Double Image by Jaye Roycraft

From the Publisher

250 years ago, Dalys Aldgate received the ultimate gift--a journey to the Other Side. Dalys became a mirror upon which the living can project their fantasies, never seeing the "monster" on the mirror's other side. Today "Dallas" is the reclusive owner of a haunted inn. Ex-cop Tia Martell is a freelance photographer trying to put the years of violence and death behind her. While on assignment, murder brings her face-to-face with Dallas Allgate, the coldest, most fascinating man she has ever met. Before Tia can unravel Dallas' mystery, a vampire seeks him out for revenge. St. James only wants Dallas' true death until he sees Tia. Now he wants her, too.

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"Come in, Miss Martell."

He watched her cool blue gaze crawl down the length of his body to the tips of his polished black shoes, then climb up again to grasp his eyes. His abilities didn't quite extend to the reading of specific thoughts, but what was on her mind was clear nonetheless. Her eyes had outlined his size, and the quirk that returned to one eyebrow asked why he didn't move that size to allow her more room.

He stood his ground.

She smiled in return--a strong smile that told him she accepted his challenge.

She carried a bulky camera case on one arm. Turning sideways to squeeze herself and the bag through the opening he had given her, she faced him, her eyes inches from his. She paused, adjusted the weight of the bag on her shoulder, tossed her head to extricate an errant tendril from her face, and sidestepped past him. Her gaze remained locked on his, her smile confidently in place.

His strategy backfired in his face.

Desire flared in him as her fragrance flooded his senses. Life itself had its own scent, but the chemistry of each individual seasoned it uniquely. This one was sweet and strong, the clean tang of her blood spoiled only slightly by the trace of artificial perfume. He could almost taste her heated skin on his tongue, honeyed and unspoiled. He inhaled her flavor, and it ran along his skin like the sweet sweat of arousal, insistent and undeniable.

One sleeve of her flowing silk blouse brushed his arm, and her heat freed her scent even more. Every breath filled him with the reminder of the covenant he had made with Death two hundred years ago. All the gentility and civilized living he could cocoon himself in couldn't change theprimal need that animated him. That need raged inside him now more strongly than it had for a long, long time. It was the blood, but it was more than that. It was the journey that led up to the blood.