Written in Blood

Excerpt

The familiar tink of ice against glass, low conversation, and sultry music greeted Lyndi as she pushed the swinging door open. The table she preferred was open. Easing her way toward the little table in the far left corner, Lyndi pulled her purse off her shoulder.

As she reached for the chair, the fine hairs on her skin prickled, and a chill slithered up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder. The room stilled. The alluring rhythm of the song playing echoed in her mind. Sandy brown eyes locked with hers, then, in a slow, almost sly motion, the man slid his gaze down the length of her body. Lyndi didn't blush; she couldn't seem to do anything more than stand motionless, wondering what a man like that was doing looking at a woman like her.

While she thought herself somewhat attractive, the man she stared at was wickedly delicious, beyond good looking. She figured if she stared any longer, she might diffuse into a puddle. Those eyes and that sinfully curved mouth held her in rapt attention. The glass he'd been holding found a place on the bar, and his tall, lithe frame rose from the stool. Lyndi gasped. He was walking her way!

Black hair framed his face and hung down just past his collar. Her fingers twitched at her side, gripped her purse tighter. What she wouldn't give to find out if his hair was as soft as it looked under the pale lighting. With a quick shake of her head, she snapped out of her reverie. Coming here had been a mistake. Sin, like the man walking toward her, didn't need another invitation to her front door.

Before she could change her mind, she turned away from him and headed toward the entrance. The door to freedom seemed much farther than she remembered. She reached out; her fingers touched smooth wood. A cool, fresh breeze brushed the flushed skin of her face, beckoning her. She didn't make the night wait. She burst out onto the sidewalk, sucking in air to calm her raging pulse. What was wrong with her? For whatever reason, though, something about that man had told her to run and not look back.

Hair flitted across her face, and she pushed the stray locks away. Home was only fifteen minutes from here.
Shouldering her purse once again, she turned and started in the direction of her apartment building.

"Miss." A deep, smooth voice sounded from behind her.

Lyndi froze. Did she really want to look? Biting her lower lip, she glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Wickedly
Handsome's lips twitched in what she figured must have been his equivalent of a smile.

"Do we know each other?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Are you alone tonight?"

"Listen . . . I don't know you, and I'm not going to answer that question, so have a good evening."

When she tried to turn away, his hand caressed her upper arm. Gentle and confusing, the touch left her too mystified to protest when he stepped closer. Leaning down, he whispered against her mouth, "Trust me when I say, you know me."

His warm breath brushed across her lips, sending a wave of heat to the pit of her stomach. Every muscle in her body wanted to move closer, wanted the distraction she knew that mouth could offer. But despite her earlier thoughts, losing herself in a man wasn't something she could afford right now.

Steeling herself against the tingle of desire he created, Lyndi lifted her gaze to his shadowed eyes. "You're wrong and must have mistaken me for someone else."

A small smile curled along his lips; his fingers grazed along her jaw. Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed the whimper forming in her throat. "I know exactly who you are, Ms. Crisdean. You are unmistakable."

"I don't—"

"Let me kiss you," he whispered, his mouth hovering over hers.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Sweat broke out over her palms. "Why?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his. "You're sort of scaring me . . . how do you know who I am?"

He leaned closer. Wisps of black hair tickled her at her temples as the wind blew his locks toward her. "Our world is a small one. As for why I want to kiss you . . . well, I just do, so let me."

She opened her mouth, to protest . . . to accept, and her mind reeled with his nearness and the absurdity of his command. However, the action turned out to be her mistake, for he took full advantage, his tongue sliding along hers, taking possession before she could catch a breath. Sweet rum, mixed with the syrupy flavor of coke, teased her mouth. His taste intoxicated her deeper than any alcoholic drink, made her crave more. Of their own accord, her hands fisted in the lapels of his leather jacket. The fabric squeaked in her grasp.

The hand gripping her arm tightened. His mouth slanted over hers, drawing her further into the haze rapidly filling her mind. Then he pulled away, steadying her as she teetered on the brink of an invisible cliff. Blinking in confusion, she made to step back, but he held fast. Those lips twitched again; sandy brown eyes twinkled. When she didn't waver anymore, he released her with a wink.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ms. Crisdean."

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away.