Great reviews for Thirty-Nine Again:

4 Stars. A first-class mystery and a first-class read. - Cindy Himler, RT Book Reviews

I could not put this book down. . . . The writing is impeccable. I can't say enough about this amazing book.- Larkspur, Long and Short Reviews

5 Cups! Sabrina . . .has strength and tenacity in abundance. With the guns, bad guys, and sexy men, Thirty-Nine Again is a wonderful and exciting read. - Delane Davis, Coffee Time Romance

. . .a contemporary romance full of excitement and suspense. You will be rooting for Sabrina and Evan until the very end. - Arianne, Night Owl Romance

5 out of 5 Ribbons! From the first paragraph to the last, THIRTY-NINE AGAIN is a winner. . . . Fans of romance and suspense will find this book well worth the read! -Kris Jones, Romance Junkies

“I don’t know why you’re flirting with me when I’ve told you about the cancer and all the rest of it.” I finished my pizza and wiped my mouth.

“Sabrina, that’s not all there is to know about you.” He gave me a frank, serious look that seemed to allow no disagreement. “I also know about how you cope in a crisis, how determined and resourceful you can be. I like that. Do you want that?”

He pointed at the remaining slice of pizza on my plate, and I shook my head. He scarfed it down in a matter of seconds and shrugged. “Not every guy cares about breasts, Sabrina.”

I snorted.

“No, I’m serious. Take me, for instance,” he insisted. “I’m way more interested in legs and— and what goes with that. You have fantastic legs, and a nice round—. Okay, look. The point is, cancer didn’t do anything to the parts of you I notice first. And the rest of you’s pretty cute too. Babe.”

I could barely restrain myself from leaping across the room and shouting “He said I’m cuuuute!”

Evan licked the remnants of tomato sauce from his fingers. I stood up and stepped closer, laying a hand on his silky smooth hair.

“Don’t do that.” He hunched his shoulders forward. “It’s difficult enough—”

Abruptly, his chair scraped across the wood floor, and he rose from the table with an almost angry haste.

“Tyrese would tell you I’ve never been good at following rules. But some, I’ve always tried to respect. Like don’t take advantage of a woman in crisis. I never expected that would be such a hard one to obey.”

He scratched his head, as if even he was confused by his interest in me. “I gotta go wash my hands. I’ll be back.” He strode out of the dining room.

I heard his soft footfalls on the carpeted stairs. I tidied up the dining room, tossing plates into the trash, and pouring the remains of my soda down the sink.

A woman in crisis. Well, yes, if any woman was in a crisis, it would certainly be me. But did that mean I couldn’t think straight? Really, what the breast cancer thing had taught me was that a woman never thinks clearer than when she is in a crisis. Because she doesn’t have time to second- guess herself.

After a minute, I heard the bathroom door creak open softly. So I climbed the stairs to meet Evan there.

“I haven’t thanked you properly for finding me.” My voice came out hoarse, a little bit shaky, as I approached him.

He leaned against the doorframe, his tall figure a black silhouette against the yellowy glow from the bathroom light.
“And is that what this would be then?” He reached out and took a strand of my hair, curling it around his fingers. “A thank you?”

“I don’t know what it would be,” I admitted.

“And no, I’m not used to that problem. I never sleep with a guy unless it’s serious. I’m thirty- nine—”

He raised an eyebrow. Oh, hell, of course he’d read my file.

“Okay, I’m not thirty-nine. Thirty-nine was the year I had cancer. I should let that go, shouldn’t I? That’s what you would say.”

“Would I say that?” I heard a lilting tease in his voice.

“Yes, you would. You were so convincing as a personal trainer because you kept giving me all that peppy, up-beat, focus-on-the-future advice.”

His head tilted a fraction of an inch, but in the dark upper corridor, his expression remained hard to read.

“I’m forty,” I admitted. “I’m an infertile forty- year-old woman with one and a half breasts and an ugly scar, Evan. And I’ve only been with three guys in my whole life, all guys I’d known for several months—or even years—and all guys I believed I would marry. I was wrong every time. So I have no clue what you are to me. But you’re right, I do want you.”

A flash of lightning illuminated the upstairs, blue light streaking all around us. I could see little crinkles around Evan’s eyes when he smiled. He took my hands and kissed the palms.

I caught my breath.

“Evan, I’ve never said that out loud to any man in my entire life,” I told him. “I want you. It would be a very crippling blow to my self-esteem if you reject me now.”

“Oh, I couldn’t reject you.” He pulled me into a tight embrace. “I don’t know how any sane man could.”

He took my hand and walked me into the bedroom. . . .