Here are what reviewers are saying about DANGEROUS MAGIC...
“The dark, moody, suspenseful tone of the book reminded me of the queen of gothic romance, Victoria Holt.”
—Kathy Altman, USA Today
“DANGEROUS MAGIC is filled with thrilling adventure, passionate romance and mysterious mystical powers, making it an enticing read for all.”
“…a heart-wrenching love story to keep you warm on the chilly fall nights.”
“A dark, mysterious and magical tale of romance.”
—Chocolate Chunky Munkie
“A fantastic read, especially on a quiet windy night!”
“A magical tale that will make you believe in fate.”
—Picked By Poison
“The tale will capture you from the first few pages and hold you until the end.”
—Kimba the “Caffeinated Book Reviewer”
Excerpt from Dangerous Magic ...
Gwenyth’s hands stole across the flat planes of her stomach. She knew without doubt that her time with Rafe had failed to yield the child she desired. No flutter of nascent life stirred her womb. Her body remained her own. She’d not even managed to do that right.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She’d been so convinced he could give her what she needed that she’d left no room for failure. He would leave today, and she must begin her search anew. But could she? Could she put aside the vision she’d created for herself of this dream child, this mingling of blood and bone and spirit between Rafe Fleming and herself that seemed now as real as the man asleep next to her?
Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs as if the child she loved had died or wandered away to be lost in the fog. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Only her nightmare ever affected her so. The unborn child became like her lover’s death upon the rocks, a sorrow to be held close to the heart.
“You weep.” Rafe’s eyes were upon her. He reached out to take her by the shoulder and gather her closer to him. “You aren’t crying over my leaving, are you?”
Was she? Rafe and the child had become so linked within her she wasn’t sure anymore. Searching to buy herself time, she turned her attention to the black-blue tattoo curling its way from his neck down along the slope of his shoulder to end over his collarbone.
“I spied this the night you came to me. What is it?” she asked, avoiding his question.
“I had it done while I was stationed in the West Indies.”
She reached up and traced the line of it. “But why a butterfly?” Her eyes met his, a smile upon her lips. “’Tis hardly a masculine image for a hard-bitten sailor.”
He laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine. I remember nothing beyond waking with the mark of it across my skin and a headache that could fell an ox. I was told later by a native of the islands that it symbolizes life and rebirth. Fitting for a man who lost everything and had to start over.”
Gwenyth’s hands ran across his chest and over his ribs to caress the wreckage of his back. Each ridge, each scar had been forged in pain, had made him the man he was, the man she wanted. She could admit it now. After last night. And the days before.
He’d burrowed deep within her. Set his brand upon her as clearly as he had been branded. She knew now it would be Rafe or no one.