Kasey Michaels has a knack for whacking her readers in the heart – and the funny bone – with her witty tales of unexpected love. Now she delivers a whole new twist on sexual tension, as mystery writer Maggie Kelly sees her fantasy man come to life... right before a couple of her colleagues meet very untimely deaths...

Maggie Kelly is nothing if not resilient. She bounced back after getting fired from her old job as a writer of historical romances, reinventing herself as a mystery author. She bounced back when she discovered her lover – who also happens to be her publisher – cheating on her. And she bounces right back into her smoking habit whenever she tries to quit. But something just happened that's got tough-talking, quick-thinking Maggie swooning into her super-soft sofa cushions.

Something in the form of an incredibly sexy Englishman by the name of Saint Just. Alexandre Drake, Viscount Saint Just, to be exact. Tall, dark, handsome, with an accent to die for and charm to spare, he's everything she's ever dreamed of in a man. There's just one problem. He is her dream man. He's every woman's fantasy. He's the character who's made her a bestselling author. He's not real. No, he's not real – but he is, for some reason, standing in the middle of Maggie's apartment. With the adorable, bumbling sidekick she created expressly for him right by his side – and eating that piece of fried chicken she was saving for lunch.

What's a savvy, New York City writer to do when faced with the figments of her imagination – in the flesh? Well, short of checking herself into Bellevue, she'd better get used to it. Because these guys aren't going anywhere – at least not until they've given Maggie a little unsolicited editorial advice regarding her latest telling of their adventures. Still, it's not the worst thing in the world to have a roomie as gorgeous as Saint Just – even if he is somewhat arrogant – and prone to leaving the cap off the toothpaste.

But just as Maggie's getting used to her new houseguests, things start to get quite a bit more complicated – in the "homicide" sense of the world. It seems her ex-lover, Kirk Toland, ever the inconsiderate cad, has had the nerve to die right there in her living room... of poisoning... after eating a dinner Maggie made. Her cooking isn't that bad – is it? And if that weren't weird enough, Toland's death is soon followed by the murder of a colleague whom everyone knows Maggie hated.

So, the mystery writer has become the murder suspect. And the only sleuth who's really on Maggie's side is the one she invented.