To save her ghost-hunting career, psychic Kayde Foster must confront an evil and darkly attractive entity that has taken up residence in her uncle's business.
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Kayde prides herself on being fearless. Ghosts? Crumbling buildings? Scary legends? No...
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I did something I shouldn't have.
Well, there were many things I shouldn't have done, but touching the Shadow while he was asleep? That was bonkers. That was asking for trouble. Yet, I did it anyway, watching this peaceful monster suddenly look innocent in a haze of dreams.
He was so harmless like this.
After he... ate me out, he gestured to his bulging crotch and promptly left the room, saying he was going to take care of himself. I'd offered to do it for him—of course I would, even though that sort of terrified and thrilled me—but he left before I could protest.
So that left me here. In his bed. Where I had fallen asleep for a while, unsure of how much time I had left here.
And here I was, wrapped up in black silk sheets, tracing the perfect, sharp contours of his face. The tendrils of dark hair that fell over his features gave him such a wild, untamed look. He was sinfully beautiful. The kind of beautiful that hurt like a swift punch to the gut, because in terms of leagues, he was way out of mine. If he were human.
But he wasn't.
I froze when his eyes snapped open, casting a bright red glow across the pillows. Was I in trouble? I knew I shouldn't be doing this, but...
He snatched my hand and held it to his face. "Touch me more."
I licked my dry lips. "I shouldn't."
"Do it anyway. It has been so long since I have been... touched by someone like this." A lazy smile appeared on his face as he pressed my fingers to his chin. "Keep going, Kayde. Please."
Please.
This monster just asked me to keep touching him. Almost as if he enjoyed my touch, and it made my stomach sink. There was a dagger in my bedroom meant to kill him, and if I had any sense in my head, I'd do it now when he least expected it. To protect my family when he was vulnerable and asleep...
But I couldn't think about that. Not right now. Not when he was trusting me like this. And what was his trust worth to me? Why did I want to keep touching him?
He had told me things would go back to normal, and they had to. Despite my reservations, I brushed my fingers across his jaw—loving the way some slight stubble caught against my fingernails in light shhrk shrrk shrrks.
My hands trailed down, running over a smooth, hard chest that reminded me of black marble. In his sleepiness, he was not as haughty. Not as problematic. Not so evil and plotting.
I traced a scar running across his pectoral, frowning. His groans spurred me along, but something—something strange—built inside of me, leaving me perplexed and full of energy. It was like a rush of familiarity, a rush of feelings—anger, sadness, and most of all, betrayal.
