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A hotshot lawyer in need of a break receives a mysterious letter to a masquerade ball. Will she find love with her sexy secret admirer?
Naomi Hart
I turn slowly to see him because I know. This is the last moment I have in the before of meeting him. I hope that the reality of my pursuer lives up to what my imagination has created of him.
I take a quick inhale as I see him.
He's everything I had dreamed up and I can't even see his face.
I fumble for words, but settle on, "Here I am."
The man before me is staggeringly tall. His strong shoulders are shaped under his pristine--probably incredibly expensive--suit. And his dark black hair is slicked back beneath his devil horns. I can't see his face under his sleek black mask, but I can see that it houses deep brown eyes behind them. And I have never seen a jawline that strong.
I want to see more of him.
He stands with confidence. Expectance, too. And the smirk on his face tells me that he knows that I like what I see.
He may be Lucifer himself.
And I hope he drags me to hell.
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