The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,13

to the delicate bit of flesh at the bridge of her nose, and wearily closed her eyes.

Something told her tonight’s interview would prove difficult, and her scowl deepened, forming a deep v of aggravation. The elusive host was strangely appealing, filled with a secretive and unidentifiable dimension she couldn't fathom. In addition, she was wont to admit she suffered from a sudden and unexplainable chill every time Luke Angeles' face appeared on the small screen.

Maybe it was the strange sexuality. He was stunning, but not by today’s standards. He was so deathly pale that the almost ethereal glow of his skin was nearly blinding. There was intensity to the grayness of his eyes that reached beyond the cameras and individually touched each person in the viewing audience. He had an old world quality to him, appealing in an eerie sense, and oddly enticing.

Eva re-examined the situation logically and calmed her racing heart. She had to stop being fanciful, knowing he was only a man. Granted, he was involved in one of the oddest and most absorbing occupations existed in the modern world…Ghost Hunting.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Luke Angeles entered the set. He was tall and graceful, and moved with languid ease. Her eyes roamed over his lean body, unable to restrain her slow and admiring whistle. High-tech digital television cameras didn't do this man proper justice, she thought. Stifling the urge to gape outright, she watched him approach under the fringe of her thick lashes, taking her time to slide an appreciative gaze over his tall form.

He was definitely stunning. She couldn't fail to note his towering height when he walked toward her, his stride as purposeful and direct as his stare. Instead of appearing overly tall and thin, his body was toned and muscular. Not too much, Eva mused. Her eyes drifted over the finely honed muscles of his chest and arms, and lingered on the taut stomach evident beneath the snug turtleneck.

An unfamiliar sensation trembled deep within her, coupled with lingering heat. She licked her dry lips as the blood began to course in her ears, and she lowered her fingers from her throbbing forehead. Her sensitive nose detected the most delicious scent rising from his flesh, a mixture of cold and crisp fall air, mingled with a decisive muskiness that was entirely male.

If she wasn't supposed to touch him, then why did she suddenly feel she wanted to do more?

It was a colossal effort to regain what little breath existed in her lungs. In a desperate attempt to still the maddening thud of her excited heart, she focused on his dark attire, noticing he was clad in his customary black trousers and corded turtleneck. The choice of clothing was a familiar ensemble, one he wore on every show, and she hadn’t expected any less. She assumed the fabric was used to offset the stark whiteness of his closely cropped hair and his remarkable skin.

She nearly laughed aloud and threw the assumption to the wayside. Luke Angeles didn't need an excuse to draw attention!

He came to a sudden halt. Eva eyes roamed up over his body before his pale features captured her dazed attention. She gazed into the cold slate of his stunning eyes and audibly gulped.

He returned her stare. The coldness of his gaze warmed, causing the heat of an unfamiliar flush to rise in her cheeks. He appeared lost for words, and uncertain. She noticed his gloved hands remained at his sides moments before he afforded her the most civil of olde world nods.

“Miss Eva Keyes.” Luke Angeles' voice was mysteriously deep and raspy. Meticulously pronounced, each syllable sent a scintillating chill down her spine. “It’s a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

CHAPTER THREE

Thus, the angel of his soul shall see the light�

An unfamiliar fluttering began in her chest and it didn't take long to realize her heart had accelerated to nearly unheard proportions. A distinct breathlessness assailed her as the limpid depths of his slate gray eyes captivated her, causing her to struggle to regain her voice. Despite the physical attraction she experienced, Eva suffered an unwarranted sense of déjà vu, and wondered if she’d met him previously.

“Mr. Angeles,”�She responded in kind, her tone forced and civil. He remained where he stood, staring at her, but didn't extend his hand in greeting. His lack of action further accentuated the notated no-touching rule.

Déjà vu her ass!

Pulling her gaze from his face, Eva longed to kick herself. She wanted to scream at her own stupidity,