Lover Mine: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood by J. R. Ward

Author:J. R. Ward [Ward, J. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Fiction - Romance, Romance - Paranormal, Paranormal, Occult & Supernatural
ISBN: 9780451231550
Publisher: Penguin Group USA
Published: 2010-09-14T04:00:00+00:00

J. R.Ward

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"It can be. I've been hoping to grow out of it . . . and then you do stuff like look after me and I get sucked in all over again."

He stared at her, measuring her perfect features and her smooth skin and her amazing body.

Feeling tangled and strange, and like he owed her an apology, he went over to the camera on the tripod and turned it on to record. "You got your cell phone with you?"

She reached into her robe's pocket and took out a BlackBerry. "Right here."

"Call me if anything strange happens, 'kay?"

Holly frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "Just never seen you quite this . . ."

"Anxious? Yeah, I guess there's something about this house."

"I was going to say . . . connected, actually. It's like you're truly looking at me for the first time."

"I've always looked at you."

"Not like this."

Gregg went over to the door and paused. "Can I ask you something weird? Do you . . . color your hair?"

Holly put her hand up to the blond waves. "No. I never have."

"It's really that blond?"

"You should know."

As she cocked her eyebrow, he flushed. "Well, women can get dye jobs down . . . you know."

"Well, I don't."

Gregg frowned and wondered who the hell was running his brain: he seemed to have all these odd thoughts playing over his airwaves, like maybe his station had been hijacked. Giving her a little wave, he ducked into the hall, and looked left then right while listening hard. No footsteps. No creaking. No one with a sheet pulled over his head, Casper-ing around.

Yanking his windbreaker on, he stalked over to the stairs and hated the echo of his own footsteps. The sound made him feel pursued.

He glanced behind himself. Nothing but empty corridor.

Down on the first floor, he looked at the lights that had been left on.

One in the library. One in the front hall. One in the parlor.

Ducking around the corner, he paused to check out that Rathboone portrait. For some reason, he didn't think the painting was so fucking romantic and salable anymore.

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