Taken By the Night
Chapter One
It was the poorest excuse for a whorehouse that he'd ever laid eyes on.
Saint stood on the doorstep and stared up at the pretty red brick house in Chelsea. There was no cleverly worded sign on the door, no scarlet drapes in the windows, no heavily made-up tart hawking her wares from an upstairs balcony. Rather there were little flowers planted on either side of the clean stone steps, protected from pedestrians by neat wrought-iron fencing. The drapes in the windows were some sort of chintzy, poufy confection that only a woman with too much time and too much money in this decadent age would term fashionable.
In short, what should have been a screaming haven of debauchery looked instead, like any perfectly respectable upper-middle-class home. In a perfectly respectable—although now fashionable with artists and the like—neighborhood.
And for the next thirteen hours this house would be his home as well. Dawn was a growing flush on the horizon, spreading warm and deadly arms toward him. He needed to take cover before the sun raised her brilliant head and made him a ... read full excerpt from: Taken By the Night ebook
