Demonwood. Its very name sent shivers down her spine. Why had she ever come to this forsaken place in the snow-covered Vermont wilderness? Connell Fitzgerald. Mary said his name and blushed.

Cynical, aloof, Connell was the most strikingly handsome man she had ever seen. Black hair framed his sun-tanned face. His fierce blue eyes pierced her soul.

But hadn’t they warned her? Hadn’t he killed his first wife? Mary didn’t believe any of it. All she remembered was the excitement of their first kiss, the surging warmth of their bodies touching. They had said she was in grave danger, but she had vowed to make Connell love her forever. Could a passion like that be denied?

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