End Detour
The Mystic Museum Series 4
By Loc Glin
Genre: Erotic Romance
Word Count: 32,964
Heat Rating: SEXTREME
Categories: Erotic Romance (MF), African-American, Contemporary, paranormal elements, HEA
The Mystic Museum Series 4
By Loc Glin
Genre: Erotic Romance
Word Count: 32,964
Heat Rating: SEXTREME
Categories: Erotic Romance (MF), African-American, Contemporary, paranormal elements, HEA
Blurb:
Visiting Minerva’s Mystic Museum can change lives forever. Magic makes life altering changes possible. Can Shamika and Harold forgive and forget? Can they overcome trust issues and make a life together?Shamika must give up the life that she has come to accept and trust as normal. Is it time for a change? Does she really want a change? Will her history as a prostitute make that change impossible? Does Harold’s stubbornness prevent it? The unlikely pair are about to find out.
One encounter in a barn catapults these two strangers down a road of self examination and rediscovery. Past events have tainted their visions of what life should be. The powers that be have given them the opportunity to change their lives. Join them as they conquer their fears and the past disappointments that haunt them.
Family ties will be drawn into question. A possible future together will terrify them.
Mystic Museum magic is in the air!
Note: This book contains forced seduction.
Excerpt:
His mouth closed into a disapproving thin line. Gnarled fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Black hair speckled with enough white to make it more salt than pepper dipped into a slight V, breaking up a wide forehead. The creases on his already wrinkled brow deepened with his frown. His clear dark eyes were bright with anger, or something else, she couldn’t tell.
“Look missy, if you’re going to ride with me, you will show the proper respect. We don’t use that kind of language around here. It’s not lady like,” he said in a Midwestern drawl.
Shamika snorted. “Do I look like a lady?”
“Looks can be deceiving. I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover.” His chest rose as he took a breath trying to get his anger under control. “I’m willing to start over if you are.” He removed one hand from the steering wheel shoved it toward her and waited for her to take it. “My name is Hugo Turner, and you are?”
Did he mean it? He reminded her of her father. Her father was always willing to give someone a chance, always looked for the good in people. She took his hand.
“Shamika Adams. I apologize for my previous rudeness. Three cars passed me without a second glance. Do you have any idea how long it takes for three cars to travel on this road?”
“No.”
“A da—a very long time. I can assure you of that. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Turner.” She released his hand.
“Likewise, Miss Adams.”
“Call me Shamika or Mika, please.”
“I’d like that, and you may call me Hugo if you’d like.”
“Thank you. I’d like that, Hugo.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you become stranded out here?”
“I don’t mind. I just don’t have an answer that I think you would believe. It’s happening to me and I don’t believe it. Maybe I’m losing my mind.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, one minute I was in the museum, and the next I was on this road.”
“A museum, you say?”
“Yes, Minerva’s Mystic Museum in New York City. Minerva touched me and then, poof, I was here. It’s impossible, but here I am.”
Thinking about her situation made her lips quiver. She folded her hands together, trying to hide her trembling fingers as she fought her fear.
“New York? That explains the way you’re dressed.”
“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” She bristled with insulted indignation, but she knew what was wrong with it.
“It’s not what I would call respectable.”
Her father wouldn’t call it respectable either. But she latched onto the familiar defense reflex burgeoning through her inner turmoil. It helped her to put the absurdity of her situation out of her mind. “So what?”
“You’d best get rid of that chip that’s on your shoulder, missy.” He took one hand off the wheel to wag a finger at her.
She had to smile. If she didn’t know better she would think he was her father, and that helped to calm her raw nerves and fear. “You’re right, sir. I’d best do that. I’ve been carrying it around for a long time now. Sometimes I forget how I should act without it.”
“My Cecily came home with the same chip on her shoulder. She went to New York City, too. She came home dressed funny like you…not in a bumblebee outfit, but her clothes were too tight and too short, just like yours.”
“Bumblebee outfit?” She looked down at her striped top and gold skirt. She had to laugh. “I guess it does look like a bumblebee. I never gave it any thought.”
“That don’t sound right…a woman not thinking about what she looks like.” He took his eyes off the road to look at her for a moment.
“I didn’t say I don’t think about my appearance, I do. I have to look a certain way for my work.”
He took his eyes off the road again. “Let me guess, undercover narcotics agent posing as a prostitute?”
She laughed. He had a sense of humor. “Half right, and we both know which half that is.”
“Narc cop it is then.” He smiled and winked.
“Thank you, Hugo. I appreciate that.”
“I don’t take kindly to people who use drugs. Drugs killed my Cecily. She came home an addict. She kicked it, and got herself clean. She found a good man that loved her. She loved him, too, so they got hitched. She and Billy were happy. When she got pregnant they were thrilled, especially Billy. When he was killed in Afghanistan, before the baby was born, it broke Cecily’s heart. You would think that having a baby would give her something to live for.”
“It didn’t?”
“After little Billy was born she got that postpartum depression really bad. She started using again. A year later she overdosed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. Like I said, I don’t take kindly to people who use drugs.” He looked at her pointedly.
She saw a question, not an accusation in his eyes. For some crazy reason she cared what this man thought of her. “We’re in agreement about that. I may dress the part of someone who more than likely uses, but I assure you I don’t. I lost a close friend and a few acquaintances to drug overdoses. I can’t abide the stuff.”
“It’s bad enough that you lose someone that you love. I don’t know about you, but I’m still dealing with being angry with her for doing it to herself. It’s just so senseless,” Hugo grumbled.
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my sorrows.”
“Hugo, you don’t have to apologize. It’s good to know that I’m not alone. I thought I was a bad friend because I was so mad at him.”
“He was more than a friend, wasn’t he?”
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