Perils of a Papillon

Can pretending to be engaged get you murdered?
Perils of a Papillon by Tara Lain

Perils of a Papillon

Perils of a Papillon is a pretend boyfriend, opposites attract, adorable nerd, hot guys with secrets, suspenseful, comedic, sexy MM romance—with dog.

Can pretending to be engaged get you murdered?

Toby Albertine needs a fake fiancé to get the teaching job of his dreams.

Sadly, he’s kind of a duh-weeb and he lives with his twin sister who everyone mistakes for his wife, so no dates

In desperation, Toby asks Ernest, the mysterious man of his dreams, to masquerade as his one and only for a single party. Ernest says yes, but Toby forgot. Things that seem too good to be true—are.

Toby and Ernest wind up sharing a king-sized bed at a resort that’s crawling with all of Toby’s school bigwigs. Can you spell couple’s massage? But one guy is trying to kill Ernest and another’s trying to save him. There’s no place for Toby but in the middle.

There’s a dog, of course, with gigantic ears and a bigger personality. And there’s even a cat named Cat, plus tons of hot sex, out-loud laughs, and near-death experiences. Batshit does it again!

Available in Paperback and Kindle Format

Release Date: July 20, 2021
Tara Lain Books

Other Books in the Fuzzy Love Series

Follow Batshit, the intrepid Papillon dog, as she tracks down and defeats bad guys, plays Cupid, and guides her heroes on the rocky road to love.

Prologue from Perils of a Papillon

Red queen on black king. Now I need a jack.

He sighed softly. Fuck, everyone needed a Jack. And once they were done with him, no one would need a Jack again. Is it worth it? How many f-ing times had he asked that question?

He glanced over at his laptop and refreshed the page, then smiled. His fingers moving fast, he clicked the blue sell button, typed in 10,000 shares, selected his price, and hit execute. For a few tense minutes, he stared at the screen. Without even a ding, the tiny message flashed at the top of his screen. Sell executed.

He sat back and sipped his water. The automatic transfer of his new fifty-thousand dollar-plus-change profit to his off-shore bank took a solid half hour, but then it would be time to shut down that account, sign up for a new email, and open another trading platform. Meanwhile, he could play with the two more accounts he had active.

Bill said, “You look happy with yourself. Have you made another fortune while I’ve been sitting here staring at cat photos?”

Jack half smiled. It depended on what you called a fortune. Was it a good investment to have three off-shore accounts—and no life?

A radio squawked, Bill ran across the room, clamped Jack’s shoulder, and pulled. “Get down.”

Fuck! He hit the floor, pulse thundering in his ears, and Bill’s arm came over his head as lights went out.

Bill murmured, “What you got?” There was a pause, and then Bill snarled, “You sure? Well hell, bring the thing in here.”

A minute later, the front door opened, and the thud on the floor pointed to the culprit.

“Meeow.”

Bill snorted as he rose and dusted himself off. “Isn’t there any way you can keep that damned beast inside?”

“I’m not the boss of him.”

Bill sighed loudly, and Jack sat up as a sinuous body crawled onto his lap. He scratched under the lean chin and looked up at his bodyguard. “No one’s going to find me here. Seriously. I’m five hundred miles away.”

Bill crossed his arms. “Yeah, and if there is a hired gun, Santorelli’s probably paying that dude five-hundred thou to find you. Guess who’s motivated?”

“Okay.” Shoulders sagging, he picked up the cat and sat back at the table in front of the cards. “Come on, guy. We need a jack.”

Of course, first they had to live long enough to use it.

 

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