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The perfect balance of mystery, romance, and eroticism. I particularly enjoyed the sexual and romantic aspects (...because it's hot as hell.)

Nanette for Joyfully Reviewed
A murderous fall down icy stairs is nearly all she wrote for Anna Hitchcock, the “American Agatha Christie.” The cry for help from his old mentor cuts short mystery author Kit Holmes’ romantic weekend with his new lover J.X. Moriarity, and lands him an amateur sleuth gig in an elegant snowbound mansion in the Berkshires.
Unfortunately, a clever killer is still one step ahead of Kit…

“I’m an old fool,” Anna said, wiping her eyes. “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. Especially with you. Christ knows you’ve been through enough.”

I waved that away. My hand hit the bed railings. Yes, my perspective was definitely off.

“I’ve never thought of myself as the sentimental type. I never wanted children. But to see such promise…lost. Such a bright light extinguished.”

“I’m sorry, Anna.” It seemed to be all I could come up with. I was still having trouble taking it in.

She wiped at the tears with the heels of her hands and cursed quietly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone had paused on their way into this private room. This private room that Anna was insisting on paying for. I glanced over, expecting to see another nurse bearing more chemical relief or the ever-efficient Sara waiting to take charge of her mistress.

J.X. stood framed in the doorway.

J.X.

Not a dream. Not a mirage. J.X. Tall, spare and, um, supple in boots, jeans, and a Nordic blue Eddie Bauer parka. His dark hair was a little longer than I remembered it and matched with the perfectly groomed Van Dyke mustache and beard, it made him look like one of those dashing young explorers of days gone by.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said awkwardly, taking in the bedside tableau.

Blame it on the pharmaceutical companies, but I heard myself make a choked noise. I sat bolt upright, ignoring the pain flashing through arm, shoulder, ribs, back and butt as I stretched my arms out to him like the final frame in a cheesy medical drama.

But it wasn’t cheesy. It was just…Jesus, I was happy to see him. I can’t remember ever being so happy, so grateful to see someone. Someone I’d been afraid I was never going to see again.

J.X. reached the bed in three steps, but then he sort of hovered as though not sure how to hug me without doing damage. I wasn’t having any of that. I wrapped my arms around him and as much as it hurt—and it did hurt plenty—it was nothing to the pleasure of being in his arms once more.

“Jesus, Kit.” His husky voice, warm against my ear, sounded shaken, unfamiliar. “What the hell have you done to yourself?”

I could feel him trying to be careful of the various bandages and IVs, but then his mouth found mine and I think he forgot all about my weakened condition. I responded to that fierce gentleness to the best of my bruised and battered ability. I’d have had to be comatose not to respond to J.X.’s kisses.

Spots were dancing before my vision when he finally raised his head. His long-lashed dark eyes regarded me with emotion. “You look like a goddamned train wreck.” He sounded winded and angry.

“You should see the other train.” Then I remembered how really not funny the situation was. My glance fell on Anna who had got to her feet with the speed of a much-younger woman. She was leaning on her crutches, studying J.X. with open surprise.