Kisses & Kismet is here! It’s the next full-length novel in the Thirsty Hearts series–a steamy contemporary with a ghostly twist.
If you pre-ordered the book (THANKS!), you should have it now. If you didn’t, it’s now available for immediate ebook download from your favorite e-tailer or in paperback from Amazon.
Here’s a little taste of the book…
JAMIE
I dreamed of my father every night.
Ever since he died, he appeared in different scenarios–past and present. I envisioned the first time I fell from my horse and cried fat, ugly tears. Preston Henry Wylde descended on me. He took me by the chin and said, “Enough of that, Jameson. Tears are for women.”
I dreamed of my father, but I hadn’t cried. It seemed a fitting way to honor his memory.
Shame haunted me since our final conversation. Sharp insistence had broken through the drug-induced cloud in his eyes and continued to poke at me from beyond the grave. My father was the king of impossible requests. He required such supernatural resistance to human emotion in the name of the right and honorable Wylde way.
What’s right depended on your perspective.
I lifted the porcelain mug to my mouth. The tepid contents nearly made me gag. Given the premium my father and I paid the attorneys of Winston Stratford, you’d think they could deliver us a properly hot coffee.
Bob Stratford’s administrative assistant had dropped me in the conference room and run off. The meeting wasn’t supposed to start for another fifteen minutes. Getting to the lawyer’s office early gave me the advantage of observing each person as they walked in.
Now, I’d have to go searching for fresh coffee. I tapped a fist on the table and stalked out of the room.
Retracing my steps from the elevator, I didn’t see Theresa or Bob, but a tall woman in glasses wearing a neat, but inexpensive, gray suit with knee-high boots walked toward me. She was carrying two steaming mugs and looked like someone’s assistant.
“Excuse me. I’m here for a meeting with Bob Stratford, and this coffee,” I sniffed and gave a mocking laugh, “has seen better days. Would you mind getting me a fresh cup?”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she glanced over her shoulder as if someone else might be the true target of my request.
“The break room is at the end of the hall. Right there,” she answered with a shaky smile.
“Would you mind grabbing it for me? I’m in the first conference room there around the corner. I need to get back in there.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t?”
“Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Jameson Wylde. I’d shake your hand, but they look full.”
Recognition lit up her face but wasn’t followed by the acquiescence I expected. She just glared, mouth agape.
“Wylde Engineering and Construction,” I expounded. If she hadn’t heard of one of the firm’s largest clients or of the death of my father, I had to wonder how they trained their staff.
“I don’t work here. The assistant showed me the coffee room. I’m here for…a meeting, too,” she said, blinking her lovely, almond-shaped eyes furiously three or four times behind the dark frames of her glasses. She was pretty?not beautiful?and a little skittish.
I should have realized a person like this wouldn’t work at the top law firm in the city. Her plain suit was cut too large for her body, which is to say it wasn’t cut to her body at all. She had an alluring hour-glass figure, and the jacket should be nipped in at her waist. The sleeves were too short for her long arms. A good tailor would let them out half an inch. And the light charcoal gray color was several years out of fashion. The total effect was one of, “This is my one good suit.”
Too bad. On closer inspection, the woman was slightly better than pretty?even if she lacked polish. Her straight, espresso hair was clipped in a short bob that showed off her high cheekbones and angled toward full, glossed lips. Her dark brown eyes tilted almost cat-like on her face.
“Sorry,” I said. “My mistake.”
“Yes. It is.”?The challenge in her tone surprised me, but I had stared at her and probably made her uncomfortable. “I apologize. Which way is the coffee room?”
“Straight ahead. End of the hall.” She brushed past me, and I turned to watch her walk away. Not bad at all.
I dreamed of my father every night.
Ever since he died, he appeared in different scenarios–past and present. I envisioned the first time I fell from my horse and cried fat, ugly tears. Preston Henry Wylde descended on me. He took me by the chin and said, “Enough of that, Jameson. Tears are for women.”
I dreamed of my father, but I hadn’t cried. It seemed a fitting way to honor his memory.
Shame haunted me since our final conversation. Sharp insistence had broken through the drug-induced cloud in his eyes and continued to poke at me from beyond the grave. My father was the king of impossible requests. He required such supernatural resistance to human emotion in the name of the right and honorable Wylde way.
What’s right depended on your perspective.
I lifted the porcelain mug to my mouth. The tepid contents nearly made me gag. Given the premium my father and I paid the attorneys of Winston Stratford, you’d think they could deliver us a properly hot coffee.
Bob Stratford’s administrative assistant had dropped me in the conference room and run off. The meeting wasn’t supposed to start for another fifteen minutes. Getting to the lawyer’s office early gave me the advantage of observing each person as they walked in.
Now, I’d have to go searching for fresh coffee. I tapped a fist on the table and stalked out of the room.
Retracing my steps from the elevator, I didn’t see Theresa or Bob, but a tall woman in glasses wearing a neat, but inexpensive, gray suit with knee-high boots walked toward me. She was carrying two steaming mugs and looked like someone’s assistant.
“Excuse me. I’m here for a meeting with Bob Stratford, and this coffee,” I sniffed and gave a mocking laugh, “has seen better days. Would you mind getting me a fresh cup?”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she glanced over her shoulder as if someone else might be the true target of my request.
“The break room is at the end of the hall. Right there,” she answered with a shaky smile.
“Would you mind grabbing it for me? I’m in the first conference room there around the corner. I need to get back in there.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t?”
“Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Jameson Wylde. I’d shake your hand, but they look full.”
Recognition lit up her face but wasn’t followed by the acquiescence I expected. She just glared, mouth agape.
“Wylde Engineering and Construction,” I expounded. If she hadn’t heard of one of the firm’s largest clients or of the death of my father, I had to wonder how they trained their staff.
“I don’t work here. The assistant showed me the coffee room. I’m here for…a meeting, too,” she said, blinking her lovely, almond-shaped eyes furiously three or four times behind the dark frames of her glasses. She was pretty?not beautiful?and a little skittish.
I should have realized a person like this wouldn’t work at the top law firm in the city. Her plain suit was cut too large for her body, which is to say it wasn’t cut to her body at all. She had an alluring hour-glass figure, and the jacket should be nipped in at her waist. The sleeves were too short for her long arms. A good tailor would let them out half an inch. And the light charcoal gray color was several years out of fashion. The total effect was one of, “This is my one good suit.”
Too bad. On closer inspection, the woman was slightly better than pretty?even if she lacked polish. Her straight, espresso hair was clipped in a short bob that showed off her high cheekbones and angled toward full, glossed lips. Her dark brown eyes tilted almost cat-like on her face.
“Sorry,” I said. “My mistake.”
“Yes. It is.”?The challenge in her tone surprised me, but I had stared at her and probably made her uncomfortable. “I apologize. Which way is the coffee room?”
“Straight ahead. End of the hall.” She brushed past me, and I turned to watch her walk away. Not bad at all.
Get more tastes of Kisses & Kismet and the rest of the Thirsty Hearts series. Follow me on Book+Main.
