The stone structure loomed over her like a towering god. Lights blazed from every window, casting eerie shadows on the crisp snow blanketing the vast expanse of lawn. Christmas garlands of holly and ivy hung from the archways. Strains of moody classical music wafted from brightly lit rooms. People in decadent clothing milled around inside. She clutched the golden invitation and once again read the masculine script. Miss Evelyn Ward, Everything you can imagine is real. Forever yours, G. The “G” belonged to Gabriel Longthorn. Ruthless businessman. Heir to the Longthorn fortune. The most eligible bachelor in America since John F. Kennedy Jr. Recluse. Star of her deepest fantasies and inspiration for all the erotic heroes she wrote about in her novels. The invitation had been hand delivered earlier in the day by a stern aide. His thinning gray hair and pinched face made him appear severe. At first she had felt intimidated by him. Why was Gabriel Longthorn sending an aide to her door? Panic fluttered in her gut until he handed her the invite.
