New Orleans, 1902
A killer walks the streets of New Orleans, eviscerating men and leaving them in the streets, and for madam Trula Boudreaux, it’s bad for business. Trula needs help but she’s not prepared for Zeke Barnes, the charming would-be savior who darkens her doorway—or the yearning he awakens. For while Trula knows well the delights of lust, she avoids love at all costs…
Investigating the killer was one thing, but Zeke can’t help but be enchanted by the gorgeous mystery woman who runs an exclusive brothel. Caught between his duty to protect the city and his clear-as-day desire for Trula, Zeke sets about capturing Trula’s heart—or at least a place in her bed. But with every moment Trula resists, Zeke falls into greater danger.
For his investigation into the haunted city and madam doesn’t just risk his heart but both their lives.
Author Bio: Julie Mulhern always wanted to be a writer. She spent her childhood creating pen names and dreaming of exotic, mysterious, romantic places. To that end, she went to Washington and Lee University in Lexington, Virginia (because, when you’re from the Midwest, the South is both exotic and romantic). There she earned degrees in politics and French. She even spent a year living in Paris. But the Midwest beckoned and she returned home. Now she lives with her husband, two daughters and a dastardly dog. It might not be exotic or mysterious but it is romantic.
“Trula.” He breathed her name. She tilted her head so his lips could travel her neck. Her fingers fumbled at his suit coat, clumsy in their eagerness to remove the clothes that separated them, desperate to feel his skin. Her teeth nipped at his lower lip as he shrugged out of the garment. It fell unheeded to the floor and she ripped at his tie, growling in frustration when the slippery silk refused to cooperate.
His fingers pushed hers aside and the strip of burgundy joined his coat on the carpet.
Trula yanked his shirt free. Her hands explored, memorizing the chiseled planes of his chest and abdomen. Her tongue danced with his, building heat, building need.
His fingers unbuttoned the tiny buttons fastening her shirtwaist. Why had she worn clothes so difficult to remove?
A button popped, thudding softly to the carpet. The blouse finally fell away and he trapped her, pinning her shoulders against the cool expanse of the wall.