Meet Bad Boy Sam Jackson

“Darlin’, that feels real good. Hoo-eee, you surely do have magic fingers.” The masculine voice, Southern with a twist, was clearly audible over the commotion.

That’s the first paragraph of Cold Feet Fever, described as “… the perfect blend of romance, comedy and mystery.”

A commitment-challenged party animal, gambler, and player, Sam Jackson hides his insecurities behind charm, avoidance, and Jack Daniels. I first met Sam as the younger brother of my hero in Fur Ball Fever (Book 1 of The Fever Series), and found him irresistible. The opportunity for character growth and improvement was so obvious, I decided he deserved his own story.

What could be more fun than tormenting a serial womanizer like Sam by pairing him with a heroine who would drive him crazy while breaking down all his barriers? So I threw in a bossy undertaker-turned-event-planner hired by his Granddaddy Hiram (also his business partner) to keep him on the straight and narrow. Since I delight in torturing my protagonists, I then proceeded to add as many roadblocks to a happily-ever-after as I could think of.

Pick up your copy (in digital or print) to watch Katie Deluca battle her attraction to a bad boy like Sam Jackson.


The clatter of high heels accompanied by excited shrieks announced they had company.

“Oooooh, Sammy. You’re a hard man to find.”

“This is gonna be crazy fun.”

Sam did a double-take. Literally. Two identical young women bounced inside and darted toward him. They wore identical ass-baring shorts with identical skimpy red tops, barely concealing identical eye-popping boobs.

Beside him, he caught Katie downing her champagne.

One of the women said, “Remember us, Sammy? We’re the stripper twins from Happy Hustler Bar & Grill two nights ago. I’m Mango, she’s Tango. You said we were cuter than two speckled pups. We’re here to deliver your private lap dance.”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” he breathed. “I thought I was seeing double.” Noticing Katie’s disapproving frown, he forced himself to remain calm. Truth be told, the episode was a blur of pounding music, bourbon shooters, and nubile bodies.

To buy time, he said, “How did you get past security?”

“These puppies did the trick.” Tango unfastened her top button. A pair of triple-Ds sprang to freedom.

Look away, his brain screamed. His eyeballs ignored the warning. Hypnotized by Tango’s bouncing rack as it escaped captivity, he snapped out of it when Mango embraced him and ground her pelvis against his ass.

Using his finely-tuned peripheral vision, a skill he’d honed to preserve his hide from pissed-off husbands, he caught Katie pouring herself another glass of champagne.

His hopes for impressing her fizzled. It looked bad, especially when Mango climbed him as if he were a stripper pole, wrapping one leg around his calf tighter than a python.

Noting Katie’s scowl, he responded with a rueful shrug intended to project innocence. Disengaging from Mango without hurting her feelings was a challenge. He started by unpeeling one surprisingly strong arm from his waist. “Easy there, sugar.”

Mango responded by clamping her other arm around him and purring, “Let’s you and me get comfy in a chair for your special treat.”

“Sorry, ladies.” Making a point of not staring at any boobs, he tried to hide his desperation. “I’m afraid you’re interrupting an important business meeting.”

“Aw, baby,” Tango rubbed her booty against his leg before unzipping her shorts, “Chillax. You were tons more fun two nights ago.”

Katie interjected, “I bet he was a laugh a minute.”

Mango loosened her grip a fraction. Sam managed to break free. Breathing hard, and not in a good way, he retreated three paces.

While Tango shimmied out of her shorts, she scowled at Katie. “Who’s the undertaker bitch?”

“Hey.” Katie slammed down her glass. “Who are you calling an undertaker? I own a successful event planning business.”

Tango’s lips twisted in a sneer. “What kind of events do you plan? Wakes? I swear that suit would turn Morticia green with envy.”

Katie’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as she advanced on Tango. “Don’t. Call. Me. Morticia.”


Cold Feet Fever is available in print copy and all e-book formats.

I would love it if you left a comment about my hero. Is he redeemable?

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