When a potion goes wrong...

You get The Sexy & The Undead

A potion gone wrong, or right? 

Single, unemployed, and in charge of her very own pet zombie, Ella Perry is cooking up trouble, and it's raining men. 

Ella has spent years searching for a cure for a zombie named Freddie. However, when an experimental concoction takes an unexpected turn, she gets a glimpse of the life she's been missing by hanging out with the undead. 

Zombies, Angels, and Pixies. Oh my! Don't miss out on the first book in the new "Sexy Witches" series by Bestselling Author Charity Parkerson.

For a limited time only, you can pick up The Sexy & The Undead for $0.99. 

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Copyright Charity Parkerson © 2013
All Rights reserved.
He was waiting for her when Ella arrived at work the next day. Standing in the center of the shop with his feet braced apart, braid hanging down his back, and bulging arms crossed over his chest, Samuel was the perfect picture of sexiness. Ella wanted to lick him, just one time. Surely, there wasn’t a soul who would chastise her if she simply ran her tongue over his nipple and kept walking as if nothing happened. The way he watched her should be illegal. He ate up her presence with his stare. Damned if her body didn’t scream for more.
“I found I couldn’t wait until this evening to see you again. I brought you breakfast.” He nodded toward a paper bag waiting by the cash register. A cup of coffee sat next to it. If such a thing was possible, Ella wanted him even more. A delicious man who comes bearing coffee holds the key to instant pants removal.
A pink rubber band shot through the air, flying past Ella’s head, before pinging off Samuel’s bare chest. Samuel didn’t as much as flinch.
“No shirt. No service,” Randall said haughtily. Ella hadn’t even noticed his presence behind the counter. She’d been so engrossed in Samuel.
Samuel’s already iridescent eyes began to glow seeming almost to swirl with anger. He turned his gaze in Randall’s direction. His temper didn’t show itself in any other way. Ella still found herself taking a step back. Making his retreat, Randall headed toward his office, grumbling under his breath the whole way about dark ones pissing all over other people’s territories. He slammed the door closed behind him. Yanking it back open, he stuck his head out.
“And you’re fifteen minutes late,” Randall admonished before slamming the door closed once more. It immediately opened again. “Freddie’s in the back, asleep.” This time the door closed with a definite snap instead of a slam.
“The shaman has a crush on you.”
Ella’s jaw dropped at Samuel’s statement. “Shaman? Who? Randall? He’s no shaman. He’s only a pharmacist and he doesn’t have a crush on me.”
She wanted to add if Samuel ever witnessed the twenty-minute eyebrow lecture she endured daily from Randall, he’d laugh hysterically at the thought of Randall possessing any mushy feelings for anything, much less her.

“A pharmacist,” Samuel repeated. He moved to the nearest shelf. Picking up the first bottle he came to, he read, “Angelica: mix three drops with lukewarm water at bath time for five nights in order to remove itching hex. Other uses include home protection from most curses if sprinkled weekly. Yes. I was mistaken. This is the average pharmacy, and yes he is carrying a torch for you.”