What a colossal ass!

Sloane fumed as she stormed down the street. A dinner date and some flowers. Did he really think that was all it would take to make her fall at his feet?

Ye’re mine. Never mind that the possessive growl in the simple words had melted her insides and left her breathless; the sentiment itself was fucking dangerous.

She wasn’t Mac’s. She wasn’t anyone’s.

Maybe he thought the woman who’d thrown herself at him all those years ago would be a nice and easy distraction? Her skin prickly and hot, Sloane slowed as the harbor came into sight, then turned around abruptly so that the sea was behind her.

That was unfair, she knew it was. Sloane highly doubted a man like Mac had problems finding booty calls. She ignored the hot lick of jealousy, trying to sort through their conversation with more perspective, which was easier without Mac’s presence jumbling her nerves.

Was it possible that he was telling the truth? That he’d only turned her away before out of some misplaced sense of honor? She snorted. If that was his excuse, it was a bullshit one. Whatever age difference there was between them, she’d been legal, an adult. He was being archaic.

Then again, that was Mac.

Sloane blinked, coming slowly to a stop, a small, reluctant smile curving her lips.

If he was telling the truth, Mac was admitting he’d wanted her all along. Which meant she’d been right all those years ago. No matter how much he’d pissed her off tonight, that admission right there was enough to make her fist pump just a little. Her eyes sparkling, she started walking again.

Not that the truth made any difference, she told herself sternly a minute later. However tempting it was.

God, it was tempting.

The thought of letting herself get swept away by Mac, of living those fantasies she’d buried away . . . She shivered. It might be just what she needed to get her mojo back.

Sloane knew she was soul-tired. More tired than she had admitted to anyone. Josh had been exhausting for years before the divorce. At first, his sheer neediness had been part of his appeal. This was not a man who would ever push her away, toss her aside as if she meant nothing. To Josh, she meant everything.

That sounded pretty on paper, but in real life?

It had been maddening. The constant assurances, the non-stop ego-stroking, the slow eroding of her inner self to shore up her husband’s fragility. The way he had made her feel cruel and selfish when she finally started to protest, to suggest he needed help.

She pulled at her sweater, wrapping it tightly around her body. It had taken her a long time to accept Josh’s issues were not because of her and that they could not be solved by her.

A long hard road. And yes, the idea of using Mac to put that behind her was a tantalizing one.

But Mac wasn’t a safe bet for a little post-divorce fling. He’d tangle her all up again, make her crazy again. There was no way she could trust that his sudden interest was genuine. Sure, he’d inferred he’d wanted her all along, but it that were true, why hadn’t he called, written, done something to let her know his change of heart long before now?

Of course, she had been married. Her lips tightened.

Fuck it, none of this mattered anyway. She couldn’t let it.

She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Jenny she needed a break from men. For her own sanity, she had to stick to her guns. Whatever Mac was feeling was his problem and his alone. She was done trying to fix other people’s lives.

Mind made up, Sloane sped up around the last corner before Jenny’s flat only to be brought up short by a voice coming out of the dark.

“Hello there, Isleen.”

Startled, she took a step back. Someone was lounging against the alley wall, Jenny’s stoop just behind them. A single dark figure, a man. Feeling vaguely uneasy, she narrowed her eyes, trying to make out more details before going any closer. He was certainly tall, and the streetlights glinted off hair that appeared curly and very pale, almost white.

“Nice night for a stroll, isn’t it, love?” Unlike when Mac had employed the term, the sound of it on this man’s tongue was repulsive. The accent was off, not Manx. Maybe Irish?

“Do I know you?” After her initial hesitation, Sloane began to skirt around him, going halfway into the street, but keeping a determined path to Jenny’s door. A goal that seemed very far away at the moment.

“Not really.” The stranger seemed amused as he followed her progress. She caught the flash of a smile before he spoke again. “Though I expect we’ll become familiar quite soon. I’ve been dying to get to know you, inside and out.”

Those warning prickles exploded into sick fear.

“That sounds like a threat. I don’t appreciate threats.” Fighting the panic filling her chest, Sloane kept her tone calm, but firm. The stoop taunted her, seeming to pull farther away with each step she took, as if she were caught in every horror movie ever made. She wanted to believe her imagination was running away with her, but there was something primal deep inside her that was screaming already.

She’d dealt with stalkers before. Any author with her level of success had—it came with the territory—but she’d never an encounter that had made her feel remotely like this.

He lifted a negligent hand. “Now, now, no need to be alarmed.” The mocking tone only underlined his words as an outright lie. He was enjoying her fear.

In one quick stride, he stepped from the shadows, cutting her off from the flat. Sloane opened her mouth, on the verge of letting loose a shingle-rattling scream. If Jenny wasn’t inside and fucking awake, someone in the surrounding flats would be. Then her gaze lifted to the man’s face. The scream stuck in her throat.

His eyes were so . . . mesmerizing.

They pulled at her in the strangest way. Her mouth closed and she swayed. The abject fear was still there. But it had receded under a thick layer of glass, pounding away in silent warning while her traitorous body continued to go lax.

With a smirk, the man held out a thin, pale hand. “That’s it. Come here, sweets.”

Languidly, she reached out, though everything inside of her thrummed in panic at the thought of touching him. There was a roaring in her ears as that smile widened.

His teeth. Dear god, what was wrong with his teeth?

They were so white, and far too sharp, seeming to elongate as her fingertips brushed his palm. His cold hard flesh had begun to close around hers just as the door to the flat burst open.

Jenny’s boyfriend, Gery, took a single, startled look at Sloane’s face and yanked her up the stairs, tossing her behind him.

Sloane’s weird lassitude vanished as soon as she watched Gery step forward. The young man filled the doorway, folding his arms over his chest.

“What’s this?” he demanded.

“Shut the door,” she croaked, her throat stiff with terror as she reached for the back of his shirt. “Gery, please.” Either the young islander didn’t hear or he was ignoring her to stare down the man outside.

Sloane could see the stranger’s face now, peeking over Gery’s shoulder. He was good-looking, almost pretty, with bold features and stunning blue eyes. But there was something nasty under the beauty, something slimy and cold, like the underbelly of a snake, as he stared at Gery.

“Off with ye,” Gery ordered, but the bite in his confident tone had gone brittle. It changed to a panicked shout as the man lunged at the doorway, his face twisted and feral.

Gery stumbled back over the stoop and into Sloane, slamming the door as he fell. Their asses hit the tile in painful tandem. Behind them, there came a shout from the bathroom. The sound of the shower cutting off when neither of them answered.

They couldn’t, they were too busy staring at the door, both holding their breath. Jenny emerged from the bathroom with a curse and only a towel held against her dripping chest, suds still foaming white on her dark hair.

“What in the holy fuck of all fucks is going on out—?”

Her voice trailed off as she saw them together on the floor, her mouth falling open. Sloane could see Jenny perfectly out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t take her gaze from that damn door. Gery’s body, with all its young, wiry strength, shook next to hers.

“What the feck?” he whispered.

She was fully expecting something monstrous to crash through that whitewashed door at any second, splintering it to pieces, but the silence was eerily complete. Minutes ticked by. Gery pulled away from her but only to lie back on the floor, breathing hard and closing his eyes.

“Guys?” Jenny whispered. Gery waved a hand, eyes still closed.

“Give us a minute, love.”

Sloane flinched. Jenny went to the window and Gery shot to his feet instantly, shouting at her to get back, but Jenny had already turned away. Her face took on a pale, pinched look before she ran into her boyfriend’s arms.

“What did you see?” Sloane asked her later, after the constable Gery had called had left. The man had been thorough and kind, even though he’d seemed thoroughly puzzled as to why they were all so shaken about some ‘ crazy loiterer.’

“Just a man,” Jenny said, but her tone was empty and hollow, as if she didn’t quite believe her own words. Her hands were wrapped around a mug of the tea Gery had made for all of them before announcing he was going outside for a smoke. But both women knew he was trying to prove to himself he wasn’t too scared to open the door. “A man walking away very fast.”

“Then why did you go so white?” Sloane was trying to wrap her head around her own reaction to the man she told herself hadn’t done much more than utter a few threatening words, and called her by a name she couldn’t quite remember, no matter how many times the frustrated constable had asked.

Sloane refused to think about the teeth.

“Because he looked over his shoulder once and . . .” Jenny stared into the steam coming off her mug, her lips trembling. “There was something not right about his eyes, Slo. Not right at all.”