To Katie With Love Written by Erica Lucke Dean @ericaluckedean @RAPublishing

To Katie With Love
Written by Erica Lucke Dean
Banker Katie James has a serious thing for romance novels. She’d almost rather settle for a fictional boyfriend than risk her heart on a flesh-and-blood man. Besides, the only real guy she’s remotely interested in is her rich, unattainable client, the mysterious Cooper Maxwell.
Looking less like the ultra-conservative man she knows and more like a drop-dead sexy character from one of her books, Cooper crashes Katie’s 29th birthday party. But one too many drinks lands Katie in uncharted territory… Cooper’s bedroom!

Drunk on love, Katie dives headfirst into the relationship only to discover that Cooper is keeping secrets… dangerous ones. As if things couldn’t get worse, her meddling mother makes a surprise visit, digging up a whole new set of problems.
Who would have guessed having an assassin for a boyfriend would be the least of her worries?

Excerpt:
1
-THE BIRTHDAY PARTY-
“Look around, Katie. Somewhere out there is the perfect man for you. You just need to take your nose out of a book long enough to find him.” Vicky’s crimson lips spread in a wide smile, and I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at her.
“Oh, leave her alone,” Silvia said, peering at Vicky over her leopard-print reading glasses. “It might do you some good to read once in a while. I assume you know how.”
“Very funny.” Vicky rolled her eyes, tossing her flaming hair with a flourish. “You clearly didn’t notice the leaning tower of paperbacks on her nightstand. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place. They practically block the light coming in her bedroom window. And that—” She poked my arm with a lacquered fingernail. “—is bordering on pathetic. You’re just a few cats away from being a cliché.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off.
“Come on, Katie, wouldn’t you rather have a flesh and blood man in your bed instead of a dusty old book? There are dozens of guys in here. Don’t you think at least one of them could drag you away from your stupid romance novels for a change? I’ll bet you’ve got a book stashed in your purse right now.” Vicky pointed at the bag I clutched in my lap. “Go ahead, Silvia. Prove
me wrong.”
Silvia shook her head and chuckled. “I’m not going to dig through her purse.”
“There’s nothing wrong with reading romance novels,” I whispered, releasing the strangle hold on my bag to shove it behind my back against the booth.
“Oh, sweetie…” Silvia patted my hand. “Vicky isn’t saying there’s something wrong with reading romance novels.”
“No, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Vicky said, then took a long slurp of her frozen margarita. “And for the record, you don’t just read them. You read them again, and again, and again. Most of the books I saw were held together with tape. Do you ever get anything new, or do you keep reading the same ones over and over?”
“I get new ones… sometimes.”
Vicky had one thing right. I did have a book stashed in my bag, and I should have been home, tucked into bed with it. So what if I had a thing for romance novels? Ok, maybe thing wasn’t strong enough a word. It didn’t quite define the entire scope of my relationship with the paperback romance. Involved would be more accurate.
But despite what my coworkers might think, I wasn’t some un-dateable old maid, spending her nights curled up with six cats while crocheting gaudy afghans in retro-seventies colors and sipping warm milk. I didn’t even own an actual cat.
“If you ask me, you’re wasting the perfect opportunity to find Mr. Right,” Vicky chirped.
What did she know about my Mr. Right? A quick scan of the smoke-filled bar proved my point. Not a single guy in the place even remotely resembled the lead in my nightly fantasy. Ok, so it wasn’t a very big room, but like Vicky said, the place was packed with a wide assortment of men—like the guy with cheese dip down his front and his buddy, laughing hyena man. As far as I was concerned, not a single one warranted a second glance, certainly not an invitation into my bedroom. Definitely no one worthy of butterflies in my stomach.
Vicky raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Well, he isn’t here now,” Silvia answered, and I could have kissed her. “Which reminds me, what happened to June and Phil?”
Vicky shrugged, slurping down another mouthful of her drink.
“Maybe they aren’t coming.” I was ready to slide out of the booth and make my escape. “We should probably just go.”
Silvia glared at me. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m sure they’re on their way. They wouldn’t dare skip your birthday party.”
Perfect. I was trapped.
“You know,” Vicky said, “you’re way too old to be single.”
My mother was fond of saying that very thing, far too often. But they were both wrong. I’m still in my prime. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve even reached my prime yet. I’m only twenty-eight years old.
“Happy birthday, Katie!”

About the Author

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After walking away from her career as a business banker to pursue writing full-time, Erica Lucke Dean moved from the hustle and bustle of the big city to a small tourist town in the North Georgia Mountains, where she lives in a 90-year-old haunted farmhouse with her workaholic husband, her 180lb lap dog, and at least one ghost.
When she’s not writing or tending to her collection of crazy chickens and diabolical ducks, she’s either reading bad fan fiction or singing karaoke in the local pub. Much like the main character in her newest book, To Katie With Love, Erica is a magnet for disaster, and has been known to trip on air while walking across flat surfaces. How she’s managed to survive this long is one of life’s great mysteries.