Книги, похожие на «Karen Van Der Zee, Midnight Rhythms»

IN THEIR FOOTSTEPSThe quiet scandal surrounding her parents' deaths 20 years ago sends Beryl Tavistock on a search for the truth from Paris to Greece.As she enters a world of international espionage, Beryl discovers she needs help and turns to a suave ex-CIA agent. But in a world where trust is a double-edged sword, friends become enemies and enemies become killers.STOLENWhen the bullets finally ceased, the bodies lay in a coiled embrace on the lifeboat.The sinking of a cargo ship and the slaughter of its crew seemed a senseless act of violence. But Clea Rice knows the truth and is determined to expose the culprits. When Jordan Tavistock is asked to steal the indiscreet letters of a friend, he reluctantly obliges, only to be caught red-handed by another burglar. The burglar is Clea, who is looking for something else entirely.As Jordan finds himself caught up in a web of mystery and intrigue, he wonders how he can trust Clea when she will not tell him who she is working for, or even what her real name is. Only together, can they find the answers to the sinister questions surrounding the sinking of the ship. Answers that some are prepared to kill for to keep buried.

I pay strangers to sleep with me. I have my reasons. . . . But they're not the ones you'd expect. For starters, I'm a funeral director taking over my dad's business. Not exactly the kind of person you'd expect to fork over cash for the lust and urgency only live skin-to-skin contact can create. Looking at me, you wouldn't have a clue I carry this little secret so close it creases up like the folds of a fan. Tight. Personal. Ready to unravel in the heat of the moment.Unsurprisingly, my line of work brings me face-to-face with loss. So I decided long ago that paying for sex would be one of the best (and arousing) ways to save myself from the one thing that would eventually cut far too deep. But Sam was a mistake. Literally. I signed on to «pick up» a stranger at a bar, but took Sam home instead.And now that I've felt his heat, his sweat and everything else, can I really go back to impersonal? Let's just hope he never finds out about my other life. . . .