For some silly reason I woke up this morning with the first chapter of a new book, Sanctuary, in my head. Weird. Strange. But, there it was. So I thought I’d share a tiny excerpt with you:
Genie promised God a whole lotta Sundays at church if he gave her an easy mark. She hadn’t survived the last four weeks on Santa Anna without learning a few nasty tricks.
Just let Seathe MacFarland be on the stupid side.
Dumb millionaires didn’t exist.
Let his prick rule his brain then—that she could handle.
She lifted her lids and found herself looking into the most glacial pair of blue eyes on the planet. Dread snaked up her spine and left a series of icy slithers in its wake.
Intelligence and alertness radiated from his unblinking, predatory stare.
A whiff of some smoky and spicy fragrance enveloped Genie before he ambled to a halt not more than a foot away from her. “Tell me, Ms. Nelson, why is this piece of shit landing strip the official airport when I flew over an impeccably appointed runway five miles south?”
He was a pilot. Crap, crap, and more crap. She squared her shoulders and held out a perfectly manicured hand. “How lovely to meet you, Mr. MacFarland. My name is—”
“Genie Nelson, last surviving member of the Nelson family.” Not an ounce of emotion flared from those hypnotic eyes. His palm closed over hers, and she struggled against the urge to yank out of his firm grip.
Her throat went dry. She forced a smile. “I see you’ve done your homework, Mr. MacFarland. This is—”
He dropped her hand and shifted his attention to Shaggy. “Donald Smythe, aka Shaggy, General Manager of Ricky’s Landing. I presume we have transport of some sort?”
Shaggy grinned and waved to the building. “We do Mr. MacFarland, but you must clear immigration and customs first.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Genie hadn’t even noticed the other man until he spoke.
They were as different as chalk and cheese, as the old English expression went.
Archangel and Demon standing side by side, one a Viking, the other a dark Highlander.
“It is an international airport, Torolf. I suspect some rules of law actually do apply on this island. Ms. Nelson, Mr. Smythe, this is my lawyer, Torolf Bristol.”
Genie hoped her surprise didn’t show. Why had he brought his lawyer? Had he heard about her rights as the sole, surviving Nelson? That was to have been her ace in the hole if things didn’t go their way.
She kept her smile firmly fixed in place though her cheeks ached from the effort. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bristol.”
Torolf shook her proffered hand. “Torolf, please Genie. No need to stand on ceremony. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other over the coming months.”
Months? She choked back a gasp and spread her lips wider aiming for a polite smile.
What in hell had just happened?
Hope you enjoyed!