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By Cait London

Tempest, Claire, and Leona: triplets blessed—or cursed—with a unique additional experience they'd every one deny, given the opportunity . . . Tempest was once born with the uncanny skill to benefit every little thing approximately an object—or even a person—just through the contact of her bare palms. yet she is aware this present comes at a cost, so she protects herself by way of retaining these she loves at a distance, but if a sinister enemy threatens all that she holds pricey, Tempest is compelled to arrive out to Marcus Greystone, who she as soon as touched willingly . . . and with passionate abandon. Marcus hasn't ever forgotten the sensuous evening he and Tempest shared—before she left his mattress with no observe. Now that she wishes his aid, Marcus is not letting her pass simply. it really is his probability to teach Tempest that his contact may also electrify. yet a meeting typhoon of violence is following Tempest, and a killer waits to get his fingers on her . . .

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Sample text

There was only one person who had really cared, and now she was gone, murdered. “I am never afraid,” he said between his teeth. “You’re afraid that I just might be able to give you what you want. No, that’s not right. It’s what you need, what’s buried inside you so deep that it’s a cold stone in your heart. ” Her voice was softer now, her expression compassionate. She was picking up pieces from his attitude, his tone, his expression—psychics did that, didn’t they? He didn’t want pity, let alone Tempest’s.

If the artifact wasn’t genuine, she was in no danger. If it was real, she had to have it. She cautiously opened the box and stared down at the brooch, resting on a dark cloth base. Still wearing her gloves, she carefully picked up the large brooch, 50 | Cait London much larger than the replicas she had created for her family. It wasn’t as heavy as she’d expected, concave on the back, probably to allow some kind of storage, which was typical of the period. Bronze would have been more commonly used, but this piece was silver, with some kind of an alloy, and dark with age.

The heat and sensuality had stirred around them from that first moment. She’d been standing by Predator, a bird of prey in flight, one long, hot pink silk glove stroking its bronze wing as if to tame the wild beast. Captured in a pool of light that caught the flame in her hair, she’d looked over her champagne glass to him. He’d known instantly that she would be interesting. Marcus had walked to her, caught her scent—unique, exotic, sensual—above the others in the room. As he had stood near her, she was even more unique, with slanted mysterious green eyes, that pale skin, and soft, glistening mouth.

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