End Street Detective Agency Volume 1
Dragons, vampires, werewolves, fae, witches and one very confused human.
* * * *
Sam, 100% human (no, really) inherits a crumbling building and a private detective agency from his Uncle.
Bob, a brooding stubborn and ancient vampire turns up at his door and refuses to leave.
Before Sam can say 'I only want human cases' he's knee deep in werewolves, dragons, vampires and witches.
The Case of The Cupid Curse #1
Sam Enderson is a human detective who inherits a building from where his Uncle used to run a detective agency. He finds himself working for paranormal creatures despite his resolve to stick with humans only. To supplement his income as a new PI Sam rents out rooms in the large house.
Bob is a vampire and turns up on Sam's doorstep to rent a room. Sparks fly and Sam is attracted to the vampire despite himself.
Sam is cursed by a witch, and has two cases landing on his desk. Werewolves, annoying ghosts and a grumpy gargoyle are enough to drive Sam mad. But somehow in amongst all of this he has to find a missing fae and a missing shifter child.
The Case of the Wicked Wolf #2
Naiads, humans, sirens and a challenge for Alpha make up the intricate story in the race to rescue the missing children.
Sam and Bob have more than just the case of one lost child to handle. Not only is Shelby Hartman missing, but other paranormal children have disappeared. The race to rescue the children is hampered by naiads, humans, sirens and a challenge for Alpha.
Hartman Hunter is desperate to find his daughter. He turns to the demon Danjal Naamah for help. The problem is that Danjal is the only person Hartman has ever loved—the man he let go for the sake of the pack…
Volume 1
Re-Read Review March 2017:
Sam the human(he says) and Bob the Vampire are even better the second time around. I've never re-read a book less than 6 months after my original read before and loved it so much I'm already looking forward to my next re-read ;)
Original Review October 2016:
The Case of the Cupid Curse #1
Cupid Curse is a wonderful beginning to a series. It introduces us to the main characters, and a few secondary ones, with just the right blend of drama, humor, and mystery. We all know that not witches are bad but when one curses you, you definitely don't take it for granted. Sam finds himself wanting to run a purely human cases only private investigation business but he soon finds that is not the route fate seems to have in mind. Witches, gargoyles, ghosts, sirens, faes, and a vampire named Bob(which completely caught me off guard in a lovely humorous way that still has me smiling weeks after originally reading) have put Sam smack into the middle of world he really didn't want to be in.
The Case of the Wicked Wolf #2
Sam is still searching for the missing little girl wolf, Shelby but we also meet Dan the demon as well as get to know Hart the alpha better. Wicked begins right from where Cupid left off and Sam is still intent on having human only cases but once again, fate intervenes and is Sam completely human himself? Well, you have to read that for yourself but I will say with each case and each new paranormal he helps, Sam gains little extras that certainly question who or what he is.
Original Overall Series Review October 2016(1-5):
How had I not read this series before? It should have been a no brainer considering how much I love RJ Scott's work not to mention that it's a collaboration with Amber Kell. Oh well, it's always nice to stumble onto an unexpected surprise and that is definitely what you get with End Street Detective Agency, surprise blended with humor, drama, mystery, paranormal, and of course underneath it all and entwined throughout is love. Ghosts, vampires, sirens, wolfs, dragons, faes, gargoyles, familiars, demons, and the list goes on. Who knew so many paranormal entities could not only co-exist but even work, live, and love together? No matter how many books RJ & Amber decide to write in the End Street universe, I have a feeling that it will be a very real probability that it's a series I'll revisit often and most likely every Halloween. A must read if you are even the slightest bit of a paranormal fan.
The Case of The Cupid Curse #1
Sam Enderson stood outside his building and smiled with pride. The fresh sign painted on the door in crisp black letters read 'End Street Detective Agency'. Examining the overall effect, he nodded in satisfaction. This move to becoming a private investigator was as far from being a timid bookseller as he could get. No one would walk all over someone who investigated crimes for a living.
Three months of correspondence school and a shiny new multi-weapon licence had given his confidence a much-needed boost. After the hellish past year, in which he’d found his boyfriend in bed with his now ex-best friend, followed by the death of his favourite uncle, Sam was ready for a new start in life.
Uncle Hanson. Just thinking about him made Sam feel sad. He had fond memories of visiting his uncle at work. The man had always liked Sam. He evidently had carried that affection into Sam’s adult life. After all, he had left Sam an entire building in his will, the building Sam now stood in front of. An office with accommodations over the top, it was worth quite a bit of money despite its proximity to an undesirable area.
"You should sell," his friend Oscar had said. Oscar had had no love for Uncle Hanson. In a sniffy tone, he’d often consigned Hanson to the idiot pile and called him ‘odd’.
"I don’t want to sell," Sam had protested.
"What are you going to do with it?" Oscar had asked.
"Open up my own agency."
Oscar still wasn’t speaking to him, even now, three months later.
Sam sighed at the memory then mentally pushed it all to one side to admire his property. The lower half consisted of a business office and reception area, with the upper two floors divided into four apartments. Three were empty but his uncle had filled the fourth one with notes from his own investigative practice. That room was high on his list of things to sort out, but he first needed to concentrate on renting out one of the empty apartments.
Sam may have inherited the house, but it hadn’t exactly come with a burgeoning bank account to match. Forty years of being a detective and all Hanson had had to show for it was this building, a small bank account and a room full of papers. Sam was determined to be different. He even had a five-year plan in place. Sam didn’t doubt for one minute that he knew exactly why his uncle had had little money to speak of. Uncle Hanson had done too much pro bono work for them.
Filing cabinets and boxes overflowed with notes from years of being a private detective. A lot of those papers included cases involving aspects of the paranormal, things Sam thought better left alone. Sam didn’t have a drop of supernatural blood in his entire body and he didn’t plan on associating with those who did. It hadn’t exactly worked out for his uncle.
Paranormals had their place. Hell, they owned half the city. Vampires and werewolves, witches, fae and pixies—they all had their own parishes. Neighbourhoods where they lived amongst their own kind. Like enjoyed living with like, and, although they often mixed and matched, no one in Sam’s family had ever crossed the romantic boundary between the magical and the not.
Sam didn’t count his second cousin Christa, who had taken up with a blood demon. There was a bad seed in every batch.
Worried he’d use up the rest of his small inheritance, Sam had put an ad in the local paper to rent out two of the four apartments. They were empty but spacious rooms that had no one currently occupying them. After a quick mop and dust, they were ready for renters. Why his uncle had a space with no one living there didn’t make much sense. Of course, if his cousin Erik hadn’t been estranged from his father, Sam wouldn’t have inherited anything. A twinge of guilt went through Sam, but he hadn’t heard from his cousin in years and had no way of getting hold of him.
“Excuse me!”
A soft voice had Sam spinning around to see an old lady looking up at him. Her wrinkled skin and the way she leaned against her cane betrayed her great age.
“Can I help you?”
She squinted at him as if trying to make him out through her foggy white eyes. “You owe me a favor.”
“What?” Sam examined the lady carefully, but he hadn’t ever met her before in his life. What possible kind of favor could he owe her?
“The man here before. He promised he’d help me out,” she explained.
“I’m sorry—”
The old lady didn’t give Sam a chance to explain. She jabbed her finger into the air at Sam, pursed her lips, then began shouting. “He owes me. He owes me!” she repeated twice, her voice rising to a screeching pitch.
Ahh, now it becomes clear. “You must be talking about my uncle. Why don’t you come inside and we can discuss what I can do for you.” Although he didn’t feel the need to keep a dead man’s promise, if he could help the woman out, he would.
After opening the front door, he motioned for her to go ahead of him.
She settled into his visitor chair while Sam scooted past her to sit on the leather chair opposite, patting his uncle’s gargoyle statue as he walked past. Uncle Hanson had the strangest collection of art he’d ever seen. Eventually, he’d get rid of it all, but right then the weird pieces reminded him of his beloved relative and better times.
“My name is Sam Enderson. How can I help you?”
Scowling over at him, she shook her head. “The guy here before never told you not to share your name, did he?”
“The man here before was my uncle. No, he didn’t tell me not to share my name.”
She shook her head as if not understanding Sam’s stupidity. “You never share your name with a witch unless you want her to do a spell.”
Sam jerked in his seat, appalled at what he’d let through his front door. “You’re a witch?”
The woman slammed her cane onto the wooden floor. “Of course I’m a witch. I’ve got the wrinkled skin, the hunch, the cane, and the rheumy eyes. What did you think I was?”
He shrugged. “I-I thought you were just an old woman.” An old scary woman who gave him the creeps, but an old woman nonetheless.
“Old!” the witch shrieked. “How dare you call me old? I’m only a hundred and sixty!”
“Forgive me.” Sam raised his hands in alarm. “I didn’t mean any offense.” Secretly he wondered how old a witch had to be before she fell into the ‘old’ category.
“Well, I am offended,” she snapped.
“Sorry. I don’t know much about your world.” Witch or not, he couldn’t help the little slip of derision into his tone.
The witch regarded him carefully. “What are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What blood flows in your body?” she asked, as if expecting him to come up with some sort of interesting paranormal cocktail.
“Human. Just human,” Sam answered.
“You don’t like paranormals, do you?”
“No.” Sam saw no reason to deny the fact.
“So what are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.
“I’ve inherited this building.”
“And you intend to do what?”
“Carry on business as usual. Private investigations. It’s what I’m qualified for.” And he had the multi-weapon license to back him up.
“Then you’ll have to do paranormal cases.” She gave him a taunting smile.
Sam’s stomach churned. “Why?” He didn’t plan to ever take a paranormal case.
“Because the law states no business can discriminate against a paranormal due to his or her status,” she explained. “It’ll get you shut down, it will.” There was definite glee in the old woman’s expression.
All Sam wanted to do at that moment was place his head in his hands and curse. He didn’t. He was much too professional for that. Instead, he shrugged. His mom always said if you had nothing good to say, then don’t say anything.
The witch cackled in true witch fashion, and Sam shuddered inwardly. The scent of something dead and decaying pervaded the room. Add in the crooked teeth and the rags for clothes and he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t immediately pegged her as something different.
“Now about that favor…” she continued.
“What?” He couldn’t look her in the eyes. Maybe if he didn’t look, whatever she said wouldn’t be real. He was comfortable with his denial. In fact, he might just lock the door, pull down the shades, and wallow in it for a few days.
“I need help tracking down a werewolf.”
Sam looked at her. “Why?” Paranormal hunting paranormal? That couldn’t end well.
The witch scowled at him while tapping her cane on the floor. “What do you mean, why?”
Had he stuttered? “I mean, why do you need a werewolf?”
“It’s none of your business why I need a werewolf, boy. I just do,” the witch snapped.
“It is, if you want me to do your dirty work.” Sam knew all kinds of uses witches had for werewolves and none of them was nice. “Not to mention hunting werewolves is illegal.”
“Pfft.” She waved away the law as if it were nothing. Probably was since she didn’t plan on breaking it but had asked Sam to do it instead. “I’ve got a rare potion to make, and I need some werewolf bones.”
“No.” Sam might not like paranormals very much, but he wasn’t going to hunt one down, either.
“Your uncle owes me!” she screeched.
Sam wanted to cover his ears at the high-pitched noise. “My uncle is dead,” he began to explain as patiently as he could. “I was willing to hear you out, but I’m not going to go kill an innocent werewolf so you can make a potion.” Were werewolves actually innocent? Hadn’t there been that whole rampaging werewolf-pack mess last year? Sam seemed to remember people—human, non-magical, regular people—getting killed in that little incident. Still, whatever issues he had with werewolves, he didn’t do that kind of work. He had enough problems without getting jailed for killing werewolves, innocent or not.
“This potion can save a loved one!” the witch announced dramatically. “I need those bones.”
“Find a different potion. I’m sure any given werewolf is someone’s beloved too.”
The witch scowled at him, then abruptly leaned back in her seat and smiled. The smile exposed a mouthful of yellowed teeth, and Sam winced inwardly at her lack of dental care. “Do you have anyone you love, Mr. Enderson?”
Sam’s mind shifted back to the image of his boyfriend of ten years screwing his best friend. “Not anymore.” Despite his ex pleading for forgiveness, some things Sam wouldn’t forgive. He’d moved out and away from his lover within days and blocked both work and mobile numbers from his phone. His uncle had been his last close relative that had stayed in his life. So really, with his uncle dead, at this point in time, he had no one he could call a loved one. But he’d give her his own bones before he admitted the extent of his loneliness.
The witch stood with a purposeful air. “When you’re on the verge of losing someone you love, come find me and maybe I’ll free you. Until then, enjoy my present.”
With a poof of smoke, the witch vanished.
Gasping, Sam tried to wave away the stench that accompanied the smoke, acrid and with a hint of burnt almonds. Finally, when that didn’t work, he rushed over and opened a window to let the ashy smell out. Great start to his first day as a PI.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Ahh!” Sam jumped back from the window to face the empty room. What the hell? Was she still there? Was the witch invisible?
“An idiot,” the voice repeated. This time Sam confirmed the source, emphasized when the statue on his desk turned its head and regarded him with eerie yellow eyes.
“What the hell are you?” he managed to ask coherently.
The statue’s stone wings moved, creating a sound like gravel underfoot. “I’m a gargoyle. What are you?”
“I-I’m a human.” Sam swallowed rapidly, trying to get some moisture into his dry throat. “What are you doing here?”
The statue stretched out of its crouch until it stood about a foot tall on the corner of the desk. Its baleful glare pinned Sam to the spot. “You’re an idiot. That witch has something planned for you, and it isn’t good.”
“H-how do you know?” Sam’s heart beat faster than a rabbit chased by a werewolf.
The gargoyle rolled his eyes. “You’re not too bright, are you? Your uncle trafficked with that witch.”
Sam frowned. His uncle had been a kindly old PI, who hadn’t seemed to actually do much from day to day. There was no way he had trafficked anything. He had been the type of man who always had a ready supply of candy for eager young visitors like Sam.
“The sweet old man who brought you candy didn’t exist,” the gargoyle answered his thoughts. Wait? How the hell…?
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
The gargoyle ignored the question, “He would’ve had that werewolf for the witch by the end of the day and walked away with enough cash to eat for months.” He didn’t sound like he approved, and there was sadness in his tone.
“N-no, that can’t be true.” Sam shook his head in denial. Surely the gargoyle had his facts wrong?
“Have you actually looked at the paperwork upstairs yet? I heard you banging about. I assume you actually read some of them?”
“I was moving furniture for my future tenants.” Sam shook his head. “And no, not yet. I thought they were just old case files that needed organizing.”
Defending himself to a freaking gargoyle made Sam feel like an idiot. The damn thing had been sitting there every time Sam had visited, and never once had it appeared to be anything more than an ornament. The creature must be wrong. Sam would have seen it if Uncle Hanson had been a bad guy. He wasn’t stupid. How could he not have understood his uncle’s true nature? Nope, this ‘gargoyle thing’ had to be wrong.
The gargoyle clomped across the desk. “Look at the files and check out the back closet in the file room. Your uncle had more going on than anyone knew about. That includes exposing himself to a lot more than just a witch with teeth problems and a ready hand with curses.”
With those parting words, the gargoyle sank back into his original position. A loud, crackling noise filled the room, and the creature became a statue once more. Sam poked at it with his index finger, but it didn’t move again.
“Huh.”
Maybe he was in the middle of a dream, one where he was going to wake up in his sun-lit apartment in Johnstown with his boyfriend in bed with him.
File room.
The gargoyle’s words sank in. Maybe he did need to check out the apartment with all the files a little more carefully. It wouldn’t hurt to see what other pies his uncle had his fingers in. As he stepped out of the office, a knock on the front door had him turning away from the stairs and back towards the front door. Why would someone be knocking? The door was unlocked. At least, he didn’t think he’d locked the door. But then, it was an old place. Maybe the latch had closed behind him when he’d escorted the witch inside.
His mind still on the files upstairs, he opened the door and stopped, frozen.
Vampire.
The man could be nothing else. Tall, elegant, and having an unearthly beauty, the vampire gave him a smile that exposed his fangs. “I hear you have an apartment to rent.” The vampire’s voice was like scotch over ice and dripped with sensuality.
A vampire here? In the daylight? Sam glanced past the vamp. Yep, the sun shone brightly in the sky.
“Ah, you’re not used to us.” The vampire flashed another smile. “We don’t actually burn up in the sun.”
That’s a shame. That would be one less paranormal to cause trouble.
“Um, you need an apartment?” Sam had never heard of a vampire living in an apartment. “I thought you people had mansions and crypts and stuff.”
The vampire threw back his head and laughed. “That’s only in the movies. Now, can I see your place?”
“…Umm” Sam searched his mind for a good excuse. Anything to keep the skeevy, blood-sucking supernatural out of his house.
The tall vampire smiled. “You know that part about vampires reading your mind?”
With a sinking stomach, Sam nodded.
“That part’s true.”
Sam sighed. “You’d better come in. It’s right this way.”
The day had started out so well, too. Now, Sam just wanted to go back to bed and hide under the covers.
“I’d be happy to keep you company,” the vampire said in a low, sultry tone. For a second, Sam didn’t understand what the hell the vampire was talking about, and then he recalled what he had just thought about beds and covers. Sam looked over his shoulder to see the vampire checking out his ass. Rolling his eyes, he headed up the stairs, leading the vampire to the top floor. He pulled an old-fashioned key from his pocket, unlocked then opened the door.
“No spell locks?” the vampire asked with concern in his voice.
Sam shook his head. Like he’d had any time to do things like that. The vampire was lucky the room had been tidied and cleaned. “You’re welcome to add your own, of course.” Fuck, he was going to rent to a vampire. He could hope the creature didn’t want the place. “It’s nothing fancy.”
Please want something fancy.
Before Sam could take more than two steps into the apartment, the vampire pinned him to the wall. “I’m not a creature. I’m a man, and I’d be happy to show you exactly how manly I am.”
To Sam’s shock, he could feel the vampire rubbing his erection against him. “U-um, s-sorry.” Was this what vampires did just before they drank every drop of blood from your body?
“I don’t want you sorry. I just want you to want me.”
Sudden, inexplicable desire burned through Sam and his body hardened in reaction to the proximity of another man. The vampire smiled, exposing a flash of fang. A shiver of fear trembled down Sam’s spine.
“No!” He shoved at the vampire, who, surprisingly, broke his hold and released Sam.
The vampire watched Sam with a wary look. “What are you?”
Why does everyone keep asking me that?
“I’m human, okay? Just human.” Sam scowled at the vampire.
“No human has ever shattered my glamor.” The vampire sounded thoughtful, and his appraising look unnerved Sam.
“Well, good for me.” Sam folded his arms. He might not like paranormals, but he knew enough about vampires and their way of controlling people to know he didn’t want that within six feet of him. “I’m not going to rent a room to someone who tried to glamor me. You might as well go.”
The vampire smiled. “My name is Bob.”
A snort of laughter burst out of Sam. “Your name isn’t Bob.”
The vampire tilted his head, and his eyes glowed with amusement. “How do you know?”
“Because I just had a witch tell me not to share my name with a paranormal so I doubt you would be telling me your real name.”
Bob grabbed Sam’s wrist. His grip was firm, and instinctively Sam yanked his arm to try to break the vampire’s hold. “There was a witch here?” Bob snapped urgently. “What did she look like?”
“A witch.” What did it matter what she looked like? “She was old, crony, and witchy. You know—” He gestured expansively with his free hand— “A witch.”
“What did she want?” Bob still hadn’t let go of his wrist. The vampire didn’t know his own strength. One last tug and Bob finally let him loose. Idly, Sam rubbed at the sore skin burn.
“From what she said, werewolf bones.”
Bob scanned the room as if he expected the witch to jump out of the wall or something. “Never trust a witch and never, ever, tell a witch your real name.”
“Okay, um… Bob.” Sam could barely hold back the laughter building inside him.
“My real name is Roberto, but I go by Bob,” Bob finally said. “Vampires don’t have last names outside a coven. Your last name reveals the group you belong to. I am an independent.”
Sam couldn’t hold back the laugh inside him. Dire warnings about witches aside, he couldn’t wrap his head around a badass vampire calling himself Bob. Hell, a vampire named Bob. That was wrong on so many levels.
“Vampires are supposed to be sexy. There’s nothing sexy about a Bob,” Sam finally managed to say without laughing. Why he cared what the vampire called himself, he didn’t know, but there was no way he was going to call a vampire Bob.
Bob seemed to forget his need to warn Sam about witches and names and instead pulled Sam into his arms. Evidently he had returned to his first agenda. “I’m sure I can convince you I’m sexy,” he drawled. What was it about this man—vampire, whatever—feeling like he could manhandle him at every turn?
Sam narrowed his eyes at the vampire. The man might be the sexiest thing Sam had ever seen, but he wasn’t going to admit it…
Damn. He had just thought that. And damn—Bob had heard him. Shit. Bob was definitely smirking.
“Do you have a multiple personality disorder or something? You bounce around more than anyone I’ve ever met. From scary vampire to smirking idiot in a second.”
Bob smiled and didn’t appear to take offense at Sam’s comment. “You’ll have plenty of time to examine my personality when I move in. How much is the rent?” The quick change of subject threw Sam, but it didn’t keep him from trying one last time to stop Bob from moving in. He mentioned an exorbitant amount for the monthly rent to attempt to deter the vampire.
Bob released Sam, and then walked through the living room and down the hall. There were two bedrooms and a small kitchen, though Sam doubted Bob would need a kitchen. Vampires didn’t eat real food. Right? But wouldn’t he need a fridge or something for all the blood? Or would he be one of those vampires with a live donor?
What did Sam know? He had thought vampires could only come out at night.
Sam pushed aside thoughts of blood.
Bob returned to Sam’s side in long, confident strides. “I’ll take it.”
Shit!
The Case of the Wicked Wolf #2
Sam Enderson sat back in his desk chair and looked at his notes with annoyance. The strip of ribbon Hunter had sent him sat in the corner. As long as he didn’t touch it he couldn’t hear the girl crying. Despite what Bob said he knew it was the missing werewolf girl. Who else would be crying out in pain? Unless the abductor who sent the ribbon knew Hunter’s daughter Shelby had vanished and was taking advantage of that fact. The only thing that made Sam question his judgement was Bob’s statement that he didn’t sense any shifter scent on the ribbon.
"It’s a puzzle."
"Yes it is," Sam replied to Smudge, the black cat familiar, curled on the pillow beside his chair.
Smudge flicked his long tail as he groomed his black fur in long, languid strokes. When he spread his legs to lick his privates Sam turned away. "Can’t you do that elsewhere?"
"You’re just jealous because I’m bendy." Smudge taunted.
Searching for a distraction he turned his attention back to his sparse notes. Nothing made sense. Where had Shelby gone? Bob had talked to his contacts and the witch was still complaining to everyone she could find that Sam hadn’t lived up to his uncle’s promise. Since word had also travelled that she’d cursed Sam and he’d recovered the missing fae, his name was beginning to become rather well known among people he’d rather avoid.
Sam wished he could interrogate the werewolves and especially, Constance, Shelby’s ex-wife. From the little Hartman told Sam about her she seemed a prime suspect. Hartman kept insisting none of the shifters would do that to a little girl but Sam had his doubts. Shelby’s mother had two sons from a previous marriage both old enough to challenge for Alpha. Even Hartman admitted she was power hungry. What better way to bring down the Alpha than to crush his spirit? Even if Hartman denied his pack had anything to do with Shelby’s disappearance Sam noticed the Alpha didn’t ask for his pack’s help in locating his lost girl.
He sighed as he looked at the miniscule amount of information he had to work with. If the case hadn’t involved a little girl Sam would’ve passed on it, however, he couldn’t refuse to help out an obviously broken-hearted person even if he was a werewolf.
Unfortunately this new job didn’t do anything to help foster a good reputation among the human population. So far paranormals were the only ones interested in Sam’s services.
A knock on the door drew Sam’s attention away from his futile endeavour.
"Yes?" Sam called out.
A large hulking man with hair popping out of every visible crevice stomped into Sam’s office. He wore a surprisingly stylish suit but Sam figured if you were that large everything was probably custom made.
"Are you Sam Enderson?" he asked in a voice so deep Sam thought he felt the floor vibrate beneath his chair.
"Yes." Sam stood up to greet his guest. The man-creature-being whatever the hell it was towered over him even when standing. Sam’s confidence raised a few notches when he realised he could probably flee the building before the visitor reached him. "Can I help you with something?"
Smudge hissed from his perch.
"Troll."
Sam had never met a troll before. Fascinated, he watched his visitor with open curiosity. He hadn’t known trolls ever left their bridges. Of course what he knew about trolls could be stuffed in a brownie’s pocket.
"I need something removed." The troll spoke in slow drawn out syllables as if each word had to be dredged from his soul.
Saturday's Series Spotlight
Amber Kell has made a career out of daydreaming. It has been a lifelong habit she practices diligently as shown by her complete lack of focus on anything not related to her fantasy world building.
Despite her husband's insistence she doesn't drink enough to be a true literary genius, she continues to spin stories of people falling happily in love and staying that way.
She is thwarted during the day by a traffic jam of cats on the stairway and a puppy who insists on walks, but she bravely perseveres.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
RJ Scott
Volume 1
Series
