SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits Read Online Free PDF Page B

attic.”
    “Huh.”
    Reilly wandered to the fireplace where of a faded picture of four women in various stages of undress hung. The women sat at a table in front of a bar—the bar in this very room, from the looks of it—pinned in place like butterflies on a board by the sharp rays of sunlight cutting through cloudy windows. None of them looked old enough to be in the profession their attire suggested. Until you looked at their disillusioned eyes.
    Beyond their circle of light, a scattering of dusty and disreputable men watched, as if picture taking was the most interesting thing to behold. A large black woman stood in the background, balefully eyeing the men watching the women.
    Reilly used his sleeve to rub away a smudge on the glass, his gaze caught by one of the women sitting at the table. There was something hauntingly familiar about her clear, light eyes, but it took a full minute before he realized what it was. She looked like Gracie Beck. She looked a lot like Gracie Beck had the last time he’d seen her.
    She stared back at him, her gaze filled with questions, accusations . . . hurt. He felt trapped by the weight of guilt that look dredged up. Which was stupid. It wasn’t Gracie in the picture and even if it were, Gracie had moved on without a backwards glance. What did he have to feel guilty about?
    “Think we could open some windows?” he asked, turning away. “It’s hot in here.”
    And obviously, miserly Caroline hadn’t ever put in air conditioning.
    The storm had picked up momentum in the short time they’d been there, but it hadn’t brought cooler temperatures. Still, it had to be better than the stale and stifling air inside.
    “They don’t open,” Jonathan said calmly.
    Doubtful, Reilly tried anyway, but none of them budged. Frustrated, he brushed the dust from his hands when a loud whirring came an instant before the feel of air blowing through a vent.
    Air-conditioning. Miracles did happen. He found the thermostat by the swinging door. It seemed anachronistic in its surroundings, but Reilly was relieved it existed at all. He laughed when he saw the control fixed at ninety-five. Leave it to Carolina Beck to install air, but refuse to keep it turned low enough to cool.
    “Do you mind?” he asked, not caring if Jonathan did. He moved the lever to sixty-five, knowing she’d go nuts when she found out, but too hot to care. Sorry, Carolina, but this is hard enough without being steamed alive.
    He turned around just as the front door burst open and Gracie Beck, two dogs the size of ponies, and a third drenched ball of fur blew into the room. Reilly’s heart stuttered to a stop as he stared at the woman he’d never been able to forget, no matter how hard he’d tried. And he had. Every damn day since.
    She’d always been small—even before he’d filled out and shot up to his six-two height, the top of her head had barely reached his chin. She still was, but age had rounded the sharp angles of her shoulders, added fullness to her breasts, smoothed the slope to her waist. She wore khaki capris that followed the curve of her legs and a black T-shirt that had been dampened by the rain. He could just make out the faint outline of a lace bra. It drew his gaze and started a slow burn from a spark that had never really gone out.
    Her soft brown hair was drawn back in a ponytail, but a few wisps escaped to frame her face. Her eyes were still storm-cloud gray, overflowing with the kind of secrets that drove a man insane with wanting to know. But gone was the cocky defiance that had marked Gracie Beck from the cradle. Gone was the devil-may-care smile that had teased him into wet dreams as a teen. In its place was a somberness that had no place on a mouth so soft.
    A feeling welled up inside him, as powerful as the winds buffeting the house, as deep as the pitted crevices in the dried-up springs. A longing to touch her, to cup her face and taste her lips, to press his nose to her temple and breathe her