Come Back To Me by Cynthia Eden

Chapter One

Her dead lover stood on the other side of the bar, rubbing his hand against the back of some long-legged redhead and looking very much alive.

Sadie Townsend drew in a deep breath. Caught the scent of smoke. Expensive perfume. Sweat.

I went to that jerk’s funeral. Cried over his grave.

A grave he didn’t seem to be occupying.

She’d even taken flowers to his graveside.

The redhead laughed. Tossed back her head. The man turned, braced his hand against the wall behind her head and leaned in even closer to her.

Rage had Sadie’s back teeth grinding together. She stalked across the bar, elbowing dancing men and women out of her way. Her fingers curled, and a hard fury tightened her body.

Two years. For two damn years she’d thought he was dead. While he was out there screwing redheads. Redheads who wore really trashy pink dresses.

He was bent over the woman, his mouth poised over her throat.

Sadie was going to rip the bastard apart.

The redhead laughed. A high, tipsy giggle.

Sadie growled.

Even though she was still at least ten feet away, and the music blaring from the band jumping on stage was earsplitting, Liam “Sully” Sullivan stiffened. His dark head snapped up. He spun around, and his gaze scanned the crowd. His eyes—too damn blue and bright for a dead man—locked on her. She saw his stare widen and his lips began to curve into a smile—

A smile she was going to knock off his still too-handsome face.

“Sullivan.” His name escaped her as a snarl.

The ghost of a smile vanished from his lips.

The redhead shifted beside him. “Uh, honey…”

Oh, no, she had not just called him—

He glanced back at the redhead. Touched her cheek. “Give me a minute, Sharon.” The Irish whispered beneath his words, softening the vowels, hardening the consonants. Cagey bastard. Usually, he could all but make the soft rolls of his native Ireland disappear from his speech. The Irish was strong, though, when he was either pissed off or turned on. His fingers curved under the redhead’s chin. “Why don’t you go dance?”

And the chick meekly nodded her head. Walked away without another word.

What the hell? Had the woman never heard of a backbone before? He just blew you off, sister. Tell him to screw himself!

Sadie stalked toward him. Jabbed one finger into his chest. “Hey, asshole. Long time no see.”

He grunted.

“Tell me, shouldn’t you be…oh, I don’t know, in a grave somewhere?” She’d put him in one. It would be her absolute pleasure to—

“You shouldn’t be here.” Weaker accent now, but the vowels were still soft. His gaze swept behind her. “You need to leave, love.”

Love. Her heart took the hit, and her entire body trembled. “I’m not going anywhere.” Not without one hell of an explanation. She’d cried over the jerk. She never cried over anything, but she’d cried for him. “If you wanted to break up with me, Sullivan, all you had to do was say so.”

The sex had been great between them. Better than great. Wild. And she was the kind of woman who really, really needed wild.

They’d been teamed up on an FBI assignment. He’d been a liaison from Ireland, working secretly with her team on a hunt for a global killer. She’d never slept with another agent before—she didn’t like mixing her business and her pleasure. But with Sully, she’d broken all the rules.

On their first date, they’d never even made it out of her place. She’d had him naked in less than five minutes. He’d taken her against the wall in her den and had her coming almost instantly.

That had just been the beginning.

He’d been the first human to match her stamina. Matching someone with her unique characteristics was exceedingly hard.

His nostrils flared as he stared down at her. “Sadie, you don’t—” He broke off, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Your scent…”

“Oh, great, you’ve been playing dead for two years and now you want to talk about the way I smell?” Her claws were out now. The fury was too strong for her control. Rage and betrayal burned through her.

She’d trusted him. The night she’d learned of his death…hell, they’d been planning to meet after his last op. She’d intended to tell him the truth about herself.

She’d never before told a human lover the truth.

But Sullivan had been different—or so she’d thought.