By Cait London
Tempest, Claire, and Leona: triplets blessed—or cursed—with a unique additional feel they might every one deny, given the opportunity . . . Tempest was once born with the uncanny skill to profit every thing approximately an object—or even a person—just through the contact of her bare arms. yet she is familiar with this reward comes at a value, so she protects herself by way of protecting these she loves at a distance, but if a sinister enemy threatens all that she holds expensive, Tempest is pressured to arrive out to Marcus Greystone, who she as soon as touched willingly . . . and with passionate abandon. Marcus hasn't ever forgotten the sensuous evening he and Tempest shared—before she left his mattress with no notice. Now that she wishes his aid, Marcus isn't really letting her pass simply. it truly is his likelihood to teach Tempest that his contact may also electrify. yet a meeting hurricane of violence is following Tempest, and a killer waits to get his arms on her . . .
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Extra resources for A Stranger's Touch
Her gloves now were supple black leather, but he remembered the silk ones she’d worn that night, the way they’d glided over his back. Tempest continued staring at him for just a heartbeat, and then she tossed the opener onto the desk. Marcus moved the leg blocking her passage. Head high, Tempest walked by him and out into the living 36 | Cait London room. He followed and settled in to watch her prowl around the penthouse. She paused to look at the ultramodern gym and ignored him as she appeared to study a Monet, but every line of her curved, compact body was tensed and ready to spring.
She had desperately needed an income—and she’d had a very special talent. To protect her children, Greer had changed from her married name, Bartel, to Aisling. The family’s unique ancestry was a well-kept secret, but Aisling had been the name of her ancestor, a Celtic seer. “You had no right to research my family. ” Furious, and uncertain of how to handle him now— because he knew too much, and she was in a trap he’d set—Tempest could have attacked him. Cautious of her own mood and impulsive nature, she slowly drank the bottled water, then walked up out of the sunken conversation area toward the glass case.
The clerk carried in the tiny box and glanced at Tempest’s black leather gloves. His frown was puzzled, but he nodded and discreetly closed the door behind him. 48 | Cait London Marcus, in a lightweight gray business suit, stood back and nodded to the box. He looked as hard and impenetrable as the bank’s huge vault door and the gate covering it; he looked as cold as the exterior marble blocks, polished and smooth. But when she’d appeared, freshly showered and in the dress, those gray eyes had definitely heated, before he turned away.
A Stranger's Touch by Cait London