This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. A randomly chosen commenter will receive an autographed hardcover version of the author's previous book, The Price of Sanctuary. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Enjoy the excerpt:
Dominga Koenig turned away, leaving Faust to close the door. “White Russian,” she said, and pointed toward a wet bar on the far side of the room.
Until he became Maximillian Koenig’s chief of security, Faust had never heard of a White Russian. But the aging multibillionaire’s young wife took him in hand. She replaced his entire wardrobe, corrected his careless speech and his table manners, and arranged introductions to politicians and businessmen. She also taught him to make her favorite drinks. The wet bar was fully stocked, he noted as he concocted her version of a White Russian, using equal parts Tia Maria, vodka, and Bailey’s Irish Cream. He eyed the vodka hungrily. Gray Goose, always his first choice. Later she would invite him to make himself a vodka martini. He preferred his vodka straight, chilled and with a lime twist, but she insisted that he go through an elaborate ritual to craft her idea of a perfect dry martini.
Standing before a pair of glass-paneled French doors that led to a spacious patio, she kept her back to him while he mixed her drink. As he approached, drink in hand, she turned to take it from him and set it aside.
Then she slapped him. The heel of her hand slammed into his jaw.
She was not a large woman, but she was solid, well-conditioned, and coordinated. The roundhouse blow, starting at knee level and gaining momentum during a wide arc, driven by the propulsive force of her body, rocked him. He shook his head to clear it, worked his jaw to assess the damage.
Cradling the hand that delivered the blow, she flexed her fingers. “Why is my husband’s bastard child still breathing?”
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