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His matchmaking plans are about to backfire.
Running out of time…
Mystery writer Marcus Sullivan is determined to find someone for his younger brother Liam to love. Playing matchmaker on vacation in St. Lucia, Marcus tries to interest Liam in beautiful, local tour guide Crescentia St. Ives. Unfortunately, things don’t go to plan. And when Marcus and Crescentia are stranded during a thunderstorm, the plot to match her with his brother incinerates in the flames of desire. No way can Liam have her when Marcus can’t keep his hands off. Too bad he can’t write a happier ending to their blossoming romance.
Crescentia St. Ives’ career as a public defender in New York has taken a toll. Following an emotionally devastating case, she returns to her homeland, St. Lucia. While her uncle is recovering from a heart attack, she helps out with his floundering tour company. The product of a holiday affair, Crescy is determined not to follow in her mother’s footsteps. But her resolve is severely tested when she meets Marcus Sullivan. Can she convince him that they can have more than a fling? Or will his secret be too much to overcome?
Alexia Adams Author Info:
Alexia once traveled the world, meeting new people, experiencing new sights and tastes. She’s lived in Canada, New Zealand, Australia, England, and France, as well as spent time in Panama and Russia. When life demanded that she stay rooted in one place, she took to vicarious voyages through the characters she created in her romance novels. Her stories reflect her love of travel and feature locations as diverse as the wind-swept prairies of Canada to hot and humid cities in Asia.
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EXCERPT CHOICE ONE
Excerpt from Miss Guided by Alexia Adams:
With everyone loaded she reversed the van, wincing at the grinding in the gearbox as she tried to find first gear again. Finally, the gear engaged and she pulled out into the traffic. Drawing on all her professionalism, she gave an abbreviated version of the tour monologue and pointed out the most prominent buildings they passed. Hopefully, the guests wouldn’t demand a refund. She couldn’t wait for the break at Marigo Bay. She needed a cold drink.
When they stopped again, Liam’s eyes fluttered open. They were deep and brown, like rich, melted chocolate. She could see his appeal, and it had nothing to do with his bank balance. But it was incomparable to his brother’s magnetism. Marcus had green eyes that with one look could convince you to do something entirely against your character—and enjoy it. As the man in question exited the van, she sucked in a breath. Damn right she’d enjoy it, but she had a job to do. Clamping down on her desire, she shut off the engine with a silent prayer to the deity of automotive reliance that it would start again.
Marigo Bay was usually her favorite stop of the day. The beauty of the harbor, surrounded by palm trees and steep hills, the serenity of the boats bobbing in the water, somehow gave her comfort. It reminded her of when she was young and her mother would hold her, stroke her hair, and sing songs to her.
“Crescentia, how long are we here for?” Marcus appeared out of nowhere and she dropped the keys.
She bent to pick them up and admired his long length as she did. Not a hint of fat covered his lean body and she bit her bottom lip. Not long enough. “Usually ten minutes or so, enough to take some snaps and buy a drink if you need it. With such a small group our time is pretty flexible, so if you want to stay longer I’m sure that can be accommodated.”
“No, ten minutes is good. Can I get you a drink?”
“Thanks. I’ve got mine with me.” She went around to the back of the van and opened the rear doors. She unearthed the cooler from under a pile of blankets. Grabbing an ice cold water from within, she drank it in one go. It did nothing to cool her.
Two hours later, Crescy admitted to herself she had one very bad case of the hots for a guest. She wasn’t interested in a relationship. Crescentia St. Ives didn’t do holiday affairs. Repeat after me. Then again, Crescentia St. Ives hadn’t met Marcus Sullivan before. And she wasn’t after an affair.
Just an itch that needed to be scratched.