An Angel Healed


ISBN Digital: 978-1-62830-494-7
ISBN Print: 978-1-62830-493-0
Page Count: 370
Word Count: 94600
Rating: Sensual (PG-PG13)

The Cavelli Angel Saga

Archaeologist Raphael Cavelli wonders why he isn’t in some watering hole in Peru drinking a lukewarm cerveza next to a bosomy blonde. Instead, back in Chicago trying to stay one step ahead of the law for stealing the archaeological find of the century, he bumps, literally, into the reason he left seven years ago—the girl he traveled halfway around the globe to forget.

Hope Macklin, sob sister/obituary writer for The Spectator, wangles the assignment to cover a high society wedding. If she does well, it means a promotion and a raise — but the heiress’s bothersome brother remembers her from St. Rose’s Home for the Friendless, a time she’d rather forget. She's on the lam, so she can’t afford to draw attention to herself, even for a carelessly handsome man.

Fate throws Rafe and Hope together again just in time to square off with the faceless opponent doggedly threatening them. Will they risk everything for what matters most?

Rating: Sensual
Page Count: 370
Word Count: 94600
978-1-62830-493-0 Paperback
978-1-62830-494-7 Digital


He hadn’t heard her voice in seven years, but it had the same effect on him as if it were yesterday.

God help him.

Silk over honey, huge green eyes with smoky edges, a half dozen freckles sprinkled over a small, straight nose, riotous blonde curls with the scent of a spring morning—and the girl it all belonged to—the one he’d traveled halfway across the world to forget.

“I have business here,” Hope insisted. Trying to yank her arm free from the burly man’s grasp was like trying to take a bone from a snarling dog. The bold blue uniform topped by a bright gold badge stretched over his girth. She glanced down at the wooden nightstick tucked in the loop of his wide leather belt. It gave her the willies, but she had to hang onto her composure. He didn’t know anything about her, and she needed to keep it that way.

“I have an appointment with Miss Cavelli, Constable. You’ll make me late.” She tried for a nonchalant demeanor, but she couldn’t seem to make her queasy stomach follow her brain. The man was just doing his job, but if he didn’t let go soon she would probably hurl on his spit-shined shoes.

“What’s wrong here, Flynn?”

Hope glanced over her shoulder and groaned. Another man. This one had worn, paint-splattered trousers on long legs. Honey-colored hair curled on his collar. His scarred boots matched the jagged scar on his face. Hip-shot now, with thumbs hooked in his belt loops, eyes, a warm shade of blue, a bit glazed over, stared at her. Probably St. Rose’s handyman. So much for sneaking in and getting out unscathed.

Copyright © 2018 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.