Kiss & Hell
Table of Contents
Praise for
Accidentally Dead
“A laugh-out-loud follow-up to
The Accidental Werewolf
, and it’s a winner . . . Ms. Cassidy is an up-and-comer in the world of paranormal romance.”
—
Fresh Fiction
“An enjoyable, humorous satire that takes a bite out of the vampire romance subgenre . . . Fans will appreciate the nonstop hilarity.”
—
Genre Go Round Reviews
The Accidental Werewolf
“Cassidy, a prolific author of erotica, has ventured into MaryJanice Davidson territory with a humorous, sexy tale.”
—
Booklist
“If Bridget Jones became a lycanthrope, she might be Marty. Fun and flirty humor is cleverly interspersed with dramatic mystery and action. It’s hard to know which character to love best, though: Keegan or Muffin, the toy poodle that steals more than one scene.”
—
The Eternal Night
“A riot! Marty’s internal dialogue will have you howling, and her antics will keep the laughs coming. If you love paranormal with a comedic twist, you’ll love this book.”
—
Romance Junkies
“A lighthearted romp . . . [An] entertaining tale with an alpha twist.”
—
Midwest Book Review
More praise for the novels of Dakota Cassidy
“The fictional equivalent of the little black dress—every reader should have one!”
—Michele Bardsley
“Serious, laugh-out-loud humor with heart, the kind of love story that leaves you rooting for the heroine, sighing for the hero, and looking for your own significant other at the same time.”
—Kate Douglas
“Ditzy and daring . . . Pure escapist fun.”
—
Romance Reviews Today
“Dakota Cassidy is going on my must-read list!”
—
Joyfully Reviewed
“If you’re looking for some steamy romance with something that will have you smiling, you have to read [Dakota Cassidy].”
—
The Best Reviews
Berkley Sensation Titles by Dakota Cassidy
KISS & HELL
THE ACCIDENTAL WEREWOLF
ACCIDENTALLY DEAD
THE ACCIDENTAL HUMAN
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2009 by Dakota Cassidy.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the
author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
BERKLEY
®
SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition/June 2009
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cassidy, Dakota.
Kiss & hell / Dakota Cassidy.—Berkley Sensation trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-12887-9
I. Title.
PS3603.A8685K57 2009
813’.6—dc22 2009004054
There are many four-legged pooches to thank for the making of this book. Did you think I was kidding in my bio when I said I had more pets than the local animal shelter?
Ahem . . . with love and eternal gratitude for each toe-licking tickle. All the early morning potty runs (really, thanks, dudes). The überstench-filled doggy breath wakeup calls. The pounces on my stomach to remind me I still have all my girlie innards. The stock I now own in a well-known paper towel brand. The baths I’ve been forced to take with you against my will. The wayward “chewies” I nearly lost a freakin’ eye looking for. The capture and release program invented just for your entertainment when it’s time to be brushed and declawed (insert evil laughter here), and the three vacuum cleaners I’ve clogged and beaten like dead horses.
But mostly for the unconditional love, endless giggles, smiles, cuddles, and utter joy you bring to my life—this is for: Mike, our bladder-impaired, diaper-wearing old man; Mindy, our anxiety-riddled, phobic angel; Milo, the one-eyed wonder; Wenzday, our blind diabetic with an enlarged heart; Gomez, or G-Money, as we fondly call him, our waaaaay overweight “love the one you’re with man-tramp,” er, precious; and finally, the only damned puppy we own that (so far, cross your fingers for us) we tentatively, and dare I say, hesitantly label “normal,” Pebbles.
And to the love of my life, Rob, who never bats an eye when I call him up and ask him how much he loves me—a code question for, “How do you feel about being a daddy to sextuplets?”
Also to Renee George, who helps me plot nearly everything I write, and Michele Bardsley, who was an enormous help with this, too. Thank you for the eight-hour marathon phone calls when I’m writing in circles and you’re following behind me with the shovel, digging me out as I head for China. I treasure your friendships even more than your plotting genius. Cindy Hwang and Leis Ped erson, who, as a team, rock. And to the constants in my life—Terri and Elaine Smythe, Jose Lugo, Jaynie Ritchie, Robin, Vicki Burk lund, Deidre Knight, Elaine Spencer, Sheri Fogarty, my mom, my “Accidental Fans,” the Babes, Michele Hoppe, my überfab test readers Erin and Kaz, the League, the DFW Tea ladies, about a million indy booksellers near and far, and most especially, the people who buy my books.
You guys are a whacked bunch, and that’s crazy cool. ☺
Dakota ☺
acknowledgments
To Wikipedia;
http://dictionaries.travlang.com
; Danny in Germany; Jen B., a real pal and a chemistry genius; Kaz, my Spanish rose;
www.imdb.com
(really, thank you);
www.doggietshirts.com
; and
www.tshirthell.com
. Finally, to my fantabulous readers—do note, any and all mistakes are totally and completely mine.
one
“Boo.”
You’re kidding, right?
“Uh, nope.”
Maybe you should try again—only this time, do it with more feeling
.
“Okay. Here goes. Ahem . . . boooooooo.”
You’re not serious, are you? Like really?
“Completely.”
Wow, that’s too bad.
“What’s too bad?”
That you’re not kidding. If the plan was to scare me, here’s the thing—your scary skills suck.
“That was rude.”
Sometimes the truth is rude.
“Don’t you mean the truth hurts?”
That, too. And now it’s time for you to go.
Delaney Markham waved a dismissive hand behind her shoulder to shoo away the voice of the ghost she was chatting with in her head—the
male
ghost she was chatting with in her head. Occurrences like this happened more often than not. She was used to surprise visits from the other side—the constant interruptions—and sometimes even the errant, unwanted visitor when she was in the midst of trying to make a buck.
But tonight, she had other things to attend to so her supernatural buddy would just have to hang on to his drawers for a little longer.
Delaney resumed her séance position, latching back onto the hands of the family members who sat on either side of her—armed and ready to contact the dead. “Aunt Gwyneth? Are you here with us?” she asked nothing more than the thin air. The people gathered round her table shifted in their wooden chairs with expectation, the lone candle she’d lit highlighting their faces rife with the fear, expectation, and wonder of the unknown.
She could literally hear them not breathing. Aunt Gwyneth’s family was tense with a multitude of emotions—as most were during a séance.
Delaney’s wind chimes tinkled appropriately—much the way they always did when a spirit entered her herb store in the East Village of New York. For some reason, the spirits liked to play with the chimes to announce their arrival. The familiar shiver of reverence mingled with otherworldly anticipation raced along her nerve endings, settling deep in her belly. Eight hundred bucks was but a question or two away. The chimes fastened to her ceiling shivered once more.
Ding-dong, spirits calling.
She smiled to herself. Suh-weet. Aunt Gwyneth had arrived.
