Demons Prefer Blondes Read Online Free Page A

the worst hair disaster ever. Even worse than giving the sheriff’s wife pink highlights. And it couldn’t have happened to a worse person.
    Mrs. Carlson spun around and glared at her, her gray eyes blazing. “You did this on purpose! I’m ruined.”
    Lucy sighed as she remembered those people who say, “Cheer up. It’s only hair. It’ll grow back.” Maybe if it was a bad cut or something minor. The fact that it involved Mrs. Carlson meant they were on the verge of World War Three.
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. C. No charge. I’ll fix it, I promise.”
    Gerardo glanced up from his twelve-year-old’s haircut. “Holy shi… shiitake!” The kid’s mother looked up from her magazine in the waiting area and scowled.
    There went his raise. She turned her attention back to Mrs. Carlson. “How about we wash it and go from there. In a few days, if the curl doesn’t loosen, I’ll straighten it.”
    “I have a charity auction tonight, you witch.” She snarled like a pit bull ready to attack a jogger’s leg. Spittle formed at the sides of her mouth.
    Lucy cringed.
    She offered her everything under the sun, from pedicures, to facials, to a body wrap. The woman wouldn’t budge. What a huge stick in the mud. Then again, she refused the mud bath too. Lucy turned to Gerardo who just sat in his chair in bemusement. Fat lot of help he was.
    She tempted pulling her hair as she racked her brain for answers. On purpose? Lucy couldn’t believe it! She who came in every other week for some silly reason? She who harped nonstop about breaking her soon-to-be married son’s heart? Lucy wasn’t even as fine of a catch as the richer-than-sin Larissa Harding. Why did she hold such a grudge? And here Lucy thought Larissa was a blessing in disguise and would get Mrs. Carlson off her ass. But she never counted on the mother of her ex-boyfriend having the memory of an elephant.
    “Help me out here, Mrs. C. What can I do to make it better?” If that wasn’t a loaded question, she didn’t know what was.
    “Make it better?” she shrieked. “You can’t do anything to make it up, Lucia Anne Gregory.”
    Oh no! She used her full name. She was pissed.
    Dump the mayor’s wife’s son, fry her hair? What was next? Spontaneous combustion? With all the chemicals the woman has put on her head over the years, it wouldn’t surprise her. “Umm, Mrs. Carlson—”
    “Mrs. Carlson,” came a deep husky voice that sent shivers down her spine and into her… ahh… special area. British, yet with a hint of something else. “She’s apologized enough.”
    Lucy snapped her head up. No chimes rang, announcing a new arrival. Sure, she and Mrs. Carlson were in a heated discussion, but she still would’ve heard the door open. Turning, Lucy came face-to-face with a god. Well, what she would have assumed was a god, if she were a practicing polytheist. He stood about six foot four with at least two hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle. Her body did a shwing to the left, then to the right. At least that’s what it felt like.
    Wearing a tight black T-shirt and equally tight black leather jeans, he cocked his head to the side. And where was his coat? He must be freezing!
    Was that really his hair, all shiny, dark, and long? Gorgeous. She turned to see Gerardo. His mouth gaped open and his eyes widened in awe. He was just as affected.
    “Frankie’s gonna be pissed he took the day off,” he managed to squeak out before he grabbed his cell phone and started clicking away. What was the deal with Gerardo and his obsession with photos?
    Thank goodness, the mother and her twelve-year-old had since vacated. The heat must’ve risen at least ten degrees since the stranger had arrived. Either that, or it was a hot flash. Then again, she was a little too young for menopause.
    “Who turned up the heat?” Gerardo asked, fanning himself. So she wasn’t the only one?
    Hormones, hot and heavy, hung in the air like a thick morning fog. A mist of sweet spices wafted