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About the author:
Author Alexa Dare, with the oversight of the Jellicle Three (Jasmine, Lightning, and Stormy of feline persuasion), writes paranormal romance novels the way she likes to read them: unique, edgy, memorable. Along with spending time with her happily-ever-after alpha outdoorsman, Alexa cozies up at home—when not devoting her time to writing and bringing sexy romances to readers—with movies, popcorn, and triple chocolate cupcakes, not necessarily in that order.
What inspired you to write your book?
“Why do I write romance? Because I believe in romance, passion, and happily ever after. Why do I write paranormal romance? Because I believe that a deep emotional connection borders on the supernatural. Why do I write dark and edgy romance? Because I believe that, although there may be a dark side of humanity and even the paranormal, love will prevail.” ~ Author Alexa Dare
Here is a short sample from the book:
Set in a rugged face with a square jaw and a scruff of beard, eyes the same color as ground fog stared up at her. She gasped as their gazes met. An unexpected tingle zapped through from the top of her head to her tailbone. Why was he somehow familiar to her? It was as if she recognized him, but yet not quite.
“That hair.” The stranger caressed every angle of her face with his gaze so intently her breath caught. “A sexy, devilish sorceress.” His eyes took on the intensity of her red hair.
The illusion of his eyes glowing faded. Intense, head on, his stare robbed her of her breath.
“Or a devilishly sexy angel.”
“Neither.” Her voice came out low and throaty. Not sounding or even feeling like herself, Jess sat back on her heels. “The men who chased me onto the road may come back, so my time with you may be cut short. No matter what, I’ll do what I can for you, then send help.”
“Don’t leave me, lovely.” His voice held a smidgen of a British lilt. “If you’re the last thing I am to behold, then I shall die a happy man.”
“Don’t talk about death.” Jess reached for the square line of his jaw. Realizing what she did, she curled her fingers toward her palm and pulled back her hand. “Sir, what’s your name?”
His rugged, handsome features held a translucence that almost glowed, but this hunk was no sparkly guy. His full lips contorted into a wince. “Not sir. Please. Makes me feel ancient, even older than I truly am. Name’s Ryderholt, but my friends call me Ryder.”
“Mr. Ryderholt, you’re seriously injured.”
His gaze bore into hers as if he stared straight into her soul. “It’s Ryder Judson.”
Something potent within him reached into her almost like an inner tug. An allure she’d never felt before, so strong she almost forgot Ryder wasn’t quite human washed over her.