Playing the Witch’s Game
Pleiades witch Jennifer Marcos is certain that the host of Extreme Survivor is her soulmate. All she has to do is find a fake boyfriend, get on the show, and voila! She’ll have her destiny. Unfortunately, she has to rely on ex-Russian spy Nikolai Jovec’s six-foot-something of gorgeous, infuriating hotness. To make matters worse, the electric attraction between Jen and Nikolai is hotter than ever. But the only way Nikolai can protect Jen is by hiding the identity of her true Destined…him.
- 2017 Golden Quill Contest, winner for best paranormal romance
- 2017 Carolyn Readers Choice Award, finalist
- 2017 GDRWA Booksellers’ Best Award, finalist
She threw his bathing suit at him. “No looking.” She whirled away from him.
“Oh, I’ll be looking. Lots,” he murmured.
She tried to make sense of the two pieces of cloth that must be a swimsuit. She peeled off her pants and underwear and shimmied into the bottoms.
“Is that a Celtic tattoo on your ass?” he asked.
Her head whipped around to find him staring at her butt. He leaned closer to her and squinted. “Or is it a tribal tat?”
“Shut up.” She yanked up the bottoms to cover her drunk sorority dare ink, not that the bikini covered much. Thank God she’d waxed this week.
Seconds later a woman stuck her head in. “You two ready? We’ve been waiting, like, forever.”
Jen yanked down the bathing suit bandanna top. Nikolai grabbed her hand. She adjusted and squirmed to get the suit right as he pulled her outside, barely having time to get her chest properly aligned before they were out the door.
After one look at his suit she completely forgot they were no longer in the changing room. She blurted out, “They gave you board shorts that go almost to your knees and I get this?” She plucked at the skimpy two-piece. “An eye patch and a bandanna?”
“Obviously the nice lady underestimated your assets.” He leered at her C’s that were one breath away from a complete spill out of the A-sized bandanna top. “I guess we’re headed somewhere tropical.” He flashed an annoying smile. “I would be glued to the TV every day if you wore that. Hell, I’ll probably have a hard time walking the entire time we’re doing this show if you’re wearing that thing. You’re like Tropical Bar—”
She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare say it. If you utter it, I’m so far beyond kneeing. Now I’ll fist your nuts in a wad so tight that you’ll squeal like a choirboy for the rest of your life.” She plucked at the top again. “If I bend down I’ll flash the entire world.”
He said hoarsely, “I’ll be right there along with the rest of America holding my breath to see it.”