Today, I'm joining the Paranormal Romance Blog Hop! I have included a sexy excerpt to read below for your enjoyment.
Skylar Blackwell’s life is falling apart. No job. No boyfriend. No money. Things can’t get much worse.
She’s dead wrong.
Although, she’d much rather dive into the latest fashion magazine than a murder mystery, after her uncle suddenly dies under strange circumstances, Skylar moves into his spooky old house to find answers.
Her life can't possibly reach any higher levels of suckage. Then Skylar steps inside Summerwind Mansion, where she's instantly plunged into a frightening world of eerie doppelgangers, haunting nightmares, and a body count that's piling up faster than her collection of Jimmy Choos.
Even the totally damaged yet incredibly sexy caretaker, Dorian Delacroix, with more secrets than she has shoes, seems to be hiding something. And romance was definitely not on the agenda.
But true love only comes around once in a lifetime. Or so Skylar believed. . .
SPECIAL SNEAK PEEK
Paintings do not come to life. The bump on my head must really be messing with me.
He opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut. His posture stiffens, and he stares—his face impossibly gorgeous—with a shrewd, outraged expression. My heart skitters. The dark look only lasts a second, but it chills me more than the icy amulet did.
As we stand there staring at each other, a thrilling electric current courses through my body and short-circuits my brain. I blink several times at the dark-haired man standing in the doorway, trying not to stare at his eyes, an intense shade of blue. Damn, he’s better looking than most of the male fashion models I’ve photographed.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Yummy tilts his head and his eyes lock on mine. Even from a distance, I can tell he’ll tower over me, and I’m no midget. He’s even dressed similar to the man in the portrait: a soft, white linen shirt—bulging biceps stretching the fabric—under a black vest paired with snug pants and boots. Although, he appears to be only in his late twenties, he looks reserved and intimidating.
Conclusion: no sense of style, but still smoking hot.
Matthew didn’t mention anyone like him living on the property. Having eye candy like him around will be a nice distraction. The hottie regains his composure and clears his throat.
Stop acting like a drooling idiot and speak to him!
“Hello. I’m, uh, Gerard Blackwell’s niece.”
My face heats. God, that was brilliant. Great first impression. I could really, really use a do-over so I don’t come across as an ogling idiot.
One eyebrow arches and his lips curve, but he doesn’t truly smile. He just studies me with that flawless, icy gaze. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he finally says. “I’m sorry for your loss. I considered your uncle a friend.” His accent is unfamiliar, almost clipped—definitely not from California.
He must be foreign. Or he’s an actor, which usually equals player. Still, the insta-lust has come on fast and strong. Yet with both an accent and a body like a model from a Mr. Hardbody calendar, what’s not to lust after?
“Thank you, that’s very kind. He was a great guy.” I shuffle my feet, and nervously blurt, “We were close when I was a teenager. And he was always supportive of my photography. He even bought me my first camera.” I’m oversharing. Again. I swallow hard, suddenly wanting to get off this subject.
He gestures to my bloody forehead. “Are you okay?”
I frown. Telling him that I bumped my head and feel like some sort of time-traveling freak after seeing Summerwind will only get me put into a straitjacket.
“Oh, this?” Pushing back the tangled hair hanging lank in my face, I touch the lump. “I’m fine. I got into an accident.”
An odd expression crosses his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’d be happy to get your things if you tell me where the car is.”
The image of him effortlessly hauling those heavy suitcases flashes in my mind, and my breath catches.
“That would be awesome.” I tell him where he can find my uncle’s BMW off the main road. “I’ll have to call a tow truck after you retrieve the luggage.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you from your uncle. Although, I admit...you’re not quite what I expected.” The soft cadence of his voice carries the romance of a distant era. “I remember how he used to boast of your success.”
At his slow, easy smile, my heart goes into hyper-drive. He seems only slightly interested in my response, but polite, and his bright blue eyes regard me shrewdly.
“He did?” I’m horrified my voice squeaks.
He cocks his head to the side, obviously intrigued, with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Gerard was proud of you. He said you have an illustrious career as a photographer.”
More like past tense.
I draw a deep breath and get myself together. “That was sweet of him.” Swallowing hard, I say, “So, you must be...?”
He removes the shotgun from his shoulder, and props it against the doorframe. “I’m the estate caretaker, and I supervised the staff for your uncle. I live in the cottage on the north side of the property.” He steps forward into the foyer, grasps my hand, and kisses it smoothly, as if he were a duke from another era, which is pretty much what he resembles. “Dorian Alexander Delacroix at your service.” He’s watching me, and attempting to suppress a smile.
The instant his warm hand closes over mine, the world rocks on its axis and a zap of desire ripples through my body. The man packs a seriously bizarre physical punch. It must affect him too, because his eyes flare briefly in surprise.
My interest is definitely piqued.
Hastily withdrawing my hand, I say, “Oh, really?” I motion toward the panting in the room behind me. “Isn’t that Dorian Delacroix, in there?”
Shaking his head as if to clear it, he takes a step back, and an impish, almost curious expression settles on his handsome features. A faint smile appears on those beautiful lips. “Indeed, and so am I.”
“A relative? Your grandfather?”
The grin wilts. “You look quite flushed, Miss Blackwell. Let’s step outside for some fresh air.” He spins on a booted heel, strides onto the porch, and holds the door open. “After you.”
My gaze flicks to the shotgun as I walk past him, and he shuts the door behind us. The amulet bounces against my breastbone as I move, and I finger it. I push my shoulders back and straighten, but I don’t bolt back inside the safety of the house. Although my subconscious screams, Go inside and lock the door, I ignore it. Even if I wind up shackled in a dark basement...well, it’s not as if I have anything important to do tomorrow...
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