Feature and Giveaway: Come Hell or High Desire by Misty Dietz

Torn between dangerous desires…

Framed for a series of brutal murders, rebel-turned-CEO Zack Goldman must go to ground. When he discovers that sexy boutique owner Sloane Swift has a shocking gift—terrifying visions that connect her to his mentor’s missing daughter—he can’t believe her refusal to help him. Nor can he believe he’s actually falling for the frustrating woman.

Their chemistry will either find its perfect equation…

Helping an accused killer ranks low on Sloane’s to-do list, no matter how hot the attraction burns between them. But putting to rest her overwhelming guilt over the missing woman’s fate proves more difficult than she ever imagined...that is, until her heart and conscience begin to align.

…or detonate everything in its path.

As the real killer locks in on Sloane, Zack will stop at nothing to keep her safe. And as they earn each other’s trust—with danger in hot pursuit—they may just lose their hearts in the process…

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A trickle of water from his hair streamed down the side of his face, and even as ravished as she was, she wanted to lick it off, climb on top of his wicked body, and find nirvana.

She got up from her chair, bustling over to the pantry, pretending to look for something until she got her hormones under control. The man was a sexual warrior. He undid her. Completely. As in, no control. Her hand stilled on a box of cereal.

Lord, it was glorious.

He burst into delighted laugher behind her. She swiveled, then smacked at the arms that encircled her waist. “Stop that! You can’t just jump into my head whenever you feel like it!”

“How can I help it when you think so loud?” He laughed again when she pushed past him to the table and sat down. A smile of her own threatened to break surface at hearing him laugh so freely. He rejoined her at the table. “This psychic business sure gives me an edge. I like it.” He winked at her, and her heart turned over.

“I’m supposed to be the kook here. I don’t understand why you can hear me, but I can’t hear you.”

“You can see what happens to me.”

“Yeah, but I can’t hear you—your thoughts—like you can hear mine,” she said.

He studied his coffee for a moment, then looked up and brushed a piece of her hair back from her eye. “I’ve heard you bit by bit since yesterday morning. The longer I’ve been around you, grown to trust you, and I suppose, the more you trust me, the more I’ve been able to hear.” He paused. “I guess I’m open to it. And… I’m beginning to listen for you.” His lips curved.

Seriously, she wanted to crawl in his lap. His smile grew wider, and he patted his thighs. “Come here, I’m all for it. See? This telepathy’s good shit.”

She wadded a napkin and threw it at him. “Get over yourself. I’m not sitting in your dang lap. What if you don’t always like what you hear?”

He shrugged. “I can take it. As long as you’re always honest.”

“Can’t censor your thoughts,” she said.

“You’d be surprised.” He leaned back, tilting the chair onto its rear legs. She couldn’t take her eyes off his magnificent chest and abs. She started to feel warm again. He cleared his throat. When she finally managed to look him in the eyes, he was smirking. “With thoughts like those, however, don’t worry about censorship.”

Misty's love affair with words started in middle school when she penned dark stories set in exotic locales she knew nothing about. In college, her boy-angst spilled over into disturbing reams of poetry. After grad school, real life hit, and the writing went into hibernation until she found her own happily-ever-after with an ultra linear man who is the long-suffering counter-balance to her zig-zagging tendencies. Now, she spends her days writing emotionally complex, adrenaline-fueled stories, teaching Zumba, enjoying her family and friends, and praying her children don't come home with math homework.

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