Goes down easy: Roped into romance by Alison Kent Read Free Book Online

the night in his sleeping bag on Della Brazille’s kitchen floor. Perry had left him alone to finish the door as he’d requested, never breathing another word.
    She’d stayed in the shop until closing time—he’d heard her chatting with customers and with the woman he supposed was Kachina—returning to the kitchen around seven to make soup and sandwiches for herself and her aunt.
    She’d carried the meal upstairs on a tray, leaving him a sandwich in the refrigerator next to a bowl of soup.
    He hadn’t even known they were there, had only found them when he’d decided to scrounge for a bite, and took the offering as a sign that she’d forgiven him for blowing up at her earlier in the day. He certainly hadn’t meant to, and had only exhaustion and frustration to blame.
    He owed Perry an apology. He’d deliver it tomorrow, having stayed the night because he couldn’t get the door lock to hold. He’d fought the deadbolt until after midnight, but needed tools neither he nor theBrazille women had on hand. Detective Franklin had been right about the state of the door, but the building’s brick walls weren’t so shabby.
    Besides, the new door needed a coat of paint, and he’d have to check with the owners on that tomorrow. If he ever saw either one of them again. If they even let him stick around to finish the job. If they didn’t decide he was only staying to snoop, and kick him to the curb.
    He shouldn’t have gone off on Perry the way he had. Didn’t it just figure that the anger he tried to keep buried would come back to life in a haunted house owned by a psychic? One who used her supposed visions to help the police—and whose niece Jack wouldn’t mind sharing his sleeping bag with.
    He couldn’t help it. Ever since that ridiculous pinky swear, all he could think about was her eyes. Okay. Not so much just her eyes. Her mouth was an equally big part of his lust. He wanted to kiss her, but not half as much as he wanted to feel her mouth on his body.
    She’d noticed his hands-on habit, commented on it more than once. What she didn’t know—couldn’t know—was how much he ached to have a woman’s hands on him. It had been a long time since he’d spent enough time in bed with a woman to give her the chance to touch him. Usually he was in and out and on his way before he had a chance to think.
    He wanted to feel Perry’s hands, her long, strong fingers, her palms, the nails she kept short. But lying here on his back, his head pillowed on his stacked wrists, staring up at the kitchen ceiling with sweat slick on his skin, was not the time or place to beworking himself up. Especially since what he wanted from her went beyond the physical.
    Her loyalty to her aunt said a lot about the woman Perry was. He had yet to learn much more, but he liked that particular detail—even if it was a big part of why, as long as he was here, he knew they’d continue to butt heads.
    So far, Perry had seemed unwilling to consider that he might have a reason to doubt what she held to be the truth. And since he wasn’t exactly in touch with his feminine side and prone to blurt out his feelings, well, they’d have to figure out how best to come to a meeting of the minds.
    Because it had to happen. What he wanted to know was how Della Brazille was connected to Dayton Eckhardt. And he wasn’t leaving until he got the answers he’d come to New Orleans to get.
    He had just closed his eyes and was drifting off when he heard the beaded curtain between the shop and the kitchen jangle as someone walked through. Since no one knew he’d made himself at home in the kitchen, he sat up.
    And as soon as he saw the dark cloud of Perry’s hair turned to a bright blue-black by the light from the sink’s window, he made himself known. “Perry, don’t freak. I’m camped out by the door.”
    The tray of dishes she was carrying didn’t even rattle when she set it on the counter. “I thought you might be. Your SUV’s still