“Oh Jordan, please,” she begged him. His hands tightened on her wrists and his anger flared.
“How could you forget this?” he demanded, nipping the underside of her breast. “How could you forget me?” his anger vibrated through his body and into hers.
Painting the Roses Red
By Trish Lamoree
All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2010 Trish Lamoree
All of the characters in this book are fictitious,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead
is purely coincidental.
Tiara blinked and the world shifted, blurred, and became a nightmare of blood. She let the knife fall from fingers numb with shock. It made a sickening splat in the pool of blood at her feet. The hysteria of the moment built in her chest as she watched a single drop of blood slide from her hand onto the one clean spot that had been left on the knife’s handle. The handle of the long butcher knife had been clean where her hand had gripped it. Her hand was covered in blood and the pristine steel of the blade had also been dripping with it, but the handle of the knife held only fingerprints. Her mind shuddered. That clean place on the handle of the knife was where her own hand had clutched it so tightly that the rest of the dribbling blood on her hands and the blade hadn’t penetrated. She didn’t want to look up, so she watched the knife at her feet. There was more blood all over the room, but she stared at her feet trying to get a grip on herself.