One hundred years ago when I was young and impulsive (okay, it was five, alright? Five years ago…) I let my boyfriend take, let’s just say…compromising pictures of me.
(Shut up. It made sense at the time).
Surprise! The sleazy back-stabbing jerk posted them on a website and, well, you can guess what happened. That’s right.
I’m a meme. A really gross one.
You’re seen the pictures. And if you haven’t – don’t ask. And don’t look!
As face recognition software online improves, I get tagged on social media whenever anyone shares my pictures. You try getting a thousand notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas.
So. I’m done.
It’s time for revenge. Let him see how it feels! But how do you get embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you five years ago?
Especially when he’s a member of the U.S.House of Representatives now?
Getting sweet between the sheets with a congressman is pretty much every political roadie’s dream, right? I’m one in a crowd.
Except to this day, he swears he didn’t do it. Pursued me for months after I dumped him five years ago. Begged me to take him back.
And I almost did it. Almost. I was weak and stupid and in love a hundred years ago.
Okay. Fine. Five.
But I still have the upper hand. Second chance romance has all the emotional feels, doesn’t it?
I can’t wait to punch him in the feels.
All I need to do is sleep with him once, take some hot-and-sweaty pics of him in… delicate positions, and bring him down. That’s it. Nothing more.
Pictures first. Revenge after. And then I win.
At least, that’s how it was supposed to happen. But then I did something worse than sexting.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.
This Valentine’s Day, when a cupid accidentally shoots himself with his own arrow, he falls for a siren whose only job is to lure men to their deaths.
Charismatic and irresistibly fun, Chance Eroson is a cupid who gets a kick from pairing odd couples and being right about them. Used to getting his way, the only person who shuts him down is the siren who has ruined more than one of his pairings before they started. But his bigger problem is he wants her. He’s always wanted her.
Elodie Sirenian uses her power for good, only hunting evil men. But after so long, and so many horrible people, her cynicism has settled deep inside. She can turn on the charm when she doesn’t mean it, and they fall for it. Every single one. Every single time.
Except Chance. He’s the only person—man or god—who has ever challenged her.
But a cupid’s magic is temporary. There’s no way a true love match is possible. Not this time.
“Who are you after?” she asked. She even used a pleasant tone of voice.
He stepped in closer, spinning her stool so she faced the bar, then closer still. Not touching, but she could feel the heat of him, the length of him, at her back. He leaned down to put his lips to her ear. “Him,” he said in a low voice.
It had been a long time since a simple whisper had turned her on. She saw the worst in men. Even if she didn’t kill them, she could still read their auras. Their lust with no emotion. Their aggression. Their manipulation. All of which made it difficult to rev her engines. So the fact that her nipples tightened, pressing against the silk demi-cup of her bra was…distracting to say the least.
“That’s not helpful,” she said dryly. “As usual.”
His chuckle didn’t help the nipple situation any, sending a surge of warmth cascading through her.
“Three-piece suit.” Chance picked up her glass. “The one who just bought you a drink. Although, if he has his eye on you, it might make my job matching him a tad more difficult.”
Elodie’s muscles unknotted slightly. At least she wasn’t going to have to argue him out of this one.
“With who?” Curiosity popped the words out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
“Banana yellow shirt in the back corner.”
She searched behind three-piece-suit and found the woman in question. Not only was the lady’s shirt bright yellow, but so was her aura. Elodie smiled despite herself.
“I take it you approve?” he asked.
How did he know? He was standing behind her.
“Otherwise, you’d immediately argue.”
How did he do that? She knew a cupid could read the minds of humans—helped with the job—but he couldn’t do that to her or other supernaturals. But the laughter in his voice told her he’d still managed to read her reaction regardless, and knew she’d be irritated about it. He didn’t know that the irritation was because it meant he knew her better than she wanted. Dangerous to let him that close.
“Stay very still,” he said next.
Elodie frowned and started to turn, except a glittering golden bow and arrow appeared at her side, arrow already nocked.
He had to be joking. “Here?” she drawled. “You’re going to shoot them in a busy bar? Really?”
“They’re lined up perfectly. I couldn’t have picked a better shot.” His voice was harder now. Focused. Sexy. If that’s how he sounded in bed…
She shook off the thought.
“Hurry up.” She had her own job to deal with.
“You don’t rush love, baby girl.”
“Call me baby girl, again, lover,” she snapped. “I dare you.”
No answer to that. She wished she could see Chance’s face.
Multi-award-winning paranormal romance author, Abigail Owen, loves plots that move hot and fast, feisty heroines with sass, alpha heroes with heart, a dash of snark, and oodles of sexy shifters! Other titles include wife, mother, Star Wars geek, ex-competitive skydiver, spreadsheet lover, Dr. Seuss quoter, eMBA, organizational guru, Texan, Aggie, and chocoholic.
Abigail grew up consuming books and exploring the world through her writing. She attempted to find a practical career related to her favorite pastime by earning a degree in English Rhetoric (Technical Writing). However, she swiftly discovered that writing without imagination is not nearly as fun as writing with it.
Abigail currently resides in Austin, Texas, with her own personal hero (who she totally married!) and their two children, who are growing up way too fast.
Title: Fairy Godmurder Author: Sarah J. Sover Series: Fracture Fae #1 Genre: Fantasy
Gwendolyn Evenshine thought being a fairy godmother would be cut and dried—take on a charge, solve a royal problem, and return to the Academy for her next assignment. But she got too close.
When the beloved Princess Francesca is brutally murdered on her watch, Gwen refuses to resume her fairy godmother duties. Instead, she laces her docs and hits the streets of Boston in search of the bastard who took Frankie from her, a serial killer who operates in lunar cycles. But Gwen’s magic is on the fritz, and bodies are piling up.
Gwen enlists the talents of Chessa Moon, an upbeat pixie crime blogger who will do anything for a scoop. Together, they open new leads as they race against the hunter’s moon. As the killer hits closer and closer to home, Gwen is forced to confront her past and nail the killer, or she’ll lose more than just her shot at vengeance—she’ll lose the only person in her life worth a damn.
Sarah J. Sover writes fantasy crossover novels while raising two energetic little people. A Georgia Southern Bell Honor’s graduate who grew up living near Detroit, London, Miami, and Atlanta, Sarah’s background is as varied as her answers to the dreaded “where are you from” question. She’s done everything from wildlife rehabilitation to data management, leaving notebooks filled with bad poetry in her wake.
Sarah resides in John’s Creek, Ga with her brilliant husband Alex, two vibrant daughters, cranky old dog, and seemingly immortal snake. In addition to writing, Sarah loves craft beer, blues dancing, binging superhero Netflix shows, hobby jumping, Disney, and groove metal.
