Friday, August 15, 2014

Spellbound Excerpt Three



As promised, the third excerpt from Chapter One. 

You can purchase a copy of Spellbound here. 


“I’m going to buy you a drink,” he says to me in a voice that sounds like it’s wrapped in velvet. It’s deep, strong and commanding, but at the same time arrogant while oddly reassuring. I realize it’s a statement, not a question and I get the message there must be very few women who refuse his drinks.
I make what turns out to be a futile decision to turn him down.
Turning to look at him, I notice immediately, behind the arrogance, his dark blue eyes have the same boyish sparkle that appealed to me across the room. That spark must be some kind of permanent fixture designed to lure unsuspecting women into his ego ocean, only to be dashed against the horrible jagged rocks at the shore of his heart. Something inside tells me he is in control of this situation and I am at the mercy of it. I feel like a child approaching a chess set with interest and across the board is a grand master gently inviting me to sit.
Inwardly, I shake my head.
Holy crap, get a grip girl! How much are you looking for a fantasy to escape your reality?
“Oh, that’s ok,” I stammer helplessly. I give him my sexiest “there-is-so-much-sexual-tension-you’d-better-not-be-gay” smile and pull my shoulders back instinctively hoping the outline of my breasts look seductive. “I’m not buying rounds or shouts. I’m a little skint today. Thanks for the offer though.”
Any minute some other gorgeous woman will walk in and he will be all over her. Stay awake, Connie. Don’t let some guy in a bar hurt your heart just because you’re feeling vulnerable, I remind myself.
The intensity of his look is so disarming. Direct eye contact. Gone is the boyish glint and for a brief flash he looks surprised and almost hurt. His dark blue dream pools travel from one of my eyes to the other as if he’s searching. I get the feeling I am supposed to know something that I have been too stupid to pick up on. I wish I was better at flirting. I wish I was more sophisticated.
No! I wish this guy would leave me alone so I don’t have to feel stupid as well as poor.
“No. You've misunderstood. I don’t want you to buy me a drink. I'm buying you a drink.”
He turns toward the bar, and I have the distinct feeling I'm getting a drink no matter what.
What the hey! If he wants to give me a drink, why don’t I let him? He’ll sit with me for half an hour, get to know me, discover he’s wasted five dollars and move on. He certainly doesn’t look like five dollars will set him back.
I sigh.
“Ok. That’s fine.” I turn toward the bar, joining him in a search for Joe.
Then, I sense him move a little closer, and a wave of the most beautiful masculine aroma rolls over me. It's a woody scent that makes me think of a forest right away, and then citrus. I can't help myself, I inhale deeply, and notice my body is set to fresh flames. Awash in arousal, I’m again lost in a mystery I can’t seem to grasp. I scan the bar looking for Joe, wishing this guy didn’t make me so nervous. Wishing I wasn’t blushing from head to toe. Wishing my body wasn’t betraying me so viciously.
Then his lips are close to my ear, and he whispers, his breath teasing my lobe,
“Does this make you uncomfortable? I'm sorry about that.”
I don’t know much right now, but I know that’s not an apology. It is a sick twisted trick to make me fall at his feet and passionately kiss the shiny black off his shoes.
I’m now officially scared I’m going to fall in love and will have to drink twice the foolishness away at the end of the night. I turn to look up at him slowly and that stunning boyish glint is back, with the arrogance of a man who knows precisely which parts of my body have just pledged him eternal allegiance.
My brain screams NO! Run for your life! While that other part of me heats up and weeps, who cares about your feelings! Let’s get laid!
“It’s fine,” I stammer. “It’s your drink.”
He smirks and then the boyishness is back like a siren on the rocks.
“I noticed you when you walked into the bar. I think you’re beautiful. As I indulged in my appreciation of you” he pauses and looked down at my body, then back into my eyes, “I took a chance on something and it paid off instantly. Because your beauty inspired my successful move, I feel I owe you a drink at the very least.”
It takes a few seconds that feels like twenty-five years before I realize my mouth is open. I have no answer for this. I don’t know what to say. All I'm conscious of is the smell of a forest and an ache between my legs.
Thank god he keeps talking.
“I have no intention of imposing on your evening. I’m sure you will soon be surrounded by friends. I merely want to thank you for inspiring me.”
His tone is suddenly business-like and I notice for the first time he has a British accent.
He holds out his hand and I drop my gaze and thankfully close my mouth, and look at his hand. For some reason, I feel disappointed.
“My name is Jack Sinclair.”
I reach out for his hand and a zap of electricity passes between our fingers. I yank my hand back with a total lack of elegance, and he half smiles with what looks like patience, but I can’t be sure. I reach out again, and that stupid zap springs between us, but I ignore it this time and shake his hand.
“Constance Berringer,” I stammer wishing I was a famous director so we could follow that up with Oh! THE Constance Berringer?
But instead I say “My friends call me Connie.”
I pull my hand away but I can’t help notice the lingering touch of his long fingers caressing my skin as I do so. My body is on fire, that stupid little electricity thingy that must have come from the loop carpet (though I’ve never known it to travel through rubber sneakers) combined with the causal stare of his eyes and that mouth I don’t dare look at, have set my body to a jelly that translates as putty in his hands. My cautionary brain warnings appear to have burst into flames and disintegrated.

“Well Ms. Berringer, I don’t mean to keep you from your book. I’ll order your wine. Thank you for bringing me so much luck this afternoon. I hope you enjoy your small gift of thanks.” And with that he turns away and strides toward the end of the bar where he and the elusive Joe start to talk.

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