Sparks fly when an occult expert and a disgraced archeologist become enemies-with-benefits in this steamy romance.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Rosie Danan’s Do Your Worst, which is out November 14th!
Riley Rhodes finally has the chance to turn her family’s knack for the supernatural into a legitimate business when she’s hired to break the curse on an infamous Scottish castle. Used to working alone in her alienating occupation, she’s pleasantly surprised to meet a handsome stranger upon arrival—until he tries to get her fired.
Fresh off a professional scandal, Clark Edgeware can’t allow a self-proclaimed “curse breaker” to threaten his last chance for redemption. After he fails to get Riley kicked off his survey site, he vows to avoid her. Unfortunately for him, she vows to get even.
Riley expects the curse to do her dirty work by driving Clark away, but instead, they keep finding themselves in close proximity. Too close. Turns out, the only thing they do better than fight is fool around. If they’re not careful, by the end of all this, more than the castle will end up in ruins.
When Clark Edgeware grew warm across the back of his neck upon entering the Hare’s Heart, he simply assumed the pub’s radiator had gone to pieces in keeping with the rest of his life. After shrugging out of his wool coat, he ordered a beer, ready to chalk today up as another with nothing to show for the job he shouldn’t have taken in this village that resented his presence.
But then, a few minutes later, when the flush wouldn’t go away, he turned to his left and saw her.
“Hi,” the woman descending from one of the neighboring barstools said in an American accent.
Clark’s first thought was that she was loud. Not her voice, but how she looked. Everything about her demanded attention. From her blond hair, so bright it was almost silver, to her eyes, heavily shadowed, as if she’d smudged charcoal across the lids, to her impossibly plush lips.
And that was just her face.
Even without letting his gaze fall, his body was aware of the decadent curves of hers.
Truly, someone who worked here should do something about the thermostat.
“Umm, hello.” He tried to lean casually against the bar.
“I’m Riley.” She stuck out a hand as pretty as the rest of her, sporting a fine‐lined tattoo—a starburst above the third knuckle on her ring finger.
He wanted to ask about it. He also worried that his ears were ringing.
On a delay, he accepted the handshake. “Clark.”
He knew he was looking at her too intently, but nothing had cut through the monotonous haze of his life in so long.
Ever since Cádiz, he’d been relentless with himself, trying to earn back his reputation. The few things he did outside work, he did merely to sustain himself so he could work more, harder—eat, exercise, shower, sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything simply because it felt good. And looking at her did.
Thank god, she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she looked back, flushed herself, like the lousy radiator had gotten to her too. It wasn’t unusual for people to stare at him, but it was unusual for Clark to feel seen.
“Listen.” She released his hand. “I don’t want to disturb you if you’re waiting for someone . . .”
“I’m not.” He’d taken every meal alone for the last month. And even before he’d come to Torridon, he hadn’t met mates at the pub in ages. He was poor company, even before the scandal. And Patrick—who had always smoothed the way for him socially—was gone.
“Okay then,” Riley said, stepping a little closer, close enough that he got the whiff of a fragrance he couldn’t quite catch, some‐ thing that made him think of summer even though the leaves had begun to change in Scotland, daylight growing scarce as autumn took hold. “Eilean, over there”—she raised her chin toward the bartender he recognized from his frequent visits—“said you’re an archaeologist?”
That threw him. He’d thought—had hoped—he read a different kind of interest in her approach.
“That’s right.” He changed his posture to better suit a professional inquiry. “Are you in the market for one?”
She curved her obscenely pretty mouth in a coy, closed‐lipped smile. “Maybe.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat, trying to get ahold of himself. If she was looking to hire someone, he’d need more information about her objectives. “I specialize in ancient Roman civilizations in the Mediterranean region. There are a lot of different kinds of archaeologists, commercial, industrial, forensic . . . it depends on what you need.” He didn’t have the strongest set of contacts these days, but he’d do his best to get her a reliable referral, if he could.
“Oh, okay, no.” She brought a curled finger to her mouth, seeming to find something amusing in his answer.
Even though he didn’t know what it was, Clark liked the way her eyes lit up.
“That was my attempt to . . . I don’t actually know anything about archaeology,” she confessed. “I just watched this movie on the plane, Out of the Earth.”
“Oh.” Clark stiffened. Dropping his eyes to the bar top. Of course.
“Have you seen it?”
He grimaced. Was she joking?
“Not personally,” he said after a pause.
There had been a premiere, multiple in truth, but Clark had only had to beg off the one in London. His father hadn’t put up a fuss. He wanted Clark there in theory, but in practice, this was cleaner. No whiff of scandal to take away from his big night.
“It’s about this famous dig from the 1970s—”
Wait. His eyes shot back to her face. Did she seriously think he didn’t know what Out of the Earth was about?
“—where they found this entire ship buried on some fancy English lady’s property.”
She looked sincere. A little nervous, speaking quickly. As if worried she’d bore him with the recap.
“I thought you might know about it because the main character, the archaeologist, is based on a real person—a British guy, and he’s still alive, I’m pretty sure.” She snapped her fingers. “Shit, what was his name . . . something with an A.”
“Alfie Edgeware,” Clark finally supplied, stumbling a bit on the vowels of his own last name.
Excerpted from Do Your Worst by Rosie Danan Copyright © 2023 by Rosie Danan. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
