Magical
Matchmaker Series
Book
Three
Sharon
Clare
Genre:
Paranormal Romance
Publisher:
Apatite Publishing
Date
of Publication: December 28, 2016
ISBN:
978-0-9952674-3-5
ASIN:
B01N0MVQ81
Number
of pages: 256
Word
Count: 80,000
Cover
Artist: Book Nook Designs
Book
Description:
Magic
pushes them together. Reality pulls them apart.
Humiliated
radio show host Jessica Stirling is a survivor, yet nothing prepares
her for the stage trick that transports her across the country to a
man suspiciously like the nineteenth-century folk hero idolized by
Hollywood. About to lose her job, her life savings, and the home that
matters to her more than love, she can’t stay stranded in the
mountains with a dangerously appealing man who believes in elves.
Trapped
in an Elvin world for a century, Scottish artist Aiden MacAuley is
finally free and back on Earth. But he’s not home. He’s not safe.
And he’s not alone. To prevent the destruction of his bloodline, he
must get back to Scotland immediately. He can’t be distracted by
the exasperating woman sent to him by a match-making elf, even if she
does stir his lust like no woman has.
When
she tries to heal the sins of his past, he can’t open his heart.
There’s too much to lose and as the new guardian of the gate
between the human and Elvin worlds, he isn’t free to fall in love.
Excerpt:
If
she didn’t know better, she’d think she was in a log cabin in the
mountains. This set design was fabulous. The scene out the window
looked so real, she couldn’t help feeling a little respect for the
Alfar family of illusionists.
She
felt him come up behind her. Why was he standing so close? Without
turning, she asked, “Please direct me to the manager’s office.
I’d like to speak to someone about Finn’s disappearing lady
trick.”
His
soft snort sounded in her ears. “You’ll not be finding a
manager’s office here. Where do you think you are?”
She
was about to say she must be under the stage, but her throat clamped
down on the words. Two squirrels skittered around the trunk of a
tree. She’d assumed it was some kind of video screen, but if that
were the case, she’d not be hearing the faint chitter of the grey
squirrel on the defensive.
But
it couldn’t be. It was impossible for her to be anywhere other than
the Empire Theatre in Mesa, Arizona. “Where do you think we are?”
she countered, gaze fixed on the squirrels.
“It
was my hope to be in the Highlands, but the air’s not got the smell
of peat, nor whiskey, nor sweet heather honey.”
She
spun around then, and would have bumped into him if he’d not taken
a quick step back. “As in Scotland? Very funny.”
“’Tis
no jest.”
“No?
Well then, you woke up on the wrong continent, buddy.” His pupils
were slightly dilated, but his gaze was clear and steady. He
obviously had quick reflexes, and he didn’t look delusional, but
what did she know about psychotic episodes? His clothes looked like
he’d been sleeping in them for longer than a quick nap. Perhaps
he’d wandered into the theatre off the street. She took another
step backward.
His
sharp gaze flicked to that remarkably real backdrop. “How can you
be sure?”
Because
I’m sane. But she didn’t say that, of course. She was unsettled
enough to not feel perfectly grounded herself. “If you can’t
direct me to the manager, then I’ll find him myself, but this show
is over.” She marched across the room, threw open the door to the
pseudo living room, and stood dead still in the open doorway as a
very alive, damp outdoor breeze blew in the scent of bug-infested
woods, fish-filled lakes, and decomposing fungus.
Illusion.
She
slammed the door shut, moved back to the bedroom and opened what
looked like a closet door. Damn, a closet. She crossed the hall and
whipped open another door—bathroom. Where were the stairs leading
up to the theatre?
Perhaps
she’d just thought she’d seen mountains when she’d opened the
door in the living room—a mind warp from the stress of landing in a
stranger’s bed. She headed back across the room, spared a quick
glance at the stagehand who looked vaguely amused, and opened the
door cautiously.
She
stumbled across the threshold to stand on the wooden deck and face an
illusion much too large to be contained to one theatre. Her lungs
constricted. Tree-covered mountains stacked atop each other all the
way to the overcast horizon. A liver-colored lake roiled in a pocket
thirty feet below. Dark, dense woods pressed in on her like a surly
crowd.
But
they couldn’t be in the mountains. That was impossible. Arizona was
desert. There was no such thing as magic, no disappearing lady.
She
felt the blood drain from her face as reality struck.
She
was losing her mind. This must be exactly what had happened to her
nana. Every day, sitting in the Sunshine Acres Nursing Home, Nana
thought she was living on her childhood farm in Saskatchewan, talking
as though she were on the prairie, seeing the farm house, her mommy
and daddy. Thinking it was all real.
Jessica
had sudden early-onset dementia. Sinking to the deck, she wrapped
herself up in her arms. She felt the vibrations of the stagehand
walking around her, heard the smooth gait of his boots on the wood,
and she would have chuckled if her voice worked—she’d thought he
was crazy. If ever there was a kettle calling the pot black, she was
that kettle.
“I’m
not sure what Finn told you,” he said, “but you seem ill-prepared
to be here, and that’s not good.”
An
insect buzzed by her ear. Bugs! She swatted at it. “Yes, I’m
quite ill-prepared—quite ill, period. I see mountains and a lake.
How’s that for ill?”
“I
see. And there were no mountains or lakes where you came from?”
She
peered up at him. “Not mountains like these. I live in the desert.”
She massaged her temple—maybe that would bring much needed blood to
her head. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and…my brain
must have tried to compensate, but now it snapped. I’m seeing
things that can’t possibly be there.”
He
crouched down in front of her. “Your mind is sound, woman. You see
mountains because we’re in the mountains. Finn sent you here
because he likes to play games.” He slipped his hand over hers and
pulled. “Come, stand up.”
At
least he saw the mountains, too—a tiny acknowledgment. She tugged
her hand away. She may be losing her mind, but she could still stand
on her own two feet. One deep breath sent a good supply of oxygen to
her head as she stood up. “Just so you know, your explanation does
not make me feel better. People can’t go from the desert to the
mountains in the blink of an eye. It’s impossible.”
His
grin didn’t hold much humor. “Not impossible. People can’t. But
elves can.”
He’d
just re-established he was, indeed, crazier than she. “You see
elves. Oh my, that’s good news. Maybe we can get adjoining rooms at
the funny farm.”
About
the Author:
Sharon
Clare writes light, paranormal romance with a little magic, a little
suspense and a little humor.
She’s
always been fascinated by the idea there’s more to the world than
we perceive. That’s why she created Finn, a mischievous,
match-making elf, from a world just a wee bit off Earth who believes
every time love is experienced, energy empowers our worlds.
Life
has enough difficult times, so it’s important to Sharon to write
novels where happiness ultimately triumphs. She helps her characters
overcome their demons, open their hearts, and find the love everyone
deserves. When you reach the end, she strives to leave you in a happy
place.
If
you’d like a free book in the Magical Matcher series, please come
visit Sharon at: www.sharonclare.com
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/SClareWriter
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/sclarewriter/
Google
Plus: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+SharonClareAuthor
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