Identity Crisis by Grace Marshall
Reclusive romance novelist Tess Delaney is the alter ego of Garrett Thorne, bad-boy brother of business tycoon Ellison Thorne. When Tess is nominated for the Golden Kiss Award, Garrett recruits PR specialist, Kendra Davis, to keep his secret and be Tess for the awards despite their mutual animosity. But when Tess is stalked by a rabid fan, an identity crisis is eclipsed by a battle for survival, and Tess Delaney, the woman who doesn’t exist, just might understand Kendra and Garrett’s hearts even better than they do.
Available from:
http://www.xcitebooks.co.uk/Book/7769/Identity-Crisis.html
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00B2PLCOK/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00B2PLCOK&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelthouse-21
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00B2PLCOK/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=lucyfelt-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00B2PLCOK
Other links will be added here as they become available: http://gracemarshallromance.co.uk/books/identity-crisis/
*****
Excerpt:
Garrett felt like a naughty teenager as
they sneaked out the back door, through the gate of the privacy fence and down
the alley. He wore a shapeless track suit with the black hoodie pulled up over
his head and a scruffy pair of Converse sneakers that weren’t exactly meant for
dancing. And Kendra, well she hardly looked ratty, in his opinion. She wore low
rider jeans, and where they weren’t hugging her body like a second skin, they
were full of threadbare, flesh revealing holes. The black sweat top she wore
was cut short enough to show a tantalizing flash of her navel and hips bones
when she moved just right. It slid off one shoulder to reveal the thin lacy
strap of a red bra. She wore all of her russet locks tucked up under a leather
beret. Her fashion statement was topped off with black ankle boots. She looked
very, very dangerous. And hot. Of course she didn’t need to dress the part for
either, he thought. He was already certain on both counts.
‘You live a little closer to The Boiling
Point than Dee does.’ She took his hand and nodded to where the alley T’ed with
the street, and then gave way to the park on the other side. ‘She never goes
there, of course. Well she did once, but that was just for Harris, then he
hated it.’ She giggled. ‘God I wish I could have been there for that.’
‘Am I going to hate it?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Probably not. You’re
much more of a bad boy than Harris is, or is that all an act?’
The long line of shiny chrome Harleys out
front of the squat cinder block building gave Garrett the first clue that this
was not Dancing with the Stars.
Kendra waved them away absently. ‘The Boiling Point’s not really a biker bar,
but it’s kind of the warm-up act, I suppose you could say. Lots of bikers start
off here before they head on to their usual haunts. Makes for an exciting mix.
Later in the night there are almost no bikers. But there are always lots of
interesting people.’
Any other time, Garrett would have been up
for meeting interesting people, but tonight he couldn’t imagine anyone
interesting him more than the woman on his arm. He paid the fee at the door and
a surly man the size of small house with fire-engine hair and a scruffy beard
stamped their hands with a red ink TBP.
Inside a live band had just begun to play
to a full, but not yet crowded house. ‘The place gets raided from time to
time,’ Kendra said. ‘I don’t know what all goes on. I just come here because
it’s interesting.’
‘A good raid and us carted off to the
police station will really give the press something to talk about,’ Garrett
observed.
‘Don’t worry,’ she yelled to be heard above
the band’s bass-heavy version of Highway
to Hell. ‘They just got raided last week. They’ll be good to go for a while
now. We can relax and enjoy ourselves.’ She pulled him onto the dance floor.
‘Best dance while there’s room. In a few hours it’ll be a real tit squeeze.’
Kendra Davis was just as stunning dark and
dangerous as she was golden and romantic, as she was naked in his kitchen, and
she definitely knew how to move on the dance floor. But it made Garrett more
than a little nervous that he wasn’t the only one who seemed to be noticing the
way the woman could shake her booty. He thought about asking her to try not to
draw to much attention to herself, but he wasn’t even sure it was possible for
Kendra Davis not to draw attention.
The place smelled of leather and beer, and
sweat. Already there was a thick haze of pheromones invisible to the eye, but
everyone there breathed them it, gave them off and reveled in the dark anticipation
of what the night might bring. The look in Kendra’s eyes was bright and wicked,
like she would do anything, try anything, like all the boundaries were suddenly
negotiable.
And fuck, as amazing as she was like that,
as much as he wanted to lose himself in the place, in the experience, there was
no way he could keep from thinking about who might be watching her in that
crowd, about who might be waiting for just the perfect opportunity.
As though she were reading his mind, she
pulled him to her with a hand curled around his neck and spoke against his ear.
‘Oh would you relax, Garrett. Do you really think this is the kind of hang-out
Tess Delaney would frequent?’
Then she slid both arms around his neck and
let him pull her into a deep, hungry kiss. When it ended with an aggressive
flick of his tongue, she offered a throaty giggle. ‘Marking territory, are we?’
Before he had a chance to respond, she returned the favor, plunging her tongue
in deep, and tightening a fist in his hair to pull him closer.
He moved a hand to the small of her back
and gave her the full frontal rub-up, enough to be sure she knew she’d gotten
his cock’s attention. ‘You see where this is leading if you keep that up?’
She pulled away and gave his crotch some
breathing room as the music settled into a heavy metal beat that filled the
dance floor with lots of heavily booted bikers and their spandex and leather
women. Garrett was surprised to find more than a few men in pressed jeans and
designer polo shirts bellied up to the bar in the mix that looked like it was
probably mostly low-brow. He wasn’t the only man who looked like he’d just come
from a work out at the corner gym and Kendra’s shredded jeans seemed to be the
fashion statement of more than a few women among a smattering of Goth and
grunge and plain old red-neck jeans and tee-shirts with baseball caps.
With each song the band played, the dance
floor became fuller and fuller. The strobe light flashed and the disco ball
bathed the floor in sparkles as people rocked and strutted and sweated, and it
became more and more difficult to tell who was dancing with whom. Garrett was
about to grab Kendra by the hand and reel her back in so they could stay
connected when a biker in a ZZ Top tee-shirt that smelled like an ashtray and looked
like it might have been painted across his bulging pecs managed to slide in
between them, turn his back on Garrett, and focus his full attention on Kendra.
And suddenly all Garrett could see was his broad back.
‘Kendra,’ he called, but his voice was drowned
out in the roar of Def Leppard. And that might have been okay if the man hadn’t
been so fucking big. Kendra was certainly entitled to dance with whomever she
liked. But he couldn’t see her. He fucking couldn’t see her! Not even her feet
between the man’s shuffling boots. ‘Kendra!’ He called again. Louder this time.
That at least got the man’s attention, but when he turned to see what Garrett
wanted, and he could see beyond the biker’s bulk, Kendra was not there! The
woman the man was dancing with had cropped blonde hair and a leather bustier
several sizes too small.
‘Kendra!’ Garrett called out, louder this
time, shoving his way past the biker, who pulled the blonde to him
protectively. Frantically Garrett scanned the burgeoning crowd on the dance floor,
scanned the women with hats. There were cowboy hats, police hats, even a few
stocking caps, but there were just too many people, too many lights, too much
noise. In his mind he could only think of Razor Sharp’s horrid email and
Kendra’s response to it. Why the hell hadn’t he forced the issue? Why the hell
hadn’t he made her tell him why she was so upset, made her tell him about the
stalker Dee had mentioned. And fuck! Why had he let her talk him into bringing
her here?
*****
Grace
Marshall lives in South England with her husband and the growing gang of
hooligan birds who frequent their feeders. When Grace isn’t busy writing
something sexy and romantic, she’s busy digging in her ever-expanding veg
garden or walking across the British countryside. She finds inspiration
outdoors in nature, and most of her best story ideas come to her while she’s
walking or gardening.
Grace is the author of the fast
paced, quirky Executive Decisions Trilogy published by Xcite Romance. The first and second novels in
the trilogy are out now.
Grace Marshall’s alter-ego, K D Grace,
writes critically acclaimed, best-selling erotic romance. Whether it’s sexy
romance or romantic sex, between The Graces, there’s a story for you.
Find Grace here:
Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/GraceMarshallRomance
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/GM_Romance
No comments:
Post a Comment