The promise of amusement brightened Finn’s mood as he leaned against a bamboo beam where orchids hung in terracotta pots, perfuming the air at the Caribbean resort. Veiled from mortal sight, he watched a woman’s sleek black hair whip across her bare shoulders as she danced. So relaxed. So at ease. So content in her packaged life. Not a hint of suspicion her vacation would soon take a turn. Her oblivion curled his Elvin lips.
The perfect subject.
For a human, she had a body that bid his gaze to each curve, skin that shone like wet pearls. He’d watched her languish daily on a beach chair to escape into her books. Once, her cheeks had flushed when she’d read an erotic scene — a blindfolded heroine anticipating the feel of the hero’s hands on her thighs, spreading, exposing, touching. Isabelle had glanced around as if anyone other than Finn had the power to read her mind.
Enjoy your last dance, princess.
He saw her clearly. Isabelle Carson had taken a self-imposed vow of celibacy. A mindset she’d have to overcome — tonight — if she intended to stay in the human world.
Finn had chosen the male subject, another fine specimen, months ago. Jonathan Raynor, a man who didn’t acknowledge his emotional void, a man who didn’t recognize his own need for one good woman.
Before he could set the boundaries for the game, he needed Isabelle to leave the dance floor. He knew just the right prompt to send her to the beach.
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