For Adult
If you like your romance with a paranormal twist...
TEMPTED BY FATE—December 2010
Willow Tarata is a Guardian who trusts no one. She hunts those who prey on the vulnerable. And she's driven by a vengeful goal-find the man who murdered her mother. Yet suddenly Willow's quarry now has her on the run... straight into the sights of San Francisco's most dangerous detective.
Three bizarre murders have Inspector Rick Ramirez baffled-and determined to uncover the truth. But to catch the real killer, he needs the help of his prime suspect, Willow Tarata, even though this fierce and sexy blonde is challenging his professional cool. And now, unless they believe in each other and trust their deepest instincts, a relentless evil will end both Willow's and Rick's life-and claim this Guardian's extraordinary powers forever...
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CHOSEN BY DESIRE—October 2009
Taking care to hide himself, Max watched the tour group emerge from the archives room. In his seven years there, he'd grown accustomed to the daily onslaught of tourists, but something about the blonde drew him.
She had the face of a cherub with big brown eyes, creamy skin, and rosy cheeks. Her strawberry blond hair made a stubby ponytail at the nape of her neck. He watched as she undid the ponytail to release a mass of curls that bounced onto her shoulders and into her face. The embodiment of innocence.
Except for her bowed lips. Her lips were pure sin.
But the innocence was a ruse. He stilled, feeling waves of elemental energy emanating from her. The way she clutched her bag to her side like it contained precious treasure confirmed what he already felt.
She'd taken The Book of Water...
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MARKED BY PASSION—February 2009
"Gabrielle Sansouci Chin?"
I froze. In the twelve years I'd been bartending at The Pour House, no one had ever called me anything but Gabe, much less pronounced Sansouci correctly—sahn-soo-si—with a French accent to boot. But what startled me most was the use of Chin, the last name I'd dropped fifteen years ago.
Eyes narrowed, I stopped stocking the refrigerator behind the bar and turned around. A tall hulk of a man stood on the other side of the counter with a package in his hand.
It had to be the contract—I wasn't expecting any other deliveries. My stomach lurched as I stared at the thin box. Probably nerves.
I looked at the guy again. He was more well-groomed than your typical deliveryman. Custom suit and manicured nails. More like Lloyd's of London than FedEx. Weird for a courier. Gallery 415 must employ a higher quality service than most.
His brow furrowed. "Are you Gabrielle Sansouci Chin?"
"Yeah, I'm Gabrielle." How did the gallery know my real last name? I only went by Sansouci, my mother's maiden name. Whatever. As long as they sold my paintings, they could call me whatever they liked—even Chin.
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Straight up romance...
PERFECT FOR YOU—JANUARY 2012
Graphic designer looking for hot sex.
Freya Godwin shook her head and crossed out the sentence. Too blatant. That may be what she was looking for, but maybe she should be a touch more subtle. She didn’t want every freak in San Francisco to respond to her ad.
Doodling faceless lovers entwined in different passionate embraces, she thought about what she really wanted. Finally she scribbled:
Female web designer seeking inspiration in order to complete a very important project. Bring your muse to share.
Lame. Accurate, sure, but it sounded desperate.
Who was she kidding? She was totally desperate...
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PLAYING DOCTOR — November 2010
Glancing around the bookstore, I debated the wisdom in flipping through a book called Strip Style: A Guide for Aspiring Exotic Dancers while I waited for my interview. But no one was close by and curiosity got the better of me, so I opened it.
Chapter Six: Proper Pastie Placement.
My cheeks flushed as I studied the diagrams. Amazing—there seemed to be a science to applying mammary decoration. I wondered how effective the adhesive would be if you had to readjust your application. I imagined you wouldn't want a pastie malfunction during your act.
Someone tapped me on my shoulder. "Excuse me, miss. Are you Daphne?"
I turned to find a short, paunchy man frowning at me. Before I could remove my hand from the book, he glanced down and saw what I was browsing through.
Oh no. I felt my face burn even hotter. Not the best way to meet your future boss.
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PROJECT DATE—September 2007
I didn't have to wait by Barry's black BMW long before he strolled out of the gym and toward his car.
His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he hurried over eagerly. "Mena, I thought I was supposed to pick you up for our date. Am I late?"
"No." He was never late. Actually, he was quite predictable, which was part of the problem. "I just needed to see you and I couldn't wait—"
"I know what you mean." He dropped his gym bag and grabbed me by the waist. "I've been thinking about you all day."
"Barry—" Before I could say another word he plastered me to his chest and laid a big wet one on my mouth.
I sighed in resignation and tried to give the kiss a chance. But it did nothing for me—not even the smallest tingle of warmth. It was too soppy, too limp. Utterly uninspiring and, well, gross.
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PROJECT DADDY—May 2006
My boss is a crazy bitch.
No, that's not true. She isn't really crazy. She's driven. Focused. Often obsessive. But there usually is method to her madness.
So let me rephrase that statement: my boss is a heinous bitch.
Tonight, that's my mantra. Lydia Ashworth, CEO of Ashworth Communications, Inc., my esteemed boss and role model (God help me) is a heinous bitch. But it didn't matter how much I resented Lydia and the assignment she gave me—I just had to get it done.
I sighed and turned to the guy standing next to me at the bar. I stared at his cheeks, wondering if he had dimples. "Excuse me."
He glanced down at me.
Blue eyes—at least he had that going for him. "Does your family have a history of mental illness?"