Abigail Grant has a secret . . . and a plan to keep her younger sister from suffering the same fate.
Luke has a secret, too. He believes he can change his destiny through willpower—and a little blue pill.
Release Date: April 13th, 2016
Abigail Grant has a secret . . . and a plan to keep her younger sister from suffering the same fate. Her strategy would have worked if she hadn’t been seduced by sweet-talking musician Luke Omega. Suddenly she’s plucked from the life she wanted to escape, but her new circumstances only expose her to a different danger—or is it her salvation?
Luke has a secret, too. He believes he can change his destiny through willpower—and a little blue pill. When he inadvertently gets mixed up in the Grant sisters’ troubles and his pack alpha orders him to marry Abigail, his family insists he tell her he’s a werewolf. But Luke claims Abigail is not his life mate. She doesn’t need to know what happens to him on the full moon.
Until he accidentally stumbles across her secret. Then all bets are off.
EXCERPT
Not many people sat in the folding chairs in front of the platform. Nor were there as
Not many people sat in the folding chairs in front of the platform. Nor were there as many blankets strewn around on the grass as there would be when Toke Lobo and the Pack took the stage. Luke felt bad for the performers. He sat through a magic act in which he saw every alleged sleight of hand. The garage band that followed should have stayed parked.
Then the valentine girl came out.
Her eyes were so pure a shade of blue he didn’t think they were real. She must have stolen the color from one of the mountain lakes high above Loup Garou. And her mouth. Ancient Ones, her lips were pink and shiny and full, as if she’d spent the past half hour kissing someone. A slight gap in her top front teeth personalized her smile. Her golden hair snagged the sun, then released beams in prisms of colors wealthy enough to tempt any leprechaun.
“Abigail Grant from Oak Moon,” the emcee announced. A girl in the front row whooped and hollered. Abigail’s fan club.
Luke leaned back in his chair. Abigail’s set wasn’t long—three numbers. The first was a cover of Adele or Christina Perri or something familiar sounding from the radio. The second song was . . . okay. The chord changes were simple and the lyrics adequate, but nothing to impress anyone. And Abigail’s voice was too smooth. Homogenized. There were no rough edges for the notes to cling to. As a performer, she was bland.
But those lips formed a perfect frame for naughty.
Oh, he was going to enjoy exploring those lips and having them explore him.
Her third and final number had him rethinking her talent—or lack thereof. Not that he was any kind of expert, but her voice wasn’t . . . big enough to do the lyrics justice. She sounded like cotton candy—pastel and sweet, but without substance. But the words, listening past the shell of her voice—there was power in lyrics, strength she undermined by singing. She infused the song with sorrow when the meaning required rage.
The smattering of applause as she concluded was embarrassing. She must have realized it, because her cheeks darkened, as if she was blushing.
Luke clapped. He knew how awful being in front of an unappreciative audience could be. He made his way to the edge of the stage, where portable stairs aided the performers getting off and on the platform.
“Hey,” he said, lifting his hand to help her descend.
She hesitated, then her too-blue eyes widened.
Luke thought he might drown.
“You’re the drummer for Toke Lobo,” she said. Her speaking voice was as smooth as her singing voice. She took his hand.
“Luke. Nice to meet you.” He grinned. Women loved his grin. At least, that’s what they told him. “You must be thirsty after all that singing. Can I buy you a cup of lemonade?”
**********
**********
She, Abigail Grant, had a date with Luke Omega.
Gary was going to kill her. But Luke Omega would be worth the grief, with his dimples, blond curls, and the indent in his chin. Plus he was a celebrity. But most importantly, he said he would help her get her songs in front of Toke Lobo. After the concert was late, though, and if Gary ever found out, he would make her life miserable.
But she had a date with Luke Omega.
Abby thought about what the lateness might also mean—beyond being a better time to run into Toke Lobo. Luke had been kind to Libby, which meant he was either trying to impress her or he was genuinely a sweet guy. Since nice guys usually ignored her, he must be trying to score points with her by sucking up to her sister, who was difficult at best. Maybe he wanted sex.
Abby wasn’t much of a dreamer any more. When she’d been a little girl and her father was still alive, when she and Libby and Mama were the suns to Daddy’s moon, life had been full of possibilities. But a freak accident left Mama a widow with two girls to support. The last fantasy Abby allowed herself was that Gary and Mama got married because they loved each other. A whole week went by before reality betrayed her.
Nowadays, the closest she came to dreaming was wishing Mama would get better and divorce Gary. But Mama was dying and the family needed Gary’s paycheck and health insurance. Needed to keep paying the taxes on the little house on Silver Moon Terrace in order to keep a roof over their heads.
Abby couldn’t bring herself to tell Mama being homeless might be better. Safer.
MJ Compton grew up near Cardiff, New York, a place best known for its giant, which inspired her to create her own fiction.
Although her 30-year career in local television included such highlights as being bitten by a lion, preempting a US President for a college basketball game, giving a three-time world champion boxer a few black eyes, a mention in the Drudge Report, and meeting her husband, MJ never lost her dream of writing her own stories.
MJ still lives in upstate New York with her husband. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America and Central New York Romance Writers. Music and cooking are two of her passions, and she enjoys baseball and college basketball, but she’s primarily focused on wine . . . and writing.
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