Midnight Hour Read Online Free Page A

against it. To his back she primly said, “I haven’t said you could help.”
    Nick chuckled and kept walking toward the rear of the house. “You haven’t told me to leave either. Besides”—he paused and opened a door, finding the downstairs bathroom mentioned earlier—“if I left now, you’d have Sophie over here in five minutes wanting to know why you ran off such a promising young man.” He flashed her a confident grin. “Careful. I think that one kinda likes me,
chère
.”
    Following him, Mercy grumbled, “She can afford to be generous with her opinion. Sophie has lower standards and sounder plumbing than I do.”
    “Ah, getting warmer,” Nick announced, and stepped into the dining room, glancing first at the elegant cherry table and sideboard. Then he noticed the eight mismatched chairs. As he passed through on his way to what he assumed would be the kitchen, he discovered that not only was every chair of a completely different style, but the needlepoint seats were mismatched as well. “What you runnin’ here, darlin’? A home for orphan chairs? Nice rug, though. Persian?”
    “Chinese silk,” she snapped. “And don’t talk like that about my chairs. I’ll have you know that each and every one of these babies probably has a better pedigree than you.”
    Nick pivoted and bumped the swinging door open with his backside while he made a point. “Well now, maybe they do, but I can keep you warm all night, and that makes me the better bargain, no?”
    Only the fact that he disappeared into the kitchen stopped Mercy from informing him that she had a perfectly adequate electric blanket upstairs. Of course, he would have had something to say about that too. Something devastating like “Ah,
chère
,” which he’d say with a sad shake of his head, as though having to use an electric blanket was a poor substitute for having a man in her bed. A man like Nick Devereaux to be exact. Unfortunately, Mercy was beginning to agree with him.
    “Get a grip,” she whispered to herself. She wasn’t in the market for a man, didn’t need her hormones all screwed up. Besides, her bed was warm enough without Nick Devereaux’s hot body sliding between the sheets. There she went again! What on earth wasit about this take-charge Cajun that had her mind constantly on the bedroom?
    The man was too damn clever for his own good. Too damn sexy for her peace of mind. She stared at the kitchen door and knew that if she had an ounce of common sense, she’d march right back to the phone and try to get a real plumber over here fast. Someone with grungy overalls and a fully loaded tool belt. Someone named Ralph. Someone who didn’t have dark, smoldering eyes and thick black hair begging for her fingers.
    However, pride kept her from making the call. Good ol’ St. Nick wouldn’t have been offended by her lack of confidence in his plumbing skills. Oh no, not him. He’d interpret a call to the real plumber as a cowardly way to get rid of him. And he’d be right, her conscience added. Face it. The man had her pegged. She was beginning to wonder if he didn’t have some voodoo magic charm in his pocket.
    How else could he know that she
never
encouraged relationships? What was the point of encouraging them anyway? Judging from the marriages of her friends and their parents, and her own parents, the vows should be changed from “until death us do part” to “until we get a better offer.” Nope, relationships that began brilliantly and ended bitterly were not her style. She liked her heart in one piece, thank you very much.
    The men who’d come her way over the last few years had been either intimidated by Midnight Mercy, satisfied just to be seen in public with her, or civilized enough to take a simple hint that she wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, she doubted much of anythingintimidated Nick or that he’d be satisfied by anything that could be done in public. Heck, she wasn’t completely sure he was civilized. Which