Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

Bright light from the full moon glinted off the stainless-steel appliances in the immaculate kitchen. A scream echoed through the large space, drowning out the grunts and moans coming from the two men fighting near the center, arms locked in a combative embrace. The sickening thud of flesh on flesh was followed by a spurt of blood that showered the island countertop. The man dressed in black from head to toe took advantage, flinging them both to the ground with a bone-jarring crunch. He rolled, kneeling above the other man, who was wearing only boxers. With a snick, the man in black flicked open a switchblade. He swung it in an arc above his head, catching the moonlight, making the metal glow. The knife slashed through the air into the bare chest of the man below and another scream pierced the kitchen’s confines.

“Yoo-hoo.”

Aislinn Campbell sucked in a breath and shook her head, trying to ward off the last vestiges of the vision plaguing her yet again.

“Are you there, hon? Earth to Aislinn.” Christina Marshall, the closest friend Aislinn had—the only friend she had—waved a hand in front of her face.

Aislinn had tried more times than she could count not to get close to the uber-bubbly personality that was Chris, to no avail. Chris had insinuated herself in Aislinn’s life and never looked back.

Aislinn flushed with embarrassment. Of all the times for her to have a vision—at work in front of numerous coworkers. Great. She could probably count the minutes until word got around about her freakiness. Fighting the urge to cover her ears against the memories of past taunts, she fisted her hands on the arms of the ergonomic computer chair.

Her gaze traveled from one side of the room to the other, taking everything in. Mr. Turner liked the open work spaces instead of offices that shut everyone away. It was a fun atmosphere, which in turn led to lower turnover of employees and more production. No one seemed to be looking at her, not even Chris, who hopefully was too busy picking on her fingernail to notice Aislinn’s distress.

“So how late did he make you stay last night?” Chris’s focus remained on her nails but Aislinn heard the hint of amusement touching her voice.

Aislinn cleared her throat. “What?” Her friend wasn’t acting like she’d noticed her momentary space out. Well, except for the Earth to Aislinn comment.

Chris dropped her hand and propped a butt cheek on the corner of Aislinn’s desk. She looked her typical bored self, but Aislinn could see her attention was focused on something. Her gaze darted between the bank of elevators and Aislinn.

If she didn’t know better, Aislinn might be offended. Despite Chris’s protests, she was seriously interested in one of their boss’s bodyguards. Aislinn hadn’t figured out which one yet. And she didn’t care. No man would ever have that kind of hold over her again.

“You know,” Chris murmured. “Last night. The meeting. How long did he make you stay?”

“Oh. That. Not too late. Seven twenty-eight.”

Chris laughed. “Not too late, but late enough you noticed the exact minute you walked out the door? Were his groupies with him?” she sneered.

Aislinn straightened the paperwork on her desk. Not even eight o’clock in the morning and already Mr. Turner had four messages. Her mouth went dry thinking about Kyle Turner III. Somehow she had to warn him without drawing attention to herself. She’d left him an email, but who knew if he’d even open it. Most of the time he left the menial task to her.

So she’d have to open her own email and then tell him what it said without letting on that she’d been the one to send it.

And just how would she go about that? You got this strange email, Mr. Turner. It says, “Please watch yourself. I think someone’s going to kill you in a kitchen.”

She could see it now. He’d look up at her from beneath his mile long eyelashes with those gorgeous cornflower blue eyes, the corner of his mouth would quirk and he’d say, “Haven’t I told you to stop opening strange emails? You’re going to get our entire system infected with a virus.”

Not to mention he would consider her for a “whacko of the century” award. She could imagine the padded cell with her name on it. Either that or his groupies, as Chris referred to them, would call her an accomplice to whatever nefarious demise was planned for Mr. Turner and have her locked away in a different kind of cell. One with bars, a disgusting toilet, a bunk with grungy, paper-thin mattresses and a cellmate named Large Marge.

Either way she wouldn’t have to worry ever again about David. Her ex would have no access to her in jail. Huh. Maybe she should think on the possibility some more… Jail couldn’t be all that bad. Food cooked for her, exercise time, TV time—Good Lord! She was actually contemplating going to jail to get away from the man who should be there himself. What did that say about her?

Aislinn shook her head and forced herself to unclench the arms of the chair she’d taken hold of at some point for a second time.

“Man you are in another world today. What’s up, chickie?” Chris crossed her arms over her chest.

“Nothing,” Aislinn mumbled, rearranging her desk. Since when had she become OCD? “I’ve got a lot to do today and you’re sitting on my faxes.”

Chris lifted her butt and Aislinn yanked the papers out from under her.

“Were his groupies with him? Did they walk you to your car at least? Nothing about them seems at all civil. Do you think they ever leave Mr. Turner’s side, or do you think the three of them sleep together too?” Chris had a habit of pulling questions out of thin air just for the sake of speaking. She was a chatterbox. The quirk was probably one of the reasons Aislinn liked the woman so much. Chris reminded Aislinn of her mother. Darla Campbell could talk the ears off anyone.

Aislinn snickered. “Yes, yes, and I have a feeling none of those men have ever been near a bed at the same time. Well, a real bed anyway. Probably when they were in the military they spent a lot of time watching each other’s backs when they slept.” She paused and cocked her head, thinking about something she’d seen a few weeks ago involving a blonde bombshell of a model and her friend’s “groupies”. “On second thought, TJ and Jonathan might be in cahoots.” She winked at Chris. Talking about the two men was bound to raise Chris’s hackles.

“No way.”

Aislinn hid a smile at Chris’s outright denial. “I was kidding,” she consoled and watched Chris’s shoulders droop. A second later her friend’s back went ramrod straight.

“Speak of the devils.” Chris jumped from her seat on the desk and straightened her clothes. The woman was practically primping herself. It wouldn’t have surprised Aislinn if Chris ran her fingers through her hair too and dabbed on some lipstick.

Aislinn looked through the wall of glass at the three men making their way across the expansive lobby from the elevators. She fought the temptation to do some primping of her own. Her pulse sped up and her breath hitched the same way it did every time Kyle Turner III came near. Strange, considering she never wanted to be with a man again.

“Way too much testosterone right there if you ask me. Eighteen feet plus of packed muscle, tanned bods, gorgeous hair, and enough charm to coax a snake to part from its skin. Throw in Jon’s clear blue eyes and TJ’s fathomless brown one’s and what have you got? Sex on wheels,” Chris grunted. “They practically swagger. Can you see them in long dusters and cowboy hats? Picture an old western film and them moving across a dusty street in slow motion. It’s disgusting.”

Aislinn snorted. “Is that why you’re fixing yourself up?” Damn. The duster image was a nice one. She could see Kyle in one of those. And nothing else. Oh God.