Is he the answer to her troubles or an intoxicating illusion that could turn deadly?
Single mom Olivia Burkhart struggles to rebuild her life after the murder of her fiancé, Brent Allen, a deputy on Honeysuckle Island. She vows to never get involved with another cop, and then Flynn Yates enters her life with his playful smile and penetrating blue eyes.
As Olivia tries to come to terms with her feelings for Flynn, life delivers some hard blows that resurface her fears with a vengeance.
Then fate gives her the chance to work six weeks at an exclusive art gallery in charming and quaint Carmel, California by the sea.
When Olivia catches the eye of world-renown artist Xavier Kipling, a brooding and handsome widower, she finds herself drawn into a sophisticated world of wealth beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
A strange painting gives way to unsettling events, making Olivia question if her aching heart can discern between illusion and reality.
Is the Kipling mansion an idyllic haven, or a hiding place for deadly secrets?
As he stepped up, Olivia rolled down the window and placed both hands on the steering wheel as Brent had taught her to do. The officer removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. Olivia jerked, taken aback by the vividness of his deep blue eyes. A tidal wave of heat gushed over her cheeks as she took in his rugged features. She was mortified at the attraction that pinged through her. Why did he have to be so dang good-looking? And why did he have to exude such a bad-boy, reckless vibe that called to her inner soul? It didn’t hurt that he filled out his cop uniform well with his cut biceps and masculine forearms. Great gravity, he was nice to look at.
His gaze lingered on her a moment too long, and then he seemed to catch himself. “Good afternoon,” he began in a brisk tone. “May I see your license and registration?”
It happened again. Their eyes connected, sending all rational thoughts flying out the window. When a tiny smile tugged at a corner of the officer’s mouth, Olivia found herself grinning back like a goober.
His quirk of amusement gave her the jolt she needed to return to her senses. Good grief, she was acting like a moonstruck idiot! She’d always been a sucker for cops. Add in his stunning good looks and sense of arrogance, and she was a goner for sure.
“Your license and registration,” he prompted
She snapped out of her daze. No way could she get involved with another cop. Hadn’t she had enough heartache over Brent to last her a lifetime? Danger followed cops, or rather cops followed danger. She owed it to Ryan and to herself to find a guy who had a stable, predictable job.
What the freaky Frankenstein was she thinking! Here she was contemplating a future … or squelching any chance of a future with some guy who probably wasn’t remotely interested in her. He was simply doing his job. The eye-locking thing was probably a figment of her imagination—proof that she was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. She was getting twitter-pated over nothing. Was the guy even single? She glanced at his ring finger and felt a curious blip of relief when she saw the naked strip of skin over that all-important finger. Of course, just because he wasn’t wearing a ring didn’t mean that he wasn’t involved with someone.
“Uh, sure,” she stammered as she turned to find her purse. She glanced down at the floorboard and Arden’s feet only to realize that her purse was in the back seat. She was twisting around to get it when Arden caught hold of her arm.
“I’ve got this.” Arden’s voice rang out both confident and indignant.
Crumb! Arden was about to get on her high horse. This was bound to end poorly.
“Officer, do you have any idea who this is?” She looked at Olivia as she spoke.
He raised an eyebrow in faint amusement. “A woman who was speeding in a school zone,” he quipped dryly.
Olivia’s jaw dropped. “I was not speeding! I slowed down.”
He didn’t back down in the slightest. “When you saw my car. And for the record, you didn’t slow down soon enough.”
“I never saw your car.” Anger blanketed her, hot and furious. “I slowed down the instant I saw the sign. That sign should be displayed more prominently,” she added defensively.
He smirked. “If it had been a snake, it would’ve bitten you. License and registration,” he demanded, looking her in the eye.
It went through Olivia’s mind that the guy was a jerk. She should be outraged about the snake wisecrack. But right now, she couldn’t think straight. She was feeling things she never thought she’d feel again—the stir of ribbons through her stomach, the flush of warmth over her skin, the heady sizzle of energy pulsing through her like a fireball.
“Fine,” she spouted as she turned to get her purse. Placing it in her lap, she reached for her wallet and slid out her license. As she handed it over, her hand brushed against the cop’s, rustling awareness through her. Okay, this idiotic attraction was out of control. She turned to Arden, her discomfort spewing out in irritation. “Don’t just sit there like a ninny. Get the registration out of the glovebox.”
Jennifer Youngblood is a USA Today Bestselling Author of clean romance, sweet romance, romantic comedy, and romantic suspense novels. For as long as she could remember, Jennifer has wanted to be an author. In those rare moments when she’s not dreaming up another story, Jennifer loves cooking, spending time with family, and occasionally breaking away from her hectic life to take spontaneous trips to exotic and sometimes not so exotic locations. She couldn’t survive in a world without chocolate, good books, family, and friends.
Camilla Vargas, gifted violinist unwilling to ever play again.
When I said I wanted to start over somewhere new, being pulled into a world of monsters and magic is not what I had in mind. Caught in the grips of a faulty spell, my only hope of getting home is picking up a violin and completing a goddess’ quest. Add to that a handsome but less-than-willing, divinely appointed bodyguard, and this whole fiasco runs the risk of ruining my new life plan.
But maybe that’s not so bad.
Valmong, prodigy cleric ignoring the voice of his patron god.
When Tenebrin’s voice rings in my mind, I’m usually better at tuning him out. But he’s persistent, and as a cry rings out through the trees, I can’t ignore the order to help. Camilla is odd — for a bard — refusing the violin that’s clearly hers and unfamiliar with the magic she can wield. Her quest for Claritas’ Insight will probably get me killed, but the longer I’m with her, the less I care.
I just want to keep her safe — even if it means I’ll never see her again.
Valmong slides one hand into my hair beneath the hood as the other settles on my lower back. My heart thunders in my chest, adrenaline spiking my anxiety a few more notches. His fingers graze my neck, a spot near my jugular where I’ve always been ticklish, and I gasp. He deepens the kiss, the embrace turning intimate as I shift in his arms, my hand sliding along the scar on his jaw. Something wraps around my waist, and it takes me a second to realize it must be his tail.
If not for the fear, I could almost forget it’s an act. His lips are soft, his touch gentle. I could get lost in this kiss, if I let myself.
Valmong’s grip loosens, the pressure of his lips growing lighter, until he’s pulled away enough to speak. “He’s gone.”
The air inside the room is lighter than it was, and the crowd has gone back to the generally jovial atmosphere from before. As the band’s music picks up again, I let myself sigh a breath of manic relief. I’m suddenly glad for the mask, knowing how flushed my cheeks must be. And I’m still in his lap, his tail anchoring me in place.
I don’t react right away, too distracted by his proximity, by the way the tavern’s light plays with the gold flecks in his eyes. We both realize we’re staring at the same time, and embarrassment flashes across his face. His tail falls away, and I scramble to my feet.
“I-”
“We shouldn’t linger.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes darting to the door. “If we’re heading back to the temple, we need to go now.” Valmong tosses a few coins on the table and makes his way through the crowd. I struggle to keep up. As soon as we’re through the door, though, he notices my slower pace and takes my hand. “Stay close. They’ll still be looking.”
The sky has grown orange and pink, the night probably an hour or so away. Around us the crowd continues to party, oblivious to the anxiety and adrenaline pumping through me. Mingling among the revelers are clerics, easily identified by the now familiar robes. A few in black have joined the festival, but it’s impossible to recognize them. They all have their hoods up, and like everyone else, their faces are covered with masks. Their voices carry over the crowd in a steady chant that rises above the music.
“What are they saying?”
Valmong doesn’t need to look to know what I’m asking about. “It’s a prayer, initiating Tenebrin’s portion of the festival.” I want to keep watching, but Valmong pulls me through the crowd as the chanting gets louder. “Hurry — the temple will close soon.”
Katheryn is a software engineer in the Philadelphia area, writing fantasy and paranormal stories when she’s not fighting technology. In 2013, she graduated from King’s College in Pennsylvania with degrees in Computer Science and Professional Writing — so she’s always writing, be it software or fiction. She lives with her husband, Eric, and their furbaby, Ada.
A generations-old family feud might ruin a couple’s last chance at love…and tear apart the oldest whiskey distillery in Tennessee in the process.
Danica: I need a win. My scumbag ex-boss is trying to drag my reputation through the mud. If I can land my first client, I might be able to get my marketing business off the ground. But when I show up for my first meeting with the owners of a distillery, the gorgeous guy at the end of the table looks an awful lot like the one-night stand I ghosted. So I do what any hot mess in heels would do… pretend like we’ve never met.
Cole: The Hatfields and McCoys have nothing on the feud my family’s got going. We’ve been fighting with the Stewarts longer than anyone in Beaver Bluff can remember. Which sucks since we happen to co-own the largest whiskey distillery in Tennessee. Now they’ve brought in a marketing consultant to switch things up. If I can’t fight my attraction to the woman with curves like a back mountain road, she could ruin me.
Lose yourself in the richly crafted world of Beaver Bluff, Tennessee where the whiskey flows freely and love is only ever a few pages away.
Cole caught me around the waist and propped me up, his mouth wringing the last bits of pleasure from me until I whimpered against him. I was empty, wrung out in the most incredible way. How had he taken my offering and turned it around to satisfy me?
While I laid there, still spinning out of control, he lowered himself, kissing a path from my thighs, over my ass, and up the small of my back. His lips tickled, but I didn’t have the strength to offer any kind of response.
“You weren’t supposed to do that,” I finally managed.
He paused between kisses. “I wasn’t supposed to make you feel good?”
“No. I mean…yes…but I wanted you to feel good.” My mouth pressed against the quilt, making my voice come out in a slurred, punch drunk way.
“Making you feel good is what makes me feel good.” He ran his finger along my side, stopping when he reached the curve of my breast.
“You’re like a unicorn.”
“A what?” His laugh rumbled along my skin.
“A unicorn. A man who lives to satisfy his partner in bed? I can’t believe I found you. I didn’t think men like you existed.”
“I thought you were calling me a unicorn because of my big, long—”
“No, that makes you a well-endowed unicorn.” I somehow got my knees underneath me and lifted myself onto all fours.
USA Today bestselling author Dylann Crush writes contemporary romance with sizzle, sass, heart and humor. A true romantic, she loves her heroines spunky and her heroes super sexy. When she’s not dreaming up steamy storylines, she can be found sipping a margarita and searching for the best Tex-Mex food in the Upper Midwest.
Dylann co-hosts Romance Happy Hour (https://www.romancehappyhour.com/) with live episodes every 2nd and 4th Thursday of each month and is a founding member of the Romance Chicks group where authors and romance readers can connect.
Although she grew up in Texas, she currently lives in a suburb of Minneapolis/St. Paul with her unflappable husband, three energetic kids, a clumsy Great Dane, a lovable rescue mutt, and a very chill cat. She loves to connect with readers, other authors and fans of tequila. You can find her at www.dylanncrush.com.
