Tuesday, March 12, 2019

Dead and Gone by Jennifer Rebecca

Today we have the blog tour for Dead and Gone by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today:

Title: Dead and Gone

Author: Jennifer Rebecca

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Cover by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs.

About Dead and Gone:

You ever have an out of body experience? Like one of those moments where you’re standing on a street corner watching yourself do something monumentally stupid? Something you know you shouldn’t do but you just can’t help yourself?   Three weeks ago, Trent and I were deep into the Honeymoon stage of love, I swore I wouldn’t be the first one to rock the boat—Lord knows with our two Irish tempers it would happen soon enough—so when he made me promise to keep my nose and our grandmothers out of his investigation, I did.   It didn’t hurt that his head was buried between my legs at the time either. But then Daisy called me begging for help and what kind of bestie would I be if I shut the door in her face? That’s right, a sh*tty one. So I packed up our grandmothers and their gogo boots, g-strings and pasties to get to the bottom of things. Only problem is if Trent catches us I’ll be dead meat, folks.   My name is Shelby Whitmore, Funeral and Obituaries columnist for the San Diego Metro News and most likely to be single again if I survive this sh*t. But hey, at least I’m still a hit with the blue hairs . . .

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“And another deep breath in . . . and let it out . . . be the strength grounded in the firm terra that Mother Nature has provided.” “Jesus, it’s worse than usual today,” Harold says. Fwwwwwaaaarrrpppttt. “Dammit, Ruth!” Granny snaps. “That one’s gonna stink.” “That wasn’t me!” Ruth denies. I shoot her a side-eyed glare because even I’m not sure that I believe her. “It’s like my granny always said: ‘You crap your pants once, you’ll crap them twice!’ ” Granny barks back. “And let’s move into Warrior One,” Harmony says as we all shift our bodies in the practiced movements. “That was one time!” Ruth growls under her breath. “I bet that’s what all the pants shitters say,” Marla says in a rare show of aggression. We’re all so surprised that we almost missed Harmony’s transition into the next pose. “Now, drop an arm into Triangle Pose,” she says. Brrrrruuuuppppttttt. It sounds like a car backfiring. “Jesus Christ, it’s like the Bay of Pigs in here,” someone moans. “Oh man, chili again?” Harmony asks, just as she does during every class. “Oh yeah.” Harold chuckles from the back. “I sure wish they’d serve you guys ham sandwiches or something,” she complains, but in her weird, upbeat way. “For real,” I say out loud, though I really meant to keep it in my head. Faces all around the room, including my own grandmother’s, swivel to glare at me. “Uh . . . whoops.” “Let’s move into Downward Dog,” Harmony says. I bend my body forward, dropping my hands to the mat, when I hear a round of whistles go up throughout the room. “Well, hello there,” someone purrs. I have a feeling I know what—or I should say who—has caused the commotion, but I would rather hide and hope he doesn’t see me back here. “Let’s move into Upward-Facing Dog,” she says, and I push through the move and arch my back. “Nice package,” someone says, and I hear him yelp. One of the wily old ladies must have pawed his junk. “And back into Downward Dog,” Harmony says. I walk my hands back so I can push my rear back. When I do, I collide with muscular thighs and a startling erection. I let out an “Eep!” and try to move away, but firm hands grab my hips, holding my core against him. “So I take it this means you were going to hide back here from me?” Trent asks as he continues to hold me in a definite dog position, but it’s one more likely to be discussed by rappers than by yoga professionals. “We should try something like that,” Harold says from over to the side. “I hear you can go deep in doggie.” “Fuck me,” Trent mumbles before turning back to me. “Are you going to answer me?” “Uh . . . what was the question, again?” I ask, licking my lips nervously. “I’ll answer your questions, Big Daddy,” someone calls from the front of the room. “Dude, stop with the old-people hormones,” Harmony complains. “We can’t help it,” someone says. “Our bodies stop making them, so our doctors pump us full of more than we know what to do with in estrogen pills and Viagra.” “Sure looks like he knows what to do with that anaconda in his pants,” someone says. “You hush your mouth, hussy!” Granny shouts. “I asked if you were just going to hide back here from me,” he says and emphasizes his words with a little hip thrust that sends sparks through my body to all the right places. “Stop that!” I snap, unwilling to orgasm in front of my grandmother. “And yes, I was going to hide back here and let you walk past me.” “You do realize you’re right next to my grandmother, right?” he asks me. “I do.” “And you didn’t think I’d see you?” he asks, and I can hear the barely contained laughter in his voice. “Well, I was hopeful,” I snap. “And you weren’t going to bring my cat back?” he asks me with another rock of his hips. I bite my lip. “She’s my cat.” I roll my eyes, preparing to argue further. “And what about my girl?” he asks. “Were you just going to run from me and never look back?” “Probably,” I mumble while wondering where my life took a sharp left turn when it clearly shouldn’t have. “But you forgot one thing, baby,” he says softly. “What’s that?” I ask. “That I love the chase,” he says, and then he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder. “Trent!” I shout. “Put me down.” “We’ll be back for Missy later, Verna,” he calls over his shoulder. “You have fun, kids!” she calls out with a definite smile in her voice. Traitor. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Which is also frightening because I’m not sure there is anything she wouldn’t do. “And try out that anal stuff,” Marla calls out, and Trent barks out a laugh. “We will not being trying out the anal stuff,” I grumble. “We’ll see about that.” Trent laughs. “Don’t forget to do a little deforestation, Shelby!” Granny shouts through the room. “I haven’t seen a bush like that since the seventies!” “Dear Jesus, please open the earth up and swallow me whole,” I pray out loud. “I’m serious. Now would be a great time.” Trent throws his head back and his laughter roars through the room. “I hate you,” I gripe. “No, you don’t.” Trent marches out of the yoga room and to the elevator, where he pushes the button and silently waits for the doors to open. What he does not do is tell me what the hell he is up to. I would ask, but I’m also a chickenshit and I kind of don’t want to know. He’s going to tell me when he’s good and ready anyway, so why rush it? The bell dings and the doors open. Trent stalks into the car and hits the button for the lobby. My head is starting to feel a little fuzzy after being held upside down for so long. The doors slide open one more time, and Trent walks out of the retirement center with me over his shoulder like he does it every day. He walks right out the front door, and no one says one word about it. If they find the scene strange, I’d never know it. His SUV is idling at the curb, waiting for him to retrieve me. Trent pulls open the passenger door and drops me into the seat before reaching across me to buckle my seat belt. “Don’t. Move,” he orders before slamming the passenger door closed. Trent rounds the hood, then jumps in and buckles his belt all at once. I can’t really read his mood very well. He’s mad, sure. I totally get that. He was kind of a dick and I maybe reacted poorly, but still. What else was I supposed to do? Trent doesn’t give me any answers as he drives us north toward his home in the Escondido hills, the exact one that I left this morning. At least he didn’t ask me for his sweatshirt back. Yet. That sucker is mine. He pulls into the driveway and tosses the SUV into park. Trent shoots me a warning glare before he unbuckles his seat belt and climbs out. He rounds the hood again and pulls open the passenger door before leaning across me—again!—and unbuckling me. His normal woodsy scent is ratcheted up with all kinds of sexy man smells, sending my brain into a whirlwind. Before I know it, Trent scoops me up again and tosses me over his shoulder. He stalks to the front door and then inserts his key into the lock and pushes the heavy wood door open. He slams the door shut behind us and throws the lock closed. “Trent—” I start. But he does not answer. Trent marches down the hall to his bedroom, where he stops next to the bed. I take a step back, but the mattress at the back of my knees stops me. “Wh-what are you doing?” I ask. “We’re going to have a talk,” he says as he sweeps my top up over my head. Trent’s eyes darken as he takes me in, in my tiny shorts and jog bra. “Naked?” I ask. “Yes,” he confirms, and he sweeps my bra up next and removes it. “M-maybe we should talk with clothes on,” I suggest. “Unh-unh,” he denies as he presses in close to me, and I fall back onto the bed. Before I know it, I hear the snick of handcuffs closing around my wrist. “What the—” I ask, feeling confused and more than a little angry. “I told you we were going to have a conversation,” Trent says as I test the restraints on my wrist. I watch him warily as he pushes his body up from the bed and toes off his boots and socks. Trent takes off his holster and badge and puts them up on top of a tall dresser way across the room, which is smart because, at this particular juncture, I might find myself inclined to shoot him. My mouth goes a little dry as he pulls his T-shirt up over his head, exposing his muscular chest and its light dusting of dark hair. I love looking at him, and he knows it by that arrogant smirk playing on his lips right now. Half of me wants to slap his face, and the other half of me wants to sit on it. Jesus Fucking Christ, I need to get it together.

Catch up on the series:

Dead and Buried

About the Author:

Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay. Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta. 10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.




Twitter: @JenniRLreads

Instagram: @JenniRLreads


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