Dark Deceiver

LifeHolder Zoë Taylor has been protecting humans from evil for almost three hundred years. She knows there's something off about the darkly powerful stranger she meets one night in a bar. He's about as far from her usual date as she can imagine, but a delicious mystery like Daemon Kemp just begs to be solved.

Daemon's attraction to Zoë is fierce, irresistible ... and oh-so-wrong. He's on a mission to save his people, and if the beautiful LifeHolder discovers who he is and what he's after, his world will spiral into chaos. But, even when it's the right thing to do, how do you walk away from destiny?

91,900 words. Printed length approximately 335 pages.

*****

Given the size of the house, she expected the door to be opened by a uniformed butler or housekeeper. But when the door swung open, Daemon stood there.

And damned if her heart didn't go pitter-patter.

Today that magnificent body was encased in a white cotton dress shirt and snug, well-worn blue jeans. Totally appropriate for a casual evening at home ... except for the crease ironed into his jeans and the spit polish shine on his brown shoes. His sleeves were rolled up, displaying strong wrists and a simple gold watch. She especially enjoyed the tantalizing glimpse of dark chest hair provided by the two unfastened buttons at his throat.

"Hi," she said. Funny how a lack of oxygen to the brain will make your voice airy.

He stared at her.

"Can I come in?" She thrust the paper bag she carried into his hand. "I brought dinner."

He blinked at the McDonald's logo for a moment, then stood back to allow her to enter.

Zoë breezed by him and into the marble-tiled foyer, relishing the whiff of potent male scent she drew off him as she passed. Hades. She had never met a man who smelled so good.

The house was a total guy's domain. Oak flooring as far as the eye could see. Browns, greens, and sturdy dark woods dominated the traditional furnishings and the air had a clean, fresh smell. No vanilla or flowery stuff here.

She peered into the living room to the left. Tidy, of course, and everything matched, from the draped curtains and leather sofa to the Oriental rug. Even the expensive paintings looked like they belonged.

"Which way to the kitchen?" She eyed the curving central staircase leading to the second floor and tried not to imagine what his bedroom would be like. Thick, plush carpeting that would softly envelop her bare toes? A massive king-sized bed draped in heavy, sensuous velvet? Smooth-as-silk Egyptian cotton sheets...?

"Straight ahead."

Almost grateful for the jolt back to reality, Zoë gulped a breath and stepped in that direction.

"Shoes, please."

"What?" She glanced at her feet, and then up at Daemon.

He wore a pained expression. "Take off your shoes, please."

Zoë frowned. "But you've got yours on."

"These are my indoor shoes."

"Indoor shoes?" She kicked off her scuffed sneakers, taking a sadistic pleasure from the clump of dried mud that dropped to the white marble. "That's nuts. Ever see the movie Sleeping with the Enemy ?"

"No."

She trailed him down the hardwood hall, her gaze lingering on his ass. Some guys should never wear jeans, their butts being too flat or too fleshy. Daemon Kemp could make a second career out of modeling them. "Well, you should.