A fluke accident puts Perry in a coma. When he awakes, his scrambled synapses have given him a talent; he can tell truth from lies simply by their flavour. This, plus the new client who is far too attractive for Perry's peace of mind, the client's contentious family and the dilapidated old mansion Perry has to restore for him - not to mention anonymous threats which escalate to attempted murder - all ensure that Perry's life will never be the same again!
*****Reviews for Aloes
BitterSweet Reviews 5/6 - When you read a novel by Chris Quinton, you know you are pretty much guaranteed something a bit different and I think this is one of her strongest attributes. Aloes is no exception as it manages to successfully combine a love story with a dash of the supernatural and a hint of suspense.
Top 2 Bottom Reviews 4/5 - Aloes is a well written, smoothly paced tale of romance, mystery, danger and suspense.
Coffee Time Romance 4/5 - The storyline is superb and the mystery is expertly concealed until the end. I was connected to the characters, rooting for their future until the very end; unable to put the book down until the last word.
Three Dollar Bill Reviews 4/5 - A well thought out story about new beginnings and finding love in the most unlikely places.
God, what a shitty day, and all because I'd taken a couple of hours off and gone home early to surprise Cray with the fucking zinnias and a table booked at our favorite restaurant. He'd been surprised, all right. And so had I. Our work-hours didn't always coincide; he worked shifts at the Library, and of course my suspicions were immediately front and center. How long had he been cheating on me? Who with? And why? That last one above all felt like it was burning holes in my cranium.
Somehow I got back to the house without being pulled over again or hitting anything. I didn't bother checking the garage to see if Cray's car was gone, I just parked askew on the drive and groped my way toward the front porch. I needed darkness, silence and painkillers, not necessarily in that order. Before I could reach the steps, the nausea hit and I threw up onto the flowerbed. Part of me was viciously pleased with myself. Cray was the gardener, not me. The other part was vaguely sorry for the lobelias that had taken the full force of my stomach contents.
By now I was practically blind, but the torture in my skull had eased off a little since I'd anointed the flowers. I knew the reprieve would be short-lived. When the agony returned in a little while, it would be exponentially worse. I fumbled my key into the lock and edged inside.
"Perry?" Cray's voice reverberated through every bone in my skull, and if I'd had a gun in my hand I would have shot him for that alone. "I--"
"Shut up," I whispered. "Not now."
"Oh, shit--a migraine? Let me help--"
"Fuck. Off. You. Out. Tomorrow."
Cray was a smart guy. He ducked past me and disappeared out the door. I forgave him a little bit; he didn't slam it. I crawled on up the stairs. Normally I would have preferred to lie down in the master bedroom, but the thought of Cray fucking an anonymous someone in our bed was enough to veto that and make me nauseous again. But the guest room was just too far. The master bedroom it was, then. I crept into the en suite bathroom, found the transparent orange bottles collecting dust at the back of the wall-cabinet. I grabbed mine and shook out two tablets, swallowing them dry. Then I staggered to the bedroom windows, closed the drapes and lowered myself carefully onto the bed.
My prescription medication was over five years old and I hoped it hadn't lost any of its potency. The time seemed to crawl by before it kicked in and then I was out for the count.