“No, no, no—wait.” The were folded his arms over his head, his face anguished.

Constance held back a frustrated sigh and dropped her hands. This was the sixth time she’d backed off this evening. The poor slob couldn’t decide what memories he wanted her to remove and which he had to keep. “What’s wrong now?”

“Everything.” He curled into a fetal position on the treatment table, just about taking up residence in her office at From Crud to Stud, a New Orleans’ makeover service for supernatural beings. “Give me a sec.”

He’d already eaten up forty-five minutes of her shift with his indecision concerning a mortal babe who’d dumped him. Once she’d found out he was a were, she’d been history, no matter how much he’d tried to stifle his beastly urges. Given his animal lust for her, he’d ached to reminisce about every moment they’d been together, until he’d decided he hated her for the ultimate insult—she’d unfriended him on Facebook. Everyone had a breaking point. That was his and he needed her images excised from his brain until he didn’t. Back and forth he’d gone, worse than a tween deciding what to wear to middle school.

Constance was a voodoo priestess, not his mom. “Sweetie, I have other clients. You need to make up your mind.”

He tightened his arms. “I. Am. Trying.”

“Not hard enough.” She wanted to smack him upside his head.

She’d already had a worse day than his. Make that a month. Hell, years. Why kid herself? She’d been dating since she was fourteen but wasn’t any closer to a grand romance now than she’d been back then. For thirteen years, she’d slogged through countless hookups and fixups that landed her with guys who were the proverbial frogs rather than princes, none interested in her for the long haul. Three weeks ago had been her Waterloo. Radagar, the warlock she’d been dating on a regular basis, had showed up for their night out with another babe hanging on his arm.

The young woman had grinned and wiggled her fingers at Constance, like they were buddies or something.

Given that he and the girl had been almost welded together, Constance hadn’t been in the mood to wiggle back. As the only sane one in the group, she’d had to ask the obvious. “Did you forget this is your and my date night or did you confuse my apartment for being the restaurant where we’re supposed to be going?”

He’d laughed. “You’re too funny. This is Katka. She just turned nineteen.”

And had looked way younger, which had made Constance feel like Methuselah. Why Radagar had seemed happy about that had eluded her. Of course, he’d never been much in the brains department. Being a hunk and competent in bed was all she’d asked from him—with a little fidelity on the side, such as not being with other women when they were together. “Why is she here?”

“I thought we’d liven things up.” He’d swatted Katka’s butt playfully. “She’s the newest member of our team.”

As if they’d been coworkers rather than lovers. Since Constance hadn’t been up for a threesome or more when even newer members had joined the team, she’d broken up with him on the spot, slammed the door in his shocked face and eaten a tub of Häagen-Daz Belgian Chocolate ice cream for dinner chased by Dove miniatures for dessert. That turned out to be the best date night she’d ever had.

Maybe I should give up on men and switch to… Naw, that wasn’t going to happen. She was attracted to the opposite sex, while they couldn’t seem to disappoint her enough.

Her intercom buzzed then crackled.

“Ah, can you come up here? Now? Right now? This very second in fact?” Heather, the receptionist and Constance’s BFF, sounded more unglued than usual. “Sorry I have to ask, really I am, but please, can you come up here? Please?”

As a good fairy and an empathetic healer, Heather was always super polite and apologetic as hell, yet this seemed beyond serious…like maybe a mortal had stumbled into this place. On the few occasions that had happened, Heather had had strict instructions—call Constance to take care of the problem. If the dude or dudine left with memories that involved weres howling and vamps hissing, everyone who worked here was toast.

She spoke into the intercom. “Be right there.”

“Thank you.” Heather panted. “I mean, really, I am so grateful you’re—”

“You bet.” She hurried to her office door.

“Hey.” The were pushed to a sitting position on the padded table. “What about me?”

She’d forgotten his turmoil. “Hold still.”

“What—no—wait.”

Constance couldn’t. She gripped his head and did the only thing she could. She removed his memories of her.

He blinked then frowned. “Who are you?”

“The site medic. You fainted during treatment.”

He gripped her wrist and regarded her shadowed, sensuous office. Wispy smoke rose from incense sticks on her desk. Candlelight glinted off beaded curtains and created colorful dots on the ceiling and walls. “How’d I get in here?”

“Couple of the enforcers carried you in from the other room. Don’t you dare leave until I get back to make sure you’re okay.”

He spied her laptop. “While you’re gone, do you mind if I use your computer to get on Facebook? There’s something I have to check out.”

Of course, he did. Poor thing hoped his ladylove had friended him again, and if she hadn’t, he could leave a nasty message using Constance’s ISP address. “Be my guest.”

The intercom buzzed. “Are you coming? Please?”

“Yeah, right away.” Constance pointed her bejeweled finger at him. “Hang tight.”

She raced down the hall and stopped short before reaching the reception area. Its coral walls, gas light fixtures, faux brick floor, numerous potted plants and feathery ferns created an earthy and romantic feel, which screamed mortal to fool the unsuspecting who happened inside.

This one must be pure awful. Heather stood behind her chair, possibly for protection, digging her nails into the leather, her face ashier than usual. Its tint matched her pale blonde hair and signature white clothing.

Constance edged around the corner, leery and curious as to whoever had scared the bejeezus out of Heather.

The guy faced Constance, but his gaze was on the ceiling. Thankfully, no vamp had morphed into a bat and was buzzing around up there.

Despite the steamy summer night, he wore a blue suit, white shirt and gray tie, the clothes draping him beautifully. Deliciously tall, he had to be six three or better, broad in the shoulders, his hips narrow, his build lean yet muscular.

Warmth filled her when it shouldn’t have. Radagar’s stupid stunt had cured her of men for a long, long time. Then again… She clutched her full-length gown since it wouldn’t be polite to grab this guy. What a hottie. He wore his curly black hair cropped short. His cinnamon-colored skin was a stunning contrast to his light blue eyes, his features masculine and a trifle rough.

Her pulse quickened.

She guessed him to be Creole, early thirties, an executive and probably mortal given Heather’s reaction. Most women would have been drooling by now, not hyperventilating. In another few seconds, she might be out cold and Constance would have to give her CPR. She would have preferred to do that for him.

To break the ice, she inched closer. “Well, hey, there.”

He took her in from stem to stern, his attention snagging on her saffron-colored turban and matching gown then lingering on her mouth and boobs. Like he couldn’t help himself.

She wasn’t about to complain. Call her crazy, but the lovely bulge behind his fly seemed to thicken in interest.

Her pussy creamed in response.

Heather wasn’t as taken. With him turned away from her, she waved her arms in what looked like warning.

Constance couldn’t imagine why. For her to cup his good-looking head and remove his memories of this place would be more play than work.

He met her gaze. “Evening.”

His rumbling baritone registered clear to her tongue and tonsils. She smiled.

Male interest sparkled in his gorgeous eyes. He killed his arousal and got ultra-serious. “I’m Detective Gabe Legrand.”

Constance’s heart stuttered. He couldn’t mean as in a freaking cop but probably did. Her smile went kaput over what had brought him here. Not to mention what would happen if others in his department suspected something weird was going on within these walls. “You’re with the police?”

He lifted a small leather wallet that displayed a silver shield, its crescent engraved with a word, maybe detective. The thing was too far away for her to read. Beneath the crescent was a star with another word and a number.

She wouldn’t have been surprised if it was 007, considering his awesome looks.

He pocketed his badge and advanced with stunning grace, similar to an animal in the wild stalking its prey. God help her, she was still more tempted than alarmed and drifted toward him in what seemed like slow motion. Another step and they’d touch. She didn’t see the harm.

He stopped. “You’re the owner?”

Heather made a pained sound. “Constance is a good person.”

Not that good. His woodsy-musky scent warmed her as the sun never had and made her legs watery.

“Your name is Constance?”

“Guilty as charged.” She hoped a joke would lighten the moment so Heather wouldn’t faint or blurt the truth about this place since good fairies couldn’t lie. “Nice to meet you, Detective. Or can I call you Gabe?” She offered her hand.

His own was so large it swallowed hers, his palm dry and slightly callused, his grip firm but not intimidating.

Heaven in a handshake. She liked a man who took charge, in particular when it came to bedroom play. Not that a roll between the sheets seemed possible, given his slight frown.

“I thought Becca Salt owned this place.” He spoke to Heather. “Didn’t I ask you to call the owner up here?”

Heather gripped her chair so hard her knuckles got even whiter. “Uh-huh.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

She clenched her jaw.

Before she broke her molars, Constance jumped in. “She did. I’m the owner. Constance Salt.”

Gabe regarded with suspicion, though his attention did wander to her mouth, boobs and her hand as she released his. “Then who’s Becca Salt? The name listed on the permits and other papers as the owner.”

“Still me.” Constance leaned toward him as if to share a big, bad secret. “My first name’s Becca, but I hate it, so I go by my middle name with coworkers and friends.” She gave him a sweet smile and gestured to the hall. “Why don’t we go to my office to talk?”

Rather than follow her, he glanced past.

Becca strolled toward them. Her silky blue halter-top and harem pants shimmered beneath the lights, as did her jewelry. Silver stars dangled from her navel, dainty chains decorated one ankle and rings glittered on her toes. Coupled with her flame-red hair, alabaster skin and the heavy Goth makeup she wore around her eyes, she was one of a kind. Not to mention a witch, in the literal not figurative sense.

“Lorraine.” Constance glared at Becca. “What are you doing roaming around? Have you finished the accounts? You need to do those payables tonight.”

Becca halted, took in the scene and lingered on Gabe. She got paler than Heather, most likely because she figured something was way wrong. “Uh, sorry. Won’t happen again.” She pivoted and hurried away.

“Whoa. Wait. You’re going in the wrong direction.” Constance pointed to her own office. “Do your work in your spot, not mine.”

With the were still inside her space, Constance couldn’t bring Gabe in there.

“Right.” Becca offered a sheepish smile and raced toward Constance’s office.

Gabe’s face masked whatever he thought. “She’s your accountant?”

“A nice person generally, but… Let’s face it, good help is so hard to find these days. Follow me.”

A were, maybe hers, let out an ear-piercing howl. The vamps chorused their hisses. Demons’ growls and grunts joined in.

Eyes wide, Gabe shoved his hand inside his jacket.

Constance would have bet he was reaching for his gun, not his badge.

He turned from side to side, neck craned, gaze searching. “What in the hell’s going on here?”

“Therapy.”

“What?”

She affected her most professional demeanor. “That’s all I can say. It’s all I will say even if you have a warrant. There is such a thing as shrink-client confidentiality, you know.”

The were bellowed.

Gabe kept his hand inside his jacket. “Shrink? That’s what you call your so-called therapists?”

Talk about hurtful. “I’m as laid-back as they come.” Constance ran a tapered nail over her jawline. She liked his stubble and wanted to stroke it. “No need to use big words, now is there?”

“Exactly what kind of therapy do you do here?”

“The usual.”

“Meaning?”

“Let’s discuss it in my office.” She gestured to Becca’s.

He stayed where he was. “Why not here?”

She wanted to be alone with him. Odd. Mortals had never appealed to her, which made him uber special. “Because.” It was the only answer she could come up with. He’d fried her brain with his scent, occupation and great looks.

He eyed her skeptically. “Because of what?”

Time to get tough, or as much as she could with an Adonis like him. “Ah…confidentiality. Only staff and clients are allowed in the reception area. Since you’re neither, and our clients aren’t expecting a stranger, you’ll have to follow me.”

He trailed far behind her.

Didn’t matter. They’d end up in the same spot together. Her blood thickened, though not for long. Once they were alone, she’d have to remove his memories to make certain he left forever. The reality distressed Constance and made her chest ache, but she had the business and her coworker friends to protect. In addition to Heather and her, Becca also employed several demons, a genie and a former satyr. Stuff mortals would never understand.

Once inside Becca’s office, Constance panicked at her error in bringing him here. Although there were abundant plants and antique furniture that would have impressed an affluent mortal, there were also numerous pictures of Becca and Eric, her one and only love, on the cabinet.

She’d forgotten about them.

Gabe stepped inside.

She closed the door and blocked him so he wouldn’t sit on the sofa and notice the photographs then wonder or demand why she had shots of Eric and Becca in her supposed office.

He backed up.

Constance advanced.

Gabe stopped, not giving any ground.

She enjoyed his style. “So, why are you here, Gabe, or should I call you Detective?”

Lust darted across his chiseled features along with too much wariness. “Can we be honest with each other?”

That wouldn’t have been her first, second or last choice unless they were dating exclusively, which was never going to happen. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do. Your driver’s license, or rather Becca Salt’s license, doesn’t do you justice. In fact, it shows a white woman with red hair and blue eyes. Exactly like your accountant Lorraine.”

Sweat broke out on Constance’s neck. She played dumb. “You’re here to talk about my license? The Office of Motor Vehicles mixed me up with Lorraine?”

He stepped closer. She didn’t give an inch either. They were wonderfully near, allowing her to indulge in the light brown flecks around his pupils. His fragrance surrounded her. She weakened. Damn, she yearned.

Months had passed since she’d been this aroused by a man. Radagar had been cute but too much of a Lothario and a dimwit. The others she’d known hadn’t been any better, taking what they wanted, leaving her heartbroken and lonely.

Gabe might prove the same, but his heat and big body still called to everything female within her.

He grew distracted then intense, possibly from the same carnal hunger she felt.

Time seemed to stop.

His breathing picked up.

So did hers.

Someone slammed into the wall behind them, grunted and swore, killing the magic.

Gabe looked past her and frowned. “What is going on here? And don’t you dare tell me regular therapy. The business license is for a behavior adjustment and grooming service, whatever that’s supposed to be.”

“We like to think of it as a finishing school for guys.” She smiled. “So many of you are rough around the edges. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He gave her a cop’s hard stare.

Her pussy got even wetter. She wondered if he liked using his handcuffs during bed play. If there was a God and She was female, Gabe did. “We’re simply trying to help guys suppress their uncivilized urges, like women have always been taught to do.” She stroked his forearm.

His Adam’s apple bobbed from his hard swallow. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

She went hot, cold and hot again, terrified at what he meant. A client couldn’t have lodged a complaint with the cops and told the authorities there were vamps, weres, reapers and other paranormal beings here trying to suppress their beasts. It would be lunacy for them to expose their true natures to a mortal.

That only left the police department infiltrating this place with a supernatural who worked undercover, egged on by the Religious Right that saw conspiracies everywhere, even in Barbie dolls and McDonald’s Happy Meals.

She was afraid to know the truth but had to. “What have you heard?”

Gabe took in the sofa, the plants and glanced at the cabinet.

Before he got a good look at the photos, she cupped his head and turned his face to hers.

His eyes widened but he didn’t pull away. “What are you doing?”

What she shouldn’t, wanting him. His tight curls were a major distraction, the same as his rich mouth. She couldn’t breathe. “Nothing.”

She vaporized his memories concerning why he’d come here.

He blinked and looked at her questioningly.

What could she say, except sorry? She was for having played with his mind, but not for stroking his scalp.

His face went slack. He regarded her features and became lost in them.

Constance drank his in too, liking his looks. She felt comfortable with him, even though they didn’t know each other and never would. Sorrow hit deep in her stomach. Beneath the pain she longed for a good man. Someone she could count on who’d make each day a pleasure.

Wasn’t going to happen with him. They only had these moments. Her sadness returned. “You okay?”

He stared at her eyes and mouth. “Shouldn’t I be?”

As far as his memories were concerned, no. When it came to her touching him, she would have liked him to offer a resounding yes. “Absolutely. You’re good…way more than…”

Gabe edged closer, as a man does when he can’t help himself.

She couldn’t, either. Acting on pure instinct, she guided his mouth to hers.

His lips were heated and super soft, his beard-roughened cheeks a wonder against her smoother skin, so virile and welcomed. She reeled. Sagged against him, she opened her mouth to his, inviting his tongue inside.

He stilled then went full throttle, pulling her against his rock-hard erection and cupping her ass.

She surrendered as she never had and angled her head to offer him better penetration.

Groaning, he speared his tongue more deeply into her mouth, filling it and thrilling her. He tasted like peppermint and a flavor that belonged to him alone. Clean and enticing.

So much so, she couldn’t bear removing his memories of her. She wreathed her arms around his neck and dove in for more.