Urban Fantasy Author
Forbidden, Book 3.5
The woman had the power to turn me inside out with just one look.
“You never stop surprising me,” I told her this morning before leaving her bed. Truer words were never spoken. Here she was, now sitting across from me during an official briefing. Why am I surprised? Because Alex doesn’t work for the PSF, the Preternatural Special Forces. Alex is human.
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I should have known when I woke up pleasantly sore in a strange apartment with a man wrapped around me that my life was about to get complicated. It wasn’t going to mean anything , I’d lied the night before when, intoxicated by pheromones and champagne, I let him take me home. As I’d gathered up my clothes and planned my escape I’d assured myself it had been a momentary lapse, that I’d never see him again. Apparently that, too, had been a whopper. Because here he was, on the other end of a Glock 19, and he was pointing it at my chest.
“Police! Don’t move.”
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I had always thought that painting would be my greatest passion. Then I met Rose.
I first laid eyes on her at a show in Paris. She’d come to see my paintings. She never spoke with the artist; she explained when I introduced myself to her. She wanted her critique to be pure, her opinion unvarnished. When we shook hands I held on to hers a little too long.
“Have dinner with me,” I said. “We don’t have to talk.”
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The leaves in the trees fluttered in protest as a fierce rumble of thunder shook the mountains. Lightning split the rapidly darkening sky, opening it up. Rain poured down hard and fast, stinging my exposed skin. The inn where I was staying was a good three miles behind me, but up ahead was a covered bridge. It promised shelter, refuge from the storm.
The white cotton dress I was wearing had become drenched, transparent, and was molded to my body. I broke into a run. The sound of the slap of my sandals against the pavement, the smell of the surrounding pines, and the feel of the cool rain in the middle of the hot summer day took me back to a time when my life was simple and uncomplicated.
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“What are you doing? You said you’d quit,” said Sharon as she pulled the cigarette right out of my mouth. The sun had set a few hours ago. But it was springtime and still warm. Sharon was fresh from a bath and I had just come back from my evening run.
“I did. I’ll quit again right after this,” I told her, reaching for the pack of cigarettes I’d left on the counter. She beat me to it. Damn she was fast. “Hand them over,” I said, trying to sound bored instead of desperate.
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I stared into the flames of the fire and listened as the wind howled and the thunder roared outside. Lightning cracked and the rain poured down on the rooftop. It had been months since Lee had surrendered to Grant and months since the death of President Lincoln. The state’s Government was now restored. We had new senators and a new governor, and little by little order was returning. The men who had fought in the war and lived had returned home, most of them missing an arm or a leg. They sought pardon, re-pledged their loyalty to the union between the states, and began to rebuild their lives.
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Forbidden, Book 2.5
The air is unseasonably cold and the streets are covered in a dense fog, courtesy of the thick marine layer that seems to have crept inland from the coast. I hang back in the shadows, away from the lone streetlight and survey the familiar neighborhood. It’s as black as pitch outside, but I can see my quarry clearly. She’s standing on the sidewalk bathed in moonlight, her skin translucent, the long thin column of her neck beckoning to me. Almost as if she can sense my desire she sweeps her hair behind her shoulders and the loose spill of fiery red curls tumble down her back.
Forbidden, Book 4.5
Breathe , I told myself. Just Breathe .
It’s funny how things that you normally do without conscious effort become all but impossible when your world crashes in on you. I remembered it being that way when my mother died, I remembered it being that way when I found out that my ex-husband was cheating on me, and I remembered it happening the day that I had the accident in Yosemite, the day that a pack of wild wolves sprang from the woods, cutting across the trail I’d been hiking, the day that he found me. And now, he was here.
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Fiery words to ease the burn of loss caused by the 2007 Southern California wildfires.
This multi-author anthology of erotic fiction & poetry edited by the dynamic writing (and now editing) team of Alessia Brio & Will Belegon contains Samantha Sommersby’s short story – Rising Phoenix.
