Four years ago, Nina Bruhns’ debut novel from Silhouette Intimate Moments, Catch Me If You Can, won both the National Readers Choice Award for Long Contemporary Romance, and the Kiss of Death’s prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence as Overall Best Romantic Suspense of 2000. Her books have been winning awards ever since. Her 2002 release, Sweet Revenge, won her second coveted overall Daphne, as well as causing more than one reviewer to compare Nina’s writing to that of Linda Howard--the ultimate compliment in Nina’s view. Her 2003 title, Sins of The Father, was named the Reviewers International Organization’s top series choice for March.
Nina Bruhns’ novels contain a unique blend of interesting characters and settings, twisty suspense and sizzling romance that is sure to please the most discriminating romantic suspense reader.
He was following her. Again.
The fine hairs on the back of Muse's neck stood on end. For a split second she slowed her pace, glancing behind her along the dark street. Nothing. But then, she seldom caught more than a glimpse of the blond-haired man who'd been shadowing her for two weeks now.
Could it be someone else? Someone from one of the bars who wouldn't take no for an answer? She loved having a good time out on Bourbon Street, dancing and flirting and chasing away the loneliness. She always walked these last couple of blocks to her apartment alone, but there was the occasional guy who just couldn't accept the fact that she prefered sleeping solo.
But no. Persistant suitors made themselves much more visible...and obnoxious.
A spurt of uneasiness flashed through her, raising icy goosebumps on her arms despite the sultry New Orleans heat. It was him all right, the man who'd been watching her. She could feel it in her bones.
Pulse thundering, she picked up her pace, the heels of her three-inch pumps clicking loudly on the pavement. The uneven French Quarter sidewalk was not the best place for running in high heels, but Muse figured breaking her neck would probably be preferable to what this guy might have in mind. Especially if he worked for Davies. Why hadn't she worn something more practical for once, like jeans and sneaks? Not that she owned anything that practical.
She took another glance behind her.
There!
A blond male head glinted under a streetlamp, closer than before. She squinted, trying to get a better look at him between the lurching drunks that blocked her view. When this had first started she'd been certain it was Gary Fox, the boyfriend she'd just broken up with, trying to scare her back into his life. He’d been more than upset with the split, threatening all sorts of things. But she wasn't so sure it was him anymore. Gary talked a good game, but when it came to action he was a benchsitter. He wouldn’t be this tenacious.
Dread seeped through her like poison. Could it be one of James Davies' real goons, sent to kill her? Or worse...
It was the "or worse" that really terrified her. She had seen what Davies was capable of when it came to traitors to his extensive crime organization--had seen it in living color and horrific stereo sound on the videotape she and Gary had stolen from him when Gary had felt the need for insurance. The beating and torture, complete with three ghoulish onlookers, had made her sick to her stomach for weeks after viewing it.
But how could Davies possibly have found out about her? As far as she knew, there was only one person in the whole state who knew of her connection to the FBI and her plans to testify against him at his trial for drug smuggling and murder.
She risked another glance backwards. Oh, God. The man was gaining on her!
Heels be damned! She wasn't taking any chances. She hiked the short skirt of her dress up a few inches further and flew down Burgundy Street toward her apartment. If she could at least make it to the small hotel two blocks down, she'd be safe. He wouldn't dare follow her into the lighted lobby, filled with curious tourists. She prayed.
Sweet mercy, she'd never make it. Panic made her muscles scream, yet her legs were rubbery, wanting to buckle even as she urged them faster and faster.
Suddenly she heard her name float through the hot, still night.
"Muse! Here, this way!"
A large male hand reached out, beckoning from behind one of the ubiquitous wrought iron courtyard gates, this one just beyond the apartment building she was running past. Who was it? A friend; that’s all that mattered. She grabbed the man's hand and let him pull her through the narrowly opened gate. It closed behind her with a quiet metallic snick.
Relief. Talk about timing.
"Quick," she commanded, launching herself at the man's broad chest. "Pretend to kiss me!"
