Dirt & Desire

By Selena Page

Miriam Caprice is on the verge of bankruptcy when a Von Brandt landscaping project offers her the chance to hit pay dirt. But, with a mysterious disease plaguing the plants and her green-thumbed brother trapped in a psychiatric ward, nothing is coming up roses.

Rafe Von Brandt is a millionaire standing on the precipice of Hell until he meets Miriam and, for the first time, imagines a little bit of Heaven. Torn between his past with Hayden and a future with Miriam, he risks his own fall from grace.

On the Gulf Coast of Texas, the two will need to trust in their hearts and each other or else their fiery passion could lead to Hell for the both of them.

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

• Language: English
• Publisher: Selena Page
• Release date: Feb 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370917679

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

Miriam Caprice pressed a wilting leaf between her thumb and forefinger. Serrated edges should have pricked her but instead they hung limp and shriveled. The texture was like skin so old and fragile it would tear with the slightest pinch. This wasn't the only withering leaf. The whole vine was failing. More than that, all the vines that covered the estate were suffering from the same unexplained disease.

The home of Rafe Von Brandt was one of the more modest houses in Orilla del Mar--an exclusive neighborhood southeast of Houston where the bayou met the Gulf. And by modest, it was three stories instead of five with six bedrooms instead of ten. The multimillion-dollar estate boasted antique decorative elements that reflected the family's world travels--like hand-carved French panels from the Château de Montbéliard incorporated into the doors or wrought iron from Argentina for the fence surrounding the property. What the house didn’t have was the lush tropical gardens that were so common to the community. Miriam should have been standing in paradise. Instead, palm trees and dull florals sagged like paradise had been poisoned.

To be fair, Miriam shouldn’t have been standing in the Von Brandt’s yard at all. She played a supporting role to her brother’s talent for landscaping by handling the day-to-day operations of their company, Capricious Greens. Schedules, budgets, orders, and anything else that kept her away from clients was her preference. People were tiresome, but Nick had a gift, and she couldn't allow the business to fold. His flair for the magic of life and death was so impressive it troubled the rest of the family. Particularly their mother, who would rather cage him than set him free. Which is why Miriam was there, standing in wet, rotten grass, struck dumb by a vine that should be flourishing in Southeast Texas.

Mexican Flame Vine was hard to beat when it came to pairing beauty with ease. Fast-growing, drought resistant and hardly bothered by pests, it was a vigorous climber that took minimal care. Normally, the plant added privacy to wrought iron fences with impressive bright-orange floral displays and rich leaves. Yet, both the blooms and foliage were dying on the vine. The sheer number of dropped petals formed a shag carpet. Death wasn’t limited to the landscaping on the perimeter. From the shrubbery to the trees and the flowerbeds in between, every inch of the lawn was sick, and she had no idea why.

A shrill voice yanked her from her confusion. Where is Nick? High heels clacked against the Indian sandstone path. The footsteps closed in on her fast.

Miriam searched fruitlessly for an escape.

The woman emerged from a collection of poolside loungers like a queen of fire and air. She ruled the estate with the same breezy changeability of her billowing black kaftan and trampled plebs beneath Givenchy mules. She was gorgeous with wild rose-gold hair, a waif's ethereal frame, and birdlike features. From what Nick had told her, this had to be Hayden, Rafe’s live-in girlfriend.

Miriam braced for impact.

Where is he? Her too-large black sunglasses blotted out the majority of her pale face leaving only her thin wriggling lips to look at.

With nowhere to hide, Miriam sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. As a woman who was all hips and curves--and who had never met a carb she didn’t love--standing next to Hayden made her feel like a dump truck. He isn't here.

Because I am blind and dumb and couldn't figure that out myself. She clasped her hands in front of her and bent over from her six foot height to make Miriam feel like a child. Let's try this again. Where is Nicholas, and why isn't he here?

Don't patronize me. Shoving a hand in the woman’s face, a breeze kicked up into a spiteful little gale. The wind was enough to rip petals from their sepals. Bits of pink and blue dive-bombed Hayden making her flail wildly to keep them out of her hair. Miriam smirked. It was a petty use of her talent, but she didn’t care. He's not available. I'm sorry. I'll finish the project.

Hayden's mouth gaped. I hired him. Not you. He's a dream. You’re a nightmare.

Miriam winced. That truth stung, and the stirred air died. Her brother had charm. He was intuitive and imaginative and would have been able to figure out what the hell was going on with the goddamn plants. Unlike her, who was drowning in Texas humidity while a harpy screeched in her face. Us. You hired us. We--

I needed this done like yesterday. You’re already charging us a ridiculous rush fee. Where is the rushing? I see no rushing. Where is Nick? He needs to be here. Her head swiveled around as if she could conjure him by her own will.

I'm aware. Miriam swallowed her frustration despite its jagged edges. ‘Like yesterday’ is-- She grimaced. When exactly do you need this done by?

As soon as possible. I can’t stand looking at it. She picked at the flaky skin of her lip. Bangle bracelets shimmied up her forearm.

Two days? Three days?

Ugh. Fine. Have it done by the eclipse.

Miriam blinked.

Hayden flapped a hand vaguely at the afternoon sky. You know, whenever that’s going to happen.

The effort it took to avoid rolling her eyes nearly gave Miriam an aneurism. Astronomical rarity, alignments, and other quirks of the universe held significant power when it came to rituals. It was not as if this privileged twit had any understanding of the true power of a total penumbral lunar eclipse. We'll get it done.

Unconvinced, Hayden threw up her hands. I'm hiring someone else.

You can't do that. Panic gripped her. Her and Nick's credit cards were nearly maxed, and the stack of bills on her desk grew taller every day. The rush fee on this job was their only hope of staying solvent.

Keep the deposit. Get off my lawn. Hayden smirked and whirled away.

Miriam clenched and unclenched her fists. The bands of multiple rings pinched between her fingers. Stop. Wait. She chased after Hayden. Please, we need this project.

Tell me where he is, Hayden said in a sing-song like she was waving a hundred dollar bill and was making Miriam dance for it.

Miriam's face flushed with humiliation. It's none of your goddamn business. Her heart pounded, knowing she had to protect her brother, but she regretted the words as soon as they crossed her lips.

Hayden whipped her sunglasses off in one fluid motion, using them to point at Miriam. Now you're super fired. Crazed eyes too big for her face and as dark as the bags under them, hardened on her.

I'm sorry. Please. I didn't--

Leave before I call the cops to take out the trash. If I see you here again, there will be hell to pay.

Miriam gripped the steering wheel of her pickup truck, letting her rings bite into her fingers. The small lances of pain kept her focused on the road as she drove away from the Von Brandt estate. She wore too many rings, but she didn't like having to choose. Some held sentimental value, others she wore because she liked them, and others still like her Uncle's pinky ring--a bulky men's Art Deco design made of 14k gold with the family seal etched in a large,