A hotshot lawyer in need of a break receives a mysterious letter to a masquerade ball. Will she find love with her sexy secret admirer? Naomi Hart I turn slowly to see him because I know. This is the last moment I have in the before of meeting him. I hope that the reality of my pursuer lives up to what my imagination has created of him. I take a quick inhale as I see him. He's everything I had dreamed up and I can't even see his face. I fumble for words, but settle on, "Here I am." The man before me is staggeringly tall. His strong shoulders are shaped under his pristine—probably incredibly expensive—suit. And his dark black hair is slicked back beneath his devil horns. I can’t see his face under his sleek black mask, but I can see that it houses deep brown eyes behind them. And I have never seen a jawline that strong. I want to see more of him. He stands with confidence. Expectance, too. And the smirk on his face tells me that he knows that I like what I see. He may be Lucifer himself. And I hope he drags me to hell.