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PRAISE FOR "SOLDIER OF LOVE"
SOLDIER OF LOVE will have you believing in ghosts and hoping they will be as hot as John Buckman the ghost who is haunting the inn that Toni Bianchi purchased several months ago. The inn is falling down and has become a money pit on her funds. Seeking help she calls the producers from the TV show Paranormal team but what she doesn't know is that the star of the show Thomas has decided that this would be the last show. He is tired of going to investigate a paranormal occurrence and it is either a hoax or something that can easily be explained. SOLDIER OF LOVE brings to mind a book I loved in the early 80s where the hero was a ghost but this book is hotter and sexier. I loved Thomas and who knew you could fall in love with a ghost? I cannot wait until the next book in the Ghost Encounter series comes out. In my opinion it cannot come out fast enough. ~~Bad Barb's Reviews
About the "Ghost Encounters" series:
Follow reluctant spiritual
medium Toni Bianchi as she discovers the extent of her powers over ghosts and
men. Toni's powerful sexual energy acts as a conduit for wayward spirits
and affects the mortals around her.
ABOUT "SOLDIER OF LOVE"
"Soldier of Love"
Ghost Encounters Series
A reluctant spiritual medium, an insatiable Civil War ghost, and a sexy TV ghost hunter create an otherworldly love triangle.
When Toni Bianchi decides to chuck her high-stress career and mooching noncommittal boyfriend to become an innkeeper in a tiny tourist town, she doesn't realize that she's trading in one set of problems for another. The inn is a crumbling money pit haunted by the handsome ghost of its former owner—Civil War soldier John Buckman. As the hauntings get more frequent — and much more personal — Toni wonders if she’s just imagining things.
At her wit's end, Toni calls in the popular ghost-hunting TV show "Paranormal Research Team" and immediately falls for its sexy star, Thomas Becker. Toni, Thomas and Buckman's ghost engage in an otherworldly ménage that helps the dead cross over and leaves the living wanting more.
(Please note this book is formatted for London-based publisher Total-E-Bound. All spellings are UK English)
The flickering lights, the sudden blasts of cold air, the unexplained sensation of being touched, the weird sexual dreams—all of those things were disturbing, but it was the incessant channel-flipping that annoyed her the most.
Toni shook the soapy dishwater from her hands and snatched up the TV remote from the windowsill over the sink. She pointed the device at the small flat-screen television on the wall and entered the code for the home improvement show she had been watching before the channel had flipped. It was an episode on plaster repair, and given the chunk of ceiling she’d found on the dining room table this morning, it was a skill she’d need to master.
The host of the home improvement show was demonstrating how to remove the loose plaster, dust and grime from the spot to be repaired.
Toni kept her attention on the screen as she plunged her hands back into the soapy water. She felt around for a plate, sponged it clean, then dipped the plate through the rinse water and turned to place it in the draining rack while keeping an ear tuned to the television.
“…remember, if you want any plaster repair to last you must… Get buns of iron!”
Toni jerked her head towards the television, confirming that the channel had indeed switched again. She spiked the sponge into the wash water and the front of her dress was doused by the resulting splash.
“Oh, c’mon!” she shouted to the empty kitchen.
She grabbed the remote from the windowsill and pointed it towards the TV to once again flip back to the programme she’d been watching. Before she could make the switch, she felt a cushioned jolt to her right shoulder, like she’d been swatted with a bed pillow. The controller flew out of her hand and into the dishwater. She watched it sink beneath the sudsy surface. She spun around, pressed her back against the sink and jerked her gaze over the kitchen. It was empty.
A cold knot formed in Toni’s belly. She’d explained away two weeks’ worth of strange happenings. The lights flickered because the wiring was old. When she walked through a cold spot, it was because the doors and windows were draughty. She was having sexual dreams because she was horny. And the occasional physical sensations really were just tiny muscles contracting beneath her skin.
It was harder to explain away the sensation of being tripped every time she started to climb the stairs, but she’d never been particularly graceful. She’d wondered about the little house repairs that seemed to complete themselves overnight. She would often take a walk around the grounds and see that a swinging shutter had been secured or a leaning fencepost righted. The mysterious maintenance had been going on since the rainy night she’d seen the re-enactor in the alleyway. She’d awoken the next morning and found the carriage house door repaired and the handle reattached. She’d yet to identify the Good Samaritan, but she’d convinced herself that it probably was just a neighbour performing a random act of kindness. Who else could it be? But now the doubt that she’d been suppressing twisted inside her.
Toni smelt cap-gun smoke. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. She couldn’t explain away the blow that had caused her to drop the remote into the sink. Most of the other invisible touches she’d experienced had been as gentle as the brush of a cobweb against the skin, light enough to make her wonder if they’d been imagined. This time, there was no confusion. This time, she’d been pushed. Of that she was certain.
Toni wished she weren’t alone in the big old house. The re-enactors had all left immediately after breakfast to take part in the annual John Buckman Poker Tournament. They’d roll in well after dark and would undoubtedly be stumbling drunk. Not that any of those desk jockeys would provide much muscle. Toni realised that she was on her own. But, she’d grown up with five brothers. How tough could this be?
Toni drew in air until her lungs were full to bursting, then pushed away from the counter and balled her hands into fists.
“Okay!” she shouted to the empty kitchen. “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?”
The television crackled with static and she turned towards it. The Buns of Iron exercise video commercial ended with a toll-free number to call if one, in fact, wanted to spend one’s hard-earned cash to attain a forged-metal ass. The screen faded to black before the regularly scheduled programme filled the screen.
The episode of Paranormal Research Team was just wrapping up. The handsome star of the show was sitting in a modest kitchen across the table from a bedraggled housewife. They were both fixated on a tiny monitor at one end of the table.
“Keep a close eye on the curtain near the head of the bed,” the handsome host said.
They both leaned in.
“There!” he shouted. The woman jumped. “Right there. Did you see how the curtain puffed out? Was it a draught?” The host drew in a dramatic breath and looked into the camera, stretching out the melodramatic pause. “Or”—yet another long pause—“was it something else? Was it something”—he dipped his square chin and raised one eyebrow—“paranormal?”
A discordant collection of musical notes played ominously as the credits rolled. Toni’s skin prickled as she stared at the little television. The announcer’s theatrical voice boomed into the kitchen.
“If you, or someone you know, have experienced something unexplained, contact the Paranormal Research Team at…”
A static crackle issued from the television speaker and Toni watched as the horizontal green line that indicated the volume level travelled from left to right across the screen. She winced at the blaring sound of the announcer’s voice reciting the toll-free number to call.
Toni was shaking. She uncurled her fingers from the edge of the countertop and tried to recall where she kept her pens and notepaper. She turned towards the corner drawer that served as a catchall for the flotsam and jetsam that had no other obvious home. Her trembling hand was on the drawer knob when the cordless phone on the counter began to bleat at an unexpectedly rapid tempo. The rings were amplified far beyond their normal level and they came closer together until it was just one long, shrill tone.
She fought the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, cover her ears, and stumble blindly out of the kitchen. Instead, Toni turned towards the sound. Her mouth dropped open and when she inhaled, her breath shuddered. Her eyelids ached as she stretched them open to their limit.
A scream threatened to burst from her chest, but she was dumbstruck while she watched the phone’s display screen glow orange as it was activated. The television muted itself and the sound of a dial tone filled the kitchen as the cordless switched over to speaker. Toni felt cemented to the floor and silently watched the line of numbers fill the telephone display screen, each digit appearing with its assigned digital music note.
Toni’s entire body was now trembling. She crossed her arms under her breasts, trying to stop herself from shaking, then inched on unsteady legs towards the phone. She could hear the recipient line ringing through the speaker. She wasn’t sure if she could find her voice to speak when the voice on the other end answered, “Paranormal Research Team. How can we help you today?”
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