I can’t believe the third Siren book is out today! I’ve had so much fun working on this series with my fabulous editor Heidi Moore!

I’ve also been so fortunate with all the beautiful, ethereal covers for this series from Lyrical Press!

Aren’t they gorgeous?

The Siren’s Dream has gotten some nice advanced reviews. Here are some of my favorite:

“This is my favorite book of this trilogy and possibly of this author. The little details about the scenery, the contemporary politics, the Pussy Riot shout out, and the researched otherworldly aspect are so intriguing and creative.” — Julia (@readkinginAK)

“I highly recommend this romance to anyone who loves a solid, realistic story of deception, government corruption, paranormal elements with a sweeping romance and undercurrents of forgiveness, embracing life and being yourself.” — N.N. Light Blog 

Here’s a fun little excerpt:

Sensations freewheeled through Katya’s racing mind and churned in her empty gut. She’d gone so long without feeling a damn thing, and now every sensory neuron she possessed screamed constant news at her.

Cold.

The comforting squeeze of clothing over bare skin.

The drone of a TV on in the next-door apartment.

The irrational desperation of a starving belly.

And the even more irrational desire to wrap her whole body around the gorgeous but skeptical bear of man pouring her a cup of coffee.

The odds were about one in a hundred that Nikolai, with his tense jaw and perpetually narrowed eyes, actually believed she was a ghost. She tried not to take his disdain personally, to keep calm and appear to be extremely sane. She would convince him somehow. Insisting on the most improbable of truths wasn’t going to work. Maybe the militsya’s reports would be the ticket.

She sat at the kitchen table—which stood exactly where Fedir’s had been when she’d moved in, and where it had remained for the four months she’d lived with him—under a row of bright windows that provided a view of the busy boulevard below.

Nikolai set a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. “Cream? Sugar?”

“No, thanks.” Normally, she took both, but her empty belly roiled from the rich odor of the dark brew—far better than the generic stuff Fedir had preferred. Her recently dead stomach gnawed and grumbled at her, but the sensations didn’t precisely translate into hunger, more like outrage.

Still, the warm cup felt heavenly on her fingertips, numb with cold. She plastered her icy hands to the ceramic vessel. In spite of the sweatshirt and socks, she grew more and more frigid by the second.

With a coffee mug in his left hand, Nikolai dragged a chair out with his right, scraping its legs on the tile floor.

He’d pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, no socks. His feet were remarkably masculine—both wide and long, with barely an arch to them, and they were worlds easier to look at than his face, which was disarmingly handsome and currently distorted by a skeptical scowl that resembled his orgasm expression.

She never would have guessed a man could have sexy feet. Fedir’s had been pale, narrow, and peppered with black curly hair, rather like the rest of his body.

“So, why don’t you start by telling me what happened to you?” Nikolai had gentled himself and spoke in soothing tones. The skepticism in his voice had almost vanished. Almost. He would be an expert at drawing stories out of people—she’d overheard he was a reporter in his conversations with his niece, just as she’d learned his name, his routine of swimming laps before work, his habit of buying takeout and frozen meals.

His longish chestnut hair was still damp, and a lock had fallen rakishly against the tortoiseshell glasses, leaving a bead of water on the lens.

Her heart beat a little faster. Apparently, roguish geek was her type. Too bad she hadn’t known that when she’d been alive.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the lens with his tee shirt. “Well?”

“You first,” she insisted. “What sins did Lisko commit against you?”

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