Summoning the Night Read Online Free PDF

was gone, but that was looking like a pipe dream at this point. Let’s see: nearly mugged in parking garage, check; minor in bar, check; underage lust kindled by best friend, check; scary child-snatcher rumors, kaboom.
    Good job, Arcadia Bell.

I spent the rest of the day doing my best to keep Jupe’s mind off the Snatcher, which is probably why he was able to sucker me into hauling him to a downtown comic book shop, where he managed to drop his entire weekly allowance in five minutes. We spent the rest of the night at my place watching movies and playing with my pet hedgehog, Mr. Piggy. I finally got the two of them to conk out in my guest room sometime after three in the morning, and gladly succumbed to exhaustion myself shortly after.
    But sleep didn’t last long.
    I sat up in bed a few hours later, groggy and disoriented. Steamy light floated out from the cracked door to the master bath. Someone was in the shower. My momentary panic cleared when I noticed a suitcase on the floor and one of the drawers in my bureau standing open: Lon’s drawer. Our big commitment step. I cleaned it out for him a couple of weeks ago. Though he’d only stayed over once, it still felt satisfying that he kept a few things at my house. In turn, he generously gave me an entire side of his walk-in closet. Walk-in “room” was more like it—the closet was big enough to hold a dressing bench and built-in wooden island in the center with athousand drawers. My closet had louvered doors circa 1975 that were covered in dust and constantly falling off the track.
    I laid my head back down on the pillow and stretched my toes. Even without the suitcase and open-drawer evidence, Lon was the only other person with a key to my place, and the house wards hadn’t alerted me to an intruder. But why in the world was he home so early? I hadn’t expected him back until well after my shift started at the bar later in the afternoon, and the alarm clock read 9 a.m.
    The shower faucet squeaked off. Seconds later, a wonderfully wet and very naked man emerged from a transitory cloud of steam like a scene out of a ’70s porno flick. He was beautifully built, all lean muscle and golden skin—more golden above the waist than below, I noticed. His outdoor shoot in Mexico must have been spent sans shirt. Good thing he was shooting travel ads and not women in bikinis, or I might’ve been jealous.
    My eyes lingered over his taut stomach and followed the enticing dip of muscle curving over his hipbone, then lower. When he stopped toweling his hair, I glanced up, meeting his gaze. My heart hammered and a warm happiness spread through my chest. An easy grin parted his lips, outlined by the thin pirate mustache that trailed down past the corners of his mouth and matched a roguish triangle in the center of his chin. When he smiled, small wrinkles at the outer corners of his eyes deepened. I found this strangely enchanting.
    â€œMorning, witch.”
    â€œHello, devil.” I raised my head and leaned on my elbows. “If this is a dream, it’s a pretty good one,” I rasped, clearing my throat. “What’s going on? Why are you here early?”
    â€œCaught a red-eye,” he said, sounding weary.
    â€œWhat about your shoot?”
    â€œI got all the night shots before I left.”
    â€œWhy?” I repeated.
    He finished drying his shoulder-length light brown hair. “Why what?”
    â€œWhy did you come back early? You look exhausted.”
    â€œI caught a couple hours of sleep on the plane,” he said with a shrug. “I came home because I got a call from Ambrose Dare.”
    That took a couple seconds to register. “Dare? The head of the Hellfire Club?”
    â€œMmm-hmm.” He flung the wet towel on the floor and stepped to the edge of the bed. I reached out to run my hand over the soft hair on his thigh, still damp from the shower. He smelled good. He looked good. I’d