Free Illicit by Madeline Pryce Page A

planned to leave. She is mine , it hissed.
    The feline paced, slashed razor claws and tried to free itself. Peter stumbled backward, hit the door and fought not to double over. Pain flashed through his limbs. No. He turned into the door, pressed his forehead against the icy wood and breathed deep.
    “We. Are. Leaving,” Peter seethed.
    Pushing away, ready to walk to his truck, he almost missed the note taped next to his head, but a flash of white caught his eye. The sound of rustling paper was the only noise in the silent breeze. He ripped the paper from the wall, unfolded and read silently.
    “Does the kitty whore scream ‘meow’ when she comes? When you die, she’ll be mine.”
    A growl rippled from his chest. Head jerking from left to right, he studied his surroundings. His gaze swept down the line of cabins, and then across the street to the little wooden grocery store. Church. Lost Isle . Police Station. Then, finally he appraised the Cracker Jack post office. Main Street was silent and deserted. His nose twitched. Lifting the note to his nose, he inhaled, and smelled nothing except the fibers in the paper. He lifted his head to better taste the scents on the air. The wind blew away from him, and the only thing he could focus on was Eva lingering on his skin.
    Peter curled his lip, crumpled the paper and shoved it into his jeans pocket. He stalked through the snow to his truck, ripped open the door to the cab. With one last sweeping glance, he stepped into the vehicle and hissed, “The kitty whore says ‘Peter’ when she comes, asshole.”
    He settled into the leather seat and didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything besides a blind rage. Jaw tight, eyes on the door of his hotel room, and hands clenched on the steering wheel, he waited. Until he could find the threat and eliminate it, his little angel would go nowhere without him as her shadow.
    Eva was his. For the first time in a long time, he and the leopard agreed on something.

Chapter Five
     
    Who knew Eva would feel so horrible after a night of amazing, mind-numbing sex. Had she mentioned amazing? She groaned into her pillow and wished for the darkness to steal her away. Her head throbbed. Her skin felt tight. Muscles she hadn’t known existed screamed.
    Dizzy and disoriented, she struggled to untangle herself from the sheets woven through her legs. Every shift rubbed her thighs together. Stabs of pleasure moved through the center of her body, delicious and arousing, if not a little tender. She was swollen, and surprisingly eager for more.
    She should have known her sexy stranger would be addicting. Rolling onto her back, she pressed a hand to the center of her aching forehead. Was there such a thing as a sex hangover? If so, would chasing the hair of the dog, or whatever they called it, ease her symptoms?
    A grin surfaced. She smoothed her hand across cold sheets and found nothing but empty bed and a folded piece of paper. Her smile fell flat. Dread cinched her stomach into a knot. How could a white slip of paper freeze her blood and simultaneously make her sweat? Oh, she knew. The freak who’d killed Greg had left her a present. A vindictive love note. On a simple white slip of folded paper, the culprit wrote,
    The kitty said meow, right before I blew a hole through his head. I’m coming for you next, Angel. You’re mine.
    Greg was dead because of her. The heartache hit hard. Behind closed lids, tears stung her eyes and she fought to push the memories away. This wasn’t the time or the place. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around the knees she brought to her chest. She looked around the small, unfamiliar cabin she’d spent the night in. What in the hell was she doing here anyway? She pushed aside the doubt. She’d made her bed and gotten exactly what she’d needed. Yet now, more than ever, she felt raw to the bone and naked because of it.
    She was alone. So damned alone.
    Grief swelled inside her gut and, for a moment, she couldn’t