She nodded and went to her dresser to pull out a clean pair of jeans. “Rand, we really—”
He slashed a hand through the air, his face darkening, glittering eyes meeting hers. “Just forget it, Tori. It’s always been this way with you. Job first, family second.” He sounded like a sulky child.
She felt the need to defend herself, her choices. “That’s not true!” She dropped her clothing on the bed and went over to him. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I love you, you know that. And I love having you here. It’s just like old times. With you around, it makes this place, this planet, feel like home.”
She was surprised to see a film of tears make his blue eyes shine.
“It’s not that I don’t like being here with you,” he said, his voice low, a little hoarse. “It’s just…” He shook his head with a sigh. “I’ve always felt like I existed in your shadow. ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister?’” he mimicked in an excellent approximation of their father’s bellicose tones. “‘Your sister never disappoints us.’” He went back to his normal voice. “I knew he was disappointed in me. Always disappointed. And I’m just not sure that, if I stay, things will be any different. I’ll be known as Tori’s brother, the inept one. The loser.”
“That’s not true.” Tori felt much more compelled to build up Randall’s self-esteem than to defend her father. He had been strict, demanding perfection from a son who was too emotionally fragile to withstand the pressure. She squeezed her brother’s shoulder again. “You’re not inept. And Father loved you. You know he did.”
“Did he?” Randall gave a shrug. His fingers started tapping against his thigh. “Whatever.” He wore the same churlish expression he had when he’d been a teen. She felt momentary dismay that he could still be so immature. Hadn’t he learned anything from his trip through the rift? Had he not grown at all in the century and a half they’d been on Earth? He seemed to shake his mood, because a slight smile tilted his lips. He lifted his hands, spreading them in a sheepish gesture. “Listen, I’m just being…” He shook his head. “Don’t pay any attention to me. Go. Get to work. Save the day,” he said in an approximation of a superhero’s voice.
Tori returned his smile, though she couldn’t get rid of the worry that niggled at the back of her mind. He was lost, and alone, resisting her attempts to make him a part of her life again. On impulse, she hugged him tightly. He was thin, but firm. Anyone who made the mistake of thinking he’d be physically weak might make the last mistake of their lives. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later, all right? We’ll have dinner together. Think about what you’d like, and I’ll stop by the store on my way home.” She searched his eyes, looking for a sign, any sign, of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. “We’ll talk. Catch up some more.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He gave another smile, though this one was definitely forced. With a nod he left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
Tori quickly dressed. Being a werewolf was so much a part of what she was, she needed to find ways, even if it was just in what she wore, to feel like a woman. To be feminine. To be more than the beast inside of her. The jeans she pulled on were form-fitting, the blouse was frothy in various shades of turquoise. Her sneakers were serviceable but with the bright pink along the edge of the sole they were clearly women’s shoes.
She brushed her still-damp hair and braided it, then slipped her brush into the fanny pack she usually wore instead of carrying a purse. After shrugging into her shoulder holster, she retrieved her Magnum from the gun safe. It was a requirement of the council that all liaisons, in essence law enforcement officers for preternaturals, had to carry guns. Tori didn’t usually mind, but sometimes the gun was the least favorite part of her job. While it sometimes made her feel sexy, it rarely made her feel feminine.
Besides, when it came to defending herself or running down a suspect, all she really needed were her claws and fangs.
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Jennifer Haymore
Dear Reader,
When Olivia Donovan, the heroine of SECRETS OF AN ACCIDENTAL DUCHESS (on sale now), entered my office for the first time, she stared at the place (and me) wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen an office—or a romance writer—before.
Bemused, I offered her a chair and asked her why she’d come. I was surprised when she got straight to the point; honestly, from the way she looked, I’d expected her to be far more reluctant.
“I want you to write my story.”
I leaned forward. “Well, just about everyone who comes through my door wants me to write their story. To get me to do it, however, requires…more.”
She carried a reticule looped around her wrist, and at this point she began to riffle around in it. “How much more?” she asked. “I haven’t got much, but whatever I have—”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean ‘more’ in the sense of payment.”
She frowned. “Well then, it what sense did you mean?”
“Well, I write about love…the development of relationships, the ups and downs, the ultimate happily ever after.”
She gave a wistful sigh. “That’s exactly what I want. But”—she clutched her reticule so hard, her knuckles went white—“I fear I shall never have it.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Why not? You’re a lovely young woman. Obviously well bred, and from the looks of that silk and those pearls you’re wearing, you’re not lacking in the dowry department.”
She gave me a wry smile. “I believe there’s more to it than that.”
“Look, I’m pretty familiar with your time period, Miss Donovan. In the late Regency period in England, looks, breeding, and financial status were everything.”
She shook her head. “It’s partially him…well, the man I’m thinking about, the one I’m hoping . . .” She hesitated, then the words rushed out: “Well, he’s going to be a duke someday.”
I blew that off. “In one of my books, a duke married a housemaid.” (And this lady was no housemaid, that was for sure!) “Honestly, I can’t see why any future duke wouldn’t want to pursue a lady like you. You’d make a lovely duchess.”
She licked her lips, hesitated, then whispered, “There’s where you’re wrong. I fear I’d make a terrible duchess. You see, I’m…ill.”
I looked at her up and down, then down and up. She was a little thin, and pale, but ladies of this era kept themselves pale on purpose, after all. Otherwise, she looked healthy to me.
She stared at me for a moment, blinking back tears, then stood up abruptly. “I think I should go. This is hopeless.”
She wasn’t lying. She really believed she’d never have a happy ending of her own. Poor woman.
“No, please stay, Miss Donovan. Please tell me your story. I promise, if there’s anyone who can give you a happy ending, I can.”
“Really?” she whispered.
I raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
She frowned, clearly having no idea what I was talking about, but she was too polite and gently bred to question me. Slowly, she lowered herself back into her seat, still clutching that little green silk reticule.
I flipped up my laptop and opened a new document. “Tell me everything, Miss Donovan. From the beginning.”
I truly hope you enjoy reading Olivia Donovan’s story! Please come visit me at my website, www.jenniferhaymore
.com, where you can share your thoughts about my books, sign up for some fun freebies and contests, and read more about the characters from SECRETS OF AN ACCIDENTAL DUCHESS.
Sincerely,
From the desk of Kristen Callihan
Dear Reader,
I fell in love with classic movies at an early age. While other kids were watching MTV, I was sighing over Cary Grant or laughing at the antics of William Powell and Myrna Loy.
There was a fairytale aspect about these films—from the impeccable clothes and elegant manners t
o the gorgeous décor—that took me out of my own world and into a place of dreams. Much like a good romance novel, if you think about it.
Watching old Fred Astaire movies had me dreaming of living in New York City in an apartment done up in elegant shades of white. It Happened One Night had me yearning for a road caper with a handsome stranger. I coveted Marilyn Monroe’s pink satin dress in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes…all right, her diamonds too! But hands down, my favorite aspect of classic movies was the dialogue.
Back in the 1930s and 40s, the tight rein of censorship turned scriptwriters into masters of innuendo. Dialogue back then wasn’t merely conversation; it was banter, the double entendre, a back-and-forth duel of words and wit. It was foreplay.
Therefore, it wasn’t any surprise to me that when I started writing my own stories, dialogue would play a key part in my characters’ relationships. Before the touches, there are the words.
In my novel FIRELIGHT, the verbal foreplay between my hero, Lord Benjamin Archer, and my heroine, Miranda Ellis, is particularly important. Archer hides his appearance behind masks, determined not to let Miranda see what lies beneath. In turn, Miranda hides her true nature behind the mask of her beauty. With so much hidden, they must rely on verbal communication to slip past their physical walls.
And so we have a dance of words. Words that say one thing but mean another. Words that test and tease. Words that make the sexual tension between Archer and Miranda burn hotter and hotter, until it can do nothing less than combust.
Hope you enjoy the heat,
From the desk of Hope Ramsay
Dear Reader,
Among the things I love best about small, rural towns are the events they hold. Some of these events commemorate national holidays, others celebrate civic pride. And still others, like festivals and county fairs, seem to be mostly about having a real good time.
You can find small-town events everywhere. Even in the suburban landscape around Washington, DC, small towns maintain their sense of identity through their festivals, fairs, and special days. Alexandria, Virginia, where I currently live, throws an annual birthday party for its hometown hero, George Washington. Imagine parading through the streets in the February cold and snow. Seems strange, but it’s a big annual event. It’s fun. And my kids have fond memories of marching in that parade as members of their scout troops.
So it should come as no surprise that, when creating the world of Last Chance, I made sure to give it a festival complete with a parade, a barbecue, dancing, games of chance, and carnival rides. What better place to turn the matchmaking church ladies of Last Chance loose? The fact that they set up a kissing booth to raise money for a good cause should come as no surprise to anyone. Of course, I couldn’t let the women have all the fun, so I also gave the local men a demolition derby where they could wreck cars to their hearts’ content.
It was a lot of fun to send a member of the British aristocracy off to attend Last Chance’s Watermelon Festival. Since my hero comes from a small village in the UK where they light bonfires on Samhain, Lord Woolham surprises the locals by taking to my county fair like a duck to water.
His Lordship enjoys his visit to Last Chance so much that he decides to stay. I hope you enjoy your visit too.
From the desk of Cynthia Garner
Dear Reader,
I have been a fan of the paranormal since I was a kid. My teenaged years were spent watching re-runs of Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing in those wonderful Hammer horror films. When Frank Langella played Dracula and later on Gerard Butler…whoa! Tall, dark, and sexy won the day, except…those Draculas were evil. While I don’t mind an evil vampire every now and again (they keep us on our toes, right?), I highly prefer them to be one of the good guys. Or at least a reforming bad guy who’s struggling against his inner big bad.
When I first came up with the concept of an interdimensional rift being the origin of Earth’s creatures of lore, excitement at the wonder and unlimited potential of such a world made me giddy. And it takes a lot to make me giddy. But a lonely, hot-bodied vampire named Tobias was my first indication that my gleefulness wasn’t going to end anytime soon.
Add a feisty heroine who’s part demon, part human, and full-on furious with this yummy vamp, and you have all sorts of fun as each of them fights their feelings for the other, determined to keep their relationship on a professional level while they investigate a string of murders.
Yeah. Like that ever works—in fiction, at least. We want our characters to be heroic, but flawed. And you can’t get much more flawed than when you fall in love and completely complicate your life.
My website has some extras from KISS OF THE VAMPIRE: a deleted scene, a map showing where the bodies were found as well as an X-marks-the-spot where the final battle took place, a page of Nix’s investigative notes, and a brief interview with Tobias Caine.
Look for Dante and Tori’s story in my upcoming Secret of the Wolf.
Thanks for coming along for the ride!
Happy Reading!
[email protected]
Contents
Title Page
Welcome
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
A Preview of Secret of the Wolf
The Dish
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Cindy Somerville
Excerpt from Secret of the Wolf © 2012 by Cynthia Garner
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Forever
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
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Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing.
The Forever name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
First e-book edition: February 2012
ISBN: 978-1-455-50499-2
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