Phantom Series Boxed Set by Julie Leto

scary ghost cats with long black hair and ominous yellow eyes.
    “What’s its name?”
    “Dante,” he replied.
    “Like the guy who descended into hell?”
    “The beast lived with Rogan,” he answered. “The name is highly appropriate.”
    From experience, Alexa knew not to reach for the cat if she wanted its attention. Cats liked best the people who worshipped them least. Which is why she wasn’t surprised when the feline disappeared and then reappeared in Damon’s lap.
    “He likes you,” she said, amused by Damon’s putout expression. Still, he gave the cat a scratch behind the ears.
    “He is only used to me, as I am to him.”
    “Is he dead?”
    Damon shrugged. “I cannot be sure about the cat any more than I am about myself.”
    He shifted in his seat, but the cat did not scamper off or, more likely in its case, burst into a puff of smoke. Odd how she was becoming accustomed to the wild world she’d discovered inside these castle walls. As time passed, she was feeling more and more like Alice after she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Alexa walked the perimeter of the room, noting the fine furnishings, such as handblown glass and fascinating statues molded in striking bronze and untarnished silver. Where silk didn’t festoon the walls, bold tapestries did, providing a richness of color and texture that nearly stole her breath. Even the cloak draped across the back of Damon’s chair flowed with rich opulence.
    Ideas took form in a swirl. How she’d decorate the presidential suite. What flowers she wanted in the lobby. How she’d present even the smallest guest room with the finest touches of history and wealth.
    “You bear no scars,” he said, his voice intimate.
    She looked up, surprised. For an instant, she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.
    “Excuse me?”
    “You spoke of an accident. In a…car? You bear no scars.”
    She scoffed. “You weren’t looking in the right places.”
    “I looked everywhere,” he insisted, his voice dipping into naughty territory.
    She took a deep breath. She couldn’t go there with him again. She’d had her fantasy and it had been amazing. But she was too confused and conflicted to surrender to such intimacy again. She was stuck here for the night, at the very least. She had to make conversation, but making love was out of the question.
    “I had excellent plastic surgeons,” she replied.
    His brow furrowed. “Surgeons, I understand. But what is plastic?”
    She had to think. How could she explain something that was so elemental to her, yet so foreign to him? “A synthetic material. Man-made. Like rubber,” she offered, guessing that the natural material was available to some degree during his time period, “but harder.”
    “They attached this to you to cover scars?”
    She laughed, shaking her head as she joined him near the chair, then reached to give the cat, who’d curled up comfortably in his lap, a gentle stroke. She didn’t really understand the instant rapport she shared with this mysterious man from the past, but she was too tired and emotionally spent to fight her instincts. In the morning, she’d likely wake up and discover the whole interaction was nothing more than a dream. Or a very stupid mistake. For tonight, she had to wing it.
    “No,” she said. “Plastic surgeons specialize in removing outward signs—scars and such—after major injuries. And they do the occasional boob job.”
    He arched a brow. “Do I want to know what that is?”
    She swallowed a snort. “If you stick around in this century, you’ll find out soon enough.”
    “My plans do not include returning to my own time,” he said, and after looking around, he added, “Or to my banishment in this infernal room.”
    “I think the room is rich and warm.”
    “Try remaining here for nearly three centuries.”
    “I get your point.”
    With a push, he moved the cat off his lap. It hit the ground on all four paws, then poofed into nothingness.
    “That’s very