Saturday Snippet
This week's theme (obviously) is HOLIDAYS! Since it's Christmas day, I thought I'd share a snippet from Come Monday, the first book in the Wild Irish series, where Keira tells Will about the Christmases of her childhood.
"Close your eyes, Keira."
Her voice seized up as she considered his request. When she was able, she muttered one question. "Why?" Her heart raced at the idea of leaving herself even a tiny bit vulnerable in his presence.
"I want to do an experiment." He waited and she realized that refusal would be futile. Professor Wallace was a man who didn't take no for an answer. That thought sent a fresh round of juices to her already-drenched panties and she squeezed her legs together to fight the onslaught.
He quirked his eyebrow and she slowly closed her eyes.
"Describe this room." She started to open her eyes but he halted her. "With your eyes closed."
She struggled to remember what any part of the room looked like. She'd been so preoccupied with the office's lone inhabitant that she'd failed to truly look around. The only piece of furniture that seemed vaguely familiar was the desk, and even then, only from her rather raunchy fantasies.
"There's a desk in the middle of the room," she said at last.
His light chuckle sent her hackles up and she forced herself to try to think of more. "There are bookshelves on the wall." Which wall, she couldn't recall.
"Stop relying on what you can see, Keira."
She considered his suggestion and realized she could sense many things about the room. "It smells of leather in here. Leather and old books and," she paused, sniffing the delicate odors, "your cologne."
"Very good. What else?"
She turned her head slightly and was immediately struck by the silence. "I can't hear anything. It's remarkably quiet in here."
He seemed to agree. "One of the reasons I hold my office hours so early. I relish the peacefulness. By this afternoon, the noise of all the students out in the hallway and on the campus outside my window will fill this room. You mentioned the desk. It's right in front of you. Touch it."
She bent forward, thankful her eyes were closed, praying he couldn't detect the slight shaking of her hand.
"How does it feel?"
"Smooth," she replied, running her hand along the surface. "And cooler than I would have imagined. It would feel cold against my cheek." Her eyes flew open when she realized the strangeness of her remark.
Professor Wallace's eyes were studying her intently.
She cleared her throat, anxious to fill the uncomfortable silence with noise. "I, um, I see what you mean."
He nodded slowly and she wondered if he'd question her comment.
"Close your eyes again," he instructed. She complied, aware that the previous silence of the room was now filled with the unbearable loudness of her pounding heart. "Describe your family's restaurant. Don't tell me what you see, Keira. That's already in the paper. Tell me the rest. Tell me why this place is so special."
Thankful he hadn't questioned her observation about his desk, she envisioned the pub. "My family lives above the restaurant. I'm one of seven children so I suppose you can imagine it's pretty crowded. My mother was the cook before she died and on special holidays, when the restaurant was closed, she'd go downstairs to the big kitchen to prepare our meals and we'd eat at the tables in the big dining room. Even though the restaurant was basically home, my mother always made it feel like we'd gone out somewhere special to eat."
She paused for a moment, smiling as she recalled the extra effort her mother expended to ensure the holidays were always perfect for her children. The tablecloths, the candlelight, the grape juice served in fancy wineglasses that they all used to make toasts and laugh and pretend they were grown-ups.
Professor Wallace's next question brought her back to the present. "I imagine the restaurant must have smelled lovely."
She started to open her eyes to respond to his question but she realized that, without sight, there was a security, a safety in speaking her mind that didn't exist when she could see his face. If she was looking at him, she would fail to concentrate on her subject and instead spend too much time trying to figure out what he was thinking of her recollections. She kept her eyes firmly shut.
"The smells were incredible, warm and sweet. I know Christmas can't really have a smell, but in my mind, it does. Cinnamon, pine, fresh-baked bread."
"And your mother?" he asked.
Keira smiled. "She had a smell too. Sugar cookies. My mother smelled like sugar cookies." The memory, the brief burst of happiness at recalling her mother's scent, turned quickly to the piercing sadness that had resided in her heart for nine years.
"What about the sounds in the restaurant?" he asked.
She sensed he hoped to return her to the joy of the scene, but it was gone. She opened her eyes and looked at him as she spoke.
"My mother sang as she cooked. She had the most beautiful voice I'd ever heard. Well, except for Teagan, my sister—she has my mother's talent for singing."
"Look at your paper, Keira."
She glanced down at the page and briefly read her staid descriptions of the tables, chairs, bar. She'd spent nearly an entire paragraph describing the color and texture of the walls.
He tapped his finger on the paper. "The place on that paper doesn't seem very special to me. The place you just described sounds like one of the nicest places on earth. Write about that place."
She looked up and nodded. "I understand."
Come Monday is available at Ellora's Cave, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Sony.
Why not celebrate the holidays with these authors as well?
