Demons Prefer Blondes (3 page)

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 through the air. Even Mrs. Carlson seemed to be in lighter spirits.

“Can I help you?” she squeaked out.
Gee, way to go, Lucy.
Squeaking at the sex-god. Not good at all. Please don’t say haircut, her inner naughty girl whispered. His gaze burned, sending waves of heated desire racing through her. A man hadn’t looked at her like that in… forever.

“I thought you could use some help.” He smiled, taking long strides toward Mrs. Carlson and her. “I’m a very good negotiator.” He turned to Mrs. Carlson and gave her a mind-melting smile. Hell, the smile wasn’t even for Lucy and her mind melted. “Lucia gave you some very generous offers. Why not take one of them?”

Mrs. Carlson blushed—something Lucy had never seen her do—
ever
. This man was a god. “I suppose a pedicure would be nice. I haven’t had one in a while.” She giggled like a young schoolgirl and turned to Lucy. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Lucy.”

Lucy?
The old withered witch never called her Lucy. Amazing. She tossed a sidelong glance at Gerardo, who stood with mouth wide open.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Carlson. I got sidetracked and didn’t mean to leave the solution on so long. If you want me to flat iron it, I will. Then you can come back in a few days for a relaxer. No charge.”

Mrs. Carlson nodded and smiled. “Okay, Lucy. Thank you.”

Hot-Bod grinned, took a seat, and waited while Lucy and Gerardo worked on Mrs. Carlson, who chose the deluxe pedicure instead. Lucy wasn’t one to argue. Strangely enough, neither was Gerardo. Luckily for Gerardo, her feet weren’t near as bad as Mrs. Gunderson’s.

When they were finished, Lucy and Gerardo turned Mrs. Carlson around for her approval, which, ever since Mr. Universe appeared, seemed to happen more often than not. “I love it,” she exclaimed with glee. “I’ll send Larissa down to make arrangements for the wedding.”

Wow! She’d almost fried her head and Mrs. Carlson still wanted her to do her prospective daughter-in-law’s hair? Bonus! She should bring him home to mom and let him work his magic. Then she’d know for a fact if he was a god or just lucky.

“Sounds great, Mrs. C. See you on Saturday?”

Smiling, Mrs. Carlson nodded and slipped something into Lucy’s hand. “A little tip for your trouble, dear.”

Lucy glanced down at the money. A hundred-dollar bill? She must’ve been transported to an alternate universe where things were the opposite. Then again, she didn’t feel any different.

“Sorry, Mrs. C. I can’t take this.” Lucy handed the money back to her. “Not until you’re completely satisfied.”

She pouted but took back the money. “Oh, all right, sweetie. I’ll tell Joshua you said hello?”

“Please do.” Lucy smiled back, despite the weirdness. “And Larissa, too?”

“Sure.” Mrs. Carlson raised her hand into a friendly wave. With a spring in her step, she left the salon.

With a wide grin, Hot-Bod rose from his chair and approached the desk. “I hope you don’t mind my interfering?”

Hell no, she didn’t mind him interfering. He could interfere anytime he wanted. “Not at all. Like you said, you’re a very good negotiator.” Lucy smiled and her cheeks warmed. “Although, I admit, ‘very good’ is an understatement, Mr.…”

“Deleon. Rafael Deleon.” The man smiled, deep dimples forming in each of his cheeks. His silver eyes swirled like two giant pools. Beautiful in a completely masculine way. “You can call me Rafe.”

So, Rafe, do you want a job?
She wouldn’t mind having some smooth negotiating for those
hairy
situations. “Thank you, Rafe. I don’t know how to repay you. I haven’t seen Mrs. Carlson that happy in a long time.” More like forever. “Right, Gerardo?”

She turned to Gerardo. If this were a cartoon, he would’ve had those animated hearts in his eyes. He batted his eyelashes and a giddy smile curved his lips. She’d never seen Gerardo this excited over a little eye candy. Maybe she was lucky Frankie had the day off. Then she’d have two enraptured gay men on her hands.

“Gerardo!”

He jumped about a foot in the air. “What?” He glanced around, a sheepish smile on his face. “Oh, my bad. Can I help you?”

Lucy shook her head. “Sorry, Gerardo’s a tad occupied with his new toy. So how can we help you?”

Rafe crossed his gloriously ripped arms. Fabio had nothing on this guy. His muscles bulged in places she didn’t know muscles existed. Yummy with a capital Y. “I came to search for something.”

“Something?” Lucy snickered. “What sort of something? We’ve got a lot of things here. How about a pedicure?” If his feet looked as good as the rest of his body, he didn’t need one. “Or some shampoo and conditioner. You seem like a guy who knows how to take care of his hair.”

“That’s for sure,” Gerardo chimed in. “I’ve never seen hair so shiny. Not a split end in sight. What brand do you use?”

Rafe arched a brow. “Brand?”

“Conditioner.” Gerardo leapt over the desk and reached for a strand of Rafe’s hair.

In a blink of an eye, Rafe spun around, grabbed Gerardo’s arm and pinned him against the desk. Elbow at Ger’s neck, he held firm, his gaze stony. “I did not give you permission to touch me.”

Great! Her fantasy come to life was a homophobe. Not that she had a chance in hell with such a fine specimen of man. Even if his gaze looked like he wanted to eat her up. And he was manhandling her employees anyway. “Let him go! He didn’t mean any harm. He just wanted to check your hair out.”

Loosening his hold on Gerardo’s feathers, Rafe lowered his elbow. Several crumpled feathers floated to the ground. Poor Gerardo. That was his favorite shirt.

He raked his fingers through his hair and backed away. “Next time, ask.”

Rubbing his neck, Gerardo nodded. He slumped against the desk. “
¡Ay
Dios mío!
” he murmured as he crumbled to a little ball on the floor.

“I’m not sure how things are done where you’re from, mister, but here we frown at violence.” Lucy raised her chin. Call it her defiant nature.

Rafe crossed his arm. With stony intensity, he returned her defiant gaze with one of his own. Despite the furor, crackling heat raced through her body. What was happening? “Yet people seem to thrive upon it. Since the dawn of time. TV, cinema, fisticuffs.”

“Fisticuffs? What in the hell is that?”

Rafe growled a sound that, despite its gruffness, caused her gut to flutter. “I suppose it’s called boxing, now.”

“I hate boxing.” Lucy stood proud. “As well as professional wrestling and that ultimate fighting shit. I hate watching people getting the crap kicked out of them.” Then again, the sight of blood—period—made her cringe. She crossed her arms. And this guy had her rambling like a buffoon, too. Now she needed to put her foot down. “So tell me what you want so you can get the hell out of my shop.”

Rafe groaned in obvious frustration. “It’s not here anymore. I would have felt it.” His gaze still burned. “Don’t you know what you are?”

Any attraction she felt for this man faded as anger took over. “Sure I do. I’m the owner of this establishment, and you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“You need protection.” He stalked toward Lucy, his gaze steady, yet still wounded. “But I cannot stay where I am not welcome. If you need me, call my name.”

What a god complex!
“I can take care of myself, Mr. Deleon. I’ve been doing it for almost thirty years.”

“Very well, Miss Gregory. Have a good day.” His silver eyes sparked as he bowed. In one swift turn, he spun around and stalked toward the exit. With a loud whoosh, as if a hurricane force wind swept through the building, the door swung open. Rafe, unaffected by the gust, stepped out onto the sidewalk and proceeded down the street.

As if on similar wavelengths, Lucy and Gerardo sprinted toward the window. They trained their gazes toward the direction in which Rafe had walked off. Not a person stood in sight.

There was something about Lucia Gregory. While the other two people in the shop were easily enthralled, she seemed unaffected. There was only one explanation—she was of demon blood. Strong demon blood, at that. She weaved a spell of seduction with her every move. And the worst part of all was he’d been affected. The moment he saw her, heard her, smelled her, all he wanted to do was take her, in more ways than one. It amazed him he was able to hide the desire that reared itself against those blasted tight pants Nic insisted he wear.

“This isn’t good,” he muttered, pacing his personal chambers. He’d been drawn to her building from the beginning, but then he’d lost contact. What sort of spell had she woven to hide the chest?

She wasn’t all human, that much he knew. From her shaggy, shoulder-length dark blonde hair to her mesmerizing brownish gold eyes, she radiated untapped energy. She said she was nearly thirty years old. Thirty years of latent energy? What would happen if that energy were released on Earth? He needed to speak to the Paladin council, before it was too late.

“Dominic Duvane!” he called to his friend. Stalking to the emerald velvet settee, he flung himself into its plush splendor.

Dominic, wearing a suit of polished black armor, appeared before him. Scowling, he gripped his large broadsword, ready to slice.

Blowing out a deep breath, he ripped the helmet from his head. “You have the worst timing.” He wiped a tinge of blood from his cheek, the wound instantly healing. “I do hope it’s important.”

Rafael nodded. “The chest has moved again.”

“From the antique store?”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms. “To a place women—and some men—go to make themselves presentable.”

Dominic arched a brow. “A beauty salon? Why?”

“If I knew, I doubt I’d be sitting here having this conversation with you.” He paused, the words forming in his mind. “We have a serious problem.”

“Problem? A hair salon, although bizarre, is the perfect place for the chest to hide. Especially in a small town.” Dominic stripped himself of his armor, letting the metal clank to the ground. He took a seat next to Rafael. “What else is there, my friend?”

“There’s to be a total lunar eclipse and tonight is the eve of the Winter Solstice. Connolly Park, Michigan, isn’t as isolated as we thought.”

Dominic drew his mouth into a straight line as he steepled and unsteepled his fingers. “What are the chances of the chest ending up in another demon’s hands?”

“Greater than you realize, Nic.” He had no choice. He needed to return to the salon. He had to get the chest. Most importantly, he needed to protect Lucia. From what he could see, her aura was clean. However, if the Infernati got a hold of her, who knew what would happen.

Dominic brushed a strand of sandy-brown hair from his brow. “What do you mean?”

“The woman at the shop. She has latent powers.” Rafael clenched his fists. “She’s not all human.”

Scratching his goatee, Dominic narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as her immunity to my enrapture. Everyone else in the shop was affected, except her.”

Dominic shook his head. “This isn’t good. Does she know?”

“No.” Rafael blew out a deep breath. This mission became more urgent as the minutes ticked by. “She has no idea, but I had to restrain her friend. Before I could explain myself, she ordered me out.”

“Back up a second. What do you mean restrain her friend?”

Rafael tugged at his hair. “Her friend tried to touch me.”

“Oh, that’s not good.” Dominic leaned back against the settee. “A mortal touching a demon without permission?”

Rafael nodded. If only he could explain. “I didn’t want to risk it. The last time it happened…” Miss Amanda Newell’s face, her long golden hair, and her bright blue eyes flashed before him. He refused to cry. It had been over two hundred years anyway. “I won’t hurt another innocent mortal again.”

“But didn’t you just say Lucia Gregory wasn’t completely mortal?” Dominic crossed his legs and stretched his arms behind his neck. “Impossible.”

Rafael shrugged. “She may be a descendent of Lilu. Her energy is more sexual.”

“Interesting theory.” Dominic took a deep breath. “No one has been able to prove that an incubus has ever procreated with a mortal, even though mortal folklore says otherwise.”

“There’s something about her that doesn’t add up.” Rafael gritted his teeth as he remembered her intense glare, full of untapped energy. That energy threatened to consume him and drive him mad with desire. He couldn’t tell Dominic though. If his friend heard that his powers were diminishing, he’d be removed as a Paladin. And that wasn’t going to happen. He would fight Lucia Gregory’s power. He would not submit. But with that much power, she was a target for the Infernati. They would use her for evil. And from what he saw, she was far from evil.

“I need to protect her.” And by protecting her, he could also retrieve the chest.

Dominic’s gaze grew serious. “I’ve known you for over four hundred years. If you feel strongly about this, then you need to do it. We need the chest, regardless.”

“What should I do with Lucia?”

Dominic’s voice remained firm and full of resolve. “Keep her from opening the chest, of course. Then bring her here. If she’s of demon blood, as you suspect, she should have no problem crossing through.”

“How goes the search for my sister?” Rafael asked, turning to his friend. “I need to know she’s safe.”

Dominic’s gaze grew somber. “We’re still searching for her,” he replied with a determined tilt of his chin. “I won’t stop until I find her.”

“I don’t think I could find a better demon for the job.” Rafael, despite the despair clutching at his soulless heart, managed a wan smile. “Thank you, Nic.”

Dominic nodded. “It’s the least I can do. You and your sister mean everything to me. You’re like a brother to me.”

But Coby was more. Everyone knew, even though Nic adamantly denied it, his affections for Coby were more than brotherly.

“The feeling’s mutual.” Rafael extended his arm, allowing his friend his elbow. Once Dominic grasped it, Rafael returned the favor. “I appreciate the update, my friend, but I must return.” And, despite his earlier objections, he wanted to go back. It had nothing to do with the chest, either. Much to his chagrin.

***

Why in the hell did she agree to dinner with her mother? Then again, it was too late ask that question. Lucy loved her mom, but there was only so much nagging one could take.

“Are you sure this is what you want in life?” Victoria Gregory asked in between sips of white zinfandel. Lucy never cared for wine. She liked her alcohol a bit harder.

Contemplating a clever reply, Lucy took a sip of her own drink, a Captain and Diet Coke, of course. “The shop’s doing well.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. In the six months Luscious Locks had been open, a steady stream of customers had passed through the door. “I couldn’t be happier,” she added with a confident smile.

“Your father wanted you to follow in his footsteps.” Her mother dusted off her fingernails. Fingernails she traveled across town to have manicured. Talk about twisting the knife in someone’s back. “You would have made an excellent surgeon.”

Lucy coughed on her drink. Did the woman not remember what the sight of blood did to her? “Maybe I would have. But would I have been happy? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have a happy hair stylist working on me than an unhappy surgeon.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” her mom asked, oblivious to the banter. She reached across the table and brushed a strand of hair from Lucy’s face. “You look horrible. No amount of makeup will cover those dark circles.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom,” she said in the firmest voice she could muster. “I’m just peachy keen. I just stayed up a wee bit late last night.” More like the entire night, but she wasn’t ready to divulge that information.

“You know, your father didn’t save all his hard-earned money for you to slave over a shampoo bowl.”

Truth be told, her dad would have supported her in whatever career she chose. Unfortunately, he’d passed away before he got the chance to see her succeed. “Dad knew I wanted to be a cosmetologist. He respected me for making my own decision. You’re the only one who wanted me to go to med school.”

Once Victoria Gregory got started, there was no stopping her. “But you could’ve done so much more with your life.”

“For the five-millionth time, I enjoy it.” Lucy annunciated the sentence with slow deliberateness, making sure she caught every last word.

“You know,” she continued, now that she had her mother’s attention. “I’d rather butcher someone’s bangs than butcher their insides. ‘Oh dear, Mr. Johnson,’” she said in a mock-concerned voice. “‘I’m sorry, but I cut a little too deep. Don’t worry. It’s only your liver; it’ll grow back.’”

Then again there were women like her mother, who’d rather get their liver cut out than live with a hack-job haircut.

“Lucia Anne Gregory!” Her mom chided. “That wasn’t funny at all.”

Lucy shrugged, pushing the empty glass to the side. Too bad it was a work night. She wouldn’t have minded slamming a few more of them down. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was making a point. The point went sailing over your head.”

Her mom opened her mouth to speak, but at that precise time the waitress appeared with their order. Thank goodness for talented waiters and waitresses. The young woman pulled out a stand and set the tray down. An array of different concoctions, from entrees to desserts to a rainbow of beverages, blanketed it. It always amazed her how they could balance such a large tray with a single hand. Lucy wouldn’t have survived the first day on the job. She would have been feeding the floor more than the customers.

“Who ordered the tequila-lime roasted chicken?” the young girl asked with a cheery smile, her light blonde ponytail bouncing behind her.

She held the plate out and Lucy’s mouth watered. A huge golden brown chicken breast surrounded by myriad gold, blue, and red tortilla strips. If arranging a plate were an art form, the chef would have given da Vinci a run for his money. If she wasn’t hungry earlier, she was now.

“Me!” Lucy said with eager excitement. She drooled. Steam rose from the succulent chicken as the waitress placed the order in front of Lucy. “Here you are.” Then she placed Mrs. Gregory’s grilled dijon-crusted salmon in front of her. Picking up the empty glass, she asked, “Would you like another?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind just a straight Diet Coke this time. The captain tells me I need to drink responsibly.”

The waitress giggled and nodded. “Sure thing.” After seeing to Mrs. Gregory’s coffee, she scurried off.

This was the time Lucy most enjoyed with Mom. Stuffing food in their mouths, so they didn’t have to talk much, and limiting that bit of conversation to the food on the plates. “How’s the salmon?” Lucy asked as she cut into her succulent chicken.

Pulling a tiny piece of bone from her mouth, her mom shrugged. “Dry and bony. And this rice pilaf needs some more flavor.” Maybe she should be happy she wasn’t the only thing her mom disapproved of.

“That’s too bad,” Lucy said, picking a piece of chicken with her fork. With as much gusto as she could muster, she took a bite.
Mmm
. Her favorite. Tangy bursts of tequila, lime, cilantro, and spices exploded in her mouth. Closing her eyes, Lucy savored each bite.

“If chicken is sex, then this is the best orgasm ever.”
Dang.
Did I just say that out loud?
Hearing her mom’s soft gasp, she held back the urge to chuckle.
Yep, I did.

What was the deal with the sudden hormone rush? First Serah’s
chest
? Now the chicken at McIntosh’s? She wasn’t even a food-and-sex kind of gal. With a sheepish blush, Lucy set down her fork. “Sorry. It’s really good.”

“Hush. We’re in public,” her mom huffed, then plucked a steamed carrot from her plate. “At least the carrots are palatable.”

Bet you wished you ordered the chicken
. Chuckling, Lucy dipped her fork into some pico de gallo.

Mom threw her napkin down on the table. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Let’s just eat.” Sighing, Lucy picked at the festive display of tortilla strips and dipped them into a side of spicy black bean dip. This was the life. With a sigh of deep contentment, she sat back and enjoyed the meal. If this is what dinner did to her, she didn’t want to know what dessert would do.

Heck, she’d have that dessert. Besides, it would be fun to give Meg Ryan in
When Harry Met Sally
a run for her money and freak the crap out of her mom. Lucy turned to scan the restaurant for the waitress when something caught the corner of her eye. What the heck?

Across the restaurant stood a solitary figure draped in a long billowing black robe, with a hood covering most its face. The hairs rose on the back of her neck and her pulse raced. Stomach clenching in knots, she continued to stare. People bustled about, chatting, drinking, and eating while this thing just stood there in the shadows. Didn’t anyone see him? Blinking, she rubbed her eyes and turned to her mom. “Whoa! Look at that.”

Her mom arched a brow and set down her coffee cup. “At what?”

“That!” She pointed and turned back to the shadowy figure. But, lo and behold, it was gone. Mom was right about one thing. She needed rest.

The blonde bouncy waitress appeared with dessert menus. Instantly, Lucy’s salivary glands—along with her stupid hormones—kicked into overdrive.

She would rest after a huge helping of chocolate lava cake.

***

Revitalized by a sudden burst of sugar and espresso, Lucy fumbled with the keys to the shop. Cold gusts of December air flicked her face, sending shivers through her body. Serah would be meeting her later and she needed to catch up on some paperwork anyway. Hopefully, Serah would arrive sooner rather than later, so they could open the box and be done with it. She cracked her knuckles as an odd sense of excitement coursed through her body.

Taking confident strides into the building, she held her head high and allowed the tingles to tease her skin, oblivious to the swirling snow around her. She ran her fingers through her hair and stretched.