One more week…
May 17, 2022
Can you believe that we’re only 1 week away from the release of HOW TO STEAL A SCOUNDREL’S HEART? I absolutely cannot wait to share Prue and Leo’s story with you. And since I’m really terrible at waiting, I’ve posted an excerpt here. Enjoy!
Pre-order links:Avon: https://bit.ly/3JEtQEM
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3wxCC3Y
Apple Books: https://apple.co/354zYHs
B & N: https://bit.ly/BN3L700
Google Play: https://bit.ly/Google3JAlUo1
Blackwell’s: https://bit.ly/3LghLpE
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excerpt from HOW TO STEAL A SCOUNDREL’S HEART (5/24):
Just then, Prue heard the jangle of rigging behind her. Turning sharply, she realized it wasn’t her heart galloping but a team of horses pulling a sleek black carriage.
Panicked, she jolted to her feet, just in time to allow it to pass . . . But, regrettably, not in time to avoid the tsunami splash from the wheel hitting the puddle she’d so carefully avoided.
Before she could scramble down the embankment, a colossal wave of brown sludge rose up from the bowels of Hades and splashed her from hood to hem.
She went still. A statue frozen in midflight, arms flared at her side and . . . Dear heavens, what was that awful smell? Her nose wrinkled as the inescapable answer seeped into her clothes.
Honestly, the only way this day could get any worse would be to have someone she knew witness her humiliation.
Behind her, she heard the gruff voice of the driver call out a command to the horses. Shortly following, the thunderous plodding of hooves went still. Warily, she turned to glance
over her shoulder.
The door flew open. And the instant the occupant emerged, she knew that the Fates were, indeed, having a jolly time toying with her. It was Lord Savage!
Splendid, just splendid.
The marquess bounded out of the carriage. He paid no heed to the drizzle or mud, but strode toward her with his polished hessians dispersing puddles in sprays. Every hard-footed step accentuated thickly muscled thighs encased by buckskin breeches. His coat parted to reveal his powerful build and lean torso beneath a fitted russet waistcoat. And even though he wore no hat, his appearance did not suffer for it. The slow saturation of water turned his golden mane a darker shade, and the tarnished bronze color only intensified the emerald green of his irises.
He looked as though he were emerging fresh from his tailor’s shop or a portrait sitting.
She, on the other hand, resembled a drowned cat…
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