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    A Little Night Magic
    A Little Night Magic
    A Little Night Magic
    Ebook78 pages1 hour

    A Little Night Magic

    By Vivi Andrews

    ()

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    About this ebook

    He’s gonna be the love of her life... if they both survive the night.

    With a single touch, Ronna Mitchell can separate truth from lies and even catch glimpses of possible futures, but the life of a human lie detector is a lonely one—until one night when she’s moonlighting as a carnival palm-reader and police officer Matt Holloway stumbles into her tent. The second she touches him she sees their entire lives laid out before her—but how do you tell a perfect stranger he’ll be the father of your unborn children?

    The quirky palm-reader is unlike anyone Matt has ever met, but he’s on the trail of a mafia hit man and he doesn’t have time for carnival games. How can Ronna convince him that he’ll be her forever... provided a professional killer doesn’t get to him first?

    **Previously released as A COP & A FEEL**

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherVivi Andrews
    Release dateMay 21, 2018
    ISBN9780463067680
    A Little Night Magic
    Author

    Vivi Andrews

    Vivi Andrews is an award-winning paranormal romance author who calls Alaska home. For more about Vivi and her books, visit www.viviandrews.com.

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      Book preview

      A Little Night Magic - Vivi Andrews

      Chapter One—Look into My Crystal Ball

      When the tall, dark stranger burst into her booth, bells chimed dizzily in Ronna’s ears.

      Admittedly, chimes hung from the cloth that draped her doorway, so most of the bells she heard were of the physical variety, but a deeper awareness tolled a harmony in her soul. Bells galore. The tarot deck Ronna’d been fiddling with fell from her fingers as her heart jangled like a tambourine.

      Hello, Tall, Dark and Mysterious. How’s about you take me on a long journey?

      Her mystery man wasn’t dark in the expected sense—sandy brown hair didn’t really call to mind Nubian princes—but a sense of black menace haloed him. He’d dressed casually, obviously an attempt to blend with the carnival crowd, but the tight black T-shirt, worn leather jacket and jeans couldn’t conceal his true nature—or the holsters at his shoulder and ankle. This one was a predator, but she sensed it was honor that straightened his spine, an inborn heroism that kept his lethality in check.

      Ronna’s toes curled a little in her sequined strappy sandals as she imagined volunteering for prey duty, I Need a Hero playing as the soundtrack to her fantasy.

      Law enforcement or military. It was there in his bearing.

      He didn’t turn to face her, staring instead through the gap in the curtain over her door, his attention fixed on something, or someone, outside her booth.

      He wasn’t here to see her, that much was obvious. Her booth was only a convenient hiding place.

      Ronna was used to being the spectator on everyone else’s adventures. There was a natural voyeurism to her abilities that created a sense of distance between her and the people around her living their deliciously normal lives, even before they freaked out when they learned the truth about what she could do.

      If life was a movie, she’d be the quirky best-friend character with a too-smart mouth, but something about Mr. Not-So-Dark/Dark and Mysterious skulking by her door made her want to be the plucky heroine rather than the comic-relief sidekick.

      And a heroine didn’t sit back and let herself be ignored, no matter how sweet a view of James Bond’s ass she might have.

      He’ll be able to see your shadow against the curtain, Ronna commented, casually straightening her business cards and tip jar on the Turkish patterned silk that draped the small table.

      Her stranger snapped around at the sound of her voice. I was just… His voice trailed off, eyes widening slightly.

      Ronna pressed her lips together to keep from grinning at his reaction to her Madame Ramona getup. Giant gold hoop earrings, bright purple eye shadow, clattering bangle bracelets and a multicolored scarf tied loosely around the controlled chaos of her curls. She hadn’t skimped on her fortune-teller costume.

      Spying on someone? She tilted her head under his inspection, cranking up the charisma that put all her clients at ease—if her eyes were twinkling and she was visibly working to con them, then they didn’t worry that she really was psychic. It was amazing how many people would rather believe the ruse than the reality.

      Tall, Blond and Sexy frowned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Waiting. For a friend.

      A friend. She couldn’t help the grin that split her face. He wasn’t even trying to lie convincingly.

      His frown deepened as he scanned the colorful, fabric-draped interior of her booth and the small, hand-painted sign that offered Palm Readings: $5.

      You’re a fortune teller. Scorn tightened his voice, a fist around his vocal cords.

      Palm reader, technically. Ronna extended her hand palm up across the table. You want a look inside your future? she asked, lacing the words with the hammy Jamaican accent she put on for her carnival act.

      Her boss, Karma, founder and head honcho of Karmic Consultants, would be livid if she knew her best touch-reader dressed up like a gypsy and moonlighted for five bucks a pop, but Ronna loved the lively carnival atmosphere, the life and energy.

      A foolproof human lie detector was valuable—as evidenced by the massive price tag Karma slapped on her services—but there were days when her day job felt soulless. No one ever asked the polygraph machine if she was happy. Touch the client’s hand, truth, lies, thank you, next.

      It was beyond boring. Palm reading, on the other hand, was never dull.

      Ronna loved the contact with the masses, the laughing teenage girls who dragged their not-as-reluctant-as-they-wanted-to-seem teenage boyfriends to see the psychic, the middle-aged women who needed an excuse for a change or a flash of hope in their lives, the parents pulled through her curtain by their eager children, indulgent of such youthful belief. Ronna loved them all.

      Whenever a carnival sent ripples of excitement through her otherwise quiet town, Ronna put on her most theatrical silk scarves, dragged out a cheesy Jamaican accent and became Madame Ramona for a night, touching real people and giving them what they needed, sending them off happier and guiding them in the right direction for the sheer pleasure of using her gift on people who weren’t even sure they believed and would certainly never be able to pay her exorbitant consultancy fee even if they did.

      The man in her doorway glowered darkly at the trappings of her trade. Not a believer, this one. Luckily, that was her favorite kind. He was going to be fun.

      Come sit down, she urged, rising smoothly

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