Immortal Bride

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And she had believed Damien when he’d claimed that Melanie had killed herself. Was that what he had told people about Olivia—that she had taken her own life? Anger surged through her, strengthening her energy and her resolve as she continued her search.

Downstairs she checked cupboards and desk drawers. She did not exactly know what she was looking for, but yet she realized she had found it when she pulled a search warrant from atop the pile of papers on the desk in Damien’s mahogany-paneled den. The round room was in the turret beneath the master bedroom—its curved windows framing the lake and the man who stood on the shore of it, gazing out over the water.

Olivia pulled her gaze from him to focus on the warrant, which encompassed the house, grounds and lake. So the police had searched for her body, but she’d sunk too deep. Even if they had dredged, they wouldn’t have found her.

Had they found anything else for which they’d searched—any evidence of a homicide? Her homicide? Or Melanie’s?

Apparently she was not the only one who suspected Damien of killing her. But if the police had found the evidence they needed, he would not be a free man right now.

Of course he was too smart to leave any evidence. He was too smart to get caught.

But maybe he had left a witness—one more reliable and able to testify than she was. Ignoring a pang of loss and regret, she left the house and, avoiding the lake beneath which her body lay and where Damien stood vigil, she slipped deep into the woods.

And she hoped he wasn’t the only one who could see her….

Chapter 4

Moving with inherit stealth, Damien crept through the woods—his attention on the trail ahead and the woman who followed it, on her way from the house. He had thought he’d sensed her presence inside—while he’d been taking his shower.

He had felt her gaze on him, watching him as he had often caught her watching him—her blue eyes bright with desire. And he would open the door of the shower and pull her inside with him, her squealing as the water saturated the clothes she wore. But he’d help her, quickly, out of the wet garments. Baring all her pale skin to the pulse of the water and the caress of his hands…and his mouth…

He was always thorough, missing no delectable inch of her, licking the water from her breasts, running his tongue in circles around her pouting nipples before closing his lips around one.

She would moan and tangle her fingers in his hair while he moved his fingers lower, between her thighs, through her curls to her very core.

“Damien!” He could hear her yet, screaming his name as she came.

But he never allowed her time to catch her breath before he lifted her, thrusting inside her wet heat. Her legs locked tight around his waist, she would arch her hips—in perfect rhythm with his thrusts—until they both screamed in passionate release.

He expelled a ragged breath. God, it had been too long since he’d had that release. With Olivia gone he’d had no desire to make love because he had no one to love with her gone.

But was she really gone?

He focused on the woman ahead of him on the trail. Her hair the color of moonlight, she had to be Olivia, but yet she looked more substantial, more real, than the woman from the lake the night before.

Was his bride alive and only trying to drive him out of his mind? His gut tightened with dread as he realized he should have known better than to take the risk of trusting her. He was a gambler—not a fool.