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Authors: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
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probably symbolic of what King intended to do to me that night: take ownership of my life without permission.
I wandered over to his glass walk-in wine cellar and noticed it was full of champagne as well, a few hundred bottles.
Okay. I guess he really likes bubbly. Which, given how he looked, wasn’t fair. As I mentioned, I’d seen this man naked, and his body was a work of chiseled art. Right down to his well-endowed penis. He even had this really elaborate tattoo, kind of like an Egyptian collar—a semi-circular pattern that covered his entire collarbone and a good portion of his well-defined chest. It was stunning. But how a man as beautiful as that got away with this as his diet? Total mystery to me.
“Lucky bastard,” I mumbled.
Then my head filled with sharp spears of pain. I hobbled over to his bed and lay down, burying my face in his pillow as I groaned. What was happening to me? It felt like something was trying to claw its way inside my skull.
After a few minutes, the crippling ache dissipated, and I caught myself feeling soothed by King’s luscious scent. It was a smell like no other. I used to think it was some sort of expensive cologne, but now I wondered if it was his natural scent—sort of citrusy with a hint of spice.
“Enjoying yourself, Miss Turner?” King’s voice radiated from directly in front of the huge bed.
I dropped the pillow and scrambled to sit up. “Holy crap.”
Wearing his usual sleek, expensive black suit, King looked down with those penetrating, pale gray eyes fringed with black lashes.
Oh my God. I don’t believe it! “Where have you been?” I gasped, feeling frigging relieved out of my mind.
He strolled over to the side of the bed where I sat. “Does that mean,” he said in a low, suggestive voice, “that you are happy to see me?”
“You have no idea.” I was about to jump up and hug him. That’s how happy I was to see that evil, beautiful man—our problems were solved—but he swiftly bent down and placed his warm hand to the back of my head. He pulled me to his mouth, and all I could think of was how incredible it felt to kiss him. His soft lips moved against mine, and our tongues slid together in a seductive rhythm. His hot mouth was like a dark drug that made me crave more, crave everything. Even the dangerous rage that lived inside his soul, smoldering like a fire from hell. Oh God . Everything about this man—his touch, smell, and voice—mesmerized me, enticed me, and beckoned me to let go and enjoy all he could offer.
King slowly pulled away and gazed into my eyes. “This is a dream, Mia. Another dream. Like the time you saw Brian.”
“Brian?” He was my brother’s roommate in Mexico. After Justin went missing, I went to their apartment, looking for answers, and found Brian. We’d had a long conversation, and later that night, I saw his body. He’d been dead for over a month. King said it had been a product of my mind, which had been trying to reconcile my old reality with my new Seer-reality. Somehow my mind took remnants of Brian’s soul and created a person as real as anyone. But he hadn’t been because, as King rightly pointed out, dead people didn’t talk.
My eyes opened, and I felt my heart fill with terror. I began to bawl.
“Why are you crying?” King asked.
“Because if I’m seeing you, then you’re dead. Just like Brian.”
“Ah, I see.” King smiled in that charming sort of way that meant he was hiding something. “It’s possible that I’m not dead and your mind is simply pulling imprints I’ve left behind. After all, this is my chamber.”
I wiped my tears with my sleeve. Was he—I mean—was I saying that because I didn’t want to believe it was all over?
King pulled me up from his bed so that our bodies pressed tightly together.
He felt so real. So damned real.
He smiled with affection, but his eyes twinkled with a spark of annoyance. “You must run, Mia. You mustn’t let Vaughn get you.”
“Run?”
I wandered over to his glass walk-in wine cellar and noticed it was full of champagne as well, a few hundred bottles.
Okay. I guess he really likes bubbly. Which, given how he looked, wasn’t fair. As I mentioned, I’d seen this man naked, and his body was a work of chiseled art. Right down to his well-endowed penis. He even had this really elaborate tattoo, kind of like an Egyptian collar—a semi-circular pattern that covered his entire collarbone and a good portion of his well-defined chest. It was stunning. But how a man as beautiful as that got away with this as his diet? Total mystery to me.
“Lucky bastard,” I mumbled.
Then my head filled with sharp spears of pain. I hobbled over to his bed and lay down, burying my face in his pillow as I groaned. What was happening to me? It felt like something was trying to claw its way inside my skull.
After a few minutes, the crippling ache dissipated, and I caught myself feeling soothed by King’s luscious scent. It was a smell like no other. I used to think it was some sort of expensive cologne, but now I wondered if it was his natural scent—sort of citrusy with a hint of spice.
“Enjoying yourself, Miss Turner?” King’s voice radiated from directly in front of the huge bed.
I dropped the pillow and scrambled to sit up. “Holy crap.”
Wearing his usual sleek, expensive black suit, King looked down with those penetrating, pale gray eyes fringed with black lashes.
Oh my God. I don’t believe it! “Where have you been?” I gasped, feeling frigging relieved out of my mind.
He strolled over to the side of the bed where I sat. “Does that mean,” he said in a low, suggestive voice, “that you are happy to see me?”
“You have no idea.” I was about to jump up and hug him. That’s how happy I was to see that evil, beautiful man—our problems were solved—but he swiftly bent down and placed his warm hand to the back of my head. He pulled me to his mouth, and all I could think of was how incredible it felt to kiss him. His soft lips moved against mine, and our tongues slid together in a seductive rhythm. His hot mouth was like a dark drug that made me crave more, crave everything. Even the dangerous rage that lived inside his soul, smoldering like a fire from hell. Oh God . Everything about this man—his touch, smell, and voice—mesmerized me, enticed me, and beckoned me to let go and enjoy all he could offer.
King slowly pulled away and gazed into my eyes. “This is a dream, Mia. Another dream. Like the time you saw Brian.”
“Brian?” He was my brother’s roommate in Mexico. After Justin went missing, I went to their apartment, looking for answers, and found Brian. We’d had a long conversation, and later that night, I saw his body. He’d been dead for over a month. King said it had been a product of my mind, which had been trying to reconcile my old reality with my new Seer-reality. Somehow my mind took remnants of Brian’s soul and created a person as real as anyone. But he hadn’t been because, as King rightly pointed out, dead people didn’t talk.
My eyes opened, and I felt my heart fill with terror. I began to bawl.
“Why are you crying?” King asked.
“Because if I’m seeing you, then you’re dead. Just like Brian.”
“Ah, I see.” King smiled in that charming sort of way that meant he was hiding something. “It’s possible that I’m not dead and your mind is simply pulling imprints I’ve left behind. After all, this is my chamber.”
I wiped my tears with my sleeve. Was he—I mean—was I saying that because I didn’t want to believe it was all over?
King pulled me up from his bed so that our bodies pressed tightly together.
He felt so real. So damned real.
He smiled with affection, but his eyes twinkled with a spark of annoyance. “You must run, Mia. You mustn’t let Vaughn get you.”
“Run?”
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