St. Martin's Paperbacks
It could be said that Adam Brascum loved women.
It could be said.
But it would be off-target. Adam didn’t love women—he didn’t hate them, but he didn’t love them, either. He needed them.
The soft curves, the scent of their skin, the husky voices as they whispered to him in the night. If he worked it right, he could spend the night with any number of them and he wouldn’t have to be alone unless he wanted.
Wouldn’t have to be alone, with just the voices in his head, the memory of a phone call, the memory