Read an ARC of Cassidy’s Touch by Paris
Brandon and loved it! This is a highly original tale that incorporates familiar
character archetypes like witches, ghosts and demons, and gives the reader
something fresh.” Adele Downs, GoodReads
ARC reader
Her gift is a double edged sword.
Will it be enough to save a cursed bootlegger from becoming a demon’s prize?
The least of reality
show host Cassidy Spencer’s worries is banishing the ghost of a handsome
bootlegger who disappeared after being accused of murdering his best friend’s
fiancée. According to an expert, her ghost isn’t a ghost and if she doesn’t use
her psychometric ability to find his body before the witch who cursed him does,
he could end up enslaved by a demon for eternity.
Chance Coraggio
doesn’t remember anything before he could walk through walls and that includes
the crazy woman telling him he’s been asleep for nearly a century. The life he
should’ve lived has been stolen. All the people he has ever loved are dead—and
it turns out the crazy woman isn’t as crazy as he’d hoped.
But waking Chance is
only half the battle. Now, both are bound by blood to a demon’s curse. To break
free, they must find out who is coming for them and why. Because the only
reason for a sleeping curse that has lasted almost a century lies somewhere in
a past that Chance can’t remember.
Excerpt: PG
During her hiatus
from the show, she planned on exploring the possibility of visualization as a
way of handling the aftereffects of her little gift. Learning to concentrate for longer than five seconds might enable
her to “see” the headaches and tremors float away, absorbed by the atmosphere
instead of another human being. That would be a plus if the opportunity for
another relationship ever arose. Which wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.
Because, as much as
she wished otherwise, she couldn’t imagine anyone not caring that she had the
ability to read them through any object they’d touched.
She’d know if they
were lying or cheating.
She’d know if even
for one brief moment they hated or feared her.
Oh, hell; enough of
the pity party.
The water was cooling
faster than it should have. She tried adjusting the temperature, but it never
got any warmer, and she added a water heater to the growing list of items the
house might need. If she ended up keeping the house, it wouldn’t be a huge
problem in the summer, but a winter in Kansas City spent taking tepid baths
wasn’t an option she wanted to entertain.
She turned off the
shower and pulled open the curtain. A shadow was there one moment, filling a
corner of the room, and gone the next. It was almost as if the lights had
flickered on and off. Fabulous. Whether she stayed or not, she’d need an
electrician.
And she probably
shouldn’t trust the fuses to hold up under the addition of a small window-unit
air conditioner until she had the place checked out.
Stepping over the
rolled lip of the tub, she grabbed for a fluffy white towel and blotted her
hair and body but left enough droplets behind to help keep her cool for as long
as possible. Wrapping the towel sarong style, she padded down the hall.
The water on her back
and chest had evaporated by the time she’d made it to her small square bedroom.
Sunrays filtered through the leaves of the huge old tree outside her window,
leaving a dappled pattern on the crisp, white cotton sheets she’d found in the
linen cupboard. They’d been tied with a rose-pink satin ribbon and still held a
trace of her aunts’ loving attention within its threads.
She exchanged the
towel for a short white cotton robe and turned away from her reflection in the
cheval glass at the foot of the bed. The shower hadn’t helped her look any less
tired. This season had been brutal. Between the nonstop shooting schedule and
trying to deal with her grief she’d been on autopilot with barely a minute to
breathe.
The room was
marginally less stuffy since she’d turned on the ceiling fan. Closing her eyes,
she tried to envision the sharp shards of emotional energy dissolving in a
shower of soft, warm sparks that cascaded over her and into the ground. Instead
the shards clung like dark magnets against her skull.
She was lousy at
this.
A breeze chilly
enough to raise goose bumps washed over her bare arms. A shadow flickered
across the mirror. She blinked and for the second time that afternoon caught
movement out of the corner of her eye.
The pale ivory
curtains covering the windows on either side of the wide mahogany dresser had
stopped rippling. The air around her was still—and cold.
“Are you Cassidy?”
rasped a voice that sounded as if it were filtered through a layer of dust.
“Maude said that you could help me.”
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2OpC0sd
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2CkorD1
iTunes: https://apple.co/2NMawaW
Paris Brandon is a
paranormal romantic suspense author who also writes contemporary, erotic, and
historical romance. When not dreaming up stories featuring heroes who aren’t
intimidated by strong heroines, she can be found strolling through antique and
thrift stores searching for vintage treasures, or communing with nature, which
is code for sitting on the patio with a cup of tea and a good book.
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