Sinful Suspense Box Set Read Online Free PDF

seem to take in enough oxygen. My fingers and face tingled with numbness, and an overwhelming sense of terror froze me to the spot. The donut fell from my fingers and landed icing down on the dirt. I had no explanation for my reaction. A clammy sweat covered my skin. I leaned my hand against the rock to steady myself. The tingling in my fingers moved to my hands and arms and I worried I might pass out.
    It was a laugh behind me, a deep, treacherous sounding laugh that shocked me out of the panic attack. I sucked in a long, steadying breath and turned around. Panic turned to fear, and it dawned on me just how alone I was. Only I wasn’t completely alone. The man, the motorcycle rider, was tromping down the slippery, steep trail in his black motorcycle boots and black leather jacket as easily as one might cross a flat, solid floor. His dark hair was shaved close to his head and a mosaic of black tattoos that looked like nothing more than a blur of ink from where I stood covered his neck. The one thing that was clear to me—my beloved guitar, my prized possession, was dangling precariously from his big hand.
    He waved the instrument around like a flag above his head. “I wasn’t seeing things.” His unhinged laughter bounced off the surrounding granite cliffs. He stopped a few feet away. I backed up.
    My bottom hit the rock. The unexplained panic attack had subsided sharply. Now fear made adrenaline surge through my bloodstream. My gaze flicked in every direction, looking for my escape route, as if I’d been cornered by a hungry mountain lion.
    He had dark eyes that were looking at me but seemed to be looking straight through me too, as if there was a conflicting bunch of thoughts going through his head. One thing was sure, he looked dangerous.
    His eyes dropped to my legs and back to my face. “Aren’t you something,” he said. “Looks like you just popped out of a magic genie bottle or something.” He licked his bottom lip and grinned wickedly at me. “And I already know what my three wishes will be.” He took another step.
    My eyes shot to my guitar. He hung it from his long fingers as if it was a piece of trash to be tossed aside. He was more focused than I would have given him credit for as he seemed to notice where my attention had landed.
    He looked at the guitar with surprise, almost as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. He lifted it up and strummed it roughly. The discordant sound sent several critters from the nearby trees and I startled. He laughed again.
    “Give her the damn guitar,” an angry voice called from above. Another pair of black motorcycle boots lumbered with preternatural ease down the rough terrain. This man was just as tall but with dark blond hair and facial hair. There was much more emotion in his face. In fact, he had a face that was hard to look away from. He reached the spot where the first man was standing and wrenched the guitar from his hand without a struggle. They were both over six feet tall with imposing, almost threatening physiques that would make any sane man think twice before crossing them.
    The second man stepped closer, and instinctively, I took a step back which, from the tiny tilt of his mouth, seemed to amuse him. He had a black plug in each ear and a deep scar lined one side of his perfectly squared jaw, the kind of jaw that made a man undeniably handsome. A ham handed doctor or possibly even a friend or the man himself had done a poor job stitching the gash, yet it didn’t detract from his face.
    He stretched his arm out to hand me the guitar. As I reached to take it, our fingers accidentally brushed together and the oddest feeling, a feeling akin to déjà vu, a weird familiarity, pushed the breath from me. His eyes, brown but with flashes of feral gold, met mine for a brief second. It almost seemed as if he’d felt the same thing, but I brushed off the idea as my runaway imagination, a result of the earlier panic attack.
    “Don’t you fucking dare turn on