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“I love you too.” I pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his sigil. “Forever.”

“Forever,” he echoed.

We lay there in the candlelight, wrapped in each other and the quiet contentment of Heartbreak. Outside, the party continued, but in here, it was just us. The three of us.

I couldn't wait to see where our lives would take us.

A Special Look

Keep reading for a special look into the next book in the Living Curses Series:

The Curse of Lust

Chapter One

Rain glazed the streets of the Pearl District in polished pewter. Outside Petrichor Parfum, Emma Ruhr pressed the brass buzzer. Her coat brushed my sleeve as she shifted her weight from one beige high heel to the other.

“Emma?” a male voice crackled through the intercom.

“Yes!” She sounded breathless. “It's me.”

The sound of a bolt sliding came through the door.

I kept my back to Emma, scanning the street. Delivery vans, moving cars, and pedestrians beneath black umbrellas—an urban maze full of blind spots. Emma had a stalker who liked to send “romantic letters,” going as far as to break into her car to leave one. Portland Police filed a report, but couldn't offer more without evidence. So, Emma had hired me.

Once Emma was in, I backed in after her and shut the door. The city's damp chill vanished into a velvet quiet.

Petrichor Parfum felt less like a modern retail space and more like an Old World European apothecary. Polished walnut cornices arched toward high ceilings. Botanical wallpaper covered the walls between Art Nouveau display cabinets full of hand-labeled crystal bottles. The only window was beside the door, leaving the chandeliers to light the space with golden warmth. The air smelled citrusy and woody. It carried none of the suffocating odors of department store counters.

“Right on time.” A man came through a doorway on the right and went to Emma to shake her hand. “A pleasure.”

“Oh!” She flushed. “Yes, for me as well.”

Dressed in an expensive suit, he should have looked elegant, but he wore it with a nonchalant air, the top buttons of his shirt undone. The body beneath pushed at the garments like a caged beast, demanding freedom. And that face. It belonged in movies. Or on the FBI's most wanted list. When his gaze shifted from Emma to me, heat exploded in my belly.

Some people have charisma. It doesn't matter what they look like, they're magnetic. But if they are attractive, it jacks up their appeal into the realms of fantasy. This man had charisma for days. It kept hitting me, like a boxer moving in for a knock-out. But I'd been trained by the best.

I drew a slow breath through my nose, pressing my heels into the Persian rug to lock my heart rate into a calm zone. I knew the physiological tricks of adrenaline. I understood how attraction floods the brain with dopamine and norepinephrine while simultaneously dropping levels of serotonin to create obsessive thoughts. I knew how facial symmetry and scent could trigger evolutionary responses, basically your body telling you a person would make good babies. I've had men “fall in love” with me because we were in stressful situations together, and recognized it as the misattribution of arousal. In addition to that, I knew how to counter those physiological changes.

The man's gray eyes narrowed, and he stepped around Emma. “Hello, and you are?”

“Security.”

“Nameless security?” He smirked—a double punch.

“Diana Christos.” I held out a hand. “Crisis Consultant.”

With his touch, my body locked up, as if on the verge of coming. The reaction was unprecedented, but still, it was mine, and as such, I was in control of it. I held his gaze as I released another breath. He was just an attractive man, nothing new.

“Ms. Ruhr is being stalked. I advised her to cancel this appointment, but she refused. Something about a deposit.”

“Stalked? Really.” He turned to look at Emma, still holding my hand. “How exciting.”

His voice, like his clothing, was both refined and not. Deep but silky, it made me think of rumpled sheets and sweaty skin. It was the voice of a lover and a fighter. I couldn't place the accent, which was odd. I was good at accents.

“And you are?” I mimicked him as I pulled my hand away.

He jerked back to me, even as Emma pouted and started telling him her story. “I'm Sinclair Maddox, but, please, call me Sin.”