Published May 3rd, 2013
Description:
Marcia Andrews is a
freelance psychic consultant. Sick of living hand to mouth, she accepts a
contract with Raleigh Police. A new gang called The Cardinals is
terrorizing The Triangle, and Marcia gives the department an edge in
tracking them. Help that she is, one cop isn’t so keen on her
involvement, and makes sure she knows it.
Detective Nat McCoy would rather see Marcia in his bedroom than the bullpen. The gorgeous Scotsman isn’t the typical chauvinist pig, though. He’s keeping a secret that even the psychic doesn’t anticipate.
A close encounter with a Cardinal’s bullet knocks Marcia off her game when the police need her most. She loses hours to trances and ghosts haunt her sleep. She can hardly function, and everything she thought she knew about playboy McCoy suddenly seems questionable. McCoy thinks he knows the cure for what ails her—him. But can she trust him?
Detective Nat McCoy would rather see Marcia in his bedroom than the bullpen. The gorgeous Scotsman isn’t the typical chauvinist pig, though. He’s keeping a secret that even the psychic doesn’t anticipate.
A close encounter with a Cardinal’s bullet knocks Marcia off her game when the police need her most. She loses hours to trances and ghosts haunt her sleep. She can hardly function, and everything she thought she knew about playboy McCoy suddenly seems questionable. McCoy thinks he knows the cure for what ails her—him. But can she trust him?
Excerpt:
I
was on my second beer when Nat let himself in, grinning at the sight of me
standing at the counter. He placed his keys, wallet, and gun on the console
table near the door and walked over to the counter, loosening the buttons at
his wrists and rolling up his shirt sleeves as he propped himself up on a
stool.
“Are
you barefoot back there?” he asked, pulling my beer toward him and taking a
long swig.
“My
shoes are on my feet, exactly where they should be, pig.”
He
shrugged. “Didn’t hurt to ask. What’s for dinner?”
“Shepherd’s
pie.” I put my elbows onto the stainless steel countertop and rested my chin
atop my fists. “Nat, my pig, please explain to me why a bachelor stocks such
items as pearl onions and sherry in his kitchen.”
He
leaned onto the counter, too, and teased me with a crooked grin.
“I
like to eat.”
“So,
you cook?”
He
shook his head. “No.”
“You
bought it all for me? I’m not sure I should be flattered.”
Nat
smiled then in earnest so the dimples I’d never noticed he had dipped into his
cheeks.
“You’re
making fun of me.”
“No,
I’m not, Marcia. I don’t do my own shopping.”
“And
you don’t cook.”
“No.”
“So…?”
“Let
me change my clothes. Dinner smells good. I’d like to tuck in before it goes
cold, yeah?”
“Sure.”
He
gave the countertop a percussive pitta-pat and walked toward the bedroom I’d
searched earlier. “I like seeing you in my digs,” he called back over his
shoulder. “I should make you a key.”
“Don’t
bother. Wouldn’t want anyone to mistake me for the maid.”
I
started opening cabinets and drawers to find plates and serving utensils while
Nat shouted from his cavernous walk-in closet—the man had every shade of
button-up shirt imaginable. “So, your grandmother’s Ute, huh?”
I
dropped the serving spoon I’d finally found. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I
asked Derek.”
I
felt my blood drain from my face, intensifying the feeling of lightheadedness I
was already struggling with as a result of my psychic issues. “Derek?”
“Yeah.
Facebook’s mutual friends list is a handy tool. Wasn’t hard, you know? I saw
your sister Shane first and noted she had a fiancé. Might want to lock down
your profile a little tighter. Want me to help?”
He
closed the closet door and reappeared in the kitchen a few seconds later in
cargo shorts that showed off muscular calves and a heather blue T. He stood
inches in front of me there behind the counter and gave my hair a little flick.
“Aw, you mad at me?”
“I’m
not sure. What else did you find out?”
“Lots.
Apparently he and Shane worry about you. Want to continue this interrogation
over dinner, or shall we just stand here staring longingly at each other?”
I
thrust a plate at him and followed him to the dining table. “What else, Nat?”
“Well,
not much else from him, really. Although we did meet yesterday morning for a
round of golf. He’s a really friendly guy, huh? You should have told me Shane
invited you out on a double date. I would have escorted you.”
I
didn’t even want to imagine how that would have gone. Shane cross-examining him
and then telling him all of my business. “Oh-kay, we’re moving into creepy
territory now.”
“Oh,
it’s not creepy. I only do it to people I like.”
“Why?”
He
just smiled. I wanted to smack him. And then kiss it to make it better. I
didn’t know where my head was.
Holley
Trent is a Carolina girl gone west. Raised in rural coastal North Carolina, she
has Southern sensibilities, but her adventurous spirit drove her to Colorado
for new experiences.
She
writes contemporary and paranormal romances set in her home state. They’re
always a bit cheeky, sometimes sensual, and occasionally erotic. She enjoys
creating diverse casts, which almost always contain a sassy grandmother.
Her
works are inspired by real life, and her psychic romance Love by Premonition actually spawned from a petrifying encounter
one evening when she was trying to sleep. Like her protagonist Marcia, she
might be a bit of a medium…and like Marcia, the idea terrifies her.
Holley
lives in Colorado with her ad guy husband, two kids, and two cats. Her romances
are available from Calliope Romance/Musa Publishing, Crimson Romance, Rebel Ink
Press, and she has works under contract by Lyrical Press. She’s currently
working on a few paranormal romances, including a spin-off from Love by Premonition.
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2 comments:
superba coperta :x
atat de pura ;;)
fragmentul m-a cucerit! trebuie sa o lecturez!
si imi place coperta!
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