Novels by Nicole Jamison

Nova woke to the echo of his breath still on her skin. Her thighs ached. Her lips were tender. Every inch of her body hummed with the memory of Damian's mouth, Damian's hands, and the way Damian had whispered her name like a vow and a curse all at once. The sheets were tangled around her legs, damp with sweat and something more dangerous. Niva should've been furious. Should've been afraid. But instead, all she could feel was wanted. Known. Claimed. That terrified her more than the silence of the room. The windows were still open. The breeze kissed Nova's bare shoulders. Somewhere outside, the wind rustled the leaves. But inside, it was still. Too still. Nova sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness between her thighs. It wasn't pain; it was memory. Of what he'd done. Of how she had let him. How Nova had wanted him. Nova pulled the blanket tighter around her chest and stared at the empty space beside her. Damian was gone. But his presence still filled the room. Still filled her. That

The scent of coffee drifted into Nova's nose before her eyes even opened. Not sharp diner-brew coffee, but something rich and nutty, with a hint of cinnamon. When she sat up, the silk sheets pooled around her waist, and sunlight spilled across the foot of the bed in pale gold ribbons. Damian's shirt hung loosely off one shoulder—his, not hers. She remembered tugging it on in the middle of the night after slipping from his lap and falling asleep tucked into his side on the couch. At some point, he must've carried her back to bed. Of course, he had. The breakfast tray on the velvet bench at the end of the bed was perfectly arranged. Fresh croissants. Berries. A glass carafe of coffee with steamed almond milk on the side. A rose gold napkin folded like origami. And a single wildflower in a tiny crystal vase. It wasn't the same flower as before. And this wasn't the same vase. Nova stared at it, heart picking up speed, but not in panic this time. She picked it up and studied it. Pa

Nova awoke to silence, but not the kind that was comforting. It was the stillness of a house too carefully arranged. The kind that made your skin crawl, not from fear but from the overwhelming sensation that someone had been there and had touched things. Moved them. Adjusted them just enough to leave no fingerprint, only the lingering feeling that everything was off by one inch. The throw blanket she always curled up in, a gray woolen blanket with fraying edges, was folded across the back of the sofa. Perfectly. Precisely. Nova hadn't seen that blanket in months. It'd gone missing after her last move, and she'd assumed it was tossed out or left behind as a bitter reminder of her ex. But there it was. Waiting for Nova.Nova's stomach flipped as she walked barefoot across the hardwood floors. The quiet thrum of the AC buzzed like a warning in her ears. She glanced at the front door, then back at the living room. Her eyes settled on the bookshelf. Two of her old poetry books had been pla

Nova didn't want to admit that leaving the house felt… good.Not just the fresh air or the faint warmth of sunlight through the tinted glass, but the distance. Nova needed space from the curated silence. From the wildflowers that were beginning to multiply. From the note she kept tucked in her journal drawer:You're not her.Now, she was in the backseat of a black town car with seats too soft and windows too dark, driving past streets she used to know. Damian sat beside her quietly, legs crossed and eyes forward, like he wasn't responsible for turning her life upside down.Damian hadn't touched her since the atrium. He hadn't tried. But she could feel the gravity between them.Like a storm slowly circling."I thought we'd have lunch before seeing your mother," Damian said.Nova blinked. "Wait—lunch? Like in public?"He looked over, amused. "You're married to me. You're not a prisoner. You can eat in daylight.""I didn't know vampires came with black cards and emotional damage," Nova s

Nova hadn't seen Damian since she'd let him touch her.She wasn't sure if she was grateful or pissed.The house didn't ask questions. It just adapted. Every room she walked into was precisely the temperature she liked. Her favorite tea was already steeping by the time she arrived in the kitchen. A new novel she'd added to her wishlist but hadn't bought sat on her nightstand when she returned.The wildflowers were still there. Still quiet. Still delicate. Still just one vase.But Nova could swear there were more than before.And she hated that she noticed.By noon, Nova gave up, pretending to ignore it all.Nova needed answers, real ones. Not riddles whispered between kisses or control wrapped in silk.She returned to the study. Not the journal cabinet. Not the desk.The wall.It looked like art at first. Abstract. A mixed collage of framed sketches, blueprints, and old photographs. But Nova realized that half of it was hers. From different years. Different apartments. Different versi

Nova locked her bedroom door even though she knew it wouldn't matter. In a house like this, a lock was just decoration, something to make her feel like she still had control. But she didn't. Not when Damian Drăghici had been studying her for years. Not when he'd drawn her curves like he owned them. Not when he'd known her favorite flower before she remembered it herself. She didn't sleep that night. She couldn't. Not with the memory of his voice whispering against her skin."I don't expect your love. I expect your truth."She'd expected the mansion to feel haunted. Instead, it felt like it was holding its breath. Watching her like Damian did, with quiet patience and unwavering attention.The morning sun was harsh. Too bright for a girl unraveling. Nova dragged herself out of bed and wrapped a robe around her body, tugging it tighter than necessary. The wildflowers were still there. Still fresh. Still unexplained. She didn't touch them. Couldn't.As she moved through the house, she p