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.