Devika Fernando's Blog, page 63

#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 15

When I See Your Face, Part 15He looked wounded by her accusations but not willing to leave at all. In fact, he had the gall to carefully lay the envelope on the coffee table and sit down on the sofa opposite to where she was rooted to the spot shaking in anger.

“You misunderstand me,” he replied calmly.

And like that, all her anger evaporated. Oh yes, misunderstandings. She had never been a person good at judging and reading other people, had she. Otherwise she should have seen through Mark, known his attention as a way to lure her, his promises as bait, his self-assuredness for a much too big ego. She plopped down on the couch and opened her mouth to protest feebly, but he cut her short.

“I know you helped me as a sort of pay-back and on the second day maybe as a favor, and that is exactly why I feel I should pay you. Because it was unfair of me to ask for your help in the first place. I knew and understood why you had acted toward me the way you did that first day. Still, I jumped at the possibility to use it as an excuse to have you near. To get to know you."

He ran a hand back through his hair.

"And you helped me so willingly and did it so well, though you had no previous experience. I think it’s only fair that you should be compensated for the two days you spent working with me instead of focusing on your new life or whatever other important matters."

Holding up his hands in defense before she could scold him again, he continued, "I know you didn’t do it for the money. I know you don’t need me and most probably not my money either. However, I need you to accept it. It’d make me feel better, less guilty that I used you.”

She had a real problem following his words. They sounded completely like he meant them, but they couldn’t be true. Could a man think like that? And how was she to react to that?

They looked at each other for a minute full of meaning, though what meaning she had no idea. Out of nowhere, she heard herself saying, “I enjoyed garden work with you. I didn’t have anything better to do.”

A smile broke out on his face, radiating warmth right into her heart as though he were the sun and she the earth revolving around him. What was it with these two men and their toothy, sparkly, slightly crooked, damn attractive smiles?

“So, I didn’t mortally offend you and ruin my last chance at getting to know you better?” he asked, a hint of flirtation in his voice.

“You did mortally offend me,” she answered, muttering darkly, but unable to keep a giggle from escaping her at the end.

“What shall I do with this?” she wanted to know, her chin pointing toward the envelope. No way was she going to take his money though she had already forgiven him for offering it.

“I don’t know.”

He thought for a moment, tilted his head slightly and gave her one of those intense gazes that said, I can see right through you.

“Are you planning anything special with the new half of your life?”

His question made her remember that he had spoken with such emotion about having started life anew himself once and how she should forget the past and plan her future. All of a sudden, there was an urge inside her to reveal her plans to him, to get advice, share her hopes. She was afraid she wouldn’t carry through with it otherwise. He had used her, or so he said, so why not use him now?

“Actually, I’m thinking of opening my own business. I want to bake extraordinary cakes, decorate them artistically and sell them locally, maybe regionally too.”

There, it was out. She was waiting with baited breath for him to laugh, to at least raise his eyebrows full of skepticism or scorn, to think himself too high to be leading such a discussion. Instead, he continued to look at her in this unnerving way that made her blush. Something that looked like admiration was on his handsome face. She wasn’t sure about that at all because she certainly hadn’t ever seen this look on Mark’s face.

“Do you like baking and decorating cakes?”

She nodded. “More than I can describe. It makes me…happy…makes me feel useful when I do anything cake-related.” Somehow, she didn’t feel shy confessing this, though she knew he couldn’t possibly understand what she meant.

It was his turn to nod.

“It’s exactly what I feel like when I deal with flowers or gardening,” he said quietly, seriously.

Cathy couldn’t believe it. He was taking her seriously. Maybe he did understand. Now that she thought about it, his attitude to gardening did mirror her attitude to baking.

“Are you good at baking and decorating cakes?”

She frowned. How should she answer this?

“I don’t know. I think so. Some of my friends who went to campus with me thought the same. When I made cakes for our events or on special occasions, everyone always appreciated them, took photos, asked me for the recipe, that sort of thing. Yes, I guess I am good, and I could be better if I had more hands-on training in it. Oh, and I had almost forgotten: I followed a small cake-decorating course once during my teens and passed the certificate as the best of the class.”

He listened attentively, his long, slender legs crossed, chin cupped in one hand, grey-blue eyes glued to her face as if she were the most fascinating person in the world to listen to. It made her want to explode with happiness and hide with mortification at the same time, her not being used to constituting someone else’s center of attention. When she had finished, he got up and sat down next to her, close but not too close for comfort.

“Then let’s get started on this business of yours. What you need first is an idea. Correction, not an idea but the idea, your idea. In the next step, we’re going to form a business plan for you.”

He sounded so absolutely in his element and so eager to help that she couldn’t help it, she stared at him with wide eyes. At the moment, being near this confident man looking like a movie hero and treating her with so much attention, it felt as though she would willingly hand over her whole life into his hands. Which was exactly what she was doing, wasn’t she?

Silently and full of hope, Cathy watched him reach over, pull her laptop closer and hack away at the keyboard. Somebody please pinch her. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t happening. She actually pinched herself on her thigh and felt the pain of her nails against her flesh. So this was happening. Michael was about to help her with her future business. And she was about to fall in love with him.

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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Tornado Giveaway 2: Book No. 1: ANGELS DAWN by Komali da Silva

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Name of the Book : ANGELS DAWN
Author: Komali da Silva

Read some reviews :

1. Bex 'n' Books
2. Shweta Choudhary
3. Sandra Love

The Story :

Dawn Huntington wants what every girl wants, a sweet sixteen birthday party with her friends, family, and some hot boys, but fate has other plans. On the night of Dawn's sixteenth birthday, she witnesses a crime she can't turn her back on, and the decisions she makes that night will change her life forever.

Never having been confronted with such violence, Dawn turns to a mysterious and beautiful boy named Angelo, only she can't remember what happens that night. To make things more complicated, Dawn is in a relationship with Angelo's complete opposite, Nate. Dawn doesn't want to hurt Nate, yet she can't shake her feelings for Angelo, even when she can't help but feel he's hiding something from her, and it could be something dark. Why is Angelo acting so weird around Bonita? Are they together? Are they really only friends?

Angelo may be trouble, but Dawn can't ignore her feelings for him. Dawn is at a crossroads. Should she choose love? Or friendship? Once Dawn finally finds the courage to choose, she thinks the drama is over. But Dawn wasn't expecting her choices to have such dire consequences.

Do you believe in love at first sight? But can one trust someone blindly? Can love overcome all the obstacles?

Is friendship just the beginning of love?

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About The Author 


Komali da Silva 

Komali da Silva was born and raised in Colombo, Sri Lanka. She started writing as a teenager but never took it seriously because her love for basketball and track and field sports was much stronger. At the age of seventeen she moved to Switzerland with her sister to live with their father. Komali has a degree in Insurance but is dreaming of one day owning her book cafe. 
She adores reading and some of her favorite authors include Lauren Kate, Cassandra Clare, Carlos Ruiz Zafon, Cecelia Ahern, J.K. Rowling and Richelle Mead. She started immortalizing her own words on paper in June 2012. 
Komali, her husband, daughter Amalia and their two cats now live in Bern, Switzerland.

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#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 14

When I See Your Face, Part 14Chapter 4

An hour later, Cathy was lost in a happy world of her own, encased in a soapy bubble in which she was floating, buoyed by timid hopes. She was lying on the couch on her stomach with her head propped up on her palms, transfixed by her laptop screen. After eating a quick breakfast, she had decided to indulge in one of her hobbies that she had kept buried for much too long: baking cakes. Next to reading, it was indeed one of her favorite pastimes, and one that she had learned to be ashamed of during her time with Mark when he had looked down upon or not noticed her cake creations, dismissing the effort and dedication behind them.

Now, a thought was forming in her, eager to break free but held in check because she was still unsure of herself and her future. What if she stayed right here in this village and founded her own little business, baking cakes of the special kind and selling them? She could see herself talking to the people to ask them about their traditional cake recipes and secret ingredients and incorporating them in new creations that she would decorate beautifully and deliver to the nearest town’s bakeries. She could picture herself taking trips to a bigger city to hunt for exotic ingredients, for cake decoration and for specific baking forms.

What if she invented a never before dared recipe or found enough energy and creativity inside her to break a previous baking record and draw everybody’s attention? It would show her husband how much better off she was without him and how much brighter her light shone if he didn’t constantly try his best to keep her locked in darkness.

Oh yes, she was dreaming again, after what felt like ages of nightmares where she was never the driving force but the absorber of someone else’s force.

She was so completely lost in a website full of cupcakes with elaborate flowery designs that it took her several moments to realize that somebody was knocking at the door.

Her head whipped up.

“Yes?”

“Cathy dear? Am I disturbing you?” Aunt Grindle’s kind voice drifted into her mind so loaded with plans and ideas and hopes. She smiled. Maybe her landlady could give her some practical tips and much needed encouragement!

“The door’s unlocked, come on in, Aunt Grindle!” she called out, realizing that her voice had a light, happy ring to it that made it sound oddly unlike herself.

“Maybe you could…”

The words died in her throat when upon turning around, she beheld not the old lady alone but Michael hovering behind her, tall and handsome and with an inexplicable look on his face.

She almost fell off the couch in her hurry to straighten up and face them, all happiness gone as if someone had swept a sponge over chalk writing on a blackboard, feeling empty and uncertain once again.

“Michael here has stopped by to talk to you about something important or other. I’m afraid I can’t stay or my beef stew will burn on the stove. I’ll leave you two young ones to it and check back in later, dear.”

With a cheerful wave, Mrs. Grindle backed out the door, closing it behind her and leaving her companion standing in the room, staring.

Her bubble burst with an audible popping sound and left her more vulnerable than ever.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Why him, of all people, why now, when she was so positive that she could leave both of them, Mark and him, behind and move on?

She felt like crying inside. Soon, though, the despair turned into belligerence or a touch of anger.

“What are you doing here?” she asked coldly, folding her arms across her chest and blocking the view to her laptop screen.

There was no response. Michael was still looking at her as though he had seen a ghost. Irritated, she actually looked down at herself, and understanding began to dawn. So far, he had only seen her in her no-nonsense attire of plain jeans and long-sleeved sweatshirts or comfortable T-shirts, her hair open around her face.

Today, because she needed a mood booster and because it sounded like the right thing to do while planning a new life, she had donned her favorite clothes, from the few times when she didn’t mind being her artsy, girly, impractical self. She was wearing a light pink, knee-length cotton skirt with a ribbon at the hip and a white top with spaghetti straps that had a big purple rose printed across the front. Around her left wrist hung three pastel-colored, beaded bracelets and her hair was tied back in a high, careless ponytail, held together by a huge hairband with flower decoration. She must be looking like a different person altogether.

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice intruded on her self-inspection, rough and with a depth of feeling that made it sound like a caress. A thousand fingers barely touching her skin, running down from the nape of her neck over every bump and groove of her spine to the small of her back, sending a delicious shiver through her. His compliment sounded so sincere and awed that it made her blush. She steeled herself, though with what strength she didn’t know.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again.

He snapped back to his senses. Without taking offense at her hostile tone and stance, he approached, digging a hand into one of his pockets and holding something out to her, like a peace offering of sorts, a magical weapon that could penetrate her shield of cool rejection.

“I came to give you what you deserve. This morning, Mr. Thackeray paid me for the garden work. As you played an important part in it, I thought you should have this. It’s only a share of my meagre earnings, but it’s a beginning.”

For a moment, she thought she couldn’t trust her ears any more.

“Are you telling me you brought me money?” she asked incredulously, her voice a near squeak on the last word.

Not only did he nod but he was still holding out the envelope to her.

“You have the cheek to pay me?! I am not some poor unemployed tramp girl that depends on your oh-so-meagre payment! I helped you out because I thought I had something to make up for it! I didn’t do it for the bloody money! I don’t want it! I don’t need it! I don’t need you to interfere in my life!”

She had shouted herself into a fit, trembling with the effort not to bodily throw him out of the room, full of righteous indignation and disappointment. So, to him she had been a hired helper, a means to finish his job faster, somebody to be paid and forgotten.

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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Featured - Blog Tour for Summer Moved On by Jo Lambert (Review)

About the Book After a long-buried secret tears her family apart, Jess Hayden moves to the South Devon village of Lynbrook to live with her uncle.   Rufus owns the village pub, The Black Bull, and having visited before, Jess knows the villagers well…especially one of them.

Talún Hansen has a reputation, making him the kind of man no decent girl should get involved with.  Jess, however, has been under his spell from the moment they first met.  Although they always seem to bring out the worst in each other, there is no denying the attraction that simmers between them - an attraction Jess knows she needs to keep under control after repeated warnings from her uncle. 

As she settles into village life she begins to learn more about this wild, dark-haired gypsy with the compelling eyes, and realises their lives hold many similarities.  Despite her uncle’s warnings, she begins to spend time with him.  For Jess, the coming summer holds passion; for Talún the hope that he has at last found someone who truly cares for him.

But as autumn approaches, a dark shadow from Jess’s past returns, bringing far-reaching and unwanted changes for both of them.


AMAZON UK
AMAZON.COM
About the Author Jo Lambert was born and brought up in rural Wiltshire in a small village on the edge of Salisbury Plain.  She has spent most of her working life in Senior PA or Admin Management roles both in the private and public sectors.  Her love of reading soon spilled over into writing and her first novel When Tomorrow Comes was published in 2009.  Four other books – Love, Lies and Promises, The Ghost of You and Me, Between Today and Yesterday and The Other Side of Morning followed.  They formed a series following the lives and loves of four Somerset families.

 Jo lives on the eastern side of the Georgian city of Bath with her husband, one small grey feline called Mollie and a forty eight year old white MG Midget called Bridget.  She loves travel, red wine, rock music and cooking for friends.

Summer Moved On, her sixth novel, is the first part of a two book love story set in South Devon.


e-mail: taurusgirl185@gmail.com
googleplus: google.com/+JoLambert
twitter: @jolambertwriter
website: http://jolambertbooks.com
blog:   http://jolambertwriter.wordpress.com
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jo-Lambert-Author-Page/288274811277692?fref=ts
My Review The title of the book is well chosen, as this is a perfect summer read and also highlights how much can change in one season / a short span of time in one’s life.

There’s a lot to like about this novel, starting from the writing style. It flows effortlessly and the language is simple yet evocative, which fits the genre and story perfectly. The setting is well chosen and comes alive just as much as the protagonists. Also, hats off to the author Jo Lambert for including gypsies and handling the somewhat taboo topic beautifully.

I loved Jess, the main character. She’s the right mix of spunky, intelligent, independent and insecure, and the author portrays her development credibly. Sometimes I could really identify with Jess – especially when it came to everything concerning her unnerving father. He and the whole family situation really added to the story and helped to move the plot forward. I also loved to hate Lily with her scheming. Talun is a fascinating choice for the hero, with a bit of a villain’s qualities in him at first. As much as others want to prevent it and as the two themselves want to deny it, they’re made for each other. It takes a long time and many twists and turns until they get the happy ending they deserve, but that’s part of what makes this book an entertaining read. Kudos to the author for presenting the many emotions and motivations in such an authentic light.

If you like YA and NA novels or well written books with vivid, strong characters that make you think, then you’ll enjoy “Summer Moved On” as much as I did.

Rating: 4/5

#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 13

When I See Your Face, Part 13When he dropped the basket to the ground and took a tentative step toward her, she didn’t shy away. Slowly, he lifted his right hand and rested it against her cheek. It was cool and hard and strong and slightly rough, his palm putting soft pressure on her cheek and raising goose bumps on her skin. She wondered briefly why she couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, and then even wondering was out of her power because Michael had bridged the distance and she felt his lips against hers.

At first, his mouth brushed hers lightly, soft as a butterfly landing on a flower. When she didn’t scream or flinch or shove at him, his other hand came up to cup her right cheek. He withdrew a fraction, tilted her head up and claimed her trembling lips in a more insistent kiss. His lips were firm and cool, massaging and pressing, slightly open. Instinctively, her mouth answered his beckoning, their lips soon dancing with each other as though they did this all the time and were made for it.

Her eyes had fluttered shut at the first touch of his mouth, but when the tip of his tongue flicked out to brush over her lower lip, they flew open in surprise. She looked at him without actually seeing him, yet before her was a face all too familiar and the hardness of his lips against her mouth felt familiar, as well.

With a gasp, she drew back, her hand flying up to her mouth, her heart hammering against her ribs.

He looked dazed and slightly wounded as well as strangely angry when she stepped back hastily.

She stuttered, “I’m sorry. I…that shouldn’t have happened. It’s…I can’t! When I see your face, I see him. I see my husband and it all comes back. I just can’t, I can’t let you in. I can’t trust you!” She sounded close to frantic.

“I am not him,” he ground out, and she was astonished to hear how much feeling he put into the sentence, as though the last thing in the world he wanted was to be associated with or taken for her husband. It hurt to see him so obviously affected by her words, and hurt even more that she had given in to this temporary weakness and let things come so far.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely registering that once again, she had done something to him that called for an apology.

Without waiting for his reaction, she ran up the stairs, inside, up the next flight of stairs and into her apartment. Kicking the door shut behind her, she sank to her knees, buried her head in her arms and let the tears run freely. Somewhere at the back of the mind, she asked herself why she was crying so much now that she had left behind a home and husband that should have been much more cause for tears than what she was facing now.

* * *

Cathy had cried herself into sleep the previous night.

This time, no nightmare starring Mark in it or overwhelming her with memories woke her up. Instead, she dreamt of Michael and herself walking through a garden full of roses, holding hands. They came to a small pavilion with a fountain bubbling away happily, almost too idyllic to be true. He swept her off her feet, turned a quick pirouette with her in his arms and stood her back down before planting a firm, happy kiss on her lips.

“So, are you giving us a chance?” he asked.

Before her dream self was able to answer, she woke up.

She stared at the ceiling, her fingers rising to her lips where she could swear she felt his kiss. What was this? Was she falling in love with a man whom she knew hardly anything about and who looked like the one man she had probably ever been in love with and who had ruined her life?

For God’s sake, she was nearly 30, had been married and was now planning a divorce! She should be able to get a much better grip on herself, should know better how to steer clear of new temptations that would only leave her bleeding.

She got out of bed and fired up her laptop. While it warmed to life, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Her gaze settled on her face reflected in the bathroom mirror and she froze in place.

It was the first time after she had run away from Mark that she looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, a slightly dazed look in the eyes that were ordinarily brown and rather big for her fine-boned face. It was a commonplace face, neither beautiful nor ugly, somewhat delicate and more girly than feminine. Devoid of any makeup—oh, how she had hated painting a mask on her face for her husband all these days—and with her hair mussed from sleep, she certainly didn’t look practical and confident. Not only were her eyes on the large side, but her full mouth seemed out of proportion too. It gave her that sense of vulnerability that had probably alerted Mark to her being easy prey. She remembered the many times those lips had been split by a slap of his or bitten until they bled while she fought with tears. And yesterday, they had been slightly swollen from Michael’s kiss. The woman’s eyes in the mirror widened in surprise and darkened in an emotion she didn’t recognize.

What was it that this fascinating, forbidden stranger saw in her that made him desire her? For surely it must be physical desire that had made him kiss her. There was nothing attractive about her character and she hadn’t exactly shown him her nicest side anyway.

Frowning at her reflection and deliberately raising her pointed chin, she resolved to seriously work on her future instead of letting past and present worries drag her down.

Hadn’t Michael himself said that she should get a move on and learn to fend for herself? Well, she would prove to him and herself that she could, even if it meant forgetting the very person who had told her to start over.

Yes, never mind that inside her heart, she already cared for him more than she should. Never mind that her mind came up with too many things that made him different from Mark and thus provided a reason to get closer to him.

She was not in love. She would not fall in love.

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 12

When I See Your Face, Part 12She felt a shiver of delight run through her when he said her name and didn’t mind at all that he called her his apprentice. She did mind talking about herself, though. She should have known that he would be as inquisitive as the rest of the village’s inhabitant she had so far briefly come in contact with. What would he want to know? Before he could start asking, she volunteered some information, keeping her voice brusque so as to discourage more questions.

“What do you want to know? There isn’t much to tell. My name is Cathy…Nolan. I am 26 years old. Used to work as a secretary, currently unemployed. Hobbies: reading, baking cakes. Favorite color: purple. I think my height and my weight I’d better keep to myself.”

For a second, she knew her biting tone was wrong. He looked as though she had hit him, but a moment later, a huge grin formed on his face.

“Well, you certainly know how to get to the point. I can see you must have been a good secretary, all practical and politically correct.”

There was a joking, flirty tone to his voice that unsettled her. Why hadn’t he taken the hint and kept things impersonal? It took the wind out of her sails, made her prone to being spontaneous and all too honest, like when she blurted out, “Oh, I’m not practical at all! When I get lost in a book or in a detail or when I bake a cake or I fall in love with artsy-crafty stuff, I’m not practical at all. And I wouldn’t know how to fend for myself because I’m so focused on the impractical.”

Tilting his head slightly, tossing his head to get some hair out of his eyes, he fixed her with his piercing gaze. All the humor had left his eyes and voice when he leaned closer and asked, “Why do you hold yourself in such low esteem? Why do you make it sound bad that you love reading and baking? How can you be sure that you can’t fend for yourself?”

“Oh, believe me, you would know if you were told that at least once every other day!” she snapped, biting her tongue before more could slip out.

His eyes grew less blue, more grey, deeply emotional and unreadable.

“By your husband?”

He bit out the last word, with much more resentment than she thought natural. She nodded.

“Why do you let him have so much control over you? Still? Aunt Grindle told me that you’re filing for divorce. Wouldn’t it be correct to leave things behind now and define yourself anew, without all the restrictions of a husband who has obviously treated you wrong? You will never get on with life and be yourself if you keep looking back, if there are past values and experiences tainting the new ones.”

He spoke with a heated conviction as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. Instead of taking offense that he was lecturing her on how to live her life from now on, she found herself replying, “That is much easier said than done.”

“I know. Believe me. I’ve been through this myself. Maybe Aunt Grindle has told you that I’ve been living here for a few years now. I’m not from this village and I wasn’t always a gardener. I used to live in the city and went to office from nine to five and after that, I went through hell, as well. And I overcame it. I have been able to start a new life because I cut all ties to my past. I am different now. I am a new me. You can be too. If you honestly want to.”

The insistence in his voice had intensified, as though he took a personal interest in her making a new start. She felt shaken to her core because she knew he was absolutely right. More than ever, she was burning with curiosity to know more about Michael. Maybe that was the better way? To actually get to know him and thus stop comparing him to Mark, making it easier to forget one while letting herself get closer to the other?

It took her a second to realize that he was speaking again.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself to me again? Tell me something about you that really is you, not a bland fact that you would fill into an application form.”

Grinding her teeth and trying hard not to snap, she forced an answer out.

“Oh, are you an expert on application forms? You seriously are too full of yourself. Why do you think it matters what I tell you about myself. And has it ever entered your mind that I don’t want to reveal anything else about myself to you?”

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her for a long minute, his jaw set as stubbornly as hers. Then, in a softer, almost apologetic voice, he said, “I thought it would help us to become friends.”

She let that sink in. become friends? With him? With somebody who made it impossible to forget her horrible past? It sounded totally wrong. So, why did it also feel right? Why did her heart scoff at her head and beat faster at the thought of being friends with him?

They continued to stare at each other for a while, her expression softening gradually.

“Fine.”

She huffed, hating to give in, yet at the same time wanting to.

“What do you want to know?”

“What do you want me to know?”

She wondered how their conversation had turned personal so quickly, how she could open up to someone after less than two days. Then she remembered how ready she had been to believe every word of Mark’s when he had swept into her life and turned it upside down. How she had told him all about her and months later found out that most of it must have gone in one ear and straight out the other ear. How he had never been interested in her, only in having her and shaping her according to his needs. He hadn’t loved her or seen her as someone to love him, but as a partner who would look good, fulfil all his requirements and be meek enough to stay beside him.

Well, she had proven that she wasn’t so meek after all, hadn’t she? Here she was, separated from him and looking forward to a divorce. And dangerously close from making the same mistake again.

She drew back and got up.

“Well, I can tell you that I am taking a liking to roses. Maybe you could tell me more about them?” she asked, trying hard to sound nonchalant.

He let the matter rest.

“Always glad to be at a lady’s service,” he joked and joined her in rinsing their plates off and repacking the picnic basket.

* * *

The rest of the day went by in a rush. Looking back on it, she couldn’t remember anything particular. They were finished with the roses soon and started on the next job: trimming the evergreen hedge that ran along the front of Mr. Thackeray’s property. He trimmed and she collected the fallen twigs and listened to him getting all enraptured with the plants again. When it grew dark, they packed up. He told her that their work was finished and thanked her for her help, his voice laced with an emotion that she couldn’t put her finger on. Sadness?

Without asking, he accompanied her to the guesthouse again. He hadn’t brought his bicycle this time, so he wasn’t occupied with wheeling it. One of his hands swung freely by his side while the other carried the picnic basket. Once they walked so closely that his empty hand brushed her arm. When she veered away, he shoved it into his trouser pockets, and she felt dejected.

At the same spot as the evening before, she turned and fished for the key to her room. She was at a loss for what to say, the fact sinking in that they wouldn’t meet for gardening tomorrow and that the best and most natural thing for her to do now would be to avoid seeing him again and start thinking about what to do with her new life.

“I’d better go in.”

Michael nodded.

“See you?”

He made it sound like a question, not like a way of saying goodbye.

“It’s a small village,” was all she managed to say, wanting and not wanting to answer with a yes.

Again, he nodded, pressing his lips together, the tiny lines in his sharply etched face deepening ever so slightly with some feeling or the other.

“Good night.”

“Good night,” she replied.

Her feet wouldn’t move to carry her through the door and inside.

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 11

When I See Your Face, Part 11 Gasping for air like a fish out of the water, Cathy sat upright in her bed. No, not another one of those nightmares!

She rubbed the spot that she had hurt in the dream, reminding her of a time when Mark had indeed hit her so hard that she fell and cracked the back of her head against the floor, sporting a huge bump for days and struggling with a headache long afterward.

It had been in the early evening after returning from one of those luncheons she hated so much, where her husband was the center of attention, the food was pricey and tasteless, and she was supposed to be a smiling, silent doll sitting by his side. She always felt more like an accessory of his than his wife at such occasions.

That day, sometime early on in their marriage, she had made the mistake of breaking the rule by trying to make conversation with the woman seated at her other side. They had been talking listlessly about the weather when the woman had switched tracks and drilled her on her husband’s latest deal, and the stuttering Cathy had been utterly lost for an appropriate reaction. Mark had saved the day by asking her to choose their dessert.

Hardly had they been at home when he started lecturing her in his cool, precise voice that everyone out there was hell-bent on stopping his success, which was why she was to keep her mouth shut on all outings. Something must have snapped inside him, maybe caused by the tears that had been falling from her eyes at the double humiliation. He had struck at her and she had fallen, staring up at the icy mask of his face through the red sparks behind her eyes.

She shivered and got out of bed, reluctant to dwell on this unhappy memory again.

It served her right to have another nightmare and remember the lessons she had learned for life. She had been all too interested in Michael yesterday, all too keen to please him, all too ready to deem him better than her husband. How could she look at this man and compare him to Mark or find him attractive? He was a stranger. And he should remain a stranger. She had gone through with her apology, which was only right, but why, oh why, had she accepted his offer to help him out again today?

Cursing herself and deciding not get carried away, she brushed her teeth rather vigorously and chose clothes fit for garden work. Her arms, her legs, her back and her neck where aching dully, her muscles were sore from the exertion. Good, today wasn’t going to be all that rosy. All the better, all the easier for her to refrain from dreaming, for daydreams led to nightmares.

* * *

As it turned out, the second day was even more interesting than the first. There was the awkward first hour or so to get over when they both probably fought inner battles and remembered their parting the night before. As soon as they had set to working, though, it was as though they had done this for years. They settled into a rhythm that felt oddly familiar, Michael explaining in words and deeds and Cathy all too happy to follow, listen and watch.

Oh yes, she watched again. It was the details that she was looking for this time. Less for comparison and more for getting to know this man better. She noticed a faint, long, slightly ragged scar next to his left shoulder blade that had totally escaped her until now. This small imperfection did nothing to mar his attraction. Instead, it fuelled her curiosity, made her want to touch the scar and find out how it had come about.

Her love for things that were not normal had never gone well with her husband, who viewed perfection as the highest goal. She had never seen herself as perfect, as capable, as talented or as valuable. All throughout a childhood spent being different from the other children and throughout years of being the onlooker while others dated and climbed up the social as well as the career ladder, she had preferred her dream world to reality, books to movies, beautiful handcraft to luxuries, loneliness to falsehood.

Then Mark had come and bewitched her like the knight in shining armor. Being with him, having him sweep her off her feet and lavish his attention—as well as a good deal of money—on her had been enough to doubt everything she had thought to be important and right. With a few words here and there, some decisive gestures, some subtle pushing and simply being himself, Mark had changed her to a person that would suit his needs. She hadn’t realized it, but she had lost herself somewhere along the way by trying to please somebody whom she had blindly entrusted with her life. Only now that she was away from his influence and dared to be herself did it dawn on her how much she had bent herself out of shape to fit a certain ideal.

Now, wearing what she wanted, eating what she wanted and living on her own, the possibilities seemed endless. It was terrifying. And it was gratifying. Take this moment, for example. How had she ended up spending her days alongside her husband’s carbon copy, and with garden work at that? What would this all lead to?

She looked up from a bag of natural fertilizer, stole a glance at the stranger beside her and focused on her task again, her mind whirring.

Today, there was less hard work. Before meeting her at the shop, Michael had transported some sacks and plants to Mr. Thackeray’s place. They dug out even-spaced holes in the soil and filled it with natural fertilizer. Afterward, to her delight, rose bushes were lowered carefully into their new resting places. He took his time to give her the exotic sounding names of the roses, explaining their shades of color and how they were to be taken care of and how they would fare with what kind of weather.

Halfway through their work, they took another lunch break. This time, he had packed a picnic basket of sorts for them, which made her embarrassed that she hadn’t considered food and was eating what he had paid for.

He used their break to give her that intense, dark gaze whenever she dared to look up from her meal.

All of a sudden, he asked, “Cathy, might I get to know more about my apprentice?”

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 10

When I See Your Face, Part 10 It was the first time he had used her name after they had agreed on skipping the surnames. His voice saying her name with an intimate warmth like a caress sent a delicious shiver down her spine and a shot of guilt through her mind. She wanted to hear him say her name again, moan it in pleasure, she wanted…

“Since you liked the day and don’t think me a mean slave driver…would you…do you want to help me finish the work tomorrow?” he blurted out.

She stared at him for a moment, the sentence she had been dreading and wishing for ringing loudly inside her with all its delicious possibilities and uncertain shadows. Before he had the time to take his suggestion back or stutter some explanations, she nodded, hopefully not too eagerly.

A smile flashed across his face, brighter than all the smiles before and making her want to hug him. The urge was so strong that she actually took a step back. His gaze darted toward her feet and his expression lost some of its boyish enthusiasm.

“Great! See you tomorrow?”

“Yes. See you tomorrow.”

He leaned forward a fraction, and she wondered whether he would kiss her goodnight. Her feet took another step back and she almost toppled backward because her heels met with the first step. During her ridiculous effort to regain her balance and stop blushing bright red, he shot out a steadying hand. It stayed on her arm a little longer than necessary. She wouldn’t look up, afraid that he was laughing at her, equally afraid that his eyes would still look at her with such longing.

The spot where his hand had rested felt cold when he withdrew it. She felt cold all over when he stepped back, obviously ready to go. These village evenings sure got chilly all of a sudden.

“Bye,” he half-whispered before he turned and walked away, picking up the bicycle he had leaned against a wall.

Uncertainty and something else that she couldn’t put into words gripped her and made her call after him.

“Michael?”

He wheeled back toward her so fast that he was a blur of color, like a running dog yanked back by its leash. There was so much hope on his face that she felt all shaky inside again. How could a man’s face express such emotions so openly? Why had Mark’s face always been as clean as a white sheet and as unreadable as a closed book? Remembering Mark did the trick, as usual. She returned to her senses and asked, “I was wondering when and where we should meet tomorrow?”

A flicker of disappointment marred his face, or maybe it was an evening shadow and she was interpreting way too much into all this.

“Well, I didn’t get a chance to buy my groceries today. So maybe today’s time at the shop?”

She nodded. With a strange determination not to prolong this goodbye, she went up the stairs and opened the front door. When an inexplicable wish made her look over her shoulder, he was still standing where she had left him, gazing after her. He raised a hand and waved at her, a smile on his face. Then he turned and walked back the way he had come instead of riding his bicycle. She watched until he turned a corner and hastened to her room, a dozen different emotions warring inside her.


Chapter 4

She was dreaming. She must be, for she was sitting on that table in the office cafeteria where Mark had spoken to her for the first time. Here he was, entering the cafeteria with that utterly masculine confidence of his, head held high and shoes clicking on the tiled floor. She blushed just from looking at him, knowing how much she—and the majority of the girls in the room, heck, in the whole building—wanted him. He was scanning the tables until his gaze fell upon her. Magically, he walked right over to her table and sat down opposite her as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Mark Nolan, sitting down with her, opening his mouth to speak to her and not one of the other, more beautiful and more suitable women, and looking like the catch of the year in his black pin-striped suit and with his toothy million-dollar-smile. She remembered all too well what his first lines had been: “Hello. I’m Mark Nolan. Would you care to be my date this evening?” At that time, she had nearly fainted and been unable to answer with anything but a squeaky “What?”

Now, in her dream, he opened his mouth and said something totally else: “Remember me. We will meet again.”

Out of the blue, his hand shot out and slapped her so hard across the face that she fell backward, her chair clattering loudly to the tiled floor and the back of her head hitting something hard with a dull crack.

(To be continued tomorrow!)

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Featured - Book Blitz for The Siren's Touch by Amber Belldene

The Siren's Touch by Amber Belldene Genre: Paranormal RomancePublisher: Kensington/Lyrical
Release Date: July 21, 2015


One touch can change everything…

Hitman Dmitri Lisko is determined to avenge his father. Once he takes out the man he believes is responsible for his family’s tragedies, he’s done killing for good. But a mysterious woman may tempt Dmitri to change his plan.

Sonya Truss was murdered in a Ukrainian village in 1968. Now she’s reappeared in San Francisco as a rusalka—the ghost of a wronged woman. And she’s thirsty for the blood of her killer. But she has to make things right before she’s trapped between worlds forever.

Sonya's enigmatic siren powers stir Dmitri's long-buried chivalry, and he finds himself compelled to help her. He also can’t resist giving her a taste of the pleasures she never experienced while she was alive. Soon they discover that touch has surprising consequences. Yet when their shared mission comes to cross-purposes, they must choose between deadly sacrifice—or surrendering to the one act that can save them both.



The teapot jostled like there was a frog inside.

He had to be hallucinating. Holy hell, he’d never been this hungover. Then again, he’d never been on a thirty-day bender either. Quitting cold turkey after a vodka-soaked month was bound to be rough on the system. The teapot was definitely not jittering, only his sanity. Caffeine might help.

He lifted the little round thing by the handle. A gust of steam poured out as deep-brown liquid trickled from its spout into his mug—an antique glass cup wrapped in silver filigree. In his hand, the teapot shook, jostling his arm.

Damn it. That was no hallucination.

A sudden puff of steam collided with his face. He set the teapot down and wiped his moist eyes. When he opened them again, he was certain he’d lost his mind.

Hovering over Elena’s postcard-perfect traditional Ukrainian table setting was a shimmering tea-colored woman. No, not a woman.

He reached for his weapon, knocking his chair to the floor. Scrambling across the room, he got as far as he could get from that...thing.

Back pressed to the wall, his heart drummed against his sternum. What the hell was she?

She dripped brown droplets of smoky Russian Caravan onto the table and gasped for air with her gossamer hands clasped at her neck. Her brown eyes stretched wide in her heart-shaped face.

Had he completely lost his mind? “Fuck.”

The thing yelped, flying away and leaving a sprinkling of tea droplets in her wake. As they fell to the ground, she grew whiter, becoming the soft, shiny color of a perfect pearl.

A ghost. Holy hell.

All his skin rose up in goose bumps. Could you shoot a ghost? Or a hallucination? He was damn sure going to try. He took aim.

She coughed and coughed and coughed some more, making a horrible wet retching sound. Then she darted to a spot near the window, bending her spectral shape over to hack, as if she could clear her throat. Only it didn’t seem to be working.

Without thinking, he lowered his weapon. “Breathe, girl. Be calm.”

Slowly, she straightened, and her chest rose and fell in the rhythm of breath. The sun shone through her translucent form, highlighting a smoking hot set of curves under a long, wet nightgown. Large brown nipples poked through the ghostly, damp fabric, and a dark vee between her legs drew his gaze.

Hell.

This wet dream of a sexy, drowned ghost was proof he’d jumped into the deep end.






Amber Belldene is always reading racy books at the most inappropriate times, and has been observed ogling her Kindle in the church parking lot. Even as a kid, she hid novels inside the service bulletin to read during sermons, an irony that is not lost on her when she preaches these days. Amber is a romance writer and Episcopal priest who believes sexuality is vital to spirituality, love is beautifully messy, and stories are the best way to explore human truths. Evidence of these convictions can be found in Amber's steamy paranormals and quirky, hot contemporaries, which have been published by Omnific, Entangled, and Lyrical/Kensington. She lives with her husband and two children in San Francisco and can be found at amberbelldene.com.




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#FreeDailyRead - When I See Your Face, Part 9

When I See Your Face, Part 9 How exactly did he think of charming that man into getting lunch for them? Who did that man think she was, especially in relation to Michael? Did she look so exhausted and dirty that he thought she needed a wash-up? It was the latter thought that sent her hurrying toward the promised tap.

For the 17 months spent alongside Mark, a spotless appearance that spoke of wealth and sophistication had been one of his demands of her. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house without her makeup on even when she wanted to go to the supermarket. When there were events, which happened all too often, she had to play at dress-up and stand decoratively by his side or at the opposite corner of the room in high heels and elegant dresses and expensive jewelry with all the other wives that looked like copies of her in various ages.

She couldn’t remember when she had last been covered in dust and sweating so profusely. Maybe during her childhood; certainly not in the past ten years or so. She faintly recalled Michael looking much dirtier, which actually made him sexy in a wildish, out-of-doors way. She must be a terrible sight to behold, though. With a sigh of frustration that turned into a longer sigh of exhaustion, she splashed her face and neck with the deliciously cool water and combed it through her hair and rinsed her arms up to the elbows. Now that she wasn’t working and watching, her whole body was aching and her limbs were too heavy to lift.

When she walked back to their patch of land, Michael was spreading a sheet on the grass next to the future flower beds. He arranged a few items on it that she recognized as two plates, two glasses and food. Sandwich bread, cheese, a big, ripe tomato cut into equal halves, cucumbers, two cold chicken legs. Her stomach growled at the sight and she couldn’t help but laugh at herself. What a difference exercise and charming company could make. She actually felt so hungry she could devour a whole buffet. As if he had read her thoughts, he turned to her and spread his arm across the improvised picnic in an exaggerated gesture.

“Madam, if you please, here’s your buffet waiting for you. Choice left-overs from here and there and everywhere, specially prepared for hard working, starving gardeners. Please allow me to draw back your chair for you, madam. Oh, we don’t have chairs. Please feel free to sit down on this rather coarse and much too small sheet in the grass and start gobbling before I steal all the food because I’m positively famished.”

He looked so comical and the French accent that accompanied his words was so hilariously exaggerated that she found herself giggling like a schoolgirl, her hand over her mouth. When had she laughed or giggled the last time?

For a second, there was an unreadable expression on his face when he looked right at her laughing, defenseless face. What was it in his eyes, darkening them to a deep-sea blue with slate grey dots and burning into her? Desire? Her stomach was much too agitated for her mind to work properly, so she managed to tear her gaze from his and plonked down onto the sheet gracelessly.

The next half an hour passed in amiable silence while both of them helped themselves to the food and a bottle of mixed-fruit juice that wasn’t nearly cold enough yet tasted like heaven to her. For once, he didn’t talk at all and she didn’t watch him—but whenever she lifted her head to scout for more food, she could swear that he was observing her from the corner of his eye. Still too occupied with her lunch to make much of it, she felt strangely content once more.

She was shaking off their meal’s crumbs and folding the sheet when it happened. Out of the blue, his hand was on her upper arm, warm and not overly firm.

“Hold on a second,” he said.

Cathy froze and her head shot up to meet his eyes.

Michael was standing right in front of her, surprisingly close. He was looking at her neck instead of her face. Slowly, his hand crept up from her arm, over her shoulder to the bare skin close to her neck.

His touch set her on fire, kept her rooted to the spot and aching for more with the simple feel of his slightly calloused fingers—yet another difference between him and Mark—against her moist skin and the pulse hammering beneath his thumb. She had no idea what he was doing, but was dimly aware of her pulse on overdrive.

He seemed to have noticed because a moment later he did look into her eyes. There was that intense emotion again, like hunger and something else warring inside him and claiming her as his. It was a gaze that made her fantasize. They were locked like that for she didn’t know how long. His face came closer and closer still, her breath stopping, his breath a faint breeze on her lips that had parted.

Would he kiss her now? Would she let him?

Part of her was sure that his kiss would send her reeling with desire and satisfaction. There was another part though, that pleaded with her to use her brain and remember that men who pretended to be interested in her only meant trouble.

There was an odd, faint movement on her collar bone and his finger moved right to that spot. It broke the magic. He took a step back and tore his eyes from her as though it were a colossal effort. While she tried to remember how to breathe and regain her senses, he brought his hand up in front of her face.

“Ladybug,” he said in a voice that had gone deep and rough.

Still off balance from that moment of closeness and all that temptation boiling inside her, she didn’t know how to react. He spared her from uttering some nonsense in a voice that she was sure would betray her inner turmoil by walking to a nearby shrub and tenderly placing the ladybug that was circling the nail of his thumb on a branch.

“We should get back to work,” he said without looking at her, striding toward where he had left his spade. Mechanically, she followed and picked up the rake with which she had started to sweep weeds and fallen leaves together before their lunch break.

The rest of the afternoon passed in silence. He didn’t talk this time and she didn’t watch him. Things had changed. The silence didn’t feel oppressive, however. It felt…private. There was plenty of work to keep them occupied until dusk set in and Michael straightened up yet again. He called it a day, collected all the tools, went into the house to speak about God knew what with Mr. Thackeray and came back out looking strangely reluctant.

“So. I guess this is it.”

She nodded, knotting the garden gloves in her hands and feeling equally reluctant to tear herself away from this day, from him.

“I want to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart. There was no need to make anything up to me and yet you accepted the challenge and worked so hard. You helped me considerably and it was…it was fun,” Michael said. For an instant, there was that look in his eyes again when he talked about fun, the one that made her ache for him in places that had been sleeping for months and grown cold and desolate. In the heart that Mark had cut out and stomped on.

“Yes, it was fun.”

Cathy found she was actually smiling at him.

“There’s no need to thank me. I had a nice day full of surprises.”
She bit her lip, realizing what she had blurted out. His look intensified.

“Surprises. Yes,” she heard him mutter to himself.

He motioned for her to walk toward the tap with him and while they scrubbed away at their dirty hands, he said, “I will walk you back to your room.”

It was a statement that allowed no protest. Oddly enough, protest was the last thing on her mind. They walked toward the guesthouse side by side, Michael wheeling his bike with her grocery bags, Cathy all fluttery inside while wondering how they would say goodbye.

In front of the steps leading to the door, they stopped and he handed her the two bags. They gazed at each other, long and longingly. He was struggling with something for a few moments, his face losing all the quiet confidence.

“Cathy?”

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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