Read The Devil's in the Details for Free Online Page B
Authors: Kimberly Raye
checking every nook and cranny of my apartment, I headed back to the kitchen for a dishrag and some Palmolive.
A few minutes later, I’d washed all the evidence of the threat off the mirror and out of my head.
Kind of.
I still had the cake server in one hand (just in case) when I walked into my bedroom. I pulled off my skirt and blouse and climbed into some comfy sweats. While I had a thing for designer handbags, my weakness didn’t stretch to my wardrobe. I much preferred comfort over couture. My favorite outfit? A pair of pink Costco sweatpants and a Hello Kitty sweatshirt. Pinky swear.
Back in the living room, I collapsed on the sofa and reached for the remote. I was just about to pull up last night’s episode of
My Fair Wedding with David Tutera
when a strange sense of awareness crawled through me and I felt a prickly sensation on my bare foot.
I screamed and jumped, and the spider scuttled under a nearby chair.
My cousin Aylena had a great recipe for a mean tarantula omelet, but big or small, I hated anything with more legs than me.
Which explained why I was still standing on my couch a full fifteen minutes later, cake server in hand, eyes frantically searching for the MIA spider, when I smelled the sharp scent of sulfur.
I knew even before I turned around that there was a demon standing behind me. What I didn’t know was which one had decided to pay me a visit.
With my luck at an all-time low, I had no doubt it was Aunt Bella herself, chain saw in one hand, DVD in the other.
I drew a deep breath, held tight to
Margaret & Jim 4-ever
, and turned to face my nemesis.
5
“It’s a little kinky, but I can work with it.”
The deep voice rumbled through my head and relief washed over me, followed by a wave of irritation. Turning, I found myself face-to-face with the hottest-looking pirate I’d ever seen—and trust me, I’d seen plenty in my line of work.
He had the whole romance-novel-cover-model thing going on, with long dark hair, tight black pants stuffed into knee-high black leather boots, and a flowing white shirt.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Ahoy Matey was the male version of my kind: an incubus, with mucho sex appeal and enough charisma to make any woman rip off her clothes with nothing more than a glance. Like all demons, his name was something ancient and pompous and impossible to pronounce—Argagiorasmosisarath, for the record. But everybody in this realm called him Gio because, let’s face it, long-winded and older-than-dirt didn’t up his score on the lust-o-meter.
I’d known Gio since I was eighteen (that’s year number eighteen out of my whopping one thousand in existence). We’d both been wet-behind-the-ears virgins back then. Surprising as it might be, I wasn’t born knowing every position in the Kama Sutra. I’d had to learn it all like every other sexual demon in the universe. Enter Signorina Camellia and her academy of carnal delights. Gio and I had met on our first day of class. He’d had a fondness for scratching his butt, belching, and talking about his bug collectionevery five seconds until Signorina Camellia had nixed his bad habits
and
taught him a zillion different ways to please the opposite sex. Ditto for me.
After graduation, Gio and I had joined forces (i.e., bodies) a time or two. Or three. Or more. In the spirit of continuing education, of course. We’d been study buddies. The proverbial friends with benefits.
Until my epiphany.
Since then I’d been avoiding him like the plague, which hadn’t been all that difficult because he’d been busy wooing and wowing an Italian socialite whose upcoming wedding was going to unite two nations and end a thousand-year-old feud. No feud, no fighting and killing. Hence my ma and aunties had sent Gio in to seduce the bride and stop the wedding.
I stepped down off the couch and set the cake server on my coffee table. “What are you doing here?”
“Syra’s winging it to New York via private jet to meet her mother for a
A few minutes later, I’d washed all the evidence of the threat off the mirror and out of my head.
Kind of.
I still had the cake server in one hand (just in case) when I walked into my bedroom. I pulled off my skirt and blouse and climbed into some comfy sweats. While I had a thing for designer handbags, my weakness didn’t stretch to my wardrobe. I much preferred comfort over couture. My favorite outfit? A pair of pink Costco sweatpants and a Hello Kitty sweatshirt. Pinky swear.
Back in the living room, I collapsed on the sofa and reached for the remote. I was just about to pull up last night’s episode of
My Fair Wedding with David Tutera
when a strange sense of awareness crawled through me and I felt a prickly sensation on my bare foot.
I screamed and jumped, and the spider scuttled under a nearby chair.
My cousin Aylena had a great recipe for a mean tarantula omelet, but big or small, I hated anything with more legs than me.
Which explained why I was still standing on my couch a full fifteen minutes later, cake server in hand, eyes frantically searching for the MIA spider, when I smelled the sharp scent of sulfur.
I knew even before I turned around that there was a demon standing behind me. What I didn’t know was which one had decided to pay me a visit.
With my luck at an all-time low, I had no doubt it was Aunt Bella herself, chain saw in one hand, DVD in the other.
I drew a deep breath, held tight to
Margaret & Jim 4-ever
, and turned to face my nemesis.
5
“It’s a little kinky, but I can work with it.”
The deep voice rumbled through my head and relief washed over me, followed by a wave of irritation. Turning, I found myself face-to-face with the hottest-looking pirate I’d ever seen—and trust me, I’d seen plenty in my line of work.
He had the whole romance-novel-cover-model thing going on, with long dark hair, tight black pants stuffed into knee-high black leather boots, and a flowing white shirt.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Ahoy Matey was the male version of my kind: an incubus, with mucho sex appeal and enough charisma to make any woman rip off her clothes with nothing more than a glance. Like all demons, his name was something ancient and pompous and impossible to pronounce—Argagiorasmosisarath, for the record. But everybody in this realm called him Gio because, let’s face it, long-winded and older-than-dirt didn’t up his score on the lust-o-meter.
I’d known Gio since I was eighteen (that’s year number eighteen out of my whopping one thousand in existence). We’d both been wet-behind-the-ears virgins back then. Surprising as it might be, I wasn’t born knowing every position in the Kama Sutra. I’d had to learn it all like every other sexual demon in the universe. Enter Signorina Camellia and her academy of carnal delights. Gio and I had met on our first day of class. He’d had a fondness for scratching his butt, belching, and talking about his bug collectionevery five seconds until Signorina Camellia had nixed his bad habits
and
taught him a zillion different ways to please the opposite sex. Ditto for me.
After graduation, Gio and I had joined forces (i.e., bodies) a time or two. Or three. Or more. In the spirit of continuing education, of course. We’d been study buddies. The proverbial friends with benefits.
Until my epiphany.
Since then I’d been avoiding him like the plague, which hadn’t been all that difficult because he’d been busy wooing and wowing an Italian socialite whose upcoming wedding was going to unite two nations and end a thousand-year-old feud. No feud, no fighting and killing. Hence my ma and aunties had sent Gio in to seduce the bride and stop the wedding.
I stepped down off the couch and set the cake server on my coffee table. “What are you doing here?”
“Syra’s winging it to New York via private jet to meet her mother for a