@MySexySaturday #MySexySaturday #MSSAuthors

It's My Sexy Saturday! Participating authors post 7 paragraphs, 7 sentences, or 7 words. This time it's 7 paragraphs from Enchanted Skye ~A tale about an American on the run named Jenna who unwittingly unleashes an ancient charm and traps a Selkie unawares.   

Setting the Stage: 

Exhausted from her trans-Atlantic flight and half-frozen from

her unfortunate car trouble, Jenna thaws out in a hot bath at MacCodrum's Inn. Bea the owner was explaining something just as the phone rang. Jenna's so drained she didn't quite catch it all...something about the ancient doors have a way of sticking. Jenna soon discovers that's exactly the case and realizes she doesn't have a towel or a robe. In this scene, she decides to make a dash for her room. The owner did say there were no other guests...

My Seven~

    Jenna opened the door a crack and listened to the soft rumble of male voices coming from downstairs. Then hearing a woman laugh, determined that was Bea. Bea said she was the only guest tonight. Maybe the storm had driven people inside to wait it out. Opening the door further, Jenna peered down the hall. Fairly confident she was alone upstairs, and shielded by a ridiculously small towel, she decided to make a run for it. Now or never. Trying to remember which of the seven rooms was hers, she crept down the hall. Suddenly Bea’s voice echoed in the stairway. “Knock it off ye great fishy beasties, yer getting’ me wet!”
    The laughing male voices grew louder. They were coming up the stairs! Jenna clearly heard a man on the stairs say, “I’ll be right down. I’m going to get out of these wet clothes.” Another man replied, “I’m right behind you.”
    Jenna gasped. Oh no! Ducking into the nearest room, she quickly closed the door behind her and pressed her ear to the wood and listened.

~*~

    Startled, Alex spun around. A woman had just barged into his room and slammed the door closed as if she’d been chased inside. That was something all unto itself, but she also held a small towel to the front of her body, leaving the back exquisitely bare. He suddenly felt odd, the same odd feeling he’d felt at the lighthouse earlier that day.
    Dawning realization took him. This beauty was Angus MacLeod’s niece from America. His heart started to race. Availing himself of his fortunate vantage point, he looked her over. Her skin was the warm color of honey, her dark hair sparkled with water droplets now, but he knew it would be a rich chestnut brown when dry. Her lovely caramel-colored eyes, he knew, possessed gold-flecked irises and long lashes. Earlier that morning, the smallest details had been burned into his brain. He now added shapely legs, a perfect bottom, and a compelling pair of dimples at her lower back.
    She slowly opened the door.
    “You might wait a bit. They’re sure t’ be walking back downstairs in a moment.”

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Sneak Peek Sunday

It's Sunday and time for the  Sneak Peek Sunday mini hop! The deal is to post 6 paragraphs from a writing project, published or unpublished. Today, I'm offering a sampling from my back list ~ Dreamscape.

Written in homage to Agatha Christie, Dreamscape is a haunting, a murder, a thriller, a mystery, a time-travel of sorts, and a love story that transcends time. Above all, this sensual tale is a reader's Easter egg hunt in the truest sense. Not everything is as it appears. Peppered throughout are little clues suggesting a story running behind the scenes. Finding them isn't necessary to the telling of the tale, just a fun twist in my writing. Can you find them all before the story ends? But more importantly, can a ghost find love among the living?

Setting the scene: Jason haunts his house and ponders his death 120 years ago. One day a lovely stranger comes. It looks like she's moving in!


My Six:
He'd watched the pair as they walked around the grounds with pens and paper in hand presumably making notes for repairs. While assessing the pavers that lined his walkway, she looked up at his window curiously as if seeking something. Jason frowned. Did she see him standing there? How odd. He could only be seen when he wanted to. And he did not yet wish to be seen. 

After the man had driven away in his automobile, the woman retrieved her bags from another smaller vehicle. He watched her come up the walkway. She glanced his way again and she was smiling. 

Hmm. 

Below, the front door opened and closed, so he headed there, curious about the woman who at this very moment was moving into his house. He was grateful for two things, the first being he'd no longer be alone with only an occasional mouse for company. The second, this young woman bore no resemblance to his beautiful, black-hearted wife.

He thought about her from time to time, his duplicitous wife Cathy, her lover Richard Mason, and his sister Bertha, his murderers. He spent many a night listening to their congratulatory recounting of how they'd set him up, duping him into marrying a woman who from the onset had a lover in the wings. Like the Masons, Cathy too was born and raised in the south at the time of reconstruction and was reared on tales of the glory days. Their sole purpose from the onset in taking his life was so she would inherit all.
 
When they met she had been such a sweet and shy little beauty, the shyness he later learned to be false. When she comforted him over the untimely death of his father, he'd been surprised by how quickly he fell head over heels for her. Though she'd never voiced it while he was alive, he was well aware of her desire to live in the affluent manner in which her parents and grandparents had lived before the war took it all away. To that end, seeking to win her timid heart and encourage the comfort that would eventually lead his wife into his bed, he gave into Cathy's every whim. No more than two months had passed before he was compelled to offer her marriage. No more than four before he found himself dead with his spirit walking the halls.

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