Amazon  Barnes&Noble  Harlequin  iBooks  Google Play  Kobo 

            Wolf, half-asleep, dimly heard her moving about the room. His senses still smoldered with the memory of her lovemaking, and he savored the prospect of making love with her once more.

Typically, morning dampened Wolf’s fascination with a woman. Often, he’d contrive to quickly take his leave, but this day, as he drifted between sleep and waking, he imagined how she’d appear in daylight, how the flush of pleasure would tinge her complexion when he made love with her again.

Perhaps she would tell him her troubles then—what had happened to her to cause her to live in such a Spartan room. Perhaps she would tell him her name, at least. Perhaps he could help her, and perhaps all his nights in Paris could be spent in her bed.  

He smiled, drifting near to sleep again, imagining her lips on his skin, feeling the warmth of her when he joined with her. He grew hard again, the memory transformed into dream and back into anticipation.

From his deep reverie he heard the click of the door latch closing. His eyes flew open.

She was gone.

He sat up. The furniture was bare of all evidence of her. Gone was the glass he’d drunk from. Gone was her teacup, the tinder box from the fireplace, the dress she’d worn, and the clothing underneath. His clothing remained, folded neatly on the table, his coat neatly hung on the back of the solitary chair. Next to his clothing stood the empty wine bottle, sole evidence that the night they’d shared had not been a dream.

With a yell, Wolf bounded out of the bed, grabbing his greatcoat, which now hung alone on the peg by the door. He pulled on the garment in the hallway and ran down the stairs to the alley, catching a glimpse of her fleeing onto the street, a portmanteau in her hand.

He shouted for her to stop, sprinting after her, but by the time he reached the street, she had vanished. Disappeared as if she’d never existed at all.

Growling in frustration, he pounded the brick of the building at the alley’s corner. People on the street stared at him. He was a sight, for certain. Bare legs and feet, hatless, obviously naked under his greatcoat.

He spun around and prowled back to her room, now empty of everything that had been hers. His gaze came to rest on his coat, and realization dawned. He searched his pockets.

His purse was gone.

She’d stolen his purse, all the money he possessed until his next pay. Curse her! Curse him, for being such a dupe, such a total fool for falling for her act.

And here he was ready to help her. Ready to spend more nights in her bed.

He collapsed on the bed and put his head in his hands.

Curse her.