Page 57 of Shifting Hearts 1
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.B. Martin resides in South Carolina with her husband and two children. When she's not reading or writing, you can find her enjoying a cup of coffee. She majored in English Literature with a minor in British Lit. Passionate about mental health awareness, L.B. shines a light on the topic through her characters, many of whom grapple with mental illness. She also loves writing about dirty-talking bad boys and the curvy women who bring them to their knees.
Join L.B. Martin Online
Website
Amazon
BookBub
Goodreads
Instagram
TikTok
Facebook
Reader Group
BLURB
Billionaire Jas Conrad had it all; fast cars, the latest technology, insatiable desires, and eternal life… The last thing he needed was an angel to save his soul.
Seraphina Chandler moved to the city to work for the CEO of Conramor Liquors. Her assignment: help him rediscover his humanity after selling his soul to the devil 200 years prior. She’d do almost anything for her boss, including signing a contract that leads her down a deliciously dark path of carnal delights.
Jas struggles to view his angelic secretary as more than just another soul to break when opposing elements draw them together. He will do anything to possess her, mind, body, and soul.
Suck my kiss, and make me sing as your fangs pierce my skin.
PROLOGUE
200 years ago…
As a dusky haze settled over the cobblestone lane outside Jasper Conrad’s tavern, the little village was lulled into slumber. An eerie chill hung in the air, as the barmaiden drew the shutters closed, plunging the interior into near darkness, not that the clientele was bothered by the abrupt change.
The man closest to her smacked her ass, as she reached to light extra candles. She rushed off, having learned it was better to ignore the disheveled regulars, to avoid being forced into someone’s lap. When they weren’t actively reaching beneath her skirt, they occasionally came to blows in a drunken haze.
Conrad, who was already in a foul mood, scowled as he surveyed the dreary atmosphere.
“We need to replace barrel two,” the barmaiden explained.
He refused to crack open the barrels for these drunkards who wouldn’t know a good drink from arse water. He swiped his rag across the wooden bar top he’d built himself when he took over the tavern years ago.
Tonight, he secured a meeting with a potential investor who could help his business grow exponentially. Age had its advantages in life, but so did power. He craved power and continually sought after it.
The clip-clapping of hooves and rumble of a carriage echoed down the lane, causing every head to turn toward the door, waiting anxiously as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the tavern. A horse’s winny preceded the door banging open. The barmaiden, who’d been pulled into a patron’s lap, squeaked in fright.
A hooded figure stepped inside.
“Announcing, His Grace, the duke.”
Surely it was a coincidence that the candles flickered and the temperature dropped several degrees, as a man with an otherworldly grace glided through the door. His skin was deathly pale in the soft light, in sharp contrast to the crimson coat he wore. His footfalls were light on the wooden blanks despite his boot-clad feet.
The man rarely left his estate, adding to the pressure Conrad felt. He wouldn’t cock it up. Selling his wares to the duke would provide him the coin to open a second tavern in another province, one that would provide him with the profit needed to expand throughout the country.
The barmaiden quickly climbed off the lap of a patron and fixed her skirt before curtsying. “Your Grace.”
