Terry Spear said this quote

Oh, what had she done?He'd startled her; that was the problem. It was all his fault he was lying on the ground, looking rather cherub like, his blond hair curling about his ears, his bright blue eyes closed now, his masculine lips parted slightly as he slept the sleep of the dead.She studied his masculine lips. And thought just how much havoc she could wreak if she kissed him. Served him right for startling her so.Without analyzing whether she should do it, and just because she could, she pressed her mouth against his and gently kissed his lips, meaning only to give a quick peck and that was it.... His lips curved up under hers and for a second, she thought he was awake, smiling at her kissing him....Her thoughts reverted to the kiss and immediately the human faery tale Sleeping Beauty and the prince giving the princess a kiss to wake her sprang to mind. Why ever did humans make up such nonsense anyway?

~ Terry Spear

...She squeezed Niall's hand and bleakly said, I don't want you hurt.Oh, Serena, that's all I have to know. And with that, he kissed her so passionately, she felt as though she had fae transported to the moon and back...

~ Terry Spear

Candice had been writing for two days’ straight, working on her publisher’s book deadline, when she wrote the end, smiled, and set the book aside. She would start proofing it tomorrow after she’d given her brain a break. Now she’d do what she always did when she finished a book, or reached a good stopping point in one. Clean house. Check her backlog of emails. Pick up some more groceries. And take a run on the wolf side.She finished vacuuming and dusting, swearing every window must let all the outdoors in, and then started a batch of gingerbread cookie cutouts to celebrate finishing another book and the Christmas holiday season. While they were baking, she finally settled down to check her emails. Fan mail always came first, and one from her website got her attention right off. She opened it up and read: Hello, I’m Owen Nottingham, private investigator for White River Investigations, White River Falls, Minnesota and my client, Strom Hart, hired me to locate you. Your parents, John and Cynthia Hart, left you an inheritance and you need to see the lawyer about it so that you can claim it. I need to verify that you are the right woman first. Is there any way that we can possibly meet and get this taken care of so you can collect your inheritance? Strom Hart will be the one to receive it by the end of the month otherwise. His assistant, Jim Winchester, said Mr. Hart is your uncle.”She reread the message again, not believing her eyes, tears filling them. She quickly looked at the date of the message. Two days ago! She knew she shouldn’t have neglected her emails, but when she was into the story, she couldn’t break away.She ground her teeth, raised her fingers to respond, and heard a knocking at her door. No one came here. Never. Ever. Not even salesmen.She glanced at her phases-of-the moon calendar. The waxing gibbous was just beginning. She should be fine. Just to be on the safe side, in case the person at the door was trouble, she pulled a can of mace from her desk drawer and headed for the door. She peered through the peephole. A handsome black-haired man waited at the door, with rugged features and intense blue eyes. He was dressed in a black suit, a red shirt, and a dark purple tie covered in red, purple, and gold Christmas balls. She raised her brows.“I’m Owen Nottingham,” he said to the door, holding up his PI license and driver’s license. He couldn’t know that she was watching him, so he must have hoped she was there, observing him. “I tried getting hold of you on your contact form on your website about your inheritance. Your contact form might not be working, so I had to locate you in person.”So this was the man who had sent the message. But was he for real? He had to be. He wouldn’t have come all this way to see her if he wasn’t. But how had he found her? She opened the door, the bells jingling on her Christmas wreath, and he glanced down at the can of mace in her hand. He smiled, his gaze holding hers with such intensity, it was as though he could see clear through to her soul. “Really, just a PI doing my job.”A chilly breeze carried his scent to her. Wolf scent. She felt so lightheaded all at once, she grabbed the door to keep herself upright, and dropped the can of mace on the tile floor. It clattered, but she couldn’t reach for it if her life depended on it. Oh. My. God.This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be real. No wonder he was talking to the door. He must have heard her footfalls as she’d approached.He took a deep breath at the same time and his eyes widened in surprise when he smelled her scent. His hand shot out to grab her arm and steady her. For a minute, as she tried to control her breathing, her heart rate, neither of which she could steady. She felt like she was going to pass out.“Hell, you’re the wolf I saw across the White River, aren’t you?

~ Terry Spear

Owen couldn’t believe his luck. Candice Mayfair was the beautiful white wolf he’d seen that day so long ago. Not that she looked like a wolf right now. He only knew she was the wolf, unequivocally, because he recognized her scent. After the initial shock of seeing an unfamiliar and intriguing Arctic she-wolf, he’d gone after her.The whole pack had gone on a run that night, but they knew to stay far away from any campsite. He and the other guys had swum across the river to explore a bit. Cameron and his mate had stayed on the other side with the kids. He’d even swum back across the river to find her and discovered her scent had led right to one of the tents. Since she had moved into the tent, he knew she had to be one of their shifter kind. He’d even hung around the next day, waiting to catch a glimpse of her, but there were several women, and he had no idea which one had been her. Two blonds, a couple of brunettes, and a red-haired woman—none of whom looked like the picture he had of Clara Hart, though.Being a white wolf in summer had made it difficult to blend in, so he’d had to keep well out of sight.Candice Mayfair was definitely the author of the books on the website, though she didn’t look like the photo her uncle had of her, if she was Clara Hart. She had the same compelling eyes, different color, but they got his attention, grabbed hold, and wouldn’t let go.He carried her to her couch and set her down, staying close, his hand still on her arm until she seemed to regain her equilibrium.“The wolf pup was yours,” she accused, jerking her arm away from him.“Wolf pup?”“Yeah, wolf pup. Don’t pretend you don’t know about your own wolf pup.”Then all the pieces began to fall into place. Campers. Campfire. Food. Corey, the wolf pup she had to be referring to, hadn’t just found the food like they’d thought. Candice must not have been a wolf until that night.“You fed him? Corey? His mom wondered why he smelled of beef jerky that night. We thought he’d found some at the campsite. Don’t tell me…he bit you.

~ Terry Spear