Julie Mulhern
New Orleans, 1902
A killer walks the streets of New Orleans, eviscerating men and
leaving them in the streets, and for madam Trula Boudreaux, it's bad for
business. Trula needs help but she’s not prepared for Zeke Barnes, the
charming would-be savior who darkens her doorway—or the yearning he
awakens. For while Trula knows well the delights of lust, she avoids love at
all costs…
Investigating the killer was one thing, but Zeke can't help but
be enchanted by the gorgeous mystery woman who runs an exclusive brothel.
Caught between his duty to protect the city and his clear-as-day desire for
Trula, Zeke sets about capturing Trula's heart—or at least a place in her bed.
But with every moment Trula resists, Zeke falls into greater danger.
For his investigation into the haunted city and madam doesn't
just risk his heart but both their lives.
Author Bio:
Julie
Mulhern always wanted to be a writer. She spent her childhood creating pen
names and dreaming of exotic, mysterious, romantic places. To that end, she
went to Washington and Lee University in Lexington, Virginia (because, when
you’re from the Midwest, the South is both exotic and romantic). There she
earned degrees in politics and French. She even spent a year living in Paris.
But the Midwest beckoned and she returned home. Now she lives with her husband,
two daughters and a dastardly dog. It might not be exotic or mysterious but it
is romantic.
Excerpt:
“You’re still here, Mr. Barnes.” Apparently he meant to continue plaguing her.
He showed no sign of leaving. She wanted him gone, yet she was glad he’d stayed.
Her lips pursed. She was annoyed and wasn’t precisely sure with whom.
“You keep late
hours, Miss Boudreaux.”
She wandered about
the room, too bothered by him to be still. Instead, she collected empty glasses
and lined them up on the narrow table used for the bar.
“Nothing to say?”
Zeke’s voice mocked her.
“It’s early. On
the weekends, we stay busy ‘til dawn.”
“Well then, I
imagine you still have plenty of energy.”
His eyes skimmed
her body, lingering on her breasts. Her body tightened beneath his gaze and she
silently cursed its betrayal. She yawned bigger than Diddy. “It’s a shame
there’s nothing worth staying up for.”
He chuckled, a low
sound from deep in his throat. Again her perfidious body responded. Heat
pooled, tempting her to abandon the tenets that protected her. Worse, the
accursed man raised an eyebrow and smiled as if he could detect her body’s
yearnings from the comfort of his chair.
“Who are you and
why are you here?” she asked. Real emotion colored her voice. Well, why not?
His mere presence had bedeviled her all night. And now his eyes stripped the
dress clean off of her. How dare he disturb her well-ordered existence? She had
responsibilities. She didn’t need the distraction of a man who would leave her.
She scanned the room. There were no more glasses for her to gather, so instead
she collected ashtrays.
“I work for the
government. I’m investigating the murders.” He’d deliberately misunderstood. “I
think you know something about them.”
She paused, an
ashtray filled with the soggy ends of Cuban cigars clutched in her hand. Could
she hurl the dirty crystal fast enough to hit him with it? At the very least, a
few cigar butts might mar the pristine whiteness of his shirt. She set the
dirty ashtray down on a table with a resounding thunk. “I already told
you, I don’t.”
He shook his head
and a lock of his hair fell across his forehead. With a careless gesture, he
brushed it aside.
Trula arranged the
dirty ashtrays in a neat line so she didn’t have to look at him.
“I’d also like to
know you better.”
Trula took a slow
breath. “You seem to ignore answers you don’t like. I’m not available.”
“Ever?” Disbelief
lurked in the gravel of his voice. That gravel—it was the sound of lust—dark
and tempting and forbidden. Her heart leapt for her throat.
She squared her
shoulders and stared straight into his eyes. “Never.”
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