CODE REDHEAD - A SERIAL NOVEL



When Books To Go Now http://bookstogonow.com/ came up with the idea for the Code Redhead- A Serial Novel Project, we had no idea we would receive so much enthusiasm, generosity, and support.





Thirteen, Best-Selling authors will write their own twist on Code Redhead and Books To Go Now will donate the proceeds  to Children’s Cancer Research Fund.
http://www.childrenscancer.org/.





When children are affected by cancer it is heart wrenching for them and their loved ones. You can make a difference in their young lives by purchasing a copy of the Code Redhead Project in February 2017. 


Available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Code-Redhead-Serial-Sharon-Kleve-ebook/dp/B01N4NZFHC/





Read an excerpt from my story, 'Redheads Have More Fun.'


An hour before closing Who Do Voodoo, my voodoo shop on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, a man erupted into the shop like a cyclone. He swore up a storm about some idiotic poacher trying to trap his gators. He was speaking French Creole and unfortunately, I understood every curse word. I was restocking the ever popular crystal balls, and when he got to where I stood, he stopped swearing and thoroughly looked me over. The corners of his mouth turned up in a sexy, seductive smile.

“You must be Ms. Ambrosine Dubreauil,” the man said with a slight Louisiana drawl. He tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and rocked forward and then back on the balls of his feet. His teeth were white and straight, his face tan and littered with day old stubble. “You have your late grandmother’s amazing long, curly red hair and crystal blue eyes...” This time he drew the sentence out, really accentuating the drawl.

Women had been falling for that lazy Louisiana charm for decades. I grew up around it and was somewhat immune now. When I didn’t melt into a puddle of lust around his ankles, he just smiled and continued to rock on his heels.

The springy curls on my head had a mind of their own. Most days, I pulled the bulk of my hair up, twisted it, and then stuck wooden sticks, shaped like human bones, into the mass to hold it in place. As if my hair knew we were talking about it, a rogue curl sprung loose and flopped into my eye. He removed his hands from his pockets, reached out and tucked it back under a leg bone.

 


 

 

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