Lorelei rang the doorbell again, waited some more and was ready to go looking out back for him when she heard the sound of what appeared to be someone dropping or bumping into something. Male muttered profanity followed. Then, hobbled footsteps. And a naked Dax Buchanan finally opened the door. Well, almost naked, anyway. All he wore were black boxers that dipped low on his hips. So low that if they dipped even slightly lower, then she was going to get an eyeful. Or perhaps even a look at the infamous tat if he turned around. Of course, the eyeful had already happened with the rumpled dark brown hair, the dreamy green eyes and the body. Yes, that body. Toned, lean. Perfect, like one of those calendars filled with hot guys for each month. And the face. Mercy, oh, mercy. He’d clearly gotten some amazing genes that blended together to create that equally amazing face. A definite eyeful. It was easy to see why so many women had wanted to take Dax for a spin. Even if that spin had a shorter shelf life than an already-ripe avocado. “Yeah?” he said, rubbing his knee, swearing and yawning at the same…
CHAPTER ONE No one is more patient than the dead. —Auverrani proverb Every month, Michal claimed he’d struck a deal with the landlord, and every month, Nicolas sent one of his sons to collect anyway. The sons must’ve drawn straws—this month’s unfortunate was Pierre, the youngest and spottiest of the bunch, and he trudged up the street of Dellaire’s Harbor District with the air of one approaching a guillotine. Lore could work with that. A dressing gown that had seen better days dripped off one shoulder as Lore leaned against the doorframe and watched him approach. Pierre’s eyes kept drifting to where the fabric gaped, and she kept having to bite the inside of her cheek so she didn’t laugh. Apparently, a crosshatch of silvery scars from back-alley knife fights didn’t deter the man when presented with bare skin. She had other, more interesting scars. But she kept her palm closed tight. A cool breeze blew off the ocean, and Lore suppressed a shiver. Pierre didn’t seem to spare any thought for why she’d exited the house barely dressed when mornings near the harbor always carried a chill, even in summer. An easy mark in more ways than one. “Pierre!”…
Excerpted from THE CHARMER WITHOUT A CAUSE, Chapter 2, by Katherine Grant. Copyright © 2023 by Katie Flanagan Benjamin could hardly believe his good luck. Here was his mysterious woman, the one who hadn’t left his imagination for days, and all he had merely needed to ask in order to secure an introduction. And both she and her mother seemed delighted to have him sit with them. Lady Lydia Deveraux. Benjamin soaked her in as she told him about her childhood in Ireland. Blond, fair, and tall, as he had observed in his first glimpses at the musicale. Bright blue eyes slicing through small talk followed by a slim, solemn nose. Hers was not a face that smiled easily at a joke. Yet she didn’t need to smile, not when her whole countenance was softened by a pair of perfect, pink rosebud lips. That mouth had anchored his daydreams this whole week. He couldn’t help but fantasize about running into her at Hyde Park to earn a smile, about dancing with her at an assembly and seeing them part with exertion, about whisking her into the garden for a kiss. “There never was a people more eager for an education….
As his rioting pulse quieted, Hunter made no move to release Jodi. Though he felt numb in body and soul, he’d had the forethought to turn to his back, but he’d taken her with him. She was a small, warm weight resting on his heart, one slender thigh draping his, her fingers idly toying with his chest hair. When she spoke, he forced himself to focus. “Big men used to unsettle me.” She turned her face up to his. “I know my own ability, and against someone twice my size, I’m outgunned on muscle alone.” He was twice her size—but he would use that advantage to protect her, to shield her from ugliness, as much as she would allow him to. Letting his hand drift to her ass, he cuddled a bare cheek and waited. Jodi squirmed against him. “When I met the McKenzies, I realized how overbearing big guys can be. They would never hurt me, but they always wanted to stand in my way.” “To keep you safe,” Hunter rumbled, amazed that he could find his voice when every bone, muscle and bit of sinew in his body was currently lax. “Yup,” she said. “Even when it’s not…
Excerpted from DEATH OF A TRAITOR by M.C. Beaton and R.W. Green. Copyright © 2023 by Marion Chesney. Reprinted with permission of Grand Central Publishing. All rights reserved. Kate Hibbert was the furthest thing from Sergeant Hamish Macbeth’s mind as he stood close to a small crowd gathered on the shore of The Corloch, enjoying the morning sunshine and listening to a story he hadn’t heard since he was a child. Auld Mary’s Tale (part one) “You’ll neffer catch them now, John Mackay! They’re free from your evil clutches at last!” The old woman stood on a small, rocky island ten yards from the shore of The Corloch. Silhouetted in the moonlight, her shadow cast long upon the water, the woman pointed a crooked finger towards the loch, the ragged folds of her black cloak hanging from her outstretched arm. “They’ll be in Sutherland territory afore an hour has passed. The Gordons will welcome them there, and you dare not follow.” The three men on the shore stared out across the water to where a man d a woman were making their way steadily across the loch in a small boat. r pple of water could be heard echoing…
Excerpted from the novel STEALING by Margaret Verble. Copyright © 2023 by Margaret Verble. From Mariner Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Reprinted by permission. I thought the cabin was still empty until I saw the red rooster out in the road. He was really flame orange, but people call those roosters red, and he had a big, bright green feather curling over the top of his tail. I had on my sneakers and was walking in a smooth gully the rain had created. So I wasn’t kicking gravel or making any kind of noise, and he didn’t look up from his pecking until I was close on him. Then, he cocked his head to the side and looked me over, slit-eyed. It was March. I hadn’t been down that road since fall. And by the tilt of the rooster’s head, it was clear to me he’d been around some time, maybe all winter. He owned that territory, or at least he owned the chicken part of it, and he wasn’t going to give ground scared, or even in a huff. He lifted a foot, held it up in a claw for only a second, and then he…
Chapter One The most familiar eleven notes of Chopin’s Funeral March droned from the programmable doorbell’s hidden speakers. Kiley probably should have taken that as a sign. She was snuggling with Jack on the sofa, watching their favorite TV show, and making fun of the phony ghost hunters’ manufactured fear of static sounds on their digital recorders. She wasn’t sure how life could be as good as it currently was, but it was damn near perfect. Their ghost busting business was providing the whole gang a steady income, the house was amazing, Lady El was minding her own beeswax (mostly,) and she and Jack were damn near perfect. Hush, sister. You wanna jinx it? The house ghost’s face superimposed itself over the TV show, translucent, like a reflection. Tonight, Lady El wore a gold turban, her lashes were a jungle, and her jowls were a little bit saggy. “Someone’s at the door,” Jack said. “Yeah, I guessed that by the doorbell. And who added the Funeral March to the repertoire?” That was me. Lady El, puffed her cigarette, and blew lavender-scented and non-carcinogenic (she promised) smoke at her. Kiley was usually the only one who could smell it,…
Detective Sergeant Jessica Niemi watches a squirrel scamper across the road in its self-grown winter coat, then climb a fat tree trunk with surprising speed. Nature’s little miracles, like the agility of the gravity-defying rodent, have never ceased to amaze her. With the passing years, she seems to yearn for nature more and more, perhaps to create distance between herself and the tragedies and horrific fates she encounters on the job. However, her love of nature isn’t the reason Jessica has ventured into Helsinki’s Central Park on this gloomy January evening. The squirrel disappears, but Jessica can hear its tiny claws scrabble against the bark and see branches sway high up in the tree. The path running through the dense forest is dark, and the icy drizzle has kept all but a few fitness enthusiasts inside. Jessica brought a flashlight, but so far she has managed with the lamps spaced sparsely at intervals along the path. She zips up her windbreaker with the fingers of her left hand. Her right arm still dangles in a sling—not because it’s necessary in terms of recovery, but because her arm muscles throb every time the wrist she injured in mid-December isn’t supported. A…
Contessa jolted awake to a banging noise. She sat bolt upright, head whipping side to side in search of danger. Her thoughts cleared as the noise came again and she realized it was simply somebody knocking on her door, if rather insistently. Contessa pulled on her dressing gown before padding over to the door and cracking it open. When she peeked into the hall, her jaw dropped in shock, and she immediately threw it wide. Standing in the hallway was Mr. Woodrow, dressed in shirtsleeves and looking rather the worse for wear. His hair stood out at all angles, and he swayed slightly where he stood, holding on to the doorframe for support. Most shockingly, his shirt was splattered in something dark. In the dim light of the hallway, Contessa couldn’t be completely sure, but she thought it was blood. “What happened?” she gasped. She might know the answer, but she was more concerned with why he had chosen to show up at her bedroom door in this state. “Don’t worry, most of the blood isn’t mine,” he responded, trying to sound nonchalant even as he gritted his teeth. Before Contessa could respond, he swayed again where he stood. Contessa…
A Special Excerpt from LITTLE FOLLIES by Carolyn Korsmeyer The two men were back again on Thursday. Klementyna Kamynska took notice because it was not common for tourists to visit the Radincki Museum more than once. Her curiosity mildly piqued, she diverted her slow trajectory in their direction. Their attention was focused with unlikely intensity at a case full of eighteenth-century tableware. Did they move rather too hastily away to look at the suits of armor lined up along the wall? Klementyna was aware that her approach sometimes prompted visitors to draw back from their scrutiny of some jewelry or hanging vestment or other piece of over-decorated fandango. It amused her to see the effect she wielded without saying a word. She glanced at the case the men had been looking in but saw nothing of special interest. Klementyna was bored, so with her measured pace she followed them. As she neared, did their voices drop? Possibly, but many people dislike having their every word magnified by the echoes of large rooms. As she passed by the two men, her eyes directed only at her toes, she caught a few words and thought they might have been speaking English….