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What do you do when you've witnessed a figment of your imagination come to life... and a very real guy drop dead?
My name's Maggie Kelly, and I'm as sane as you are. Or as sane as you'd be if you'd just discovered the "fictional" character that made you a bestselling author hanging out in your apartment. His name is Saint Just. Alexandre Blake, Viscount Saint Just, to be exact. And he's a detective, which might actually come in handy, considering I'm now a murder suspect...
These are the kinds of things
you don't see every day...
Isn't it just like an ex-boyfriend to up and die on your sofa at the worst possible time? Did I mention the deceased was also my publisher? So while I try to figure out how not to get arrested, I'm also wondering how I'll get out of this one with my career-and my life intact. Not to mention my heart. Because I can't completely ignore my attraction to Saint Just. He's my dream man made flesh, after all. Even if he does leave the cap off the toothpaste.
...Unless you're me.
So here I am. In trouble. In lust. In over my head. Trying to get the NYPD off my case and the supersleuth of yesteryear back into my PC where he belongs. These things are so much cuter when they happen to Meg Ryan. If I could write a happy ending for this one, believe me, I would. But first I'd need a clue where to start.
My name's Maggie Kelly, and I'm as sane as you are. Or as sane as you'd be if you'd just discovered the "fictional" character that made you a bestselling author hanging out in your apartment. His name is Saint Just. Alexandre Blake, Viscount Saint Just, to be exact. And he's a detective, which might actually come in handy, considering I'm now a murder suspect...
These are the kinds of things
you don't see every day...
Isn't it just like an ex-boyfriend to up and die on your sofa at the worst possible time? Did I mention the deceased was also my publisher? So while I try to figure out how not to get arrested, I'm also wondering how I'll get out of this one with my career-and my life intact. Not to mention my heart. Because I can't completely ignore my attraction to Saint Just. He's my dream man made flesh, after all. Even if he does leave the cap off the toothpaste.
...Unless you're me.
So here I am. In trouble. In lust. In over my head. Trying to get the NYPD off my case and the supersleuth of yesteryear back into my PC where he belongs. These things are so much cuter when they happen to Meg Ryan. If I could write a happy ending for this one, believe me, I would. But first I'd need a clue where to start.