Jasmine
Moon
Black
Hills Wolves
Celia
Breslin
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Decadent Publishing
Date of Publication: June 3, 2016
ISBN: 9781683610458
ASIN: B01GKB9WMO
Number of pages: 108
Word Count: 36,400
Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde
Designer and wolf Mina Carver
didn’t mean to be rude to the handsome, glowering man claiming to be her ride,
but she was busy working. Now she must endure a ride to the Black Hills with
the cranky but sexy dominant wolf. Unexpected mating energy sparks between
them, but still—should she dismiss, or kiss him?
Kisses win and they agree upon a
no-strings fling. But with each wedding activity throwing them together, and
their powerful chemistry and mate compatibility complicating matters, can two
workaholics truly have their fun then walk away?
Excerpt:
Evan tipped his
head and eyed the ceiling. Prompt replies, punctual people. Striking deals and
hitting deadlines. These items made his world tick. Not loitering around a miniscule
airport pulling a Waiting for Godot moment on infinite repeat for a no-show,
flakey designer from California.
God grant him
patience and balls of steel when he showed up without the designer and the
all-important wedding dress, because his future sister-in-law Darci would
certainly be unhappy. He’d have to beg a favor from his assistant, have her
snag a couture dress, and fly it ASAP to the Rapid City airport. He could
afford a gown from some famous designer in Chicago or New York, something likely
superior to whatever his soon-to-be sister-in-law’s no-name friend had created.
Right? Shit, he hoped women’s fashion proved so easy.
He took a deep
fortifying breath and froze. Airport smells assailed his senses—the sharp tang
of bleach and lemon-scented cleaners, the floral perfume from Rental Car Girl
who eyed him like a piece of candy. Black coffee, donuts, fried fast food, and
under it all, the distinct musk of wolf.
Female wolf.
She smelled damn
good. His wolf perked up, and his legs propelled him toward the empty baggage
claim, where one bright-pink suitcase covered in Hello Kitty stickers sat,
unclaimed, on the unmoving L-shaped conveyor belt. Her scent, stronger here,
socked his gut, and his gaze shot to the corner.
The chaos around
the woman stunned him silent. Large, paper coffee cup, half-eaten banana, and a
quarter of a powdered doughnut perched on a brown paper bag next to her. Crumbs
splattered the linoleum and the woman’s long-sleeved blue blouse in a thick
layer of white, sugary dust. On her other side, two pink garment bags lay like
corpses, along with a bubblegum-pink unzipped duffel as long as her
outstretched, denim-clad legs. Some of the bag’s contents—pads of drawing paper
and large swaths of fabric—protruded over the opening, the fabric splaying over
her legs in a rainbow-colored blanket. Her feet peeked out of the mess, encased
in sparkling pink UGGs. Good grief, sequins? She smacked her shiny boots
together in a poor imitation of Dorothy and bobbed her head from side to side in
time to some music only she seemed to hear. Her shoulder-length red hair, the
color of ripe dark cherries—his favorite fruit—gleamed under the harsh airport
lighting and curtained most her face from his view, save a pert nose and small
chin, both speckled with a generous amount of freckles.
He’d always liked
freckles.
Clearing his
throat, he stepped closer, but she didn’t flinch in surprise or look up. Her
attention remained on the tablet on her lap, the stylus between her pale,
freckled fingers swiping without hesitation over her screen. Her extreme focus
reminded him of his sister Lexi in one of her artistic frenzies. The
resemblance ended there.
While his sister
took after the rest of their tall, lean, and tan family, this woman seemed the
polar opposite—pale, petite, curvy, and freckled. His preferred type. A flicker
of interest stirred in his gut. Did she have those cute little spots on the
rest of her? Speckled fur when in her wolf form? His wolf huffed his interest
in finding out, but Jasmine the Oblivious Designer didn’t acknowledge his
presence.
His fascination
faded, replaced by renewed irritation. She damn well should have scented and
noticed his wolf by now, and she should have waited at their agreed upon
rendezvous point. She should not be sitting on the dirty linoleum of an
airport, lost in her work. Didn’t she realize the dangers of ignoring her
surroundings?
He positioned
himself right in front of her wiggly, booted feet. “Excuse me, J—”
“Sh.” She raised
her arm and flicked her hand in the universal get lost gesture.
He gaped at her.
“Excuse me?”
Another wave of
her hand while her stylus streaked across her tablet screen with the other.
“Not interested.”
Nice voice. Low
and husky. Her attitude, on the other hand…. “But—”
“Go away.” Her velvet
voice carried a stubborn edge.
In other
circumstances, he would’ve admired her strength. But he’d wasted copious
amounts of time hunting for the clearly inconsiderate and irresponsible female.
“Fine. Get your own damn ride to Los Lobos. Jasmine.”
About
the Author:
When not writing, you’ll find Celia
exercising, reading a good book, hanging with her family, or indulging her
addiction to Joss Whedon’s TV shows and movies.
Web site: http://www.celiabreslin.com/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/celiabreslin
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/CeliaBreslin
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/celiabreslin/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/celiabreslin/
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