Roads & Royalty

By Selena Page

Amber Ellis-Caprice wants to live a quiet life away from the supernatural and her family's curse. When a sexy stranger arrives in Finger Lakes and enlists her help to track down the woman of his so-called dreams, he doesn’t mention the fae hunting him.

Jack is a fae prince bound by duty, searching for the perfect woman to save him from his father’s royal decree. Following the trail of an elusive fae consort to a tiny town, he finds few clues and an enchanting, if stubborn, librarian.

A high-speed chase across the countryside isn't what either Jack or Amber wanted, but fate and desire conspire to give them a wild ride.

Content Warning: Explicit love scenes, naughty language, and sexy magical secrets. Intended for mature audiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Selena Page
• Release date: Feb 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370167487

Selena Page

Selena Page is the author of the Caprice Chronicles, a paranormal romance series centered around a family of cursed witches and warlocks. Her heroes are hot, her heroines are sassy, and the spellbinding chemistry that results will blow your mind.A foodie, knitter and lover of daring bodice rippers, Selena writes from her beachfront home in Galveston, TX, and spends her spare time relaxing in the sand and playing in the waves with her viking husband and her three corgis by her side.

Book preview

The coffee at Three Beans to the Wind was too bitter and too strong, but their baristas knew Amber on sight and their scones were the best around. The chain place down the road was more expensive, just as bitter, and twice as loud--and two coffee places was really above the limit for a tiny rural town like White Creek. So Amber found herself planted in a corner booth for yet another late Thursday morning breakfast, a pile of work stacked in front of her and a fresh-out-of-the-microwave scone serving as a mid-afternoon snack. Technically, she shouldn't be taking work out of the library, but as her boss liked to say, If thirty-plus years in the basement hasn't killed this stuff, a day out in the fresh air is not likely to, either.

At this time of day in the middle of the week, the coffee shop was usually pretty dead--another mark in its favor, since the chain place always had at least four people on laptops crammed around its single public outlet. Here, whenever the door creaked open, Amber looked, but it was a rare occurrence. Someone else sitting down was even rarer.

So it came as some surprise when a man sat down next to her. Amber was the only customer in the seven-table store, and she'd picked her spot because it was inconvenient for just about everything--exit, creamers-and-sugar table, bathrooms. Most people liked to sit closer to the aisle, but this new customer sat down right next to her. Amber scooted a few inches away, shifting her purse to the other side of her, and frowned in the interloper's direction.

He was handsome, if you liked them a bit scruffy. His dark hair was tousled, his chin sported a two or three day growth of stubble, and his leather jacket had seen some definite wear. His dark eyes were knowing, and he had the kind of face that almost had to dimple. He smirked at her, as if he was inviting her to comment on his presence, his closeness, or the way he looked, like a male model pretending to be a biker. Amber frowned, hoping it would be enough to discourage him.

He smelled nice. Amber did her best not to notice things like that, but he was sitting close enough to her, barely two feet away, that it was hard to miss. He was sniffing the air, too, trying to be surreptitious about it.

No. She would have scooted farther away, but she was already against the wall. If he smelled that nice--like fresh sawdust and cinnamon--then there was probably something wrong with him. That was the way her luck had been working lately.

Luck. She might or might not have decided to believe in the Caprice family curse, but if her dating life was any indication, Amber was living a cursed existence.

He smiled at her, cocky and sure of himself. I'd ask if you came here often, but there's a groove the shape of your perfect ass worn in that chair, so I'd have to say yes.

Amber knew better than to engage. It only encouraged them. I was sitting when you got here. Somehow, here she was engaging him anyway. There's no way you could know there was a groove, or that it matched. She wasn't going to say anything at all about her perfect ass.

Well, your seat obviously must be perfect to match the rest of you. And you looked like I'd just walked into your living room uninvited when I sat down, so I made a guess on the groove.

Not another one. Amber turned away without answering. He could just be a cocky college kid. He wasn't. She had been cursed with a string of too-strange men and boys following her around since she was a teenager.

The last one had turned out to be a werewolf, which had necessitated a move to another town and introducing the hapless would-be alpha to her father.

Introducing most of her problems to her father tended to make the problems go away. The only issue with that technique was it required talking to her parents, which itself had a number of problems, including the part where she was trying to pretend her family didn't exist.

Amber grimaced.

"Aw, it was a bad line, I'll give you that, but I don't think it was that bad. He thrust a hand into Amber's vision. Jack. Well, you can call me Jack."

Amber. Busy. She ignored the hand. As your very observant self might have noticed.

He probably wasn't a werewolf, or he'd be growling by now. But with that smell, the way he was exuding power, he was far less normal than anything she wanted in her life.

And he wouldn't stop.

Yes, of course. But you looked like you might be willing to be less busy. I'm far more interesting than some old pieces of paper, after all.

She didn't have to look at Jack to see his grin. It leaked into his voice and the way his hand was still there, hovering at the edge of her vision.

The boy before the werewolf had been a vampire. Hardly a boy, he'd been one of her professors at college. She hadn't called her father on that one; she'd transferred to another class. The last thing she wanted was an interspecies war on the campus where she was trying to hide. That sort of thing was conspicuous.

The second-to-last thing she wanted was yet another pretty supernatural following her around. She ignored his hand.

They're very interesting pieces of paper. She flipped to the next page of clippings. They smelled like old newspaper and a bit like mold, and maybe if she breathed in enough of the clippings' scent, she wouldn't smell him anymore. Also, I don't find you all that exciting so far.

Oh, do you want me to be exciting? He straightened up, ready to meet the challenge.

No! She lowered her voice before she worried the barista. No, I don't want you to be exciting or interesting or sweet or charming, or anything else except gone. Please. I am trying to work. See? Old clippings. Work. Nice, banal, calm, everyday work.

Not interesting?

I find banal and every day to be very interesting, thank you. Why, why was she still talking to him? And how was his sawdust-and-cinnamon scent overwhelming even the newspaper clippings?

Mmm. I bet it's more safe than interesting. Has anyone ever told you that you smell very nice?

Amber rolled her eyes. Most people are more creative than that. They tell me I smell like expensive incense or like dried rose petals or white wine, which was the least creative, considering we were five feet from a vineyard at that point. She turned to look at him. It's a good way for me to tell if I'm not interested in someone.

He was unabashed. He also had eyes like lavender petals and pupils that were more like slits than dots. Well, it's a good thing I didn't say it, then, isn't it? I'm sure you stink, if I bothered to stick my nose in your hair. What are you doing, anyway?

If I tell you, will you go away?

If you tell me, I swear I will go away. Jack looked solemn for a moment, the mood ruined by a twinkle in his eye. At least, I will take my coffee and leave the shop.

I'm cataloging a series of old papers we found in the basement of the local history museum. Well, more like going through them to see if they need cataloging or can be recycled next Thursday. She flipped carefully to the next page of the book. The article choice is pretty haphazard. It might be some family's personal collection, but none of the names match.

Or perhaps they noted patterns you cannot see. He stood and bowed with an overdone flourish. "Thank you for sharing. I will be on my