I’m thrilled to announce the release of my sci-fi rom-com novella, MARRIED TO THE MIB!
Handsome, blue-eyed Spencer Ward stirs feelings in Dulcie Crandall that she can’t quite explain. Spencer feels it too, but he knows why pretty, vivacious Dulcie seems so familiar. She’s his wife.
Spence is a Man in Black, a special agent dedicated to protecting Earth from temporal and extraterrestrial threats. Three years ago, he met Dulcie, an alien abductee, during a daring rescue from an Umayan organ harvest ship. His employer, the Insterstellar Security and Time Agency, had Dulcie’s memories of their whirlwind courtship and alien wedding ceremony blocked before they returned her to Earth. Now ISTA needs the memories locked in Dulcie’s subconscious, and Spence and his half-alien shapeshifter partner, Ruben “Ruby” Throckmorton, have been assigned to retrieve them.
It should be easy, but will Spence be able to remain objective when the love of his life experiences total recall of the time she spent married to a MIB?
All around Dulcie, geysers of foul-smelling steam belched from dripping pipes. Unidentifiable machinery hissed, and lights flashed in macabre shades of crimson and purple. She wasn’t supposed to be here, hiding in this dank place all alone, driven by fear and some deep, desperate need to survive at all costs.
She’d come here, though, to escape someplace much worse. If only she could remember exactly what she was running from.
Just when she’d reached the point where her only option was to scream—not for help, but for the sheer, utter hopelessness of her predicament—he appeared. He swept out of the hot, churning mist, the broad-shouldered silhouette of a man backlit by a strobe of acid green. He reached for her.
Some strange instinct bade her to take the hand he offered, but rather than rise with dignity from her hiding place and let him lead her out of this neon hell, she flew into his arms, shivering and sobbing.
He murmured something soothing while she buried her sweat-dampened face in his neck. His scent curled into her lungs on her next shuddering gasp of breath, and she calmed. Strong arms lifted her from the darkness, and Duclie melted into his muscular caress. He smelled like sin, a curious mix of male sweat, danger and an intoxicating cologne.
There was something about that smell—familiar and wonderful—that told her everything from here on in was going to be just fine. She tightened her arms around him, and he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. The steam faded then, offering a momentarily clear view of the place. This time Dulcie tried to pay attention to what she saw.
Miles of coiled wires, rusted pipes and twisted fingers of metal and smoky crystal stretched before them. In the still-shrouded distance a white light cut through the gloom.
“That’s the way out,” he said. His voice, like his scent, penetrated her weakened defenses and left her dreamy-eyed and breathless. Beneath her splayed hand the muscles of his chest, hidden under a black T-shirt, rippled as he strode toward safety. “We have to hurry.”
“Hurry.” She nodded, but for some reason all the urgency she’d felt a few moments ago had faded. She’d have stayed in his arms forever, cradled against his rapidly beating heart, cherished in his embrace.
“Hurry…” Dulcie awoke with that word on her lips. Again. This was the third time this month. She might have been more concerned about the details of the recurring nightmare, except it always ended the same way, with her daring rescue.
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