"A gothic atmosphere is the setting for this tale of secrets, betrayal, and seduction surrounding a damaged, haunted man and the woman who loves him and wants to save him."
Rafael D'Angelo had led a rather charmed life. Known
internationally as the Dark Angel due to his amazing talent
for black and white photography, he was married to a
supermodel he was crazy about, and had the career of his
dreams. All of this came to a screeching halt late one
night on a dark, curving road. An accident took away
Stephanie, his wife, and left him scarred both on the
outside and the inside. Secluding himself at a home in the
middle of nowhere, Rafe has decided that his life is over,
or at least will never be more than what he has now made
it. He will never hold a camera again. Love is also
something he has vowed to never feel again.
Julie, the younger sister of Rafe's dead wife, Stephanie,
has secretly been in love with him since she was 16 years
old. Rafe is the one who got her started on her own path to
becoming a photographer and she has never forgotten that.
She and her family have never understood Rafe's reason for
shutting them out following the accident and Stephanie's
death. Now, she has arrived on his doorstep to ask him some
very hard questions and is determined not to leave until
she has the answers.
The heat and chemistry is immediate between the masked Rafe
and Julie, who is now all grown up and a beautiful, sexy
woman. Sparks crackle between the two of them like
electricity. Rafe is more than ready to take Julie to his
bed and Julie is quite willing to go. However, there are
things that Julie does not know and Rafe has sworn never to
tell her. Julie is not without HER secrets as well.
As these two people are drawn more intensely together,
these secrets will start to creep out and could tear them
apart once more. They cannot resist the sexual pull between
them but what will it mean for them in the end?
Author Natasha Moore has written a book that was so well
done I kept seeing it as a television movie of the week.
She has mastered the art of a truly good writer by making
her characters literally leap off the pages. Her story was
told with just the right amount of teasers, suspense, and
sexual heat. While staying involved in the mystery
surrounding Rafe and Julie, there was also enough steam to
fill a sauna.
I do not want to give away too much but this was a very
satisfying read from start to finish. The world of gothic
erotica should be hearing much more from Ms. Moore.
Disfigured in an accident that killed his wife, reclusive
photographer, Rafael D’Angelo wants to be left alone amid
rumors the car crash was no accident. Julie Brightman has
been secretly in love with her sister’s husband for years.
When a violent thunderstorm strands her at his secluded
house, she discovers the man in the mask is not the Rafe she
remembers. Trapped together, their happiness is threatened
by the past that haunts them and the secrets they keep from
each other.
Excerpt
Heaven help him.
Rafe sank down onto the black leather sofa and buried
his face in his hands. He’d been dreading Julie’s visit for
the questions she might ask. For the memories she might
dredge up. He never imagined he’d dread simply being in the
same room with her.
She’d grown into a damned desirable woman. He
shouldn’t be noticing that soft, feminine scent of hers. Or
watching those bright blue eyes as they scanned his body.
And he certainly had no right imagining those long legs
wrapped around his waist.
This was Julie, for God’s sake.
But how was he supposed to see all that bare skin and
not want to feel its smooth warmth under him? He let his
breath out on a shaky sigh. He hadn’t touched a woman in a
very long time. Hadn’t wanted to.
Until tonight.
“Hi.”
He looked up as she padded into the room in her bare
feet and his robe. He couldn’t resist looking at her toe
nails and saw that they were painted bright red.
“Do you have a comb?” she asked.
He shot his gaze away from her toes and up to her
face. “What?”
She raised her eyebrows at the stupid question. “A
comb?” She grasped the ends of her wet hair. “For my hair?
My purse is in the car.”
He jumped up. “Sorry. Be right back.”
He took the stairs two at a time. He had to get in
control. Whether he liked the idea or not, she was spending
the night here. With him. It was early yet and he’d never
make it through the evening if he lost his grip now.
He didn’t know what to do with another person in the
house, someone who needed attention and conversation. Add
to that the wild, hot attraction running through his veins,
and he wished he could lock himself in his bedroom and not
come out until morning.
Rafe grabbed the comb from his dresser, turned around
and went slowly back down the stairs.
When he returned, Julie was curled up in one corner
of the sofa. Her naked, painted toes were hidden beneath
the robe. He handed the comb to her and she smiled up at
him. Her face lit up.
“Thanks.”
She had the prettiest smile he’d ever seen, and he’d
seen a lot over the years. He opened his mouth to say the
words out loud, but caught himself just in time. What was
wrong with him? He groaned and walked across the room to
the bay window shrouded in darkness.
“What?” she asked.
The opposite side of the large living room wasn’t far
enough. He could still smell her soft scent. Could still
feel her gaze warm on his back. He stared out the window
into the stormy darkness, but could only see his pitiful
reflection staring back at him.
“Were you going to say something?” Julie asked.
Rafe turned around slowly to face her. She’d started
to work the comb through her tangled locks. He couldn’t
speak, could only stand there and watch her. She looked
back at him, obviously waiting for him to answer her, all
the while drawing his comb through her long blonde hair.
There was something so sensual about the task that he
couldn’t drag his gaze away, could barely breathe. Then she
stretched and her painted toes peeked out from the hem of
the robe. He caught a glimpse of long, bare leg as the robe
parted, and his breath hitched.
He had to get out of here. He had to get her out of
here. But the rain still battered the house. He knew she
wouldn’t be able to go anywhere until the storm was over
and he dug her car out of the mud. He was stuck with her,
with her soft scent and tempting toes.
She’d finished combing her hair and leaned over to
set the comb down on the coffee table. Like a teenager, he
gawked at the shadow of cleavage exposed, round swells of
pale flesh that had his palms itching.
Heaven help him.
© 2003-2025