The knock on the door yanked me back. Ghost entered first, always silent, always watching. Then Katarina.
I stopped breathing.
She wore red.
Not just red sin.
A high-slit gown that hugged her waist like it had secrets, with a neckline that plunged low enough to make my mouth dry. Her hair was pinned up, loose strands brushing her collarbone, and her lips were painted a deep, dark wine.
My nurse. My prisoner. My curse.
And she looked like she could walk into any ballroom and steal the soul of every man there.
I stood. Slowly. My eyes traced every inch of her.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
Her gaze met mine, defiant and sharp. “What?”
“You look…” I cleared my throat. “...dangerous.”
She smirked, brushing her hand down the fabric. “That’s the idea.”
Luce was behind, grinning like a demon.
