On an island where paranormals walk secretly among humans,
can Trevor trust his heart and his secret to a human woman?
School teacher Cassidy Sinclair’s sanity is questioned after
claiming to see her hero appear out of thin air. Her savior dies in her arms
after intercepting a gunshot meant for her and her student, Allan Branson. The
only person who believes her account is the boy’s father who arranges her
one-week stay at an exclusive holistic healing spa called the Wiccan Haus off
the coast of Maine.
Trevor Green, a paranormal, is recovering—again—from gunshot
wounds at Wiccan Haus. His body battered and his confidence broken, he is
tasked to protect the woman he almost got killed. The one he’s fantasized about
for months and who thinks he’s dead.
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What happened? He inhaled a calming breath and counted to
ten, aware that Cemil and Cyrus had joined Sage and were awaiting his answer.
Well, not Cemil. He was just being polite. As a telepath, he’d already read
“She was determined to come back here and I had to stop
Cemil grinned. “The best you could come up with was
decloaking her dead savior right in front of her?”
“Yeah,” he snarled, “it was.” Cassidy stirred in his arms
and he tightened his hold keeping her close. He savored the innocent intimacy
and hated himself for enjoying it.
Dana stood between the two elevators. “Your room or hers?”
He nodded toward Sage as he waited for the third elevator,
the one reserved for the humans. Somehow, these siblings had charmed the
elevators so that only humans could use the one designated to go to the third
floor and only Paranormals could use the second floor elevator. The first
elevator was reserved for the siblings alone. No one knew where that one went.
“I could use a key to her room.”
“How will you get there?” Sage asked, though he was sure she
knew the answer. As always, he would wait patiently, cloaked, for his
“Don’t worry about me. Just get me the key. She’s not going
to be an easy one to keep an eye on.” The elevator pinged and Dana escorted him
to the third floor.
In the privacy of the elevator, he pressed his lips to her
hair. She wouldn’t know, but he would remember the silky strands caressing his
cheek during the long lonely nights.
He needed to concoct a believable explanation for
materializing out of thin air without threatening her sanity. Or his secret.
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