Neighbors were a pain in the ass.
Especially neighbors who made as much noise as possible
at the crack of dawn. Did no one have consideration for
their fellow man anymore? She wasn't asking for much,
dammit. Just a little common courtesy.
Bayleigh Scott rolled toward her nightstand to look at
the old fashioned alarm clock with the giant hands and
noticed it was just shy of 6am. She groaned and pulled the
pillow over her head, trying desperately to block out the
grinding noise from what sounded like a fleet of semis
outside her window. She'd closed her shop at ten the night
before but hadn't gotten home until after one because she'd
been doing inventory. Not even five full hours of sleep.
And she had to be back to open at ten since her assistant
was out sick.
When the pillow failed to have the effect she was
looking for, she tossed it across the room and felt the
slow flush of anger work through her body.
"Who the hell do these people think they are?" she
muttered, throwing back the covers and stomping to the bay
window in her bedroom.
She could only see the back deck of the house next door
from her window, and she scowled as she noted the ferns
already hanging from baskets on the porch, the dimmed
sconces attached to the posts giving her a good view in the
darkness.
"Making yourself right at home, aren't you?"
She let the curtain drop and stomped through the house,
tripping over the edge of the rug and bumping her shin
against the table she had at the end of the couch. The
coffeepot beckoned, so she punched the button to start her
morning caffeine as she made her way to the kitchen window.
She had the perfect view of the neighbor's front yard.
Bayleigh winced as the screech of the truck lift going
up and down assaulted her ears. It wasn't like the noise
would bother anyone else. Most of her neighbors turned
their hearing aids off after eight o'clock and didn't turn
them back on until the sun rose. There was no way her new
neighbors were another little retired couple like everyone
else on the street. They were probably party animals or
reprobates. Maybe both.
Powerful lights were set up so they could unload the
truck that was backed into the driveway, but all she could
see was the shadows of men as they unloaded the furniture.
They didn't even need that stupid lift. They were just
being lazy. There was no reason for the truck to be on at
all.
Muttered curses propelled her out the front door before
common sense could take hold. She never did well on little
sleep and no caffeine. It wasn't her fault. She liked to
think of it as a medical condition. She'd just explain
politely about the noise, and surely they would take care
of things from there. It was the decent thing to do.
The cool October air slapped against her skin, reminding
her she was only wearing the cotton boxers and tank top
she'd slept in. Chills raced across her skin and she
tripped over the hose that ran across her sidewalk. She'd
forgotten to roll it back up after watering her flowerbeds
the previous morning.
She paused for a moment, wondering if she'd made a
mistake when she felt three sets of eyes look in her
direction. The sudden stillness of the night was unnerving.
She couldn't see the two men in the shadows clearly, but
she got a heck of a glimpse of the man standing closest to
her. The Devil in disguise. The sudden urge to cross
herself had her squeezing her fingers into tight fists. She
wasn't even Catholic for Pete's sake.
His scowl was black and menacing and he narrowed his
eyes at her in warning, automatically putting her back up.
She wasn't going to be intimidated by the likes of him. At
least not by much.
Bayleigh straightened her shoulders and marched across
the tiny patch of grass that separated the two houses. She
climbed into the cab of the big white truck, the cracked
seats scratchy against the backs of her legs, and turned
off the ignition before taking the key. She jumped out of
the truck and watched warily as the three men gathered
close, their arms crossed over their bare chests and
various looks of surprise pasted on their faces. Maybe
Satan was having a convention, because surely all three of
these men were fallen angels of the worst kind, or hardened
criminals at best.
They were muscled and bare–chested, and their
jeans hung low on narrowed hips. It was obvious they were
related, and her gaze passed over them all quickly. But she
couldn't seem to take her eyes off the one in the
center—the one who'd made her lose her common sense
with just one scowl. There was something in his eyes that
had her taking a step back before she remembered she was
standing in the middle of a safe neighborhood. She wouldn't
be intimidated on her own property. She looked down and
took a quick step back so she was actually on her own
property, and crossed her arms over her chest, daring him
to say anything.
The Devil's dark hair was longer than she liked on a
man, almost to his shoulders, and his eyes were as black as
coal. Probably because he'd been hauling it in hell before
he'd decided to move to Fort Worth, Texas. A short beard
covered his face and a wicked looking tattoo swirled over
his shoulder and part of the way down his arm. His chest
was scarred, and she couldn't even begin to imagine what
had happened to him to cause such marks. Her gaze lowered,
following the black smattering of hair that disappeared
beneath his jeans, and all rational thought left her head
as she noticed the sizable bulge behind his zipper.