CUT SCENE 4: THE COST OF HATE
“YOU SAY YOU’RE her cousin?” asked Dr. Macintosh. He had short, dark hair and storm-cloud gray eyes. He was in his thirties, unmarried, and spent most of his time at the hospital. He had a very compassionate nature, obvious from the care he gave to his patients. “I didn’t think Mrs. Ruthridge had any family left.”
Aphrodite smiled. “I’m from the East Coast. It’s very distant relations. I think I’m related to Sandra on my father’s mother’s side. Something about a second cousin twice removed? I’ve never really paid attention to the family history, so I don’t understand myself.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Dr. Macintosh. “I’m glad she has someone.”
He walked her into the psychiatric ward and guided her to the day room. “Sandra? You have a visitor. This is your cousin Di Teamo.”
Sandra Ruthridge wore a nightdress that peeked out from under her bathrobe. Men’s socks too big for her feet drooped on her ankles. She stared blankly at Aphrodite. “I don’t know you. I requested Garrett. Where is he?”
“He died, Sandra,” said the doctor gently. “Remember?”
“He’s not supposed to die without me. Hundred years and day.” She started muttered to herself and rocking, her eyes taking on a distant look.
“Do you mind if I talk to her on my own? Just for a few minutes?” She smiled winsomely at the doctor.
He nodded. “Five minutes. I’m going to check in with the nurse.”
Aphrodite sat down next to Sandra and took her hand. “Do you remember my friend? The one you called with the coin?”
“I lost the coin,” said Sandra sadly. “I thought I put it in my pocket.”
“The coin disappears after you use it.” Aphrodite patted Sandra’s hand. “Only a person seeking revenge can call forth Nemesis. You were tricked by her, but all the same, you are not innocent and you were not wronged. There’s a price for using the gods to do your dirty work, Sandra. You traded your sanity for your vengeance.”
The former mayor’s gaze cleared. “Alaya should’ve saved Garrett.”
“She couldn’t. Nobody could. Saving Garrett’s life was for you, not him. He needed you to stay by his side, to give him comfort, to love him. You denied your husband what he so freely gave to you. He died alone while you pursued retribution. And that is the greatest tragedy of all.”
“I’M SORRY SHE didn’t recognize you,” said Dr. Macintosh.
“I really didn’t expect her to know me. She just kept talking about Garrett, like he was still alive. Poor dear.”
“I’m afraid the psychosis isn’t one that would be easily … if at all. It’s likely Mrs. Ruthridge never recover. She’ll need a private care facility.”
“I understand. I’ll see to her affairs and make sure she’s cared for.” said Aphrodite. “I’m taking over my cousin’s residence, and I’ll be moving my business to Broken Arrow.”
“What kind of business?”
Aphrodite opened her pursed and drew out a silver business card case. She opened it and withdrew one of the white cards, handing it to Dr. Macintosh.
“Cupid, Incorporated: Matchmaking Services.” Dr. Macintosh grinned. “You do know you’re in Broken Arrow, don’t you? We have less than 10,000 people here.”
“I’ve worked with less, believe me.”
He offered the card back to her, but Aphrodite shook her head. “Keep it. I have a feeling you’re going to need us.”
Dr. Macintosh will appear in one of the upcoming Broken Arrow novellas. I think he’s a quiet guy with some dark secrets. He needs to find love and balance before he works himself to death. And with the curse of the apple slowly poisoning the hearts of Broken Arrow citizens—the town will need all the love it can get.
EXCERPT: VALENTINE’S DAY SUCKS
“I’ve been visiting someone,” said Mom.
“Who?” I asked. “Where? When?”
I didn’t believe it was possible, but my mother’s cheeks reddened even more.
“For the last six months, I’ve been seeing a very nice gentleman.” She cleared her throat. “His name is Arthur.”
Mom had never dated. Not ever. I mean, maybe before my dad died, but after he passed away, she claimed he was her great love—and she never blinked an eye at another man. For twenty-freaking-years.
“Where on earth did you meet him, Mom? You don’t own a computer. You only go into town for groceries. And the only people you see are—” I gasped. “You met Arthur in Broken Heart?” Patrick’s arm tightened around me, as if he were afraid I was going to tackle my mother and pinch her until she told me everything.
Which wasn’t a bad idea.
“Yes,” she said. “I met Arthur in Broken Heart. He lives in the Golden Oaks Retirement Community.”
“The senior citizen nudist colony!?” My mouth dropped open. Patrick gently used his free hand to close it, and then he laid his fingers across my lips.
“It’s clothing-optional, dear,” she corrected. “You’ve been persistent about having me move into town, so I decided to check it out.” She raised her hand to forestall my protests, even though Patrick had already ensured I wouldn’t speak. Or yell. Or lose my shit completely. “I know you’ve said you have plenty of room at your house, but my independence is important to me. I need my own space, Jessica. And God forgive me, but you would drive me so crazy, I would end up staking you.”
Eros laughed, and his guffaw was followed by those of my supposed friends, Brady and Simone. And even my own husband wanted to laugh—which was why his stomach muscles were tensed and his hand trembled as he fought for control.
I batted his hand away from my mouth. “If you’re dating someone, then why in the hell do you need a lonely heart’s wish?” I spun and glared at Flet. “You wanna add something to your story, frog bait?”
Flet immediately looked guilty. He shuffled his tiny feet, and then he sighed. He placed both hands upon his heart. “Maybe I interfered a little,” he admitted. “But only t’ help. I swear upon the soul of Saint Valentine.”
“Which one?” asked Eros. He leaned down and studied Flet through the glass. “You’re not just any pixie, are you? You’re the little bastard who enchanted Geoffrey Chaucer.” Eros chuckled as he straightened. “Chaucer was the one who associated romantic love with Saint Valentine’s Day. The story was called Parlement of Foules.”
“I did not enchant him,” said Flet. “He was my friend. He made a deathbed wish, okay?”
Uh, I was drawing a blank. I didn’t have enough room in my head for all the vampire shit I needed to remember, much less anything to do with pixies.
“A deathbed wish is far more powerful than a regular wish. Geoffrey asked nothing from me, even though I offered time and again. Except on the day he died. He asked me to grant love to a deserving couple each Valentine’s Day in remembrance of him.” He turned to my mother. “So, I gave it to you and Arthur.”
“You need another shot of bourbon, Mom?” I asked.
“Maybe several,” she said, looked dazed. “Oh, dear.”
“Why am I here?” asked Eros. “I’ve never fulfilled a Valentine’s Day wish while under pixie enchantment.”
“That’s not my fault,” said Flet. “Your appearance clearly had something t’ do with the words of the wish.”
“You gave them a lover’s wish without telling them?” I asked.
Flet looked at his feet. “Sorta.”
“Wait a minute,” said Simone. “You said and … Colleen and Arthur.”
“Is that bad?” I asked. I looked at Simone’s alarmed expression, and gulped. “It is bad. Crap.”
Music burst into the room. Huh. It sounded like a Bon Jovi song. I listened harder. Oh, yeah. That song from the ‘80s … waaaay back when music still made sense to me. Golden light shimmered in front of Eros, and then it consumed him completely. After a few seconds, the light and music faded, and Eros stood there once again dressed in pink-stripped Armani. At least his shoes were
—oh. Never mind. They were pink, too.
In his hands, he held the golden bow.
“Fuck,” said Eros.
Then he disappeared.
Read More about Valentine’s Day Sucks
EXCERPT: HARRY LITTLE, LEPRECHAUN
“WHAT DID YOU say?” asked Brigid. Eva had never see the goddess of healing panic. Ever. In fact, she looked very pale—a difficult thing when her entire body was covered in magical gold tattoos.
Eva glanced at Jessica and Patrick. Jessica looked thoughtful, but unconcerned. Patrick looked like he was getting ready to throw up.
“I said there’s a leprechaun in downtown Broken Heart with a bus full of paranormal tourists,” repeated Eva. “He says his name is Harry Little.”
“Oh, crap,” said Brigid, a term she had never used. She must’ve picked it up from Jessica. “We need t’ close the businesses. Hide the children. Shutter the houses. No!” Brigid lifted her finger in a gesture of imperial decision-making. “We’ll abandon the town.”
“We can’t abandon the town,” said Jessica. “This is the only place I can eat chocolate.”
“Priorities, my love,” said Patrick. “I’ll get the kids. You grab some clothes.”
“Wait a minute,” said Eva, holding up her hand. “You two are scared of this guy?”
Patrick blanched. “Scared isn’t the right word.”
“Terrified is the right word,” said Brigid. “We’re wastin’ time. The longer he’s here, the worse it’ll get.”
“What happened to make you guys freak out?” asked Jessica. “’Cause I’ve seen you implode people, Brigid. And Patrick, you once ripped the arms and legs off a guy.”
“Zombies don’t count,” said Patrick. “Technically he was already dead.”
“Harry Little’s a walkin’ curse upon humanity, he is,” said Brigid.
“It was the snakes,” said Patrick. “They nearly covered the whole of Ireland.”
“All because I refused his advances,” said Brigid. “He tricked some poor soul into wishin’ for snakes.”
“You mean the legend about Saint Patrick?” asked Eva. “I thought that was just a myth. I’ve read that Ireland never had any snakes.”
“Our little island didn’t … until Harry put them there,” said Patrick.
“Oh. My. God.” Jessica’s mouth dropped open. She turned toward her husband. “You chased the snakes out of Ireland, didn’t you?”
Patrick looked decidedly uncomfortable. “It wasn’t just me. It was a concerted effort among the vampires and fae.”
Jessica started to laugh. “Holy crap! I’m married to Saint fucking Patrick!”
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MICHELE’S BIOGRAPHY
Michele Bardsley is a national bestselling author of paranormal, romance, and mystery fiction. She lives in Texas with her husband (The Viking), four dogs, two cats, and nine finches. She loves “Supernatural,” chocolate, crocheting hats, and spending time with her husband.
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LIST OF MICHELE’S AVAILABLE BOOKS
THE BROKEN HEART VAMPIRE SERIES
I’m the Vampire, That’s Why
Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire
Because Your Vampire Said So
Wait till Your Vampire Gets Home
Over My Dead Body
Come Hell or High Water
Cross Your Heart
The Early Girl Gets the Blood Wolf
Must Love Lycans
Broken Heart Tails
Only Lycans Need Apply
Valentine’s Day Sucks
Some Lycan Hot
Harry Little, Leprechaun (Early March 2014)
THE BROKEN ARROW PARANORMAL SERIES
Valentine’s Day Sucks
Some Lycan Hot
Naked Disclosure
Jane Reaction
Sex on a Plane
The Spy Who Rubbed Me
How to Marry Elvis
ROMANTIC COMEDIES
Love Gone Wild
Sex, Doug, and a Rocky Road
Husband for Hire
Housewife for Rent
Mirror Falls: No Time for Seduction and Romancing the Bride
EROTIC ROMANCES
Frost & Flake
Loving Raine
Pure Seduction
Frisky Business
A Few Good Fantasies
Immortal Curse
Tears of Anubis
Bride Portal
Make Mine a Double
MYSTERIES
After Midnight
Three Killer Stories
YOUNG ADULT (AS MICHELE VAIL)
THE REAPER DIARIES
Undeadly
Unchosen
Unbroken
If you enjoy my humorous paranormal Broken Heart series, then you will love my romantic comedy, Love Gone Wild. Below is the first chapter. Thanks for so much for you continue support and enthusiasm. I heart my fans!
~Michele
LOVE GONE WILD
By Michele Bardsley
CHAPTER ONE
HE SAT IN THE silver Mercedes parked across the street from the smoky hellhole called the Paradise Club. A few minutes passed before he caught sight of the woman sashaying toward the squat flamingo-pink building. Damn he loved the way her hips moved. And the curve of her ass...he exhaled. Her lush body inspired a man's lust and his raging hard-on was a testament to her feminine power. She paused outside the teal door and bent to smooth her hose; she rose and straightened her skirt. His gaze caressed her long, smooth legs. How easy to envision those beautiful limbs wrapped around him... his breath fogged the rolled-up window, as he leaned closer and watched her entered the club.
He'd wait a while.
Then he'd follow her.
And she would learn that she belonged only to him.
"EXCUSE ME, SIR."
Dane Sinclair barely caught the soft-spoken words. Pounding music reverberated through the Paradise Club, pulsing in time with multi-colored lights, and with the throbbing of his headache. He turned and leaned on the bar, coming face-to-glasses with a woman. "What can I get you, sweetheart?"
Her lips curved upward, exhibiting a nice set of white teeth. For a smile, it wasn't bad...except for the trembling lower lip.
Dane noticed the fine cut of her clothes, the proper chignon balanced on her head, and the delicate, precise movements as she folded her hands on the slick black counter. An expensive floral scent infiltrated the usual bar smells of sweat, cigarette smoke, and beer.
What the hell was a society type like her doing in the Paradise Club?
Dane looked around, knowing from experience that they traveled in packs of four or more. His ex-wife had never gone anywhere without her entourage and she wouldn't have put a pedicured foot in this place. His gaze returned to the woman. She looked young, but he knew she had to be at least twenty-one. His brother, Charlie, owned the club and checked IDs at the door. The father of two teenaged daughters, Charlie took a dim view of underage drinking.
Dane took a dim view of bluebloods trying to slum it.
"Lady, I got other customers. You want a drink or not?"
"Can I have um...oh...champagne?"
"You don't sound too sure."
She bit her lower lip. "I'm afraid I don't know too much about drinking."
Yeah, he just bet she didn't know much about real booze. Her idea of an alcoholic beverage was probably a hoity-toity drink like a Mint Julep or a Cosmopolitan. Needed a little education, did she?
Dane grinned. "Forget champagne. You need a Slippery Nipple."
Her mouth rounded into a perfect O. Her gaze dropped to her shirt then she looked from side to side. She leaned across the counter. "Does it involve disrobing?"
Dane choked back a laugh. Would she take off her shirt if he said yes? He shook his head. "No. It's made in a shot glass." He picked one up from under the bar and showed it to her. "I use Bailey's Irish Cream and Butterscotch Schnapps, but you can make it with Sambuca and grenadine, too."
Her shoulders drooped in apparent relief. "Oh. Is it a good drink?"
He kept a straight face as he answered in a low voice, "I love a good Slippery Nipple."
Despite the dim lighting in the club, Dane swore he saw a blush stain her cheeks. "Is there something else you'd recommend?"
"Sex On The Beach? Or maybe I can slide you a Between The Sheets." He snapped his fingers. "How about an Orgasm?"
She peered at him. "These are sexual innuendoes, correct? Are we flirting?"
Dane's smile faded. Her blunt query surprised him. He'd been trying to rattle her, not flirt with her. "I'm just making conversation."
"I should have read a book about alcoholic beverages instead of looking up Kama Sutra positions on the Internet."
"What?"
"The Kama Sutra," she shouted. "I was particularly interested in the Snake Trap position. It really is quite interesting how the participants arrange themselves. See, the hands are placed—"
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