Murder at Chipmunk Lake
Nixie's lost her mojo!
A Nixie and Julian Story. *Paranormal. Hot.*
Nixie Emerson, punk rock musician and first-time mom-to-be, has a stalker. Her band Guns and Polkas has gone national after their big stage debut, but the price of fame is the stalker trying to scare her into leaving the band.
Her husband, master vampire Julian, whisks Nixie away to the Wisconsin north woods--where they meet the stalker on the pier of their cabin and he again threatens Nixie.
Julian punches him out and the couple walks away thinking the problem is over. But when the next evening the stalker is found dead, they find out the trouble is only starting.
Warning: contains a cranky pregnant lady trying to control her swearing, a master vampire appeasing his wife with food and creative sex, murder, mayhem and several arguments over what to name the baby.
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Murder-Chipmunk-Biting-Short-Bites-ebook/dp/B00M8PLC2U/
The fang-plucking action had finally gotten through, and my husband Julian was up for a round of bed bingo.
But between pregnancy, the stalker, and dealing with my apex-predator hubby, I was both keyed up and too tired. “I want to, but…well.”
He smiled. “While I am always ready, willing and able, I actually didn’t mean sex. How about a massage?”
Every aching cell in my body jerked to attention. I blinked. “Foot rub?”
“And back rub and thigh rub, plus I’ll massage oil into your belly.”
I put my hand in his. “Baby Jayden would be grateful.”
“We’re not naming him Jayden.” He drew me to my feet then picked me up and glided with me into the bedroom. “What kind of name is Jayden? No history to it. Now John, or William, or Peter—”
“A potty, a willie and another willie? Uh-uh.”
He sighed as he laid me gently on the bed. “Open your jeans.”
“Don’t you want them off?”
“This is a non-threatening belly rub. But feet first.”
As I fumbled with the maternity jeans’ fastenings, he pulled off my shoes and socks, picked up the lotion, pumped a handful, and warmed it with a brisk rub of hands. Taking my foot, he worked the lotion into the ball.
I groaned. “I love you.”
“This is to make sure that you keep loving me.”
“This is to make sure I keep functioning.”
“That too.” He knuckled the sides of my foot, rubbed the heel, then massaged each individual toe, pulling more ecstatic groans from me.
I managed to get my pants open but my blood pressure was dropping by the minute and my fingers were lovely relaxed noodles. “That’s sooo wonderful. Don’t stop.”
“I value my life, so I wasn’t planning to.” He did the other foot then massaged up my calf.
My tension dropped a level with each circle of his warm, strong fingers.
So by the time he got his hands on my jeans-covered thighs, my fatigue was gone and my tension had turned to something warmer.
I wrestled to my elbows. “How about you help me off with these pants?
He continued to knead muscles, smiling slightly. “In a minute.”
That smile meant he’d expected my change of heart. I love it when he knows me better than I know myself. Being six-plus of jaw-dropping gorgeous doesn’t hurt. “How about now.”
“As you wish.” With one smooth tug he depantsed and depantied me, and with another, slid off both my smock top and bra.
“Dang, you’re good. Practice?”
“Motivation. My lovely wife.”
“And motivation to practice on my lovely wife.”
“Okay, you win.”
As a girl, I spun romantic, happily-ever-after stories to get to sleep. A husband, two degrees, a blackbelt and a family later, I'm delighted to spin them for readers.
I’ve lived with love and loss, in bright times and dark, and learned we can all use a break from reality every now and then.
So join me for action, sparkling wit and red-hot love. Strong men. Stronger women.
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