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Ghost of a Chance

ghost-of-a-chance-book

 

I’m slowly revamping books I’ve recently gotten rights back to and I’m almost caught up…for now at least. Here’s my latest one. It was previously published by Cobblestone Press under the title of Ghost Lover.

I’ve now changed the narration to present tense, re-edited it and given it the new title of Ghost of  A Chance. If you haven’t read it already, I hope you’ll check it out.

Here’s the synopsis and a short excerpt-

Dr. Jennifer Hartley overhears talk about a ghost haunting room 229 at Rosewood Inn in a village in England. Not just any haunting but that of a sexual nature. Intrigued, she decides to book a visit there and it’s in room 229, she gets more than she bargained for. It’s not one but three ghosts that haunt the room. All three men are the perfect lover for her but it’s one in particular who captures her heart.

Does she have a ghost of a chance of them ever becoming permanent lovers?

 

 

I lean my head back in the taxi. Jet lag has already kicked in. I tried to sleep on the flight to London, but crying babies and people wandering up and down the aisles had made it impossible. Now my eyes are gradually shutting as I head through a village on the outskirts of Maidstone, Kent. Will Henry, Ian, or maybe Nigel be waiting for me? I hope so. I’ve come this far, paid all this money, so I’m determined to have the sexual adventure of my life. I shift my ass on the seat, already feeling a pleasant stirring in my pussy. Will I get fucked in the shower? I’ve been looking forward to it on the entire flight. I set my head back some more, determined just to rest my eyes and not fall asleep.

“Miss…miss…”

I wake and sit up so quickly that my neck pops. We’ve obviously arrived because the taxi driver has opened the back door and is shaking my arm.

“I’m sorry I must have dozed off,” I say.

“Don’t worry. Happens more often than you’d think.”

I look out, seeing the Tudor beams and white brick front with the four-star sign hanging outside of the Rosewood Lodge.

I dig through my bag, pull out some bills and a tip, and hand them to the driver.

“Thank you. I’ll get your bags out of the boot for you.” I smile, remembering boot is the trunk.

A doorman from the hotel nods and comes over to carry my luggage for me. As I go into reception, I notice they have two restaurants. Not that I’ll be leaving my room for long.

“Good morning. Do you have a reservation?” asks a young girl dressed in a blue jacket and matching skirt.

“Yes, Dr. Jennifer Hartley.”

She taps at the computer keys. “I did request room 229,” I add.

I see her glance and raise her eyebrows at the lady standing next to her. They both smile.

“Yes, most women do,” she says.