Now available on amazon.com!
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The following is an excerpt from chapter two of Secrets of the Gentleman Thief, a completed light paranormal romance, which is now available through The Wild Rose Press:
Alisa held her hand poised above the paper, ready to write. As Mrs. Potter began her story, her voice changed, filling with emotion. Staring unseeingly at the paper, Alisa listened and felt. Her heart raced and her fingers trembled. She knew by the end, her knees would be shaking, and she would be physically ill. Still, she forced herself to concentrate and take notes. The notes were unnecessary really, for her memory was exceptional. They kept her mind busy though, giving her fingers something to do while she listened, experiencing with the storyteller the suffering and fear. Again, as always before, the story began with a trip into the Dark Forest. Mrs. Potter was but a small child when her mother sent her and her older sister into the forest’s edge to pick berries for the evening meal. Her father adored berry crisp with heavy cream atop. |
“The day was beautiful, sunny, and warm,” Mrs. Potter said. “Mamma was letting my sister, Rosy, and I go alone, without her, something she never did. I felt so big, so grown up.”
Mrs. Potter recreated the scene from her memories, and Alisa could see the old woman as a wee girl, with ebony curls cascading down her back, on a mission for her mama, wanting to please. She pictured Mrs. Potter, Sissy she was called back then, wandering through the brambles gathering berries and placing as many in her mouth as she did in her silver pail, her little fingers covered with purple stains.
“When I looked up, Rosy was gone, nowhere in sight,” the old woman continued, her voice wavering a bit. “I called and called for her, but she never answered. Without realizing it, I had wandered far into the forest, much deeper than I should have.”
Once more, Alisa’s mind played tricks on her, taking her there, placing her in the situation. The scene played in her head as if she saw through the frightened child’s eyes. Alisa felt Sissy’s fear as she realized her sister was gone.
“I wandered for what must have been hours, calling all the while for Rosy. The sun set and the forest quickly became a scary place. I was terrified of the dark as a child.”
Alisa closed her eyes against the onslaught of disturbing sensations attacking her faint hold on her emotions. The old woman continued to talk, her tone low and poignant.
Immersed in the story, Alisa felt the panic and the terror creeping in and up Sissy’s tiny spine as hours passed and the sky grew dark. She could almost hear Sissy’s cries and whimpering when the night creatures of the forest moved in around her. Alisa actually felt the tears coursing down the little girl’s plump cheeks, as if they were her own. She knew Sissy too must have closed her eyes against what was getting closer, stalking her, trying to block out the fearful creatures. She felt something touching her narrow shoulders and heard the scream building in her tiny chest before it reached her lips.
Alisa’s chest tightened. Her throat closed. Suddenly, she could not catch her breath. She jumped up from her seat, mumbling something about not feeling well before she rushed, stumbling, from the house. She made it to the front stoop and clutched the rail to the steps gulping air and doing her best to swallow the bile that forced its way into her throat. Always before, she maintained control long enough to complete the interview, long enough to escape the situation with some semblance of dignity. Why was today different? Were her irrational symptoms growing worse? She silently thanked the Lord for the crisp, cold air that helped to squelch her nausea.
Fingers press against her shoulder, and she swung around.
Mrs. Potter recreated the scene from her memories, and Alisa could see the old woman as a wee girl, with ebony curls cascading down her back, on a mission for her mama, wanting to please. She pictured Mrs. Potter, Sissy she was called back then, wandering through the brambles gathering berries and placing as many in her mouth as she did in her silver pail, her little fingers covered with purple stains.
“When I looked up, Rosy was gone, nowhere in sight,” the old woman continued, her voice wavering a bit. “I called and called for her, but she never answered. Without realizing it, I had wandered far into the forest, much deeper than I should have.”
Once more, Alisa’s mind played tricks on her, taking her there, placing her in the situation. The scene played in her head as if she saw through the frightened child’s eyes. Alisa felt Sissy’s fear as she realized her sister was gone.
“I wandered for what must have been hours, calling all the while for Rosy. The sun set and the forest quickly became a scary place. I was terrified of the dark as a child.”
Alisa closed her eyes against the onslaught of disturbing sensations attacking her faint hold on her emotions. The old woman continued to talk, her tone low and poignant.
Immersed in the story, Alisa felt the panic and the terror creeping in and up Sissy’s tiny spine as hours passed and the sky grew dark. She could almost hear Sissy’s cries and whimpering when the night creatures of the forest moved in around her. Alisa actually felt the tears coursing down the little girl’s plump cheeks, as if they were her own. She knew Sissy too must have closed her eyes against what was getting closer, stalking her, trying to block out the fearful creatures. She felt something touching her narrow shoulders and heard the scream building in her tiny chest before it reached her lips.
Alisa’s chest tightened. Her throat closed. Suddenly, she could not catch her breath. She jumped up from her seat, mumbling something about not feeling well before she rushed, stumbling, from the house. She made it to the front stoop and clutched the rail to the steps gulping air and doing her best to swallow the bile that forced its way into her throat. Always before, she maintained control long enough to complete the interview, long enough to escape the situation with some semblance of dignity. Why was today different? Were her irrational symptoms growing worse? She silently thanked the Lord for the crisp, cold air that helped to squelch her nausea.
Fingers press against her shoulder, and she swung around.
*******
The following is an excerpt from chapter eight of Secrets of the Gentleman Thief.
“If it would be odd for him to have it, maybe there is some significance.” He held out his hand towards the book, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
She hugged it closer to her person. “I’m sure it is nothing of importance. I’m certain he just grabbed the wrong one by mistake, the last time he was home.”
“Lady Fenton, I really must insist you give me the book.” He leaned down farther over her.
Alisa scrambled to her feet and backed away, but his hand lashed out and snatched her wrist.
“Lady Alisa, give me that book.” He said each word slow and careful, enunciating every syllable to emphasize his determination to have his way.
“Why? Why is it so important to you? I’m sure you already looked through it before.”
“Yes, I did. The question is, why is it so important to you that I not look at it again? What did I miss the first time?”
“Nothing.” She struggled against his grasp.
He only pulled her closer and wrapped his other arm around her, pinning the book between their chests. Releasing her wrist, he then pried the book from between them. Without the barrier, she found her breasts pressed firm against his hard chest. Her breath caught in her throat. A shiver of awareness ran through her as his fingertips brushed the outside curve of her breast. Heat flared where his body met hers and collected low in her abdomen and below. On his face, a slow smile appeared, but in his eyes glowing embers of a banked heat grew. He lowered his face a fraction towards hers, and she thought he was about to kiss her.
To her surprise and shame, she found herself thrumming with anticipation. To kiss him would be wrong, but she wanted it.
Heaven help me, echoed in her head as she leaned in.
*******
“If it would be odd for him to have it, maybe there is some significance.” He held out his hand towards the book, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
She hugged it closer to her person. “I’m sure it is nothing of importance. I’m certain he just grabbed the wrong one by mistake, the last time he was home.”
“Lady Fenton, I really must insist you give me the book.” He leaned down farther over her.
Alisa scrambled to her feet and backed away, but his hand lashed out and snatched her wrist.
“Lady Alisa, give me that book.” He said each word slow and careful, enunciating every syllable to emphasize his determination to have his way.
“Why? Why is it so important to you? I’m sure you already looked through it before.”
“Yes, I did. The question is, why is it so important to you that I not look at it again? What did I miss the first time?”
“Nothing.” She struggled against his grasp.
He only pulled her closer and wrapped his other arm around her, pinning the book between their chests. Releasing her wrist, he then pried the book from between them. Without the barrier, she found her breasts pressed firm against his hard chest. Her breath caught in her throat. A shiver of awareness ran through her as his fingertips brushed the outside curve of her breast. Heat flared where his body met hers and collected low in her abdomen and below. On his face, a slow smile appeared, but in his eyes glowing embers of a banked heat grew. He lowered his face a fraction towards hers, and she thought he was about to kiss her.
To her surprise and shame, she found herself thrumming with anticipation. To kiss him would be wrong, but she wanted it.
Heaven help me, echoed in her head as she leaned in.
*******
What did you think of the tiny bit of Secrets of the Gentleman Thief?
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