Spotlight & Giveaway: The Fake Mate by Lana Ferguson

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Lana Ferguson’s new release: The Fake Mate

Two wolf shifters agree to be fake mates but unexpectedly find something real in this steamy paranormal romantic comedy by Lana Ferguson.

Mackenzie Carter has had some very bad dates lately. Model train experts, mansplainers, guys weirdly obsessed with her tail—she hasn’t had a successful date in months. Only a year out of residency, her grandmother’s obsession with Mackenzie finding the perfect mate to settle down with threatens to drive Mackenzie barking mad. Out of options, it feels like a small thing to tell her grandmother that she’s met someone. That is, until she blurts out the name of the first man she sees and the last man she would ever date: Noah Taylor, the big bad wolf of Denver General.

Noah Taylor, interventional cardiologist and all around grump, has spent his entire life hiding what he is. With outdated stigmas surrounding unmated alphas that have people wondering if they still howl at the moon, Noah has been careful to keep his designation under wraps. It’s worked for years, until an anonymous tip has everything coming to light. Noah is left with two options: come clean to the board and risk his career—or find himself a mate. The chatty, overly friendly ER doctor asking him to be her fake boyfriend on the same day he’s called to meet the board has to be kismet, right?

Mackenzie will keep her grandmother off her back, and Nate will get a chance to prove he can continue to work without a real mate—a mutually beneficial business transaction, they both rationalize. But when the fake-mate act turns into a very real friends-with-benefits arrangement, lines start to blur, and they quickly realize love is a whole different kind of animal.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from The Fake Mate 

“ SO.” NOAH’ S CUP is almost empty, his expression hardly any different than it had been ten minutes ago when I began to explain my horrible dating history and my aversion to experiencing even one more bad date—all leading up to my lie. “You want me to pre- tend to be your boyfriend . . . so that you don’t have to get a boy- friend?”
“You don’t even have to do anything.”
“I fail to see the need for me at all then.”
I’m pretty sure I’ve never been this close to Noah. At least not for this long a time. I can sense a sharp tinge of suppressants rolling off him, which I find odd; most male shifters choose to forgo them, too hung up on their ego to miss out on clouding a room with their scent in the hopes that a female shifter will come running. Maybe it’s a professional decision? His scent might not be pleasant. Although, I think I can discredit that theory, given that, strangely, I can faintly make it out even under the chemical tang of his suppressants, mak- ing me think he needs a stronger dose. Not that I’m complaining, since I think it might be a nice scent. It’s woodsy. Like pine needles and crisp air. It reminds me of running in the snow on all fours.
But this isn’t what I should be focusing on.

“Well, a picture, maybe. So I can prove you’re real. That will hold her off for a few weeks, at least, with my schedule. Surely you know how to smile, right? You can think of something you enjoy, like glaring at small children or criticizing baristas at Starbucks.”
“I don’t do either of those things,” he snorts. “Thank you very much.”
I shrug. “It was a guess. Come on, it will cost you nothing, and you’d be helping me out.”
“Helping you out.” Noah looks pensive as he stares down into his mug, raising it to his mouth to drink the last of his coffee down. “And tell me again why I would do that?”
I scowl. It’s honestly so annoying that he might be one of the most good-looking men I’ve ever come into contact with—shifter or otherwise. His features are angular, and his blue eyes are sharp in contrast with his smooth, fair skin, as if he sees more than you want him to, and I won’t pretend that his aquiline nose doesn’t rustle up ideas about what he might be able to do with it . . . If only his personality weren’t so sour.
“Intraspecies camaraderie?” Noah looks unmoved, and I groan. “Seriously, would it kill you to do something nice for once? This is based on the assumption that you recognize what doing something nice looks like and know how to properly execute the task.”
Noah is studying me again, eyes moving over my sandy blond hair and my amber eyes and even my mouth that is currently pressed into a pout, almost like he’s considering. What, I can’t be sure. I can’t tell if he’s thinking about helping me out, or if he’s try- ing to find the most satisfying way to tell me I’m screwed.
“I have never been much for intraspecies camaraderie,” he says finally, and I feel my stomach sink, knowing this was the worst idea I’ve ever had. “But . . .”

I perk up. “But?”
“I think we can reach an agreement that is more mutually bene- ficial.”
Now it’s my turn to look confused. I can’t think of a single thing that Noah Taylor would need from me, or anyone else for that mat- ter, given that I’ve never seen him speak to anyone for even a frac- tion of the time he’s been speaking to me without barking orders at some point.
“And what could I possibly do for you?”
Honestly, I’m preparing for the worst. He’s probably going to ask me to pass the buck on his consults to one of the other cardiolo- gists, which would be a total pain in the ass, given that he knows he’s the most highly requested one. Maybe he’ll ask me to clean his office for the pure enjoyment of watching me do it. That feels like the sadistic torture Noah might be into. I can’t even imagine what his office looks like. I bet it doesn’t even need cleaning. He probably has plastic covers on all the chairs and surfaces. I could offer to put in admission orders for him for some agreed-on span of time. That would be annoying, but doable, at least. Definitely worth staving off a few more horrible dates, since I am apparently too spineless to simply say no to my Gran’s puppy-dog eyes.
Oh God. What if he asks me for sex? I’ve pegged him as some
celibate sourpuss who gets by with angry masturbation on the weekends, but what if Noah is like every other horndog I’ve come across? That is absolutely the one thing that is completely off the table, and I will kick him in his stupidly large shins if he is dumb enough to suggest it. It’s not like he knows I’m an omega— there’s no way he could—so surely it isn’t going to be anything kinky he’s after.
I tense when Noah leans forward in his chair, his fingers lacing

together as his hands rest on the table, and his piercing eyes meet mine with that blazing intensity that they never seem to lose when I am unlucky enough to cross paths with him. They don’t look like the eyes of someone who is about to ask me for sex, at least. Or maybe they do, given the context. I don’t know. It’s hard to think with him staring at me like he is. But as it turns out, Noah has no intention of asking me for any kind of sordid favors. What Noah proposes is much worse, and the craziest part is the way his expres- sion absolutely doesn’t change, not even a tiny bit, when he says:
“I need a mate.”
Now it’s my turn to blink at him. Stupidly, if I had to guess. “You need . . . a mate?”
Noah nods, like it’s a perfectly reasonable thing he’s said. Like he didn’t just propose the shifter equivalent of marriage and the last thing I’m interested in to a veritable stranger who I don’t think he even likes (I’m not taking it personally or anything, he doesn’t seem to like anyone) over bad hospital-lounge coffee.
“And fast,” he adds.
Out of the fire, into the frying pan, I guess.

Excerpt. ©Lana Ferguson. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

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Meet the Author:

Lana Ferguson is a sex-positive nerd whose works never shy from spice or sass. A faded Fabio book cover found its way into her hands at fifteen, and she’s never been the same since. When she isn’t writing, you can find her randomly singing show tunes, arguing over which Batman is superior, and subjecting her friends to the extended editions of The Lord of the Rings. Lana lives mostly in her own head but can sometimes be found chasing her corgi through the coppice of the great American outdoors.

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