Page 177 of Sins of the Heart
space. He eased back a couple of inches and raked his
fingers through the thick strands of his hair. His efforts
only served to muss it up even more. The tie at his nape
came away altogether and the shimmering length fell
free, loose waves cut blunt to his shoulders, one strand
curving along the hollow of his cheekbone.
For an instant she saw him not as a soul reaper but
as a male. Handsome. Alluring. He was rough and a little unkempt with his long hair and lean features,
scuffed boots and faded jeans. Wild. Frightening. Certainly not pretty-boy polished.
Dangerous on so many levels.
How many nights had she woken up in a cold sweat,
torn from a nightmare where he’d come for her, ripped
her chest open, taken her heart?
And how many nights had she woken from a dream
where he’d come for her and saved her life? Touched her
hair. Her cheek. Gentle, so gentle. Not a dream. A memory.
“Why didn’t you kill me that night?” The question
was out and she couldn’t call it back.
He shrugged, watching her with his cold, beautiful
eyes, the gray of his irises tinged in this light with purple and blue. “It wasn’t your night to die.”
A step and he was so close that she could smell his
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skin, faintly citrus. Definitely male. She wanted to lean
even closer, breathe deeper.
She didn’t.
But he did. He was there against her, his face lowering until the side of his nose grazed her cheek. He
breathed in. Only that. A slow inhalation. It made her
pulse jump and her blood heat.
Confusion slapped her.
