Blog Tour: Enticed (Halloway Pack #4.7) by J.A. Belfield @JABelfield

Happy Birthday to Ethan.

Or is it?

Gifts aside, Ethan’s morning hasn’t been anything to write home about. Sure, life is good, the pack is staying out of trouble, he finally has a mate who boils his blood … in a good way.

Except Shelley hasn’t called. Hasn’t come by. Didn’t even bother to join her son and his girlfriend for Ethan’s annual I’m-a-year-older breakfast.

What Ethan doesn’t know is that Shelley has plans. Plans that have been in progress for weeks. Ones that Ethan will never see coming, and that she’s banked on him not knowing a thing about.

She can only hope her secrecy doesn’t force his inner wolf to the surface—at least, not too early.

*Can be read as a standalone.

ENTICED is a FREE short story that will enrapture both Holloway Pack fans and virgins alike.
Purchase Links: Enticed on Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | Enticed in print

Other Links: Goodreads

Excerpt:

Sinking down onto the edge of my bed, I worked a finger under the flap and took out a regular old birthday card with a chimp on the front and a simple ‘Happy Birthday’ printed across its top in bulky orange letters. Nothing romantic. No hearts. No confessed feelings. No nouns pronouncing who the recipient might be to the sender.

Though, what could she get one with, anyway? To my boyfriend? My face screwed up at that title. My mate? Somehow, I doubted they did those at Hallmark.

Even so, I found myself opening it, like some part of me hoped she had more to say with her own words than with those fabricated by some anonymous message maker.

Four envelopes marked 1, 2, 3, and 4 had been tucked inside.

Moving those out of the way revealed more of Shelley’s neat handwriting across the inner fold of the greeting card. A cryptic note of: ‘What? Did you think this was it?’

I frowned, my eyes scanning downward to another little note.

‘Pssst, in case you can’t figure it out, the envelopes are number-ordered for a reason. Open them. You know you want to.’

“What the hell’s got into you, Shel?” I muttered, though my lips twitched even as I set down the card and three of the envelopes, and ripped at the flap of number one.

No card sat inside it. No note. Just a tiny black rag of … I grabbed it between my two fingers and slid it out. Lace?

Lifting it to my nose, I sniffed. A faint whiff of Shelley lingered on its surface, but otherwise, it just had that new fabric smell I’d have expected from the stiffness of the strip.

Setting it aside, I lifted number two, tore through the stuck-down flap, and peered inside.

A couple of glossy photos peeked back, and I withdrew them. Stared at the first one. Tried to figure out what the hell the pinkish-but-not-pink, creamy looking whatever the shot seemed to be of. I shuffled out another from behind it—same thing. Kind of. Except the second one had a couple of ridges.

Only when looking at the third did I notice the faint porous-like indentations, the delicate downy-looking hairs, and realised it was a close-up of … “Skin? Lace … and skin?”

Despite my narrow-eyed frown, my lips curved. Shelley was definitely—definitely—up to something.

And experience warned it would be something really bad.

Or something painfully good.

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