QSFer Robin Olson has a new FF paranormal/horror romance book: The Trouble WIth Love (And Ghosts).
What’s worse than being hunted by a horrifying entity of darkness? Oh, wait, I know—falling in love with the woman you’re supposed to protect, and who annoys the hell out of you.
Rory:
Listen. I enter prizefights in my spare time and hunt ghosts for a living, so I know a bad idea when I see one. And the moment I set eyes on Layla St. James, the gorgeous, bossy, and mean heiress who wants to hire me as a bodyguard, I know she’s a very bad idea. I mean, the whole situation, but especially the part where the first moment I set eyes on her I went completely non-verbal. Why the hell did she have to be my exact type?
But…something killed her father. Something that’s not human. And now it’s hunting her, and she’s desperate.
I’ve always been a sucker for a sob story. And hell, guess I’ve always been really good at bad ideas.
Layla:
I do not like people in general. I especially do not like people who are loud, chaotic, and just a little bit goofy. Enter exhibit number one: Aurora West (or Rory, as she calls herself)—snarky, orange-dyed hair, unbelievably annoying, an attitude the size of Vancouver Island. Oh, and also disturbingly hot. However, she is the most experienced ghost hunter I could find, and possibly the only person who might be able to keep me alive. But I’m coming to realize there’s a lot about Rory I didn’t know: the fact she has some connection to a mysterious society of supernatural hunters that calls itself WRAITHS. The fact that the thing hunting me also has an interest in her. The fact that, despite my best efforts, I think I might be falling for her.
Which is stupid, of course, and I am absolutely going to tell her that.
If we survive. Which I am beginning to doubt.
Warnings: -Alcohol consumption/intoxication -Blood/gore -Child abuse (mentioned) -Death -Internalized ablism -Involuntary intoxication -On-page sex scenes -Violence
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Excerpt
Her eyes were startlingly green, and even after all this time, I still felt a little shock looking into them. Or maybe it was the intensity in them right now, her gaze not entirely focused but fixed on me, like every bit of attention in her body, every bit of that restless, dangerous energy, was concentrated solely on me, the weight of it enough to pin me in place.
“You said too bad I wasn’t this obedient when I was sober,” she whispered, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair off my forehead. “You could tell me to jump off a cliff, and I’d do it just to make you smile.”
I suddenly couldn’t remember how to breathe, something hot and restless and insistent beating under my skin, the memory of the night before—her lips on my skin, her hands, her fingers—thrumming through my whole body like a heartbeat, urgent and wanting.
“I…” My mouth was almost too dry to speak. “I should finish cleaning you up. You’re drunk. You’ll…you’ll feel better in the morning.”
She laughed again, a low, soft chuckle that vibrated through my whole body. “I know exactly what would make me feel better, Layla St. James.” Her hand cupped around the side of my jaw, the pressure of it barely there, but I could feel every point of contact like electricity against my skin.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” she whispered, leaning in just a little closer. I could smell the alcohol on her breath, sweet and strong, the cologne she wore, the sharp, citrusy scent of her soap, and she was so close I could feel the heat from her body. “So damn perfect.”
My whole body was trembling at how close she was.
No. She was hurt and she was drunk and I was being ridiculous.
“Aurora West,” I snapped, “sit up this minute and let me finish cleaning you up. It’s after three thirty in the morning, and we both should be sleeping.”
She jerked upright, and for a startled moment, I almost did laugh.
I took a long, steadying breath. “I appreciate the compliment,” I said when I thought I could speak normally again. “But you really do need to go to bed. Now. Lie back, and I’ll at least clean the blood off your face. Your hands are pretty much done. But for goodness’ sake, next time, can you please process your emotions without getting beat up?”
She stared at me for a moment, and then, at last, she lay back on the bed. She put one hand behind her head and smirked up at me, and my heart jerked in my chest in an odd way that made me think maybe asking her to lay back had been a mistake after all.
I gritted my teeth and turned away, grabbing a handful of gauze and heading back into the bathroom to wet it under warm water.
When I stepped back into the room, Aurora had kicked off her boots and was watching me through half-lidded eyes, a small smile on her lips that almost made me lose the composure I’d just barely managed to scrape together.
I clenched my teeth harder and made my way over to the bed, trying not to think too hard about what I was doing. I sat down, focusing my gaze on a point on her pillow just to one side of her head, and tried to ignore the warmth of her skin as I scrubbed gently at the dried blood, tried to ignore the way my fingers ached to trace the shape of her lips, tried to ignore how her eyes followed my every move, dark and intense and pulling at me like gravity.
I managed it somehow, although I’m not certain I took a full breath the entire time. At last, I stood quickly, still not looking at her. “Alright, that should do you until the morning,” I said, my voice unsteady. “Goodnight.”
She caught my good wrist with her hand, and I turned, startled. “You waited up for me,” she said, a wondering tone to her voice as if she’d only just realized it. “You said it was three thirty in the morning. You waited up for me.”
“Of course I waited up for you,” I snapped, jerking my wrist away. I was breathless, and my hands were trembling, and I’d really rather she not feel that. “Go to bed; it’s late.” I stepped quickly through the door that separated our bedrooms and closed it sharply behind me.
I leaned against it for a moment. My whole body felt trembly and weak, and somehow, the door seemed dangerously thin, a barrier that was far too easy to get around.
I pushed myself upright and forced myself over to my closet, changing out of my skirt and blouse and into my pyjamas, the fastenings awkward to manage one-handed. But I could still feel the warmth of Rory’s fingers on my wrist, the shape of her lips and her cheekbones under my hand, the way her fingers had trembled as I held her hand in mine, and when I lay down on my bed, finally, it felt empty and cold in a way it never used to feel, my body aching for something I knew I couldn’t have.
Author Bio
Robin is a hopeless romantic and a horror lover. They write about girls who kiss girls, boys who kiss boys, enbys who kiss both, and sometimes even girls and boys who kiss each other. Oh, and ghosts. They write about ghosts a lot, too.
| Author Website | www.robinolsonauthor.com |
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| Author Other Social Media | https://www.instagram.com/robinolsonauthor/ |