sorry I fucked your sister,’ but that’s a little crude. Probably just ‘I slept with your sister,’ right? That’s better.”
She blinked, wondering at his level of stupidity. “Um, well, how about ending at just ‘I’m sorry’?”
He considered that and nodded. “Hey, yeah. That’ll work. Do I need to sign the card? Maybe you could write that for me. My handwriting sucks.”
So does your ability to be in a committed relationship. Joey shrugged. “It’s your call. But if it were me, I’d prefer a note from the person who’s sorry, not from the woman selling him flowers.”
Her customer brightened and chose a note card from the stack on the counter. “Good call. Hey, add another dozen while you’re at it. She loves roses.”
Joey tallied up the order while he signed the card, then took it from him. The guy really did have crappy handwriting. After he paid and left, she tucked the note into the folder of orders due to go out in another hour. For a Monday afternoon, the day had gone as expected and then some. The store hadn’t been chock-full of customers, but it hadn’t been empty either. Late spring in Seattle had most people out and about working on their gardens, not inside shopping for hothouse blooms.
Still, enough anniversaries, birthdays, and relationship disasters had brought a consistent flow of customers into S&J Floral to make Stef, Joey’s boss, more than happy.
Joey hummed as she organized, thrilled that she’d gotten the hoped-for promotion to manager that morning. She’d worked her butt off for it, and that diligence had paid off. She wanted to sing and dance, proclaim her triumph to the masses.
Except it was just her, Tonya in
the back putting together floral arrangements, and a random half-dozen shoppers perusing the store. It had been Joey’s idea to add some upscale gifts to their merchandise. Buying teddy bears, pretty glass ornaments, and knickknacks went hand in hand with buying flowers. S&J had seen a boost in revenue since last December when they’d implemented the big change.
Thank God it had worked. Joey appreciated Stef taking a risk by believing in her. And now…a promotion to manager and a $50K salary! With this money, she and Brandon could finally move out of her parents’ place and start fresh, away from the history of mistakes her family never let her forget. She couldn’t wait to tell her best friend Becky the good news.
Determined to start over again, Joey dug into her orders and updated delivery times, getting in touch with their new delivery guy, a cute twenty-year-old who’d no doubt soon be rolling in tips.
“Well, hello there.”
She glanced up from the counter and froze.
“You work here?” A large grin creased a face she’d tried hard to forget.
The man who’d been haunting her sleep, who’d dogged her through a wedding and sizzled her already-frazzled nerves, looked even better in the hard light of day.
“H-hello.” She coughed, trying to hide the fact that her voice shook. When she could breathe without hyperventilating, she said, “Sorry. What can I do for you today?”
The look he shot her had her ovaries doing somersaults and her brain shutting clean off.
The first time she’d seen him had been on a visit to her first wedding client ever, and she’d been floored. The guys who worked at Webster’s Garage all looked larger than life, covered in tattoos, muscles, and that indefinable sense of danger they wore like a second skin. But it had been this guy. Webster’s paint specialist. The tall Latin lover with dark-brown eyes and lips made for kissing, who had snared her.
He had a way of raising one brow in question or command that turned her entire body into his personal cheering section.
“…for some flowers. I dunno. Something that looks like I put thought into it?”
Focus, Joey. Be professional. This isn’t personal. Don’t get all gooey on the man. “Ah, budget?”
He sighed. “For Stella, it has to be decent. Girl is like a human calculator when it comes to anything with value. If I skimp, she’ll know,” he said, still grinning. He took the binder she slid to him and leafed through the floral selections. “I’m Lou Cortez, by the way.”
“I remember.” He’d only introduced himself once, months ago in the garage while she’d been going over flower choices with his boss. But Joey had never forgotten those broad shoulders, chiseled chin, or bright white smile. Wow, was he too hot to handle.
She’d kept her distance—or at least tried to. She’d been invited to the wedding, having become friends with the bride. Of course, all the woman’s employees had been invited as well. Joey had done her best to steer clear of the man women seemed to drool over. Talk about trouble she didn’t need.
She realized he’d stopped looking through the binder and was staring straight at her. More like through her. Wow. How did he do that? Bring so much concentration and intensity, she felt as if his gaze reached out and wrapped around her, holding her still?
And why, when confronted with all that masculinity, did she want to stammer and obey any darn thing he said? She had to force herself to be strong, to speak. But she just stared, mute, at so much male prettiness.
His smile deepened. “And your name would be…?” God, a dimple appeared on his left cheek.
A dimple. Kill me now. Breathe, dummy. You can handle this. It’s business. “Oh, right. I’m Joey.”
“You don’t look like a Joey,” he murmured.
Her heart raced, and she forced herself to maintain eye contact. “Short for Josephine. So the flowers. Did you find anything you like?”
A loaded question, because his slow grin widened as he looked her over. Then he turned back to the binder and shook his head. “Nah. I need something original. Do you design bouquets?”
“Yes.” More comfortable on a professional level, she nodded. “We have some amazing florists and—”
“No. You. Do you put flowers together?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want you to do it.” He shrugged. “Del, my boss at Webster’s, you remember her?”
She nodded. How could she forget the woman with such cold gray eyes, tattoo sleeves, and funky ash-blond hair braided in twists? The same woman she’d made friends with not long after meeting. Heck, she’d attended Del’s wedding.
“She said you were amazing. My sister needs something amazing right now.”
The flowers were for his sister. Oh man. He’s sexy as sin, he has a body to die for, and now he’s buying flowers for his sister?
She softened toward him. “Do you know her favorite flower or color? A scent maybe? Did you want sophisticated or simple? How old is she?”
“Ah, something cool. I don’t know. She’s gonna be twenty-three.” He rattled off a few ideas, and she made quick notes.
“I can have this for you by…” She paused to check the computer. “Tomorrow. Would that work?”
“Hell. I really need them today. Her birthday isn’t until Friday, but she got some shitty news, so I wanted to give them to her when I see her later. I’m willing to pay extra, no problem.”
Adding charming and thoughtful to the Lou List, Joey did her best not to moon over the man and kept a straight face. “Well, if you can wait until the end of the day, I’ll try to fit them in. We close at seven. Is that okay?”
His face broke out into a relieved smile. “Gracias, Joey. You’re doing me a huge favor.”
Ignoring his smile, she called on her inner manager. “Well, you’re doing something nice for your sister. And I know all about crappy days.”
“Yeah?” He leaned closer, and she caught a waft of motor oil and crisp cologne, an odd blend of manly and sexy that nearly knocked her on her ass. “Who tried to ruin your day, sweetheart? I can fix that.”
She blew out a shaky breath and gave a nervous laugh. “Ah, I just meant I’ve had those kinds of days before. Not now. It’s just a regular Monday for me.” A great Monday, considering her promotion.
He didn’t blink, and she felt positively hunted.
“Well, if anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know, and I can talk to them for you. Nobody should mess with a woman as pretty and nice as you.” He stroked her cheek with a rough finger before she could unglue herself from the floor and move away.
Then he glanced at the clock behind her, straightened, and said something in Spanish. “Sorry, Joey.” Her name on his lips sounded like a caress. “Gotta go. I’ll be back at seven to pick them up, okay? Thanks. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I mean, I’ll probably have to charge you extra for the sudden notice. It’s a rush order,” she blurted, not wanting him to think she was giving him special favors.
“I’ll pay, no problem.” He slid a card toward her. “My number in case something comes up with the flowers. Or a customer bothers you.” He nodded to it. “You’re a sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”
He left, and she could breathe again. Still processing the overwhelming presence that had been Lou Cortez—mechanic, paint expert, and all-around heartthrob—Joey tried to calm her racing heart.
One of their regulars plunked a few items on the counter, her blue eyes twinkling, her white hair artfully arranged around her face. “Don’t know how you let that one get away. If I was a few years younger, I’d have been all over him.” She waggled her brows. “Then again, he looked like he might be open to an octogenarian with loads of experience. Think he’d mind if you gave me his number?”
They both laughed, even as Joey tucked the card into her pocket and rang up Mrs. Packard’s items. The thing burned in her pocket, a
link to a man she knew better than to step a foot near. She’d throw it away after he picked up his flowers. Joey had made mistakes with a charmer a long time ago, and she had no intention of ever going down that road again.
* * *
“Aw. Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.” Silence, then the groveling of a man who’d done wrong echoed through the garage bay, adding a jolt of much-needed humor to Lou’s late Monday misery. Sam continued to apologize into his cell phone. “Okay, okay. I swear I’ll take you to that stupid party. Ivy…” Sam sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
Lou snorted. Some men didn’t know a thing about women. Like the dickhead who’d just dumped his younger sister. Lou wanted to bend the guy into a pretzel, and he hadn’t liked the SOB to begin with. Good riddance. Then take his buddy Sam, still groveling into the phone. Before the guy had hooked up with his girlfriend, he couldn’t talk to, compliment, or even look at a woman without sounding like a Neanderthal. Thank God Ivy had managed to kick his ass into gear. Now the giant with a jaw like granite was apologizing—with sincerity.
Lou glanced out from under the hood of his current project, wishing they weren’t down two mechanics this afternoon. But with one guy helping his mother with something and the other at the dentist, it was up to Lou and Sam to take care of the afternoon schedule. Three rush jobs didn’t help either, but at least oil changes didn’t take as much time as this shitty Chrysler he’d swear was possessed. And, lucky him, its owner had asked for Lou by name.
Sam finished his phone call and disconnected, tossing his cell on his cluttered workbench. He glanced around, saw that Lou had been listening to every pathetic word he’d uttered, and flushed.
“Yo, jackass. Get the lead out,” Sam barked. “Del said we have to finish the LeBaron and Grand Am by the end of the day if we want to stick Foley on Blue Altima tomorrow.”
Blue Altima—a car he loathed like nobody’s business. The damn thing had been in and out of the shop three times in the past six months, and no one liked working on it or dealing with the pain-in-the-ass owner. An old woman who ate bitch pills for breakfast.