Ellie Reynolds runs a nail salon that caters to shifters of all varieties. The proverbial shift hits the fan when billionaire mogul Jackson Lawrence walks in the door and offers Ellie two million dollars to sell her shop. Ellie has no intention of selling out, especially to someone who plans to bulldoze her shop to the ground and replace it with a fast food joint. Their battle of wit and will is brought to a sudden halt when Jackson’s enemies appear, throwing them into a fight for their lives.
Jackson believed he’d left violence behind when he resigned his position with the Blood Wolves, a secret shifter military group, but someone wants his company’s cyber invention and will stop at nothing to get it. He didn’t mean to drag Ellie into his mess, but he’s willing to do anything to protect her and the firewall his friend created…anything except fight his attraction to the outspoken redhead he’s suddenly responsible for. Jackson soon learns Ellie is hotter than he first gave her credit for…like dragon hot…and life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
Sometimes shift happens when you least expect it.
Reader Note: contains BBW heroines, billionaires, humor, werewolves, dragon shifter, and paranormal erotic romance elements
Targeted Age Group:: 18-45
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I’ve always loved romantic comedy. The title came to me and it pretty much snowballed from there. I also returned to a BBW woman. It’s always fun to take a heroine who’s “normal” and make her extraordinary!
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
I always put a little bit of me in each of my characters. Red hair, left-handed, sarcastic sometimes. Yep, my traits are inherited by my characters.
Ellie grabbed a rag and disinfectant. She was in the middle of wiping down the station when the doorbell chimed. Before looking up, she called out a cheerful greeting. “Good morning, Mrs. Sussman.”
“Good morning.” The deep, chocolate-sweet tone traced fingers down her spine. Whoever it was, was definitely not Mrs. Sussman. Ellie glanced at the visitor and experienced a set of trembles to rival the world’s strongest earthquakes.
Holy shit. Jackson Lawrence.
The Jackson Lawrence. Atlanta’s most eligible bachelor and a billionaire ten times over. Maybe a hundred. Hell, there were more zeros in his bank account than she had toes. Why was he in Polished? And more importantly, why did he choose a bad hair day to visit her salon?
She tossed the rag aside and smoothed a hand over her frizzy red curls before strolling forward. Her knees knocked every step of the way. Could he see them? Dear Lord, don’t let him see her wobble. “May I help you?”
Sea-green eyes locked with hers. “Yes, you may. I’m looking for Ellie Reynolds.”
Holy shit! Conscious of the looks Antoinette shot her, Ellie pretended to be a suave, cool professional. “I’m Ellie Reynolds. What can I do for you? Do you need to make an appointment?”
No way could she hold his hand in hers and even pretend to work on his nails.
“Not today.” Jackson’s gaze roamed her face, dipping down to the tie-dyed purple, blue, and yellow smock she wore with her name embroidered in pink thread. “You’re the owner?”
Did she detect sarcasm? And what was wrong with her smock? It had character, or at least she’d thought so when she’d ordered a dozen of them.
She propped a hand on her hip and lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, I am. And you are?”
A strangled laugh escaped Antoinette from somewhere behind her. Ellie ignored the flutters of apprehension in her belly and waited for Jackson’s response.
God, he was even sexier in person than in the magazines, with perfectly groomed brown hair and a hint of stubble on his angled jaw, like he’d shaved the day before but forgot to that morning. He was several inches taller than her, and his physique rivaled her favorite action heroes: bulging chest and arms, with a trim waist and thick thighs. His lips were entirely too kissable, almost as if they would appear plump if he hadn’t tightened them into a firm, straight line.
Dressed in a black sweater and faded jeans, he should be just like any good-looking man in Atlanta, but Jackson Lawrence was anything but normal. The rumor was he’d turned his back on his pack when he was a teenager, a definite no-no in the world of shifters. Then he’d become a lone wolf. A rogue. A shifter guaranteed to induce heat in any female he met.
Her imagination supplied images best left to the bedroom. She made a mental note to cool it on the romance novels. Her hormones were already in overdrive without an extra dose from the erotic love stories she preferred.
Jackson straightened the pile of magazines she’d left strewn on the counter. Very clean freakish of him. Figured. A man who looked like he did couldn’t be perfect. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the world.
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