The Shadows

And then he began to move. Slow at first, with growing momentum, she was transported along with him to a rising, shimmering pleasure.

Sweeping her hands down his surging back, she loved the power of him, and the knowledge that this particular male was the one who had been the first within her body.

And then a dam broke and everything became so much more vivid, a cresting rush pushing her up against that body of his.

Her mouth opened and she cried out, but not in pain.

He shouted as well, and there was a pulsing inside her core.

But that was not the end. He didn’t stop. He just kept going, pumping against her, in her, over her.

The healer had not told her it would be this good.

Not at all.

FIFTY-FIVE

He came into her life wearing a Syracuse ball cap and blue jeans that had holes in them.

Paradise was at her desk, making entries in the system, fielding inquires on e-mail, settling visitors in the chairs, when yet another cold breeze shot through the parlor. By now, she was used to the shafts of frigid air—there was one every time the front door opened and shut as a new arrival came in.

So she didn’t actually look up until she sensed a large presence at her desk.

As she lifted her eyes, she had her professional smile in place—but promptly lost the expression.

Standing in front of her was a male about six feet, seven inches tall, with shoulders as wide as a doorway, and a jaw that was straight as an arrow. He had some kind of windbreaker on, even though it was cold enough for a proper coat, and no gloves.

And then there was the Orange ball cap and those jeans.

“May I help you?” she asked.

The brim of that hat was so low, she couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel the impact of them.

“I’m here about the training program.”

His voice was very deep and surprisingly quiet. Given his physical size, she would have expected something much louder.

“The training program?”

“For the Black Dagger Brotherhood’s soldiers.”

“Oh, yes. I know, but it’s not—I mean, it’s not here. At this house.”

As he looked around, she tried to catch sight of his eyes. “I know,” he said. “I mean, I need an application, and I thought there might be one here.”

“There was an e-mail that went out. Would you like me to forward it to you?”

“I, ah . . .” He glanced around again. Shoved his hands into the pockets of those jeans. “Do you have an application that’s printed out?”

“I can just send you the whole thing right now—what’s your e-mail address?”

As he seemed to focus on the wall behind her head, she decided that his hair was dark. Dark and very short.

“I don’t have an e-mail address,” he said softly.

Paradise blinked. “Hotmail is free.”

“It’s okay,” the male said, taking a step back. “I’ll find another way to get one.”

“Wait.” She opened up the desk drawer. “Here. Take mine—I mean, this one.”

He hesitated. Reached a long arm over. Accepted what she had previously taken out of the wastepaper basket.

“Thanks.” He glanced down and frowned—at least, she thought he was frowning. “This one is already filled in at the top?”

As he passed it back to her, she cursed. “Sorry. I . . . let me print you out a fresh one.”

Clicking through with her mouse, she signed into her e-mail, got Peyton the Jerk’s forward, opened the attachment, hit print.

As the machine behind the desk woke up and started whirring, the male put the application down on her desk. “You’re going into the program?”

Great. Like she needed to get The Lecture from a complete stranger.

She snatched the paperwork back. “Females are allowed to join, you know. It’s in the e-mail. We can join—”

“I think you should. Even if you choose not to fight, I think females should be trained—you don’t know when or under what circumstances you might have to protect yourself. It’s only logical.”

Paradise just stared up at him. “I . . .” She cleared her throat. “I happen to agree with you.”

As the printer fell quiet, she pivoted in her chair and took the warm pages off the top of the HP. There was no real need to paper-clip, staple, or otherwise tie them together, but she made work out of pulling open another drawer and rifling around for something from OfficeMax.

“You can bring them back here,” she said when she handed them over. “Once you’ve filled them out, I can give them to the Brothers.”

He folded the application once and put it inside his thin windbreaker. “Thank you.”

And then he took his ball cap off and bowed to her.

As he straightened, she got a better look at him, and file that under OMG.

Make that OMFG.

His eyes were a perfect sky blue, deeply set, with dark brows and lashes. His face was hollow-cheeked, because he was a little too lean, but that just set off the masculine bone structure. And his mouth was . . .

If he’d gotten her attention before, he pretty much knocked her on her ass now.

Thank God for her chair.

“What’s your name?” she blurted as he turned away.

He put his ball cap back on. “Craeg.”

She got to her feet and stuck out her hand. “I’m Paradise—well, you probably know that already, because you read the thing I’d filled in.”