Colel Page 20

  “What’s that?” Rys asked.

  “Nothing.” She slammed the door shut, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and threw him up against the truck.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Showing you how incredibly happy I am that I found you.” She reached her hand down and began unbuttoning the fly of his jeans.

  “But my family’s inside. The neighbors might see.”

  “It’s pitch black out, and I promise to be quick.” Within seconds, she had his warm, velvety length in her palm. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  “That feels…oh…that feels…”

  “Yep.” She pressed her mouth to his and kissed him hard, running her tongue over his bottom lip, then giving it a nip.

  He quickly spun her around. Now it was her turn to be wedged against the truck. He got to work, hiking up her long skirt.

  “No panties?” He looked at her with one dark brow raised.

  “I don’t really care for them. In fact, I like to be naked when I can. It’s very freeing.”

  “No argument from me, my goddess.”

  She flung her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. She reached to kiss him, but he leaned his head back. “No. I want to use this incredible nocturnal vision of mine and look at you.” He got his shaft into position and thrust forward with his hard cock.

  She gasped from the delicious intrusion. “Oh gods. You feel incredible.” She didn’t even mind the cold metal of the truck against her ass. It was like twenty degrees out tonight.

  Without breaking eye contact, he withdrew almost completely and slammed into her again.

  So good. So good. “More. More,” she panted.

  “Gods, I can’t get enough of you.” He kissed her hard. “Not now. Not ever.”

  She had already been painfully aroused before they started. Now she couldn’t hold back any longer. She closed her eyes and let go, her fingertips digging into his shoulders as he fucked her with everything he had.

  That rapturous ball of ecstasy in her core began to glow red hot before finally exploding. Every inch of her body lit up, only made more intense by his deep muted groan in her ear. He came hard, nestling his face in the crook of her neck to muffle the sound.

  She knew he wanted to bite her again, but held back. They needed to go somewhere more private for that kind of kink. Plus, she doubted his truck could withstand such vigorous immortal action. Yes, we will go to his other home. The one she’d rented from him. There, they could spend the evening exploring and pushing each other to the limit. And I have so many dark, sinful corners he gets to play in.

  For several long moments, the two stayed there against the truck, their hot breath steaming into the night air.

  “You have no idea how excited I am to be this strong. I could hold you all night and never tire.” He kissed her lazily and then finally set her down.

  “I can’t wait, because that was amazing.” She straightened her skirt while he put himself away.

  “Thank you. I really needed that.” He opened the truck and helped her in like the gentleman that he was.

  He walked around and climbed into the driver’s side, pausing with his hands on the steering wheel.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “I know this sounds strange coming from a man, but I keep feeling something, a tingling sensation right here.” He placed his hand over the spot just below his belly button.

  Ohmygods. “It’s true. Mates really do sense each other’s emotions.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  He blinked. “Really?”

  “Yes. And I love you. Are you happy?” Because her brothers, especially the God of Male Virility, were going to be extremely impressed. That kind of virility was something they all took note of. Not that she cared what they thought, but it would earn Rys some respect from the gods. Not an easy thing to do.

  “I love you, too.” He smiled and gave her a look. It was the first time she’d ever seen him truly glow from the inside out. It was a breathtaking sight to behold.

  Yes, he was happy, and even though the world was in the midst of yet another crisis, she knew they’d be all right. They had each other.

  Besides, he’ll get used to all the apocalypses.

  “Come, bees!” She rolled down the window. “We need to get you packed and ready for your trip. Alone. Rys and I have some planning to do.”

  TO BEE CONTINUED…

  But keep reading for your FREE signed Colel bookmark or CLICK HERE for info on the next book of the series, BRUTUS.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Hello, My Goddesses (and Gods)!

  I hope you had a giggle or two during the read. I’m not going to lie! I found this book a little hard to write without Cimil popping in throughout the story as she does in prior books. In the first draft, I had her commenting on the action via notes sprinkled in, but too many beta readers said it was distracting. Yeah, I could see why. Cimil has that effect. LOL. But hopefully Colel’s zaniness made up for Cimil’s late arrival.

  In any case, keep an eye out for BRUTUS in early 2020!

  www.mimijean.net/brutus

  OMG! Haha. I had to share the magnet for his book. So funny.

  Will it be the last Immortal Matchmakers book? Possibly. I am going to let the gods and Minky (and my readers) decide. But it might be time to retire this series and do another spin-off I’ve been itching to get at. We shall see!

  In any case…if you’re looking for a FREE signed Colel bookmark, a better look at the Brutus cover, and a lookie-see at upcoming releases, keep on going!

  With Love,

  Mimi

  P.S. For my music lovers, you can find my playlist here: COLEL. If you’re not on SPOTIFY, the subscription is FREE (at the time I wrote this, at least) and you can follow all of my playlists by searching for “mimijeanpamfiloff.” HAPPY LISTENING!

  FREE SIGNED BOOKMARKS

  You collect them…

  You love them…

  You yell at me when I run out…

  It’s FREE signed bookmarks! Woo-hoo!

  You know the drill, everyone, but here’s a quick reminder:

  1. It’s first come, first get. (International OK.)

  2. If you are one of these super awesome people who take the time to support my work and post a review (short and sweet count!) on Goodreads or any of your favorite e-tailers, include a screenshot or link. I will include a magnet. (NOTE: magnets for each book release are limited, so I DO run out fast!)

  3. EMAIL me your complete shipping info (include the country if you’re outside the US).

  4. Give me about 2-4 weeks to get to your request. I sometimes crawl into my writer’s cave and don’t come out for an entire month. If you don’t hear from me by then, you can assume the spam monster ate your request, so email me again.

  5. OPTIONAL: Join my Facebook fan group, The Junkies, and show off your collection. It’s a thing. I promise. facebook.com/groups/MimiJeansJunkies

  MY EMAIL:

  mimi@mimijean.net

  Happy collecting!!

  Mimi

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Where would I BEE without my hive of trusty ninjas! A huge fuzzy hug to Su, Kylie, Dali, Latoya, Pauline, and Paul for helping make book #38 all I hoped it would bee.

  To my honeys, thank you for the flowers and eggs Benedict.

  With Love,

  Mimi

  COMING SOON!

  Your favorite librarian and vampire are coming back in JUNE to solve another sunny mystery (including what they mean to each other?).

  Thank you to my readers for the amazing enthusiasm for this series!

  FOR INFO and MORE:

  www.mimijean.net/the-librarians-vampire-assistant-3

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Book #1!

  EXCERPT –

  THE LIBRARIAN’S VAMPIRE ASSISTANT

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” says a
blonde at the front of the coffee line, forcing my attention away from the phone in my hand. She’s wearing a rather unattractive red coat and has apparently rammed into a UPS guy carrying a hot cup of tea.

  “Serves him right. Only weak men drink tea,” I growl under my breath and return to my screen.

  My name is Michael Vanderhorst, and I am not usually this grouchy or this close to doing something terribly unwise—throats torn, heads lopped, appendages removed. Unwise. However, today is quite possibly the worst day of my life, and a silent rage is brewing inside me.

  But let us not start off on the wrong foot. I am actually a nice guy. Some might say I’m a classic gentleman, and they don’t mean I know which fork to use, though I do. They mean gentleman in the true, old-fashioned sense. I open doors for ladies and stand when they rise from the table. I keep my word, pay my debts, and believe in being polite to others, even when they don’t deserve it.

  Do not get the wrong impression. I am no pushover either. I get my hands dirty when the situation warrants, but generally I am an agreeable man.

  Or I used to be.

  A man.

  Now I’m a vampire, and like most of my kind, the journey hasn’t been an easy one.

  No, this is not the reason I’m in a foul mood. Neither is the fact that I’ve been in line for over ten minutes, waiting to order coffee.

  Oh, yes—pause of deep appreciation—coffee.

  “Oh, dear me! I’m so sorry!” I look up again, and the same blonde woman, who I see only from the back, has just knocked over a towering pile of coffee cup lids onto the floor.

  The employees rush to pick up the mess, and when she bends over to help, she hits her forehead on the counter. “Ouch!”

  I am about to step forward to assist, but she seems all right, rubbing her head and apologizing to the entire world.

  I hope she doesn’t stab herself with a straw or spontaneously combust. Then I’ll never get my coffee. I cannot start my day without it.

  Do not be shocked. There are many things people don’t know about my kind. For example, we don’t live exclusively on blood. In fact, I prefer spicy vegan dishes. Indian food is delicious.

  Another myth? Vampires cannot go in the sun. Also untrue. We are merely averse to it. Right now, it’s a cool spring morning in downtown Phoenix, and while I am sweating through my Italian suit and can’t get home to Cincinnati fast enough, the sunny sky outside is merely an annoyance.

  So now you’re wondering just why I’m so angry. It is something so ghastly, I can hardly say the words. Two days ago, someone killed the most upstanding person ever to walk the planet. Clive was a give-you-the-shirt-off-his-back sort of man, which is the likely reason his detective agency wasn’t making money. I once worked for Clive—also a vampire—but his generosity toward his clients, giving away his services, got to a point where he could no longer employ me.

  So I went back to school, obtained yet another degree, and started my eighth profession, this time in biotech research. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you get bored. I find changing occupations every fifty years keeps a man on his toes, and if you’ve guessed that would make me over four hundred years old, you would be correct.

  “It’s your turn, dude,” says the pink-haired man behind me.

  “About time. Thank you.” I step up to the counter, where I order my usual—a nonfat latte with an extra shot of espresso. “No make that two extra shots,” I say to the barista and pop five dollars into the tip jar.

  “Coming right up.” The young redhead attending to me smiles, but it’s the sort of smile that says she wants to bed me. Little does she know that while I am a handsome man—six feet one, deep brown eyes, and a very charming smile—she can’t help herself. Yes, that myth is actually true. Humans find us irresistible.

  I offer the barista a polite nod and step aside to await my coffee, but something outside catches my eye through the plate-glass window. It’s that same blonde woman with a paper cup in her hand, playing Frogger with oncoming traffic.

  Oh! Watch out. Dear woman, what are you doing! She’s nearly run over by three separate cars. I’m about to run after her, but she makes it across to the other side of the street.

  What the devil was she thinking?

  My cell vibrates in my hand, and I sigh with relief. “Finally.” It’s a text from the local society granting me a meeting at one o’clock. Society is the modern term for coven, which is made up of a collection of families. Each territory has a different society and, since vampires are very territorial, I cannot stay longer than a day without a visa—not that I plan to since I’m not permitted to have anything to do with investigating Clive’s death.

  Sadly, I am here to collect Clive’s ashes and take the good man home to his final resting place.

  Regardless, whoever hurt him must pay. Not death, but entombment, which is far worse and the only outcome I’m expecting to hear at today’s meeting with the society’s head. “We’ve caught the bastard. He’s been sentenced to life.” Anything shy of these exact words will cause trouble. From me.

  My order is called at the counter, and I grab my hot coffee, immediately going in for that first delicious sip. “Ow!” It burns my tongue. Why do I always do that? I’m far too eager when it comes to caffeine. Especially in the morning.

  I take a seat at the counter along the window that faces the street. Immediately, my reflection catches my eye. My brown hair is a mess, and I apparently forgot to shave this morning at the hotel. My tie is also crooked.

  I straighten myself out and glance at my watch, a fine antique Clive gave me on my birthday over a hundred years ago.

  Clive… I feel the red-hot rage build again. He was my best friend, my brother, my father, and my maker.

  Nobody touches my family, I snarl on the inside. My strong hand squeezes my coffee cup, threatening to send the piping hot liquid up in the air.

  Dammit all to hell. I need a distraction, something to keep me calm until one o’clock. Otherwise, I won’t stand a chance of keeping a level head when I walk in to meet whoever runs this sunny, pleasant dump of a town.

  My eyes gravitate back outside. I remember passing a library one block down. I’m sure I can find a quiet place there to get some work done on my laptop, which will keep me out of the sun and occupied for the next few hours.

  With coffee in one hand, I grab my things and head to the library.

  For more, head to:

  www.mimijean.net/lva

  THE BOYFRIEND COLLECTOR

  PART TWO

  Don’t miss out on part two and the ending of this sexy drama!

  COMING AUGUST 2019

  For INFO and MORE:

  www.mimijean.net/boyfriendcollector

  Keep reading for an excerpt of book #1!

  EXCERPT –

  THE BOYFRIEND COLLECTOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bex

  Well, this is not a promising start. Seated in my black leather armchair, I rub the stubble on my jaw and glance down at the questionnaire in my other hand. The agitated young woman lying on the couch in front of me has left the entire form blank except for her name at the top. Rose Marie Hale.

  Rose. The name fits her. At first glance she looks like a delicate, fragrant flower—long, lean stems for legs, trim body, and blonde silky hair—but a sharpness in her dark brown eyes tells me she’s not all soft petals.

  I make a quick note of my observation in the margin of the page before interrupting her fast talking—something about dating…or men…or I’m unsure, actually. “Miss Hale, excuse my insensitivity, but I’m here to help people, not waste their time. Or mine. So what, exactly, do you mean when you say you have to find a husband? Sounds like you need a friend or a dating app, not therapy.” I rest my gold pen across the clipboard on my lap, waiting for her to answer.

  Like the pen, this office—situated in a renovated brick warehouse in Atlanta’s trendy Buckhead district—once belonged to my father, who was also a psychologist. I stepped
in, merging my practice with his when he became ill last spring. By the time he died a month ago, I learned many things about the man, bad things I loathe him for. The first disappointment came when I discovered he never practiced what he preached in terms of treating his patients, who were receiving little more than touchy-feely pep talks: You can do it. I believe in you.

  Complete bullshit. The only thing he accomplished was creating a steady stream of customers who became dependent on him instead of themselves.

  I don’t blow smoke up patients’ asses just so they’ll come back next week for another fix of self-esteem injections. I say it like it is, and if they truly want to get their lives together, they listen.

  As for this woman on my couch, I don’t know what to make of her other than the obvious that she’s in her early twenties, her attractiveness is distracting, and I’m unsure why the hell she’s here. If she’s looking for boyfriend advice, she’s come to the wrong place.

  “Dr. Hughes? Are you listening?” she says, her slender body stretched across my white couch.

  Not really. Her lips are moving so fast, I feel like I’m at an auction. “Rose Marie—”

  “I prefer Rose. Just Rose,” she corrects.

  “Okay. Rose, I’m sorry, but I’m a psychologist, not a romance coach.”

  She sits up and plants her feet on the floor. Her red heels look expensive, as does the matching red sweater. Her jeans are the type most men like on women—tight, a bit short to show off some toned calf, and cut to accentuate the feminine curve of her hips.

  “I’m not here for love coaching,” she says with a frantic tone. “I have to get married. Quickly. My entire life depends on it.”

  Trying to hide my impatience, I lift my brows. She strikes me as the quintessential entitled princess who thinks her social life is the most important thing on the planet. Oh no, someone didn’t like my selfie on Instagram. Whatever shall I do? If she can’t give me a legitimate reason to see her or convince me that she’s here to work, I’ll turn her away.