We’re so pleased to welcome author Rayna Vause to TNA to help us celebrate not only our 5th anniversary but the upcoming release of her new novel, Extrasensual Perception. We have an exclusive excerpt to share with you, as well as the chance to win an e-copy of the book upon its January 15th release.
About the Book
If a stalker doesn’t kill them, the heat between them might.
Christopher Vincent is desperate enough for a job that he accepts an offer to entertain as a psychic in a friend’s nightclub. Jackson Whitman, one of the club’s co-owners, is less than thrilled by the new act. To him, psychics are ridiculous and a liability. But when they come face-to-face, attraction flares to life between them.
Someone is watching Jack and Chris from the shadows. What starts as a series of creepy encounters leads to deadly attacks.
Jack and Chris must set aside their differences and work together to survive a homicidal stalker. But can they survive their explosive connection?
Jack set down his drink and straightened to his full height as he waited for Chris to step into view.
He froze, breath huffing out of him at his first sight of Chris. Tall, lean sex appeal walked toward him. Short, jet-black hair shone with hints of blue in the flashing lights of the club. Chris wore a shirt like you’d see at a renaissance fair. It opened at the neck, exposing a long white column of throat and smooth chest. Snug black pants hugged his slim hips and toned thighs. Jack stared as Christopher Vincent, sex on a stick, approached him.
Jack reached to straighten his tie, only to realize he’d taken it off and left it in Angie’s office. Instead he straightened his collar, sucked in a slow breath, and struggled to get his heart rate under control.
“Jack. Or should I call you Mr. Whitman? You are my boss, after all.”
“Jack is… fine.”
Chris smiled at him, but the smile had a hard edge to it. “So, you wanted to speak with me.”
Chris’s voice wrapped around Jack, sending sparks careening through his system. Electric-blue eyes studied him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. A long silence stretched between them because Jack’s ordinarily reliable brain refused to function, and words escaped him.
Chris tilted his head and gave Jack a slow once-over. “Jack, are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” For the first time since he’d gone through puberty his voice cracked. What the hell is wrong with me? He cleared his throat and tried again, but his cool, corporate persona deserted him. “I’m good. It’s nice to see you, Chris. It’s been a long time.”
“About five years, I think.” Chris offered his hand. “How have you been?”
The touch of Chris’s warm, calloused palm sent flames licking up Jack’s skin and dancing along his body. He fought the urge to tug the man closer and rediscover his taste, his scent. Get it together, man. He dug deep and, at last, found his professionalism and resolve. He straightened his suit jacket and rolled his shoulders. I am in control here.
He schooled his features—at least he hoped he had—and dove in. “I don’t recall Angelica ever mentioning that you are psychic. I thought that was just your mother, so what exactly is your game?”
“Excuse me?” Chris jerked his head back, his blue eyes flaring wide.
“No disrespect, but we both know psychic predictions are a load of crap.”
Chris raised his brows as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“I’m only saying while it’s a neat trick you have, reading people like you do, we both know there is nothing paranormal about it.”
“Have you ever had a psychic reading before?”
Jack mirrored Chris’s stance. “I wouldn’t waste my time or money. No one can see into the future. ESP, tarot cards—it’s all bull. You’re scamming our customers, and I’m not comfortable with that.”
Chris went rigid, his remarkable eyes sparking with anger. “Excuse me?”
“I know Angie thinks you’re amazing, but I’m not convinced a psychic is appropriate entertainment for a Whitman property.”
Chris barked out a laugh without a trace of amusement. “You’re unbelievable. Is everything about your precious image?” He shook his head, then glared daggers again. “You don’t know a thing about me, but you’re going to stand here and call me a fraud. Nice. You know what? Go ahead and fire me.”
“Listen I’m only—”
Chris whipped up a hand to stop Jack from speaking. “You can be righteously indignant on your own time.” He paused, then glanced across the club toward the executive office. “On second thought, if I’m being let go, I want to hear it from Angelica. She hired me. She can be the one to fire me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client waiting.” He pivoted and marched off.
Jack’s mouth worked but no sound emerged.
He clenched his jaw, lips pressing into a hard thin line. As he watched Chris disappear behind the decorated screen, Angelica strode up next to him.
“Crash and burn, big brother? Do me a favor. If you can’t play nice, then leave my psychic alone.
About the Author
Rayna Vause is a lifetime learner who wants to live on a Disney cruise ship traveling the world and thinks purple should be considered a natural hair color. She’s fascinated by the magic and mystery in the world; things like angels, demons, cats (especially cats!) and true love. A proud geek, she injects some of her tech-obsessed soul into every story she writes. When not writing she’s pursuing another degree, running a conference, working through her massive TBR pile, losing herself in a video game, and plotting her next novel.