My scream dies halfway up my throat and for one horrible second, all I can do is stare!
Vincent Greystone stands in the middle of my kitchen like a nightmare someone sculpted out of shadows and the moonlight spills across his body in fractured silver lines, outlining his hard muscles and old scars scattered across his chest and abdomen. His hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been dragging frustrated hands through it for hours, and his amber eyes gleam with a dangerous kind of amusement as they slowly roam over me... It's not a polite gaze, or anything casual... It's Hungry.
My pulse trips over itself.
"Did you miss me Little Doll..." he murmurs again, his voice low and rough around the edges.
The nickname hits me like cold water and I groan internally.
Fuck me! Why do I never run out
