It doesn’t help that my grandmother (the mayor) is a former magician, and my mom is a psychic (sort-of)… And my dad died in a failed escape-artist attempt (that my mother is convinced was a murder).

Trust me, I know crazy, but I’m just plain ole Britt Bailey, Shania Twain-loving, non-magical forensic photographer. Yes, I take pictures of dead things, but I don’t see them in my bedroom at night.

I only want to see one thing in my bedroom at night, and when I’m called home to help Sheriff Stone on an investigation, he actually stops frowning for a minute, and my teenage fantasies get very real.

It’s a terrible idea. We work together, he’s seven years older than me, he’s a single dad, he hates all things magic, but a little taste, and we can’t say no.

Until the town crime wave turns personal, putting everything on the line, and we’ll need more than a magic bullet to get our happily ever after.

(A LITTLE TASTE is a small-town, grumpy single-dad romance with a touch of light suspense and lots of tasty spice. No cheating. No cliffhanger.)

My eyes trace his, memorizing the fine lines at the corners, more noticeable right now as he frowns down at me like he’s fighting some internal battle.

“I don’t want you to date my brother.” His voice is rough.

My brow furrows. “I never wanted to date him.” He takes a step closer, pressing my back to the wall, and I take a chance. “I only ever wanted…”

But even with a shot of bourbon in me, I’m not sure I can say out loud that I’ve always wanted him.

It’s too much of a risk. He has too many reasons to say no and walk away, leaving my broken heart on the ground.

“What do you want?” He traces his thumb along the line of my jaw.

I swallow the knot in my throat. My heart beats so fast it hurts, and I lift my hand, placing it on his stomach, curling my fingers in the thin cotton of his white tee.

“Something I can’t have.” I want to pull the shirt higher, slide my fingers along his warm skin I crave.

His face lowers, and his nose follows the line of my hair beside my temple, inhaling softly. My eyes close as chills skate down my arms.

“Why can’t you have it?” His voice is raspy.

My eyes are closed as fire pulses in my veins. “He doesn’t know I exist.” Lifting my chin in his thumb and forefinger, he whispers. “Look at me.” Carefully obeying his command, my body goes liquid when our eyes meet. “He knows…”