“The curse is upon you. One of you has to die.” A throaty, female voice followed me out of the nightmare. No cuts on my arms. No slashes on my face. But the musky scent of roses filled the air. Trembling uncontrollably, I crawled back to the center of the headboard. A bathroom. A dressing room. A picture window at dawn. A canopy bed. Antique everything. Stupid nightmares. I missed my hot, faceless ghost guy. Jerking a blanket over my face, I nestled under the covers. Dealing with cranky Cole Kinsley in the morning would require a fresh mind and a body rested enough to keep up with his athletic pace. Operation Torture Cole Kinsley couldn’t come soon enough. * * * * Aromas that reminded me of home led me downstairs. Family members sneered at me as I passed them. I probably had dressed in something they’d never be seen in.
