This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Alexa Sullivan will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Ro Baird can’t cast a spell without setting her own pants on fire—until she kisses her hot new boss, Alex. Suddenly, she’s able to access her magic…sort of…and she now has a familiar, who may be more trouble than she is helpful.
Alex Kouris happens to be a soul-stealing demigod of the Underworld. He claims he’s trying to leave the life, but can she really trust a man whose magical talents are manipulation and charm? When Alex enlists a shady ex to help him, Ro must risk her heart and her life to save him and humanity from Hades’s evil scheme.
Can she harness her true power to set Alex and herself free?
Read an Excerpt
I turned from side to side in front of the mirror, examining my half French braid. My dark-brown hair wound across the top of my head, like a crown. I tucked the end under the rest of my hair and twisted it into a side ponytail, tying it off with a clear elastic.
“Pretty.” Tabitha stood in my bathroom doorway. With her flat tone of voice, she might as well have been describing broccoli or glue.
I plucked a beaded fringe earring off the counter and slipped it through the hole in my right earlobe.
Lenti, who sat on the counter, trilled and swiped the earring with her paw.
“Nope.” I jerked my head away. “I got these at a craft fair, and you’re not destroying them.”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind.” Should’ve known this was going to happen. Gritting my teeth, I removed the earring and tucked it into a drawer. I tugged the neckline of my clingy black dress a little lower, then turned to Tabitha. “Is it too much? Should I wear my strappy sandals or my ankle boots?”
She crossed her arms. “Explain to me how this happened. You were supposed to talk to him, not go out with him.”
About the Author:
Alexa Sullivan writes humorous, contemporary paranormal romance. She imagines a world where the mundane meets magic — and where vampires, werewolves and witches have normal jobs. Oh, and there are cats, too. She sets all her books in the beautiful state of Oregon. When not writing, she can be found walking her cat on a leash, hanging out with her husband, and watching far too much Bravo reality TV.
Stars on Fire Sky Gold (The Sable Riders, #1) Publication date: February 26th 2023 Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Science Fiction
The thing is, Selene, I don’t do forever. It’s not what this is.’ – Kainan Sable.
He’s lethal, wraith-like, a warrior who lives in the twilight, the hidden inferno amongst the stars.
She’s driven, ambitious, and unrelenting, with an allure that forces him from the shadows.
He needs to control the intensity of his reaction to her.
She fights the temptation glinting in his sapphire wildfire eyes.
He wants revenge.
She wants forever.
But he can’t give her ‘forever’.
Or can he?
War is stirring in the skies and stars above Eden II. Between empires in ascension and realms in decline. Kainan and Selene find themselves caught up in the maelstrom. Together they’ll light the stars on fire, even as darkness beyond their control seeks to turn their destiny – and their forever – to ashes.
__________________________
If you’re in the mood for:
A strong, smart heroine AND a sexy, badass anti-hero
Unrequited love and a personal growth saga that spans a universe
Steamy, hot epic jolts!
Paranormal action
All the feels AND heartfelt escapism
Then take to the Skies Above Eden II. A whole new world awaits you.
Kainan’s voice rumbled behind her. ‘Selene Munene, meet the Sable Riders, also known in our official capacity as The Sable Group.’
She stepped closer to the table and gazed at her new acquaintances as calmly as she could manage.
The one closest to her was just as significant in size as Kainan, a hulking figure with a mass of short jet-black hair with blue streaks, a bushy black beard and silver grey eyes, with a stubborn jaw and a swathe of jagged scars down one side of his face. His massive feet were slung up and crossed on top of the table.
The man beside him was also tall, with angular, dark features, a roughly shaven jaw, a beard and penetrating eyes with hazel irises ringed with glowing sapphire flecks. He leaned back in his oversized chair to study her unhurriedly.
Kainan pointed to the scar-faced man. ‘This is Kage, call name Shadow. He’s our ship designer, tech head and all-around maestro. He also runs our mini armada. Next to him is Xion, call name Phoenix – head of internal security on Eden II, privately overseeing law and order on the rock.’
Two other men glanced at her from the other side of the room.
One sported a magnificent sheathe of dead straight white and silver hair that fell to his back in a long, smooth sheet with a braid to one side. His skin was pale, and so were his white irised eyes that he seemed a ghoul, albeit a very handsome one. He wore a close-fitted black jumpsuit with the same crest on his shoulder as Kainan. She assumed this was The Sable Group’s insignia.
He jerked his chin to her, his pale eyes keenly raking her face.
Next to him was a lean, long, striking, powerfully built man in a beautifully cut suit with dark thick hair, a neat moustache and a beard with piercing blue eyes. His elegant presence contrasted sharply with his more casually dressed companions. He nodded to her cordially.
‘At the far back is Riv, call name Wraith. He runs our armouries. He occasionally moonlights as the head of our private surveillance ops and militia, and on his off days, he dallies as a bounty hunter. With him is Zane, call name Phantom. Our business and financial controller. He runs our sales, logistics, private equity and finance division.’
Selene nodded her head formally in acknowledgement, momentarily unable to speak. As it were, her breath had been snatched from her lungs by the presence of these five devastatingly powerful creatures. She saw sleek blasters strapped to their powerful thighs and hips and imagined the various other weapons tucked in places unseen. These were no boy scouts she was dealing with.
‘You remember Mirage,’ Kainan added drily, gesturing toward the gyrfalcon with silver wings and feet.
Selene’s eyebrow rose. ‘Really?’
‘It is indeed, Selene,’ said the gyrfalcon in the AI’s harmonious tone. ‘As a nano-engineered AI, I can take various forms, but this is the one I tend to prefer when I’m off Kainan’s ship. But, of course, I’m also still on the ship due to my split consciousness and various remote capabilities.’
‘Mirage is our eyes and ears across the rock, and she oversees all AI on all our ships and holdings,’ Kainan explained.
‘I’m also taking an encrypted recording of these proceedings,’ Mirage piped up. ‘Which will be shared to all your comm tabs after the meeting and only accessible with your bio authentication.’
Kainan inclined his head. ‘As you can see, she’s a very valued member of The Sable Riders.’
The gyrfalcon bent her sleek silver head in a bow.
‘Sit,’ Kainan ordered Selene, pulling out a plush chair.
‘What’s your call name?’ she managed to ask him softly as she sat down.
He paused for a moment.
‘Chimera,’ he said quietly.
Fitting, she thought, given the strange ability he had to switch her feelings, from hot to cold, in seconds.
Author Bio:
Sky Gold is a best selling author, writer and lover of all things delicious, fun and courageously life affirming. She imagines herself a warrior for the people she loves and values she stands for! She looks to her gorgeous husband, her whimsical kids, her loyal friends, her sweet Russian Blue Cat, and the stars themselves for her heavenly inspiration.
Ed Earl Burch, a cashiered Dallas murder cop, is a private detective facing the relentless onslaught of age, bad choices, guilt and regret. Smart, tough, profane and reckless, he’s a survivor who relies on his own guts and savvy and expects no help or salvation from anybody.
But he’s also a man who longs for the sense of higher calling he felt when he carried a homicide detective’s gold shield. He seeks redemption and a chance to make amends to a dying old woman he abandoned decades ago when she needed him most.
When he sees her again, she has the same request — save her granddaughter from the vicious outlaws on her trail and bring her home for a final goodbye. Easier said than done because the granddaughter is a hardened hustler and gunrunner, hellbent on avenging a lover who got chopped up and stuffed into a barbecue smoker by cartel gunsels and a rival smuggler.
To fulfill the old woman’s last request, Burch heads back to the borderlands of West Texas on a mercy mission that plunges him into a violent world of smugglers, cartel killers, crooked lawmen, Bible-thumping hucksters, anti-government extremists and an old nemesis who wants to see him dead.
The odds are long and Burch has his doubts — about himself, the granddaughter, old friends and the elusive nature of grace from guilt. Truth be told, doubt is the only thing he’s dead certain of.
Grace Or A Desert Grave?
Praise for The Dead Certain Doubt:
“Gritty and tough with enough despicable West Texas hombres to fill a tour bus.” ~ Bruce Robert Coffin, award-winning author of the Detective Byron mysteries
“Rough days and harsh nights seem like paradise before it’s all over….” ~ Rod Davis, author of the Southern noir novels, South, America and East of Texas, West of Hell
“A no-holds-barred mission of revenge, redemption and righting wrong from the past….” ~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare Carlson mysteries
“The pace is swift, the action is raw and the characters are intense and visual.” ~ Carmen Amato, author of the Emilia Cruz and Galliano Club mystery series
“Ed Earl Burch will guide you through the last arroyo with wit, truly memorable dialogue and locations you’d like to visit…with a gun.” ~ John William Davis, author of Rainy Street Stories and Around the Corner
“The Dead Certain Doubt is a thrilling, lightning-paced, ferocious crime novel. Highly recommended!” ~ Rich Zahradnik, author of The Bone Records and Lights Out Summer, winner of the 2018 Shamus Award for Best Paperback Private Eye Novel
Book Details:
Genre: Hard-Boiled Crime Thriller Published by: Spotted Mule Press Publication Date: March 2023 Number of Pages: 260 ISBN: 978-0-9983294-5-1 Book Links:Amazon
Read an excerpt:
Seven
Watch your six, Sport Model.
A dead partner’s whispered warning. A triggered twitch of muscle memory and street cop reflexes. The split-second dive to the right. The graceless tuck and shoulder roll that slams and skids your ass across the greasy linoleum floor of a roadside tienda.
Left hand full of a Colt’s cold comfort. Hammer back. Eight Fat Boys in the mag. One in the pipe. Hardball .45 ACP and Flying Ashtrays. Find the source of that buckshot blast meant to blow your head into red mist, skull fragments, hair and brain matter.
Ignore the screams, shouts, clumping footfalls and Dios Mios of customers and clerks exiting rapido to safety. Smell the cordite but pay it no mind.
Ignore all that shattered bottle glass and the ketchup, mustard, mayo, salsa picante and salsa verde splattered across the floor, your jeans, your belt buckle and your best Nocona boots. A swirling mess of red, green, white and yellow that just doesn’t matter.
Find that shooter. Listen for the telltale shing-shing pumping more buckshot into the chamber. Pray he’s old school. Pray the shotgun isn’t a semi-automatic with the next round already in the pipe.
Shing-shing.
Answered prayer. The sound rises from the next aisle to his front left. The Colt tracks the echo, sights panning across the shelves facing him. Jarritos, Jumex, Sidral Mundet, Big Red, 7 Up. Spam, Underwood Deviled Ham, Starkist. Valvoline, Havoline, Pennzoil.<
A boot sole scrapes the linoleum. Front corner of the next aisle. Right behind the 10W30. Colt centers on the sound. Front blade splits a quart of Havoline. Blast five shots. A grunt, a groan and the clatter of dropped gun metal. Ears ring.
Quick crab crawl to the opposite corner.
Sneak a peek. Shooter on his knees. One hand covers his bloody gut. The other reaches for his pump shotgun.
Fuck you, old school. Three more blasts from the Colt. Squeeze the trigger like a lover until the slide locks back and smoke curls from the breech. One round cores a Third Eye in the shooter’s forehead.
Quema tu culo en el infierno, pendejo. No last rites. No absolution. Straight to the flames. Spit a sour green ball of phlegm on the floor.
Shuck the empty mag. Slap home a fresh one. Trip the slide. Shake out a Lucky and stick it on a dry lip.
Light the nail with a Zippo and a shaky hand. Drag the smoke down deep to smother the stench of gunsmoke and blood. Dial 911 on the black rotary phone next to the cash register and wait for the gaudy post-mortem show to start. No popcorn.
Give thanks to the whiskey gods you survived another gunfight. Thank those old reflexes, too. They’re the second cousins of doubt — the only thing you’re dead certain of.
*** *** *** ***
Dealer’s choice. Jacks or better to open. Check, raise, bluff or call in a round of liar’s poker with a lawdog Burch knew but hadn’t seen in almost a decade. Didn’t know if he could trust the man who held all the high cards. And the badge. Best to play it close to the vest.
“I see you still worship at the Church of John Browning. Bet you still follow the lessons they taught you at the Hollow-Point Charm School.”
Raise with a bluff and smartass bluster.
“Dance with who brung ya, Sheriff. And not much charm to this deal. Just a shitload of lead. Muchacho there tried to make me a headless horseman with some double-ought. I begged to differ and let Brother John’s best do my talking for me.”
“Old gun.” Call.
“Old man shootin’ it. Only gun I can hit anything with.” Re-raise.
“And you had to come all the way out to my county to prove you still could. Why the hell is that?”
Burch smiled but didn’t answer. A quiet fold. The sheriff was deeply annoyed but wasn’t ready to throw him in a jail cell. Yet.
Burch stood about five feet away from the shooter’s corpse, dripping ketchup, mustard and salsa on the tienda linoleum. Half-assed trying not to fuck up the sheriff’s crime scene while smoking another Lucky pacifier.
His eyes scanned the body, sprawled face first in a dark, spreading pool, left arm flexed out like it was plowing a path for a body that would never follow.
His brain automatically picked out and filed the details. Once a murder cop, always a murder cop. Gold badge or not.
Detail: The last hollow-point he fired blew out the back of the man’s skull. Filed.
Detail: A scorpion tattoo on the left forearm. Black ink only. Lines still sharp. Filed.
Detail: Shooter’s gun a Remington 870 pump. Twelve gauge with a sawed-off barrel. Common as rocks and sand in West Texas. Filed.
He studied the left side of the man’s face, the side that wasn’t marinating in blood and brain pulp.
Detail: Smooth bronze skin, left eye showing the eight-ball bulge. Detail: Lips locked back over a pearly white grimace. Silver cuff on the left earlobe. Maricón? Maybe.
Details and question filed. Nothing rose from his memory banks. Noted and filed.
His eyes returned to the gaping hole in the back of the man’s skull.
Gotta love them Flying Ashtrays. Did damage to a man. Hardball knocked him down and hollow-point chewed up his innards and cored out his skull. The Big Adios. One-way ticket. Paid in full.
The sheriff squatted on his boot heels near the dead man’s right hip, using the eraser end of a pencil to lift the bloody tail of a denim shirt to study an exit wound. A muttered oath. English or Spanish. Burch couldn’t tell.
More muttering. A wallet fished out of a back pocket with a hand gloved in latex. A glance at the driver’s license. A quick riffle through a thick sheaf of greenbacks.
Detail: Helluva lot of lettuce in that wallet. More than your average greaseball carries. Noted and filed.
Sheriff Sudden Doggett gave one shake of the head then pinned Burch with dark, angry eyes framed by the underside of a faded, stained and dented Resistol that might have been dark gray in its younger days.
“Why the fuck is it every time you cross the Cuervo County line you have to announce your presence by painting the walls red?”
“Only the second time I’ve visited your fair jurisdiction, Sheriff. And the first time was a few years back. Seven or was it eight?”
“Not long enough if you ask me. Why can’t you be like every other tourist passing through and keep trucking over the river for some bad tequila and cheap pussy?”
“Because I’m on a job. Was on my way to see you when this happened.”
“Well, fuck me runnin’. Worst news I’ve had all day. Fuckin’ angel of death is what you are. And my morgue’s already full. Last thing I need is another gun hand racking up body count.”
“Startin’ to sound like your old boss.”
“You can just take that talk and jam it straight up your ass, pendejo. Go clean yourself up some. You look like Ronald McDonald with that shit smeared all over you.”
“Good to see you again, too, Sheriff.”
“Bite my ass, Burch.”
Risky to poke a stick at Doggett with the thin hand he held. Might wind up in a jail cell for his trouble. But the reaction he got was worth it – genuine pissoff with no hesitation or trace of guilt. Told him he just might be dealing with a straight shooter. Hope so. We’ll see.
The lawman kept his eyes locked on Burch as he barked an order.
“Get this fuckhead out of my face before I run him in lookin’ just like the clown he is. Take him out back. Ruby’s got a garden hose out there. Let him use it and get cleaned up while I check out this mess. Leave his Colt on the counter.”
A blade-faced deputy with acne scars and the flattened nose of a bad boxer stepped up and grabbed him by the elbow. Burch shook his arm free, gave him a glare and walked toward the back door of the store.
Anger flushed out the shakes. He felt better, but not great. As good as it gets after killing a man.
***
Excerpt from The Dead Certain Doubt by Jim Nesbitt. Copyright 2023 by Jim Nesbitt. Reproduced with permission from Jim Nesbitt. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Jim Nesbitt is the award-winning author of four hard-boiled Texas crime thrillers that feature battered but relentless Dallas PI Ed Earl Burch — THE LAST SECOND CHANCE, a Silver Falchion finalist; THE RIGHT WRONG NUMBER, an Underground Book Reviews “Top Pick”; and, his latest, THE BEST LOUSY CHOICE, winner of the best crime fiction category of the 2020 Independent Press Book Awards, the 2020 Silver Falchion award for best action and adventure novel from the Killer Nashville crime fiction conference and bronze medal winner in the best mystery/thriller e-book category of the 2020 Independent Publisher Book Awards. His latest book is THE DEAD CERTAIN DOUBT, which was released in early March. Nesbitt was a journalist for more than 30 years, serving as a reporter, editor and roving national correspondent for newspapers and wire services in Alabama, Florida, Texas, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina and Washington, D.C. He chased hurricanes, earthquakes, plane wrecks, presidential candidates, wildfires, rodeo cowboys, migrant field hands, neo-Nazis and nuns with an eye for the telling detail and an ear for the voice of the people who give life to a story. His stories have appeared in newspapers across the country and in magazines such as Cigar Aficionado and American Cowboy. He is a lapsed horseman, pilot, hunter and saloon sport with a keen appreciation for old guns, vintage cars and trucks, good cigars, aged whiskey and a well-told story. Nesbitt regularly reviews crime fiction and history on his blog, The Spotted Mule, and his author web site, as well as Facebook, Amazon and Goodreads. He now lives in Athens, Alabama.
PI Steve Rockfish’s morning meeting was supposed to focus on a case of straightforward harassment. Two clients had purchased a miniature golf course and instantly became victims of vandalism and projected intolerance.
But as the team investigates, a neighborhood’s bigoted knee jerk reaction to a new sapphic-owned business, is in fact a laser focused plan of intimidation. Before anyone can yell FORE!, violence litters the front nine after Rockfish uncovers the real perpetrator, their actual motive, and dangerous accomplices.
Soon, an old nemesis returns to raise the stakes with plans of revenge and domination. Now facing a battle on two fronts, Rockfish finds his allies thinning at the worst possible time, and recklessly goes on the offensive.
The back nine takes Rockfish and McGee on a frenetic ride from a corporate boardroom, across cyberspace, and to the 19th hole where a long overdue showdown will change everything for the partners, for better and worse.
Book Details:
Genre: Crime Fiction Published by: Black Rose Writing Publication Date: March 2023 Number of Pages: 356 ISBN: 1685131530 (ISBN-13 978-1685131531) Series: The Case Files of Steve Rockfish – 3 Book Links:Amazon | BLACK ROSE WRITING
Read an excerpt from A Bad Bout of the Yips:
CHAPTER ONE
You’ve reached Rockfish & McGee, Investigative Specialists. At the tone, leave your name and message. Someone will get back to you. [Beep]
Jawnie stared down at her phone, annoyed. She hung up the call after the office’s message ended and slid the phone into her messenger bag. With a proper receptionist comes a proper voicemail message. It’s about time. Where the heck is everyone? Rockfish could be out doing God knows what, but what about Lynn? Maybe she’s in the can after an extra spicy lunch? Jawnie laughed to herself. There were a thousand and one reasons Lynn couldn’t get to the phone. Don’t go all Rockfish at once.
The sun had slipped behind the clouds on a mid-Thursday afternoon when Jawnie walked down the endless row of marble steps in front of the Baltimore County Government building. She had submitted her final report regarding former county employee Harvey Henderson, who had been sitting at home on disability from a leg injury suffered while on the job. Henderson ran a bulldozer at the county landfill. That was until he fell off the equipment and reportedly injured his leg.
Jawnie loved this type of case. She conducted a couple of surveillances to find out Henderson’s daily schedule and then one final, quick outing to snap a few pictures from a safe distance. Jawnie followed Harvey and his mistress down to the town of Laurel and out on the Rocky Gorge Reservoir, where the couple spent the day attempting to wake-board. The day served as a twofer and the future ex-Mrs. Henderson would gain the information needed to win her freedom without spending a dime.
At the bottom of the steps, she pulled her phone back out, and double checked the time. Five after two and still no notifications. Apparently, nothing of importance had transpired while she was in the meeting with the County Commissioners. Her car was across the street in the paid lot, and she glanced up from the screen. Jawnie felt flush and concern filled her brain. The green Kia Soul remained parked at the corner, blocking a hydrant. Her heart kicked it up a notch.
The damn thing hadn’t moved in the hour and a half while I was inside. Jesus Christ, I don’t need this shit today. Or any day. Fuck.
Three times today since leaving her condo, the Kia coincidently found itself parked nearby, always within eyesight. The odd shaped vehicle and the color stood out. Amateur hour or someone who clearly wants me to notice. Jawnie gritted her teeth, glanced both ways, and then kept her head down as she jogged across the street. She walked through the small lot until she found her Subaru and slid behind the wheel. She pulled around to the exit gate and paid the attendant. A second later, the arm rose, but the car didn’t move. Thoughts of the Kia had Jawnie lost deep in her mind.
What Would Rockfish Do? Probably tell me to go on the offensive, concern be damned. Well, I’m definitely not going to pull sideways in front of this guy, jump out and confront him, that’s for sure. People are crazy these days and with my luck I’d end up TikTok famous #KarensGoneWild. Okay, let’s see if I’m imagining things. Maybe give him a little I see you action instead.
Jawnie turned left onto Pennsylvania Ave and sped up. At the end of the block, when she was right alongside the Kia, she held her breath and cut the wheel. The Subaru hung a hard right onto Baltimore Ave and missed the Kia’s left front fender by only a foot. Enough to make him take notice. She straightened the wheel and exhaled. Her eyes shot to the rearview mirror. The Kia followed suit but was losing ground as she pressed down on the accelerator. The car remained a block back when Jawnie turned right again. Her eyes flickered from the front windshield to the rearview, expecting to see the Kia at any second, but it never appeared. Or at least that she noticed. Her grip on the steering wheel grew tighter.
Did I lose him? Was he some civilian who flew into road rage when I almost hit him and then gave up once his blood pressure came down? No. I definitely saw that car multiple times today.
Half an hour later and back in Anne Arundel County, Jawnie received an answer to her question. She spotted the Kia two cars back at a traffic light. Alright McGee, you aren’t imagining things. Let’s figure out who this driver is.
“Hey Siri. New note.”
“What do you want it to say?”
“Dark green Kia Soul Maryland Plate 555-RJ4K.”
“Ok, I’ve created your note. It’s called Dark green Kia Soul Maryland plate 555-RJ4K.”
I’ll call Michelle at DMV to run it as soon as I get back to the office. The favor may cost me a drink or an actual date, but it will be worth it to know who he is. Hopefully, the name will ring a bell. The last thing I need is a fresh surprise.
Jawnie was only a mile from the office but took the Kia on a short sight-seeing tour of Linthicum Heights. See exactly how dedicated the driver was to their mission. First stop was Fairway Car Wash. Jawnie got in line behind the others and when it was her turn, she lined up the front left tire to the guide and selected the Supreme.
A tapping on the driver’s side glass caught her attention. “Hands off the wheel, ma’am.”
Jawnie looked down. White knuckles. Her hands slid off the wheel and fell to her lap as the car jerked forward. She tried to relax and think calmly as the conveyor pulled her forward. Each stage coated the windshield with a different chemical and blocked the view. Because you don’t see him, it doesn’t mean he’s gone. Maybe he’s hiding behind that iHop, but with a simple line of sight as you exit the car wash? What’s next? Mario’s? She had dry cleaning that was overdue to be picked up. Big ass empty lot there, nowhere to hide and nowhere to street park. As she exited the car wash, the track gave way. Her hands returned to the wheel. Jawnie waved off the man, wanting to finish drying the Subaru with an armful of hand towels. I’m good, no thank you, she mouthed as she cracked the window and slid out a five-dollar bill.
Mario’s was four lights further down the road and by the third red light, the Kia emerged from the background. Jawnie could feel the sweat building on her lower back. A single drop formed on the side of her face. She lifted her arm and wiped away the drop with her sleeve. Mario’s came up on the left and Jawnie put on her blinker. No need to attempt some big ruse at this point.
Five minutes later, she exited Mario’s with her dry cleaning hung over her left shoulder and iPhone held in her right, ready to capture the moment for posterity’s sake. Jawnie took the picture before the guy could raise his newspaper in a piss poor effort to hide his identity. She unlocked the Subaru and hung her clothes on the back hook. She got in and slammed the door. A combination of the force and noise caused her to jump.
Goddamnit! WWRD? I should have done something proactive after the meeting back at the county building. Jawnie reached into the center console. She chose her weapon of choice and speed walked to the Kia. Deep breath, deep breath. Look and act like you belong here.
The man was blond, with very short hair. Maybe balding. She couldn’t tell with the slight window tint. When he spotted her approaching, the newspaper went back up. Jawnie snapped another picture before sliding the phone into her back pocket. She tapped on the window. The early edition of the Baltimore Sun didn’t move.
She rapped her knuckles a second time. Harder, louder. This time the paper came down and the man’s eyebrows went up. He reached over and lowered the window, roughly two inches, before speaking.
“Can I help—”
The mace streamed through the opening as if she was an Olympic crack shot. The creeper didn’t see it coming and Jawnie didn’t stick around to see the after-effects. She could hear his screams, interlaced with every curse word in the book by the time she slid behind the wheel. Her death grip returned, and she rocketed out of Mario’s parking lot without a clear destination in mind and a little less rubber on her tires.
The Subaru ended up in the parking lot of a Wawa, a good half mile down the road. Jawnie parked behind the convenience store. She pulled up the note she made earlier with the Kia’s license plate and added the photos. At the bottom of the note, she dictated the man’s description in two sentences and returned her phone to the cup holder.
Jawnie exhaled and didn’t move. How long had it been? Three months? Maybe a little longer. Well, kid, it was an enjoyable ride. I look forward to the next extended period of calm. Maybe today showed I’m not built for this line of work. Her mind went back to the night on Rockfish’s front lawn. Porbeagle’s gun. The sound of the shot. The smell of burning cotton as the bullet passed through the material of her oversized sweatshirt. Fixing middle school laptops out of my garage doesn’t sound so bad now. Granted, no one’s launching a streaming network based on that show, but then again, I don’t have to look over my shoulder every time I leave the goddamn house. Jawnie stopped rubbing her hands and dropped her head into them. The tears flowed freely.
She didn’t remember how long she remained parked next to the dumpster, but when she felt she could make it back to the office without having a complete emotional meltdown, she shifted into drive.
***
Excerpt from A Bad Bout of the Yips by Ken Harris. Copyright 2023 by Ken Harris. Reproduced with permission from Ken Harris. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Ken Harris retired from the FBI, after thirty-two years, as a cybersecurity executive. With over three decades writing intelligence products for senior Government officials, Ken provides unique perspectives on the conventional fast-paced crime thriller. He is the author of the “From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” series. He spends days with his wife Nicolita, and two Labradors, Shady and Chalupa Batman. Evenings are spent playing Walkabout Mini Golf and cheering on Philadelphia sports. Ken firmly believes Pink Floyd, Irish whiskey and a Montecristo cigar are the only muses necessary. He is a native of New Jersey and currently resides in Virginia’s Northern Neck.
Thorns at Sunrise (Janeen Ippolito) Publication date: March 23rd 2023 Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult
A young queen. Her imaginary friend. A kingdom on the verge of death.
She believes she’s crazy.
Queen Usilea has a secret–and he lives in her mind. Ever since she was six years old, her imaginary friend has been her closest companion, and her arranged marriage has been a great dread. When she learns her betrothed and the royal family have suddenly died, she feels obligated to attend the funeral in the foreign land of Absteph–and perhaps learn more behind their mysterious passing.
He only wants the truth.
Petar endures great pain to protect those he does not remember. His only solace is a shadowy woman who he loves–even though she denies that he exists. When a terrible tragedy occurs in his kingdom, that mysterious woman is his only hope of bringing justice to light. For the cage that imprisons him grows harsher every day, and he is losing the fight.
But there are thorns at sunrise.
Brought together on the barest thread of reality, Usilea and Petar must discover what really happened to the royal family. But Petar’s time is running out. Soon not even a Mender like Usilea will be able to save him.
This YA romance features a gender-swapped Sleeping Beauty in an original fantasy world on the brink of doom.
Her imaginary friend was playing a new trick on her. This time, she would discern his meaning.
Usilea set down the quill on the paper, frowning at the words mocking her from the page. She pressed her lips together in thought. Thorns at sunrise? What could it mean? What was her mind trying to tell her?
“What do you think of my riddle?”
As usual, the voice didn’t come from within her mind directly, but somewhere outside. Yet were she to glance around, all she would perceive is the vaguest sensation of shadow and soul in the periphery of her vision.
And so, she refrained from looking. Instead, she focused on the words she had written, words he had spoken into her mind at some point in the night.
I think … you’re afraid.
“And what am I afraid of, goldenbird?” Amusement teased the edges of his words. She had known her friend was a male since the first time they had met, whenever that had been. Sometime after her sixth year. “Tell me, you who know me so well.”
I know you as well as I might any figment of my imagination.
“Likewise. That is not the answer to the riddle.”
A sigh escaped her. Usilea leaned back in her cushioned chair and rubbed the tense area around her eyes. You are afraid of being lost. You are afraid of being found. You are afraid of darkness, and you are afraid of light.
No answer came from the voice in her mind. A faint smile curved her lips. He only withdrew like that when she was right and he was bewildered. She had learned that pattern over the years as they had conversed. He liked keeping his mysteries, while he equally delighted in unveiling the mysteries of others. A curious behavior for her imaginary friend.
A strange, stabbing sensation pierced through her musing.
What did it imply about her that her closest friend wasn’t real?
Author Bio:
Janeen Ippolito writes about misfits who defy expectations, whether in fairy tale, steampunk fantasy, urban fantasy, humorous paranormal romance, or poetry. She also spreads wordtastic joy in her work as a fearless book strategist, nonfiction author, and coach. In her spare time, she swordfights and posts cute animal memes.
We’re so excited to share the release of Nicole Sanchez’s THE QUEEN’S GAMBLE! Check out the gorgeous series and get your copy today!
Title: The Queen’s Gamble
Author: Nicole Sanchez
Genre: Romantic Fantasy
About The Queen’s Gamble:
No matter what move she makes, there will be consequences.Daphne Hale has transformed from pawn to queen. Or has she?Daphne’s caught once more between the man she loves and the man who seeks to own her. Estranged from Essos and forced to cater to Galen, Daphne fights to navigate the dangerous waters of the Trials as she moves closer to the seemingly inevitable endgame – marriage to the man who murdered her.As the Underworld itself trembles with unstable power and Daphne’s own magic weakens daily, every move could be her undoing. To protect those she loves, Daphne must go along with the charade. But no one ever won a game of chess by resigning.This reborn goddess may be in check, but it’s her move.
“Don’t pull this shit. You know why I locked you morons in that cabin a million years ago? It’s because I knew that, when it came down to it, you were meant to be. There is no one in all of Solarem or on the face of Earth or in the Underworld that can bring my brother to life the way you can, same as he’s the only person who can possibly have the patience for you. You bring out the best in each other. Your journey together has been long and hard, but it’s not over. So don’t you dare give up on him. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Because when it came to you, he never gave up. He pushed and pushed and pushed to get you back, so push for him. Fight for him.”
About the Author:
Nicole Sanchez has been writing stories on any scrap of paper she could get her hands since before middle school. She lives in New Jersey with her high school sweetheart and love of her life along with their two quirky cats. When she isn’t writing or wielding the Force, she can be found traveling the world with her husband or training for her next RunDisney Event.
Castelon Alyssa Roat (The Wraithwood Trilogy, #3) Publication date: March 15th 2023 Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
Fifteen hundred years of Arthurian legend come to a head in the final installment of The Wraithwood Trilogy.
The sword of legend, ancient magic, and a dead man’s secrets-together they could save Brinnie’s world or end it forever.
Brinnie barely escaped Mordizan with her life. Battered and broken in body and soul, she knows she’s running out of time. And though she has discovered the identity of Mordred’s bane, no one knows where to find the legendary weapon.
To discover the truth, she and Marcus must journey to Castelon and seek the aid of the Council. However, their actions at Mordizan brand them as enemies and war criminals. Between Mordred’s armies engaged in full-scale war and the political machinations of the Council, Brinnie struggles to balance the battlefield and the courtroom while estates fall before Mordred’s wrath.
As magic ravages her own body, threatening her survival, the allure of ancient, forbidden power grows brighter. And only one man holds the knowledge of the weapon that could destroy Mordred once and for all-a man they buried in the gardens of Wraithwood.
“A portal. Anything. I’ll take a bicycle at this point.”
Dad frowned, leaning on his hands on the oval table, and barely looked up from the maps. “You’re not ready.”
She clenched her fists and resisted the urge to lean against the opposite side of the table. That would just prove his point.
A few wizards circled the work surface along with Dad, moving pieces, making notes. Most likely advisors or military leaders—probably not people she should be questioning his judgment in front of, but what choice did she have?
“I’m walking, I’m standing—”
“You’re hobbling and wobbling.” He straightened and waved a hand at a young man standing at attention along the wall of the office-like space. “Take her back to her room, please.” He gave her a stern look, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes, no doubt caused by the weight of bad news no one would tell her. “I’ll come see you in an hour. Where’s Marcus?”
“I don’t know.” Her tongue took over with more impertinence than she’d ever leveled at him before. “I imagine he has better things to do in the middle of this war than make sure I don’t leave my room.”
A few of the wizards shot each other uncomfortable looks. Dad sighed. “One hour, Brin. You can survive that long.”
She followed the stiff young man back to her room, trying not to pant too much from the simple exertion of walking through the halls.
Two days of consciousness had made for two days of monotonous pain heightened by the urgency stirring in her gut. She had to get back to Wraithwood. She had to find Excalibur. She had to stop this war, this slaughter, the destruction she had caused.
When Marcus wasn’t hovering over her like an anxious mother hen, he’d been spending every moment in Dirklon’s—admittedly limited—library. Finding nothing. But Dad banned her from accompanying Marcus even there.
“You go book crazy,” Dad had said. “I’ll find you climbing some shelf or forgetting to eat for a whole day in a research frenzy.”
She wanted to protest that she didn’t do that. Except that she definitely did, and had, done that. More than once.
So instead of book crazy, she went stir crazy, with nothing to think about but pain.
Sometimes the magic in her veins ran hot, sometimes cold. Sometimes it seemed to push against her skin, threatening to explode. She dared not explore the deep, roiling mass within her like an acidic sea.
“Here you are, my lady.” The young man gave a jerky bow.
She focused, only now realizing they had stopped. “Thank you.” She pushed open the wooden door and shut it behind her, slumping against the surface, her scant muscles feeling like gelatin.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t wander.”
She scowled at Marcus where he leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed.
He pushed to his feet and scanned her face. Unlike Dad’s, his expression was soft. “Brinnie. Please. There’s nothing we can do right now.”
“So much for agreeing to a road trip.” She winced at her own sharp tone.
“I’m still on board.” His tone remained even, unaffected by hers. “After you take time to rest and heal.”
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away. “I need to do something. Something to keep my mind—” She didn’t finish. To keep my mind out of that dark place. To keep it from returning to the dungeon, the battlefields, the screams…
He placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “I know.”
She took a shuddering breath. His unexplained voice in her mind, another mystery, should have concerned her, but it soothed her thoughts. She sighed and leaned against him for support.
“Should I tell her?”
Her head snapped up, almost knocking him in the chin. “Tell me what?”
“Whoa.” He steadied her, expression sheepish. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. How about you sit down first?”
She eased herself into the bedside chair. If she sat on the bed, she would be sucked into sleep. And she didn’t have time for that. “What do you know?”
He sighed. “Things aren’t…great at Wraithwood.”
Author Bio:
Alyssa Roat has worked in a wide variety of roles within the publishing industry as an agent, editor, writer, and publicist. She is the managing editor at Mountain Brook Fire. She has held positions as the publicity manager for publisher Mountain Brook Ink, an associate literary agent at Cyle Young Literary Elite, an editor with Sherpa Editing Services, and a freelance writer with hundreds of bylines in local, national, and international publications. She holds a B.S. in Professional Writing from Taylor University. She would love to connect on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram as well @alyssawrote.
Archenemy Christina Bauer (Angelbound Xavier Trilogy, #1) Publication date: March 9th 2023 Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
Ancient Egyptians. Powerful gods. Lost loves. And one badass warrior with wings.
Welcome to the beautiful land of ancient Egypt… only it may not stay so lovely for long. The chaos god, Set, plans to destroy the human world. Fortunately, the angel Xavier has the perfect plan to imprison Set and fast. Even better, Xavier can enact his scheme alone… which is just the way he likes it. No partners. No complications. No problems.
Suddenly, a gorgeous woman materializes. Calling herself Camilla, she declares she’s from the future. All of which is strange enough, but things soon go from bad to weird when Camilla announces that she and Xavier must work together—it’s the only way to defeat Set.
Wow, does Xavier ever hate thatidea.
The warrior angel decides on a strategic retreat. In other words, Xavier works to avoid Camilla at all costs. Turns out, that isn’t so easy. This mystery woman has set Xavier’s blood on fire in a way he’s never felt before. No matter how hard he tries, Xavier simply can’t desert her.
But is Camilla another element of Set’s destructive chaos magic… or is she Xavier’s only chance to save both himself and humanity?
I slap on my best smile. “How about you put the knives down? We can talk.”
“I’ve got the weapons,” says Camilla. “I’m leading the conversation. You’re here because you want to join Horus’ party.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We have records in the future, Xav. Horus only held the same party every night for a few thousand years. Visiting him is a waste of time.”
“What makes you say that?”
Camilla shoots me a deadpan stare. “Seriously? You’re going to make me say it?”
“Say what?” I shouldn’t be enjoying this banter so much, but I do.
“Horus is a pompous, drunken brat. His mommy taught him the spell to imprison Set. Horus did nothing but repeat the incantation.”
“Meaning?”
“If we want to reinforce the Red Pyramid, then the person we need to see is Isis herself.”
“I made a promise. I’m seeing Horus first.”
“Well, I’m on a tighter timeline.”
“Then, visit Isis yourself.”
“She doesn’t know me. You’re coming along.”
I purse my lips. “I don’t see any reason why we must—” At that moment, the ground rumbles beneath our feet. I raise my pointer finger. “That’s a regular earthquake.”
“False. This part of the world does get earthquakes. That is Set getting loose and making my point that we must work together and fast.”
“Says the woman with the poisoned blades.” I sigh. “Much as I’ve enjoyed seeing you again, I’m off to visit Horus now.” I shoot her another smile. “Are you going to stab me?”
Camilla bobs her head as she considers. “No.” She flicks her wrists, making the blades retract into holsters that must on her forearms. “But I’m not giving up, either. I call for ceremonial combat again.” She pins me with a hungry look.
Now, I could just cast my spell and head off to see Horus. But that really was an amazing kiss. So, I ask the obvious question.
“What kind of combat are we talking about?”
Camilla strolls toward me, pausing when our mouths are a breath apart. I cup her face in my palms and pull her in for another kiss. This one is a slow tasting. Heat pours through my core.
Camilla slides her hands up my shoulders. Everywhere she touches me, there’s a trail of fire on my skin. She soon moves her fingertips onto the very spot where my wings meet my back. The sensation is beyond erotic.
Suddenly, a sharp pain zings across my shoulders. Camilla is pinching a particular spot on my wings. I’d felt a slight scratch when Camilla touched my neck before, but nothing like this. My legs turn watery beneath me.
“What magic is this?”
“Nerve pinch. It only works on lower-level angels.”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know how it functions, I only know that it works. You came up with this move during the great Hellscape Rebellion of 1632.”
And with those strange words rattling around my head, the world around me starts to fade. My body goes limp.
I lose consciousness.
Author Bio:
Christina Bauer thinks that fantasy books are like bacon: they just make life better. All of which is why she writes romance novels that feature demons, dragons, wizards, witches, elves, elementals, and a bunch of random stuff that she brainstorms while riding the Boston T. Oh, and she includes lots of humor and kick-ass chicks, too.
Christina graduated from Syracuse University’s Newhouse School with BA’s in English along with Television, Radio, and Film Production. She lives in Newton, MA with her husband, son, and semi-insane golden retriever, Ruby.
Be the first to know about new releases from Christina by signing up for her newsletter: http://tinyurl.com/CBupdates
The Rebirth V.P. Evans Publication date: March 16th 2023 Genres: Adult, Suspense, Thriller
A traumatized father seeks justice for his son’s death.
A fallen man seeks atonement for his mistakes.
A cryptic path hides all the answers.
And so much more …
For the past decade, Mark has been living like an alcoholic druggy, loathing himself for not having the power to protect his son from the hands of these goddamn monsters.
For the past decade, Jason has been living a reclusive life, doomed by his enemies to spend the rest of his bland days in isolation till the illness seizes his last breath.
For the past decade, Mark and Jason haven’t seen each other.
But everything is about to change …
A murder brings them together tonight, trapped among the streets of Chicago in the search for redemption by following a mystical path that could unlock the darkest scandal in history. As the path unrolls secrets buried in works like these of Nietzsche, Plato, and Aristotle, the shadiest aspects of the human soul come to the surface, and soon both men realize that those who are hunting them, closing by with each passing minute, are equally dangerous with the ghosts of the past …
His time was up. He knew it. The bullet to his stomach had already soaked his pants with blood, and he could feel the warmth of it running into his shoes.
He staggered among the tall trees, pressing a hand over the hole, but that only pushed the blood out faster between his fingers. He managed a few more steps, as though his body still believed it could survive—but he collapsed. His cheek scraped against the wet grass. Damp leaves froze his face. A bug jumped out of the ground, tickling his nostrils.
His gaze climbed up the thick, naked tree branches. Far to the north, along Lake Michigan’s shoreline, vibrant lights fought to master the night sky, and eminent towers of steel and glass waved from the Loop.
Thrusting with his legs, he lugged his body toward the lake’s edge. Less than ten feet away.
Wet muck soaked his white shirt. His arms shoveled the ground, spoiling the blanket of green with deep, muddled brown lines. His hands sank into the soil, molding balls of dirt and grass in each fist.
A muffled chuckle echoed from behind. The man who’d shot him stepped closer.
Dermot Walsh always knew it would end like this—a lifetime of countless crimes had inscribed his name on a great number of bullets, but each had missed him.
Till now.
Maybe this disturbing feeling wasn’t exactly fear, but a sick curiosity about the person who’d end his days.
He tried to roll his body over. The bullet burned, twisting in his gut. But the pain couldn’t hold him back. He had to see his executioner. He pushed his body up and finally turned.
Pitch darkness consumed Burnham Park. Scattered pale lamps barely lit the hulking hitman who was approaching slowly, gun raking in his left hand. His chest suffocated in the tightly fitted suit—the buttons ready to hurl and his buff arms almost tearing the fabric apart.
“Who are you?” Walsh tried to ask. The blood had filled his throat, and he coughed some of it over his chin.
The hitman kneeled over him. His face lacked color, and hair including eyebrows or a beard. He was just a soulless, fey, creepy figure shrouded in the shadows.
“Mr. Walsh.” The ghost’s voice was clear, steady. “We gave you everything, but you wanted more. For years we’ve waited to repay your vanity.”
What? Those words … how could they be true? In his thoughts, a single name popped up—Jason.
Something happened. The hitman raised his head, then scurried off, somewhere into the park.
Walsh’s bleary vision offered nothing more than faint images: his BMW parked nearby. Through the half-opened, smashed rear door, the last member of his personal security detail was hanging, attempting to grab the gun in front of him. The other two were already corpses.
Who was he? Walsh wondered. Harry? Jorge? It was impossible to recognize the man under the mask of dripping blood.
“Ha, ha, naughty little piggy,” the bald hitman snickered, marching over to the bloody-faced man.
Confused about what he’d just heard, Walsh thrust a hand into his jacket pocket, searching for his cell phone.
He grasped it. He tried to—ugh, he didn’t have the strength. Unable to pull it completely from his pocket, he struggled to type the message. The screen was barely visible. His eyes were burning. All he could see was a white fog.
He touched the screen with his fingers, but he couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t even say if he was typing or if this whole attempt was just an illusion of his frigging mind.
He strived to focus, but with each passing second, his senses surrendered to the cold hug of death.
He had to make it. This was his only shot at naming his murderers.
The mouth of the hitman’s gun made a dull sound as he pulled the trigger, taking the life of the bloody-faced man.
Walsh didn’t have any more time. He hoped he’d keyed and sent the drafted message, though he feared he hadn’t.
Steps gouged the ground as the hitman was pacing toward him.
Walsh directed his eyes toward the lake. Its special beauty had always been a comfort to him, and now its peaceful waters were calling him with their serene song of silence. Gritting his teeth, he funneled every scintilla of his remaining strength into moving his damn hand. He couldn’t flex it, so he stretched it all the way to the right till it touched the cold water. He felt the need to groan, but air refused to enter his lungs. He plunged his hand into the water and opened his palm wide, praying that the cell phone had actually reached the lake, carrying the faith that the night wouldn’t end with his death. Instead, his death would be the beginning … Jason.
The hitman stood before him, winking and aiming his gun mockingly.
Then a thick cloud enveloped Walsh’s body.
Author Bio:
Wandering around small towns and cozy villages in faraway lands, V.P. Evans tastes the manifold flavors of this planet and, somewhere down the road, finds himself charmed by the few who live passionately or disappointed as darkness surrounds societies and people. He then sits down and starts to write.
Faking It With the Grump Kate O’Keeffe (Second Chance Café, #1) Publication date: March 14th 2023 Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
He’s grumpy, boring, and thinks it’s okay to wear a suit and tie to a smalltown bar full of lumberjacks. But when I kiss him? Let’s just say I wasn’t expecting THAT.
Harper Cole
It’s one thing to be dumped by the huge Hollywood star you thought you were going to marry. It’s quite another to move back to the small town you’re both from.
As a booby prize for being shown the door by Dex Ryan, everyone is trying to set me up with their son, their nephew, or their long-lost cousin’s gardener. Either that or they’re throwing me pitying looks that say, “You’re a big loser.”
I’m not going to put up with their patronizing sympathy anymore.
So, when I spot new-guy-in-town Christopher Young, I set out to make him mine. Or you know, pretend to make him mine. I’m still in a horrible funk over Dex, and Christopher is an uptight grump. Not exactly my type.
The fact that despite appearances, he’s gorgeous and doing weird things to my blood pressure doesn’t mean a thing.
Really.
Not. A. Thing.
Christopher Young
Hunter’s Creek, population next to nothing, is the reason I work all the time. I’m solely focused on buying the town’s lumber mill so I can go back to NYC and get my big promotion. This small town is a means to an end. Nothing more.
That is until the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen superglues her lips to mine in an unexpected and very public way. She’s not the kind of woman I usually go for with her boho dress and ankle boots, but that kiss…
I’m disappointed when she comes up for air and tells me it’s all for show. But if Harper Cole wants me to be her fake boyfriend while I’m here in town, who am I to turn her down? Being attached to a local might ingratiate me to the townsfolk and make my job that much the easier.
After all, dating Harper can only be make believe. Nothing more. Not when my entire future is at stake.
Faking It With The Grump is a grumpy-sunshine, opposites attract, fake relationship romance set in the small town of Hunter’s Creek, Washington. It’s the first book in the new Second Chance Café series. Each book follows a different sister’s love story and can be read as a standalone novel or as part of a series.
She looks suddenly nervous. “Okay, here’s the thing. I kind of told some people today that you and I are…well, that we’re…”
When she doesn’t complete her sentence, I lean in and ask, “You and I are what?”
She glances around nervously before she says, “Dating.”
I straighten, shocked.
As my brain tries to comprehend what she just said, I blink at her a few times.
I need clarification. In my experience, beautiful women don’t usually go around telling people they’re dating you without your knowledge.
Well, not sane, beautiful women, anyway.
“Did you say you’ve told people you and I are dating?” I ask.
She nibbles on her lip, reminding me of a rabbit. It only adds to her appeal. Despite my concern, she’s confirmed she’s not exactly sane. “I did warn you it was weird.”
“That’s true, you did. But that doesn’t explain why, exactly.”
She clasps her hands together, clearly uncomfortable.
I’m overcome with the strangest sensation, wanting to reach out and place my hand over hers to reassure her it’s okay.
I don’t.
She takes a breath. “I know this makes me sound crazy. And I’m not crazy. Really, I’m not.”
Said no crazy person ever.
“I don’t know if you recognize me or know what happened, but even if you don’t, I really, really need you to pretend to date me because—”
Wait. Pretend?
Her eyes dart to something behind me, and before I fully realize what’s happening, she’s pushed the bar stool to one side, closed the distance between us, a decidedly wild look in her eyes.
“Everything all right?” I ask her tentatively.
“Okay if I kiss you?” she murmurs out of the corner of her mouth.
I blink at her. “Now you want to…kiss me?”
She nods, her eyes darting behind me and then back to my face. “That okay with you?”
This gorgeous woman who smells like a meadow, the double threat, the woman who only just told me she wants to pretend to date me, now wants to kiss me.
As confusing as this situation may be, I’d be an idiot not to leap at this.
“Sure,” I tell her, the thought of having her soft lips pressed against mine making my belly clench.
It would appear she’s not a woman to be told twice.
Immediately, she pulls herself up onto her toes, places her hands at the back of my head, and before I can utter another word—like “why?”—she leans in toward me and kisses me.
I don’t move for fear this is some kind of mirage. Not that I think mirages are all that common in Washington, what with it not being a desert. But seriously, this sort of thing doesn’t happen to me a whole lot. Or, you know, ever.
And I’ll be honest, as far as kisses go, it’s easily the most surprising of my life, hands down. One second, she’s explaining to me why she wants me to fake date her, and the next she’s kissing me, like it’s no big deal at all.
The problem is, for me to kiss someone like Harper Cole, it should be a big deal.
Author Bio:
USA TODAY Bestselling Author Kate O’Keeffe writes exactly what she loves to read: laugh-out-loud romantic comedies with swoon-worthy heroes and gorgeous feel-good happily ever afters. She lives and loves in beautiful Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand with her family and two scruffy dogs. When she’s not penning her latest story, Kate can be found hiking up hills (slowly), traveling to different countries, and eating chocolate. A lot of it.
Visit kateokeeffe.com to sign up to her newsletter and you’ll receive a FREE romcom.
