Happy Holidays Readers!
I know it's early and yes my post title is a rip off Britney Spears's Song "Three." Read on and you'll discover why! *Tee hee.
But first, I have to announce the winner of the 7 Days of Seduction Giveaway.
Congratulations Melissa Limoges! You will be provided with your free copy of the wonderful erotic romance by the talented Jenna Jaxon! Beware, your e-reader is bound to burst into flames!
Now, for something completely different! I'm trying my hand at writing a threesome story. *GASP! I know, I know. Totally racey and wildly different from most of the things I've written. But I am excited to try it out and see what happens. Thus the post title's reference to Spears's racy song.
My current WIP, currently titled Silent Night, is about Zoey Blake, a young woman, homeless and living on the streets. When she's attacked by a man and wounded in an alley a week before Christmas, she's rescued by a handsome stranger.
Meet Ian, the Irish vampire and rescuer of all things. He's got a soft spot for sweet damsels in distress and he's saved more than a couple of cats (who now reside in his home).
But let's not forget the third person in this story. Connor, Ian's best friend and fellow Vampire. Connor is the last person to be happy when Ian brings Zoey home. A dark secret from his and Ian's past makes Connor unable to trust himself with Zoey, or to ever love again.
But Christmas is the around the corner and some winter magic may yet work its spell over Ian, Zoey and Connor.
Here's a brief excerpt:
Zoey was warm. So warm. When was the last time she
hadn’t woken herself up with her own shivers? As weariness bled out of her,
leaving only a pleasant sense of quiet, she wondered, almost sadly, if she was
dead. There wasn’t any way else to explain the sudden change in her physical
surroundings. Forcing her eyelids up, it took her several seconds to adjust.
She was lying in a massive and incredibly soft feather down bed with a thick
blanket wrapped snuggly around her body. She felt like a human burrito. The
thought made her giggle. She had to be dead. This was obviously heaven. The last
thing she remembered was…
Pain, agony. The
bright lights of the diner, Christmas bells ringing in her ears. And the
attack. The flash of the knife, the snarled words of the man who took her life.
Her heart pounded at an unsteady rhythm and her breath quickened.
Breath? How was
she breathing if she was still alive? And then it came back. The man with the
face of an angel, the voice of a sinner who could tempt her to sell her soul
for one caress of his gentle hands. Had he saved her? How? Zoey’s hands started
to shake as she distinctly remembered blood oozing from the stab wounds on her
chest. She was terrified to look, but more scared not to look so she tugged the
blanket down and lifted her blood stained shirt up to just beneath her breasts.
The skin was clear, except for two tiny pink slashes. Zoey pressed her
fingertips down on the marks, testing them carefully. They were a little sore,
but it felt like an injury weeks old, not something that would have killed her
the night before.
Confused, she
looked about the room, hoping to see the man who’d saved her. It was empty, but
the room itself distracted her. The bed was huge, bigger than a California king
size bed, its frame was a dark wood that looked black. Despite the dimness of
the room, she could see the walls had lovely black and white photos of Paris,
Italy and a few other places she thought she recognized but couldn’t pinpoint
where they were. The crisp contrast of the photos was stunning and made her
strangely homesick.
Before her life
had fallen apart, she’d been studying photography at a local community college.
It had been her dream, to live her life behind the lens, capturing moments for
people. Weddings, baby showers, children’s sporting matches. She wanted to
capture life in vibrant color and in contrasts of grays. Nothing would have
made her happier than to take photos of the events that marked milestones in
people’s lives. But that was gone, all gone. Her camera was likely still in
some pawnshop collecting dust. Food and rent had been a priority, not her
future. How long ago had that been? Zoey didn’t want to count, but she knew it
was around eight months ago.
Shrugging off the
uncomfortable memories she sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She still
couldn’t figure out how she’d come here, wherever here was, or why. Had the
handsome man with the accent, Irish, she thought, brought her here? Why? Panic
struck her right behind the eyes. Maybe he thought to take advantage of her.
She’d heard horror stories of women living on the streets forced into the slave
trade. Was that to be her fate? As quick as her fear had risen, it settled back
down and faded.
The man who’d helped
her had stroked her tenderly, gently, as though he’d treasured her. That was
not the actions of a man who would sell her into slavery. Maybe he was like a
good Samaritan, a handsome man who stopped to save a complete stranger. She
wanted to believe that was the truth. That there were still good people out
there. After everything that had happened in the last year, she was afraid to
hope. But it was almost Christmas. The holidays always brought the best out in
people. There was a piece of her that wanted to believe good still existed.
If only she could
stay in this bed forever, wrapped snugly in the blanket, with the peaceful
quiet all around her. Too many nights under the underpass had left her nervous
and tense while she caught a few hours of sleep. Zoey glanced around the room,
checking for a clock, but there wasn’t one. The large window next to the bed
was gray through the slatted blinds. It could be evening or early morning, she
couldn’t tell.
She jumped when
someone knocked at the bedroom door.
“Excuse me, love.
Alright if I come in?” The voice. The beautiful, whisky rough voice. Definitely
an Irish accent.
“Uh…yes. Come in.”
Her hands curled
into the blanket and raised it up to her chin. She felt oddly naked and exposed
as the man eased the door open and slid inside. Zoey craned her neck back to
look up at the man. He had to be at least six foot three. With black hair long
enough to touch the collar of his white button up shirt, and thin layer of
night beard, he looked like a pirate off the cover of a romance novel. His
shirtsleeves were rolled up revealing muscled forearms and the top couple of
buttons were undone below his throat. He swallowed and her eyes locked in on
the movement of his muscles working with the action. She was struck again by
how incredibly large he was. His shoulders were massive and she had the sudden
urge to touch them and feel the strength of the muscles beneath her palm.
“How are you
doing?” He strode to the bed and raised a hand to her forehead. His hand was
cold, shockingly so and she flinched from the contact. The man’s face paled and
he pulled his hand away. “Sorry about that.” His face fell when he seemed to
think she didn’t like his touch.
“It’s okay. I
didn’t expect it to be cold, that’s all.” Even though she didn’t want to ever
be cold again, she’d suffer it just have his hand back on her forehead. The
whisper of a secret thrill skated along her skin and she missed having his hand
on her.
Stay tuned readers to find out what happens to this threesome!
Feel free to drop by and leave a comment about the holidays, post your own excerpt from a current WIP or favorite holiday excerpt or whatever else suits your fancy! It is Christmas after all, or will be soon! But who's counting? *wink.
