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On the rainswept Cornish coast, Aidan’s business is carried out in the darkest hours of moonless nights, his secrets are many, and death follows in his wake. Isolated and alone, Jane's only companion is the man she dare not trust, the man who looks at her with heated desire that she both fears and craves.
As she finds herself ensnared in the twisted schemes carried out within the walls of Aidan’s looming estate, Jane must decide if Aidan Warrick is the dark prince of her dreams or a monster preying on the innocent…
Leaning close, he stared down at her, eyes glittering in the meager lamplight. She could smell his hair, his clothes, his skin, rain-washed, a whisper of citrus, and underlying that the tantalizing hint of a scent that was his alone. Her chest felt tight, constricted by some unseen band.
Despite her innocence she recognized the sharp twist of yearning in the pit of her belly for what it was: her own accursed longing for this man. This terrible, beautiful man.
He recognized it as well. His awareness was there, in the darkening of his eyes, the deepening of his breathing. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, her own breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Pulse beating a wild rhythm, mind screaming that she must retreat, must flee from his dishonorable intent, she sat where she was, mesmerized by the heat she read in the mercurial depths of his eyes. Oh, dear heaven! What was wrong with her that a tiny secret corner of her soul reveled in his obvious desire, even as fear made her galloping heart nearly burst from her breast?
She opened her mouth to demand that he unhand her, that he remove himself immediately, that he—
He kissed her. His mouth slanted across hers, his tongue tasting the edge of her lips, her teeth, and beyond. She smelled spiced wine, tasted it.
Only in her secret dreams had she ever thought to be kissed, and never had she imagined such a lush and shameless claiming.
The taste of him, cloves and wine and man.
The room spun away until there was nothing but Aidan, kissing her until she forgot to hate him, forgot all but the thrust of his tongue, the feel of his mouth, the wicked heat that poured through her like molten honey.
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