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Publisher Description

She’s a smart, somewhat delusional, shy but cocky female writer with no family but for a couple of odd friends whose past company have given her plenty of reasons to hate cops. Until him. Sometimes, though, he’s too close for comfort.
Forget work, the beach, dirty dead cops, and her infuriating cop of a boyfriend’s overprotectiveness. She wants to pretend the last weeks even happened and what better place for her ignorance bliss than Italy?
He’s a tough, no-nonsense, independent forty-ish chief homicide detective, more bent on getting results than following the law. He has money to spare and nothing to lose. Until her. He does things his way, and does them thoroughly, including her.
The two like each other. Sparks fly. It would be just your romantic love affair if the damn woman weren’t such his reluctant angel. Thankfuckinggod he’s patient. What else is there for him to do except varnish a wood bench and go fishing? Only for you, Angel of mine. And while he awaits her return, he might even agree to help an old leather-clad ex search for her step-son. And why the hell not, he’s on vacation after all.
He had left messages, one for each morning, afternoon and evening. “Call me,” they all said, without one mentioning the Dom. Apparently, jet lag, exhaustion, and sadness did not mix well for she called regardless.
He answered on the first ring. “About time, Princess.”
She caught her breath. How could he still do this to her? “Hi.” Should she tell him she knew?
“You sound funny. Is everything all right?”
“Groovy.” She paused; he was so infuriating! “What are you doing?”
“Fishing for what?”
“What do you mean, fishing for what? Are you sure you’re OK? Where are you calling from?”
“Where do you think I’m calling from, Big guy?”
Pause on his end. “The transmission’s great. So, what have you been doing?”
“I’ve been busy getting fat on food, drunk on wine and numbed from, hum, well, you know.”
“No, I do not know. Getting tired on what? You had better be tired of walking, Angel.”
She liked his voice, soothing and even; he had a deep, sexy voice. “A lot of things have exhausted me. How about you, Big guy?”
Another pause. She didn’t like when he took too long to answer; his breaks meant he was protecting her. She imagined too well from what, who he was shielding her this time: his old dominatrix friend. “I miss you, Angel. How about I come over?”
“Would you?”
“Yes. Right away. Where are you?”
“I’m, hum,” she hesitated. His voice was too level; he had the cop face on no doubt. Fishing indeed, but not for fish! Well, Christopher. I think it’s time I did some fishing myself. “I called Bridget earlier. How come you went to the precinct on your vacation?”
“How come you called my secretary on your vacation?”
“I wanted to ask Bridget if she wanted anything Italian. What’s your excuse?”
“I needed a few things.” I bet you did, Big guy. Leather, oversized breasts and a whip, “An old acquaintance stopped by.”
Old acquaintance my ass! The arrogance of him, he wasn’t even claiming his innocence! “Ah. Really?”
“I told you about her. Jessica.” She had never heard of a Jessica-the-dominatrix in her life. “She saw me in the papers.”
“Did she now? How nice.” She did more than see you in the newspapers. Did she scrub your back? “Patricia?”
“I like it when you’re jealous.”

August 1
V. P. Trick
Smashwords, Inc.

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