Giveaway & Excerpt Psychic Appeal by Michelle McCleod

Title: Psychic Appeal
Author: Michelle McCleod
Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Self Published
Release Date:  Nov 2013
Blurb/Synopsis:

Psychic P.I. Sofa Parker never thought she'd date a ghost, but when she accidentally kills her boyfriend, the phrase 'eternal love' takes on an unwelcome meaning. He doesn’t want a little thing like death to come between them and plans to haunt Sofia until she agrees.

Add a case that results in being stalked by a necromancer, betrayal by dragons and the meddling of druids and things get complicated, fast. But the latest Supernatural politics aren’t her biggest problem.

Sofia’s met someone and she can’t stop herself from falling in love. Life really hits the fan when her new relationship drives the lovesick ghost of her boyfriend to come back from the dead...anyway he can.

‘Bad break-up’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

What readers say about Michelle McCleod’s work:

“Her writing style is unique and fast paced. Very easy to get lost in the world.”

“I was drawn into the characters, and I couldn't help but like them. I really liked that the heroine wasn't too stupid to live! A nice bit of world building.”

“Sexy and fast, with a quick-witted heroine and a hottie hero.”

Excerpt

As far as first days back at work went, things were going pretty well. No reporters. No gawkers. No business either, but it had been more than six months since I'd flipped the sign from 'closed' to 'open' on the antique store I ran.
A lot had changed since then.
The shop felt like a time capsule. A perfectly preserved snapshot of my life before it fell apart. I had been happy here. Before the accident, I had been in a serious relationship with a thriving business. After...well, I wasn't lacking for dust bunnies. The store was dirty. Dust coated everything, and mold grew fragrant in my favorite coffee cup. The smell was so bad, I threw the mug away rather than clean out the fuzzy gunk inside.
Note to self: Always wash out the coffee mug. You never know when you’ll be accused of murder.
Boxes of inventory towered behind me, waiting to be processed, and a pile of paperwork--receipts, auction catalogs, correspondence, bills--covered the marble-topped bar that served as a checkout counter. I'd been trying to figure out where to start for the last hour. Organizing the paperwork had seemed like a logical first choice, but I couldn't focus on it. The memories were too overwhelming, reminding me that, if life was a ladder, I'd fallen from the top to the bottom, a bottom with a sinkhole underneath, waiting to swallow me whole.
Grabbing a rag and turning my back on the paperwork, I began wiping down the jumble of armoires, dressers, and tables scattered about the shop. Maybe I just needed to work out my anxiety with elbow grease. As I dusted, I tried to keep my mind closed to the whispers of the past that tried to push through my fingertips to my mind's eye.
Normally, I didn't mind the constant barrage of history. Being psychic was a bonus in the antique industry, and I enjoyed the unique perspective on days gone by that my clairvoyance gave me, but there were a few recent events I didn't want to remember. The youngest memories always had the strongest voice.
If I let them, the walls would tell me all about my fall again. They knew exactly what had happened. After all, my downward spiral had started here, and the plaster, even the support beams behind as well as every other item in the shop, chattered with the knowledge of it.
Well, they weren't actually talking. Inanimate objects didn't have personalities, but they did soak up impressions and events around them. People didn't just leave behind fingerprints when they touched something, but also bits of their energy, which then melded with objects, preserving some moments in time with startling clarity.
A sudden chill raised the hair on the back of my neck reminding me that, sometimes, a lot more than just energy was left behind. Even with the warning the temperature change provided, I still jumped when a familiar face smiled up at me from inside the oak table I was cleaning.
Mark.
Also known as my recently departed ex-boyfriend. Emphasis on the ex. As I liked to remind him, dead people don't date. He remained unconvinced.
Mark rose out of the table in a fog of gray vapor that coalesced into the shape of the muscular, sandy-haired man I had thought I would marry. Now I just wished he would leave me alone so I could forget the guilt and get on with my life. Whoever came up with 'til death do us part' knew what they were talking about. Sure, love beyond death sounded romantic, but it didn't live up to the hype the vampire soap operas gave it.
Laughing, he raised his arms over his head and said, “Boo.” His blue aura twinkled with good  humor. Yeah, ghosts have auras. I’d been surprised too. Even weirder, I didn’t have to squint to see his. It was just there, no blurry vision required. On living people, I had to practically cross my eyes to catch sight of someone’s aura.
I frowned at Mark. “That's not funny.” When he'd been alive, one of the things I had liked about him the most had been his sense of humor. Now that he was dead, not so much.

Maybe I'd just forgotten how to laugh.

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