She's No Angel [NOOK Book]


Mike Taylor was one sorry New York cop

If only he'd taken another route to Trouble, Pennsylvania. Then he'd never have rescued a tire-iron-toting, drop-dead-gorgeous woman whose crazy aunts had stolen her shoes and keys and left her more than a little pissed off. There was no way he was ready to get involved with someone like Jennifer, let alone the decades-old murder case swirling around her nutty family!

But writer Jennifer Feeney was one ...

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She's No Angel

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Mike Taylor was one sorry New York cop

If only he'd taken another route to Trouble, Pennsylvania. Then he'd never have rescued a tire-iron-toting, drop-dead-gorgeous woman whose crazy aunts had stolen her shoes and keys and left her more than a little pissed off. There was no way he was ready to get involved with someone like Jennifer, let alone the decades-old murder case swirling around her nutty family!

But writer Jennifer Feeney was one provocative package. And her latest bestseller had stirred up a whole lot of trouble. Which meant that, between rescuing her again and again, Mike had fallen for her, big-time. Just the way he'd promised himself he wouldn't. Now it looks as if her family's past is going to catch up with both of them, and it's time for Mike to choose: solve the case--or get the girl.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781460305928
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 10/15/2012
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: Original
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 497,789
  • File size: 810 KB

Meet the Author

Leslie Kelly has written dozens of books and novellas for Harlequin Blaze, Temptation and HQN. Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and depth of emotion, her books have been honored with numerous awards. Leslie lives in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their three daughters. Visit her online at

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Read an Excerpt

Every man dreams of having a supportive little woman standing behind him. He just doesn't realize that eventually she's going to be holding a cast-iron skillet aimed directly at his skull.

Why Arsenic Is Better Than Divorce by Jennifer Feeney
THE SIGHT OF A TALL BRUNETTE with a great ass trudging down the side of the road would have been enough to make Mike Taylor slow down for a better look, even if the woman hadn't been barefoot. And swinging a tire iron. And, judging by her tight shoulders and clenched fists, mad as hell.

But she was all of those. Which made her more interesting. He quickly ran through the possible explanations. "No broken-down car," he muttered as he pulled his foot off the gas pedal of his Jeep, slowing to a crawl a few yards behind her. "No houses around." Since leaving the highway, he hadn't seen a single building or gas station. Just a few road signs counting down the miles to hell…make that Trouble, PA.

So maybe she'd been mugged and had fought off her attacker. Or maybe she'd been the attacker and was still clinging to her weapon. His eyes shifted to the tire iron, looking for any telltale signs that it had been used to beat someone recently. Dripping blood, hair, any of that stuff. He saw nothing.

The woman trudged on, impervious to the dig of gravel into her feet as she stuck to the shoulder of the two-lane road. Her soft, filmy dress swirled around her thighs, the afternoon breeze kicking it up a bit higher with each step. High enough to let him know her backside wasn't her only terrific feature. The woman had some legs to go along with her obviously leather-skinned feet.

Hesuddenly suspected she was talking out loud. Something was making it impossible for her to hear the six cylinders pistoning a few yards behind her. Judging by the bounce of her brown hair across her shoulders, he suspected her onesided conversation was a heated one.

"Interesting." He wondered why he wasn't tense, as he'd normally be if he spied a person armed with a dangerous object.

Not that this woman emanated danger. Everything about her screamed frustration, not rage. Which he would have understood if he'd seen a disabled car, a broken cell phone nearby and a pair of woman's shoes…what, stuck in the mud? Carried off by an animal? "Uh-uh." Didn't add up.

She was becoming more and more intriguing by the moment. He hadn't expected to stumble across anything intriguing this weekend. Not here, anyway, in the lousy little town his grandfather had been holed up in for the past year. His whole reason for coming here to visit was to try to convince Mortimer to bail out of Trouble. But pissed-off brunettes swinging tire irons did intrigue him, and would have even if he wasn't a cop.

He had no choice but to stop. No, he wasn't exactly in his jurisdiction. And, since transferring to NYC Police's cold case and apprehension squad a few months ago, rarely had cause to interact with current victims of crime. Or, considering the tire iron and her visible anger, potential suspects.

When he interacted with the living at all in his more recent cases, he generally spoke to former neighbors or family members. Or even descendents, given the age of some of the case files. Frankly, he didn't mind that as much as he thought he would when he'd been ordered to accept the transfer a few months ago. At that point, being forced "for his own good" to leave the twentieth-precinct vice squad had had him ready to tell the city to take their badge and shove it. It had felt like a kick in the gut.

An undercover investigation into a high-end club drug ring run by a slime named Ricky Stahl had ended in a number of indictments…and a few embarrassed public officials with meant a transfer for Mike. His bosses claimed the area had gotten too hot for him. Mike thought the transfer was more likely payback from embarrassed politicians.

Whatever the true motivation, he'd been shoved straight into 1PP, aka headquarters. He now spent most of his days pouring through musty, yellowed logs and evidence files that smelled as if they belonged in some grandmother's basement. When not there, he was on the streets, tracking down hesitant witnesses with failing eyesight and dim memories. Every one of whom wanted to serve him coffee cake while they relived the worst experience of their lives…the murder of a loved one.

Somehow, though, despite his initial insistence to anyone who would listen that he was being wasted, he'd grudgingly found himself getting interested in what he was doing. Maybe it wasn't that surprising. He'd read his grandfather's ancient Ellery Queen and Mickey Spillane mysteries by the gross as a kid. Solving puzzles, sifting through clues, he'd gotten a real charge out of that stuff once. Who knew he'd get a charge out of doing it for real as an adult?

It challenged him, exercised his brain in a way that posing as a buyer or a john certainly never had. His first successful cold-case closing—solving the 1998 murder of a shopkeeper who'd been gunned down in his own storage room—had given him more satisfaction than he'd ever experienced in Vice. Not just because of how grateful the family had been, but because he'd felt triumphant at having solved an unsolvable mystery.

He'd been a cold-case junkie ever since. Fascinated by the past, putting together one piece at a time of each intricate puzzle. So maybe that was why he couldn't drive past the stranger…because she was a puzzle. Alone on the road five miles from town. Furious. Armed. And hot.

"Yeah. Time to stop," he muttered, not knowing whether the puzzle or the hot interested him more.

Behind him, on the back seat, the closest thing Mike had to a commitment—a scruffy dog—lifted his head off his paw and yawned audibly. "We're not there yet, go back to sleep," Mike said, not even watching to see if the animal obeyed. He knew he would. Lie down was the only command the lazy mutt ever heard.

Tapping his horn in warning, Mike pulled onto the shoulder behind the brunette. She swung around immediately, but, thankfully, the tire iron stayed down by her side.

Remaining where she was, she watched warily as he stepped out. He shaded his eyes from the late afternoon sun setting over the town of Trouble ahead, squinting through his dark glasses to make out the woman's features. He still couldn't determine much, beyond the suspicion that her shape from the front was as good as it had been from behind. Maybe better, judging by the plunging neckline of her halter dress.

Damn, the woman had more curves than a Spirograph. She'd stopped right beyond a battered road sign, which read Trouble Ahead. Somehow, he already knew the sign was right.

"Afternoon," he said with a nod. The woman wasn't dressed for changing a tire. Or walking barefoot down a country road, for that matter. No, she looked more like one of the rich princesses who strolled down Park Avenue shopping for glittery purses with their tiny Chihuahuas.

"Having trouble?" he asked as he approached her, the sun continuing to interfere with his vision. "Do you need help?"

"Do you happen to have a gun handy?" was her shocking reply.

Actually, he did. Not that he was going to reveal that to someone eager to arm herself. "Sorry. Not today."

He slowed his steps. Though he still didn't sense she was dangerous to him, she felt bloodlust toward someone else. Maybe the person who'd stranded her out here sans car and shoes.

"Then I don't need your help," she said, her words jagged, choppy, as if now that she'd stopped walking she could finally suck in a few breaths of air. The harsh way she punctuated each word underscored his first impression—she was mad as hell.

And, he suspected, even more hot from the front than she'd been from behind. That dress was cut lower than he'd thought, and the filmy fabric outlined some generous hips. "Are you lost?"

She frowned. "Do I look lost?" "No. You look stranded." "Score one for the big guy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another five miles to walk into town."

As he moved to within two feet of her, the woman's own form blocked most of the sun until just a few rays spiked out from behind her head, like a huge halo. The effect was dazzling—blinding—but he still pushed his sunglasses up onto his head.

No one had ever accused him of being sentimental or sappy. But the way the light caught her hair, reflecting on individual strands of brown, gold and red and turning it into a veil of color, he couldn't help staring.

When he forced himself to focus on the stranger's face, he suddenly had to suck in a quick, surprised breath of his own. Because that face was good. Very good, with the high cheekbones and hollowed-out cheeks that women begged plastic surgeons for.

She also had a small, straight nose and dark eyes that were a swirling mix of blue and stormy gray. They were framed by heavily lashed lids. The strong jaw, and a slight jut to her chin said she was determined. Despite being tightly clenched, her mouth was obviously designed with sin in mind. Her naturally full lips would never need that crap women used to make themselves look like injected-to-death movie stars.

She wasn't too young—probably right around his age, or maybe even older. There was a maturity in the strength of her profile, in the confident way she carried herself.

He liked what he saw. A lot. This was the first time in ages that he'd liked the looks of a woman so much he'd actually begun to wonder whether he owned any unexpired condoms.

And she was staring at him with pure malice. "Bad day, huh?" "You could say that." "So, uh, why do you need a gun?"

"To shoot someone," she snapped, looking at him as if he were stupid. "Two someones, actually."

He quickly scanned the woman's features, looking for her true intent. He'd met a lot of criminals in his seven years on the force, and he knew angry, frustrated threats from legitimate ones. This one, judging by the resigned irritation in her tone—rather than rage—was all bark and no bite. At least, he hoped. But he still thought about his service weapon, and wondered if he was going to have to use it to stop her from following through on her threats.

Wouldn't be the first time he'd stepped between a murderous woman and her intended target. Just the thought of that incident made the scar in his right shoulder ache…and the one around his heart grow a little harder.

"Dumb question." Glancing at the object in her hand, he tried again. "Why are you carrying a tire iron?"

She frowned, appearing puzzled by the ridiculousness of the query. Tilting her head to the side until her long hair brushed her arm, she explained, "Because I don't have a gun, of course."

Well, color him stupid for not knowing that. "Is there
"Don't worry.You're quite safe," she said, that jaw still tense but some of the stiffness easing out of her shoulders. "However, two little old ladies from hell better have gone into the witness protection program before I get back into town."

"Killing little old ladies." He tsked and shook his head, growing even less alarmed. But he didn't let his guard down completely. "That's not very polite."

"You don't know these particular old ladies."

Something that felt like a smile began to tug at his mouth. "I know it's against the law to kill them."

He quickly squashed the smile. Mike wasn't used to smiling…. He didn't have a lot to be happy about on the job, and his personal life was almost nonexistent. Having lived for his work for the past few years, he hadn't developed more than a nodding relationship with anyone outside the force. With his brothers living busy lives, he seldom got together with them these days. He hadn't laid eyes on Max or Morgan since Max's wedding in December. And now that his grandfather, Mortimer, had taken up residence in a shoddy town that looked like the setting of a Stephen King story, he never saw him, either. Other than the drooly dog in his Jeep, he was about as unencumbered, serious and solitary as a twentyseven-year-old New Yorker could be.

"Believe me, it'd be justifiable homicide."

"You a lawyer?" He tensed, as any cop did at the thought of a defense attorney…almost always an enemy in the courtroom.

"No. I just play one on TV."

At first he thought she meant she was an actress—because she could be. Not only because she was so attractive, but because she had definite character. Then she rolled her eyes and huffed out an annoyed breath that he hadn't immediately caught her sarcasm. "I watch Law and Order, the original and all ninety of its spin-offs, okay? Now, unless you have a spare pair of women's size eight Nikes in your car, I really need to say goodbye."

As if assessing the chances, her eyes dropped to his feet, and for the first time, Mike realized, she really looked at him. She was finally seeing him. She'd been too ticked off, too frustrated to even spare him a real glance until now.

Now she glanced. Oh, she definitely glanced.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 14 )
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Sort by: Showing 1 – 15 of 14 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 27, 2013



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  • Posted September 19, 2011

    Highly recommend, don't be fooled juvenile cover!

    I thoroughly enjoyed this book by Ms. Kelly. It's a fun romp that includes romance, a few mystery lines and fun, maybe eccentric characters. There's action, sex and a strong female lead. I hope Ms. Kelly writes a 3rd in this series, there's one more brother to settle down and perhaps grandfther can find one more lady. Great book, great value on my Nook.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 28, 2007

    A reviewer

    From the moment NYC cop Mike Taylor meets author Jennifer Feeney, there's never a dull moment. Not in a slapstick kind of way, but there's an unmistakable attraction right off the bat, and clever banter that will make you smile - repeatedly. Mike is in Trouble, PA to visit his aging grandfather when he runs into Jen walking alongside the road, barefoot and wielding a tire-iron, muttering something about murdering her two aunts. After he rescues her from the side of the road again the next day after another episode with her nutty aunts, and then the two are thrown together at a dinner party soon after, it's clear (this is a romance, after all) that the two are going to hook up. When Mike learns that Jen has been threatened, seemingly by an unhappy reader, he quickly steps in to keep her safe. Mike's grandfather is a fun-loving, worldly old guy who seems to have an endless array of matchmaking skills up his sleeve. Between the grandfather and his British butler, Jen's two aunts and a mysterious murder looming from their past, and a side romance that is just too sweet, the secondary characters are a colorful addition to Mike and Jen's romance, serving to round out a very entertaining book. Fun quips from Jen's 'books' open each chapter and I found myself looking forward to them.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 30, 2007

    Go get yourself into some Trouble

    She's No Angel was a pleasure to read--I would have said guilty pleasure, but I don't have anything to feel guilty about! Guilty pleasure somehow implies that there's something embarrassing or not-good-for you about what you've consumed, but She's No Angel is well-written with an interesting plot and strong, likeable main characters and a whole host of entertaining supporting characters to meet and follow. It's simply a good read! She's No Angel is Ms. Kelly's fourth story set in the town of Trouble, Pennsylvania, and have characters that appear in all of them so that as you read, it feels a bit like you're getting to know these small-town folks. 'But you don't need to have read the previous books to enjoy this one completely.' The 'man behind the curtain' is the incredibly wealthy Mortimer Potts, who's recently bought most of Trouble and is trying to get this forsaken town back on its feet. He's dabbling in matchmaking, too... I loved She's No Angel--Ms. Kelly's created some incredibly likeable characters who are engaging from the very first pages. Of course Jennifer Feeney and Mike Taylor are gorgeous and funny and sexy and really smart, but they're also people I wouldn't mind actually knowing as friends. And though some of the plot details are out the realm of my mundane existence 'for instance, I don't have any experience with being drop-dead gorgeous, writing best-sellers, or spending time with multi-millionaires', so much of what is at the core is stuff I can completely relate to--the mixed feelings for family members who you cannot choose, the delicate balancing act that interacting with said relatives can be, the need to be needed and loved--Ms. Kelly articulates all these and more so well and pulls together a terrific and absorbing story. I'm not sure there's much more to be said except go out and get Ms Kelly's books and get into some Trouble! You'll only be sorry if you don't!

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    a reviewer

    Trouble, Pennsylvania town owner wealthy octogenarian Mortimer Potts loves his grandsons, but is particularly concerned that Michael is becoming cold due to his work as a New York City police officer. He thinks Mike needs a woman who will warm him up when the job turns unbearable. He selects author Jennifer Feeney in spite of her damaged ancestry her aunts are the eccentrically crazy Ida Mae and Ivy.-------------- When Mike comes to see his grandfather, he ¿accidentally¿ meets Jennifer, who is in town from New York visiting family. Sparks fly between them and continues to ignite even when they return to the city. As a stalker harasses Jen, Mike tries to keep her safe even as they become lovers. However, although she loves her protective cop, she wonders how a relationship can last between a macho take charge cop and an unfettered writer.------------------- From the moment they meet when she tries to hit him with a tire iron and he knew he found trouble in Trouble, readers are hooked. The story line is fast-paced as Mike falls in love while rescuing his beloved several times and becoming embroiled in her lunatic aunts¿ ¿ancient history¿ homicide mystery. As with HERE COMES TROUBLE, the cast is eccentric, the romance is fun and the whodunit is delightful as Leslie Kelly provides an entertaining contemporary romantic suspense.------------------ Harriet Klausner

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    Posted October 28, 2008

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    Posted June 12, 2011

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    Posted October 18, 2011

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    Posted December 31, 2008

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