From New York Times bestselling author Kristen
Proby, comes the next sexy and captivating standalone title in the Boudreaux
Series, EASY MAGIC. Take a trip to the Big Easy and fall in love with Beau
and Mallory’s story in this passionate and magical contemporary romance. Grab
your copy today!
If only the bewitching owner
of the herb shop downstairs from Beau’s loft wasn’t so damn tempting.
Mallory Adams is living the
life. The good life. The best life for her. After years of hiding who
she is, and the gifts she’s been cursed with, Mallory opened her little shop in
the French Quarter, offering herbs and lotions for anything from soothing a
sunburn to chasing those pesky ghosts New Orleans is known for out of a
client’s home. Some call her eccentric, and some say she’s simply odd, and
that’s okay with her. She is a bit odd, but in her experience, all of
the best people are.
When an old pipe bursts in
the loft above her store, flooding her storeroom, Mallory comes face to face
with Beau Boudreaux, and she doesn’t need the clairvoyant abilities that have
been passed down through generations to know that she’ll never be the same.
Beau is her exact opposite; serious, straitlaced. He wears suits for
Pete’s sake and probably wouldn’t know the difference between arnica and
flaxseed if his life depended on it. But when he touches her, the electricity
is through the roof and she’s smart enough to know that a chemistry like theirs
doesn’t happen every day.
Can two people so very
different possibly find their way to happily ever after?
Links
Amazon:
http://amzn.to/2nuV6Pp
Barnes
and Noble: http://bit.ly/2nuCPlq
iBooks:
http://apple.co/2nuL9kU
Kobo:
http://bit.ly/2n8uD9b
Excerpt
“I’ve
always had a knack for knowing what people need,” she says softly, as if she’s
choosing her words very carefully. I don’t know why that bothers me. I want her
to speak her mind, to not have to censor what she says.
But this is
a good start.
“In what way?”
“Maybe
someone has headaches, or their feet hurt. I have essential oils and herbs that
can help with those things.”
I nod.
“My
grandmother taught me all about alternative medicine from the time I was a
child. She wasn’t crazy with it,” she says quickly, “she still believed in
western medicine as well, but why take a pain reliever full of chemicals if you
can just put a drop of oil on the back of your neck to get the same result?”
She shrugs
and reaches for the dessert, smiles when she opens the box, and digs in with
enthusiasm.
“I thought
it would be fun to open a store full of those things,” she continues. “I wanted
the bottles to be pretty, and everything to be tied with a bow. I wanted a
place where people enjoyed coming in, even if only to browse. It smells good,
the energy is calming.”
And I
realize that that’s exactly how I feel whenever I’ve been in her store.
“I’d say
you’ve accomplished those things.”
“Thank
you.” Her smile is huge and genuine. “That’s really the best compliment I could
ever get.”
“Really?” I
cock a brow and watch her lashes flutter. “I’d also say you’re stunning. I want
to bury my fingers in that amazing curly hair of yours.”
There must
be something in the food that’s making me speak so freely. But Mallory seems to
bring out my flirty side.
I’d
forgotten that I had a flirty side.
Her smile
slips just a bit, and her cheeks flush, and I know she’d look just like that
when I’m buried balls deep inside her.
“That’s
very nice of you.”
“But not
what you want to hear.”
“Well,
don’t get me wrong, every woman wants to be told she’s pretty.”
“I didn’t
say pretty,” I reply and lean in, resting my elbows on her desk. “’Pretty’ is
too dull of a word to describe you.”
“You’re an
interesting man,” she says, tilting her head to the side and studying my face
with narrowed violet eyes. “You just say whatever you’re feeling.”
“Not
always,” I reach out to tuck her hair behind her ear and she stiffens. I pause,
keeping my eyes pinned to hers before I slowly brush just the pads of my
fingertips over the outline of her ear, tucking that soft curly hair, then
lowering my hand back to the desk. “But I see no reason to not be honest with
you.”
“I opened
this shop because I love it,” she says, her voice still soft but firm. She’s
not weak in any way, and that pulls at me like a siren’s song. “I want to help
people if I can, even if it’s just to moisturize their hands. And I like this
building.”
“There are
other streets with more foot traffic.”
“And I like
where I am,” she says again. “I do well here.”
“I’m glad
you do.” I nod and without giving it much thought, reach out to pull my
fingertips over her hand. My eyes are watching hers as I do, and I can see the
hesitation just before I touch her, and then the relief when my skin rests on
hers.
She doesn’t
like to be touched.
“Tell me
more,” I say softly.
“That’s all
there is about the store.”
“Tell me
about you.”
She pulls
her hand out from under mine and sits back in her chair. “I think you’d better
go, before I tell you more than I want to.”
I cock a
brow. “I’m a fan of honesty.”
“Good.” She
nods once and begins loading the empty boxes in the trash. “I’m in favor of
being honest, and in that same spirit, I’m exhausted, Beau.”
“I know. I
am, too.”
But I’m not
ready to say goodbye to her yet. I’m afraid that we’ll go our separate ways,
and I won’t see her again.
“What are
you thinking?” she asks.
“That I
want to see you again.”
“You live
upstairs from my shop,” she reminds me. “I don’t see how we could avoid it.”
“We avoided
it for a damn long time,” I say and stand, shoving my hands in my pockets. “But
I won’t make that mistake again.”
About the Author
New York Times and USA
Today Bestselling author Kristen Proby is the author of the
bestselling With Me In Seattle and Love Under the Big Sky series. She has a
passion for a good love story and strong, humorous characters with a strong
sense of loyalty and family. Her men are the alpha type; fiercely protective
and a bit bossy, and her ladies are fun, strong, and not afraid to stand up for
themselves.
Kristen lives in
Montana, where she enjoys coffee, chocolate and sunshine. And naps.
No comments:
Post a Comment