Wynona lifted her face and sniffed.

A vulnerable soul. Its fragrance was a mixture that combined fragile life, everlasting death, sweet innocence and decadent sin—each an aphrodisiac to a reaper.

She gripped her desk to stay put rather than snatching the lovely spirit. She’d been a bad girl in the past, stealing souls without authorization, and was paying big time for that now. The powers that be had banished her to this godforsaken place—From Crud to Stud, a New Orleans makeover service for supernatural beings.

Weres howled, vamps hissed, zombies moaned.

The scent beckoned once more, tempting her beyond restraint. She gritted her teeth and tried to focus on her stupid paperwork. Her concentration and resolve wavered. Maybe if she simply looked at the potential victim but didn’t touch, everything would be all right.

She stalked down the hall.

A female staff member ground to a quick halt, pivoted and hurried into a treatment room. Other doors closed before Wynona could pass, telling her what she’d already known. No one liked reapers, not even otherworldly beings who didn’t have souls to lose. Given that she couldn’t hurt them as she would a mortal, they could have at least tried to be cordial and said “Hi” or shot the breeze. Made her feel like a team member rather than a pariah.

Another door closed. More than a few staffers inside threw the locks.

Ignoring their snubs, she focused on Heather, the receptionist. Her blindingly white dress matched her pale hair and skin. As a good fairy, she healed those in pain and radiated kindness needed by the lonely. Her soul was pure as a baby’s first breath and off-limits.

Rather than look at her computer, Heather smiled sweetly at someone Wynona couldn’t see.

She drew closer. At her approach, the lights flickered from the vibes she gave off. She likened it to an early warning system that let mortals and supernaturals know she was in the area and they had better watch out. As if she didn’t already have enough problems snatching souls. This she didn’t need.

Heather lifted her face to the pulsing lights then looked at the hall.

Wynona arched one eyebrow in greeting.

Rather than offer a nod, grin or a “Hey, how you doing?” in return, Heather’s lovely face grew even ashier. She fumbled in her desk drawer, yanked out a crucifix and held it up like actors did in those old Dracula movies. Her hands shook. “I’m sorry. This is rude, I know, but— I’m sorry.”

Wynona wasn’t certain whether to laugh at Heather’s apologetic nature, groan at being treated so lousily or surrender to the status quo and skulk back to her office to hide out until someone needed her. The soul fragrance swirled near, pulling her closer. “No offense taken.”

“Please stay where you are.”

She couldn’t and picked up speed.

Constance rounded the corner.

Wynona reared back.

So did Constance. Her silky gown swished around her ample curves, the hot-pink color complementing her ebony complexion. She took in Wynona then Heather.

“Put that down.” Constance jabbed her thumb at the cross. “That’s for vamps, not reapers, unless you want to whack her on the head to get her to back off.”

Wynona lifted her chin. “From doing what? I was merely walking down the hall.”

“Uh-huh.” Constance gave her a knowing look. “Say the word and I can make you forget everything you were about to do.”

Big talk. However, Constance was a damn good voodoo priestess with a talent for removing memories. Once her bejeweled fingers touched anyone’s skull, poof, the past was history. “How about you touch me and I touch you in return?”

“Wynona.” Heather’s cheeks pinked up. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

Strange advice from a good fairy who has a thing going with a lusty former satyr and counts a nympho genie as her BFF. “I wasn’t taking about sex, hon.”

Heather went into a full-body blush.

Constance huffed. “No reaping here, got it? Especially staff members’ souls.”

“Yes, ma’am. But how about ones from clients who are still alive?” She itched to get past her to the source emitting the delicious fragrance. From where she stood, she still couldn’t see everything in the reception area.

Feathery ferns and potted plants overran the cozy space, making it a veritable forest. Faux gas fixtures graced the coral walls. Coming in here was like stepping back in time, the dated, romantic feel a cover for what really went on. Moonlight therapy for weres. Treatments to tame bloodsucking vamps. Speech and personality programs for zombies. Potions for every purpose so supernatural beings could move among the unsuspecting and get it on with mortal babes.

Constance squared her shoulders. “We don’t bite the hands that feed us. Behave yourself and get back to work.”

“Wait.” Heather stood. “There’s someone here to see you, Wynona.”

Hmm. No one ever willingly approached her except another reaper who had nothing to lose. Just once, she’d like to browbeat a shifter into a treatment room and take out her frustration on him rather than her own kind. “Who wants to see me? Or rather, what?”

Heather bit her lower lip.

A sure sign another reaper awaited. Possibly one she’d dated only to have him dump her so he could tame his beast here and give a mortal woman his best. Just what she didn’t need, another louse. She drooped.

Unfortunately, her disappointment didn’t change things. She’d been put here as an enforcer to get the clients where they should be and strap them in or subdue them so other staff members could work their magic. If a vamp, zombie or reaper got out of line or too frisky during treatment, it was her sworn duty to make them behave. If she didn’t, there would be hell to pay. Literally. She passed Constance but didn’t get far. Her legs refused to work.

The guy on the sofa pushed to his feet.

His scent washed over her, snatching her breath. If goodness and starshine had an odor, that would be his, the fragrance of an unsullied soul. Definitely not a reaper. Not a mortal, either.

That reality should have had her bolting down the hall before she did something bad.

His outstanding looks kept her rooted to the spot. He was a large man, six-three or more, with shoulders that went from here to tomorrow. His broad chest, flat belly and powerful thighs were the stuff of Greek myths wrapped in fashionable duds straight from GQ—charcoal-colored pants and a midnight-blue shirt. Both garments draped his form beautifully, including the impressive bulge behind his fly.

Apollo had nothing on this dude.

As far as she could tell, he was hung better than most gods and mortals. In human years, he was likely early to mid-thirties. He’d tied back his long raven hair, though a few silky strands had escaped to graze his forehead and firm jaw.

Her knees went watery.

Dark stubble dusted his cheeks, chin and upper lip. His complexion was a healthy bronze, eyes lushly lashed, their color a deeper blue than sapphires, his gaze deliciously intense.

Give him cuffs and a whip along with free rein and he’d rock a BDSM chamber any day.

Her insides went gooey.

Of course, the goodness rolling off him was a problem. He couldn’t be here for a makeover. There was nowhere to go from perfect, unless…

He might want to release his beast, the same as Eric had done a few years back. As a direct descendant of Cupid, Eric had wanted to ditch his courtly demeanor and become a bad boy to snag the babes. After he’d met Becca, the half-witch who owned this joint, he’d changed his mind about other women and hooked up with her for life.

A sweet dream Wynona coveted but didn’t expect for herself. However, if this guy wanted someone to corrupt him and had heard about her hardcore ways, how could she say no?

She sashayed across the room and stopped close enough for them to kiss. He didn’t back up or take off. She liked that. Gave her a chance to indulge.

His full mouth had probably fueled countless female wet dreams, the cleft in his chin was beyond lickable and the interest in his gaze was the best of all. He searched her eyes the way a mortal did when wanting to touch another person’s soul.

If she’d had one, she wouldn’t have let him look inside. Being defenseless led to more sorrow and hurt. No, thank you. She’d had an eternity dealing with that crap. “Hey there, I’m Wynona.”

She would have offered to shake his hand, but one touch from a reaper and anyone alive was toast, except for select supernatural beings. As a rule, those whose powers were equal to or greater than hers. She wanted to ask him what he was but waited, hoping skin-to-skin contact wouldn’t be verboten for them.

“Wynona.” He inclined his head. A lock fell past his ear and skimmed his cheek.

Her mouth watered.

“I’m Rafael.”

Indeed, he was. A killer name for a sexy man. “And what brings you here tonight, Rafael?”

“You.”

He couldn’t have given a better answer. Her spirits soared. “So, you’ve heard of me, huh?”

“Repeatedly and at length.” His cheeks darkened.

She flushed with excitement too. “What kind of makeover did you want?”

“I don’t. That is, none.” He glanced past her to Heather and Constance.

Heather pretended to work rather than eavesdrop. Constance didn’t budge, all eyes and ears. Stefin, a demon enforcer, had joined her.

He and the other male enforcement team had given Wynona a fucking hard time from the second she’d started at this place. She glared at him.

He glowered right back, the flames in his eyes blazing.

She spoke to Rafael. “None? You mean, as in, no taming your beast? So, you’re here to free your wayward urges, right?”

His forehead turned red but desire flashed in his eyes. “No. I need to rein yours in.”

Her hope spiked a thousand percent. “You’re into BDSM too?” She smiled slyly. “You like being a Master?”

Heather made a strangled noise.

Constance offered a throaty moan that sounded beyond turned on.

Rafael had stopped breathing seconds ago. He pulled in some air. “I’m your parole officer.”

Wynona went colder than a vamp then hotter than a menopausal woman. “What? Wait. I know what my parole officer looks like. Little dude with a face only a blind mother could love and a personality on par with overcooked spaghetti.” Her gesture took in Rafael’s magnificence. “Definitely not you.”

“Hold it.” Stefin strode to them, his long blond hair bobbing with each step. “She was in prison, like me?”

During his mortal days, he’d been in the Russian mafia, which had landed him a front seat in Hell.

Rafael wrinkled his nose. Heather sprayed her baby powder scent. The fragrance did little to eliminate the sulfur stench exuded by Stefin and all demons.

Rafael backed away from him. “We’re trying to avoid prison for Wynona. The group sent me here to make certain she behaves.”

Stefin nodded. “What group is that?”

“Supernatural Authority in Charge of Souls, what else?” Wynona curled her upper lip at him. “SACS for short. They suck, just like you do.” She faced Rafael. “What happened to the other guy?”

“Got kicked upstairs.”

“Because he made my existence miserable?”

Stefin wedged himself between her and Rafael. “Tell me how to get rid of her…Wynona.” He made a gagging sound from speaking her name for once. “I’ll do it for free. I could even pay you for the information. We have leather restraints here, manacles for the problem cases—rope, too. Whatever we need. There are countless storage facilities around. We can tie her up and dump her in one of them. As long as we pay the fee, no one will ever know she’s there.”

Constance cleared her throat. “Wynona would.”

Stefin waved dismissively.

Heather tried to frown, not an easy thing for a good fairy. “No one should hurt her or anyone else. Maybe you guys should talk in her office where it’s private.”

“Good idea.” Stefin pivoted and gestured to lead the way.

Constance grabbed his arm. “Not you, Wynona and Rafael. Go on.” She flicked her hand at them. “We’ll give you guys all the time you need.”

Now, she wants to be friendly.

Wynona tramped down the hall, teeth bared. A were halted just outside a treatment room, spotted her and ducked back inside.

She would have followed and locked Rafael out if it would have done her any good.

Of all the rotten luck. She’d just gotten her last guy to back off and now she had a new one to break in or break. Whatever it took. Even if Rafael smelled better than a squeaky-clean soul and was hotter than a romance cover model, he was still the enemy.

She stopped at her office and gestured him inside.

He backed into the snug space, gaze boring into hers—a warning not to pull anything.

Commanding and hot. The whole enchilada.

She trembled in delight and hated herself for it.

After locking the door, she waved her hand at the lone chair in here. “Take it. I’m good.” She sat on her desk, crossed her legs and leaned forward, giving him an eyeful. Her skintight top plumped her breasts. Unlike other reapers, who used fear to corner their prey, she employed seduction…snug leather outfits, along with her signature scent, a lavender and musk combo. When she hunted, the poor slobs didn’t know what had hit them.

Rafael dropped into his seat. The springs creaked. “About you stealing souls.”

There was that. She was supposed to wait for instructions from on high before swiping the things. Trouble was, when creeps crossed her path and hurt innocents or pissed her off, they weren’t long for this earth. “I’ve made a few mistakes.”

He looked heavenward and breathed deeply.

His prominent Adam’s apple was kickass, the same as his rumbling voice. Each time he spoke, his baritone registered in her belly.

“We’ve heard of more than a few mishaps.” He pulled a smartphone from his pants pocket and reading glasses from his shirt pocket.

The specs made him look even more intelligent and sexier than sin. She gripped the desk to avoid crawling on his lap. Later, maybe, when he’d loosened up some.

He scrolled down the phone’s display. “Jerome James. Remember him?”

Did she ever. “Uh…”

“He was crossing the street in front of this place and dropped to the ground. Gone in a flash. He was twenty-three and in perfect health until that moment.” Rafael peered over his glasses. “Any idea what happened?”

The flecks of green in his eyes took her breath away. “Uh…”

“I’ll need more than that.”

If he was looking for a confession, he was out of luck. An apology wasn’t doable, either. She’d been justified in taking Jerome down. The day she’d checked him out, he’d been unbelievably rude, shoving past people and stomping on her toes. He’d knocked against an elderly woman who could barely totter, even though she used a walker. She should have cracked his skull with the thing, but she’d been too busy trying to stay on her swollen feet. He hadn’t noticed or cared. Rather than using an iPod with earbuds for his crappy music, he’d carried a boombox, the bass turned thunderously loud. His soul had stunk from entitlement and cruelty, especially to women. He’d asked for it. “Can we bring him back?”

“Already have. Different body.”

She hadn’t expected that. “A woman’s?”

Rafael frowned. “No, a male.”

Too bad, since Jerome needed to see things from the other side. “How’s he doing? What’s his address and phone number? Maybe I should apologize.”

Rafael arched one dark eyebrow.

What a luscious bastard. “If he’s having trouble adjusting, I could help him out.” Break his kneecaps, too, if he was still a jerk. “Anything for the team.” She swung her foot.

He glanced at her leather boot, the tip close to his leg. If she moved a tad more, she’d be able to touch him.

Perspiration beaded on his forehead. He scooted back. “About what you did to Pete Tremore…”

Another guy who’d lacked manners. Newly turned vamps were the absolute worst. “Never heard of him.”

Rafael’s gaze roamed her thigh. “The report states you and he dated for several months.”

Until he’d dumped her for a mortal. A guy, no less, who had season tickets to numerous sports events. What a jerk Pete had turned out to be. If she could have taken his soul, she would have. “I’m free now. Totally unencumbered and ready to roll.”

Rafael stared hard.

If he thought that was going to intimidate her, he was dead wrong. She’d rarely been this turned on before and gave him a mischievous smile. “Is good cop gone? Are you going to be bad cop now? Mix things up?”

“This is why I waited for you in the reception area rather than coming here.”

“To avoid having this conversation?”

“To see what would happen. When I arrived, I told Heather not to buzz you. I wanted to gauge how long you’d last before losing control. You got through five seconds.” He pointed at her. “You wanted to take my soul out there, admit it.”

Well, hell, she’d wanted to enjoy every part of him, especially his mouth and family jewels, until she’d learned who he was. A freaking good angel who was basically all soul and squeaky clean. Talk about lousy breaks. “Maybe I should call a lawyer and clam up until he or she gets here. Know any good ones?”

“Do you want to spend your entire existence in confinement? You may not like Hell.”

“I hear the BDSM clubs are epic down there.”

“Not for someone in solitary.”

She pushed out her bottom lip. “Would you do that to me?”

He stared at her mouth, hair and boobs, lingering on each part for an indecently long time.

Her pussy creamed.

Someone or something rammed into the wall behind her. The framed business license tapped the plaster. Howls filled the hall. Voices bled into her office. “Don’t, don’t, don’t!”

Stefin growled. “Exactly. Don’t force me to put you back in that room.”

“Get away from me.”

“When you’re through with your treatment.”

“No.”

Stefin cursed in his thick Russian accent.

Rafael focused on her legs and rack.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Zoe, the enforcement team manager, had just joined the fray. “Quit clawing the wall.” Her voice was as gravelly as someone who’d guzzled acid. “I mean it.”

An agonized shriek broke through the other racket, then everyone chilled. Footfalls and thumps followed.

Wynona figured Zoe had stomped on the uncooperative client’s foot, distracting him enough so Stefin could throw him back into the treatment room.

Everything grew quiet. She uncrossed her legs.

Rafael lifted his face and met her eyes.

Time stopped. Her breathing did, too. Lust raced through her, coupled with too much longing. He was such a beautiful guy, his caution gone, replaced by… She wasn’t entirely certain what the emotion was, but it looked like wonder. A balm for a lonely reaper who’d known countless rejections. Who everyone treated like a leper.

Not that he’d be any different in the long run. As he’d said, he was her parole officer. He’d make her behave, threatening her with solitary in Hell, rather than whips, crops, cuffs and chains, playing alpha to her sub, disciplining her inner beast the way she needed.

Once she was a good girl, he’d get kicked upstairs and someone else would come down to hassle her. Probably a troll like the last guy.

It wasn’t fair. She needed to do her thing without interference. Being stuck here and feared or despised was bad enough. “Look, I know you’re a busy man. Working for the Big Guy must be hell. To make things easier on you, I’ll behave. Promise.” She gave him the Boy Scout salute she’d learned from Pete. “I’ll only take souls I should and even throw in a deep, wet, lingering kiss and a slap on the ass to send them on their way with a smile on their faces. How’s that?”

His eyes had gone blurry when she’d mentioned deep and wet. He stared at her mouth. She moistened her lips. A scream rang from the next room. Numerous thumps punctuated the sound.

Rafael’s shirt fluttered from his ragged breaths.

She battled to pull in any air.

He cleared his throat. “Every day.”

“Sorry, what?”

He pocketed his smartphone and glasses. “I’m going to be here every day.”

That could be a good thing or bad. Wary, she tried a submissive smile to give him an idea of what she’d like during their down time. “Why?”

“To keep you in line. Make certain you don’t steal any more souls. We’re running out of fresh bodies to put them into.”

Not what she wanted to hear. “Hey, is that my fault? Tell your boss to create more. He’s the man. He can do anything.”

“He already has, putting me in charge of you. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to protect you from yourself.”

“Oh, yeah?” She swung her foot one last time and grazed his thigh. “Who’s going to protect you?”