As he considered the possibility her eyes suddenly flashed open, filled with drowsiness as they connected with his. She blinked, uncertain, confused before those incredible violet eyes lost their laser focus and she was simply staring in his direction. “Tracker?” She sat up slowly, the sheet sliding away from the thin, silky looking white sleep shirt she wore. On strap fell over a delicate shoulder and he swore he could see the shadow of pretty pink nipples beneath the material. “Morning princess,” he murmured, striding to the side of the bed. “Sleep good?” He toed his short boots from his feet. “I…I guess.” She pushed her fingers through her hair. “Why are you here?” “For this.” Before she could do more than gasp, he pushed the sheet quickly from her, noticing the shortie shorts she wore, the slender legs, curvy thighs, just before he came over her and pushed her to her back once again. In the back of his mind, he knew she should be screaming, scared. She’d fight him, struggle, cry out and bring those damned twins running to the rescue. At least, that was how he’d assumed she’d handle his actions. Instead, she stilled, laying beneath him…
Excerpt from AFTER THE SHADOWS by Amanda Cabot “Emily Vaughn, why, it is you. I didn’t know you were back in town.” Emily turned, recognizing the voice of the woman whose home was now no more than smoldering ruins. Mrs. Carmichael was sitting on her neighbor’s porch, her arm wrapped around Clara Adams’s shoulders, giving comfort though she was the one who needed it. How typical of the gray-haired widow. Though she was close to seventy, Mrs. Carmichael had always impressed Emily as being much younger, perhaps because her light blue eyes normally seemed to sparkle with happiness. She doubted they were sparkling now. “I arrived this afternoon,” Emily said as she approached the older women. “I’m sorry about what happened to your house.” It was a day no one in Sweetwater Crossing would soon forget. “I wish I knew what happened. I didn’t leave anything cooking on the stove, but someone said embers might have started the fire.” “Now, Mary, it doesn’t matter.” Mrs. Adams shook her head, strands of white hair escaping from the knot at the back of her neck, her gray eyes solemn. The widow was the shortest of Mrs. Carmichael’s friends, like Emily…
Prologue, Pages 1–3 STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT, Copyright © 2023 by Heather Webb. Every important moment of my life could be measured in notes and captured by a song. That was never truer than the first night I saw her across the room, belonging to someone else. As the brass finished and the lights went up, I stepped away from the mic. Cheers and whistles peppered the audience in the smoke-hazed room of the Hollywood Palladium. I mopped my brow and drank deeply from a water glass, parched after the set. “Alright, boys, see you in twenty,” Tommy said, bandleader and boss. He laid his trombone on his chair. The orchestra wiped down their instruments, put them carefully in their cases before seeing about a refreshment or two. I ordered a drink from a cute waitress who batted her eyes at me and asked for my autograph. I obliged. I was never one to turn away a fan, never would be. Whiskey in hand, I skirted the room, saying hello to those I knew and to anyone important, but really wasn’t I the most important person here? They’d all come to hear me sing, after all. I’d taken Tommy…
“It’s the forensic document examiner,” I said, putting the call on speaker. “Hello?” “This is Nisha Singh. About the certificate you sent me…” “Yes?” “I had a quick look when it arrived yesterday and it’s…very unusual,” she said. Which definitely won understatement of the year. “At first, I thought it was a joke.” Lars and I exchanged glances. “I know exactly what you mean.” “I have other jobs ahead of yours, but I couldn’t resist taking a closer look,” she continued. “Whoever created the document appeared to have done a good job of simulating the effects of age on paper. I was curious to know how they did it. So I put it under the microscope then tried looking at it with different light sources, and ran some other tests.” “It is fake, isn’t it?” The woman took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “After a thorough examination, I’ve decided I’m unable to write a report on the document. I won’t be charging you for my time.” “Wait,” I said. “Why?” “While I cannot disprove the document’s authenticity, I also cannot confirm it given the details it contains.” My mouth gaped. “You’re saying it’s real.” “I’m saying I…
Uncomfortable is something I’m familiar with, but the level of unease I get around Moros beats the stares, the touches, and the ability to take over a room of humans if I cough. And it’s not because he’s gross, scum like Firthus, or cruel. He’s…kind, and I’m not sure what to do with that. This morning he remains silent at the kitchen table, seeming to give me space I desperately need to mill over thoughts and sip coffee. When he’s talking to me or trying to get me to work magic I don’t have, there’s an edge to him—a pompous, commanding attitude overflowing with determination, but I’m missing too many pieces to the whole puzzle so I can’t see the full picture of him. He’s patient with me, though he’s not patient. He wants me to be a goddess like it’s his one goal in life, and says it’s because I will be stronger and invincible, but there’s something else I can’t even name to question him. There’s a leer in his eyes when I fail or ask a question he doesn’t want to talk about. He diverts and dodges. Ducks under the truth or the lie. With his help,…
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…