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Photograph cheating spouses. Hand over the evidence. Cash my check.
That was my plan when I returned home to Holly Woods, Texas, and became a private investigator.
Finding the dead body in my dumpster? Yeah… Given the choice, I think I would have opted out of that little discovery, especially since all three of my brothers are cops. And my Italian grandmother is sure the reason I’m single is because of my job.
Of course, my connection to the victim is entirely coincidental. Until I’m hired by her husband to investigate her murder and shoved bang-smack into the path of Detective Drake Nash.
My nemesis, a persistent pain in my ass, and one hell of a sexy son of a bitch.
Shame he still holds a grudge from that time I shot him in the foot twelve years ago, or we could have something. In another life.
So now all I have to do is avoid my nonna’s blind dates, try not to blackmail my brothers into giving me confidential police files, and absolutely do not point my gun at Drake Nash. Or kiss him. Or jump his bones.
All while I hunt down the killer.
Sounds totally simple—until a second body proves that sometimes things that start as coincidences don’t always end up that way…
“Can I get my purse before you manhandle me across town?”
His lips thin, but he releases me so I can grab it. No sooner have I locked my office door than he’s got my arm in his vice-like grip again and is dragging me down the stairs.
“Gee, thanks for the gesture, but I can escort myself out.”
“I have no problems coming up with an imaginary charge and arresting you for it.”
“Do you realize you’ve mentioned arresting me twice in as many days? Are you fantasizing about me in handcuffs, Detective? Because I’m all for a little kink, but those things hurt like a bitch.”
Drake swings me around and my butt bumps into his cruiser. “Yeah? And you’d know would you?”
“Actually, I would.” I smirk. “If you’re a cop dating a cop, it’s a given.”
Drake’s eyes change from angry to smoldering before I’ve finished my sentence, and he leans in. “Noelle, if the handcuffs hurt, then he didn’t fuck you properly.”
“Sounds like someone uses his cuffs off duty.”
He grabs the door handle, his fingers brushing the side of my ass, and I ignore the sharp breath my lungs are begging me for. “Get in the car, Bond.”
“And here I was thinking you were about to promise to show me how to use handcuffs properly in bed.”
He tugs on the door so I all but fall into him. I’m only steadied by the grip he still has on my arm, although it’s softened a little now.
“If I ever get desperate, I’ve got your number.”
He’s lucky he moves away, because I’m two seconds from jabbing my heel into his foot and giving him another scar to go with the bullet one I gave him twelve years ago.
“Good to know I need to change my number,” I mutter, settling into the car.
Twisted Bond by Emma Hart is a sexy, slow burn, mysterious and suspenseful detective story. This was unlike any story that I have read from this author because Ms. Hart completely surprised in a good way since she kept me guessing throughout the story. I love a book that engages the readers to be truly invested in the characters as layers, evidence, and truths are slowly exposed and peeled to reveal in this case of whodunit.
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By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies - usually wine - and writes books.
Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.
She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE: http://www.amazon.com/Emma-Hart/e/B00A3QSV0M/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1410362990&sr=8-2-ent