Outrageous: So, how was it for you? LOL. After
reading the ARC, I must say I’m a bit flustered. *blush*
Natalie: Hahaha! Is it weird for me to say I’m
glad you’re flustered? As to how was it for me, well, I most enjoyed writing the
hayloft scene.
Outrageous: Oh, don’t get me started on that,
woman. It made me wish there was an available hayloft around here so I could
drag my boyfriend up the steps and…do things there.
Natalie: OMG. Now I’m blushing. Too much information there, love.
Outrageous: Apologies, but it’s your fault for
writing the book. Anyway, let’s move on, shall we? Emmett. That’s my question,
by the way. Emmett.
Natalie: Ah, you like him, do you?
Outrageous: Like him? Like him? I love him. I
want him as my book boyfriend. He’s…can I say I’ve already claimed him and if
anyone else even thinks about him being their BB, I’ll get jealous and maybe
have to run round pulling my hair out.
Natalie: All righty, then… On a serious
note, I’m glad you love him. He’s a special character to me. Saves the maiden in
distress and all that. Loves her passionately. And she’s rather nice too. Their
love makes me warm inside—although it’s only in a book, it’s kind of proof that
true love does exist, don’t you think?
Outrageous: Oh yes. And the ending…oh my good
God, I cheered. And cried.
Natalie: Yay! Me too haha!
Outrageous: What I liked about the book was
there is love but also the nasty anti-hero. I loved hating him. Graham…what a
dick! One of those men in life who think they can have whatever they want,
regardless of what other people think. He really is an entitled arse. Did you
enjoy writing his bits, or did you cringe like I did when reading them?
Natalie: I, um, loved writing his parts. It’s
so satisfying writing about a pig because the aim is to get readers to think
like you did—that he’s an arse—and it looks like I succeeded in your case. When
I think of him stroking his chin…ugh, he turns my stomach. But he’s in the book
because I wanted to show all the arses out there that just because they think
they’re God’s gift, other people might not agree. And just because he wanted
Amelia and thought he could have her despite her being in love with Emmett, I
had to prove that he couldn’t have her no matter what. Even kidnapping her didn’t
work. Also, the theme with him is also that money can’t buy you love. Amelia
would rather be dirt poor and spend her time with Emmett than live in luxury
with Graham. Love is what matters, not possessions, a gorgeous castle, and
infinite money.
Outrageous: Got to agree with you there. And
poor Helena and John. Stuck there working for him and not being able to be
together because Graham uses Helena for sex. Such a nasty man.
Natalie: But things work out in the end,
although there’s a bit of a rough ride to get to the end. Did you like it that Graham
appeared in the present as well?
Outrageous: It’s a weird one, because I hated
it and liked it. When he reappeared, I wanted to scream. I think I actually
growled at my Kindle.
Natalie: LOL. I’m so happy haha.
Outrageous: I’m starting to get a bit worried
about you. Do you like tormenting readers or something?
Natalie: Sort of. That’s the point, isn’t
it? Getting readers involved and invested?
Outrageous: You got me invested. Thanks for
the ARC, I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Natalie: You’re welcome.
Outrageous: Now, not wanting to sound rude,
but it’s time for you to get lost now. In the best possible way. Get lost and
write something else LOL.
Natalie: Charmed, I’m sure. Haha!
Blurb:
THIS BOOK WAS PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED ELSEWHERE. IT HAS BEEN REVISED
FOR REPUBLICATION.
Drawn to the attic in her new home,
Amelia finds a saucy nineteenth-century wench dress. At first glance, it’s just
a dress, but once she puts it on, desire streaks through her and she’s transported
to the past. Overwhelmed by lust, she is caught pleasuring herself, discovered
by the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, who turns out to be—her lover?
Amelia and Emmet join in an
explosive sexual union, erasing the months—or is it centuries?—they have been
apart as though they never existed. But suddenly Amelia awakes—alone.
Until the dress calls again.
Emmett’s not the only one lusting
after Amelia. Lord Graham wants her and he doesn’t fight fair. He kidnaps her,
sends Emmett on a deadly errand and forces Amelia to participate in his
voyeuristic games. Although Amelia’s body betrays her, she vows to remain true
to Emmett, but will he return? And can she escape the clutches of Lord Graham’s
debauchery? Amidst subterfuge, treachery and murder, Amelia and Emmet’s love
grows and they reach new heights of carnal passions.
Chapter One
Unpacked boxes and bulging refuse sacks filled Amelia’s new living
room. She stood in the aisle space the movers had left and tapped her foot. The
sound reverberated and she glanced at the restored oak flooring. An ugly gouge
marred one plank and her tapping grew in tempo. Amelia sighed, blowing
frustration out through pursed lips. The morning had been long and tiring and
she wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep.
“No chance of that,” she muttered, eyeing the boxes. Which one
should she empty first? Her black leather sofa looked all too inviting against
the back wall and she stifled the urge to flop down on it. “No. I’ve got to stick to my plan. Get everything
unpacked today. Tomorrow I can lounge about. No more putting things off. That’s
what got me here in the first place.”
Thoughts of James and his treatment of her intruded and she winced.
He’s long gone. Damn bastard
thought I’d roll over and take everything he gave. Didn’t expect Amelia Jacobs
to stand up for herself and kick his ass to the curb.
She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes.
No more thinking about him. This is
a new start. New place, new town, new everything. You can do this. You’re
strong. Thirty-one years old and you’re going to let that fucker win?
She huffed out a wry laugh then inhaled. The cottage smelled of
recently applied paint and new carpet. She remembered the day she’d decorated
this room, how her back had ached by the time she was done and a stripe of
cream paint gave the illusion of a gray streak in her long brunette hair. She
fingered the curls, reminding herself to tie it back before she attempted the
daunting task of unpacking, a job she didn’t relish one bit. She’d bought
everything new, throwing out all reminders of a past she couldn’t wait to
forget, and setting up a DVD player and tuning in a TV from scratch didn’t
appeal.
I’m not even sure I know how to do
it. She grimaced. Of course I can. I have to. How the hell did
I allow James to take over my life and my mind? How did he change from being a
loving, caring man into someone who thought nothing of using my lack of
self-esteem to keep me by his side? She shook her head. Stupid, that’s what I was. Stupid and too
trusting.
She turned to inspect the stairs behind her, pleased with her
choice of thick cream carpet. Shruggingshould look like—stick-thin, wan and
unrecognizable as the woman he’d first dated.
Why pick me then try to change me?
She clamped her jaw and shoved him out of her mind. No point in
entertaining the past. She had a new future ahead of her, a business to run
from the cottage, where she’d meet a variety of people who loved music as much
as she did. Already folks had called since she’d advertized her services and
booked slots for her to teach them piano. A new one would be arriving soon,
purchased from a lovely woman named Matilda who ran the music shop in town. The
redhead had been the only person here so far who had shown Amelia kindness.
They had hit it off right away, Matilda taking her for coffee when Amelia had
paid for the piano a few weeks before moving in. Since then, they had spoken
over the phone daily, their friendship growing.
Things will be all right. You can
do this.
She padded to the attic door and clasped the handle. It warmed
beneath her palm and her skin tingled, a faint buzz zipping up her arm. With a
gasp, she snatched her hand away and massaged her wrist.
What the hell was that?
Grasping the handle once more, she turned it. A surge of energy
infused her body and she flung the door wide and let go of the handle. Butterflies
danced in her belly and her heart rate quickened. Old, narrow wooden stairs
stretched upward, the white walls either side uneven with slight swells and
dips. She looked to the top. A swathe of sunlight cut across the opening,
catching the cobwebbed, sloping rafters and glancing off the back wall. Dust
motes swirled and the scent of years gone by wafted toward her. She placed her
foot on the first step and it creaked as though groaning from her weight. Her
pulse thrummed in her neck, the sound of it loud in her head. Curiosity
consumed her and all thoughts of unpacking and her turbulent past left her
mind.
Amelia climbed quickly, the need to get into the attic immense.
Breathless with an anticipation she hadn’t felt in a long time, she stood at
the top and gazed around. Two windows to her right admitted the sunshine, the
glass panes misty with dirt. The view of the bay and the spread of ocean would
be stunning from up here. A pile of swept-up dust sat in the far right corner,
the bare floorboards unvarnished but clean. The air encompassed her, almost as
though it was a palpable thing able to shroud her, blanket-like and warm. The
hairs on her arms rose and she rubbed them, a sense of well-being infusing her.
There’s something…right about this
room. It’s…it’s like I’ve come home.
She walked toward the window and pulled her shirt sleeve over her
hand ready to cuff a porthole in the dirt. Arm raised, she neared the glass,
but a twinkle in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She lowered her
arm and turned her head to the right. Peering into the darkened corner, breath
held, Amelia waited for the twinkle to reappear. Long seconds passed, her heart
thudding, and she released the air and shook her head. There it was again, a burst
of light, and she moved toward it. Darkness dwelled in the corner, thick and
solid, and she hunched over the closer she got, the ceiling lowering in a sharp
slope. She blinked, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the pitch—a
pitch at odds with the rest of the attic. Amelia glanced behind her. The other
half of the space remained lit by sunlight, yet here… She stared back to the
corner and, once there, kneeled. Hands clasped in her lap, she waited.
The darkness appeared to move, swirling around her, embracing her
with its ebon arms. Far from being frightened, Amelia felt at peace for the
first time in months. Her breathing evened out, and her heart stopped pumping
so harshly. A sense of being at one with herself, at ease in her own skin,
coursed through her, and she smiled in wonderment. All worries and insecurities
drifted away, leaving her with the sensation that she floated. She placed her
hands on the floor, certain she’d find nothing but air, yet the floorboards,
hard and real, met her fingertips.
Again, that sliver of light winked. Before it disappeared, she
reached forward to grasp it. Her hand came into contact with something hard. A cocktail
of awe and pleasant trepidation sped through her, coupled with a stab of lust.
She gasped, unaccustomed to the raw desire spiking inside her. The solidity
beneath her hand warmed and she ran her fingers along what felt like a wooden
edge. Exploring further, she smoothed across the surface. A large box?
Energized, she gripped the rear corners and pulled, shuffling
backward as the heavy box moved. A momentary thought of spiders scurrying from
their disturbed homes flickered through her mind, so she doubled her efforts
and drew the box out quickly. Standing, she patted the shape, finding a handle
on one side. She grasped it and heaved the weight into the sunlit part of the
attic. Sweat dripped down her temples and her stomach contracted, excitement
gripping her. She stared down at a large, polished wooden chest, the lid’s
surface inlaid with intricate carvings. The attic darkened a little and she
turned to look at the windows. White clouds scudded across the sun for a moment
before bright beams shone through the glass again. Amelia returned her
attention to the chest. A gold clasp kept the lid closed and she went down on
her knees, eager to inspect the contents.
With shaking fingers, she lifted the clasp, once again
entertaining thoughts of spiders. She swallowed, steeled herself for a fright
and raised the lid. It creaked, the noise so loud she winced. Black silk lined
the lid, the edges frayed and worn from many years of use. She gazed inside.
What appeared to be a dress lay in the bottom, its white bodice ruched like that
of an olden-day serving wench’s garment. The neckline, low and round, would
show off an ample cleavage and she automatically placed her hand to her chest.
Her heart thumped beneath her palm and her head lightened.
I need fresh air. It’s so cloying
up here.
Still she didn’t move. Instead, she reached into the chest to pick
up the dress. A shock of lust winged through her body and she reared backward
onto her ass, the material landing in a heap on her legs. Her cunt ached so
much it bordered on painful. Stunned, she stared at the dress, confused at her
state.
What the hell is going on here?
Amelia exhaled a shaky breath and staved off the desire to snake
her hand inside her jeans waistband and touch herself. She laughed, the tinkle
of it carefree. Tentatively, she ran her hands over the bodice of the dress.
Her nipples perked and lust sped through her veins, growing more urgent with
every thud of her pulse. She stood, kicking the dress away, and looked at it,
arms across her midsection.
I haven’t felt like this…ever.
Alien emotions assaulted her—the need for something she couldn’t
explain, the want of strong arms about her, the touch of soft skin on hers. She
lifted a hand to her mouth, exploring her lips with her fingertips. She dashed
her tongue out. A groan left her, one that exacerbated the insistent beat of
her clit. She shook her head and bent to pick up the garment. Holding it by the
shoulders, she shook it out, the burgundy velvet skirt swishing against her
legs. An unexplainable need to undress gripped her and, without questioning her
actions, she draped the dress over the box then yanked down her jeans. Her
fingers stumbled on her shirt buttons, but she had to undress, had to…
In her bra and thong, she scooped up the frock and slid her hands
inside the skirt, slipping it over her head. Arms stretched upward, she inhaled
the musky scent of dust, stale beer and a hint of lavender. Her hands found the
sleeves and she shimmied the garment down, poking her head through the neck.
Fuzziness covered her, spreading through her limbs and torso, making her giddy.
Her clit throbbed harder and her breasts tingled, nipples so taut pleasure-pain
radiated from them. She palmed her breasts through the fabric and her breath
caught as the onset of an orgasm swirled in her center. The need for air
immediate, she stumbled over to the window, disorientated by the fast arrival
of a desire so vast it rendered her faint.
She pinged the lock back and pushed the window up, the rush of
fresh air bringing instantaneous relief. Amelia glanced down at the sill and
frowned at four carved straight lines on the edge, surely not made for
decorative purposes. Another jolt of bliss ripped through her and she gave in,
drawing up the skirt and bunching it at her waist. She rubbed herself, her thong
giving her clit beautiful friction. She closed her eyes, unable to stop the
need to touch herself, and covered one breast with her free hand.
A gusty breeze sifted through the window and cooled her hot
cheeks. She rubbed faster, bliss growing. Someone called her name as though
from far away and she snapped her eyes open, stilling her movements. Stuttered
breaths gusted out and she listened to her pulse, her beating heart and the
sound of birds twittering in the trees and hedges bordering her front garden.
“Amelia…” There it was again, a male voice, her name spoken from a
distance, the tone pleading, heart-wrenching.
She stared through the window, embarrassment heating her face as
her gaze landed on a man standing on her garden path looking up at her. She
snatched her hand away from between her legs and let the skirt fall about her
legs. Covering her mouth with both hands, she gasped in shock, pivoting and pressing
her back firmly against the wall beside the window.
Who the hell is that?
Amelia worried her bottom lip with her teeth and lowered her
hands, smoothing out the dress as if doing so would erase what the man had
undoubtedly seen her doing. Should she wait for him to go or peek outside
again? Gathering her resolve, she stepped to the window, leaned her palms on
the sill and stuck her head out.
The man had stayed his position, legs clad in old-fashioned black
breeches, feet planted apart on the gravel path. A white shirt hung loose,
molded to his chest and bicep muscles, indicating he worked out. His thick
neck, tanned from the sun, boasted a prominent Adam’s apple, a smattering of
dark hair at its base. Her gaze rose to his face and she held her breath. Black
hair flopped over his forehead. Blue eyes either side of a slender nose
regarded her and a knowing grin tweaked one side of his mouth. Black eyebrows
arced in question. Heat infused her cheeks.
Damn! Of all the things I could
have been doing when I had my first visitor, it had to be that!
A memory filled her mind, one she hadn’t lived but somehow knew
intimately. Hot skin on skin, bodies tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Breaths
hard and fast, her chest inflating, her fingers exploring every part of his
body. His hand in her hair, bringing her mouth to his, tongues entwined, the
wet heat of their kiss sending a wave of lust through her. She knew him yet she
didn’t. He belonged here yet he didn’t. She was afraid of him yet she wasn’t.
Amelia cleared her throat, shoving the images away. “Umm, can I
help you?”
He laughed, baring straight teeth. She wished the ground would
swallow her up or that he would go away, never to return, but…no, she didn’t
really want him to leave. While his rich bellow increased her embarrassment,
she eyed the windowsill. Those four carved lines, stark and proud, seemed to
mean something, their reason for being there nudging at the recesses of her
mind, yet her rationale butted in. How could she know what they meant? And why
should she care?
She glanced at the road that wound to the right and led the long
way into town. Asphalt had been replaced by a dirt track. What the hell? She stared at the man again.
His laughter stopped and, composed once more, he wiped his brow
with one sleeve. “My dear Amelia. You do make me happy. Of course you can help me. Why, you always do…”
What?
“Did you forget I was due back around this time?” He tilted his
head, teasing her senses into overdrive. “I can’t believe that for one minute.”
“Who are you?” Her mind grew fuzzy, her thought processes dull and
slow.
“Ah!” He placed his hands on broad hips and winked. “We’re playing
a game, are we? May I come in and join the fun?”
She shook her head to clear it, to think straight, but images flew
through her mind. Images of herself and this man in an embrace, hot tears on
her face as they clutched one another at the dockside, the stink of salty water
and his male scent all around her. Her heart rate picked up and she struggled
to make sense of what she saw. Surely her mind had conjured that scene—after
all, she wore an old dress, and he…he wore old clothing.
She found herself nodding.
His winning smile beamed up at her
and he said, “Maybe the slap of my hand upon your rump will bring back the
memory of who I am, my beautiful wench.”
He disappeared around the side of
her cottage and Amelia gasped, standing as though rooted, unable to process the
recent events quickly enough. Her heart hammered and she shut the window, resting
her hand on the latch, trying to figure out what to do next.
The
doors are locked. I locked them, didn’t I?
Her back door slammed and she
shrieked. Turning from the window, she glanced about the attic in search of a
weapon and saw nothing but the wooden chest. Amelia dashed toward it and looked
into its depths, praying it contained more than the dress. There was nothing.
Footsteps pounded, their thud too
far away to be the attic stairs.
“Oh, God.” Confused, she remembered
her new carpet, wondering why those footsteps sounded so hollow, as if his
boots thumped on bare wood. She closed her eyes to steel herself for his
appearance, listening to the footsteps coming closer, the creak of the first
step leading to the attic…
More images crowded her mind. Her
seated at the window, a sharp blade in hand, carving those lines in the sill. Another
day with him gone. Her staring out at the sea, squinting for sight of his ship
on the horizon. Sorrow and desolation when he failed to arrive, exaltation and
delirium when his ship broke the line of ocean and sky, the tiny speck of it
heralding his imminent arrival. Longing. Desire. Her body aching for his touch,
for his whispered words in her ear.
The footsteps stilled and, taking
in a huge breath, Amelia opened her eyes.
Just finished it! Love it!
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