Bailey and Quinn are back! Bailey Ember Gardener Quinn should’ve read the manual on caring for an incubus before marrying hers. The marriage license hadn’t mentioned anything about their sexy, insatiable ways. If she doesn’t get a single night of undisturbed rest soon, she’ll snap—or go on a napalm bender. Either would work.
Recruiting Tiffany “Perkette” Perkins to be her partner-in-crime isn’t the best idea, but nothing says fun quite like a road trip, and Perkette the Misdemeanor Collecting Queen could teach the devil a thing or two about having a good time.
Add in a string of rabies cases, more puppies than she can count (or readily adopt,) a job promotion, and her very own incubus in disguise on the hunt for her, and Bailey’s in for one hell of a ride.
Warning: this novel contains excessive humor, a unicorn on a napalm bender, Quinn on the hunt, and more shenanigans than you can shake a stick at. Proceed with caution.
Burn, Baby, Burn is book twelve of the Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count) series.
Where to Purchase
eBook: Patreon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Apple Books | Amazon | Smashwords
* Print, Paperback (6×9): Bookshop | Barnes & Noble | Amazon (Blank Edges)
Audiobook: Patreon | Kobo | Audible | Chirp
* Note: All 6×9 Paperback editions have forced print edges unless purchased at Amazon.
From Chapter One…
Approximately four months following the events of Playing with Fire…
Bailey
I loved Quinn, but if I didn’t get a full night of sleep soon, someone would die. I gave it even odds on which one of us would bite the bullet. I’d either expire from his drive to prove he was the perfect man, or I’d snap, pop a few transformatives, and shove my horn so far up his ass it would take a surgeon to separate us.
Come hell or high water, I’d enjoy a full eight hours of sleep. No, I’d enjoy twelve, not my current three to four. Not only would I enjoy my rest, I’d have a great time securing it, too.
Quinn loved the chase. It made him feel important, feeding his ego and adding extra spring in his step. The smug incubus-in-disguise didn’t need any more damned spring in his step. He needed to be sedated, tucked into bed, and used as a quiet but sexy pillow.
Damn it. That was the entire issue.
Neither one of us had an off switch, and Quinn viewed it as his personal mission in life to fill my every craving. The months since our haphazard marriage had changed nothing.
When he walked into the room, my panties spontaneously combusted.
I checked out the bedroom window to make certain he’d taken his cruiser to work. He had.
Excellent.
The snow would screw with my plans for a while, but I’d make do. I wouldn’t use my stash of transformatives until I reached somewhere a lot warmer and dryer. I’d eliminate Las Vegas from my bucket list first. If my tall, dark, and handsome failed to find me there, I’d head to California.
All I needed to do was confirm my partner-in-crime still wanted to haul ass across the United States. Using the day-old phone I’d purchased with cash, I called Tiffany.
She answered on the second ring. “Your man’s cruising your block, and he’s got mine in the car with him. If we want to bust out of this joint sometime today, you need to encourage them to leave. Why does he insist on prowling your block for twenty minutes every damned morning?”
“The same reason there are transformatives stashed in every room in the house, Perkette. It’s also the same reason he ripped out a perfectly good fireplace and installed a new one. He’s insane.”
“Bailey, we’ve talked about this before. He’s not insane. He loves you. Now, go text him on your other phone and give him the list of things we picked for clues. After you’re done, we’ll wait for your chief to pull over, read your message, and head to work. If all goes to plan, he’ll be distracted by your requests and fail to notice anything amiss.”
However much it pained me to admit it, Tiffany was right. Whenever I asked for anything, Quinn went overboard catering to me. I sighed. “He’s worse than a puppy.”
“It’s so difficult handling a loving man. Mine needs some excitement in his life, too. That’s what we’re doing. We’re giving them some excitement for Christmas.”
“Or signing up for a divorce.”
“The cretins need the time off anyway. If it takes them two weeks to find us, they obviously need to brush up on their detective skills. Have you sent him the list yet?”
“Working on it, working on it,” I muttered, pulling up the note I’d meticulously typed out, copying it to a text message. “He’s going to think I’ve lost my mind. Who asks for an indoor rose plant, not for eating? I had to specify, Perkette. If I don’t, he gets too much. Last time, he bought three dozen roses, and he made certain they were food quality.”
“You specified the color, right? That’s important.”
“Yes, yes. I specified eleven orange roses, not for eating, and I indicated I’d like to plant them outside eventually. I also asked for a single red rose, too. Also not for eating.”
“You have to admit you have issues with his rose bushes, Bailey.”
“I have issues, period.”
“That, too.”
I sighed. “Do you think he’ll figure it out?”
“Maybe your man will need help, but mine is a mad scientist freak with a puzzle fetish. They’ll be fine. Just make sure you’re ready to roll and read from the script if he calls you on the house line.”
I texted that I had work to do and would have my phone off for a while before I killed the device and tossed it under the couch for safekeeping. “I told him I had work.”
His inability to reach me would drive him home right on time, which would begin the hunt, as he’d begin searching for me within five minutes of discovering I’d given him the slip.
I hoped he liked the effort I’d put into wrapping his first clue, an old Elvis vinyl and a record player for his enjoyment.
“Bailey?”
“Phone is off. I’m about to stage the box. Did Perky leave your car in the garage this morning?”
“I already parked it in the neighbor’s garage and gave her the keys. Your man’s baby will be safe. Don’t forget the card or your bag.”
“I won’t.”
“And definitely don’t forget the saddle, bridle, or transformatives.”
“I won’t. Have they left yet?”
“No, but Mr. Police Chief just pulled into a driveway around the corner from your house. If he heads to work, we’ll know he’s taken the bait.”
How had I let Perkette talk me into her special brand of insanity?
Oh, right. I missed sleep.