Title: Relatively Risky: The Big Uneasy 1
Author: Pauline Baird Jones
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Book Blurb:
When children's book author Nell Whitby inadvertently upsets dangerous criminals, it's up to quiet-loving Homicide Detective Alex Baker to keep her safe. Amid the thrilling chase and suspense, will they find a way to forever together?
Nell Whitby is more than just an author; she's an adventurer at heart. Her curiosity takes a dangerous turn when she crosses paths with a would-be carjacker, and accidentally saves off-duty police officer, Alex Baker. But when an unexpected enemy starts shooting, the danger to her life escalates.
Alex Baker, a seasoned homicide detective from a bustling family, prefers the sound of silence and a case well closed. Yet when an attractive cyclist, Nell, tumbles into his life amidst chaos, he realizes he's her best shot at survival.
Their lives entwine in more ways than one when Nell unwittingly uncovers her tie to a crime family. She's shocked to learn she's too close for comfort to a dead crime boss. Sworn to protect her, Alex must find a way to keep the captivating Nell out of the crosshairs of ruthless hitmen.
In this whirlwind of bullet storms and untangling secrets, will their budding romance survive the risks they face?
Relatively Risky is the heart-pounding, and hilarious, first entry in The Big Uneasy humorous romantic suspense series by Pauline Baird Jones. If you're a fan of endearing characters, sharp humor, and a taste of noir, you'll be captivated by this thrilling tale.
Secure your copy of Relatively Risky today and dive headfirst into a love story wrapped in suspense and danger!
Excerpt:
“In the garden. Second door on the right, then out the terrace doors. She’s probably up a tree.”
Alex had started to move but stopped at this. “Up a…tree?”
“She likes being up.” Sarah paused her own retreat to add, “Check the oak in the middle. It’s her favorite.”
“Thanks. I think.” The second door opened on a living room, a tidy and welcoming room with terrace doors that opened onto a small, not so tidy garden.
Several old oak trees cast their shade on the enclosed space, but there was a particularly fine specimen in the center, its branches reaching close to the ground, as if in invitation.
It reminded him of the tree in Swiss Family Robinson, only without the treehouse. In a particularly complex juncture between several branches, he picked out what looked like a reclining figure. She’d picked a spot a serious distance from Mother Earth.
He walked to the base. From this vantage point, all he could see was her butt, surrounded by branches and leaves and one foot dangling over the edge. So he hadn’t imagined it. She did have a nice caboose. His libido gave itself a shake. Glad it was still around, but now was not the time. Nell was not his type. Not the time to recall that his ex had been his type…
“Miss Whitby?”
There was a pause, then the foot was pulled in and the body—and the caboose—turned until he could see her face peering down at him through the branches.
She didn’t say anything, something he found a bit unnerving. She may have arched her brows. It was hard to tell with the shade playing games with her face.
“I realized you live pretty close and thought it would simplify things if I stopped by and got your statement. From this morning.”
“Oh, right. This morning. Sure. Come on up.”
He wanted to but felt like he shouldn’t. Tree climbing was for children, not homicide detectives. He studied the arrangement of branches and trunk. It was a great tree.
“It’s lovely and cool.” Her face disappeared and her caboose reappeared in the juncture. “Unless you’re afraid….”
Her voice had just enough imp in it to provoke—if the taunt wasn’t enough.
He started up, half expecting gravity to be bitchy about it, but it must be snoozing in the afternoon sun, too. In short order he’d clambered up beside her.
Close, but not too close, was another branch arrangement where he could settle quite comfortably. She was right. It was nice up here. Relaxing. Like he’d left his worries and frustrations back on the ground. And his hang ups. Air moved softly through the leaves, their rustle just enough to mute distant car sounds and cool the sweat from his climb.
He turned and studied her, curious to compare memory with reality.
She’d changed into a pair of shorts that showed off a rather well constructed pair of legs, though she still wore the cowboy boots, so he didn’t get the full view.
She’d tucked her portfolio into a branch close by her, had a closed pad resting on her lap. One knee was scrubbed, probably from this morning. Her hair puffed out around her head, the ends curling in a variety of directions.
She fingered the end of a strand. “It increases exponentially, in proportion to the humidity level.”
He chuckled and was rewarded with a smile that put crinkles around her eyes. He shifted uneasily. “They smile.”
“Excuse me?” She blinked, though slowly, her lashes drifting down and then up as if that was all she had energy to do.
“Your eyes. They smile.”
“Do they?” She touched the edge of one, as if feeling for the smile.
“Inside them.” He knew he was being…something. He should shut up.
“Oh.” Her lips curved up to match her eyes. A slight breeze made the shadows on her face shift, revealing, then shading her mouth.
“How was the muse?” he surprised himself by asking.
She made a face, punctuated it with a lazy shrug.
His libido kicked it up a notch. Odd to feel that slow slide now. He dealt with the aftermath of human impulse at work all the time. Saw a butt load of human impulse—and some he considered not-human—helping to raise his siblings.
He should understand it. He didn’t. He didn’t know why he’d come, though he wasn’t sorry.
He found himself remembering the moment when he’d almost kissed her and hadn’t. Maybe he should give into impulse every now and again. He sure couldn’t make a move now when they were up a tree. He found he was kind of sorry about that.
She shifted position, uncrossing her booted feet. She leaned forward, stowing her pad in the portfolio and securing it.
“You’re not from here, are you?” The question came out conversational, rather than cop-like.
“Wyoming.” She turned her head, just enough for her sleepy gaze to meet his. “Not Star Valley.”
He grinned. “How did you know—”
“Almost everyone’s ‘I know someone from Wyoming,’ is someone from Star Valley.” An amused frown pulled her brows together. “Not sure why. It’s not huge.”
“Not many towns in Wyoming are,” Alex pointed out, which was almost all he knew about the state. And that most of Yellowstone was in Wyoming. Okay, he just thought he knew that.
Her tiny nod conceded the point. It was followed by another lazy smile that made his insides relax some. He liked that she didn’t fidget or chatter. She looked at him straight, her gaze clear and honest. And smiling. There really was something about her eyes—
“So you’re from not-Star Valley.”
Her chuckle was engaging.
“Waipiti. I’m from Waipiti.”
“Wa—what?”
“It’s a little place between Cody and Yellowstone. A really little place.”
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)
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What makes your featured book a must-read?
I love stories with humor, adventure, strong heroines, and good-guy heroes who know that strength isn’t about overpowering—it’s about standing side-by-side. My heroines don’t wilt, and my heroes don’t whine. They face impossible odds, crack jokes in the face of danger, and somehow always find their way to a happily-ever-after.
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Author Biography:
Award-winning author Pauline Baird Jones writes perilously fun fiction—romantic suspense, space opera, time travel, and more. With 40+ books, a flair for humor, and a love of adventure, she creates heroines braver than they realize and heroes heroes brave enough to love them. If you crave thrilling plots, smart laughs, and sigh-worthy endings, you’re in the right place! 🚀❤️📚
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