Failing with his last victim, the Story Mage is desperate to fill his book of tragedy and woe, henceforth begins a tale of lust, revenge…and…love.
Isabella Barton, fleeing from an ex-fiancé after uncovering his ties with the Russian Mafia. After his willingness to bargain her body for business, she finds herself at the childhood home in Rhode Island.
Searching through the aged Victorian mansion, Isabella discovers an ancient book of witchcraft. With nothing to lose, she attempts the spell for “True Love” that insists on flipping open in front of her.
Zachariah, First Sorcerer to the King of Layleah, never expected to be hurtled into the future, ripped from the land of his birth and awaken on a strange beach with a beautiful red-haired, violet-eyed vixen. And, the only thing that can restore Zachariah to his other dimensional world is missing—his amulet.
How can Isabella tell the man she is falling in love with that her existence rests on him loving her in return and choosing to stay, when all he longs for is to find his amulet to return to his home?
Zachariah has a decision to make—stay or leave. He didn’t expect the woman had the ability to ignite a passion he had only ever dreamed of.
Love, lust, revenge, and betrayal follow these two lost souls on a sensual and dangerous journey to discover not just long ago secrets, but their own realities.
Isabella stretched lazily and opened one sleepy eye. Rolling onto her elbow, she watched Ivan in the dim light of the bedroom. He stood at the penthouse dresser, straightening his black silk tie. Although he must have heard her wake, he didn’t turn.
“Be ready at six.” His cultured voice broke harshly into the silence. “I’ll have the limo pick you up. We’re dining with Vladimir Chevtsov and his wife at the Tatiana Hotel.” He turned and trailed a knuckle from her throat to the tip of her breast, not even looking at her face, then swung away to scoop up his dove-gray jacket from the end of the queen-sized bed. Bending, he touched his lips in a hard, passionless kiss to hers and withdrew a slim black jewelry case from his inside jacket pocket. Snapping open the lid, he placed the case on the bedside table. A glittering necklace of diamonds lay displayed on royal blue velvet. Isabella had no doubt the stones were real. However, she viewed them dispassionately, their cold beauty another symbol reminding her she belonged to Ivan.
“Wear something sexy. Chevtsov has a passion for redheads and he is an important man.” Ivan threw her a hasty smile that didn’t quite light his steel-colored eyes and crossed the beige carpet. She heard the door close with a soft click and wondered with a sick feeling when it had happened. When had she exchanged her position as Ivan’s fiancée, the woman he loved, for his whore?
Isabella slid from silken sheets and moved to the same mirror, which had moments before held Ivan’s reflection. She was disgusted by what she saw. When had she grown so weak? When had her soul died, and who was this woman who peered back at her with lifeless eyes and the stink of sex on her too-thin body? What happened to the fresh-faced girl from Rhode Island? Ivan Sergeyev, that is what happened—handsome, educated, sweet-talking, and the right-hand man to the Russian Mafia boss in the U.S.
Ivan owned a chain of five star hotels, which he used as a front to launder money for some of the largest crime names in the country. Isabella sighed, running a hand through the dark red hair that spilled down around her face and shoulders, and turned for the en suite. When was enough enough? She wondered. When would she grow a backbone and take back control of her life?
She reached for the faucet. Steaming water hissed from the shower head, slapping at her breasts, stomach and thighs as she stepped into the enclosure. She could have sworn the shower spray rapped out the tattoo, “never, never, never.” Or was it only her tired mind? She clapped her hands to her ears and let her hot tears mingle with the water that spilled down her cheeks.