BLACK WATER by Rosemary McCracken

BLACK WATER by Rosemary McCracken

A Pat Tierney Mystery

When Pat Tierney's daughter, Tracy, asks her to help find Tracy's partner, Jamie Collins, their mother-daughter relationship is stretched to the limits. Pat heads out to cottage country where an elderly man, who killed Jamie’s sister in an impaired driving accident years ago, has perished in a suspicious fire. Unfortunately, Jamie is the prime suspect.  

Pat takes charge at the new branch her investment firm has opened in the seemingly idyllic community where Jamie grew up, and her search for Tracy's missing sweetheart takes her through a maze of fraud, drugs, bikers and murder.  

Once again, Pat proves that her family can always count on her.

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PROLOGUE

 

I killed her sister. Can she forgive me?

Lyle gripped the wheel of the black minivan. Beside him, Ross was yakking about the AA meeting they'd just attended.

Will she help me?

A thaw earlier that week had left the highway clear, but the temperature had plummeted the night before. The minivan's heater was cranked up full blast.

"Crazy weather," Ross said. "One day, you figure it's time to dig out the summer clothes, next day it's colder than a witch's tit. Must be all that global warming crap."

Lyle sneezed and reached for a tissue in the box on his lap.

"Bless you," Ross said.

"Fine thing to come down with a cold today," Lyle grumbled.

"Yeah, like the missus was sayin'..."

Lyle tuned out Ross as they approached Braeloch. Told the Collins girl I was sorry. But that weren't enough for her. Wouldn't let it be. Told her I'd sic the law on her. She backed off then.

Lyle pulled up in front of Ross's bungalow. "Here you go."

"Thanks. Be seein' you next week, then." Ross stepped out the van and gave a wave. "Take care of that cold."

Lyle gave him a curt nod and drove back to the highway. He glanced at the dashboard clock. Almost nine. He'd made it back in good time from the six o'clock meeting.

Wish Ross wouldn't talk so much, but he's all right. Thank God for the AA fellas. Got me through the worst of it. Confession with Father Brisebois set me square with the Lord, but it wasn't the same as goin' over it with the guys. Father, he's a good man but he don't understand how the devil can live in a bottle. Pull you in and suck out your soul. The boys do, though. They been there.

Lyle slowed down as his headlights picked out the edge of his driveway.

She should've got the letter by now. She's gotta understand. She's gotta help me stop this thief from taking from good folks like Pearl. She's a big-shot lawyer now, so to catch a thief, that's her job.

He braked suddenly as he pulled into the driveway. He blinked and stared through the windshield.

The garage door was open.

No way. That sucker was down when I left. Gettin' old but I ain't senile.

He rolled down his window and stuck his head out. He squinted as he tried to see into the depths of the garage where the headlight beams didn't reach. Tools on the tool rack, snow blower, lawnmower. All in their proper places as far as he could tell.

"Anyone in there? Show yourself if you know what's good fer ya!"

He sneezed and reached for another tissue. Just what I need. Damn punks! He rolled up the window and pulled into the garage.

He heard a metallic clatter behind him as he got out of the minivan. He gasped as the wooden garage door slammed down with a thud. He made his way cautiously toward it in the pitch-black garage.

"Hey!" He pounded on the garage door. "Hey!"

He groped to find the chain for the overhead ceiling light and yanked it. In the bulb's dim glow, he saw a large stain on the floor.

What the…

He touched the walls. Damp.

He held his fingertips against his nose. Gasoline. With my cold, I couldn't smell it. The place is soaked in it.

He staggered as pain shot through him. He clutched his chest and bent over. Then he straightened, breathing deeply.

He heard a whoosh as he lurched toward the garage door. Flames licked its bottom and side edges. He fumbled for the metal handle then jerked his hand away when he found it. It was hot.

He groped in his jacket pockets, pulled out a pair of gloves and groaned. Wool. No insulation. No leather palms.

He slipped them on but he needed something more for protection. A rag. If I get it around the glove, maybe I can grab the handle.

He stumbled and reached out to the wall on his right. Gotta be one around here. If I could just…

He spilled the contents of a plastic storage box on the floor. Half-full paint and varnish cans clanked as they hit the concrete. No rags.

Flames danced on the door and surged up the walls. He groped for the van's door handle and pulled himself inside. Get her started. Maybe I can crash through.

He fumbled for his key and stuck it into the ignition. He was about to start the engine when he gagged, clutched his chest and gasped in pain.

He slumped against the steering wheel, unable to lift his hand to the ignition. He knew that when the flames hit the gas tank, the minivan would become a fireball.

Lord, please make it quick.

CHAPTER ONE

 

I was chilled to the bone when I got home that evening. An Arctic air mass from Nunavut had moved into central Ontario and held the city of Toronto in a deep freeze. Cars refused to start. Streetcars broke down all over the city. Pedestrians hurried along in down-filled coats with scarves over their faces.

If spring was on its way, there was no sign of it that Friday in March.

Maxie, our golden retriever, greeted me at the door with a rapturous dance. She wanted to play, but I was in no mood for games. A note on the kitchen counter told me Laura had taken her for a walk before she headed out to a party to celebrate the beginning of winter break.

I crumpled up the note. Thank goodness for that! The last thing I wanted to do was walk a dog in sub-zero weather. Or make dinner. Tommy, my youngest, was with his grandmother that night so I had the evening to myself.

On the way to the phone to check voicemail, the hall mirror told me I looked as bedraggled as I felt. Shoulders slumped, mouth a thin slash across my tense face, short blonde hair stuck out like a scarecrow's. I looked every one of my forty-seven years. Maybe even a few more.

I pressed the button on the phone to activate unheard voicemail.

"Good afternoon. This is Detective Inspector Stewart Foster of the Ontario Provincial Police. I'm trying to reach Tracy Tierney."

I swallowed back the panic that was rising inside me. What did the police want with my daughter?

"Ms. Tierney, we need to speak with you as soon as possible," the message continued. "I'm in Toronto today. Please give me a call at…"

I jotted down the phone number on a notepad, pressed a button to save the message and hung up.

Is Tracy in trouble? I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. The police wanted to speak to her, so she was alive and well. Nothing had happened to her. The call had something to do with her work. The year before, Tracy had finished law school and she was articling at a Bay Street firm. She must have asked the police for information. I needed to give her the message.

Tracy had moved out four weeks before, which was why I was feeling down. She was twenty-four years old, and I was all for her setting up a home of her own. It was how she'd left that bothered me.

The front door opened and a familiar voice called out, "Mom! You home?"

My heart did a flip-flop and I hurried into the hall.

Tracy had on her good black coat and a red cloche hat, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. She held a casserole dish in her hands. She gave me a tentative smile.

I blinked back tears and studied my firstborn. Pretty, heart-shaped face. Serious brown eyes—my late husband Michael’s eyes. I moved toward her, my arms outstretched. "Tracy, honey…"

She set down the dish on the deacon's bench and gave me a hug. "I missed you, Mom."

I wrapped my arms around her. Tracy is a petite girl. My younger daughter, Laura, towers over her.

I didn't want to let her go, but she pulled back. She took off her hat and shook her head. Wavy brown hair fell around her face. She picked up the dish on the bench. "Cassoulet. Jamie made it the other night. Have you eaten dinner?"

I moved away at the mention of Jamie—Jamie Collins, a lawyer at the firm where Tracy was spending her articling year. The woman my daughter had moved in with.

"Mom, we need to talk." She led the way into the kitchen.

I remembered the phone message from the police. "What's wrong?" I asked as I followed her.

"It's Jamie. Something's happened to her."

I was relieved that Tracy was all right. But as I looked at her troubled face, it hit me that this wasn't just a friend who was in trouble. Jamie was the special person in my daughter's life. Her partner. "What's happened?"

She sat down at the table and fixed her eyes on me. "On Wednesday, Jamie got a letter from a guy called Lyle Critchley. Made her really upset."

"Something to do with her work?"

"No. Jamie knew Critchley up north, where she grew up. Near Braeloch, one of those towns in cottage country."

"I didn't know she's from up there."

"How would you?" Her voice rose in irritation. "You haven't spent any time with her."

 

I looked up from my computer and saw Tracy and a striking woman with burgundy hair in the doorway to my office

"Mom, can we come in?"

"Of course." I got out of my chair as they came into the room.

Tracy took the woman's hand. "Mom, I want you to meet Jamie. Jamie Collins."

I took a step back. My daughter had been talking about Jamie for weeks. I'd assumed Jamie was a man.

Jamie held out a hand to me. "Tracy thought it was time we met."

I took her hand and looked at Tracy. She had a smile on her face.

My head was reeling. "Yes, well, I…" I struggled to find the right words.

Just then, Rose, my administrative assistant, came to the door. "Keith Kulas on the line, Pat."

My CEO. I dropped Jamie's hand and reached for the phone. Keith's call would give me time to adjust to this bombshell. "I have to take this."

The smile left Tracy's face and she stiffened. "We'll leave you to it, then." She took Jamie's arm. They walked out of the office without turning back.

My heart sank as I watched them leave.

I tried to make amends. Later that afternoon, I phoned Tracy, hoping to get a second chance. "Honey, please don't be mad. I had to take the call. It was important."

"More important than your daughter and her future?" she asked.

"Of course not. It's just…"

"Just what?"

Just too much to take in at the moment. I didn't say anything.

"Mom?" Tracy's voice rose in a mixture of anger and sorrow. "Say something."

The call had been a mistake. I should have waited, tried to get my mind―my emotions―around Tracy and Jamie.

"Mom? Are you still there?"

"Goodbye," I whispered.

"Wait! Mom―"

I placed the receiver in the cradle and began to cry.

I had no inkling of Tracy's orientation. I'd always considered myself a champion of diversity—religious, racial and sexual. My business partner and friend, Stéphane Pratt, is openly gay. I have gay and lesbian clients. But it's easy to be open-minded until your kid comes out.

Three days after their visit to my office, Tracy moved into Jamie's condo. I threw myself into my work. I didn't tell my friends about Tracy. I didn't tell Devon, the man in my life. I hoped my daughter would get over her infatuation. At night, I tossed and turned in bed, sometimes crying into my pillow.

What had I done wrong?

 

"Listen to me, Mom," Tracy said. "I'm talking to you."

I looked at her. She was right. I hadn't given Jamie a chance. Sure, I phoned my daughter every couple of days to see how she was, but I called her at the office. I either got her voicemail―my messages went unanswered―or a curt response that she had to run off to an "important meeting."

"Ten years ago, Lyle Critchley killed Jamie's younger sister."

That got my attention.

"Drunk driving. Her family never forgave him."

I stared at her. I'd have trouble forgiving someone who'd mowed down one of my girls.

"And then, out of nowhere, he writes Jamie this letter. He wanted her help."

"Legal help?"

"I'm not sure. She'd run the letter through the shredder by the time I got home. She was that mad at him."

"I don't blame her."

Tracy looked surprised, then pleased. She seemed to relax a little. "She spent the rest of the evening on the computer. Yesterday morning, she called me at work and asked to borrow my car."

"She was going to see Lyle?"

"I don't know. She said she'd tell me all about it that evening, but she never came home and she hasn't called. She doesn't answer her cell. She didn't take her laptop with her, but I've sent her emails because she's probably hit an Internet café. She hasn't answered them. And I found a voicemail at home tonight from someone at her office who wanted to know if she was feeling better. She must've called in sick."

Her eyes grew large. "Mom, I watched the news when I got home today. There was a fire near Braeloch last night. Lyle Critchley was killed in it. The police found traces of an accelerant. They're calling it a murder."

I gripped Tracy's hand—hard. That was why the police had called her. Jamie had taken the Honda Civic that was registered in Tracy's name.

"She has your car," I said.

She pulled her hand away. "So? She doesn't have a car. Jamie's a greenie. Walks and bikes wherever she can."

"There's a voicemail for you from the OPP. Maybe they found your car and traced it to this address and phone number."

She went over to the phone and listened to the message. "They want to talk to me."

She turned to face me. "What if they've arrested Jamie? She and her family hated Lyle. But, Mom, she didn't…Jamie wouldn't hurt a fly."

"You'd better call them."

Tracy went to the phone, and I let Maxie out on the back deck. When I returned to the kitchen, she was leaving a voicemail message giving the number at the condo and her cell phone number.

"I'll heat up Jamie's cassoulet," I said when she got off the phone. "Vegetarian?" I assumed the environmentally conscious Jamie wouldn't eat meat.

Tracy gave me a little smile. "Of course. Beans, carrots, tomatoes. It's good."

First I'd heard that she liked vegetarian fare. But then I hadn't done a very good job of keeping up with her life, had I?

She sat down at the kitchen table. "Look, I handled it badly. I shouldn't have sprung Jamie on you at your office. I should have sat down with you and told you about us."

I turned on the microwave and sat down across from her.

She reached over and took my hand. "For a long time, I was pretty confused. I didn't even come out to myself until my first year at law school. But I've come to terms with who I am." She smiled. "And now it's wonderful to have Jamie in my life."

She squeezed my hand. "The old Tracy was unhappy because she was keeping a secret from you."

And I'd thought we had no secrets. I love my girls and I don't want them to keep things from me.

Something inside me shifted. I had to show Tracy that I was worthy of her trust. I decided that I'd get to know Jamie. If she was the one for Tracy, I'd stand by her choice.

"You've talked to Laura?" I asked.

"She's cool. Thinks I'm crazy not to be hot for guys, but it's my life, she says."

I had to smile at that. Laura had been boy-crazy since she was twelve.

Tracy touched my cheek. "Mom, I'm out. It's official. Do you good to talk to a friend―or two."

My eyes started to tear up. Then the doorbell rang.

Through the front window I saw two men in overcoats on the porch. Both were tall and poised with apparent military bearing. A cold blast of air hit me when I opened the door. I pulled up the collar of my suit jacket. "Yes?"

"Ontario Provincial Police," the older of the two men said with a pronounced Scottish burr. He was in his late fifties, with a gray moustache and gray eyes sinking into the folds of skin around them. He showed me his badge. "I'm Detective Inspector Stewart Foster and this is Detective Lew Anders. We're looking for Tracy Tierney."

"I'm Tracy Tierney," my daughter said behind me.

"We have some questions to ask you. May we come in?"

 

Tracy was the first to speak when we were seated in the family room. "What's this about?" she asked.

Foster fixed his eyes on her. "Your car was found in Braeloch this morning."

I studied his face for a sign of what was coming, but he kept it neutral.

"Can you account for your whereabouts around nine last night?" he asked.

Tracy paused. "I got home at seven-thirty. I ate dinner then I watched some television."

Anders, a big, fair-haired man with a ruddy complexion, wrote this down in his notebook.

"You were home, too?" Foster asked me.

"Yes," I replied.

"I wasn't here," Tracy said. "This is my mother's home. I was at my place downtown."

"Tracy moved in with a friend a few weeks ago," I said. "They have a condo on The Esplanade."

He frowned. "The address on your car registration is here."

Tracy made a face. "I haven't got around to changing it," she mumbled.

I flashed her my no-nonsense look. Tracy is a lawyer. She should have done the paperwork.

"Was anyone with you last night?" he asked her.

"No. I was alone all evening."

"A man died in a fire in his garage last night," he said. "Outside the town of Braeloch in Glencoe Highlands Township. A car similar to yours was seen on his property earlier in the day. Can someone confirm that you were in Toronto last night?"

Tracy was thinking hard. "I was at the office till seven with a couple of lawyers. How long would it take me to get to Braeloch? Three hours? And I'd be caught in traffic leaving the city. I couldn't be there by nine."

"Then how did your car get to the parking lot in Braeloch?" he asked.

She just looked at him. The foolish girl was trying to cover up for Jamie.

"You have no idea how your car found its way to Braeloch?" he asked.

She looked down at her hands.

I'd had enough. My daughter was being treated as a suspect in a murder investigation. "Tracy lent her car to a friend yesterday."

She shot daggers at me with her glare. Foster sat up straighter on the sofa.

"Who is this friend?" he wanted to know.

She didn't reply.

"Ms. Tierney, we can charge you with obstructing a murder investigation. I will repeat my question. Who did you lend your car to yesterday?"

"Jamie Collins," she said.

"And where can we reach Mr. Collins?"

"Ms. Collins." She looked at him defiantly. "Jamie's the woman I live with. My partner."

"Is Ms. Collins at home right now?" he asked without missing a beat.

"I haven't seen her since yesterday morning." Her voice broke in mid-sentence.

Foster paused for a few moments. "Describe Ms. Collins."

"Jamie has red hair," she said. "Burgundy, I guess you'd call it."

Foster nodded at Anders who scribbled in his notebook.

"Tell them about the letter," I said.

If Tracy's look could have killed, I would have been six feet under. Foster nodded at Anders again.

"What about this letter, Ms. Tierney?"

She didn't answer for a few moments. "Jamie got a letter from Lyle Critchley," she said slowly. "He wanted her help."

"What kind of help?"

"I don't know. She'd put the letter through the shredder before I got in, and she spent the rest of the night on her computer."

"What day did this letter arrive?" Foster asked.

"Wednesday."

"And she drove up north in your car on Thursday?"

"Jamie called me at work yesterday and asked if she could use my car. She didn't say where she was going."

"You don't know where she is?"

"I told you I haven't spoken to her since yesterday morning. But I'll try the condo now."

She picked up the cordless phone on the end table and hit some buttons. "No one's answering."

Anders took down the address of the condo, Tracy's phone numbers and the names of the colleagues she was with on Thursday afternoon. He told her that forensics would check out her car, and she could pick it up at police headquarters in Orillia in a few days.

"And we'll need to take a look at Ms. Collins's home computers," Foster said.

"Right now?" Tracy asked. "I was about to have dinner with my mother."

"The sooner the better," Anders said. "This is a murder investigation."

Foster looked at his watch. "We'll meet you in your condo lobby at nine."

At the door, he handed Tracy his card. "Don't leave Toronto without letting us know."

When the door closed behind them, Tracy turned to me. Anger flashed in her eyes. "Now you've done it!"

I opened my mouth to protest when she spat out, "You've had it in for Jamie since you met her. So you told them she took my car and you told them about Lyle's letter."

"Tracy—"

"They'll charge her with killing him."

She held her hands over her face. I tried to put my arms around her, but she pushed me away. "We should have gotten married, then I wouldn't have to testify against her. We've been talking about it. We thought maybe this summer."

Marriage? That was news to me, but I'd been completely out of the loop. I gripped her elbow and led her back to the kitchen where I sat her down at the table. I pulled up a chair beside her.

"We had to tell the officers who drove your car up there," I said. "You know that. And it will all work out. I'm sure it was a coincidence that Jamie went up there on the day Lyle was killed. She'll turn up, and she'll tell them where she was and who she was with."

But my brave words belied my thoughts. Anger and other strong emotions can provoke anyone into a violent act. Even someone who wouldn't hurt a fly.

"I'm going to Braeloch," Tracy said through her tears.

"Tracy, the officers told you not to leave city without telling them."

"I don't care."

"And even if they gave you the go-ahead, they'd follow every move you made. They'd think you'd lead them to Jamie."

She brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. "But they wouldn't follow you. Mom, will you go up there and look for her? Tomorrow's Saturday. You'd have the weekend to find out what's going on. I'll come over tomorrow morning and stay here with Tommy."

I was about to say that if I found Jamie, I had no idea what I could do to help her. But Tracy's pleading eyes were cutting me to my very soul. I had to let her know that she could count on me. Any time. Like right now. It was important that I restore my daughter’s faith in me.

I nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

 

I gave Jamie's cassoulet a few more minutes in the microwave. While the dish was spinning, Tracy phoned Jamie's mother in Braeloch and told her that I'd come by her home late the next morning. Veronica Collins said she hadn't heard from her daughter in more than a week.

When we sat down at the table, neither of us felt like eating. "Jamie went to see Lyle about something he told her in that letter," Tracy said, her eyes wide with concern. "So whoever killed him would want her out of the way, too."

I'd been thinking along those lines, but I didn't want to add to her worries. I told her the killer probably didn't know about the letter. "And whatever Lyle told Jamie might have nothing to do with why he was killed."

She didn't buy that. "She knows way too much."

"She's dropped out of sight to check up on what Lyle told her."

"Maybe. And thanks to you, the police are looking for her." She gave me a sidelong glance. "And when they find out about the feud between the Collins family and Lyle—"

"Feud?"

"There were a lot of bad feelings."

Of course there were. He killed the Collins girl.

"When they do, they won't look any farther for Lyle's killer."

We were going around in circles. "We don't know that," I said. "They may have several irons in the fire by now."

I pushed my chair back from the table. "I'll drive you over to the condo."

 

"What's Veronica like?" I asked Tracy when we were in the car.

"I've never met her. Tonight was the first time I spoke to her."

I couldn't believe my ears. Tracy had talked about marriage, but she'd never met her intended's family.

"Jamie doesn't go back to Braeloch much. Says it brings back memories of her sister…and Lyle. She took Veronica to New York this Christmas."

"At some point, you'll have to meet her."

"I guess. We'll probably drive up there this summer."

On your honeymoon?

DEMON WITHIN by Rebecca Royce

DEMON WITHIN by Rebecca Royce

Dakota Daniels is an exorcist. Or at least she used to be, until a demon destroyed her life, killing her mother and sending her into hiding. She never knows what's around the next corner or whether she'll live through the night.

Brady Knox, billionaire tech guru and media darling, is a man used to getting what he wants. Except when it comes to his sister, Sydney. She is the secret he never tells a soul. After all, how do you tell the world your sister has been possessed since she was ten years old without seeming like a lunatic?

When Brady seeks out Dakota's assistance, he expects to get what he wants. When she doesn't comply, he's willing to use every resource at his disposal-even if that means seducing her into doing what he wants.

Dakota's body yearns for Brady but she isn't easily fooled, and if she decides to help him it will be on her own terms-assuming they can both make it through the night with their souls intact.

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~Excerpt~

Her mother would have said hot weather in February meant the devil had come out to play with the humans for a spell. But the newscasters said climate change was causing the balmy winter nights in Queens.

Maybe they were both right.

The long-dead voice of her mama wafted through her tired mind. Come on, Dakota girl, let's send the demons back to where they belong and tell them not to bother us here. You and me, we'll send them back.

"Excuse me."

Dakota jumped an inch in the air and whirled around, the keys to the nursery school falling from her hand onto the sidewalk, clanking as they hit the ground. Her heart lodged in her stomach as she automatically reached to cover her throat. She didn't like surprises and she liked being snuck up on even less.

Behind her stood a stranger, illuminated by the overhead light that came on at 6 p.m. every evening.
She could see him quite well despite the dimming sunlight and the impending darkness. Tall and broad-shouldered, he filled out his gray suit as though it had been tailor-made for him, which she suspected it had been since it looked just like the ones she saw in advertisements with names like Versace and Armani on them. Hours spent reading fashion magazines coupled with her summer job in a department store had taught her to tell the difference between real and fake couture.

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DEAR JON by Zena Wynn

DEAR JON by Zena Wynn

What does a newly wed military wife do when she feels like she’s losing touch with her husband who’s on deployment? This is the dilemma facing Evie McCoy. 
 

When Evie signed on to be Mrs. Lieutenant Jonathan McCoy, she knew his military career and imminent deployment came with the package. Then Jon left, the months passed, and Evie discovered being a soldier’s wife is a lot more difficult than she’d believed. She and her husband are communicating, but nothing much is being said. Unwilling to burden her husband with her fears for their marriage and with no one else she can talk to, Evie’s at her wits end.

Then her mother forcefully suggests Evie attend one of the military wives’ support meetings. Reluctantly, Evie goes and the advice they give her shocks Evie with its simplicity—write Jon a letter. Can a Dear Jon letter really save her marriage? And if her Dear Jon letter works, will she be able to hold it together until her soldier comes home?

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~Excerpt~

“LT. McCoy! You got mail!”

First Lieutenant Jon McCoy looked up from where he sat cleaning his weapon. “What?”

Private First Class Williams, standing in the doorway to his quarters, tossed him an envelope. “Looks like it’s from your wife.”

Frowning, he caught the legal size envelope. “Thanks,” he said absently.

The letter was from Evie. She hadn’t said anything about sending him one when she emailed yesterday. A feeling of dread pooled in his gut. What was so important for her to say that she couldn’t tell him when they’d Skyped?

He put his weapon back together and wiped his hand on a hand towel to rid it of gun oil, all the while staring at his wife’s handwriting. Lots of relationships fail while soldiers were on deployment. The separation was tough and lately he’d been getting the feeling that Evie…

No, better not go there. Read the letter, see what she has to say, and then I’ll know how to handle it. I hope.

Getting comfortable on the bunk, he used his thumb to unseal the envelope and pulled out a plain sheet of notebook paper.

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THE LOVE GODDESS BRANDS HER COWBOYS by Raven Knight

THE LOVE GODDESS BRANDS HER COWBOYS by Raven Knight

Yeeha, Ride a cowboy or two if you are up to it! 
 

Star just happens to find a cowboy or two of her dreams. Not only from another planet, Star just happens to be the chocolate in a vanilla relationship of two men.  

Talk about complications; find out what happens next as The Love Goddess Brands Her Cowboys!

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~Excerpt~

“The only surefire way to keep someone of my species from being able to…take advantage of me is to be with a human man. Humans repel men from our planet and they can’t perform with us while we are with a human.”

In spite of his discomfort, he burst out laughing. The story was too ridiculous. “So having sex with a human man will save you,” he said, aware that he sounded amused.

“I was sent here for a reason. My mother sent that message to me. You are the right human to help me and I can heal you.”

“Heal me.” He smiled. “Listen beautiful, I won’t get involved with another woman for a long time. And much as I appreciate your offer to heal me,” he said, the mental pictures of that driving him crazy as he thought of her soft lips wrapped around his dick, “It’s not necessary. I’m fine. Sorry.” As he watched her pout and swallowed a groan. Why him? Why tonight?

“But we need each other. I know you can feel it, Chad,” she said persuasively, and her dark eyes glistening with tears that drew him in. He was about to just quickly escort her to his guest room, when she deliberately struck a sexy pose, tossing her hear, thrusting her chest out. He couldn’t breathe as he watched her smooth, dark skin that glistened, highlighting her plump tits, generous hips and long, long legs. Her legs seemed to go on forever. He gulped.  Frozen, he lifted his gaze to meet hers again feeling an attraction he didn’t want to fight as she drew him forward in an almost mystical way. He thought he saw stars circling around her head, but knew that was impossible. He had to be drunker than hell. It seemed that beams of light from her eyes would not let him go and her exotic scent intoxicated him. “No,” he managed to choke out as he stood before her. “I shouldn’t.”

She lifted her lovely red lips, batting her eyes. “Yes. You should.”

“Oh, damn, common sense!” Against his will…at least, it was certainly against his better judgment, he stepped up to her, wrapped his arms around her soft, damp skin and pulled her into his hard body, his cock throbbing madly. “I’ve lost my mind to your beauty,” he mumbled, agonized, just before he kissed her.
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THE RELUCTANT DUKE by Georgiana Louis

THE RELUCTANT DUKE by Georgiana Louis

The Spares Book One

Colin Lyre, recently inherited 10th Duke of Lincoln, has been told his whole life that he is superfluous to his family.   

When he must deal with the responsibility and stress that comes with his new title, he flounders rather badly. He is determined to do his ‘duty’’ and marry an ‘appropriate Duchess.’ 

 

Life throws Colin’s plans wayward when he rescues the beautiful Annabelle from a ball. She makes him realize how much better his life could be, but he doesn’t know if he truly deserves such happiness. 

 

Annabelle wants nothing to do with the responsibility of marrying a title. She simply wants to make a suitable match with a gentleman who can support her family. 

 

Colin is Annabelle’s perfect prince until she realizes what life as his wife would be like. However, making the rational decision to stay away from one another is much harder than either of them expects.

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~Excerpt~

“We were so pleased you could make it, Miss Collins.” Victoria replied for them both. She was smiling warmly at Annabelle and Colin felt his teeth clenching again at the light in Victoria’s eyes.
“I heard that my friend managed to give you a small amount of assistance that night, Miss Collins. I hope you are feeling well this evening?” John dropped his voice to make sure that no other person on the balcony could hear him.

Annabelle blushed deeply but instead of avoiding the topic, her gaze held firmly to John’s face and her eyes flashed with something strange.

“He did indeed sir,” Annabelle rushed in before Colin could say anything, lifting her chin a fraction.
“Although, it was no small thing. Without Colin there that night, I’m afraid I would have been packed and on my way back to Somerset today from the horror of it all.” Annabelle lifted her chin again in a defiant manner and Colin could do nothing but stare at her. She was not afraid to thank him publicly for his rescue and she was so incredible when she was defending him.

“Colin?” John asked, one eyebrow raised in the air at his friend. Colin silently cursed, he never had given Annabelle his surname and she certainly did not know his title. Trust John to notice the use of his given name.  They both knew that most people called him ‘His Grace’. No one except his mother and a few select friends called him Colin.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Annabelle soon realized her error, turned to Colin and lay a hand on his arm in an intimate gesture that neither Victoria or John missed. Colin grimaced, he had known he was going to regret joining her on the balcony.

“I do not know what else to refer to you as.” Annabelle turned wide eyes to him.

Victoria and John both burst out laughing.

Annabelle looked back at them quickly, startled.

Colin glared at them, they must have thought it an amazing joke. They had found the only woman in London who did not know every detail about him down to his shoe size.

“May I present His Grace, the Duke of Lincoln, Colin Lyre.” John announced to Annabelle with another bow and a great flourish of his right hand.

Annabelle pulled back her hand from his jacket sleeve so quickly it was painful. She took a step back from him with a wounded look in her huge violet eyes.

“I thought...you said...ah... oh my,” Annabelle stuttered stumbling back towards the ballroom and without even a backwards glance, she picked up her skirts and ran from the balcony.

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FORGET ME KNOT by Melissa Glisan

FORGET ME KNOT by Melissa Glisan

Dog Wild Series Book Two

Dr. Celena Black tied regrets around her fingers like Forget-Me-Knots – each one about the man-wolf alpha, Madden “Red” Silvestri. After a decade of keeping his distance, Red needs Celena’s help as badly as he needs her love, but can their tangled past forge a clear future?  

As the weedy wildflower between rose triplets, being unforgettable wasn’t even a dream for Flora Daniels. But dreams are what Lupercus’ twin, Frank Horne, blames for his animalistic attraction to the natural beauty.  

What are a werewolf and a Roman god to do when everything goes to the dogs?

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~Excerpt~

Hands jammed in his pockets, Madden simply glared up at her from the bottom of the stairs. Celena felt her stomach twist and burn, she wished she could dig out her bottle of stomach tonic and take a healthy swig, but as tired as she was it would knock her on her behind. The last time she had seen Madden she passed out at his feet, a repeat performance was not needed. In fact, the original performance had been utterly unnecessary. 

He looked too good to stand there glaring. Too many days, nights and long boring afternoons in classes, boardrooms and laboratories, she had found her mind slipping back to his ready smile. By the look of the lines between his brows, he hadn’t smiled in a very long time. Swallowing back the tang of guilt, Celena moved away from Ashley to the top of the stairs, and whispered, “Madden?”

Moving incredibly fast, he ended on the step below her, Celena schooled herself not to flinch away.
Standing nearly nose-to-nose, she had forgotten how he wasn’t very tall, five-foot eight-inches to her diminutive five-foot two-inches. It never seemed to matter; Madden always seemed the biggest baddest guy around. That hadn’t changed. Her body ached to move that half-inch closer and lean against the heat of his body, but it wasn’t her right. Remember! Be in control of yourself, be confident! 

Instead she caved. “I’m so sorry that you don’t smile anymore.” Without thinking, her thumb swept up and eased the tightly creased skin of his brow. “Your smiles were always home for me.” His hearing was keen, so she risked the whisper, knowing it reached only his ears. But she couldn’t help but startle when she felt his fingers ghosting along the back of her pleated skirt, up the backside of her thighs and around to rest a moment just above her wrist bones. The slide of his hands on the outside of her jacket was enough to raise goose flesh on the untouched skin of her arms. His T-shirt emphasized the heavy musculature of his arms and shoulders, a scant second before pulling her into the safety of his embrace as his fingers drug through her hair cupping her back. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Madden bumped his nose softly against hers, nuzzling closer as his breath fanned across her cheek. Of all the stormy receptions she’d dreaded, being in his arms like this was more like a secret dream held in her heart. “Are you okay?” 

“Uh huh.” Her mind stumbled along in a haze of warmth and her tongue went numb. It was amazing how fast buckets of intelligence went out the window from just being in his presence. Unbidden her hands cupped his face, fingers sliding into the thick hair she’d fantasized about since high school. Oh stars, her mind hazed over completely at the sleek silky feel of his hair. 

Lips brushed past hers and she gasped, following his mouth, enrapt by his dark spicy scent flowing past her nose. A gentle pressure along her back and she sagged forward, forgetting to breathe as the long, hard length of him seared her from knees to breasts. 

“Maybe they should get a room,” Ashley’s soft words jolted Celena and she jerked, sealing her mouth against Madden’s. His lips were firm and hot, drugging, as they closed on her own making her forget about the others, the stairs, or the cold. Her world narrowed to the taste of maple syrup on his lips as his tongue gently swept against her own. Her heart raced so hard and fast that the dark behind her eyelids spun crazily and for a giddy moment she couldn’t care less—if she died now it would be in joy. But as much as her heart rejoiced another part of her body woke and decided that more would be better before leaving good old terra firma. 

“Red?” a strange female voice called from the doorway, and Celena pulled back, refusing to look away, hoping against hope as she stared into his burning gaze that the woman wasn’t a friend or worse, his wife. “Why don’t you bring your lady in out of the cold and introduce her to everyone. I’m sure we’d all like to meet her.” Madden shifted and dropped his arms to her waist pulling Celena even closer. Stars and stones, her eyes widened in astonishment, was that him digging into her belly?

He roughly cleared his throat. “Meet you guys inside in a few Lora, Celena and I need to talk.”

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COOKING UP TROUBLE by Michelle Levigne

COOKING UP TROUBLE by  Michelle Levigne 

Tabor Heights Year Two

Audrey lives for cooking and acting. When the Randolphs experiment with dinner theater, they turn to her to head the kitchen.

Steve returns to Tabor Heights to get to know his new sister, Max. Creating a dinner theater fascinates him, and soon so does Audrey.

As Max and Tony's wedding draws near, so do paparazzi spies. After all, Max is the daughter of celebrities. When Audrey discovers a spy in her kitchen, she spins lies to protect her friends, but finds she needs protection when she is cast opposite Steve in Romeo and Juliet -- and the media speculates she's auditioning to join the celebrity family. Steve becomes her defender and partner in thwarting the paparazzi. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," is more than true for them, but past difficulties and shameful secrets may be building a wall too thick for even friendship to endure.

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Excerpt:

"Who is this incredibly creative lady?" Carlo said, after they had laughed together and made wagers on which of their most-loathed gossip papers would release the false story first.

"Actually... She's my Juliet." Steve held his breath, and counted to eight.

"Come again?"

"I got cast as Romeo, and Audrey is Juliet."

"Oh ho." Carlo's chuckle rolled over him, warm and rich, with a touch of something that made Steve writhe a little. "Be careful to keep reality separate from the fantasy you'll create."

"Dad..."

"Tell me about her. Your mother and I have the right to know the truth about the girl we'll find out you're engaged to by the end of the run."

Steve groaned. He hadn't considered that aspect of getting up on the stage again. Working behind the scenes for eight years now, he had been able to forget what happened the last time he had a leading lady. The sad part was that the girl was so new to the limelight -- winner of a talent search competition -- she actually believed some of the stories she read, pairing her with Steve. For a short while. Fortunately, her awakening came painlessly. When one gossip sheet gave a fictitious biography for her, she realized nothing could be believed just because it was in print.

"Well... okay, she's a baker. I think I heard Max say she went to culinary school. And she's doing pastry for the wedding. She's going to be part of some experiment Joel wants to do with dinner theater..." He groaned again, silently, as he realized he didn't know much else about Audrey, other than where she lived, Max liked her, and she was a loyal member of the cast at Homespun Theater.

"Well, then, I suggest you get to know her better," Carlo said, when Steve related this. "Your leading lady holds your life in her hands, as you hold hers."

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WHATEVER IT TAKES by Cat Kelly

WHATEVER IT TAKES by Cat Kelly

NYC Confidential Series Book 3

Scandal-wracked playboy, Charlie Marchetti, arrives in New York two days before his brother's wedding, determined to prove he's a reformed man, reliable, responsible and—yeah, all those good 'R' adjectives. No trouble, no drama and no mistakes. Ah, the best laid plans...

First, the airline lost his luggage. Second, all five of his ex-wives are coming to the wedding, probably just to remind Charlie he's an ass who takes nothing seriously and will die alone and unloved. Oh, and third, he has no date for the wedding.

Then he meets Persey Chancellor at lost luggage. Within minutes she's summed him up as a "bastard" and a "pervert". Damn it, but he's intrigued. With gum in her hair and tattoos up her arm, this uninhibited, potty-mouthed stranger could be his shocking trump card—an ultimate prank on the ex-wives.

Can the man dubbed "Charming Charlie" by the paparazzi, convince Persey to spend two days posing as his unlikely girlfriend? Hey, he'll do whatever it takes. But the last laugh might just be on him.

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Excerpt:

 

He took her to Marchetti's to find some more clothes—including the lingerie he'd forgotten—and she was thrilled to have an entire, empty and closed department store to herself. Again she wanted to know if he'd done this many times before.

"Actually, this is a first."

"Nah! Lying bastard."

"Truth." He put a hand to his heart. "Never came to the family store after hours with a date."

Persey the Tattooed, Potty-Mouth Goddess spun around from the rack of bras she was perusing. "A date?" She snorted loudly at that idea. "I haven't agreed to be your date yet."

"True. But I can be very persuasive."

She shot him a dark, heated look. "I bet."

"So why not just say yes and come to my brother's wedding with me?"

"You said you'd pay me."

He followed her around the racks, strangely reluctant to let her get too far away from him. "I'm buying you a full wardrobe. Doesn't that count?"

"I said I'd pay you back, as soon as I get some cash."

And when would that be, he wondered.

"I must be the weirdest person you ever asked out, Marchetti."

"Absolutely." Why pretend? He was still trying to figure all this out himself.

She went back to the bras and shot him a sideways look. "So what size tits do you think I have? You estimated everything else and you weren't far off."

With her straightforward comments the woman had a habit of making him feel like a shy twelve-year old boy again. Since she wasn't wearing anything under that wrap-around dress he could see her taut nipples pushing against the fabric as she arched her back and put her hands on her waist. He'd been trying to miss them. Now she made it impossible.

Charlie scratched the back of his neck. "34 B." Perfectly shaped, ripe pears nestled under the material, nipples primed. Damn. It was a long time since he'd tongued a nipple and then buried his face between a firm pair of breasts. The hot surge of want was unstoppable. His cock was alert, as it had been since she walked out of the bedroom in that dress. Since she was more curvy than he'd expected it was slightly too small for her and clung in all the best places. Or worst, depending on your point of view.

She rolled her eyes. "Spot on. Not."

"See! I'm really not the ladies' man they say I am. I can't even judge a bra size from a distance."

"Maybe you're not a boob man?"

"Oh, I like boobs."

Laughter rolled out of her. "Funny. I thought you might be gay when I first saw you."

"So that's why you came with me."

"Yep." She wriggled her ass, doing a funny little dance before him. "Or a male model. You look like you should be in black and white, leaning back in a speedboat with spray behind you and wind ruffling your cherubic locks." Glancing over her shoulder she giggled huskily, still enjoying her dance and humming now too.

Deliberately or not, the woman was teasing him, taunting with her body as she raised her arms overhead, stretching, arching her spine further. Just the way he'd imagined her in the shower earlier.

"Please stop doing that," he said finally, his voice low and tight.

"Why?"

Oh, she knew why all right. He glared.

Persey came closer, approaching from the other side of the circular clothes rack. "You can feel my boobs if you want and guess again."

"Do you always go around telling strangers to feel you up?"

A darkness, mournful and opaque as a widow's veil suddenly dropped over her green eyes. "Actually I'm used to being groped and they don't wait to be asked." It was a brief moment of gravity and then the sultry twinkle returned. "So you're special. I want you to feel my boobs, Marchetti. I invite you." She was close now, her face turned up to him. "It's payment for helping me out today. And I kind of like you."

"Kind of like me?" he sputtered.

"You were nice to me. I'm returning the favor."

"I appreciate that." This had to be a joke, he thought suddenly. Was this some scheme to get a really juicy photo of him? He eyed her warily. "Who are you?"

"Persephone Chancellor, of course."

"Are you a reporter? They planted you, didn't they?"

"Oh, Christ, yes. You got me, mister. I'm a honey trap."

"Show me your passport." He wanted to see her profession.

"It's back at the hotel. Now do you want to feel my boobs or not? I don't make a habit of this."

"You do realize there are security cameras all over this store."

"So what? It's your store. And these are my boobs." She grabbed his wrists and brought his hands to her breasts. "Don't be so bloody shy."

That was a new one. He'd never been accused of "shy" before.

Immediately he felt the hard peaks pushing at his palms. Her full breasts were warm and more than a handful. He couldn't resist spreading his long fingers, cupping and lightly squeezing the mouth-watering flesh.

She moaned softly and teetered on her heels. "That feels good, Marchetti. Don't stop."

Charlie repeated the squeeze. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, brushing them gently, then swirling his forefingers around them, tickling her areolas through the soft fabric. His cock stretched and filled in response to the signal sent by those hardened, tempting nipples. He knew he'd soon need to adjust his pants it if this kept up, so he took his hands off her.

"36 C," he said.

"Wrong again."

"I'm too distracted."

Abruptly she reached out and placed her hand over the bulge of his cock. "Yeah, so I see. You need to do something about this."

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SUMMONING SIN by Lilith Duvalier

SUMMONING SIN by Lilith Duvalier

Elderoy Tipple is lonely, horny, and was recently dumped, but he is also in possession of a spell book that will allow him to summon an incubus. Rather than sit around and bemoan the fact that he’s lost his lover, Archie, Elderoy decides to do the spell, have one wild night of demonic sex, and then banish the creature back to Hell.

But when things go wrong, Elderoy finds himself not just in the incubus’s sexual thrall, but losing his life force as the demon draws it out of him orgasm by orgasm.

With the demon keeping him from enacting the counter spell, and no one to save him, how will Elderoy escape the incubus’s clutches?

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Excerpt:

 

Had he truly succeeded in summoning this fantasy creature?

If he had, the demon should be contained within the sigil. According to the book, it should be standing within the lines of the circle. He just had to complete the binding so that he could cross in and out of the sigil without carrying the incubus with him.

So that he could… well to be crass, fornicate with the monster without it getting loose.

He took a step back toward the center of the room, heart pounding. The heat shot through his body again, so sudden it was almost painful. He cautiously made his way back to the sigils and the mirror, every muscle clenched tight.

This had seemed like a much better idea under the light of the coil. In the pitch black dark the potential danger of summoning a sexual Hell-fiend seemed much more real.

Nothing jumped out to attack him, carnally or otherwise, as he tip-toed back to what he was mostly sure was the center of his room. Not until he reached what he approximated as the location of the sigil did he realize there was still some light in the room.

It was coming from the Black Mirror.

The sketchy outline that it had reflected earlier was still there, even with no light to reflect. He stared at it in horrified fascination. He waved his hands in front of him, watching the way the white lines moved as he did. It was almost as though he could see his bones.

Tck,tck. Tck,tck.

A soft noise, like a muffled click, insinuated itself into the room. It was a footfall, much like the sound of the teeny, dulled claws of his mother’s lap dog, Bumper. The hairs on the back of Elderoy’s neck stood up. The heat of the flames rushed through his body again as he whipped around. The click-click of clawed footsteps which definitely did not belong to Bumper continued. Elderoy started to shake as he realized they were circling him. The noise stopped. So did Elderoy’s heart.

He could see it in the mirror.

Unlike the thin glowing outlines of Elderoy and everything else in the room, the creature behind him was fully filled in, glowing like the full moon that Elderoy had wanted.

It was male, or at least male-seeming and shatteringly beautiful. He was bare-chested, and Elderoy suspected that he was naked, but was too terrified to move and reveal enough of the demon’s reflection to determine his level of dress.

His muscles were perfect, round and firm like he had been carved from marble by a master sculptor. His jaw was square, his chin pointed in a way that was slightly feminine. His hair was a little too long, just a touch unruly, like it had been carefully arranged, but come loose due to some…strenuous activity.

Wholly black eyes stared out of his lovely face. They were sparkled with specks of white. Like stars in the night sky. There was something almost kind in the creature’s smile. Elderoy looked up at it, dry mouthed. It raised its eyebrows, as though it had asked him a question. Elderoy, unsure of what else to do, nodded acquiescence. The demon’s hands reached out and as they settled on his shoulders.

And that’s when Elderoy realized that, against every warning in the spell book, he had crossed inside the sigil without completing the spell.

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