FINALLY!
After more edits and rewrites than any author wants to admit to, Flirting With Secrets is out in the world. A huge thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for the finished book... thank goodness this is a series, because I had a really hard time putting this one to bed -- Kayla's story is far from over and she's been taking me in a million directions lately. Luckily, I'm having a blast bringing her adventures to life and Flirting With Fame is well on its way!
Happy Reading!
~Heidi
Read on for a short sample of Flirting With Secrets:
Loose ends.
The words bounced around relentlessly inside my throbbing skull. The pain was worse than a Slurpee brain freeze and only slightly better than an exploding aneurism. And through it all I was contemplating loose ends. Why was the phrase so frigging important?
Ugh, who cared? I hadn’t felt this brutalized since waking up in a hospital with few memories and a hole in my chest. What the hell was going on?
I pried open my crusty eyes, confused and disoriented when they revealed nothing but more blackness. Oh, God! Was I blind? My hands flailed at my sides, trying to discern my surroundings by touch. I was in a bed – that much was for certain. A pretty comfortable one, too. So I was definitely not in a hospital – or a coffin, which had been my second thought and the cause of a minor panic attack.
I felt something warm and soft beside me and experienced a slightly naughty thrill of anticipation, temporarily overriding my distress.
Dmitri?
Further exploration determined the body next to mine was not that of the sexy Greek arms dealer I had hoped it would be. That is unless he’d shrunk to half his size and grown boobs since abandoning me. Tying up loose ends… that’s why the words were running through my brain. Dmitri’s cryptic note had been our last communication in… months. I didn’t even know if I should be concerned or angry. There was no “normal” for an ex-assassin who falls for a semi-reformed criminal.
On second thought, normal didn’t matter. Over three months without even a text? He was damn lucky he wasn’t beside me right now or else he’d be in for an unwelcome awakening of the getting-the-shit-beaten-out-of-him variety. Schmuck.
“Claire?” Even the soft, questioning whisper made the brittle synapses firing pain missives throughout my skull revolt. I needed drugs. Or a machete to cut my head off with.
I gave the body beside me another shake when I received no response. “Claire? What’s going on?”
The sheets rustled as the body stirred. “Are you up, honey?”
Even stranger. That sound a bit like… “Mom?”
What was my mother doing in bed with me? I tried to pull my thoughts together, to remember the events leading up to what was either an on-going brain hemorrhage or the queen bitch of all hangovers. Hmmm. My last memory was of a going away party...
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