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MACK

King Trilogy #4 (Based on King Trilogy)

Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Releasing Feb 15th, 2016

From New York Times Bestseller Mimi Jean Pamfiloff, Comes the New Standalone Story of Mack, a Continuation of the King Trilogy

“THEY THINK KING IS EVIL, BUT HE’S GOT NOTHING ON ME.” - Mack

MY NAME IS MACK. And if I play my cards right, I will soon be dead. Permanently. Not even my powerful twin brother will be able to resurrect me. A good thing. Because a man like me has no business living. Not when I have killed. Not when I have betrayed everyone I have ever cared for. Not when I know I’m destined to do it again.

This is why I have come looking for her—the only one capable of ending me once and for all. But will she think I’m just another insane patient? Or will she believe the truth? I am thousands of years old, my heart too dark to be salvaged.

~~~~~

MY NAME IS TEDDI, short for Theodora. My entire life has been a canvas of grays, whites, and black. I can’t feel, I can’t understand joy, I’ve never truly lived. Until now. His name is Mack, and though he believes he’s cursed, my degree in psychology tells me otherwise. Besides, someone who’s capable of bringing so much light into my life can’t be anything but good.

But I can save him. If he’ll let me.

(STANDALONE STORY – BASED ON THE USA TODAY BESTSELLING KING TRILOGY)

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Darkness was the one thing in this world I didn’t care for—probably because I felt most comfortable with facts. Seeing objects equated seeing facts. There is the floor. There is the couch. Facts.

Guessing where things were—I think the leg of this table is around here somewhere—ouch!—was inefficient, useless. It was why nightlights were invented.

So when I entered John Doe’s dark room, the first thing I wanted was to bring in some light.

“Mr. Doe?” I said to the dark figure seated in the corner of the small room, staring at me like an eerie scarecrow waiting to frighten the shit out of anything that crossed its path. “My name is Dr. Valentine. I’m the new director. May I turn on the lights so we can discuss the reason you are here?”

“I asked not to be disturbed.” The man’s deep, masculine voice felt like a cold, chilling slap. Yet strangely, it was also…Well, I didn’t know really. Hypnotic, perhaps.

I squinted, my eyes straining to see his face but only able to make out his silhouette—broad shoulders, short hair, and fit-looking arms from the shadows of biceps I was able to spot.

“That’s exactly why we need to talk,” I said. “It’s come to my attention that you are not here to seek therapy—”

“Leave.”

My mouth flapped for a moment. “I’m sorry, but did you—”

“I said leave,” he growled.

Sadly for him, intimidation didn’t work on me. Not that I was stupid and wouldn’t get out of harm’s way. The question was, did he intend to harm me?

“And if I don’t?” I asked, testing the waters. His response would tell me everything I needed to know. Reading people’s internal emotional state was another gift of mine.

I waited for a reply.

And then I waited some more.

He’s not going to answer me. Fine. This was silly and a completely unproductive use of my time. I would just have to see him with my own two eyes. My gift would do the rest.

“Okay. These lights are going—” I flipped the switch, and the moment my eyes met his, I was hit by a hard wave of…

“Holy fuck,” I gasped.

I flipped off the lights, turned, and left the room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was that?

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Mimi Jean Pamfiloff is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling Romance author, and host of the radio talk show, Man Candy, on Radioslot.com.

When San Francisco native Mimi Jean went on an adventure as an exchange student to Mexico City, she never imagined the journey would lead to writing Romance. But one MBA, one sexy husband, and two rowdy kids later, Mimi would trade in corporate life for vampires, deities, and snarky humor.

She continues to hope that her books will inspire a leather pants comeback (for men) and that she might make you laugh when you need it most.

She also enjoys interacting with her fans (especially if they're batshit crazy). You can always find her chatting away on Facebook, Twitter, or saying many naughty words on her show MAN CANDY on Radioslot.com !

Find out more about Mimi and upcoming books at www.mimijean.net

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Book Blast: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff - SUN GOD SEEKS ŠSURROGATE

SUN GOD SEEKS…SURROGATE? by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff 

(February 25, 2014; Forever Mass Market; $6.00)

Living in New York City, Penelope Trudeau has seen a lot of weird stuff-but nothing like the insane redhead who accosts her with a wild proposition. Penelope will get a million dollars if she has a baby with the strange woman's brother. With her mother dying from a mysterious disease, Penelope can use the money. Yet the terrified waitress is adamant that her womb and eggs are not for sale . . . until she meets her intended mate. He's impressively built, gorgeous, and red-hot, literally. He's a freaking immortal Sun God.

For thousands of years, Kinich (Nick to his friends) didn't believe in fraternizing with humans, so procreating with them is definitely a no-no. But after one sizzling encounter with the beautiful, passionate Penelope, Nick begins to think he was wrong . . . until he realizes meeting Penelope was just another one of his crazy sister's schemes at manipulation. But now that he has Penelope in his life, he can't let her go. Especially because doing so means throwing her into the hands of his dangerous enemies.

About Mimi Jean Pamfiloff:

Before taking up a permanent residence in the San Francisco Bay Area, Mimi spent time living near NYC (became a shopaholic), in Mexico City (developed a taste for very spicy food), and Arizona (now hates jumping chollas, but pines for sherbet sunsets). Her love of pre-Hispanic culture, big cities, and romance inspires her to write when she's not busy with kids, hubby, work, and life...or getting sucked into a juicy novel.

She hopes that someday leather pants for men will make a big comeback and that her writing might make you laugh when you need it most. 

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Excerpt

The next morning, I slowly stretched my deliciously sore body while luxuriating in the softness of the silky sheets beneath me and the warm, oh-so-very-naked, well-built man snuggled to my side.

My heart fluttered when I opened my eyes and found Nick sleeping next to me, his bed-play-mussed, golden brown hair sweeping to one side across the pristine white pillow. His heavenly eyes were closed, allowing me to study the golden lashes fanning out against his bronzed face, looking like tiny threads of caramelized sugar. He was a picture of exquisite male perfection.

I sighed and resisted the urge to kiss his exposed, chiseled chest—yes, yes, perfectly tanned like the rest of him (nude sunbather?)—and stroke the perfectly formed swells of his biceps, one of which was attached to the arm draped over my waist.

Last night had been the most…the most…

I sprang from the bed in horror. “Oh crap!”

Nick’s eyes instantly popped open. A warm smile swept across his face. “Oh, you’re up.” His large frame stretched across the length of the extra-long, king-size bed.

I stared at him, wondering what to say; somehow screaming, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” didn’t seem appropriate.

Okay. Breathe, Penelope. Breathe. Just ask him what happened!

But I didn’t want to insult the guy. Because from the look of his delectable body, it had to have been the best night of my life.

That is…that is…if we did.

Of course you did! Look! Even your eggs are smoking a cigarette.

No! Demon crackers, no!

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his arm. “Why are you standing there, naked? Come back to bed.”

I glanced down my body. Oh crappity! I was naked.

I scrambled to the bathroom—a large, modern affair of stainless steel and glass—and grabbed a fluffy, white towel.

Oh shit. Oh shit. What was going on? I needed to go out there and ask him, point blank, what happened. Not with your iguana breath. You might melt the man’s face off.

As long as I get to keep his rockin’ body.

Pen!

I quickly found a bottle of mouthwash in the cabinet and swished. Then I checked the mirror and noticed I was wearing an odd-looking necklace with a large, shiny black stone dangling in the middle. Had he put it on me last night?

Darn it! Why couldn’t I remember what had happened?

Don’t be a child, Penelope. Just ask him.

Yes. That’s what I would do.

Again I glanced in the mirror. “Oh no,” I hissed at my reflection. My dark hair resembled a beehive, but without the symmetry. I ran my fingers through the mess a few times, but it was useless. I’d have to make a polite exit, go home, and ensure I looked hot enough on our next date to erase any memories of my current discombobulation. Is that even a word, Penelope? And do you really think he wants to date you? You’re a one-nighter for a guy like that.

Christ. What had I gotten myself into?

I took three quick breaths and opened the door. My heart ignited from the sight of him still propped up on one elbow and lying in bed with a smug, male smile stretched across his face. He looked frigging perfect, practically glowing. Dammit. So unfair!

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I needed to wrangle the tornado.” I pointed to my matted hair.

“You look sexy as hell.” He patted the empty space next to him. “Come here.”

Mischief sparkled in his eyes, and though I didn’t know him well, I knew what that look meant: Encore.

I held up my hands. “Whoa. I think we need to talk.”

His lower lip stuck out in a slight pout and his shimmering eyes seemed to glow against the backdrop of his toasty-almond-colored skin. Damn if he wasn’t the most irresistible man on the planet.

And he wanted me. Wow.

I slowly padded over to the bed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but what happened last night?”

He cocked one brow, “You don’t remember?”

I shook my head and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure it was…great. The best toe curling sex ever—but…no, I don’t remember a thing.”

His smile melted away. “Bloody Christ! Neither do I.”