The book hits the shelves next week and I thought maybe you’d all want a sneak peek …
She’d just killed the Golden Boy of Grace. Yeah, Janie, way to fit in. Way to keep a low profile.
Way to ruin your life.
She stood over the body, breathing like crazy, wondering what the hell to do when suddenly the lights flickered back to life.
Except . . . Oh, God.
The body crumpled at her feet wasn’t Clayton at all, but someone taller, bigger, and far more dangerous for the simple unknown factor.
She had no idea who he was.
What was happening? She’d been running from Clayton . . . she’d hoisted the dictionary in self-defense, and—
And clearly there’d been someone else in the library with them when the lights had gone out.
She stared down at the guy, confused and all the more terrified. In fact, fear clawed at her throat now, and she once again whirled to run—
That’s when the dead guy reached up, his fingers wrapping around her ankle–
And tugged hard.
Down she went like a ton of bricks, right over the dead guy. Only he wasn’t dead now, was he? Nope, he had a hold on her but good, yanking her close.
She fought, scrambling for purchase like a woman possessed. And she was possessed, with terror! She bashed her forehead on something – his chin? – and heard a low, masculine grunt as she continued to struggle to crawl free.
She almost did it too, making it a few feet across the smooth wood floor, grabbing a hold of one of the legs of her desk–
“Oh, no you don’t,” he grated out, rolling, tucking her beneath him, pinning her to the ground with an unwelcome amount of bulk.
He was a big guy, one solid muscle that effectively held her utterly immobile. He could have squashed her like a grape if he’d wanted but instead he braced one hand next to her head to keep some of his weight off her chest.
A considerate rapist?
A kind murderer?
What the hell?
His face was pasty white as he lifted his head, his movement smashing their lower halves together. Glaring at her from icy blue eyes that promised retribution for the already darkening bruise at his temple, he growled in a low, masculine voice of the south, “you gave me a helluva headache.”
The first lesson of self defense: either incapacitate him, or don’t fight, otherwise you just piss him off.
Good going, Janie, you pissed him off.