Monday, July 24, 2017

Saving Mr. Perfect



Giveaway Alert!


“A sexy, fun, cat-and-mouse chase that hooked me from page one!”

JENNIFER PROBSTNew York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author of The Marriage Bargain


SAVING MR. PERFECT

She’s a famous jewel thief.

He's FBI.

What's that saying? Keep your friends close...and your husband closer.

Being a retired jewel thief certainly has its perks.

1. Oh, wait.
2. No it doesn’t.

Without the thrill of the chase, life’s been pretty dull. Penelope gardens, drives her gorgeous husband up the wall, and watches as her old world slowly slips away. But what’s that old saying? When one thief closes the door…a copycat jimmies open a window.

And now all fingers at the FBI are pointed at her.

Set up to take the fall for thefts worth millions, Penelope have no choice but to strap on her heels and help her FBI agent husband track the thief. Grant might not think he needs a partner, but this is one case only a true professional can solve. Besides, she’s got to know who’s been taking her bad name in vain.

Let's just hope curiosity doesn't kill the cat burglar.


Excerpt:

“I’m sorry,” Grant says. “I don’t mean to be so overbearing, but you have to remember that as much as I love you, you’re not a favorite with everyone at the Bureau.”
“Give me time,” I say. “I’m only one woman. It might take me a few years, but I’ll get there.”
His lips twitch. “Penelope…”
“And it’s not as if he said or did anything bad,” I add, eager to leverage that oh-so-promising break in his exterior. “We mostly talked about you. He seemed nice.”
“That man is not nice. I don’t want you to have anything to do with him or with this case from here on out. Promise me.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” I scoff. “I’m not a child you can order around.”
“Promise me,” he repeats, firmer this time. He also takes an anticipatory step forward, though I’m not sure whether it’s to kiss me or throttle me. “If there’s any self-preservation in that crooked heart of yours, you’ll swear not to have anything to do with Christopher Leon or the Peep-Toe Prowler.”
As if I could promise that now.
“Why? What are you hiding from me?”
“I’m not hiding anything,” he says too quickly, his normally implacable exterior slipping. “Could you please be conciliatory for once in your life and do as I ask?”
I think about it. I really do—for a whole two seconds and everything—but there’s more to this situation than he’s letting on. A man doesn’t grow distant and moody from his loving wife for no reason. He doesn’t throw around sex shoes unless he’s trying to create a distraction. And most importantly, he doesn’t lay down mysterious ultimatums without secretly wanting her to do everything in her power to determine the cause.
That one’s plain common sense.
“I can promise to try not to get in the way,” I hedge. Trying not to do something always makes for a good promise, since there’s no real rubric for measurement. I tried not to steal things for years. I just wasn’t any good at it. “But you can’t ask me to pretend this whole conversation never happened—that these past few months haven’t happened.”
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“Yeah, but I’m emotionally invested in the Peep-Toe Prowler now. I want to catch her as much as you do.”
It’s only through sheer force of will that Grant suppresses his smile in time. “Penelope, so help me…”
“Helping you is what I intend to do.” I stand on my tiptoes to graze his jaw, rough in all the right ways. “I can, you know. I might be able to access information that’s closed to you. Thieves talk.”
“You aren’t a thief anymore, remember?” He makes a vague gesture around the room. “The walls have ears.”
“And you did want me to get a hobby…”
“Swimming is a hobby. Interfering in a federal investigation is obstruction.”
“It’s not obstruction if I help you solve the case,” I point out. “Besides, didn’t you just say you wouldn’t arrest your own wife?”
His reluctant and groan-filled laugh is all the confirmation I need to know I’ve won this round. A nice side effect of having an important and busy husband is that he can’t always spend as much time arguing as he’d like. He has a job to get back to.
Unlike me. I, unfortunately, have nothing to do and no one to do it with. I’m not one of the good guys, but I can no longer be one of the bad ones, either. I’m just a housewife with nothing but time on her hands and mischief on her mind.
“To be perfectly honest, my love,” he says with a mock sigh, “the idea of putting you behind bars grows more appealing every day.”


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