About the Book

A dream marriage becomes a trap of addiction, lies, and women.

In a whirlwind romance, a lovely New York socialite marries a fêted, debonair author. But beneath the charm is a cheating husband addicted to hasheesh. Her dream marriage turns sour and the simplicity of her life runs amok when a handsome stranger, her husband’s business partner, threatens her staunch loyalty to her wayward husband. When she faces the ugly truth about her marriage, her need to finalize her divorce sends her on mad chase across the wilds of nineteenth century America with a handsome stranger—she learns hard lessons of murder, kidnapping and more that almost destroy her.

“I put Indigo Sky on my Kindle because I caught up in your story and want to finish it comfortably. I’m reading it at bedtime. I just love the way you write and the way the story works. I’m so glad you didn’t try to change it.  It’s easy to see why Soul Mate Publishing snatched it up so fast.”

Joy Smith is the author of Oh, No, They’re Engaged!, The Empty Nest Cookbook, The Perfect First Mate, Kitchen Afloat, The Smart Guide to Cruising, the romantic suspense novel Green Fire, and children’s story Seagulls Don’t Eat Worms

Joy Smith


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An Excerpt from Indigo Sky

“I-I’m not sure.” She put a hand to her head. “My brain wants to explode, and I’m dizzy, but I think I can stand.”

“You sustained a nasty blow and cut to the back of your head.”

“Oh, is that why it’s paining me? Would you mind helping me up?”

“Certainly.” He lifted her effortlessly, keeping one arm around her waist.

A hot flush raced through her at his close proximity, and she quavered like a ballerina unsure of her routine. “Thank you, sir. I could have drowned. I’m grateful.” He stood close, and her eyes traveled up his length. His broad shoulders blocked out the mountains. Gasping, she moved from his embrace. I’m a married woman. What am I thinking taking comfort in this man’s arms? God help me—but he saved my life.

He bowed. “You’re most welcome.”

The breeze sighed past, and she shivered as much from the cold as from his overpowering masculinity. She lowered her eyes and pushed strands of wet hair from her face. Heat invaded her face as she realized her nakedness. Trembling, she tried to button the errant pearls. At first, they eluded her fingers. Finally, she managed.

“I tried to fasten your buttons.”

Leila gaped at him. “Y-you tried to button my bodice?” He nodded and watched her with an intensity that set her heart racing and her flesh aflame with the desire to feel him touch her. She lifted her eyes and caught a breath. His smile refreshed her. “I-I must look a mess,” she mumbled, trying to smooth her sodden dress.

Silver eyes caressed her from head to toe. “On the contrary, you resemble a beautiful water sprite.”

That one protracted look filled the empty spaces in her heart. A thrill rippled through her. What am I thinking? She clenched her fingers and screamed a silent denial. Her mouth tensed. “Your boldness is offensive, sir.”

“Please, I don’t mean to be offensive. Forgive me.”

Her belly fluttered with excitement. Something bloomed to life in Leila and reached out to meet him.

His hand came up, and he touched her neck with one finger. “But how can the truth be offensive?”

She opened her mouth to deliver a rebuke but sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with her fingertips instead. He stood so close that she could feel his body heat. His sheer size and latent strength bordered on intimidating. Dark, wet chestnut hair fell in waves on his forehead and curled over his collar. The soaked shirt clung to his muscular arms and broad chest. His clothes were of fine quality, yet he wore an air of danger. The hard planes of his face contrasted with his easy, seductive smile. But most of all, his eyes played games with Leila’s heart. She took a few paces back.

Those cool eyes pinned her in place.

Her anger deflated. Unable to escape his magnetic force, she wet her lips.

His smile faded, and the intensity in his eyes deepened to a hunger for more, a promise of forbidden pleasures.

Her eyes widened. He took another step closer. Leila’s stomach lurched. I’m married!

He advanced.

She retreated, knowing instinctively he was used to getting what he wanted, and right now, it was obvious he wanted her. Just because he’d saved her didn’t give him a right to her. But she wanted to give him the right. I’m wanton, despicable. She took another step back. “I-I must go,” she squeaked.

He held up his hands and smiled. “Please, my intentions are honorable.”

Heat crept up her neck. Did I misunderstand? Leila swallowed her shame. “I really must go. Thank you.” Flight was uppermost in her mind, yet she stood rooted to the spot, staring up at him. He looks so . . . so good standing there. Attempting to restore normality to the situation that was anything but, she lifted her chin. “It’s late. I must change for dinner.”

“I hope to see you again, m’lady.” His smiling eyes teased her as he scooped up his jacket. “This is dry.”

She shook her head, pressing icy hands to flaming cheeks. He’d held her and looked at her, as only a husband should. Oh, Lord, how could I forget I’m married?

He draped the jacket over her shoulders, his fingers brushing her neck.

She jerked as though jabbed, and the ache in her head increased. Leila lifted her soaked skirts and fled.

“Wait, please wait.” His heavy footsteps followed close behind as she ran through the trees and along the grassy riverbank.

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