Denise is a Southern girl who has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and cooking.Accounting is a skill she has learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit. She wrote her first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She's been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed, she has no desire to slow down.
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Content with the direction her life takes…
Until trouble walks around the corner and into her life again…
Dylan Hunter almost turns down the Wakefield Manor restoration job until Les Wakefield tells him Sophia is the interior designer hired to oversee furnishing the old plantation house. Sophia has been the ghost in his life since the day she left him, haunting his heart with her memory every day and every night.
Stirring up more than just the spirits of the dead…
Sophia and Dylan fight with each other until a much bigger threat puts both their lives in danger. Discovering that generations of Wakefields have restored the plantation only to disappear months after moving in to the manor house stirs up spirits that would rather remain undisturbed.
Can love survive the long nights at Wakefield Manor with the unmistakable scent of gardenias hanging so heavily in the air?
Snippet:
Celia
led them toward the back of the main hall where Charlotte assumed there was an
entrance into the kitchen. Celia pushed a swinging door behind the stairs and
disappeared through it, leaving the door to settle into place in Charlotte’s
face. She sucked down her irritation and pushed through to the other side.
She
stalled in the doorway, and the door slammed into her back. Rotting boards hung
from above, dangling from the ceiling and resting with one end on the floor
below. Water spots marked the part of the ceiling that was still intact. The
flooring had warped in the room as badly as it had on the front porch deck. A
large hole in the center of the room opened up to the underside of the house.
Charlotte spotted weeds growing up through the gaping hole. Several windows
were missing, and a breeze pushed chilled air through the vacant panes. Nothing
resembling modern existed in the room. In fact, the place appeared as if it had
been abandoned to the elements for the past seventy-five years.
Celia
was nowhere to be found. A door to the outside of the house hung on one hinge
on the far side of the room, but how could Celia have traversed the rotted
floor so quickly without falling through the hole in the floor? If she had,
Celia would have cried out from the fall. A step further into the room warned
Charlotte of the floor’s instability. She peered into the large hole, but
couldn’t see any sign of Celia.
She
backed out of the door and turned to leave, intending to go outside and circle
the house searching for the woman. As she twisted to head across the main hall
toward the front door, she pulled back before taking another step. In front of
her stretched another hole in the floor larger than the one in the middle of
the kitchen. She shook her head to disperse the fog in her brain. Until that
moment, she had attributed the grogginess to sleep deprivation. Was something
more sinister working on her mind?
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