Relatable Romance that’s racy between the sheets.
Fragments of the Past
A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Love Story
Shattered Hearts of Carolina
A one night stand between a small town medium and a hot cop leads to a mistaken identity. Will the truth get in the way of solving a murder?
I sensed that Detective Anson Ames doubted my abilities when he contacted me to help a grieving mother pick up the pieces and find closure surrounding her missing child. Anson’s not the first skeptic I’ve encountered.
He isn’t even the first man I’ve taken home from Sweet Caroline’s without being honest about who I really am. Sometimes it’s a relief pretending to be someone I’m not… Someone normal.
Now the ghost of a little girl is trying to show me what happened to her, and the drop-dead gorgeous cynic assigned to this cold case is focused on the fact that he woke up alone.
A medium might communicate with the dead, but after last night, I don’t know how I’ll get Anson to believe anything I say.
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CONTENT CONSIDERATIONS This book includes but is not limited to the following: kidnapping, death of a child, child abuse, discussion of SA
Enjoy this Excerpt from Fragments of the Past...
“Your name is Raleigh?” he asks with a raised brow. The left-hand corner of his mouth tips up in a lopsided grin as he lifts his beer bottle closer to his suckable lower lip.
I ambush him with an imperceptible jerk of my head and smile.
He’s gotten it wrong. But over the din of the crowd, I can’t blame him for mishearing.
Living this close to the North Carolina state capital, he also seems to like the novelty of Raleigh. So why not? After all, I came to Sweet Caroline’s tonight to escape the trappings of being Rae Lee Chatham.
Fans mob the concert hall. With this many people trying to make themselves heard before the opening act even takes the stage, I won’t have to listen to anyone or anything I don’t want to tonight. I like the easy attention of the man whose blatant interest in me is uncomplicated, and I’d like nothing more than to talk to him uninterrupted. Maybe later, after the curtain call, we’ll use our mouths to communicate in a different way.
Leaning his hip against the bar, his gaze hovers at the neckline of my unbuttoned white shirt. The lace of a periwinkle blue bralette plays peekaboo, enhancing my cleavage. The honky tonk’s dim lighting makes his brownish-black irises dark and his wide pupils darker. He has thick lashes, the kind falsie-wearing girls are jealous of. If it weren’t for the lighter shade of brown hair, he’d be otherworldly. Although it’s a peculiar talent, I’m good at reading people, and nothing about him screams danger.
He’s just a guy looking for a good time. And by the looks of this man, he can give me a very good time.
Isn’t that why I’m here? To forget my troubles and enjoy life?
With a self-assured grin, he continues his perusal of my body. From the pressed shirt to my skirt to the embroidered booties with a slight heel, I’ve dressed for the occasion. I’m equally unashamed letting my attention roam and feeding his ego.
When he’s done drinking me in, he holds his hand out to introduce himself.
“Anson. Can I get you a refill?” He swallows the last swig of his beer and offers to buy my next one.
“Sure.” I wiggle the empty by the neck. Anson takes it, turning toward the bartender to get us two more.
I close my eyes and bite my lower lip, wishing it was because I was reveling in the way his back muscles ripple underneath the fabric of his polo shirt.
Fudge… I mouth, though anyone in the vicinity would think I used the other F word.
If I were anyplace else, needing anything else, I would ask his last name. But last names don’t matter in the morning. Not when you aren’t planning to see the other person again.
I ignore the voice inside of me that’s trying to tell me that if Anson heard me correctly, he’d be the one to put the brakes on. The likelihood that there are a lot of Ansons running around Brighton as there are Rae Lee’s is virtually nil. Putting everyone else’s needs before mine is exhausting, and the reward for doing the right thing is shittastic.
If he is the Anson who contacted me, then the itch I came here to scratch will continue to haunt me. If he isn’t, and I fess up my name is not Raleigh, the ensuing pointless and awkward apologies will turn me into a blithering idiot. Either way, whatever drew us together gets dusted. Overall, I’m also not particularly interested in having any conversations with Anson Ames tonight. Whatever he has to say can wait until tomorrow.
I flick my conscience off my shoulder.
Grasping two cold tan bottles, Anson returns his attention to me. At the same moment, I pretend I don’t see the crestfallen older man with chiseled Norse features sitting in a round booth that was removed when Sweet Caroline’s was remodeled. I need that mirage to disappear so I can focus on the real, live man in front of me.
Anson watches me down half the beer in two long gulps. “Thirsty?”
“You could say that.” A single shoulder of mine bounces.
“As long as you’re not drinking to forget.”
I step into his space. My toes tip up in my short boots and I clutch the front of his shirt above his navel for balance. “What if I were?” I whisper in his ear.
Anson turns his face toward mine. “Then that would make two of us.” He tips his beer towards me in a mock-salute and brings it to his lips, taking long, hard pulls.
The curtain rises and the drummer for the band responsible for warming up the crowd taps out the first few beats.
“Let’s dance.” Anson grabs my hand, dragging me towards the stage.
We’re two grown adults, and his desire for Raleigh makes it easy to leave any misgivings behind.
©2024 Jody Kaye, All Rights Reserved
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