No Angels for Christmas by @authorpetie is a Mystery and Suspense Event pick #romanticmystery #books
Title: No Angels for Christmas (Book 2 Mystery Angel Romances Series)
Author: Petie McCarty
Genre:Cozy Romantic Mystery with Suspense
No Angels for Christmas . . . a cozy romantic mystery with suspense from The Mystery Angel Romances series. An angel hidden in every book waiting for you to figure who . . .
Child psychologist Rachel Kelly isn't quite sure how to handle the situation with her newest client -- a six-year-old boy who says he can talk to angels and one is coming to help Rachel. She already has her hands full of trouble this Christmas season, and things quickly take a turn for the worse when a stalker crashes Rachel's Christmas party and takes her young clients hostage.
Police negotiator, Lt. Jake Dillon, walked away from his fiancée Rachel when she suddenly balked at having kids. His kids. Yet when the hostage crisis erupts, Rachel calls Jake first. Now he has a choice to make -- stand back and wait for the cavalry to save Rachel or step in and try to save her himself. Time is running out, and Jake may be their only chance for rescue.
Unless Rachel's little angel-spying client is telling the truth…
Late afternoon, Rachel stepped up to Jake’s apartment door and took a deep breath. Jerry Munson had been a good friend of Jake’s, and she knew Jake would be devastated over Jerry losing his hostages in Buckhead yesterday. Jake had a new partner too and may not want to confide in the guy.
Jake would need to talk to someone about the Buckhead crisis, and she intended to offer her shoulder to lean on. He may not want to see her, but she had to try. For one day, they could set aside their troubles, and she could just be the friend he needed.
She had gone by the station to check on him, when she finished her last session, and had been shocked when Alice told her he’d called in sick, almost as shocked as Alice had been to see Rachel show up in Jake’s office.
Now she second-guessed all her good intentions. What if Jake really was sick? Should she leave? Should she still offer her help?
She raised a finger to press his doorbell, and the front door jerked open. Startled, she jumped back.
“Are you gonna ring the damn bell or just stare at it all afternoon?” a grizzle-faced Jake asked.
His hair stuck out all over, and he had a two-day growth of beard that gave him a dangerous look, compounded by the black tee shirt and sweats he wore.
He bent down until they were nose to nose. “Well?”
“Oh. Um, y-yes, I was going to press the bell, but now the door’s open.”
He straightened, his expression grim. “First Wally and now you.”
“Wally came by earlier to save me from my depression.” He stepped back and held the door wide. “I assume that’s why you’re here. You coming in?”
Her heart thumped so hard she feared he could see the pulse in her neck vibrate with each beat. He looked so sexy all rumpled up like that, and her fingertips tingled again—needing to touch him anywhere to complete the connection.
She stepped past him and reminded herself she was only here today as a friend and a counselor.
“You’d only come to my apartment if you thought I was sick or needed help, right?” Jake asked, reading her thoughts.
“Yes. I mean, no.” She turned quickly to face him and caught the flash of pain in his eyes. “I mean, I—”
Pain from the Buckhead crisis or pain from her?
“Which is it?” he asked flatly.
She should have known he wouldn’t make this easy.
“I went by the station first.”
That apparently surprised him. He recovered quickly. “I’m still waiting for the why.”
“You called in sick. I wanted to see if you needed—”
“Needed what, Rachel? You?”
He closed the door, and the room suddenly shrunk. And grew dark. All the blinds had been pulled, and the only light came from the nearby television.
“I thought maybe you’d need to talk about—”
She stopped. He had taken two steps closer, and she couldn’t think. She took a deep and very audible breath.
“You’ve never been at a loss for words before, Rachel.”
“We’ve never been broken up before,” she blurted.
His eyes widened noticeably, then darkened. At least she thought they did. Tough to tell by TV illumination.
“You’re right,” he said hoarsely. “How do you like it?”
“Me neither,” he growled.
Stay on track. Remember why you’re here.
“Jake, I came by to see you because of the Buckhead crisis.”
“I figured as much.”
She could’ve sworn he looked disappointed for a fleeting moment. That gave her the courage to go on. “To offer my shoulder—”
“To cry on?” he sneered.
“No! To lean on. Please don’t be ugly.”
“I can’t help it. You broke us up.”
Incredulous, she gaped at him. “Me! Must I keep reminding you? You left me.”
He closed the distance between them, so close she could feel his body heat.
“You let me leave,” he said gruffly.
“You let me leave,” he repeated, his face but inches away.
His unique Jake scent wafted over her. She wanted to smother in it. She wanted . . .
“I didn’t want you to go,” she whispered.
He caught her to him in a fierce embrace. No gentle kiss this. It spoke of need and anger and desperation. His. Hers. She didn’t know for sure. Didn’t care. She wanted to cry from the relief of having his arms around her again.
She knuckled her fists into his warm tee shirt and tried to yank him closer, but the shirt was old and stretched unmercifully. His lips smiled against hers as he grabbed a breath and then kissed her again, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers.
She could die from his wonderful familiar taste. She savored, remembered, stored for later. Giving up on the shirt, she wound her arms around his neck to tug him closer, to pull him into her if she could.
Suddenly, his hands at her hips pressed her back, and she shamelessly hung on tighter. He reached up and worked her hands free, then kissed each one.
His eyes had gone black. No doubt a reflection of hers.
“Like coming home, isn’t it?” he rasped, his voice so hoarse it came out as a whisper.
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No Angels for Christmas is Book 2 in the Mystery Angel Romances series. These stand-alone love stories come with different characters, but each has an angel hidden in the plot, and it's up to the reader to figure out who . . .