Congrats to Sheryl Asbury who won last week’s drawing for a copy of Medium Well. To be entered in this week’s drawing for Medium Well, just leave a comment below. I’ll give away two more copies, leading up to the release of Medium Rare on August 20.

One of the things I enjoyed about doing Medium Rare was that it allowed me to express both side of the whole ghost question–skepticism and belief. Since Rosie, my heroine, is a medium, she’s obviously a true believer (plus she’s got Skag around to remind her that ghosts are very real). My hero, Evan Delwin, is at the other end of the spectrum. He’s a writer who specializes in exposing supernatural fraud. He’s also a bit more than he appears to be early on, of course. And he definitely strikes some sparks with Rosie. Here’s a bit with the two of them. Rosie’s just had a bit of a rough evening, having been chased by some hell hounds (more on that next week) and Evan’s reeling a bit from the discovery that his mousy assistant isn’t really mousy at all.

He parked his car on the street in front of the house, then climbed up the steps to the porch and pushed the doorbell. Somewhere deep inside he heard a faint buzzing. He raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open.

Rose Ramos didn’t exactly look like Rose Ramos. Or anyway, she didn’t look like the Rose Ramos who’d been in his office that morning. Her black leather skirt stopped about three inches above her knees, showing an impressive length of curving calf and thigh. Her blue satin blouse hung untucked and slightly askew, revealing the curves of generous breasts, accentuated by the jeweled pendant that hung in her cleavage. Rich honey-colored curls billowed wildly around her shoulders. Emerald eyes stared back at him, outlined in luxurious dark lashes.

Rose Ramos was a fox. A dish. A knockout. Why the hell had she hidden all of that lusciousness under those awful clothes when she’d been in his office? Did she think he wasn’t worth dressing up for? He felt a purely masculine jolt of resentment. Just give me a chance, babe!

“Evan,” she croaked. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, trying to remember just why he’d come in the first place. “Just thought I’d tell you what I found out when I talked to the cops this afternoon. About Alana DuBois.” That sounded even lamer than he’d anticipated.

Rose blinked at him, jerking one hand behind her as if she was pushing something back. “It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well, sure. But I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d . . .” He glanced down into glowing orange eyes and moved back a step.

It was the largest dog he’d ever seen. Coal black, with sharp pointed ears, its bulging shoulders were even with Rose’s waist. Its lips were drawn back in a low, rumbling snarl, showing large, jagged fangs, perfect for ripping something—more likely someone—apart.

“Nice dog,” Evan muttered, half to her and half to the hound that seemed on the verge of removing his favorite body part.

Her already-wide green eyes opened wider. “You can see it?”

“Hard not to.”

The dog moved a couple of inches closer, filling up half the doorway. It sniffed at Evan’s shoes.

Rose reached down and grabbed the scruff of its neck. “Get back, hellhound.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Hellhound?”

“Helen,” she corrected quickly. “Helly for short.”

The hound gazed up at her, then broke into a doggy grin, running a tongue the size of a bath mat across the back of her hand.

Rose grimaced, wiping her hand against her thigh. “So what did you find out?”

“Alana DuBois was an alias. Her real name was Sylvia Morris and she did time for fraud in Dallas,” Evan rattled off. Coming here had obviously been a major mistake.

Rose stared back blankly. “Oh, that’s . . . okay.”

“Okay?” Evan grimaced. So much for impressing her with his researching skills. “Yeah, I thought it was okay.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not really processing things right now. I’m not at my best—I’ve had a very rough evening. Give me some time to think about all of this, along with the stuff I found about Bradford. I’ll bring it in when I come to work tomorrow.”

Evan’s practical side wanted to tell her to forget the whole thing and just send him an invoice. But his other side, his Delwin side—all Celtic music and wild laughter—was caught by the faint spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the arching honey-colored brows over those lush eyelashes. To say nothing of those gorgeous thighs. “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he found himself replying.

As he turned and headed back down the front steps, he heard her voice behind him, low and sultry. “Evan?”

He turned. Maybe things were looking up.

She leaned in the doorway, one bare leg stretched in front of the black mountain of dog beside her. “I may be a little late tomorrow.”

Ah well. Too much to hope that she’d invite him in for a little get-to-know-you-better nightcap. “Right. Whenever.” Frowning, he headed for his car.

Just enter a comment below for a chance to win the first Ramos Family/Medium book, Medium Well. And watch for Medium Rare on August 20.