Dark Angel — Natasha Moore

Disfigured in an accident that killed his wife, reclusive photographer, Rafael D'Angelo wants to be left alone amid rumors the car crash was no accident. Julie Brightman has been secretly in love with her sister's husband for years. When a violent thunderstorm strands her at his secluded house, she discovers the man in the mask is not the Rafe she remembers. Trapped together, their happiness is threatened by the past that haunts them and the secrets they keep from each other.

TO MY READER: I grew up reading gothic romances with big old secluded houses and tortured heroes. I wanted to write a story with that same great atmosphere, a scarred hero, a heroine to bring light into his life, and add some major sizzle too. Hope you enjoy!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Natasha Moore fell in love with the written word as soon as she could read. As she grew up, she discovered romance and now enjoys the chance to add some extra sizzle to her stories. She lives in New York State with her real life hero who is happy to tell everyone that he's her inspiration. They travel in their RV whenever possible. The great thing about writing is she can take it anywhere. Feel free to drop her at note at natasha@natashamoore.com

EXCERPT:
“I'll tell you why I came here.” She was so close he could feel her warm breath on his neck. “I had to see you again, Rafe. I think about you all the time.”
His heart kicked up at beat, but he didn't turn around. He didn't want to know she'd been thinking about him.
“I hear rumors about you,” she went on, “because that's all I have to go by. You're said to haunt an old house in the middle of nowhere. You hardly talk to your closest friends and I know you won't talk to my parents. You've always held a special place in my heart and I don't suppose I should be admitting that to you, but I needed to see if you were really nothing more than a ghost of the man you used to be.”
She ran her hands over his shoulders and he couldn't stop the shiver of awareness that ran through him.
“I can't tell you how pleased I am to discover you're still flesh and blood.”
He whirled around and somehow she was in his arms. Her soft hair slid across his cheek, the one that wasn't a mangled mass of scar tissue. What was happening? She couldn't be attracted to what was left of him. She didn't need a damaged man. But he couldn't help but react to her. His body quickened, hardened.
“Believe me, I'm still a man.”
“I know you are.”
They'd traveled beyond the light of the candles so he couldn't see her face, but he could feel her soft breasts pillowed against his chest, her firm thighs nestled between his own. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that she was naked underneath that robe he'd lent her. Only a slip of his finger could part the folds of black velvet. Only a slide of his hand beneath the fabric and he would be caressing her silky skin.
He could be cupping one of her breasts right now, testing the weight of it in his hand. He could take one of those dusky nipples in his mouth and tease it with his tongue. He moaned as he imagined sinking into her soft heat and finding momentary satisfaction in her arms.
He was hard and aching now. Her woman's body reminded him that Julie wasn't a kid anymore. She was in her twenties now. Where had the years gone?
She melted against him. Her softness pressed into his starving body. This was wrong. He was too scarred for Julie, and only he knew the scars weren't all on the outside. Weak as he was, he allowed himself a brief moment of pleasure in her arms before he forced himself to back away from her.