I promised you last week I'd post an excerpt of my new baby, my novella Believe, coming to you from Red Sage Publishing in December. I've always loved Christmas, and have often dreamed of writing a Christmas romance.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Read on! :)
~
Virginia peered through a knothole in the dumbwaiter’s wooden door, hands clasped over her mouth to hold back a scream. In hindsight, riding down on the dumbwaiter hadn’t been such a grand idea.
The bozo she’d all but doinked the daylights out of earlier stood in all his red-robed glory on the far side of this door, taking the concept of method acting way-y-y beyond the call of duty. And judging by the sound of it, Nikolai wasn’t just in character. Somewhere along the way he’d actually become his character.
Had Arlen perhaps raided the loony bin to find this guy? She wouldn’t put such a thing past him. Nikolai, aka Psycho Santa, was clearly psychotic, going on about how he intended to make her his Mrs. Claus.
As if!
In spite of the fact that he was the most succulent hunk of burning love she’d ever come across, she was a far cry from skipping her merry way to the altar just because he’d batted those big old lavender eyes at her.
Granted, a tad more than a wink had passed between them and yes, her toes just curled in her boots from thinking about it, but honestly! Had the man never heard of the sexual revolution? Never done the old slam, bam thank you ma’am like every other hunkalicious guy in the free world?
Apparently all of his assets were tied up in good looks, because he was clearly a card short of a full deck. Even worse, the sawed off little whack job he was talking to was playing right into Nikolai’s delusions, going so far as to offer suggestions for a wedding date.
Her wedding date.
But in spite of all the bits and scraps of insanity floating in through her peephole and the fact that the very sight of Nikolai tugged her traitorous nipples to attention, she’d done an exemplary job of remaining calm.
Really she had.
She figured all she needed to do was wait patiently until the pair left the room. Then she’d make her escape, find a phone and get the hell out of wherever the hell she was.
But who was delusional now?
Her bad luck was clearly digging in for a nice long stay, because now the dynamic duo was talking about sending food up in the dumbwaiter. Virginia wrung her hands, figuring there was about a snowball’s chance in hell that they were discussing some other dumbwaiter. The serving cart’s squeaky wheels charted their progress toward the door, making it clear that time intended to cut her no breaks.
Out of options, she clamored backward, spine pressed flat against the back wall of the dumbwaiter, her muscles bunched like those of a cat waiting to pounce. No way was she going down without a fight.
The door rattled open; light sliced the darkness.
Nikolai and Bartlesby were caught up in their conversation about the upcoming nuptials. Neither man took notice of her as the cart barreled forward, stirring up a spray of dust fairies as it consumed the tight space.
For the briefest second she began to hope that she might actually go unnoticed.
But then she sneezed.
Those disarming, thistle-hued eyes settled on hers. One raven’s wing brow arched in question. “Virginia?”
The cart’s wheels bumped her toes and Virginia screamed for all she was worth. Seizing the tray by its back edge, she shoved it forward with all the strength she could muster. Granted, it wasn’t much, but for once, luck and gravity fell on her side. The dumbwaiter floor pitched forward as it took on the weight of the cart, adding momentum.
The cart slammed full force into Nikolai, striking him in the vicinity of his family jewels. Virginia swallowed a whoop as his succulent mouth drew into an ‘o’ of surprise, his disarming eyes widening to purple pools of misery. And even though logic told her it served the thistle-eyed bastard right, a traitorous part of her wanted to be the one to gather him in her arms and kiss the booboo away.
What was that all about?
God, she had to get out of here before she came down with Stockholm syndrome, trying to paint Nikolai into something he could never, ever be—the right man for her.
Stumbling over the divide between the dumbwaiter and the stone floor, her heel caught on her hem. She fell forward, body slamming into the cart.
It careened sideways, clattering to the floor.
Food and drink went flying. Virginia fell to her knees.
Croissants and strawberries thudded onto the floor like manna from Heaven.
“Sire!” The short guy posing as an elf rushed to Nikolai’s aid, cutting a slip-sliding trail through what looked to be a puddle of whipped cream and hot chocolate.
Virginia cupped a croissant in each hand, clamored to her feet and surveyed her surroundings.
There were doors on both ends of the kitchen.
She’d scored food, clothing and now a means of escape.
While Nikolai and the elf struggled to regain their footing, Virginia gathered her skirts between her fists and took off running toward the nearest exit as if the hounds of Hell snapped at her heels.
