Release Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway:
By Fifer Rose
Pretty Policeman, Book 1
Detective Micah Hart wasn’t sure when his fairly safe, predictable life became something more closely resembling a dumpster fire.
But if he had to pinpoint an exact moment, he would say it was the first time he went undercover as a prostitute in an attempt to bait the notorious serial killer that was stalking New York City’s streets – the media-dubbed Hooker Hunter.
It’s when Damon Romano plows into his life, with his fierce protective energy, and those thick thighs, and the bluest pair of eyes Micah has ever seen.
If only he wasn’t also a temperamental mafioso in charge of running one of the city’s largest criminal empires.
Damon fixates on Micah, obsessing over feeding him and making sure he always has a coat. He spoils him rotten with gifts and insists on taking Micah on as his personal escort – a “boyfriend” to get his nagging sisters off his back.
It’s weirdly sweet, and Micah doesn’t know how he’s become a soft spot in the ruthless man’s otherwise hardened exterior, but it would be a lie to say he didn’t want even more: a real relationship with Damon.
There was just one teensy, tiny problem with that.
Despite what Damon thinks, Micah isn’t actually a prostitute. He’s a cop for the NYPD.
Pretty Policeman is an M/M billionaire mafia romance, sprinkled liberally with rom-com elements, served with a side helping of sugar daddy kink and mistaken identity trope.
“Oh, you are, honey, and I don’t blame you. Those shoulders go on for dayzzz.”
“I feel like you said that with a ‘z’. Possibly multiple of them.”
“Oh, I did, sweet pea. And that ass. I have one word for it: yum.”
“You literally sound like you’re drooling. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been staring, Tessa?”
“Of course, I have been!” She didn’t sound the least bit ashamed about it either. “Look at that gorgeous specimen of a man. If he’s not the offspring of some Greek god’s bastard, I will chop off my right tit.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”
Even as he pretended to gag over his partner’s declaration, however, Micah found his gaze – and attention – drifting back to the man they were discussing: the supposed descendent of a Greek god.
He was tall, at least a couple of inches past six feet, and the suit jacket he was wearing clung to the expanse of his impressively broad shoulders. Said shoulders tapered off to form a trim waist, under which matching pinstripe pants gripped onto thick thighs – which Micah hadn’t known he had a thing for until now.
Seriously, even from a distance, Micah knew those things had to be ripped. The man’s entire body looked rock-solid. Micah couldn’t quite make out any facial features, but if there was any justice in the world, the man must have had the epitome of a butter-face.
Still, Micah could probably look past it, considering, as Tessa had so eloquently put it: “that ass”.
“Micah,” Tessa hissed into his earpiece. (Speak of the devil.) “I said to quit. You’re not even trying to hide your ogling now.”
“You also said to look,” he couldn’t help but point out, but he obediently dropped his gaze to the ground, anyway. He was wearing a pair of shabby red Converse. There were holes on the top of the right one where his toes threatened to peek out, and the left had a loose outsole that liked to flap when he walked.
Not exactly his usual style, but it wasn’t like Micah had picked them out himself. In fact, he hadn’t picked out any part of his current ensemble.
“I meant metaphorically. You’re in the middle of an undercover operation. You can’t let yourself be distracted by every hottie that walks by; you need to keep your wits about you.”
Okay, first of all, that wasn’t just any hottie. Secondly-
“You’re my handler,” he pointed out. “You need to keep your wits about you.”
“Oh, you don’t worry about my wits, honey. I’m not the one that’s thirsting after some babelicious stranger, completely ignoring the potential john coming in at three o’clock.”
Micah tensed, subtly peeking in the direction she’d indicated.
Tessa was right.
A man dressed in a cheap suit was quickly approaching, the graying hair near his temples and the deep-set wrinkles of his brow indicating he was probably in his late forties or early fifties. His uneven gait and the stumble in his step meant he was probably drunk.
Micah tried not to grimace as the man got closer and he spotted the wedding band on his finger. The guy didn’t really fit the profile they’d come up with for their perp – he was too old and looked to be married to boot.
Most likely, he was just another asshole going through a midlife crisis – not the serial killer going around killing male prostitutes they were searching for.
Micah voiced his thoughts aloud, muttering lowly into the mic hidden in his shirt – if the obscene, canary yellow crop top he was wearing could even be considered a shirt. “I doubt he’s our guy, Tess. Too sloppy.”
“Probably not,” the woman agreed, “but you never know. You of all people should know that looks can be deceiving. Let him pick you up. If nothing else, you’ll be able to arrest him for solicitation.”
Resigning himself to do as she suggested, Micah let himself sink into the brick wall he was lounging against near the mouth of an alley. He winced as the brick scratched against his exposed lower back where his shirt didn’t quite cover the skin, but he forced himself to school his expression as the man moved closer.
Honestly, he hadn’t expected to be picked up within the first fifteen minutes of his shift.
Enter the Giveaway:
To celebrate the release of Pretty Policeman, Fifer is giving away a fun pair of fuzzy handcuffs & an e-copy of Pretty Policeman (Open Internationally)!
Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for your chance to win!
Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/cc0f2a57596/?
About the Author:
Fifer Rose is a happily married mother of four human children and two very spoiled cats.
When she is not wiping snotty noses or being bullied into feeding her cats (again?!), she can be found obsessing over M/M romance. She loves all the tropes, some of her favorite being enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, sugar daddy, and mistaken identity. She also has a penchant for A/B/O dynamics.
While Fifer is a sucker for angst, a happily-ever-after is a MUST in all she reads and writes.
Unrelated hobbies include baking, attempting to golf (for her husband’s sake), and daydreaming about traveling. (No actual traveling because did you see the part about four kids?)
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