It all started when he found me, naked, in an alley, locked out of my hotel room.
There I was with my naked ‘derrière’ waggling behind a dumpster, and in walks Mr. 1950s with his expensive suit, smooth voice, and long hair that I could just see myself tangling my fingers in.
Mr. 1950s was just the start, and now I’m stuck in a palpitating version of “It’s Raining Sexy Dragons”. You might think that that’s the beginning of some epicly sexy happy ever after, but that’s not quite my style.
You see, I’m a phoenix shifter and I am being hunted by the baddest Mother F-er around. A king who thinks I’m the key to eternal life, and wants to drink my blood to get there. Sick.
These dragons are sure putting a wrench in my plans for staying alive, and not just because it’s killing me having to keep my hands off them.
Because, I want my hands to be everywhere. Hair. Lips. Legs… Ho-ly! No! I need to keep myself sane, alive, and clothed. Most definitely clothed.
Did you know a shifter has a “bristling mating instinct” when it comes to their mate.
Yeah, neither did I. And here I am with three. I thought you were only supposed to have one.
I am so screwed.