Chapter 1
Ellie sat on an old wooden bench, her sketchpad resting on her lap. The sunset just visible over the tops
of the trees washed the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. The rustling of the summer wind through
the leaves and the faint breaking of waves against the nearby shore calmed her nerves like nothing else
could—on most nights.
Just not tonight.
She tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears and took a sip from her water bottle, making an
attempt to ignore the strange sensations that prickled the hair on the back of her neck. The air crackled
with an electrical tension, sending a shiver through her despite the warm temperature.
Somethingwas different.
Something had disturbed the peaceful, sleepy quiet ofStoneHarbor . Something she couldn’t
define—maybe didn’t want to. A knot of anxiety formed in the pit of her stomach and her gaze landed on
a man leaning against a tree a few dozen feet away. Did he have something to do with the disturbance?
“Yeah, right,” she muttered to herself, turning her attention back to her sketchpad. He looked about
average height, with an average build and average dark hair—nothing spectacular about him, at least
from this distance. He wore khaki pants and an off-white polo shirt—nothing impressive there. He
looked more like the married-with-three-children type than the bad-to-the-bone and
out-to-cause-trouble type.
So why couldn’t she shake the feeling that his presence signaled danger?
She blew out a breath, frustrated with her paranoia. So her ex-husband had turned out to be a first-class
jerk disguised as a successful businessman. That didn’t mean that every other man who dressed nicely
meant her emotional harm. If she didn’t get over what happened withTodd , she’d never get the chance
to meet a nice guy and settle down. Three years had passed since her divorce—plenty of time to get over
her silly insecurities.
She had to stop pastingTodd ’s face on every man who walked into her life. They weren’t all like
him—she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that—but her luck with men seemed to really suck lately. This
poor guy hadn’t done anything to her, he probably hadn’t even noticed she was alive, and she’d already
pegged him as some kind of deranged mass murderer.
His head was turned toward the small pond in the center of the park, but every so often, he looked in
her direction. From the distance, she couldn’t be sure if he was looking at her , but the fact that he might
be married unsettled her. Her fingers smoothed over the totem that hung from a silver chain around her
neck—a small panther carved in black onyx—in a reaction that was more automatic than calculated. She
closed her eyes briefly, calling to the animal the totem represented for guidance. She tried to focus on the
sleek grace of the creature, the control and strength it exuded, but her powers of concentration were
severely lacking tonight. It wasall his fault.
She tried to keep her eyes off him, but she couldn’t help stealing little glances every so often. Something
about him compelled her, even when she knew it was impolite and possibly dangerous. The man was a
complete stranger in a town where she recognized most people on sight, and that fact alone made her
wary. She knew she shouldn’t stare, yet she couldn’t pull her gaze away.
That frightened her the most. An odd fixation on a complete stranger was something she thought she’d
outgrown years ago, once she’d hit puberty. What made him so special that she couldn’t draw her gaze
away, even with exercised concentration?As far as she could tell— nothing.
But there had to be something , or else she wouldn’t be spending her evening observing him when she’d
come here to sketch the sunset in preparation for her next painting.
His head swung in her direction and she didn’t have time to look away. This time she had no doubts—he
was looking right at her. She drew in a deep, shaky breath, her palms suddenly growing damp. A smile
spread across his face and he nodded slightly—just enough to let her know he’d caught her staring. The
thought unnerved her, but not enough to make her drag her gaze from his. A dog barking in the distance
finally broke the spell. She looked quickly back at her sketchpad, not wanting to encourage him in any
way, but afraid it might already be too late.
She tried to make a rough sketch of the flowers lining the banks of the pond, but her traitorous hands
instead drew the shadowy form of a lean, dark-haired man. After three attempts, she slammed her pencil
down on the pad and sighed in disgust. It figured. She’d never felt a pull this strong—not even when