Rochelle Cassidy has the perfect life as a radio talk show host in the Detroit market, but her celebrity status doesn't stop an angry listener from wanting her ... dead. Ed McGrath's ideal life as a pro-hockey player doesn't include a damsel in distress until the night he discovers Rochelle being attacked in a deserted parking structure.Circumstances throw them together in more ways than one when Rochelle's producer plays matchmaker. A sick boy, a corrupt politician, and questionable medical practices put more than merely Rochelle in danger, and still, her attacker shadows her every step. Will Ed be able to break through her trust issues in order to protect her, or will she continue to see him as Detroit's bad boy athlete? Her life AND his depend on it.
Excerpt:Ed McGrath the hockey player … with a local sportscaster. That’s where she’d seen him before. Blood pressure skyrocketing along with her heart rate, she straightened to snag a closer look. Must be a coincidence—they looked alike; that’s all. “…celebrating their win. Ed, over here. Twelve straight wins. Way to go.” She upped the volume. “We sure weren’t gonna roll over and hand this to Edmonton.” He spoke with conviction and competitive determination as a speck of blood edged his twitching lip. There had been blood on the man in the ambulance. Ed and blood. A twitching lip. No, oh, no. The side of her corresponding lip twitched also. She touched a finger to the stitch lashing the cut together. So he was that Ed. The free-wheeling, sweet-talking hockey pro who had the love of half the women in Detroit. Probably beyond. A different Ed than the man who’d saved her life. This Ed sailed all over town with dozens of gorgeous women trapped in his wake. According to Don in the sports department, this guy mangled other players without so much as a beg your pardon. ....After one last glimpse of those penetrating steel-blue eyes gazing at her from the screen, she gritted her teeth. Stretching her arm high over her head, she flung the remote and gasped. ....The plastic rocket skidded across the floor at Mach One and smashed against the wall by the doorway. Mortified at her lack of control, Rochelle buried her face in the pillow. “Should I duck when I enter? Or was that just a bad shot?” With a start, she jumped and twisted her head toward the door. The blood literally drained from her face as the same piercing eyes which had graced the TV seconds before bore down on her all the way across the room.
Giveaway:Fear is Louder Than Words by Linda S. Glaz Blog Tour