Just His Taste (18 page)

About the Author

Candice Gilmer lives with her family in Kansas, admiring the beautiful skyline, watching out for tornadoes and occasionally writing. She can be found around the Internet here:

Website:
www.candicegilmer.com

Blog:
candicegilmer.blogspot.com

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/candicegilmerauthor

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Look for these titles by Candice Gilmer

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Fantasy Girl

The Reluctant Prince

Mission of Christmas

Guys and Godmothers

Under His Nose

Before His Eyes

Just His Taste

Sometimes even a fairy godmother needs to call for backup.

Before His Eyes

© 2014 Candice Gilmer

Guys and Godmothers, Book 2

When Fairy Godmother Lilly Bloom gets her latest assignment, the rules send her into a minor panic attack. She must bring two people together—using as little magic as possible.

Photographer Bruce Matthews has finally found someone who really, really gets him. He and Greta like the same things, laugh at the same jokes. There's just one thing—he's never actually seen her face to face. Her social media profile bears no picture.

Much as Greta Vandecall yearns to leave her small town and meet her online prince charming, secrets chain her to the past and force her to hide her face from the world. Secrets she knows would destroy the friendship she values most.

A steampunk convention seems to be the perfect way to meet face to mask. And in the excitement of the moment they connect in a very warm, real way. But cold, hard reality isn't far behind. And if Lilly fails, this time she'll lose her fairy godmother status. For good.

Warning: Stupid decisions, a love of steampunk, and a fairy godmother willing to do whatever it takes to bring two people together.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Before His Eyes:

He'd had multiple reasons for giving Greta the cell phone number. Partly because it would be easier for her to text him if she didn't have to go through Facebook, since she didn't have a smart phone. The other part, though, was more personal.

He'd hoped she would share a photo with him.

So far nothing.

He didn't know how he should feel. Both pumped about talking to Jason, and a little sick.

He'd friggin' asked Jason to get him a photo of Greta.

It had come to him in a blink of clarity—albeit drunken clarity—at the bachelor party. He'd been chatting with her for six months now, and not once had he seen her photo.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

She put up a photo of her toes when she'd gotten a pedicure and had little gears on each nail—very awesome and steampunk. And Bruce loved all things steampunk.

Even toes.

He wanted to know more about those toes.

Snap—his best friend was a private investigator. Jason could find out anything.

Two unconnected ideas came together.

Pics of Greta.

Staring at his phone, he wondered if he should call Jason and tell him to forget it. Everyone had their reasons for privacy.

But Bruce was a photographer. He saw things differently. Pictures were his world, and not knowing what Greta looked like made him nuts.

He didn't care if she was fat or thin or short or tall. He worked with all sorts of people, and saw the beauty in even the most asinine things.

Especially steampunk toes.

He was beginning to think he was a little obsessed with this woman. Maybe the pictures would be a good thing. Then he'd know what she was hiding—and he was sure she was hiding something—and maybe he'd be over this obsession.

Might even want to go on a real date again.

Because spending the night drinking beer and texting Greta did not make a real date.

Might have been more fun if you were there… - Bruce

He walked into his condo, flipped on the lights, turned off the security alarm. His ten-year-old Labrador, Steve, with as much energy as someone who ate the entire turkey on Thanksgiving, turned his head toward Bruce, yawned, stretched, and curled back up in his dog bed in the corner.

“Such a meanie, aren't you?” Bruce said. The dog made a grumble and went back to sleep.

The old boy didn't have much energy left. Regardless of the daily walks and regular vet visits, Steve's days were numbered. Already he'd gotten gray around his nose and mouth. Those big fatty tumors all over him and the arthritis made getting around harder for the dog.

Bruce took a seat on the couch, setting his phone on the coffee table. Or would have, if he hadn't seen the reply from Greta.

Hardy har har… - Greta

He slipped off his shoes, smirking.

Knew that was coming.

Steve groaned, hobbling over to the couch, and climbed up. The dog grunted and laid his head in Bruce's lap. He stroked the dog's head, and in a flash the dog snoozed again.

So he answered Greta's text.

You woulda had your pick of hot guys… - Bruce

Even if I was the last woman on earth, I would never invade a bachelor party... - Greta

If you were the last woman on earth, then who'd be getting married? - Bruce

He picked up his tablet, grinning as his email loaded, because he couldn't wait to see what she'd say. Not that he wanted to see if he had any new work orders come in. He was much more—

Ping.

Maybe you all are gay, and what would I want with you? - Greta

He laughed, waking up Steve. “Sorry pal.”

The dog snorted and lay back down.

Must reply…

Thought women loved to “turn” gay men. - Bruce

After hitting send, he wondered if she'd laugh. And then wondered what her laugh sounded like. Again it hit him that he'd never seen her smile. Didn't know what color her eyes were.

He shook off the rather sentimental thoughts and turned to his emails. Work beckoned. Three new cover art request forms, two photography inquiries, and seventeen spam messages.

Bruce started with the cover art requests, scanning the forms Clandestine Publishing, an ebook publisher, had sent. God, he hated the name of the company. But even if he did, their checks never bounced.

The first two were pretty simple. He could knock those out pretty fast—the authors were veterans of the publisher. They sent links to photos, and were pretty simple in their requests.

The third had a little more—good God, she wanted a goat on the cover?

He rolled his eyes.

He started doing ebook cover art a few years ago because his sister Denise had asked him to do a cover for her first release with Clandestine Publishing. And hey, he was a good brother. Why wouldn't he? The publisher liked his work, so he started doing more.

The book covers supplemented his photography work, and whenever he could, he used his own stock, which helped both businesses. Now he did between four to seven covers a month—and on a couple of rare occasions, as many as fifteen.

Jason and Roark didn't know about the cover work, though Bruce kept a small gallery of it on his photography website, since he used his own photos. Which showed how much his friends actually looked at his website.

He knew his friends would razz him forever. So he didn't bring it up.

His phone beeped.

Some women like a challenge. - Greta

Now that couldn't go unanswered.

You can't outrun love, especially when it runs on four legs.

Love's a Witch

© 2014 Roxy Mews

Hart Clan Hybrids, Book 2

Since a very real set of vampire fangs sank into her arm, Mary Fields has accepted that she's part of a magical world where all her dreams and visions finally make sense.

As she journeys to find a Wiccan mentor who'll help her get a handle on her new powers, she clings to the one relic from her former life—a sketchpad. She also tries to ignore the red mating aura she's beginning to see around her only companion on the trip—the hottie she used to read to at the library.

Mary's readings were once a fun distraction from the cruel joke the supernatural world played on Craig Hart. He's supposed to protect her from vampires out to make her their personal blood supply, yet he can't bring himself to keep his paws off.

As Mary digs deep for the inner strength to protect herself, one stumble off her magical path sends her straight into Craig's arms. Where love burns…but so does a truth that could turn that red mating aura into a river of blood.

Warning: This book contains outdoor sex without the benefit of bug spray, and erotic biting that could result in involuntary eruptions of fur.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Love's a Witch:

Great. Don't leave me alone with a candle. Yet another thing I could consistently screw up. I was only doing twenty or so other things wrong on a daily basis. It's a good thing we found something new to keep up the variety.

My best bud, Amber, let me keep my name, Mary Fields. At first I thought it was because she didn't want me to lose my identity, but now, cleaning up the burnt remnants of the hotel curtains for the second time in as many days, I'm starting to wonder if she just didn't want me to screw up my name too.

I'm not a pyromaniac, I swear. I was trying to trance. I was trying to use the magic I'm supposed to have as a witch. When I let go of my consciousness I must thrash around a lot more than I thought. Or maybe the drapes were doused in gasoline. Normal curtains don't really burn that fast, do they?

I've had psychic dreams for, well, as long as I can remember dreaming. Swirly electric wisps, neon blue hazy clouds, and various other things pop up when I am sleeping that would make any normal person believe they got a bad batch of weed. Those are the dreams I need to pay attention to. Those are the ones that come true. Even with the freaky psychic stuff, though, I'd rather not clean up these curtains. How far up the wall did the smoke go? I put it out fast, but fire is pretty speedy.

Working with the local Wiccan coven in Chicago was supposed to help me train. It worked out okay for a while. They tried to teach me some basics, but a klutz isn't welcomed into the circle during athame work.

I learned two things the night they let me hold the knife. First, making a high priestess bleed when she wasn't expecting it…not cool. Second, when you live with vampires, coming home smelling like blood is a lot like walking into a Weight Watchers meeting with powdered sugar on your shirt.

Did I mention that? My best friend is a vampire now. A larger-than-life vampire/werewolf hybrid actually. Amber towers above me by at least half a foot and even though women that tall aren't common, undead women who can shift into a giant dog are even rarer.

I had a dream the night before she turned vampy, with all the neon blue clouds and green and purple electric swirls. In the dream I walked into the parking lot in front of Amber's building and saw her there, standing in front of her own tombstone. She laid a flower on the ground and crushed the stone with a bad ass stiletto boot and one swift kick. Then she turned to me and told me it was time to go. The clouds surrounded us and that was all I got.

When I woke up, I knew this wasn't one of the dreams I could wait to play out. I knew this time I needed to suck it up and let my best friend know I was crazy. Turned out I wasn't. Just uninformed. A phone call with Amber didn't tell me much, but the next twenty-four hours gave me an education I never expected to get outside of a horror flick.

I can admit to being kind of freaked out. A lot of my dreams have heavy symbolism. The witches said it's because I don't know how to tap into my natural psychic ability, and it leaks out at night. Hence the trancing and the subsequent cleaning up of the curtains that obviously weren't flame retardant.

The smoke was still heavy in the air when the door to my room burst open. The chain gave way with a loud clang and the knob was ripped from the hollow paneled door. Craig Hart stood there, sniffing the air, then let his hand fall to his side and his sleek golden eyes narrow.

“Do you want to go back to sharing space with two hybrids still in their honeymoon phase? If you keep burning down our hotel rooms we're going to be forced to get menial jobs, or drastically cut expenses.” Craig was mad. He always seemed to be on edge around me. The way I kept setting things on fire I couldn't blame him.

Craig was in charge of the Clan's financial matters. Amber had decided a group of hybrids would be called a ‘Clan'. Not that I needed to know any of this since she wouldn't let me play her reindeer games, but Amber was the first female leader of a group of hybrids who had broken away from both the vampire and werewolf traditions.

Even though both she and Jake lead the group together, she had the ultimate power. Normally this was a man's world. Like everything else in her life now, Amber ignored any tradition she didn't like. She was making up a whole new set of terms. Nobody was willing to call her a queen yet, but that didn't stop her from trying.

Craig's a werewolf. Amber and her mate had offered to turn him into a hybrid, but he said no. Since Amber had almost died when she turned, I can't say I blame him.

“You got me, Craig. I meant to burn the place down. It's all part of my master plan to send smoke signals to the vampires who are trying to kill my best friend. 'Cause I'm a heinous bitch like that.” Sarcasm is the one thing I do right. You could say I'm fluent. “And he who rips doors off the frame, shouldn't throw stones.”

Craig held up the knob I don't think he realized was still in his hand and cursed. “I'll go pay for repairs. You might as well pack up. They usually kick us out when we cause this much damage.” He didn't even look back at me as he let the door slam shut behind him.

Of course it bounced open again, due to the lack of a doorknob.

There was no denying it. There were a lot of hotels on our way west that had pictures of the four of us on their DO NOT RENT lists. Luckily, we had a pretty good nest egg which Amber's dad had set aside for us when we made our speedy escape.

I really missed Amber's dad. I used to go to their family dinners all the time. Now that I understand everyone in attendance had been a werewolf, the epic amounts of food made a lot more sense. Alpha Paulson, and his beta wolf, who we all called Doc, stayed behind when we ran.

Did you catch the part about vampires trying to kill us? That would be Amber's mate's father, Kevin Meyers. He is the Matheo, head vampire dude, to the Meyers Family vampires in Indianapolis. At least he was living there when we left. The Matheo was less than excited about his son, Jake, mating with a local werewolf.

It's a long story.

Jake and Amber lead the Clan I'm traveling with. Amber is a force of nature. She's loud, crude, and I am pretty sure she has no brain-to-mouth filter. Jake is her mate, and I have never seen a couple overcome so much to be together.

We all had to drop out of college to run from the vampire Family who wanted to carve Jake's brain from his head to harvest his miasma. That is what the vampires called the photographic memory bonded to his grey matter. Amber stole Jake and his magical brain away, so she was on the chopping block. I just saw too much. Being that vampires enjoyed drinking from humans, and the werewolves wanted to avoid becoming a science project, it was better for me to disappear. Run or find out how they planned to deal with me. The choice wasn't hard.

The whole fight began over fifty years ago when Amber's dad found out the Matheo of the Meyers vampires was mated to the shewolf who attacked him and his family. Shit got real. A treaty was put in place. To ensure the safety of the children involved, there was to be no fraternizing between the hybrid baby, Jake, and kept-in-the-dark wolf, Amber.

I could have told these yahoos that whenever you vow to keep a girl and guy apart they are destined to fall in love. Read any epic romance novel. The people who shouldn't be together always make for the sweetest happily ever afters when they finally make it to the end.

In this end, Amber was turned into a hybrid. She ended up with some extra strength and became the first female to lead a supernatural sect. Sure, all of that came with a death sentence from her father-in-law, but seeing the beautiful mating aura that surrounded those two… I was honored to run for my life with them. Although I'm still not sure why, Craig came with us too. He was the only other member of Amber and Jake's Clan. I am the fourth wheel. The one that spun out of control on occasion and set things on fire.

If I could join the Clan I would in a heartbeat. Humans, even with witchy powers, don't have the ability to join a supernatural faction. I asked if there was a secret handshake or pledge. Amber said there was something that physically tied them, something they couldn't make happen for me. I even tried speaking some of the ceremonial words the werewolves and vampires used to connect to their Packs and Families. Nada.

I'm pretty sure Craig hated that I was coming along. He never really came near me unless I was in danger of fatally injuring myself, or burning something. Such a shame. Craig had a body that would have been right at home on the cover of one of my erotic romance novels. Heck, he wouldn't even need the artist to add the fangs for the paranormal pictures. He had his own. He was a giant wall of muscly man. He took his shirt off a lot. I enjoyed it a lot more than I should have, but unlike my best friend, I'm very much alive.

Craig towered over my 5'4” frame. I had brown ordinary wavy hair, and blue eyes. I liked my eyes and used to think they were something that made me stand out. Then Amber turned hybrid and got these amazing eyes that looked like a starburst. They even glowed on occasion. My only distinguishing feature was outdone again.

All I had that was different now were my dreams, and those just made me strange. Among a Clan of vampire and werewolf hybrids, that was a feat. It wasn't anything new though. I grew up in a foster home and the one time I told my foster parents about the dreams they threatened to send me away. I knew there were some skeevy people out there, so I just kept my mouth shut, and got out the day I turned eighteen.

I tried so hard to blend in when I got to college. Then I met Amber. She was tall and strong, and so confident. Something drew me to her, and I loved how she could just be herself. She ate like a horse, wore whatever she wanted, and had the best dad ever. She had the most beautiful colors too. She radiated a purple with green lightning strikes. The witches told me I was seeing her aura. Craig had said something similar in passing. Whatever.

I don't always see the colors around people. It's usually when they are going through a strong emotion. Black with anger or extreme pain, blue with sadness, yellow with happiness and red with passion. I had never seen purple before I met Amber.

And because I met Amber, I was now stuck in this hotel room cleaning up burnt fabric. I pulled a bedspread off the queen-sized mattress, and hung it over the large window that led out to the walkway. No need for anyone to watch me do this. Especially no need to remind Craig. He was already pissed off.

The first time I met Craig he was working his library assistant job on campus. He held full-time hours there, so once I noticed him, it was easy to run into him whenever I wanted. He had the same purple glow Amber did. No offense to Amber, but I liked looking at Craig a lot more.

He wore glasses when he worked at the library to read the print. He would always take them off to look at me when I talked to him. I could see his honey colored irises flex when he looked at me. I would get lost in them.

I'm not even sure why he kept talking to me when I followed behind his restock cart. I was a dim bulb next to his strikingly bright aura, but we both loved talking about history. I read a lot of historical romance novels, and he had to tell me how historically inaccurate a lot of them were. I loved it when I found some that had it right. He would return the smiles I gave him at the library. Now I saw more of his tense back than his smiling face.

I used to read books to him while he returned the dropoffs or did cataloging. He would listen, and call out any incorrect facts or mannerisms that just wouldn't exist in that time period. Then I tried some edgier books, reading some of those scenes out loud to him. Wow. Let's just say if the man didn't get a little aroused from my words, he carried one hell of a tool in his pocket.

That time together among the stacks of books was sexy, it was fun, and now…now we were busy trying to get me to understand my powers, and it didn't happen anymore. I suggested it once. Craig shot me down. He said there were more important things to do.

The only other hobby I had was my art. I did keep a few sketch pads with me when we took off, but I could only draw for so long. It was a bit bittersweet every time I picked up my colored pencils. Memories of the mural I had been doing at the children's hospital snuck into my thoughts. Now I had filled up cheap notebooks with the way Craig looks staring out the window of the car, or the way he stands outside our hotels to sniff the air and make sure we are safe.

I begged Amber to let me watch them change into wolves once for a little more inspirational material. She told me they got naked first. I told her I really didn't mind, but it was a definite Do-Not-Pass-Go. She said I was her best friend and she wasn't going to risk losing me. I think that was a bunch of bull. I'm human, sure. But I hung out with a lot of supernatural beings before. Only difference now was that I knew what they were.