The Summoning
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Everything comes with a price … Gailyn Bridges is a psychic who is ready to end her troublesome career as a private investigator. For the last time, she summons a powerful spirit to help her close a final case. However, the mysterious entity who answers, Malak, is no ordinary spirit. He’s more than willing to help Gailyn save the would-be victim of a violent crime. But who’s going to save Gailyn when Malak returns to collect payment for lending her his power? Buy directly from the publisherBuy for Kindle from Amazon.comREVIEWS“A nice twist on the ghost concept and Malak comes across as way too sexy for someone we can’t even see! This quick read moves along fast and makes for an entertaining evening read.” – Vicky, Sizzling Hot Books (4 Hearts)
“The romance that builds between [Malak] and Gailyn is believable and satisfying. The supernatural details are interesting and well developed and makes the set up quite believable. It’s a brisk read that leaves the reader satisfied and wanting more.” – Liz M., The Romance Studio (4 Hearts) EXCERPT from THE SUMMONING by Tatiana Caldwell:I sighed and lowered myself into the water. There was something alienating about being able to communicate with beings no one could see. It was hard to relate to people while being linked to those that the majority of the world couldn’t hear, feel, or even really believe in. Not even my kind, patient grandparents, who’d raised me after I’d been orphaned, didn’t fully comprehend – or even want to, really – my reality, and what it was like for me to live in it. The awareness of being silently watched distracted me from my thoughts. I sat up and called out again, with less patience this time. “Who’s there? Is there something you want to tell me?” Still no response. I shook my head at my own silliness and concentrating on stopping my limbs from trembling. A spirit couldn’t hurt me. Each one I encountered was generally harmless. But something about this encounter was different than the others. Something more menacing but yet oddly familiar. Intimate. As if this encounter was personal. For weeks I’d felt as if I were being stalked. Not just curiously observed as was usual with those on The Other Side, but genuinely stalked – perhaps even preyed upon. Like I was desperately sought after to fulfill some critical need. But for something like what? I tried to tell myself that maybe it just wanted some company. A friend. Certainly, I could understand that. Releasing some of the tension in my shoulders I lathered myself up, drawing slow, soapy circles all over my neck and shoulders. For a few moments I imagined there was a sexy guy in the tub with me, massaging my breasts as he washed them. My nipples grew erect under the bubbles.
The guy before that, Mike, had an entire apartment contaminated by his hordes of sexual “So, you’ve had quite a number of lovers, hunh?” It was more of rhetorical comment that I meant to mumble to myself, but he heard me. conquests, both male and female. Which might not have been too big of an issue if he had been honest with me about it. Mike gave me a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Who, me? Nah, I don’t really get down like that. I’ve only had three or four girlfriends in my whole life.” “Only three or four?” I laughed. “Come on, you don’t have to fudge your numbers for me. I’m not judging you.” “I’m not fudging, I really haven’t slept with more than a handful of women.” “And what about men?” Mike scoffed. “Never! I don’t go that way, I’m strictly into chicks!” Again, I laughed. Bisexual men, I didn’t particularly have anything against. But I definitely did not like liars. So I had nothing to lose when I replied with, “Did I forget to mention that I’m psychic?” Apparently what he meant to say was that he was strictly into chicks who were no t psychic. The guy before that had a deceased grandmother who’s spirit came along on all of our dates. She told me about how her grandson was not a good catch – James was spoiled, selfish and she wished she’d never left a dime of her money to him. A guy must be a creep if his own grandma will adamantly badmouth him. After she’s dead! Thus I was convinced that I wasn’t going to ever find a guy I could both tolerate and be tolerated by. But I was lonely. My only source of affectionate contact was in my dreams. Abnormally intense, vivid, erotic dreams that I always remembered clearly the next day – including every real, full orgasm I experienced in my sleep. But as wild and erotic and hot as they were, dreams were no replacement for the real deal of intimacy. My re lationships with the dead did not count, either. No offense to any spirits, but I needed someone alive and present to share my life with. I could so use the touch of another’s hands right now, I thought to myself with a sigh as I swished in the tub. Just then, a breeze made me shiver. But there was no window open and it was early on a hot and humid day in July in Chicago. Again, I listened. And then my bath water suddenly dropped a few degrees, and I had the distinctive sensation that I wasn’t alone in the tub. The coolness wrapped around me, brushing my skin, caressing my body, giving me goose bumps and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Both from arousal and alarm. “I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re here,” I called out. “Either tell me what you want, or leave me alone.” Silence. As I sat there trembling, a cool touch came to my lips. Lightly at first, then the pressure increased, lingering. Unmistakably a kiss. This was strange. And it completely freaked me out. The water in the tub sloshed around violently as I jerked backwards then leapt to my feet. I grabbed my towel and hurried out of the bathroom. No spirit had ever touched me like that before. Not ever. |
“I truly enjoyed this story. Gailyn and Malak have an explosive chemistry together [...]. Ultimately, this story had it all—a fantastically matched pair of characters,some fascinating paranormal elements, suspense, danger, and plenty of humor!” — Bridget, 
Too bad that me and dating just didn’t work out and I was doomed to die as a spinster. So many things in guys’ homes triggered unwanted “sightings”. The last guy, Dennis, mistook my refusal to visit his place as a sign that I was a commitment-phobe. But in reality, I was uncomfortable at his place because the impression left on the cream-colored sheets of his bed by the blonde who spent many nights under and on top of them was strong. And quite fresh. So fresh in fact as to have been left as recent as the very day that I first – and last – visited his place.
