Wicked Appetite by Janet EvanovichWicked Appetite by Janet Evanovich

Wicked Appetite

byJanet Evanovich

Hardcover | June 13, 2013

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Life in Marblehead has had a pleasant predictability, until Diesel arrives. Rumor has it that a collection of priceless ancient relics representing the Seven Deadly Sins have made their way to Boston's North Shore. Partnered with pastry chef Lizzie Tucker, Diesel bullies and charms his way through historic Salem to track them down--and his criminal mastermind cousin Gerewulf Grimorie. The black-haired, black-hearted Wulf is on the hunt for the relic representing gluttony. Caught in a race against time, Diesel and Lizzie soon find out that more isn't always better, as they battle Wulf and the first of the deadly sins.

With delectable characters and non-stop thrills that have made Janet Evanovich a household name, Wicked Appetite will leave you hungry for more.

Janet Evanovich is the author of the Stephanie Plum books, including One for the Money and Sizzling Sixteen. Janet studied painting at Douglass College, but that art form never quite fit, and she soon moved on to writing stories. She didn't have instant success: she collected a big box of rejection letters. As she puts it, "When the b...
Title:Wicked AppetiteFormat:HardcoverDimensions:320 pages, 9.54 × 6.4 × 1.12 inPublished:June 13, 2013Publisher:St. Martin's PressLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0312652917

ISBN - 13:9780312652913


Rated 4 out of 5 by from Cupcakes win the Day Janet Evanovich has done it again with a new and addictive series. It has a wonderful set of characters. Elizabeth (Lizzy) Tucker is a pastry chef with and innate ability, almost magical, to make the most amazing cupcakes. She is head strong and a bit quirky, which makes her all the more endearing. Of course there has to be some hunky males. First we meet Gerwulf Grimoire, tall, dark and very dangerously sexy. His name alone gave me pause to decide whether it predicted him be 'bad'. Next is Diesel, also tall and dark, though he reassures Lizzy that he's the 'good' one. To round out the cast we have Clarinda Dazzle (Clara) the owner of Dazzle's, the bakery where Lizzy works her cupcake magic. There is something special about Clara, something that makes me think witch, and knowing that the story is set in Salem, Massachusetts, it makes me shiver a wee bit. And finally we have Gloria Binkly (Glo) who works the counter in the bakery. When she arrives for her shift at the start of the story she is waving around a magic book that she had felt compelled to go into a store and purchase. I listened to the BBC Audiobooks America version. 6 hours 13 minutes. Read by Lorelei King. While it was well read by Ms. King, I felt that I would have enjoyed it more if I had read the book. Then it would have been up to my imagination to find the perfect, sultry voices for both Wulf and Diesel. If you didn't catch the subtle references to magic, well, magic abounds in this book. Diesel and Wulf are in a race with each other to retrieve seven mysterious stones of power. They seem to be associated with the seven deadly sins, gluttony being the stone sought in this book. I totally enjoyed listening to this book. I wanted it to keep going on to the next stone. Oh well, I do suppose that Janet needs writing time...
Date published: 2011-02-14
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Cupcake Craving Wicked Appetite is the new spin off series from Evanovich's wildly popular Stephanie Plum books. It features Diesel, the hot and sexy man of mystery and mysterious powers that popped into Stephanie's life one Christmas in a 'between the numbers' book (Visions of Sugar Plums). There have been several more of the in between books featuring Diesel, each one occurring around a holiday (Plum Lovin' - Valentine's, Plum Lucky - St Patrick's, Plum Spooky - you guessed it, Halloween) but now Diesel is getting his own series and you'll hear no complaints here (well okay, maybe one). If you haven't read any of the Stephanie Plum books, you'll have no worries starting here. You won't feel you missed out on anything because there is next to no mention (other than Carl the monkey, yes I said monkey) of any events from the Plum books. What you get though is Evanovich's fast paced style with slightly crazy characters. It really is impossible to read one of her books without at least a smile on your face and you will more than likely chuckle if not laugh out loud. There's lots of flirty fun in this book, but for those who like it really spicy be warned, this book is totally PG. I read an interview with Evanovich saying she hates writing sex scenes which is really too bad. That's what the book is really missing - some sizzle to go with Diesel's heated flirting. If you are a fan of Stephanie, I'm sure you will enjoy catching up with Diesel and his new friends. Sure there is a bit of a deja vu feeling as the characters line up: Lizzie = Stephanie, Glo = Lulu and the owner of Dazzle's Bakery (which takes the place of the bonds office) stands in as Connie. The only difference is Diesel. He ain't no Morelli or Ranger for that matter. With the magical twist Diesel brings to the story, you definitely have to suspend reality to really enjoy this outing. Don't question why everyone seems to just easily accept the magic. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. 2010-159
Date published: 2010-11-09
Rated 2 out of 5 by from All Fluff! An amusing read, but just fluff. Good if you want a book that will not require much thought or provoke strong emotional reactions. A time passer.
Date published: 2010-10-26
Rated 3 out of 5 by from Same hamster wheel, different hamster I always enjoy Janet Evanovich. This story is entertaining but it reads like formulaic writing with Stephanie Plum being replaced by a different female lead and the story reading much like a Plum plot that is getting rather stale. The characters are quirky and I found myself much more interested in Glo and her book of spells than the lead characters. The comic antics became too ridiculous that the story was more slapstick than funny. It's a fun read but it echoed too much Stephanie Plum with nothing original to freshen up the storyline.
Date published: 2010-09-24

Read from the Book

CHAPTER ONE My name is Elizabeth Tucker. I’m Elizabeth to my mother, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve been Lizzy to everyone else. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve baked cupcakes. I enrolled in the culinary arts program at Johnson & Wales in Rhode Island right out of high school, hoping to someday get a job as a pastry chef. I graduated J&W in the top ninety-three percent of my class, and I would have graduated higher, but I flunked gravy. My gravy had lumps in it, and that pretty much sums up my life so far. Not that it’s been all bad; more that it hasn’t been entirely smooth.I grew up in Virginia and when I was in third grade, Billy Kruger gave me the nickname Buzzard Beak, and I carried it with me all through grade school. I got my brown eyes and distinctive nose from Grandpa Harry, and while the nose wasn’t great, I told myself it could have been worse, because Billy Kruger’s nickname was Poop Pants.And then when I was in eighth grade, during a moment of misguided curiosity, I made out with Ryan Lukach, and the jerk told everyone I wore a padded bra. I mean, give me a break here. I was a late bloomer. Anyway, the truth is, my bra was so padded I didn’t know I was getting felt up.I got engaged to fellow classmate Anthony Muggin while I was at Johnson & Wales. Two weeks after graduation and a week before the wedding, Anthony and his Uncle Gordo were caught hijacking a refrigerator truck loaded with sides of beef. It turned out to be a lucky thing, because after I visited Anthony in jail and returned the ring, I sobbed myself through a couple tumblers of vodka, fell off the toilet in a drunken stupor, crashed into a sink, and broke my nose. When they patched me up, I was no longer Buzzard Beak.So here I am with the cutest nose in town, and I’ve finally grown breasts. They’re not huge, but they’re better than a poke in the eye, and I’ve been told they’re perky. Perky is good, right?In January, three days after my twenty-eighth birthday, I inherited a house from my eccentric Great Aunt Ophelia. The house is in Marblehead, just north of Boston and southeast of Salem. I emptied my bank account to pay taxes on the house, quit my job at a downtown New York City restaurant, and I moved into Ophelia’s money pit. Probably, the smart thing would have been to sell the house, but no one could accuse me of always doing the smart thing. Truth is, New York wasn’t working for me anyway. The restaurant hours were horrible, the kitchen politics were toxic, and the executive chef hated cupcakes.For the past five months, I’ve been living in my new Marblehead house and working as a pastry chef at Dazzle’s Bakery in Salem. The bakery has been owned and operated by a Dazzle since Puritan times, and is now managed by Clarinda Dazzle. She has an apartment above the bakery, she’s twice divorced, approaching forty, and looks like Cher on Cher’s day off. At 5?5?, she’s the same height as I am, but Clara looks taller. I think it’s the hair. Clara’s hair is black and shot with gray. If it were straight, it would be shoulder length. As is, Clara’s hair is a huge mass of out-of-control energy coming to just below her ears, sometimes pulled back into a half-assed knot. She has piercing blue eyes and a nose and mouth said to have come from Wampanoag Indian blood on her mother’s side. I’m not nearly so exotic, having Austrian and Danish ancestors who left me with wimpy blond hair and a body that looks more athletic than it actually is.It was Tuesday morning, the June sun was shining bright over Salem, and Clara and I had been baking since five A.M. I was in my usual outfit of running shoes, jeans, T-shirt, and white chef coat. I had my hair pulled back into a ponytail, and I was dusted with flour and powdered sugar. Everything was good with the world, except Clara was in a state. It was eight o’clock, time to open for business, and we were missing the counter girl, Gloria Binkly.“For crying out loud,” Clara said. “It’s not like I’m a factory. It’s just you and me and Glo. How are we supposed to finish baking when we have to keep running out to the front to sell a muffin? Where the heck is she?”We were standing in the large front room that constituted the retail part of the bakery. The floors were wide plank pine and the plaster walls were uneven. It was in decent shape, considering it pre-dated the witch trials. The display cases were old-fashioned glass and dark wood trim, and they were at the moment home to a batch of cinnamon rolls, four different kinds of muffins, almond tarts, and apple strudels. The breads were against the wall in wire baskets. The remaining space behind glass was about to be filled with my cupcakes. The cash register was from 1920. The credit card swiper was state-of-the-art.A sexy, low-slung black car pulled to the curb in front of us and a man got out. He was maybe six foot tall, with glossy shoulder-length black hair swept back from his face in a wave. His skin was unearthly pale. His eyes were as black as his hair. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and black dress shirt.He approached the bakery, and my skin prickled and a hot flash ran through my chest. “Holy moly,” I said to Clara.“There’s nothing holy about him,” Clara said.The man stopped inches from the front door and stared in at me. His mouth was sensuous and unsmiling. He looked to be my age, and he was eerily handsome. He crooked his finger at me in a come here gesture.“Do you suppose he wants a muffin?” I asked Clara.“Either that or your soul.”I stepped up, opened the door, and peeked out at him. “Can I help you?”“That remains to be seen,” he said. “I’ll return for you when I need you. Until then, you’ll remember me.”He touched his fingertip to the back of my hand, and when he removed it, there was a burn mark beginning to blister. I stumbled away and slammed the door closed between us. The guy in black turned on his heel, got into his flashy car, the engine growled, and he drove off.“What the heck?” I said to Clara, staring at my hand.“I’m freaked,” Clara said. “And when you live in Salem all your life, it takes a lot to freak you.”Personally, I hate being freaked. I avoid it whenever possible. “I’m going to convince myself this is a bug bite,” I said to Clara. “Probably a very small spider with a lot of venom.”“Yeah,” Clara said. “That’s probably it. You just didn’t see it.” At ten minutes after nine, the front door banged open and Glo rushed in all breathless.“I know I’m late, but you’ll never believe what I’ve got!” she said, plunking her black canvas tote bag down on the glass countertop. “I was passing by that creepy store on Essex Street, the one that sells enchanted fry pans and jars of newt eyeballs, and this weird feeling came over me. It was like something was calling me into the store.”Glo is single, like me, four years younger than I am, and she’s an inch shorter. She has curly red hair chopped into a short bob, freckled skin, a trim, perfectly average body, and her wardrobe runs heavy to black-and-olive drab. Today, she was dressed in black ankle boots, black tights, a short, twirly black skirt, an olive T-shirt, and a denim jacket.Clara cut her eyes to Glo. “Last time you were late, you said you got mugged by a bridge troll.”“Okay, so it was actually Mr. Greber, and he fell into me in a drunken blackout, but this is different. I swear! It’s destiny. You know how I’ve always thought I might be special? Like, you know, magical?”“No,” Clara said.“Well, for one thing, I have a scar on my forehead that looks like a lightning bolt. Just like Harry Potter.”Clara and I examined Glo’s forehead.“I guess it could look a little like a lightning bolt,” Clara said. “How did you get it?”“I crashed into the coffee table when I was six years old.”“I don’t know if that qualifies,” Clara said.Glo ran her finger along the scar. “An evil spirit could have pushed me.”Clara and I rolled our eyes.“And then there was that time I told you I saw a green aura around Mrs. Norbert,” Glo said. “And a week later, she hit the jackpot at Foxwoods.”“That’s true,” Clara said. “I remember.”“Anyway, this is big,” Glo said, pulling a weather-beaten, leather-bound book out of her tote bag. “This book called me into the shop. I was meant to have this book.”Clara and I looked over Glo’s shoulder at the book. The leather was cracked with age; hard to tell if the aging was man-made or natural. The front cover was hand-tooled, with scrollwork that bloomed into flowers and leaves and tiny dragons. The book was secured with a hammered-metal clasp.Glo slipped the clasp and opened the book to an elaborately inked frontispiece. On the page facing the frontispiece someone had written in perfect old world penmanship Ripple’s Book of Spells.“Who’s Ripple?” Clara wanted to know.“No one in the store knew,” Glo said. “But the book is dated June 1692. That was right in the middle of the Salem witch trials.”“Turn it over and see if it says ‘Made in China’ on the back cover,” Clara said.Glo looked at Clara. “You, of all people, shouldn’t be so cynical about this book. Everyone knows the Dazzles aren’t normal.”I was new to this. I’d moved to Marblehead five months ago and wasn’t up to speed in the rumor department.“How so?” I asked.Glo dropped her voice to a whisper. “The Dazzles have always had special abilities. I heard some of them could fly.”I cut my eyes to Clara. “Can you fly?”“Not without a plane.”Glo thumbed through a couple pages in the book. “I bet I can find a flying spell in here.”“How about finding a working spell,” Clara said. “There are six trays of cookies that need to be transferred to the display case.”I turned to go back to the kitchen and slammed into over six feet of hard muscle and bad attitude. He reached out to steady me, and I sucked in some air.“Jeez Louise,” I said. “Where the heck did you come from?”“Bangkok. Not that it matters.” He looked around. “I’m in Dazzle’s, right?”We all nodded, taking him in. His hair was thick and dark blond, somewhere between wind-blown, just woke up, and untamable. His skin was beach bum tan. His eyebrows were fierce and darker than his hair. His eyes were brown and assessing. His posture was confident. His body language was intimidating. His boots were dusty. His jeans were on their last legs but molded nicely to all the good parts. His navy T-shirt was splashed with flour from my chef coat.He glanced down at his shirt and brushed at the flour. “I’m looking for Elizabeth Tucker.”It was my second encounter of the day with a big, sort of scary man, and I was on guard.“That’s me,” I told him, taking a protective step back.He gave me the once-over. “Figures.”I didn’t think figures sounded entirely complimentary. “What’s that supposed to mean?”He blew out a sigh. “It means you’re going to be trouble.” He looked around. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”“We can talk here.”“I don’t think so.”I folded my arms across my chest and narrowed my eyes.“Lady, I haven’t got a lot of patience right now,” he said. “Mostly, I just want to get on with it. Cut me a break and come outside where we can talk in private.”“No way.”He grabbed my wrist, yanked me to the door, and Glo and Clara rushed at him.“I’m dialing 911,” Glo said, cell phone in hand.“As if that would help,” he said to Glo. “Put the phone down and stay. This’ll only take a minute.”He whisked me out of the shop, and we stood on the sidewalk, blinking in the sun’s glare.“What?” I asked.“I’m looking for a guy. His name is Gerwulf Grimoire. Wulf, for short. My height, shoulder-length black hair, pale skin, evil.”“Evil?”“Yeah. Have you seen him?”“Maybe. He didn’t give his name.”I inadvertently looked down at the fingertip burn on my hand. The scruffy guy’s eyes followed mine and he gave his head a small shake.“Wulf’s work,” he said.He reached under my coat, unclipped my cell phone from my jeans waistband, and punched some numbers in.“Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”“I’m giving you my number. Call me if you see Wulf.”“Who are you?”He smiled down at me, and when he smiled, his teeth were white and perfect, crinkle lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, and my heart did a little flip in my chest. “I’m Diesel,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”He crossed the street and disappeared behind a van stopped at a light. When the traffic moved, he was gone.“Whoa,” Glo said when I returned to the shop. “That’s the most amazing hunk of raw testosterone I’ve ever seen. What was that about?”“He’s looking for a guy named Gerwulf Grimoire. He thought I might have run across him.”“And?” Glo asked.“I have.”“It sounds like a warlock name,” Glo said.“You’ve got to stop watching Bewitched reruns,” Clara told her. “The only warlocks in Salem are paid actors in the Salem Witch Museum.” Excerpted from Wicked Appetite by Janet Evanovich.Copyright © 2010 by Janet Evanovich.Published in September 2010 by St. Martin’s Press.All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.