“You just need a distraction.” Charity’s voice was buoyant in the darkness. Clearly, she was in her element. “Have you ever watched one of those ghost hunting shows that talked about EMFs, EVPs--that kinda thing?”
Bettina shook her head in the darkness, sighed and then answered aloud, “Not really.”
“That’s okay, I can fill in the gaps. I just didn’t want to tell you things you already had a handle on.” Charity paused to scan a pipe with her meter and then continued on her circuit of the utilitarian space. “EMF stands for electromagnetic field and is man-made. So the point of what I’m doing is to establish what’s normal for this house, before we stir anything up by asking questions.”
“You’ve already stirred something up,” Seth said, although he knew they couldn’t hear. Sometimes he just needed the sound of his own voice to stave off his impending madness. It hovered over him in the endless tedium like a storm about to break.
Charity continued on her lecture. “Later if we observe a spike or a sudden drop we look for a reason. Sometimes it’s a light switch got turned on, but other times—let’s just say when we review the footage, we find something.”
“Do you guys usually find changes?” Bettina’s voice squeaked her question, like a mouse afraid to hear about the cat next door.
Charity shrugged, continuing to wander. “Not everywhere we go and this is the first time we’ve been able to get in here. Probably the last time too. Still don’t know how Amanda pulled that one off. Been trying to get in here forever it seems like.”
Hanging on every word, Seth pulled it apart for anything useful. He may have wanted them gone before, but now the idea that this could be their only time here chilled his already icy veins. He was just getting used to the idea that he could like having someone here, especially Bettina. That she would leave—that just couldn’t stand.
Seth reached for Bettina again, like a child stroking a favorite blanket for comfort. This time he stroked the blossom of her cheek, gliding his hand across her face and then lifting the curtain of her dark red hair to one side.
Her spine straightened and she glanced up, her eyes scanning the exposed joists above them. “Charity,” she whispered. “Something is touching me.”
Sneak Peek
DO YOU LIKE ROMANCE THAT WILL MAKE YOU HOWL?
CHECK OUT THE USHERS RUN PACK BY CASSIE LEIGH
Home For The Howliday
Available now from Broken Typewriter Press. Also available in Audio book.
He may have given up the prize fighting, but he’s in for the fight of his life…
Walking away from his wolf pack duties and the woman he loved was the hardest thing Gunner Thoren ever did. Now, ten years later the successful MMA fighter is giving up the cage, and reclaiming what’s always been his. Will the howliday season help him win back his mate in time for Christmas?
Keep reading for a sneak peek.
Home For The Howliday
The sultry croon of “Santa Baby” blaring through the crowded cabin might as well have been nails on a chalkboard to Gunner Thoren. The eggnog and holiday cookie smorgasbord only added to his irritation. For the hundredth time he questioned his motivation for coming back into the fold. He’d walked away from a good thing in Las Vegas, to return home to the wolf-pack town of Ushers Run, Iowa. “Eventually you all come home.” Gunner shook the pack-elder’s voice from his already crowded mind. He’d met with the old man along with the pack-leader, Ambrose. It was a lofty position for his best friend to ascend to in Gunner’s absence. Then Ambrose blindsided him with a compulsory invitation to attend the festivities this evening. It was intended for the younger members. Some crap about pack bonding.
Gunner just wanted to enjoy being in nature. It was the only part of being home that he looked forward to after a decade of self-imposed exile. The bright lights of Las Vegas lacked a forest for his wolf to run in. Wolves didn’t belong skulking through back alleys and desert landscapes. At least Ambrose picked a nice spot in the woods for the cabin he’d designed for the pack’s use. Too bad it was currently being overrun with someone’s bastardized idea of Christmas cheer.
From his spot in the corner, Gunner sneered at the garish holiday sweaters covered in ice skating reindeer and penguins decorating evergreen trees. The pack he was born to, or at least this generation of it, might be happy to prance around like drunken fools, but he wouldn’t be caught dead participating in such stupidity. His brother, Asher, loped toward him from across the room in the easy way that came with overstimulated youth. Battery-powered twinkle lights wrapped around the kid’s snowflake-covered sweater. It must have come out of their grandmother’s closet.
Asher grinned up at him. “You aren’t in party gear, bro!”
Gunner growled and hunkered down in his corner, unwilling to acknowledge the fool. This kid was why he gave up fighting and the title shot he had worked for years to achieve. Now he would run his family’s business—the local gym. With their father’s passing, his mother needed the help keeping it from going under and his kid brother from tearing down half the town with his idiocy. Less than two years until he graduated and Gunner could take off again. He was already counting down the days.
“Never fear,” Asher said, undaunted by Gunner’s stoicism. “I knew it would happen, so I brought an extra.”
Asher slapped his brother’s back and gave him an ineffective shove that left the kid rubbing the sting out of his hand. Gunner stood still as a mountain, which he was as a middleweight fighter. He fought at 185 pounds but walked around closer to 220 between fights.
“Nothing’s wrong with my sweater,” Gunner groused. He’d worn a normal sweater, a traditional Scandinavian pattern in grey and navy. A respectable sweater, not some castoff thrift store reject.
“You’re not getting into the spirit,” Asher said, his tone sullen and accusatory.
Feminine laughter that was equal parts wicked and ethereal rose above the chaotic jumble of voices and crappy Christmas pop-music. Gunner tuned out the useless prattle that continued to dump out of his brother’s mouth, searching for the owner of that laugh as if it was a homing beacon meant to draw him in.
“You’ve got enough for both of us.” Gunner answered his brother to stop the distracting noise. He searched the nameless faces. The laughter had stopped but he knew he hadn’t imagined its siren song.
That’s when Gunner saw her. The reason he left town in the first place—Noelle Hiver. She moved like a Nordic goddess come to life—a young and beautiful version of the Norns—as she stood in front of a tinsel-draped tree talking with her hands as if they were weaving a tapestry to illustrate her words. The multicolored lights that reflected off the metallic decorations shone on her like a rainbow spotlight.
The little vixen was a dangerous temptation. Her white sweater dress embroidered with silver poinsettias hugged her lithe curves in places he knew his eyes shouldn’t linger—but he couldn’t stop himself, just like before. No one should look at the pack-leader’s half-sister that way, not if he wanted to keep his eyes. His illicit gaze continued the treacherous journey north to wild platinum blonde hair that skimmed her slender shoulders. He wanted a closer look, perilous as it was. He needed to know if she still wore feathers braided in the riotous curls.
Noelle again laughed at something her companion said, a woman who didn’t exist as far as Gunner was concerned, and it rang like bells calling him home. She glanced his way and his heart nearly stopped. Those eyes, guarded aquamarine glaciers, bored into him from across the room and he was curious what the pack abomination had made of herself.
He’d never called her that, but nearly everyone they knew had. A half-breed shifter witch was not welcome among purebred werewolves, but her brother Ambrose, Gunner’s best friend, had changed that when he took over, hadn’t he? At least for this one pack he had. Gunner had never worried about any of that as she was just Noelle to him.
He closed his eyes against visions of the past that clawed to the surface
of his mind and realized his brother was still talking. “Bro, hotties heading our way. It’s too late to fix you now.” This time when Asher shoved, Gunner moved as his eyes flew open. Just a step closer to her but it was as if he jumped a chasm.
Noelle sauntered toward him, her friend in tow. A sweet smile spread across her pouty pink lips. A knowing smile. Gunner steeled himself against its impact. He knew this would come when he made the choice to return home. He just wasn’t ready to see her tonight or for her to see him. But those lips brought a flash he’d give anything to forget, just to relieve the torture.
An image of her broke through, unbidden, from the past. That same smile as she sat waiting for him in the passenger seat of his Camaro on another winter night, reaching for something other than the gear shift, or at least not the one that belonged in his car.
“Gunner, fancy seeing you here.” Noelle’s silken voice pulled him out of the past.
“You’re brother’s invite clearly stated that I didn’t have a choice.”
Noelle smiled at the growl in his voice, clearly finding some kind of perverse pleasure in his words.
Asher glanced from Gunner to Noelle. “Dude, you know her?”
Sneak Peek
IS CONTEMPORARY MORE YOUR SPEED?
CHECK OUT THE INK & BRAZEN WOMEN SERIES BY CASSIE LEIGH
Skin Deep
Available now from Sassy Typewriter Press
Mr. Right Now is planning on forever...
Gigi Duval doesn’t do relationships, especially with her heart and career on the line. She values two things—her image and a good time in the bedroom. Watching men lie and cheat her whole life hardened her against “happily ever after”. When she interviews with Roman Bishop, the sexy co-owner of Ink Spinners Tattoo, she begins to wonder if he might be more than a casual fling. Only one thing is certain: Roman is off limits. Gigi can’t possibly add her best friend’s brother to her little pink book. Or can she?
Keep reading for a sneak peek.
Skin Deep
There were few things more uncomfortable than the morning after—awkward text messages, ignored phone calls, or the not so random meeting in the street. As Gigi Duval deleted yet another dick pic off her phone, she decided last night’s fuckboy was testing every one.
She took another sip of her latte and then forced a sociable smile on her perfectly glossed lips. She’d met her best friend, Ann Kennedy, for coffee at their favorite café in the rehabbed NewBo neighborhood. She loved the brick building with its original tin ceiling, high gloss wood tables and metal bistro chairs. It smelled like freshly brewed coffee and soul.
“Which play date is harassing you now?” Ann asked with a knowing smirk, one expertly drawn blonde eyebrow raised.
They were meeting over Ann’s lunch break, so she dressed accordingly in a navy silk top and khaki cropped dress slacks. Her severe, flat-ironed hair and neutral makeup choices were selected with a strategic eye to reflect her poised businesswoman image.
Gigi turned the phone face down as it dinged yet again. She tapped her pink polished nails on the floral plastic case in annoyance. “One whose name will be erased from my little pink book when I get home.”
"Sounds like you didn’t enjoy your walk of shame."
Some variation of this conversation started most of Gigi’s lunch dates with her best friend. You would think Gigi called a new date every night. Her lips curved up into a smile as her shoulders raised in a non-committal shrug. "Don't be ridiculous—I prefer the term slut strut."
“I can’t wait for someone to catch your eye for more than a quick fling,” Ann sighed as she pushed a piece of salad across her plate. “You can’t keep this up forever. It’s not safe.”
Gigi shrugged, brushing off her concern. Men caught her eye on a regular basis. The problem was choosing one. Years ago, she learned men could have as many women as they wanted and no one seemed to care. So why couldn’t she have the same? Who made the rule that she couldn’t have no-strings-sex and save her heart from one brutal let down after another?
Did she ever get tired of it? Absolutely. She was tempted to retire the little pink book all the time. Just last night for example. She sat waiting for Dick Pic—a colossal waste of time—when a tattooed god-among-men had approached her and offered to buy her a drink. You’re too classy for a dive like this, beautiful. He hadn’t been rude or handsy. He just sat there chatting with her, keeping her company and the lechers away until her date arrived—a full thirty minutes late—and then drifted back to his friends.
“What are you up to today besides mischief?” Ann asked.
Gigi released the breath she had been holding at Ann’s sudden change in topic. “Just chasing job leads and then dinner with the parents. Nothing too exciting.”
“Speaking of family connections, would you like a new lead?” Ann reached into her Kate Spade bag and pulled out her tablet, an iPad Pro that Gigi had been salivating over for months. “My step-brother just opened a tattoo shop and needs someone to be his office manager. Just basic stuff, run the front desk, setup and run his website. Nothing you haven’t done before.”
Grabbing a business card out of the tablet’s case, she slid it across the table. Gigi picked it up, running her fingertips over the embossed skull design.
A tattoo shop wasn’t exactly the kind of place she would have applied. She also hadn’t planned on leaving the bank, but her former employer cornered her in his office for a little quid pro quo. She gave her immediate notice to the HR department. The ink wasn’t even dry on her resignation before she was out the door. Now it had been a month and her savings would only hold out so much longer. At the very least, this could tide her over while she found something else.
“I’ll pop down there and give him my resume.” Gigi slipped the card into her purse and picked up her latte for another sip. “But I’m keeping my options open.”
Ann rolled her eyes as she put her tablet away. “Just do me a favor and keep his name out of your book?”
Sighing, Gigi placed her hand over her heart as if wounded. “For shame. That would be breaking rule number three and potentially number six. No screwing those with a connection to your life and no fucking around in the workplace. I left a job over that. I’m not exactly looking to repeat the experience.”
Ann was one of the few people who knew about the rules. They’d become fast friends when they met at a mixer for young professionals and discovered they’d been unknowingly sharing the same male companion. Gigi may not engage in relationships but she did abide by strict rules—the first being: all parties must be single. No cheaters were welcome in her bed. Ann was delighted to dodge a bullet and the two women had been friends ever since.
Friendship and trust were two commodities that Gigi didn’t deal in often. In life, all you had was your reputation and Gigi guarded hers closely. That's why she had created the rules and cultivated the perfect disguise. She masqueraded as the kind of girl that one would take home to mother, in a package of petite pink innocence, right down to her toe nail polish. The boys liked this virtuous façade too, because despite her rules, she had no trouble filling the space on her proverbial dance card when she wanted it.
“I have your promise then?” Ann’s tone had dropped to a level of seriousness normally directed at her employees—not her friends—and with her brow furrowed and lips pressed together, her expression formed a stern mask.
That question—the doubt it implied—made Gigi’s eyes burn as the latte soured in her stomach. She looked away. This was the downside of her choices. Logically, Gigi knew that Ann wasn’t intentionally slut shaming her. Her friend was protecting someone she cared for. It still made Gigi’s skin crawl as though she were nothing more than a cheap whore. She’d promise almost anything to make that feeling go away.
“I promise.” Those two small whispered words should have been the easiest she uttered all day. Instead, they etched her throat like acid.
Sneak Peek
CHECK OUT THE INK
& BRAZEN WOMEN SERIES BY CASSIE LEIGH
Business Casual
Available now from Sassy Typewriter Press
The attraction that drove Briar Goodall to push the limits with her new boss tasted like liberation.
Was the foot-in-mouth jerk she met on her first day the true Ciaran Rand, heir to a real estate empire, or was the charming, sexy, businessman the real deal?
She could rile him up and find out.
It could be so easy.
Dress code violations aren’t how Briar imagined finding herself after her divorce, but being out of business casual sure is fun!
Welcome to Cedar Landing, where the woman are brazen and proud of their ink, and the men are hot and ready to give them everything if the ladies don’t take it for themselves.
Keep reading for a sneak peek.
Business Casual
Step one of moving on when life falls apart is to turn to loved ones for support. At least that’s what Briar Goodall would have done if her family hadn’t been the reason her life had fallen apart. So instead, step one was starting over around friends.
The door swung open to a friendly smile that made her heart want to burst with relief. Briar waved the drink caddy under Gigi’s nose in offering. “Pumpkin Spice Latte season is better than sex. It’s the least I could do to thank you.”
Until Death Do Us Part: Haunted Romance Series Book 1 Page 9