This title is no longer available as of June 2018.

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©2008 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Preoccupied with my own thoughts, I was caught off guard when Sharpe steered me sharply to the left and down a short hallway into what looked like a game room. A large billiards table took up most of the far side of the half-lit space, with a half dozen men gathered around it and even more women circling them. A few others milled at the near side of the room, watching a television as two men played a video game.

“Logan!” Sharpe called, raising a hand as he walked toward the men at the pool table. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

The one who’d just taken a shot straightened and turned.

Oh. My. God!

If Sharpe hadn’t been tugging me along, I’m pretty sure I would have frozen on the spot. Because Sharpe was finally dragging me toward someone I was impressed with and not remotely prepared to face.
Logan Lockhart.

A few years ago, he’d become a household name by starring in a string of hit action movies that appealed particularly to the young adult crowd. Also appealed to the female crowd of nearly any age. Logan played something of a James Bond or Jason Bourne type of character, but the situations were far less serious, almost campy. The movies never took themselves seriously and, frankly, weren’t all that good script-wise. Popular opinion laid the entire success of the series to the charisma of the lead actor and the supporting cast. Logan himself had been acclaimed by the press and named among the most beautiful men in the world by popular vote in prominent magazines in at least three different countries.

The man was, without doubt, beautiful. Model perfect, but with rugged features and a musculature that you could believe he earned through activity rather than just in a gym. About Michael’s height, he stood in the strange shadow of the hooded light over the pool table. His skin was smooth and flawless, perhaps a few shades lighter than Michael’s rich golden brown. His face was a perfect oval, classic, with a slightly blunted nose and high cheekbones. Straight, shining brown hair was trimmed short around his neck and ears with one long, blond streak that fell in a sexy swath over his left eye. His lips were just this side of too lush as they smiled at me, causing a most distracting dimple near the corner of his mouth. His eyes, now they were special. I couldn’t see the color very well at present, but I knew from many hours staring at images of the man that they were a light brown that could be mistaken for yellow. Gold, maybe. Stunning.

Gwen and I were big fans of the movies, so to see Logan Lockhart appear before me now was…mind-altering.

Smiling, he came around the corner of the table and switched the cue stick from one big hand to the other. The three gold earrings in his right ear glittered.

Sharpe patted his arm while presenting me to the actor. “Logan, this is Meg Gray. Meg, Logan Lockhart.”

Eyebrows raised, Logan glanced very briefly at Sharpe before extending a hand toward me. “Meg,” he said, warm, dry fingers lightly gripping mine as his dark molasses voice wrapped around me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Me?!” I squeaked. Entirely undignified, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. My synapses were not firing properly. My skin was warmer than it should be. Logan Lockhart!

“Oh, yeah. We all heard about you leashing two shifters” — he glanced over my shoulder, perhaps looking for Michael or Rudy — “then the deaths and the tribunal.” He laughed softly. “You ever think of writing a script? It’d probably make a great movie.”

Was he a shifter? Or was Logan Lockhart a witch?! I was forced to recall that just about everyone at the party was a witch, a shape-shifter, or a mundane with knowledge of the paranormal. Logic leaned toward shifter, since I could usually tell a witch just by look.

The realization shocked my brain into working a bit. I laughed, heard it sound far too high and girly. Disgusted with myself, I dropped my gaze from his beautiful face to find that my hand was still folded in his. It stayed as I stared. Shouldn’t we have let go of each other by now?

Amusement that wasn’t mine tickled the back of my neck. I startled, glancing over my shoulder. Michael was watching me from a doorway about ten feet away, an amused curl to the corner of his mouth. The flush to my skin deepened as I averted my gaze.

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