WHO WAS THE BEAUTY IN HIS BED? Local law enforcement claimed there was little evidence supporting the danger Brandi Doyle reported she was in. Luckily, Reece quickly discovered the stalker Brandi was running from was the same man Reece was running to…for vengeance. But would their intimate connection only give an elusive criminal more ammunition for murder?
Reviews: Romantic Times (March 2007) On the run from a stalker, photographer Brandi Doyle flees through the woods and stumbles across Reece Covington's cabin. Ex-PI Reece, recently released from prison for a crime he didn't commit, offers to help her especially after he discovers her stalker may be the crooked cop who landed him in jail. Trying to keep Brandi safe, clear his name and get his hands on the right evidence is turning into a dangerous occupation but, as he falls harder for Brandi, Reece is determined to triumph. Shawna Delacorte's Who's Been Sleeping In My Bed? has an intriguing plot and forthright characters.
Read G-rated Excerpt inside front cover
G-rated Excerpt inside front cover: Everything seemed to be in order, except for the woman asleep in his cabin. Reece took in everything about the stranger—the wet clothes clinging to her body, the tousled, short blond hair and a beautiful face that even in sleep was in obvious turmoil. He felt a definite tug on his reality, a strange combination of lust and concern. Should he wake her and demand to know what she was doing in his cabin? He spotted her purse on the end table. As he reached for it she stirred, then jerked to attention. Her eyes went wide with fright as her gaze landed on him. Her voice was anything but firm as she eased her way out of the chair. She moved behind it in an obvious attempt to put a barricade between them. "Who…who are you?" "Well, Goldilocks…this is my cabin, and I want to know why you've been sleeping in my bed."
G-rated Excerpt #1 (opening-Brandi runs for her life) Brandi Doyle glanced back over her shoulder. Panic surged through her body, a panic driven by fear. The rain pelted against her face, stinging her skin. Had she managed to elude her pursuer? The stalker everyone kept telling her didn't exist? The person who was only a figment of her imagination? The very real man who just a few hours ago had abducted her? She dug her shoes into the slippery mud as she fought to maintain her footing in the drenching downpour. Her heart pounded. Her chest heaved with each gulp of air she sucked into her lungs, but she didn't dare slow down. It seemed as if it had been hours since she'd managed to escape from her abductor's car when he'd stopped for gas at the small service station on the mountain road—hours that she had been running through the woods. But a quick glance at her watch told her it had only been thirty minutes. Intellectually, she knew the rain would obscure any trace of her tracks, but she couldn't shake the feeling that her abductor was only a few feet behind her and closing in. She headed in the direction where she thought the lake and some cabins were, a place where she might be able to get some help. It was an area where she had done a lot of photography. If only she could be sure of her exact location. If only she hadn't been blindfolded. A shiver rippled through her body, part anxiety and part chill. She was soaked to the skin without even a jacket to provide a modicum of warmth. It would be dark soon and she needed to find some sort of shelter. She forced herself onward, ignoring the ache in her legs. She had to put as much distance as she could between her and her abductor—and as quickly as possible. Another hundred feet she came to a fire road. She ran parallel to the road, staying in the woods, hidden from view. Shrubbery attacked her legs and arms. Bushes scratched her face and hands, but she knew she didn't dare venture out into the open—she didn't dare expose herself to her abductor. Then she spotted it through the trees—a cabin at the edge of the fire road. A little tremor of excitement tried to take hold.
Reece drove down Brandi's street, taking careful note of every parked car. He didn't drive so slowly that he would look suspicious to the neighbors, but slowly enough that he didn't miss anything. Her sketch indicated a gate from the back alley to her yard and a side door from the yard to the garage. He could enter the house that way without anyone in front seeing him. But first, he wanted to make sure no one was watching from the street. For an hour he had turned things over in his mind as he drove from his cabin to her house. Had he just been pulled into another bad situation by a beautiful woman who appeared vulnerable and seemed in need of his help? Was he being set up again, only this time with a longer prison sentence waiting on the horizon? But could he afford to pass up an opportunity to even things with Frank James, no matter what the risk? He wasn't at all sure he was doing the right thing. Had he ended up frightening Brandi more than instilling a sense of confidence? He touched his fingers to the scratches on the side of his face. Yes, indeed—she had fought to protect herself. Unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of her attack. After that, had he managed to assuage her fears? A flicker of light caught his attention, snapping his mind away from his thoughts and back to the task at hand. The breath froze in his lungs. His senses went on full alert. A man was sitting in a car parked across the street from Brandi's house, his cigarette lighter supplying just enough illumination to see the man's face. There was no doubt in his mind—Detective Sergeant Frank James, recently promoted to the rank of lieutenant. Years of anger and resentment twisted in his gut, turning his insides into a seething cauldron. It took all his conscious control to continue driving in a straight line at the same speed and not do anything to arouse suspicion. When he arrived at the corner he made a left turn so that he could come back through the alley behind Brandi's house. As soon as he was out of the lieutenant's line of sight, he pulled over to the curb and stopped. His worst nightmare and his foremost obsession all rolled up into one. Frank James—the crooked cop who had lied on the witness stand. The man responsible for sending him to prison. Frank James and his cohort, an enticing and devious little sexpot named Cindy Thatcher. Cindy had played him for a fool from day one, and he had been so dazzled that he hadn't seen it coming. |
