Author: Terry
Spear
Series: White
Wolf, #1
Pub Date: October
3, 2017
May all your
Christmas wolves be bright…
Romance writer Candice Mayfair never missed a deadline in her
life—until the playful bite of a werewolf puppy accidentally turns her into an
Arctic wolf shifter. Talk about a life-changing event! Candice is at the end of
her rope with the unpredictable shifting, a strong desire to howl, and the need
to vacuum constantly to keep the shedding fur under control.
Enter werewolf private investigator Owen Nottingham. Owen has a new
mission: convince the pretty she-wolf she needs to join his pack in time for
Christmas…and be his mate. It’s the only way he can think of to keep her safe…
USA Today
bestselling author Terry Spear has
written over sixty paranormal and medieval Highland romances. In 2008, Heart of the Wolf was named a Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year.
A retired officer of the U.S. Army Reserves, Terry also creates award-winning
teddy bears that have found homes all over the world. She lives in Spring,
Texas with two Havanese puppies.
Excerpt
Candice had been writing for two days straight, working on
her publisher’s book deadline, when she wrote the ending, smiled, and set the
book aside. She would start proofing it tomorrow after she’d given her brain a
break. Now she’d do what she always did when she finished a book or reached a
good stopping point in one. Clean house. Check her backlog of emails. Pick up
some more groceries. And take a run on the wolf side.
She finished vacuuming and dusting, swearing every window
must let in all the outdoors, and then started a batch of gingerbread cookie
cutouts to celebrate the Christmas holiday season and finishing another book.
While they were baking, she finally settled down to check her emails. Fan mail
always came first, and one from her website got her attention right off. She
opened it and read:
Hello, I’m Owen
Nottingham, private investigator for White River Investigations, White River
Falls, Minnesota. My client, Strom Hart, hired me to locate you. Your parents,
John and Cynthia Hart, left you an inheritance, and you need to see the lawyer
about it so you can claim it. I need to verify that
Candice reread the message, not believing her eyes, tears
filling them. She quickly looked at the date of the message. Two days ago! She
knew she shouldn’t have neglected her emails, but when she was into a story,
she couldn’t break away.
She ground her teeth, raised her fingers to respond, and
heard a knocking at her door. No one came here. Never. Ever. Not even salesmen.
She glanced at her phases-of-the moon calendar. The waxing
gibbous was just beginning. She should be fine. Just to be on the safe side, in
case the person at the door was trouble, she pulled a can of mace from her desk
drawer and headed for the door. She peered through the peephole. Waiting at the
door was a handsome black-haired man with rugged features and intense blue
eyes. He was dressed in a black suit, a red shirt, and a dark-purple tie
covered in red, purple, and gold Christmas balls. She raised her brows.
“I’m Owen Nottingham,” he said to the door, holding up his
PI license and driver’s license. He couldn’t know that she was watching him, so
he must have hoped she was there, observing him. “I tried getting ahold of you
through the contact form on your website about your inheritance. Your contact
form might not be working, so I had to locate you in person.”
Candice opened the door, the bells jingling on her Christmas
wreath, and the man glanced down at the can of mace in her hand. He smiled, his
gaze holding hers with such intensity that it was as though he could see clear
through to her soul. “Really, just a PI doing my job.”
A chilly breeze carried his scent to her. Wolf scent. All at
once, she felt so light-headed that she grabbed the door to keep herself
upright and dropped the can of mace on the tile floor. It clattered, but she
couldn’t have reached for it if her life depended on it.
Oh. My. God.
This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be real. No wonder he’d
been talking to the door. He must have heard her footfalls as she’d approached.
He took a deep breath at the same time, and when he smelled
her scent, his eyes widened in surprise. His hand shot out to grab her arm and
steady her. For a minute, she tried to control her breathing and her heart
rate, neither of which she could steady. She felt like she was going to pass
out.
“Hell, you’re the wolf I saw across the White River, aren’t
you?”
Her jaw dropped, and her knees buckled. He swept her up in
his arms and she wanted to object, but he slammed the door behind him with his
hip and carried her into the house. He was the wolf she’d seen across the river
that day on the camping trip in Minnesota two years ago, sipping from the
water? She still remembered it like it was yesterday. Him looking up and seeing
her staring at him while she’d believed she was hallucinating.
Until the next night, and then she knew she hadn’t been
dreaming at all.
Candice had been writing for two days straight, working on
her publisher’s book deadline, when she wrote the ending, smiled, and set the
book aside. She would start proofing it tomorrow after she’d given her brain a
break. Now she’d do what she always did when she finished a book or reached a
good stopping point in one. Clean house. Check her backlog of emails. Pick up
some more groceries. And take a run on the wolf side.
She finished vacuuming and dusting, swearing every window
must let in all the outdoors, and then started a batch of gingerbread cookie
cutouts to celebrate the Christmas holiday season and finishing another book.
While they were baking, she finally settled down to check her emails. Fan mail
always came first, and one from her website got her attention right off. She
opened it and read:
Hello, I’m Owen
Nottingham, private investigator for White River Investigations, White River
Falls, Minnesota. My client, Strom Hart, hired me to locate you. Your parents,
John and Cynthia Hart, left you an inheritance, and you need to see the lawyer
about it so you can claim it. I need to verify that
you are the right
woman first. Is there any way we could meet and get this taken care of so you
can collect your inheritance? Strom Hart will be the one to receive it by the
end of the month otherwise. His assistant, Jim Winchester, said Mr. Hart is
your uncle.
Candice reread the message, not believing her eyes, tears
filling them. She quickly looked at the date of the message. Two days ago! She
knew she shouldn’t have neglected her emails, but when she was into a story,
she couldn’t break away.
She ground her teeth, raised her fingers to respond, and
heard a knocking at her door. No one came here. Never. Ever. Not even salesmen.
She glanced at her phases-of-the moon calendar. The waxing
gibbous was just beginning. She should be fine. Just to be on the safe side, in
case the person at the door was trouble, she pulled a can of mace from her desk
drawer and headed for the door. She peered through the peephole. Waiting at the
door was a handsome black-haired man with rugged features and intense blue
eyes. He was dressed in a black suit, a red shirt, and a dark-purple tie
covered in red, purple, and gold Christmas balls. She raised her brows.
“I’m Owen Nottingham,” he said to the door, holding up his
PI license and driver’s license. He couldn’t know that she was watching him, so
he must have hoped she was there, observing him. “I tried getting ahold of you
through the contact form on your website about your inheritance. Your contact
form might not be working, so I had to locate you in person.”
So this was the man who had sent the message. Was he for
real? He had to be. He wouldn’t have come all this way to see her if he wasn’t.
But how had he found her?
Candice opened the door, the bells jingling on her Christmas
wreath, and the man glanced down at the can of mace in her hand. He smiled, his
gaze holding hers with such intensity that it was as though he could see clear
through to her soul. “Really, just a PI doing my job.”
A chilly breeze carried his scent to her. Wolf scent. All at
once, she felt so light-headed that she grabbed the door to keep herself
upright and dropped the can of mace on the tile floor. It clattered, but she
couldn’t have reached for it if her life depended on it.
Oh. My. God.
This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be real. No wonder he’d
been talking to the door. He must have heard her footfalls as she’d approached.
He took a deep breath at the same time, and when he smelled
her scent, his eyes widened in surprise. His hand shot out to grab her arm and
steady her. For a minute, she tried to control her breathing and her heart
rate, neither of which she could steady. She felt like she was going to pass
out.
“Hell, you’re the wolf I saw across the White River, aren’t
you?”
Her jaw dropped, and her knees buckled. He swept her up in
his arms and she wanted to object, but he slammed the door behind him with his
hip and carried her into the house. He was the wolf she’d seen across the river
that day on the camping trip in Minnesota two years ago, sipping from the
water? She still remembered it like it was yesterday. Him looking up and seeing
her staring at him while she’d believed she was hallucinating.
Until the next night, and then she knew she hadn’t been
dreaming at all.
Find Terry Online:
Website: http://www.terryspear.com/
Twitter: @TerrySpear
Giveaway
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