Don’t forget to stop by Sam Cheever’s Cloak & Dagger Christmas event today and play for a chance at the $50 gift card…just in time for Christmas shopping! There will be tons of discounted and free books (Including Sam’s brand new Christmas themed romantic suspense novel, HoHo Honeybun), games and chances to win. What better way to spend a Black Friday? No crowds, no stress, just a ton of fun and goodies! See you there! https://www.facebook.com/events/1726715980886397/
He just wants her to take life a little more seriously. She’s decided he could have a point. Especially now that somebody wants her dead.
Dolfe Honeybun broke up with Blaise Runa because her party girl ways were driving him to distraction. Unfortunately, out of sight does NOT mean out of mind. And when his favorite party girl sees something she shouldn’t and finds herself being chased by a cold blooded killer… reason shuts down and Dolfe’s heart takes over. If only he can get to her in time!
Dolfe Honeybun stood in the shadows and watched his ex-girlfriend flirt with a tall, annoyingly good looking guy on line at a popular nightclub. She looked spectacular as usual, her long, slimly curved form lovingly embraced in some kind of shimmery white material which didn’t cover nearly enough of her.
He frowned as the man she was speaking to leaned forward, whispering something into Blaise’s ear as his hand slipped over her hip and stopped on her firm, round behind. Dolfe’s pressure spiked and he was moving forward before he could stop himself.
He crossed the street to the blare of horns, almost completely oblivious to oncoming traffic. Red flares were flashing in front of his eyes and his hands were clenched into fists. As he plummeted heart first into complete loss of control, Dolfe took some comfort in the fact he hadn’t pulled his gun.
It didn’t matter that Blaise deftly, and with a smile, removed the man’s hand from her delicious behind. It didn’t even matter that she walked away. Because the other guy’s lust-saturated gaze followed her sexy sway down the sidewalk, her heels click-clacking rhythmically on the concrete as she walked.
Dolfe decided in that moment the man had to die.
He headed straight for the cocky, overdressed buffoon who was accepting knuckle bumps from his friends by way of celebrating that he’d copped a feel from the gorgeous black woman with the million dollar smile.
Dolfe would rip him into such small pieces his friend Brita Muldane, the cop, wouldn’t even be able to find the body.
The weasel turned as Dolfe stormed toward him, his unintelligent blue eyes widening at the look on Dolfe’s face. He took a step back as Dolfe reached for him.
Dolfe’s ears roared. He could taste every beat of his heart as his pulse surged to the danger zone. And adrenaline had him by the throat as he grabbed pretty boy’s expensive tweed coat by the lapels and dragged him off the ground.
“Hey!” the guy’s friends coughed out. But when Dolfe turned his murderous gaze on them they lifted their hands and stepped back. Apparently judging their friend to be unworthy of having their own blood spilled.
Somewhere on the edges of Dolfe’s awareness a familiar click, clack, click, clack intruded, the sound speeding and getting louder as it got closer.
He shook the offensive pup like a rag doll and pressed his face close. The young punk stank of expensive cologne. He was damn lucky he didn’t smell like Blaise.
That would have signed his death warrant for sure.
Click, clack, click, clack…
The guy tried tugging Dolfe’s hands from his coat without any success. “What the hell, man?”
“You think that’s the right way to treat a lady?” Dolfe growled into his face.
The guy blinked under every word, as if he were being pelted with buckshot. “What lady?”
Dolfe’s growl deepened and the guy’s heels lifted another inch from the ground. “Wrong response, punk.”
Click, clack, click, clack…
“Hey come on, dude,” the guy whined. “Blaise is just a friend.”
“You always run your hands all over your friends’ asses?” Chuckling from the guy’s disloyal friends abruptly stopped as Dolfe skimmed them with a hostile, green glance. When they were properly quelled, Dolfe refocused his hostility where it belonged. “You want to feel up my behind?”
Click, clack, click, clack…
The guy grimaced. “I don’t play for that team, dude.”
Dolfe shook him. “But I thought you always felt up your friends. I’m thinking you and me are friends.”
“Damn it, Dolfe!” A soft, long-fingered hand gripped his arm, tugging on it. “Let him go.”
Dolfe inhaled deeply, her exquisite scent spearing his senses and rolling like warm butter over his nerves. “Stay out of this, honey. The guy dissed you. I’m takin’ care of it.”
She tugged harder. “Dolfe Honeybun, you let go of him right now and come with me.”
He finally turned to look at her and forgot to breathe. He’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was…how delicious she looked and smelled. He frowned, turning back to the punk. “Learn respect you little jerk.” He dragged the guy off the ground another half inch just to drive home his point and then flung him away.
The punky kid stumbled backward several steps, his friends catching him before he landed on his ass.
Dolfe turned away and immediately forgot him. He grinned. “Hey, honey. You look stunning as always.”
Blaise glared at him, her long, slender arms crossed over her chest. Her pretty brown eyes flashed with pique. “Let’s take a little walk, shall we?” She started down the sidewalk, her four inch high spiked heels click-clacking angrily against the concrete.
Dolfe winked at the disgruntled punk and started after her, his gaze sliding over the crowd of males to ensure nobody else got any ideas about disrespecting his girl.
He blinked, his stomach twisting with disappointment. Scratch that. Blaise was now his ex-girlfriend. They’d broken up the week before. Basically because of the very thing he’d just interrupted.
Blaise hit the corner and stopped, turning back to him with a decidedly unhappy look on her beautiful face. The golden light from the streetlamp illuminated her delicious form, making her look like an ebony skinned angel with fire in her veins. She fairly vibrated with rage. Her whole form was taut with it, her delicate jaw working over the words she no doubt wanted to fling his way.
She didn’t even wait for him to reach her before she launched. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing stalking me?”
Dolfe drifted to a stop and shoved his hands into his pockets, holding her fiery gaze. He was fully aware he’d acted badly but he didn’t care. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.
All Romance eBooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hohohoneybun-1682895-149.html
USA Today Bestselling Author Sam Cheever writes romantic paranormal/fantasy and mystery/suspense, creating stories that celebrate the joy of love in all its forms. Known for writing great characters, snappy dialogue, and unique and exhilarating stories, Sam is the award-winning author of 50+ books and has been writing for over a decade under several noms de plume.
Nearing the Season of giving, this seems a good post to read? #:0)
by Sam Cheever
Some authors like to give stuff away and some don’t. I personally know one author who refuses to give away copies of her books and just gives bookmarks and trading cards away at conferences. No bling for her. She’s not alone. Promotional items cost money, giving away books takes sales out of an author’s pocket. But what about the old business adage, you have to spend money to make it? Does it apply to creative businesses as much as traditional ones? I think it does.
Nobody can chart a direct affect from a promotional item to a book sale. It isn’t possible to identify a monetary result, because it’s not a direct transaction. It really isn’t even monetary. It’s emotional.
People love getting free stuff. They especially love getting clever and useful free stuff. And when they get something they really like they generally remember the person…
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