About the Authors

USA Today Bestselling Authors Nikoo and Jim McGoldrick have crafted over fifty fast-paced, conflict-filled novels, along with two works of nonfiction, under the pseudonyms May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey, and Nik James.

These popular and prolific authors write historical romance, suspense, mystery, historical Westerns, and young adult novels. They are four-time Rita Award Finalists and the winners of numerous awards for their writing, including the Daphne DeMaurier Award for Excellence, the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award, three NJRW Golden Leaf Awards, two Holt Medallions, and the Connecticut Press Club Award for Best Fiction. Their work is included in the Popular Culture Library collection of the National Museum of Scotland.

The authors make their home in California.

Connect with the Authors:

May McGoldrick 

Website – FaceBook – Twitter – Instagram – BookBub – Goodreads

Jan Coffey 

Website – FaceBook – Twitter – Instagram – BookBub – Goodreads

Nik James

Website – FaceBook – Twitter – Instagram – BookBub – Goodreads

Sign up for our newsletter  

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

Avalie

San Clemente, California

The battered copy of Pride and Prejudice that nestled on the end of the twenty-five-cent shelf caught my eye, and a jolt of excitement threaded through me. Only a chest-high metal railing, a few steps, and a half-dozen people separated me from my bargain find.

I tried to edge around an elderly couple. “Excuse me. Can I get by you?”

In front of the beach town’s library and the used-book annex, the Sunday Farmers Market stretched along the sidewalks of Del Mar, the main street of San Clemente’s downtown. Shoppers pushed through crowded tents and tables filled with fresh produce and honey, olive oil and cheeses. And from the look of the throng combing through the racks of books, the Friends of the Library store was doing equally well.

My eyes remained locked on the treasured book as I made my way closer. Polite requests were met with reluctant shuffling. As I edged past strollers and dog walkers, it seemed that everyone had chosen this precise moment to reconnect with long-lost acquaintances or discuss the latest happenings in the sleepy oceanside town.

Finally, my prize was only a few steps away. As my fingers extended towards the used copy of the Jane Austen classic, a man’s hand reached out and took it. Disappointment prickled down my spine.

“You wanted this?” I asked. “You sure?”

“I did want it,” he replied, pausing before holding the book out to me. “But you can have it.”

Surprised, I looked up into his face, and my heart stopped. He stood a lanky six feet, and sandy colored hair that fell over his collar framed a square-jawed face. The dark brown eyes sparkled in the June sunlight. There was a hint of amusement in them, and they seemed to invite me into a world of possibility and adventure. He was dressed in a plain blue T-shirt and jeans that did nothing to hide his muscled chest and arms. And his easy stance gave him a look of balance and confidence. But it wasn’t his physical attributes that caused me to take a second look; it was the mischievous, somewhat lopsided grin.

“Are you sure?” I asked, taking the book.

“Absolutely. Everyone needs multiple copies of their favorite book.” 

“What makes you think I already have it?”

“Doesn’t every woman who reads have a copy or two?” he asked confidently.

A shopper bumped me, causing me to nearly drop the precious find. I held it close to my chest.

“In fact, I’ll bet you have your favorite pages dog-eared.”

Running my fingers along the ream of the book in hand, I held it up to him as proof. “No dog ears here.”

“You haven’t taken it home yet.”

“You have no idea what I do to things that I take home.”

“Books or people?”

The lopsided grin had never left his face. Our eyes met and I recognized the spark of interest. “Let’s keep the conversation about books.”

“Whatever you say.” He nodded. “Well, do you have another copy of Pride and Prejudice?”

“I actually do have another copy, but I didn’t bring it with me on this trip.”

“So you’re not a local?”

“No. You?”

“Visiting San Clemente for the first time.”

“Me too,” I confessed.

Another shopper with a toddler strapped to her back noticed the book in my hand. “Oh my God! My book club is reading Pride and Prejudice. Can I have this copy?” 

I gathered it tightly against my chest. “Sorry, I was here first.”

“It’s not technically yours until you pay for it.” 

The handsome stranger put a hand on my elbow and nodded towards an elderly woman collecting payments at a table a few steps away. I shoved a hand into my jacket pocket and flashed my credit card.

The young mother pointed to the sign next to the box. “Cash only.”

Cash. I patted the jacket and my short pockets. I had no cash.  

My rival for the book held out her hand. “I’ll take that from you, thank you very much,”

She didn’t know me. I wasn’t one to retreat from battle. “Is there an ATM machine anywhere near here?” 

“For God’s sake, it’s twenty-five cents.” She bounced her complaining child on her back. “I don’t have all day. Let me have it.”

“No.” I clutched the book tighter in my chest.

“I’ve got it,” the handsome stranger interrupted, holding up a ten-dollar bill.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He shook his head and handed the money to the cashier, telling the white-haired woman to keep the change. He tried to take the book out of my hand, but I was clutching it tight.

“I promise to return it to you.”

I let go and watched him as he made a show of sliding it into a brown paper bag he’d picked up off the table. He handed it to me as mother and toddler huffed off. 

“Are you two together?” the library volunteer asked, amused.

“Maybe,” he said with a wink. He turned to me. “You promised to feed me, didn’t you?”

Confident. Definitely confident. And charming.

We made our way through the crowd and stopped in front of a vendor’s table piled high with fresh artisan bread. The scent of herbs, garlic, and sourdough wafted in the air. 

“You paid too much,” I told him.

“Bailing you out of jail would have cost much more.”

“It wouldn’t have gone that far.”

“Yes, it would have. I saw the flash in your eyes. You were ready to flatten that woman.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I smiled. “Okay, a dollar would have been a fair price.” I held the bag out to him. “You overpaid and the book is technically yours.”

“No. Add it to your Austen collection when you get home.” He glanced at a red trolley that rang a bell as it moved down Del Mar on the other side of the line of tents. “Wherever home is.”

He was fishing for information. I had my book. I could have walked away. But I didn’t, waiting to see what his next move was. 

Del Mar was a pretty, tree-lined street of small shops and restaurants. The abundance of red-tile roofs and white stucco walls made it picture-perfect Southern California. El Camino Real, the original Spanish road that connected missions and small forts, crossed Del Mar at the top of the street, forming a tee. From where I was standing, the road ran down to the ocean, where a long heavy-timbered pier guarded miles of white sand beaches. In short, San Clemente was gorgeous.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starved.”

“Can I buy you breakfast? Or is it lunch already?”

I glanced at the clock tower over the library and was surprised to learn how much of the day was already gone.

“Lunch is on me, so long as they accept credit cards,” I told him.

A pair of women walking by smiled at him, and he smiled back. A player.

“You’ll change your mind about paying as soon as you see how much I eat.”  

“Fair enough.”

“Reed.”

I stared at his outstretched hand. Did people shake hands these days? Didn’t it go away with Covid? “Reed…?”

“That’s all. My friends call me Reed.”

“Avalie,” I put my smaller hand in his. His fingers were calloused, his grip strong.

“Avalie…?”

“That’s all you need to know…today.”

He smiled. Across Del Mar from where we stood, a charming building with a Spanish-inspired architecture housed an outdoor café serving food. The white stucco walls were adorned with colorful ceramic tiles, and a wrought iron sign above the entrance displayed the café’s name in elegant cursive.

“What do you think?” I asked.

He put a hand on my elbow, and we crossed the street. As we approached the café, we noticed a line of people waiting to get inside.

“We can go somewhere else,” Reed suggested.

“If you can wait that long, so can I.”

He put our name down on the waiting list, and we drifted toward a low stone wall that offered a surface to lean against. His long legs stretched out against mine, creating an intimate connection. He leaned in a bit closer as others tried to share the same stretch of wall. A menu was passed along those waiting. I stared at the colorful page.

“Vegan? Vegetarian, gluten free? What do you eat, or don’t eat?”

“One of everything on this menu. They all look good.” I passed on the menu to the person next to me. “You’re not the only person who can pack it away.”

His chuckle was a warm whisper in my ear. “So, where’s home?”

“San Francisco,” I told him. “You?”

“New York City. What brings you here?”

“Girlfriends’ reunion.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Don’t you have a reunion with your girlfriends?”

“Ha! That’s a good idea. How does it work?”

“We get away once a year. A bunch of us, all good friends from college, rent a house at some destination and whoever gets there, gets there.”

He shook his head. “That won’t work for me.”

“Which part doesn’t work? Once a year? A bunch of your girlfriends?”

“Neither.”

Three young women, all about the same height with the same shoulder length bleached blond hair, all wearing shorts and bikini tops, talking loudly amongst themselves, walked past the restaurant. Reed’s eyes followed them for a few seconds before turning back to me.   

“What about the rest of your friends? Everyone still sleeping?”

“I’m the first one to arrive in San Clemente.”

“When did you arrive?” he asked.

“Last night.”

“And the rest?”

“They’re coming whenever they can get away. If they can get away.” I pushed the cell phone deeper into my pocket.

“Are you saying they might not show up?”

“Everyone except me has real responsibilities.”

“What’s a real responsibility these days?”

There were more pregnant women and multiple babies in strollers on this street than I’d ever seen on any other street in my life. “Motherhood, spouses, serious nine-to-five office jobs, I guess.”

“And you don’t have any of those things?”

“The rental was paid for way in advance. I have a job that I can take on the road, so I packed the laptop and voilà, I’m here. First to arrive. Sun and surf. Carefree and ready to have a good time.”

“What about the rest of it?”

Tilting my head, I stared into his brown eyes.

“Motherhood, spouses, partners?”

“Not ready for those kinds of grownup commitments.” I shook my head. “Enough about me. How about you?”

He ignored the question. “What happens if no one else shows up?”

“I’ll be wondering in and out of bookstores, trying to not get into fights with mothers and toddlers.”

“I can help you with that.” He smiled, his shoulder bumping mine. “A week, I mean, keeping you out of trouble.”

“Who mentioned a week? We could have booked the place for the weekend.”

“It’s already Sunday, and a guy could only hope.”  

Thirty-two years old and I’d been with enough men to recognize when someone was making a move on me. He was gorgeous and sexy and definitely making a move on me. The prospect was interesting.

“They’ve done it to me in the past. Cancelling on me, I mean. So who knows? I might end up on my own.”

The sun was warm, or was it the air, or the delicious heat radiating from the man standing so close next to me. I shed my jacket and draped it over my arm.

Two parties of four were called. The waiting line of people moved. Reed put a hand on the small of my back and slid us down the line closer to the restaurant. Standing sideways, his fingers stayed on the newly exposed band of skin between my halter top and khaki shorts, caressing ever so softly. My bare shoulder pressed into his chest. He was all muscle underneath.

A jolt of awareness had run through my body the first moment I laid eyes on him. Now, it was even stronger. Whatever was happening here was totally unexpected.

The question popped in my head. When was the last time I had sex? It had to be way too long as I couldn’t remember.

“What is it that you do?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, I do.”

“I’ve got the most boring job in the world.”

“No, I own that one. I’ve got that title after my signature.”

“Maybe we do the same thing.”

“I doubt it.” I shook my head.

“But you haven’t told me what you do.” He was clever about directing the questions away from himself.

“I’m a freelance editor for technical magazines. I tell people who can’t write where to put commas and exclamation marks.”

“That is boring.”

“I told you. Now you. What do you do?”

“I handle commercial property insurance.”

“You go on the road for that?” I asked.

“You have to, especially when your customers are in a high-risk fire hazard zone and my company is thinking about cancelling their policies.”

“Ouch, that hurts. Do they know that’s why you are here?”

“I assume so. Other insurance companies are doing the same thing.”

“Purging their livelihood. Cutting the cord. Pulling the rug from under their dreams. The terminator.”

“Put it that way, it sounds pretty harsh.”

“Your job isn’t boring. It’s shitty.”

“Okay. We’re both unhappy with what we do.” His eyes moved over my face. “Let’s look at the perks. Like, right now. This moment. Neither of us is on the clock. Are we?”

His fingers moved to my bare back as we shifted down the line again. 

“When did you get here?” I asked Reed.

“Last night.”

“How long are you staying?”

“A week or two, maybe more. It all depends on the job.”

“Who did you check in with when you landed?”

His head dipped and his face moved closer to mine. “You mean my boss?”

“No. I mean wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, husband.” I didn’t get the vibe from him, but still had to ask.

“Does it make a difference?”

“Absolutely. I don’t have sex with people who are in relationships.”

He moved closer to me. Without warning, he reached up and ran his thumb over my bottom lip. I sucked in a breath.

“So we’re going to have sex, are we?”

“Depends. You haven’t answered my question.”

“No one. There was no one I had to call.”

“No one you had to call? Or no one who gets upset if you and I have sex.”

“Yes to both. I’m not into relationships.”

“Why not?”

“I move around too much.”

“You don’t have sex?”

“Oh, I have sex. And I’m good at it. We were talking about relationships and commitment.”

There was a time in my life when a statement like that would have prompted a thousand and one more questions from me. But not anymore. Not in this situation. He already had me hooked.

“That settles it.” I lifted myself on my toes and kissed him, hot enough, thoroughly enough that the front of his jeans pressing against me told me I had his attention.

“Fuck lunch,” he breathed. “Let’s go.”

We were one group away from getting a table. “How about food?”

“I’ll feed you after.” He took my hand, and we pulled out of line.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Where are you staying?”

“Renting a house a couple of blocks over, on Avenida Victoria.”

“Lead the way.”

“No. Any of my girlfriends could get in today. This morning, in fact. I’m not into explaining us. Where are you staying?”

“The same street, actually.”

“Your place it is, then.”

Half a block up crowded Delmar, we took a right and into an open parking area connecting two blocks. The lot was a chaotic mix of parked cars, surfboards strapped to roof racks, and families loading their finds from the farmer’s market.

“Please tell me you have nobody who will pop in unannounced,” I teased, trying to match my steps to his long strides.

“No roommates, no neighbors that I’ve met yet. You’re my first and only friend in San Clemente.”

“I can’t remember the last time I was first at something.”

“We’ll see if we can fix that right now.”

I don’t know which one of us first saw the man squatting next to his pile of belongings at the end of the parking lot. He was directly in our path. We both reacted and tried to go around him. But the disheveled stranger suddenly sprang to his feet, blocking our way. He wore worn, grimy clothing that clung to a thin frame. His unwashed hair hung in greasy tangles, partly obscuring his eyes, which flickered with intensity as he stared at us.

Reed’s fingers tightened around my hand.

The stranger’s face was etched with scars, a roadmap of past battles, and his eyes darted about, constantly surveying the surroundings nervously. From where we stood, a couple of steps away, the musty odor of the man’s clothing clashed starkly with the lunchtime aroma wafting from the surrounding restaurants.

Reed pulled my hand and we tried to move around him, but the stranger continued to block our path.

“You.” He pointed a gnarled and dirty finger at Reed, his voice a jarring mixture of anger and desperation. “I’ve seen you before.”

My eyes flicked to Reed. His expression was marked by a mixture of wariness and confusion.

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” The man bristled.

“You’ve got the wrong guy.” Reed’s tone was calm, attempting to defuse the situation.

Pulling me with him, he again attempted to sidestep the menacing figure. However, the man moved with us, blocking our path and glaring.

“You walked out of the water,” he said. “Like a demon rising from the ocean, you walked right out.”

An older woman was standing a few steps away, loading shopping bags into her car. “You want me to call the cops on him?”

The man showed no interest in her.

“No, that’s okay. He’s confused.” I pulled Reed away from the stranger, and the woman got in her car.

As we made a wide arc across the lot, the man’s voice followed us. “I have your bag,” he shouted. “I have it. And you know what’s in there. Come and get it. You know where to find me. Come and get it.”

Excerpt of Erase Me © by May McGoldrick is protected under copywrite law and cannot by copied or republished without consent of the author(s).