Vodou
stole her life. A gay ghost stole her boots. And the man who stole
her heart stole her memories. Kena plans to get it all back.
Ex-cop
Kena's life is filled with regret, beer, and Cheetos. That is,
until her ghostly roomie sends her dumpster diving, leading her to a
sexy stranger named Luc and a fate she'd rather not remember. As
Kena's memories resurface, so do her feelings for Luc, the man she's
secretly been in love with for the last thousand years. And he needs
her for more than a stroll down memory lane.
Vodou
spirits, known as Loa, have been trapped in human form, and are
trying to make their way back to the spirit world. But Luc's brother
is possessed by a vengeance demon conjured at the hands of NOLA's
crime syndicate kingpin. Saving him means damning herself to a spirit
prison in a loveless, arranged union with the very man she's supposed
to rescue. But not helping Luc's brother sentences him to death,
leaving New Orleans in the hands of black magick, and losing Luc
forever.
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Read on for an excerpt!
After
stripping out of the wet clothes, I wrapped the towel around myself
and wandered out to his room. On the bed lay a white long-sleeve
button-down shirt. With a hard swallow, I dropped the towel and
picked up the shirt, pulling it to my face. I took a long, hard
sniff. Laundry detergent. Of course. Did I think it would smell like
him?
Like
he'd give you a dirty shirt to wear, Kena.
Thankful
he didn't witness me in idiot-mode, I slid myself into the shirt and
was caught mid-button when he knocked at the door.
“Are
you decent?” He pushed the door open a crack.
“I'm
clothed, if that's what you mean. Decent is debatable at the moment.”
Purposely leaving the top three buttons undone, I worked my way to
the bottom button as he walked in.
He
halted mid-stride and looked at me. His chest rose and fell in quick
spurts, training his eyes over me from head to toe. Veins traversed
the length of his arm as he clenched his fists at his sides. “I
don't wear underwear, so I apologize I have no bottoms. It's all I
had that was long enough to cover you.” His position relaxed as he
leaned against the mahogany armoire.
“Anything's
better than cold, sopping-wet clothes.” I ran a finger through my
hair, now slowly drying into loose stringy curls.
“So,
are you going to tell me what happened tonight?” Folding his arms
across his broad chest, bulging muscles stretched the navy-blue
fabric barely covering his biceps.
I
shook my head. “Not until I get some honesty from you, big guy.”
With
a tilt of his head, he donned a sly grin. “You haven't asked the
right questions.”
“Is
this a game for you? Do you enjoy messing with people's lives? Do you
get off on some fucked-up high being in total control?” My
fingernails burrowed into the palm of my hand. Everything in me
wanted to slap the shit out of him and then ride him like a cowboy.
He
pushed off the dresser and walked over to me, lowering his head
coming to a stop inches from my face. “You're the one in control
and yet you refuse to acknowledge it. You refuse to let your mind
accept it. Stop playing and start being.”
“What
do you want from me?” I yelled, a little louder than intended.
“I
want you to be you. I want you to”—he stopped and dropped
his gaze to my lips, and then slowly made his way back up to my
eyes—“come back.”
“Kiss
me.” The words rushed from my lips without another thought. My
heart hammered so hard in my chest I thought it would shatter my rib
cage.
His
breathing quickened. A low growl rumbled in his throat. “Don't do
this to me, Kena.”
“Don't
do what? You're the one doing things to me.” I slammed my
hands against his chest and he sailed across the room, his back
hitting the dresser behind him. “Shit! I'm sorry.” I reached out
for him with a trembling hand.
Fuck,
I’d done it again.
He
shook his head and straightened himself up. In a blur of movement, he
shot across the room and grabbed onto either side of my shirt,
yanking me up to his face. “You want me to kiss you?”
“Yes,”
I said in more of whooshing sound than a word.
He
pressed his lips against my neck and his fingers curled into the
fabric of the shirt, pulling
me
onto my tiptoes. “You don't even know who I am.”
“I
don't care.” Words no longer made sense to me, only his touch spoke
a language I could understand.
He
laughed as he pushed me against the wall. Gripping the back of my
head with the entire palm of his hand, he splayed the other across my
cheek, his thumb resting against my jawline. Tilting my head back, he
hovered his lips over mine. “You will.”
His
lips crushed against my mouth.
With
a sweep of his tongue, he devoured me into a kiss the likes of which
I've never experienced before in my life. He punished my mouth with
his tongue, sliding it over mine in a delicious dance of ecstasy and
aggression. His hold on me was not that of violence, but of passion.
The way his fingertips eased against my face, yet held me there as if
he was scared to let go, revealed a vulnerability. He may be a man of
few words who knew how to play the vague card, but his body and
actions gave him away.
I
arched into him, and he pinned me back against the wall with his hip.
Clawing at his shirt, I ripped it out of his jeans and slid my
fingers over his heated skin. A surge of energy rushed my fingertips
as they glided along his body, electrifying me.
“Fuck,
Kena,” he hissed, pulling back from the kiss.
In
a movement so fast it blurred everything around me, he shot out the
door, slamming it behind him. He left me gasping, clinging to the
wall behind me just to remain standing. My legs wobbled like Jell-O
as I stumbled to the bed and collapsed. He sucked all the air from my
body and replaced it with an ache, a driving need for more of him.
What the hell was he?
Author
Bio:
Wren
Michaels hails from the frozen tundra of Wisconsin where beer and
cheese are their own food groups. But a cowboy swept her off her
feet, and carried her away below the Mason-Dixon line where she
promptly lost all tolerance for snow and cold. They decided they'd
make beautiful babies together and they got it right on the first
try. Now Wren lives happily ever after in the real world and in the
worlds of her making, where she creates book boyfriends for the
masses to crave.
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