She met the Dark One at a séance when she was eighteen. While the older gauze-wearing woman who’d been hired to host the party event had been a fake, Harper was not. Her momma had always told her the Devil came in a beautiful package. She was willing to bet her left leg her momma had never guessed how stunning that package truly was.
Dark energy had beat at the walls of the room until she imagined they were pulsing. It had pushed at her mind, making it hard to breathe. She locked eyes with him as he sat silently in the corner. A thousand words sprang to mind as she’d stared at the hard lines of his face. They all began with the letter D. He was dangerous, desirable, delicious, and no doubt, demanding. He was the type of man who’d leave a woman drained yet delighted. Oh, yes, many D words came into play where he was concerned. Descent, death...devil.
The partygoers had all giggled and screamed. The fake medium called on the spirits of the recently deceased, while making noises under the table with her foot. Through it all, Harper never made a sound. Neither did the man in her sights. Her eyes never left his and as far as she knew, he never blinked. She shivered over the thought of having that sort of attention focused on her for an entire night. She wanted to be horrified over her cravings. He was evil. She could feel it. He was also powerful and she was hooked.
If Heaven was a summer sky and a T.V. left on mute, then the Underworld was a starry night and an electric guitar with amps. Unfortunately, the twinkling lights hovering from the darkened cavern were actually souls burning in eternal damnation. The plush king-sized bed beneath her cradled her body with its silk coverings. A black sheet shielded her otherwise nude body. The material binding her wrists to the headboard tightened when she attempted to turn toward the hearth. The velvet material protected her from rope burn. The fire roared to life an instant before Dheath appeared in its place.
Tossing his briefcase down on the cherry wood writing table beside him, Dheath picked up one of the wooden-backed chairs. He carried to the edge of the bed. Setting it down beside her, he crossed his legs at the ankle and his arms over his chest. His eyes roamed over her body. Even with the sheet separating them, her nipples hardened beneath his gaze. Opening her senses, she let his rage and lust slide over her.
“I’d say it is hotter than Hell in here, but that would be stupid,” Harper said in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Reaching up, Dheath loosened his tie before reaching her way. Pulling the silken cloth away from her body, he exposed her to his perusal.
“Is that better?”
Her long blonde hair surrounded her face. She hoped it was also hiding most of her blush.
“Are you concerned over my comfort or are you being an ass?”
“What do you think?” he answered, giving not a hint of his mood. No matter how hard she tried to read him, all she could pick up was the general feel of the place. He was angry and turned on—she knew that much—but everything else was diluted by the lost souls.
“Does it matter?” she shot back. His eyes roamed over her body, further warming every spot they touched.
“Yes,” he answered finally.
The heat radiating from his body set the skin on her stomach ablaze as he leaned forward, pressing his lips against it.
“Why did you do it?” His lips brushed her skin with every quietly spoken word.
“Only the dead come here,” she reminded him.
A roar ripped from his throat. In an instant, the chair he’d been sitting upon crashed against the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces.
A tear rolled from the corner of her eye.
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