Ju Ephraime has been reading and writing from her teenage years. However, over the years, the heavy load of academic reading and writing, in pursuit of her educational goals, forced her to step away from reading and writing, just for the fun of it. A year ago she revisited her first love, writing for fun and enjoyment, and has not stopped since. She has written several children's books, including four romance novels, and her first paranormal. Professionally, she is the administrator of a career school in Connecticut and the President of a non-profit organization, Professional Wardrobe, Inc., which dresses individuals for job interviews. Ms. Antoine is very active in her community and is always willing to assist and help someone in need.
Brief Synopsis:In this her first paranormal romance novel, Ju Ephraime has given us a book filled with suspense, mystery, ghostly happenings, and sex. For most authors of paranormal romance, this would have been an ambitious undertaking, but Ephraime delivers this story in her usual quick pace and attention to detail. The Man In The Black Top Hat, is not your ordinary paranormal romance novel. Set in Connecticut, The Man In The Black Top Hat will have you on the edge of your seat, as you try to follow the interactions between Syria Warrington and the Ghost that invaded her home. Told in the voice of the heroine, Syria Warrington, the story takes you from Syria's first meeting with the Ghost on her front step, to her bringing it into her home, and the nightly going ons between them, as, night after night she found herself caught up in sexual escapades, the like of which she had never experienced before. The story has the reader wondering, was Syria's meeting with the Ghost an accident or had she been targeted by the Ghost in a former life? Get a copy here at: The Man In The Black Top Hat
There was no denying the immediate and powerful physical attraction I felt for this man; it was palpable. I was surprised to find Jeff O’Mallery behind the counter at O’Mallery’s antique shop, and not his seventy-year-old father.
This was the first time I had come face to face with Jeff. He would disappear into one room or another any time I had gone to the storage area in the back of the shop. Standing this close to him was quite disconcerting. He was strangely compelling. My face flushed as though with a fever, heat flooded my body as I reacted to this man. My nipples had ruched up something terrible. They had gotten so stiff that they were almost painful against my bra. I was a bit embarrassed by the way my body reacted to this man, so I just stood there, praying he didn’t notice the effect he had on me.
Just when I thought I would get away with it, he looked pointedly at my breasts, and then allowed his eyes to travel slowly from my breasts to my face, with an expression on his face which was almost a leer. Embarrassment had rendered me speechless for a moment; to cover my shame I became all business-like.
“Where is your father,” I asked him.
“He had to step out for a bit,” he responded.
“When will he be returning?”
“What’s the matter? You are Syria Warrington, aren’t you? Are you not comfortable with me waiting on you?” he asked.
“That’s not it. I’m used to working with your father, so I’ll come back another day when he’s available.”
I made a determined effort to downplay my reaction to this man. A happily married woman, I had no business lusting after another man. That afternoon, I discovered something new about myself. I could repeat this mantra until the cows came home, my body wasn’t buying it. I had to make a super-human effort to drag my mind out of the gutters, where it insisted on going, to concentrate on the matter at hand.
I made a promise then and there never to allow myself to be close to that man again. I tried to school my thoughts as I completed my purchase. He assisted me in loading the item into my car, which I had to drive with my trunk tied down. The whole time, I was very aware of his every move – he made that much of an impression.
When I’d finally completed my purchase and was leaving, my entire being wanted to walk back into the shop, and ask, no, beg him to have his way with me. But somehow I kept walking away, putting one foot in front of the other, until I had gotten into my vehicle. As I drove away, I couldn’t help turning back to look. Somehow I knew he’d be standing there watching me.
Three weeks later, the newspaper reported that Jeff O’Mallery was missing at sea and presumed dead. His body was never found.
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