Synopsis
Charlotte Kenny is nineteen years old and a prostitute.
Not by choice, though.
When a client is murdered, Charlotte is thrown into a world she believes should be between the pages of a novel.
Beau Mercier is an ass with a dark past.
When Charlotte ends up on his doorstep, he knows trouble will follow.
Two people, who neither trust nor like each other, are forced together in a town where all is not as it seems.
Can Charlotte escape her trouble? Can Beau open up enough to help her?
Both want to, but secret pasts, murder, and intrigue, get in the way.
Harlot accompanies the thrillers, Gabriel and A Deadly Sin, and can be read as a standalone.
For readers over the age of 18.
Amazon UK – http://amzn.to/2kr5dnB
Add it to your Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34353568-harlot
Excerpt
I couldn’t breathe. I knew my mouth was open, I felt my heart beating but for some reason I couldn’t get my lungs to function and take in the breath of air I needed. Maybe it was a good thing. Had I taken in that lungful of air, I’m sure it would have been exhaled as a scream.
I looked around the bedroom. Blood splattered up the wall in an arc, in another world it could have been mistaken for a piece of abstract art. I didn’t want to look at him sitting naked. A hole, a bloody, dark red hole, had appeared in the center of his forehead.
I pulled the towel tight around my body. Only a half hour ago he’d been alive, sleeping. The shower water that dripped down my body chilled me to the core. I grabbed my clothes, which had been strewn around the room, and pulled them on as quickly as possible. I stumbled as one foot tangled in the leg of my jeans. I screeched as I reached out to stabilize myself and touched his leg.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered, over and over.
Panic started to well up inside me. My hands shook as I buttoned up my shirt and looked around the room for my shoes. I spotted one but not the other. I grabbed my purse, the one shoe, and headed for the door. And then froze.
I rushed back into the room and grabbed the plastic bag from the bin; it contained evidence of our recent encounter. I picked up the towel I’d left lying on the floor and used it to cover my hand before I opened the bedroom door.
Moonlight streamed in through a small window in the hallway illuminating the stairs and giving me enough light to navigate down them. I crept down, pausing on treads that creaked under my weight and listened. I could hear my blood rushing past my ears to feed a brain that was firing off electrical impulses at a rate I wasn’t sure my body could keep up with. Muscles jerked as if preparing themselves for the flight option my body was desperate to take.
I should have called the police, I should have checked for signs of life. I should have done a lot of things other than the one I did—I opened the front door and ran.
