Empath Wanted BLURB Three Fortunian males soon heatedly persue her: a drop-dead gorgeous prince who claims Isabelle is his prophesied bonded mate; his cousin, an Adonis who woos with wicked smiles and stolen kisses; and the commander of the royal guard, who invokes the bond challenge--one full day and night spent in his company... alone together. Choices, choices. All these men, a new job, AND a murder mystery to solve with her psychic skills. Oh my, Isabelle will be a very busy girl indeed. REVIEWS
EXCERPT Planet Earth The Year 2037 Isabelle Pentriss, 26-year-old self-proclaimed failure, sat in her small Kansas apartment fretting. She’d just lost another job, this time through no fault of her own, and her spirits were now as flat as her wallet. She was on a one-way road to loserville and desperate to find a detour. A job, she thought, a good job. That wasn’t too much to ask. And it wasn’t as if she lacked skills—why, she could…a fatalistic sigh escaped her mouth; she couldn’t do much of anything, really. The only talent she had was her life-long ability to “read” people. She’d always been able to judge basic character by viewing a person’s aura, to feel their emotions through touch—even picking up an actual stray thought or memory on occasion. But rather than revel in her empathic abilities, Isabelle found them to be isolating and often a burden. And they certainly couldn’t pay her rent. Snapping out of her pity party for one, she focused on the central tele-communicator before her, its screen displaying today’s galaxy--wide job opportunities. Eyes scanning the ads, she paused on one for a minimum wage bagging position at the corner Piggly Wiggly grocery store. Yeah—right! She was desperate but not yet suicidal. Snorting, she read the next ad and her breath caught in her lungs. Was this a joke? Shaking her head, her eyes scanned the telecom screen once more as her hand absentmindedly moved to her hair and wound a cropped brown curl around her finger. Unbelievably, the advertisement still read the same the second time around:
WANTED Female Empath No Formal Experience Necessary Planet Fortuna, House of Borgio Start Immediately Call for Personal Interview Starcon 955
Fascinated, Isabelle stopped toying with her hair and slowly reached for her communicator pad, entering the ad’s number before second thoughts, saner thoughts, changed her mind. After all, she really had nothing to lose.
* * * * * Planet Fortuna House of Borgio The Following Day She was here! His long wait was over. Body tensed, he watched her through the monitor and thought her to be the most gorgeous creature he had ever beheld. Zeff softly traced her body’s image on the monitor’s screen with his thumb. Isabelle Pentriss. Finally here, and mine, all mine. Taking a deep calming breath, he dragged a hand ruthlessly through his thick ebony hair and stalked towards the formal waiting room to meet her. Down the hall, Isabelle fretted. Fretting was something she practiced routinely. She had fret down pat. “I must be nuts,” she muttered to herself. Agitated, Isabelle shoved herself up from the waiting room’s couch and started pacing. “It’s not like I have a chance in hell of getting this job. I’m just wasting everyone’s time. And on top of that, I’ll probably somehow manage to make an ass of myself.” Placing a hand on her stomach to calm the butterflies raging inside, she settled back down on the couch. Her nerves were already shot and she hadn’t even had the interview yet. Ruefully, she rolled her eyes. The waiting room’s door clicked and began to open. Isabelle jerked back upright to stand on leaden limbs. Nervously she smoothed her sweaty palms down her apricot silk pantsuit and turned toward the opening door. Her eyes widened and the butterflies in her stomach started dancing around to the rumba instead of a waltz. The man standing in the doorway was unbelievable. Tall and solidly built with sleek muscles and classic features, he just oozed testosterone. His hair was longer than hers, jet-black and brushing along his broad shoulders. His soft smile was at odds with the burning intensity she saw in his light blue eyes. And oh shit, he had dimples! She was such a sucker for dimples. The man’s aura, though, just might be the most incredible thing about him, mused Isabelle. Blinding white for integrity, some violet for humor and enough red to signify quite a libido. Reaching out to shake her hand, he introduced himself. “Welcome Isabelle, my greetings to you. I am Prince Zeff Durel Santoa Borgio. I hope your transport here went smoothly.” Flustered, Isabelle cleared her dry throat and tentatively extended her hand. “Prince Borgio, I’m honored.” She always steered clear of touching others unless her protective mental shields were firmly in place, but her thoughts and nerves were too jumbled to think clearly. The second her hand touched his, though, reality crashed down on her. “Uh oh,” she whispered as her eyes rolled back in her head, legs buckled, and all went black.
* * * * * Isabelle roused to warm hands on her naked skin. Still in a dreamy state, she felt firm lips nuzzle her ear, nipping lightly on the lobe. Breathing a moan, she tilted her head to the side to allow better access to her ear and neck. The large hand on her waist moved slowly to cup her round, pert breast, palming it and gently squeezing. Her nipple tightened and beaded. As the lips left her ear to trail over her cheeks and eyelids, the hand at her hip slid under her, grasping her rounded buttock rhythmically. Moaning louder, Isabelle restlessly shifted and opened her legs. “Yes, Belle,” a masculine voice crooned. “Open for me.” At the sound of the voice, Isabelle’s eyes snapped opened. Slamming her legs closed and whipping her mental shields up, she croaked, “What’s going on?” Her amazed stare collided with his. Stunned, she questioned, “Prince Borgio? What are you doing? Where am I?” His hands stilled but held her firmly in place. “Easy, Belle. You are in my chambers, in my bed, and I am helping to wake you.” A small, fleeting smile curved the prince’s mouth before his warm tongue traced her lips. He added, “You fainted.” “I did?” “Yes, my sweet. Are you feeling better now?” “Uh, Prince Borgio? I’m naked. You’re naked. Maybe on your planet this is how you wake up job applicants, but where I come from this is considered quite, well, forward. Maybe even illegal.” This site contains ADULT content. Over 18 only.
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