Of all the places one could end up during the holidays, I never expected I’d end up in a romance novel. The text appears to have been taken off the publishing site, but Google has the cache of Pleasure Islandand the painful memories I once gave to our deserted island-bound, love-starved protagonist, Christy:
â€œNot on my day off and not when I forgot to tell everyone I was going.â€ He cursed again, kicking at the sand. â€œAnd theyâ€™re definitely not coming to search for us here.â€ â€œIâ€™m telling you, there are magicians who can do this sort of thing. Iâ€™ve seen them.â€ Christy thought of her ex, Brady Carlson, but quickly shook the thought away. The man was just vindictive enough to try a stunt like thisâ€”if he could. However, if the man could afford to pay a supernatural to use magical powers, heâ€™d have done so to zap his rock career into existence. Other than that, no one hated her this much.
I don’t appear to show up again, at least not in any of the excerpts. Maybe I reappear in the sequel to test the bounds of Christy’s newfound happiness with the sea captain, or whoever it is she ended up with. Then I rip off my head and reveal I’m Bette Midler. Or not.