His touch is her sin.
Her love is his salvation.

Charismatic. Confident. Powerful. Controlling.

A brilliant investor with a Midas touch, Devlin Saint turned a modest inherited fortune into billions, and now operates one of the world’s foremost international philanthropic organizations. He’s a man determined to help the underprivileged, to fight injustice, and to make the world a better place. And that, at least is true.

It’s not, however, the full truth.

Because Devlin Saint is a man with a dangerous secret. One he’ll do whatever it takes to protect. And when investigative reporter Ellie Holmes turns her attention to an unsolved murder, she finds herself caught in a web of intrigue and passion as Devlin draws her closer and closer. But as the intensity and sensuality of their relationship grows, so do Ellie’s suspicions. Until she is no longer certain if the heat between her and Devlin is real, or only a facade he constructed to hide his dark and twisted secrets.

Don’t miss this provocative first book in a brand-new trilogy…

Book Type:

Contemporary Romance

Excerpt: My Fallen Saint

Without consciously intending to do it, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out the slim card wallet that holds my driver’s license, a credit card, an emergency fifty, and the tattered slip of paper that’s lived in there for years.

The paper’s still white, and the ink is still readable, but the tape that holds the two ripped halves together has browned with age.

I don’t have to read it. I know exactly what it says. I’m sorry. Remember that you’re strong.

That’s it. Just two simple words and a bullshit platitude. Not even a signature.

And I never saw Alex again.

My uncle was dead. The man I loved was gone. And I didn’t understand any of it.

I was confused. Lost. I wanted answers.

I wanted Alex.

As the days passed, confusion turned to anger and then hate. Or I wanted to hate him. I’m not sure I ever really managed. Mostly, I just felt numb.

Considering Peter’s execution-style murder, Alex had probably gotten scared and bolted. At least, that’s what Chief Randall told me after Ricky Mercado turned himself in.

So, yeah. I knew why Alex left. But I still don’t understand why he never came back. Or why he slunk out while I was sleeping. Or why he left me with nothing but two useless sentences even though he had to know that he was breaking my heart.

Part of me wants to believe that he’d simply used me. That he’d been a teenage psychopath who’d fixated on me the day we met, and then he wove a vile plan to pop the cherry of the naive little girl who’d fallen so desperately in love with him.

It would probably be easier if I could believe that. But I don’t. What had burned between us was real and magical. He’d betrayed us both by leaving, and I don’t understand why.

More than that, I’ll never understand why. Because the only one who knows is gone.

During my time in uniform, I tried to track him down. I wanted to find him. To stand in front of him and force him to tell me why. Why he’d left. Why he’d hurt me. But I hadn’t been able to find him. Not even a trace of him.

Maybe if I’d thought to play detective in the days immediately after he left, I would have discovered more. But I’d been broken then, lost in a deep pit of grief. And when I’d finally pulled myself out of the hole, all the strings leading back to Alex had been cut.

Maybe that was for the best. It’s not like I could ever forgive him.

But I wanted—needed—closure. I guess I still do.

And the knowledge that I may never have it eats at my soul.

With a sigh, I take the last sip of my now-cold coffee and stand up, ready to make the trek back to Brandy’s house. I keep my head down as I turn my back to the ocean, watching my footing so that I don’t trip and fall on the sharp rocks.

As soon as I’m safe in the sand, I lift my head, scanning for my shoes. But all thoughts of shoes and Brandy leave my head in a whoosh when I see him. The man standing in the dark at the edge of the sand, his face tilted down so that I see only dappled shadows and the glow of moonlight on his glasses.

Devlin Saint.

In the instant before I recognized him, icy fear had flooded my body, and I use that lingering adrenaline to lash out. “You son of a bitch! You cancel my interview, and then you follow me?” I stalk toward him. “What? It wasn’t good enough to look down on me from your goddamn concrete castle? Or sneak peeks of me at a bar? You have to—”

He takes off his glasses, lifting his head at the same time, and my words catch in my throat.

Oh, God, I see it now. The tilt of his head.

That half-smile of bemusement curving up on those wide, sensual lips.

And those sandy, deep-set eyes, so full of pain and regret and not even a hint of green.

It’s impossible. Completely unbelievable. And yet…

“Alex?”