Hotshot hotel developer Alexa Chandler lusts after the
property sheβs found off the coast of St. Augustine,
Florida--a haunted island complete with an abandoned
castle she intends to convert into her premiere luxury
resort. Inside, the only furnishing--a captivating
portrait of a man--calls to her. With a single touch, she
unleashes a phantom who has been trapped within the
painting for over two hundred years.
Centuries ago, Damon Forsyth charged into a mysterious
gypsy enclave on a desperate mission, but found himself
trapped inside a cursed painting by his mortal enemy. Over
time, he has contemplated little but revenge and
retribution--until undeniable need draws Alexa to his
lair. Though she releases him from the painting, Damon
remains bound to the castle where the portrait hangs.
Damon needs Alexa to break the final barrier. Using the
dark magic that enslaves him, he initiates a game of
seduction--with his freedom as the ultimate prize.
Unable to resist Damonβs fierce sexuality, Alexa
surrenders to his ghostly touch, but soon, she must choose
between thwarting the magic that holds Damon in
thrall...or her own mortality.
Excerpt Alexa Chandler closed her eyes. The stone against her
back, so cold only moments before, suddenly warmed. The
heat eased through the thin layer of her clothes and
ignited her skin. She could feel the green-gray eyes of
the man in the portrait staring down at her. Into her.
Her step-brother stepped nearer, his gaze darting with
annoyance to the portrait as if the man were intruding on
their conversation. βAre you crazy? You want me to leave
you here alone?β
Fingers of warmth curled around her shoulders. Alexa
allowed her head to drop forward and the sensations
smoothed over her neck, then eased down her spine. Yes,
she wanted to stay. Yes, she wanted to be here alone.
βAlexa?β
Jacob grabbed her arm and tugged her away from the wall.
βWhatβs wrong with you?β
Alexa shook her head. Wrong? Nothing was wrong. Was it?
She was simply tired. Overwhelmed by her experience
earlier in the helicopter and now in the castle.
βLook, youβll only be gone for a few hours, right? The
Coast Guard knows Iβm here and I have the portable GPS. I
can activate the distress signal if I need to and our
friends will come running, Iβm sure. And I have my phone.β
βI just lost the signal on mine,β he said, his expression
incredulous.
Guard dog.
βA cell, not satellite. And you had the phone working long
enough to hear the complicated and business-threatening
tales of woe from Boston. If I call you and all you hear
is βhelp,β get here quick, okay? Iβve got water and
supplies. Just come get me before dark.β
His eyebrows slanted together at a hard angle. βI canβt
just leave you here.β
βWhy not?β The farther she walked onto the landing, the
more the warmth seeped out of her, the clearer her mind
focused on the possibilities of the castle as a Crown
Chandler resort property. The stairs would be polished,
the cracks repaired. Lush tapestries would keep out the
drafts and keep in the cool air that seemed trapped in the
stone walls. Sheβd insist on electric or gas powered
torches to provide light and just enough ambience to keep
the shadows sufficiently spooky.
This could work.
She just needed time alone to concentrate. To allow the
ideas to flow uninterrupted.
She spun and lifted her chin. βJust take care of business
on the mainland and let me do my stuff here.β
Jacob made no move to leave.
She stared at him intently.
He groaned. βThereβs no arguing with you when your chin
tilts up that way.β
She smiled. He was right.
βIβll be back in two hours, no less,β he promised, jogged
down a few steps, then returned, removing a necklace from
around his neck. βWait. Wear this.β
Alexa eyed the offering warily. She wasnβt sure sheβd seen
Jacob wear this particular trinket before--a gold triangle
with a jagged corner, as if ripped off a larger design.
βWhatβs this?β
βA talisman,β he answered.
She crossed her arms.
He rolled his eyes. βTake the damned thing, Alexa. Itβs
for luck. Iβm betting this charm kept us from falling out
of the sky today on that helicopter.β
She shook her head. βI donβt need a good luck charm.β
He thrust the necklace at her. βTake it or Iβm not
leaving.β
Alexa knew how to assess an opponent. From across a board
room table or on the landing of an ancient castle
staircase, she could estimate with amazing accuracy when
someone would back down and when they would not. Jacob had
correctly assessed her stubbornness a moment before. Now,
he was the one who wasnβt budging. Which meant the crisis
at Crown Chandler would only snowball. Sunlight would slip
away. Her chance to roam the castle halls would be lost.
She yanked the necklace out of his hand and while he
watched, twisted the chain around her neck.
βThere,β she said. βSatisfied?β
After a quick kiss on her cheek, Jacob told her to be
careful and left.
Instantly, Alexa turned to the painting. Fingering the
triangle now dangling from her neck, she approached the
portrait with soft, measured steps. The closer she came,
the more intensely her body reacted. Her chest tightened.
Sweat curled along the back of her neck. Her breathing
shortened. His eyes seemed to rake over her. She jolted
when her nipples hardened in response.
Whoa.
She stopped. βJust who are you?β she asked the painting.
Touch me and find out.
She staggered backward, then spun around. The door at the
bottom of the stairs remained firmly closed. The voice had
been a whisper in her ear, a hot breath along the nape of
her neck...and yet, she was alone.
Alexa swallowed hard and turned sharply. She hadnβt come
this far to be afraid. She marched to the canvas and
balanced her fists on her hips.
βSay again?β
She waited.
Nothing.
βJust when things were getting interesting, you turn shy?β
she quipped.
His expression remained stoic, unchanged, but his eyes
brimmed with wild fury like thunderclouds rolling over
white-capped waves. Even through the layers of grime
coating the canvas, masking what she anticipated was a
rich depth of color, he intrigued her at the same time
that he unnerved her.
She shrugged out of the silk shirt sheβd worn over a lacy
chemise and approached the canvas.
Hung high, the painting remained mostly out of reach. She
stretched on her tip-toes and flicked the shirt at the
corners, removing most of the powdery dirt and spider webs
that had accumulated on the surface and in the corners of
the once gilded frame. With a shiver, she tossed the
ruined material to the floor, but admired her handiwork
nonetheless.
He was gorgeous. The fire of male strength and power had
been captured in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, in
the broad width of his chest. The fabric and detail in the
cut of his clothes reflected money. Perhaps, influence.
The time period eluded her, but sheβd have experts tackle
that question. She was more concerned with who he was--and
if he was the man sheβd seen in the window. Was he the
type of man who would defy time, space and perhaps, death?
She closed her eyes and concentrated.
Who are you?
She ran her fingers over the frame. Once again, she felt a
surge of warmth. Funny. Ghosts were supposed to announce
their presence with cold, werenβt they? Clearly, this was
no ordinary spirit.
Or she was taking this fantasy thing way too seriously.
She nearly pulled her hand away when she heard the
whispered baritone once again.
Touch me.
She kept her hand steady. βI donβt go around touching
strangers,β she countered.
The air around her swirled with heat.
Iβm not a stranger. Weβve met before. In a dream. In your
fantasy. Touch me and see.
Alexa couldnβt resist. She slid her hand off the frame,
then up the portrayal of his waist. She climbed as high as
she could on the top of her feet and stretched until her
palm settled on the spot where his heart would beat.
Did beat.
Strong.
Hot.
Heat seared her hand and yet, she couldnβt pull away.
The temperature rose. Her skin seemed to melt into the
canvas.
She opened her mouth to scream, but darkness dropped over
her and pulled her into a vortex. She scratched out,
stretched and twisted, fighting to keep from falling...but
lost.
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