Dead Pretty - Samantha Towle Page 0,84
places. But the frightening thing is … I always wake up hours later, back at home and with no clue how I got there. It’s been happening regularly since I left Jackson and moved here, and it’s scary as hell.
I haven’t told anyone. Not even Cole.
I don’t want him to worry.
But last month, it was at the bus stop when a woman took a seat on the bench beside me. The month before that, it was in a diner when I shared a booth with this nice man who had asked if he could sit at the table with me because the diner was packed.
Kind of just like what’s happening now …
I blink, staring up at the man. My vision starts to go hazy. Dark.
This isn’t … no … I can’t … don’t fall asleep.
Audrey.
Yes?
Rest now.
Cole
I blink open my eyes as I stretch out, taking full control, putting Audrey to rest.
God, that feels so much better.
Smiling easily, I pat a hand on the seat of the empty chair beside me. “The seat is all yours,” I tell him, putting a flirty tone into my voice.
I watch him sit, feeling that excitable energy flood my system. The feeling that I always get when it’s my time.
I’m no fool. I know exactly why this guy came over. And it wasn’t for a seat.
He wants to fuck.
Meaning I get to have some fun tonight.
Angling my body toward his, I hold out my hand. “I’m Audrey,” I tell him.
“Tate,” he says. Taking my hand, he shakes it gently.
He thinks I’m delicate.
Idiot.
Letting go of his hand, I lean back in my seat and pick up my wine.
I cross one leg over the other, letting the skirt that Audrey dressed in this morning slip off my knee, revealing plenty of thigh.
His eyes drift to my legs.
So. Predictably. Easy.
I almost want to laugh.
Covering my smile with my glass, I take a slow sip of my wine before putting it back down.
I lean forward, place my elbow on the table, and rest my chin in my palm as I stare over at him. “So, tell me, Tate”—I let my teeth seductively graze over my lower lip—“do you live around here?”
Tate’s eyes latch onto mine. His pupils dilate, and a slow smile spreads across his mouth.
He thinks he knows what I’m suggesting.
He has no clue.
No. Fucking. Clue.
Because men like Tate don’t sense danger in attractiveness. They only think of one thing when they look at a woman like Audrey.
Sex.
They never see me coming.
And that works perfectly.
As I stand and leave the bar with Tate, his hand on my lower back, I smile inwardly, thinking to myself, What an amusing irony it is that people like Tate are lured in by Audrey’s beauty.
Because, to me, there is nothing prettier than death.
And tonight … his death is going to look as pretty as hell.
I’m going to keep this one short. But what I do want to say is that Dead Pretty has been my biggest challenge to date in my writing career. Amid a global pandemic, I wrote a book that tested me to my absolute limits, and I couldn’t have done it without these handful of people.
My husband and children. There are no other three people in this world that I would want to be stuck in a house with for seven weeks and counting and continue to still be laughing and having the best time with. Infinity and beyond, my people.
Mostly, I owe the completion of this book actually happening to Vic and Tash. My Ungodly Hour Sprint Team. You both are my six-thirty-in-the-morning kick in the butt. I literally couldn’t have finished this book without you both. And of course, I can’t forget to mention Caaaaaaaaaaarllllllll!
My Wether Girls. My online home. To be surrounded by wonderful, supportive women such as you helps to restore my faith in the human race daily, and I’ve needed that reminder even more so these last few months.
Lastly, I would like to thank wine and coffee … my biggest supporters through all of this.
My P.S. thank-you, as always, is to you, those of you who are reading this right now. You sticking with me for all of these years and continuing to read the books that I put out are the reason I get to live and work my dream.
And lastly, a note: I know Dead Pretty is not the normal type of book you expect from me. I know it’s probably a surprise. Maybe even a shock. I know because it shocked the hell out of me, too, that I could actually write a book like this! But I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe even loved it a little. And that it took your mind off the crazy world we’re living in right now, if only for a short time. Stay safe. And until the next book …
OTHER BOOKS BY SAMANTHA TOWLE
STAND-ALONE NOVELS
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Under Her
Sacking the Quarterback (BookShots Flames/James Patterson)
The Ending I Want
When I Was Yours
Trouble
ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
River Wild
Unsuitable
THE GODS SERIES
Ruin
Rush
THE WARDROBE SERIES
Wardrobe Malfunction
Breaking Hollywood
THE REVVED SERIES
Revved
Revived
THE STORM SERIES
The Mighty Storm
Wethering the Storm
Taming the Storm
The Storm
Finding Storm
PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVELS
The Bringer
THE ALEXANDRA JONES SERIES
First Bitten
Original Sin
Samantha Towle is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal best-selling author.
A native of Hull, she lives in East Yorkshire with her husband, their son and daughter, and three large fur babies.
She is the author of contemporary romances, The Storm Series, The Revved Series, The Wardrobe Series, The Gods Series, and stand-alones, Trouble, When I Was Yours, The Ending I Want, Unsuitable, Under Her, River Wild, and Sacking the Quarterback, which was written with James Patterson. She has also written paranormal romances, The Bringer and The Alexandra Jones Series. With over a million books sold, her titles have appeared in countless best-seller lists and are currently translated into ten languages.
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