Who Will Save Your Soul: And Other Dangerous Bedtime Stories by Skye Warren
Publication date: April 14th, 2020
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
Features four novellas by New York Times bestselling author Skye Warren. Each standalone story ends in a happily ever after.
WHO WILL SAVE YOUR SOUL
Emily's a pathological liar. When her life is at stake, will anyone believe her?
MAFIA CINDERELLA
One dress. One dance. Lucia has one chance to change her life--and the lives of her family.
BEDTIME STORY
Jessica is on the run when her car breaks down. A small town sheriff can't be her knight in shining armor.
HEAVY EQUIPMENT
Cold. Rough. Merciless. The foreman of the construction crew is going to make her pay every last cent.
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Excerpt
"What are you doing here?" I sputter.
He lifts a crystal tumbler, one finger of some no-doubt expense liquor at the bottom. "Having a drink. You said the kitchen was off limits, but I was thirsty. Hope this is okay."
His twinkling dark eyes tell me he knows it's not okay.
Challenge lights the air between us, electric and hot. Part of me wants to pick up the phone on the side table and call mother. The second she knows he's stomped all over her oriental rugs with his muddy work boots, he's fired.
That would be a cheap win, though. Too easy. Too banal. Besides, I like the thought of him stomping all over her oriental rugs with his muddy work boots.
"Of course," I say, sarcasm sharpened my words. "We always offer gardeners top shelf vodka."
He merely lifts a dark eyebrow. How is it possible for eyebrows to look low class? His do. They're a mess, broad and unruly. I want to run my tongue over them, smooth them out.
"Do you always show up half-dressed for them, too?" he asks in a musing tone. "Because that's a real perk. They should put that in their classified ad."
My cheeks burn hot as I realize how little I'm wearing. The bath towel covers from the slope of my breasts to the tops of my thighs. It's held together by so little--only the tuck of terry cloth. If it came undone right now I'd be naked in front of him.
"Tell me your name," I demand, lifting my chin.
"So you can tell your mother about me?"
"Maybe I will."
"And if I tell her that you came downstairs in only a towel? That you tried to have sex with me? That you were the one who drank half the bottle of scotch?"
My mouth drops open. "That's a lie."
"Does that surprise you? That other people lie, too?" He must see the shock on my face; his smile is smile and smug. "Yes, I know about you. Poor little Emily Coulter, can't tell the truth to save her life."
A knot around my throat, pulled taut by thick dirt-stained fingers. "How would you know that?" That's my family's dirty little secret, but not the worst one. Not by far.
"I know lots of things."
"And anyway, why are you back already? It's only been three days. The hedges don't need to be trimmed every damn day."
His smile comes slow. "You don't trust me?"
Not as far as I could throw you."
There's something strange about him, something a little dangerous.
Unfortunately that only makes me like him more.
He lifts a crystal tumbler, one finger of some no-doubt expense liquor at the bottom. "Having a drink. You said the kitchen was off limits, but I was thirsty. Hope this is okay."
His twinkling dark eyes tell me he knows it's not okay.
Challenge lights the air between us, electric and hot. Part of me wants to pick up the phone on the side table and call mother. The second she knows he's stomped all over her oriental rugs with his muddy work boots, he's fired.
That would be a cheap win, though. Too easy. Too banal. Besides, I like the thought of him stomping all over her oriental rugs with his muddy work boots.
"Of course," I say, sarcasm sharpened my words. "We always offer gardeners top shelf vodka."
He merely lifts a dark eyebrow. How is it possible for eyebrows to look low class? His do. They're a mess, broad and unruly. I want to run my tongue over them, smooth them out.
"Do you always show up half-dressed for them, too?" he asks in a musing tone. "Because that's a real perk. They should put that in their classified ad."
My cheeks burn hot as I realize how little I'm wearing. The bath towel covers from the slope of my breasts to the tops of my thighs. It's held together by so little--only the tuck of terry cloth. If it came undone right now I'd be naked in front of him.
"Tell me your name," I demand, lifting my chin.
"So you can tell your mother about me?"
"Maybe I will."
"And if I tell her that you came downstairs in only a towel? That you tried to have sex with me? That you were the one who drank half the bottle of scotch?"
My mouth drops open. "That's a lie."
"Does that surprise you? That other people lie, too?" He must see the shock on my face; his smile is smile and smug. "Yes, I know about you. Poor little Emily Coulter, can't tell the truth to save her life."
A knot around my throat, pulled taut by thick dirt-stained fingers. "How would you know that?" That's my family's dirty little secret, but not the worst one. Not by far.
"I know lots of things."
"And anyway, why are you back already? It's only been three days. The hedges don't need to be trimmed every damn day."
His smile comes slow. "You don't trust me?"
Not as far as I could throw you."
There's something strange about him, something a little dangerous.
Unfortunately that only makes me like him more.
About the Author:
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance. Her books have sold over one million copies. She makes her home in Texas with her living family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.
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