The Harp and the Fiddle: Glenncailty Castle, Book 1

by Lila Dubois

  When Joanna and Tokaki meet it’s electric, and not just because Joanna watches him shift from a massive white tiger into a handsome, naked man. Tokaki is fascinated by the outside world, especially Joanna, who’s colorful in more ways than one. When he takes Joanna to a hidden temple deep in the Chinese mountains, neither expects she’ll be risking her very life. In order to save the woman he loves, Tokaki must turn to his family for help, risking the secrets his clan has kept for a millennium.

  Warning: This title contains an artistic woman, a demanding warrior, and sexy misuse of temple grounds.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Have Monster, Will Travel:

  “I know you.” The lightly accented voice was close, almost whispering against her ear.

  The shiver morphed into a total-body skin prickling.

  Jo turned, her bags bumping the man behind her. She was eye level with his chin and his sexy lips. They were thin and sharply defined, a salmon-rose color compared to the tapioca of his skin.

  Jo always thought of people in food terms when she found them attractive.

  The Farmers’ Market was crowded, but still, the Asian man was standing too close. Jo shifted her bag forward, so it rested in front of her, smiled slightly in his direction and turned away.

  “I know you.”

  Jo turned back. “Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong girl.”

  “No.” He shook his head once.

  Jo cocked her hip to the side and winked, trying to ease out of the situation in a fun and playful way. The skin on her arms was prickled into goose flesh despite the heat. “Good lookin’, I’d remember you. I’m sad to say I think I’m not your girl.”

  He was wearing a pair of jeans too big for him—she could see the fabric bunched under the belt on his hips. His T-shirt seemed equally big, the shoulder seams hanging on his upper arm. At first glance it made him seem smaller than he was, but he topped six-foot and his forearms were ropes of muscle. He was an XL in XXL clothes.

  “You are one of my human women.”

  “Come again, kimosabe?”

  His eyebrows drew together in a straight black line. “I remember your body.”

  “Is that an insult? Usually I can tell, and I’m pretty damned sure I’d remember you—”

  Jo examined him more closely as she rattled on. She started from his feet, working her way up. When her gaze met his she felt a shock of awareness, so powerful it was almost a physical touch.

  She recognized him then.

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh.” Jo staggered back a step. She nearly went down as the totes on her right shoulder fell down her right arm, catching on her wrist but tangling in her legs.

  He reached out and caught her by one shoulder.

  “You’re one of them,” she hissed.

  He leaned closer, his hair swinging forward to brush her cheek. “Them?”

  “The monsters.” Her voice was a bare whisper.

  “Monsters.” He turned to face her. Their faces were so close she could see the flecks of gold in the irises of his eyes.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that a derogatory term? What, what should I call you?”

  “Tokaki.”

  “Tokaki?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “Right. Well.” Jo awkwardly hitched the bags hooked around her right wrist up to her elbow and held out her hand.

  Tokaki looked at her hand. He took it awkwardly in his left palm and bowed over it. When he straightened and slipped his hand from hers, the tips of his fingers caressed her palm, causing the second shiver in five minutes to shake her.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Where did you expect to see me?”

  “I had no expectations.” That was the truth. It had been very clear from the way the Calypso girls acted yesterday that the men were theirs. Not only did they seem to be dating several of them, but they’d given off a possessive and protective air. Jo figured she’d be fighting tooth and nail to get a second, non-shocked look at them in order to do character sketches for her production design.

  Tokaki was looking around. Jo took the opportunity to study his profile. He had high, thick cheekbones and black hair falling unevenly to his collar with a pronounced widow’s peak. It was easy to see how a face like his would have served as a model for the artists who painted fierce samurai thousands of years ago.

  “I’m glad to see you. I am,” Tokaki turned back to her, “surprised by how overwhelming it is.”

  “Why would you be surprised?”

  “I’ve been to the human town near my home many times. This market seems like that one, but it is not. I should be able to move among you easily, but I am…”

  He seemed genuinely distressed that he was out of place and overwhelmed. Jo gave herself a little mental head slap. She’d been so wrapped up in her own reactions she hadn’t given any real thought to what the monsters would be going through.

  “Hey, don’t worry. If I were in your position, I’d be curled up in a ball next to the guy back there playing the bongos.” Jo hiked her bags back onto her shoulder and looped her arm through his.

  There was a rill of sensation when their bare skin touched. Whew. He really was something else.

  Tokaki looked down at their linked arms. Slowly he bent his elbow, making the linked arms more natural. Jo smiled at him.

  “Everyone feels out of place when they’re visiting a new place. And you’re doing it in,” she lowered her voice, “a new body.”

  Tokakai’s voice was equally low. “This body is not new. It’s the human body I’ve always used.”

  “Really?” Jo hadn’t stopped to consider what she was doing, where she was leading them, until she noticed they were on their way back to the red line station. “Did you want to stay at the Farmers’ Market?”

  Tokaki was looking at a stripper clothing store as they passed it. Ah, Hollywood. “Where would I go?”

  “If you don’t have plans, you could come back to my studio with me.”

  Tokaki’s head swiveled to her, a lock of hair falling from his widow’s peak to brush his cheek.

  “My studio is a work space. It would be work-related. I mean, to the movie.”

  He just stared at her. Jo drew her arm from his, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

  “And I’d like to…show you around L.A. It’s rude not to show people around when they first get here. You haven’t been to L.A. before, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Great!”

  Jo, stop talking, you idiot.

  Jo took a deep breath. “Or I could call you a cab so you can get back to Akta’s house.”

  “I’m not staying at Akta’s house. I’m staying with Mir’ek, Henry.”

  “Is that where you want to go?”

  “No. I’d like to go with you.”

  Jo relinked their arms. “Then follow me.”

  When old flames unite, the heat is on!

  Where There’s Smoke

  © 2012 Jayne Rylon

  A Two to Tango Story

  Kyana Brady never intended to return to small-town life in upstate New York, but reality doesn’t give a damn about plans. She dropped everything to care for her dying aunt. Now that Rose is gone, Kyana realizes something else has changed—her priorities. Her high-paid, higher-stress law career no longer holds any appeal.

  While debating her future, an insomnia-driven stroll turns into a desperate dash to save Rose’s elderly friend, Benjamin, from his burning house. And he’s always believed one good turn deserves another. So the old man rewards Kyana’s bravery with a little meddling in her love life.

  After Ben’s great-nephew Logan witnesses his childhood friend’s bravery on the news, he rushes home to help his uncle rebuild. But before his hammer hits the first nail, sparks are flying. The heat between him and Kyana melts old affection into a completely new—and combustible—relationship.

  Before they have a chance to discover how hot their lo
ve will burn, another disaster threatens to separate them forever. After all, they say bad luck comes in threes…

  Warning: A love affair that’s been ten years in the making is sure to be hot enough to scorch. And everyone knows, where there’s smoke there’s fire.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Where There’s Smoke:

  Logan skidded to a halt in the driveway of Rose’s house. No, Kyana’s house. The yellow tape blocking off the entrance to Ben’s place was completely unnecessary. Stopping there would have been pointless. Char lingered in the air, making his eyes water and his nose itch. He didn’t pause to swipe at his face before tearing from the truck. He hopped the flower beds and retaining wall with a single leap before sprinting up the hill to the back stairs he’d used many times in his youth.

  The bottom one creaked louder than he remembered. Maybe he’d never subjected it to such force in the past. Today he leapt them three at a time. He swiped the key from its usual hiding place in the grill, tucked in the corner of the deck, then burst through the screened-in porch. Without bothering to ring the bell, he let himself inside.

  Lights blazed in the kitchen, so he headed that way first.

  Logan was a little surprised to find his uncle awake after all the commotion, which had probably included a trip to the hospital in the handful of hours between the fire and the airing of the piece on the news. His heart stuttered in his chest when he caught sight of Ben, slumped over the dining room table. For the first time Logan could remember, the man looked…old. White hair slicked back from a recent shower. Neat rows left by a comb in his thinning locks contrasted with a fuzzy gray robe, which Ben clasped tight around him. It had obviously belonged to Rose. If Logan wasn’t concentrating so hard on not breaking down, he might have snapped a picture.

  “Nice outfit.” He tried not to startle his great-uncle. The guy didn’t need that kind of shock on top of everything else.

  “Even without my hearing aids, I could tell that was you clomping up the stairs. Maybe because you were shaking the whole damn house, you big lug.” Ben lifted his head and pasted on a wry smile. “How’d you find out?”

  “The goddamned news.” He tried not to shout, balling his fists at his sides instead. He didn’t bother with inane questions like, “How are you?” when the answer was clearly devastated-yet-mostly-healthy. Besides, they were both more comfortable with confrontation than sentimental shit. “Were you going to call me? Or am I so worthless you didn’t think I’d come?”

  “Logan, please.” Ben shook his head, his eyes shining. “Things have been rough lately, I understand. How many decades did I work two or three jobs to earn my house? When you have a dream, you have to go for it. Things—important things—have to be sacrificed. I wasn’t about to pile any more pressure on you. We’ll handle it.”

  “You and Wonder Woman, huh? I can’t fucking believe she ran into a burning building.” His guts roiled again at the thought of what might have happened. The ragdoll flop of her lithe body in the fireman’s arms had him brewing some punches. Aimed at whom, he couldn’t say. Maybe the dude who had been there to rescue her. Logan wished he could have been her hero.

  The nightmare vision distracted him from pursuing Ben’s revelation. What had the man sacrificed? Logan would give his great-uncle anything in his power. Another time he would circle around and find out.

  “I’m torn on that one. Can’t say I’m pleased she put herself at risk. At the same time… I’m sure I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if it weren’t for that girly.” Ben sighed. “She’s tough. You know she is. But a person can only take so much. She’s been in the shower an awfully long time. I’m starting to think someone needs to make sure she’s okay. I should have insisted the doctors examine her too, damn it. You know how she gets, though. Hardheaded.”

  Ben stared at Logan, unblinking.

  “I’m on it.” Logan bent down and clapped a hand on Ben’s back, surprised to find his palm met with more bone than muscle. He manned up and said what he was really thinking all along. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  “Me too, kiddo.” Ben coughed when he laughed. “Guess I gotta go to extremes to rate a visit, huh?”

  “Not anymore. I swear. Things’ll be different. Shit, you might not be able to get rid of me now.” Logan never broke promises. For one thing, his landlord was likely to boot him into the skid row gutter a millisecond after the dirt bag found out he’d lost his job. But mostly, being here felt right.

  Though his world had turned upside down, something in his soul had settled the moment he’d driven his truck onto Oak Avenue—even if he’d executed the maneuver practically on two wheels.

  Ben nodded then shooed Logan with a wave of his hands toward the stairs. “Check on Kyana. I’m going to rest for a while. Is it sleep or a nap if it’s already six o’clock? In either case, I’ll take Rose’s room.”

  They both winced at the reminder of their absent friend.

  Overflowing with terror, loss and regret, Logan bounded up the stairs to the second floor. He strode to the bathroom that adjoined Kyana’s old room and banged on the door.

  No answer.

  She’d have to be deafer than Ben to miss his second round of pounding.

  Still not a peep confronted his battery against the hardwood.

  Something told him he’d have better luck convincing her to open the door if he didn’t start bellowing at her from the other side of the six-paneled maple. If she recognized his voice, he’d certainly be left out in the cold.

  Then he imagined her passed out. Unconscious. What if she’d slipped and hit her head?

  She had to be exhausted.

  Drained.

  Scared.

  Hurt.

  It didn’t take much for him to visualize her crumpled in the tile basin, bleeding from a nasty dent in her thick skull. Screw that.

  He pivoted on his heel and marched into Rose’s room. Ben looked at him with a single raised brow when he rummaged through the supplies near the vanity mirror. He held a bobby pin up to the soft morning light, glowing in the window, to judge the wire’s gauge.

  “You can’t just barge in there. Give her space if she needs it,” Ben protested, leaning forward from the edge of the bed. His fingers gripped Logan’s arm hard enough to leave marks.

  “She’s not answering. What if she’s messed up?” He paused, respecting the opinion of his great-uncle. During the time in between stays, Logan had merely been surviving, not learning and growing like he had been in the glorious summers or the final year he’d spent on Oak Avenue.

  “Shit, you’re right.” Ben closed his eyes. “No choice. Be ready for her to fight you though. She’s a wildcat, our girly.”

  “I think I can handle one wet, naked woman.” He groaned. It took all the fortitude he possessed to halt that line of fantasy right in its tracks. “Damn. I didn’t mean it like that…”

  Ben laughed. “I didn’t raise a dumbass. She’s likely to tear your nuts off as it is. Good luck, son.”

  The Harp and the Fiddle

  Lila Dubois

  Together they make sweet music…but opening her heart could release the ghosts of her past.

  Glenncailty Castle, Book 1

  Caera Cassidy has spent two years building the historic—and haunted—Glenncailty Castle into one of the most sought-after hotels and performance venues in Ireland. But she can’t say it’s her dream. She lost that years ago when what she thought was love led her to a dark place not even her music could reach.

  Once in a while, though, it’s safe to pretend. And that’s what she’s doing when she plays her harp on the empty stage in the castle’s theater.

  When American folk musician Tim Wilcox spots the mysterious woman at the front of the theater, he’s enraptured. Not only by her virtuoso skill and ethereal voice, but by her dark beauty—and the shadows in her blue eyes when she insists she’s no musician.

  Wary of repeating the mistakes of her past, Caera tells herself she can indulge in
the pleasure of Tim’s company, his touch, without risking her heart. But she hadn’t counted on Tim’s determination to convince her she’s worthy of her gifts. Or on lingering souls who live in the castle, who are growing restless, ready to warn her that deadly mistakes are not meant to be repeated…

  Warning: This book contains a variety of unpronounceable Irish words and names, a hero who believes in love and a haunted castle. What could go wrong?

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  The Harp and the Fiddle

  Copyright © 2012 by Lila Dubois

  ISBN: 978-1-61921-156-8

  Edited by Amy Sherwood

  Cover by Valerie Tibbs

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2012

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Table of Contents

  Dedication