I’m sitting here staring at the computer screen. Hoping the Muses might arrive back from their six month snorkeling trip to the Bahamas. Surely to God, their visa’s are up by now. I rely on the “Muses.” They’re my writing team.
Usually they turn up out of the blue, noisy and fervent. They slam into my brain, toss their tennis rackets in the corner, saying, “Gosh, that was jolly hot work, let me get a drink, then I’ll sit down and tell you a story.” I generally just type like a mad woman as they talk. Then abruptly they stop. I’ll look up from my keyboard and hours have literally gone past. But not today… And not for a while…
On a whim, I’d bought a wee apple cider drink to heat in the microwave. The smell of cinnamon is overpowering. I usually like the American Christmas smells, but it’s all getting to me this year. It’s not surprising, but I wish I was through this bit already. I’m sick of feeling like shit. Either sleeping too much, or not at all. All part of the grieving process. I know. It just seems like a long, long evolution. I no longer measure my life in weeks or months, but days, or a week. It all blends into one long blur. I need a new life.
Just scrap this one and start again. Sometimes you’ve burnt so much crap on the bottom of the roasting pan, the only choice is to toss the bloody thing out and get a new one. I wonder what store sells new lives? I could ask Santa for one. Oh to still be a kid where we wished for things, and Santa magically delivered! I’m ready to resign as an adult. Hand someone my car keys, check book and drive off with my handbag on the seat and cat carrier in the back. Oh…suppose I’ll need the car keys and cash card. As a kid, you didn’t think things like this. That was the magic of it. You just did things. “Okay, Santa,” I say out loud. “I need a ton of money, a gorgeous lover who adores me and has waited his whole life to meet me. That’s what I’ll have for Christmas, thanks.”
A loud knock at the door startles me out of my reverie. I hope the windows are closed, talking to myself has become a bit of a “thing” lately. Rat-a-tat-tat again. Damn. Earth to Daisy! More like Daze-y. I laugh. Now, I’m laughing at my own attempts at humor. I should consider just signing myself in somewhere for a psych evaluation and be done with it.
I open the front door. Oh, bloody hell. I bet I look like shit on a stick.
“Hey.” Adonis is all smiles.
“Aloha,” I say automatically.
“You always say that, how come?”
“I used to live in Hawaii, it’s my American home state.”
“Ah, okay, very cool. I like that,” he says decisively, like it fills a gap in his knowledge base.
Crikey. I wonder what he’s doing here. Damn, wrong time to think. Now I’ve gone completely blank.
“Um…I…I bring your card back.” Perhaps the planets are out of alignment, he’s also drawing some blanks.
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “My card?”
“Oh yeah, sorry.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open, sliding out my ATM cash card.
“Thanks Adonis,” I say automatically. Bugger…I’ve just called him Adonis.
He laughs. “Is that what you call me?” He grins.
“Sorry! I know your name.” God, how embarrassing is this?
He’s rocking back and forth on my doorstep, a huge grin from ear to ear. There’s a bloody Christmas reindeer dangling from his ear now. He must rotate the damn things round.
“Good reindeer,” I say. Once again, proving I can speak, just not very well.
“One of the kids give it to me.” He fingers it. What a sweetie. And married… Oh joy.
“I love your earrings, they’re fun.”
“It’s good to have fun,” he says.
I nod, agreeing with the sentiment, if not the execution right now.
He gives me my card, touching my hand, and an electric current sizzles up my arm. He expels air, like he’s also felt the same thing. Our eyes lock.
He inhales slowly, a slight hesitation. “Will you ask me to come in?”
“Yes,” I say softly. My brain grapples for something that makes sense. I’ve just had the sensation of slipping through a portal again.
“That’s a really silly earring,” I say.
“My nieces are funny little girls,” he says, very seriously. Then a hint of mischief creeps into his now dark eyes.
“Ah, so you do know my name.” He grins.
Oh God, I called him Adonis in what feels like hours ago, but probably only five minutes has passed. Time’s disappeared on me.
“I have this really hideous apple cider someone’s gone berserk on the cinnamon with, do you want some?” I ask.
“Oh well…no, well…that’s fine,” I say, flapping my hand, feeling like an idiot. Of course, he doesn’t want some crappy microwave cider you ning nong.
“I have a better idea,” he says slowly. “You say no one romantic any more…”
“Well, yes, I suppose. Just the way I’m feeling probably.” I shrug apologetically.
He leans forward to take one of my hands. Time slips away. We both gasp. I spring back, shaking my head, trying to clear it. God, how weird. Again, I have a flash of something. A blue uniform, peaked cap and pencil thin moustache.
I nearly blurt out, “I’d love to have this dance with you.” Note to self: Stop listening to Glenn Miller music.
He’s also flustered. Perhaps me leaping back like he’d slapped me didn’t help.
“Would you like to come for a drive with me? By the river… Pretty, um…relaxing…” He spreads his hands. I get the feeling he’s equally at a loss for words.
~ Muse It Up Publishing
and Mystery, Crime Fiction Writer
A beautiful heartfelt, sensual erotic romance story—New Zealander, Daisy struggles with the death of her husband, and the days become blurs of unreality.
Her one bright spot is buying a lotto ticket twice a week from the gorgeous Greek store owner, Nicky Constantine. He’s flirty and fun—he’s probably nice to everyone. Good Greek Boy, she thinks in her sarkier moments.
But one day, Nicky touches her hand and she’s transported into another time and era—she sees a flash of a heavy sheepskin flight jacket and peaked service cap. In her confusion, she leaves her cash card at the store.
Unbeknown to Daisy, Nicky’s only flirty with her. He’s been watching her for months, concerned for this lovely, fragile woman. Finding her card, he takes up her challenge that men aren’t romantic anymore.
He arrives at her door with an invitation to drive down to the river. He’s packed champagne and candles… The magic of the bubbling waterfall and enveloping darkness, entice them into the world of passionate lovers.
Not just present day lovers, but past lovers, from another lifetime… Christmas is right around the corner, has Saint Nicholas come early this year...
"... Intense and dark, nicely written"
"This book was filled with so much despair, love, and passion it takes you on a roller coaster ride of strong emotions. This book does not skimp on emotions and makes you feel every single one! Charlie will rip your heart out, but no worries, Meg is a master at putting it back together again! Take a chance on this book like I did, you won't be sorry!" Bike Books Reviews - 24 November 2014
This sensuous sultry romance is set in an old plantation house in The Bayou of Louisiana. Three hearts entwined between two beautiful Creole men and one wild redhead woman. Thunderheads roll in off the bay on a hot and sultry night. The wind chimes are going wild. This heat flash has been building for a few days. Anything could happen...
Every day is torture, knowing how much I love and want them. I can’t keep going this way. Shit. I’ve made such a mess of this.
“Why? You don’t want me?” I finally say in response to Izzy’s question still hanging in the air.
They look at each other, something passing between them.
“Yes, we do.”
What does that mean? Friends? Lovers? Henry gently strokes my face like a lover, but it’s just him.
“Are you going to kiss me, Henry?” I mock, feeling bad, but also needing my armor.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he says.
“It’s not your thing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Stop fucking around, Henry. I’ve never known you to be cruel to me.”
“Why did you do this, Charlie?”
I clasp Izzy’s hands tighter and look away from him, shaking my head. Where would I begin?
“Did something happen at The Club, baby,” asks Izzy.
Henry says, “Tell me.”
I shake my head and look toward the ceiling, hoping for some divine intervention. At the very least, a lightning bolt through the fucking roof. There’s a crashing sound and we all jump. Okay, cancel that Universe. That is closer than I actually like. The storm has picked up outside.
Henry goes back to washing me; it’s not helping. He runs a soft cloth over my thighs now. Like a lot of African men, I don’t have a lot of body hair other than my pubic hair. Henry’s the same.
Izzy has a thing for pubic hair. We once had a slightly boozed conversation about it, so I stopped shaving. Some vain hope they’d one day see me as their lover, not just their friend. Talk about delusional.
She’s not a fan of the shaved look, which suits me. She looks like a full blown woman, not a little girl. A sexy, voluptuous woman, nicely rounded, curvy tummy, a good-sized backside she surprisingly loves. You’ll never hear her say, “Does my bum look too big in this dress?” I love her Kiwi sayings. She only wears dresses. Lots of “fuck me” shoes, and she’s one of the few women I know who can carry off a hat with aplomb. She’s gorgeous, but so is he—inside and out.
“Tell us, Charlie baby, what happened at The Club?” Izzy asks softly.
Oh fuck, Iz, lay off. I look at Henry and almost beg him to not make me say the words.
“Spit it out, Charlie.”
“Liz was there.”
“What did she say?” Henry asks.
Izzy turns down the hurricanes and blows out all but one of the candles. “It’s dark in here. Confessional. We love you no matter what, we always will. Nothing you say will change that,” intones Izzy, stroking my hair.
You’re not helping, Iz. “Really?” I try for a defensive stance.
“Yes, really.” Just say it, Charlie.
“She said I was dirty. Just a whore who didn’t get paid. I always would be,” my voice breaks. God that hurt.
“Oh, Charlie, that’s not true,” says Izzy.
“Yes, it is. You don’t know where I’ve been, who I’ve been with. You saw what happened tonight. Pretty fucking sleazy. You’d want to dip my body in disinfectant if you knew all of it.” I’m more sober by the minute.
“That’s not true, baby. You’re not dirty. We don’t think that, do we Henry?”
He shakes his head.
I’d love to believe them. “Why the fuck not? How much more do you need to see before you get it?” I snap.
“Stop it. You’re good and desirable."
I give an inelegant snort, annoyed with them for not seeing the truth. “What?” I challenge Henry. “Are you going to kiss me? I don’t think so.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Damn you, Henry…don’t,” I whisper. Fuck that hurt. What the hell is going on here?
Henry looks at Iz, and they must agree on something. All I can see is intense love in his eyes for me. Izzy’s lovely body is wrapped around my own. I don’t want to ever let this go. I’ve loved them for so long. I had moments where I thought they felt the same way, but Liz popped that balloon dead tonight.
Henry strokes my face, not taking his eyes off me. “You’re beautiful, Charlie.”
“No.” What the hell? Is he punishing me? Torturing me with want? So much love and compassion in his eyes, it’s nearly my undoing.
“Yes, always one of the most beautiful souls I’ve ever met,” he whispers.
I shake my head, but he strokes my face tenderly. Don’t do this please. I want something so different to what you can offer me. This is painful. It’s piercing my heart with desire. “You need to stop.” I hold his hand on my face. “Please,” I beg.
“Sorry. We’ve loved you for too long. Watched you hurt and ache, struggle with not feeling loved. I can’t do it any longer.”
What does that mean? He slides closer to me, hooking his legs over mine, our groins nearly touching. God, Henry, what are you doing?
“You’re clean. We’ve cleansed you. No more dirt on your skin or in your soul. You’re not dirty, Charlie. You never were. You’ve always had goodness in you.”
I shut my eyes, shaking my head. I don’t think we’re on the same page.
“Stop it. Open your eyes,” he commands.
I obey him without thinking.
He takes my jaw, moving his hands over the stubble I’ve collected since yesterday afternoon. Oh God, Henry, stop. You have no idea what you’re doing to me. I’m so turned on, I want them desperately. My emotions have been run up a flag pole and down the other side. I take a direct hit to my gut.
I realize what they’re giving me in friendship is what I want in an intimate relationship. A relationship I can’t have. I drop my head and cry. I’m embarrassed on so many levels.
My hard penis grazes his, filling with more blood, bobbing up and down on his groin because I’m so close to him.
He takes my face in his hands, cradling my jaw so I see his eyes.“Yes,” he says so sincerely, I almost think he means it.
He lightly brushes my mouth with his own. What on earth? My fucking body betrays me. I gasp as my penis jerks with more blood beating a rapid path to it. My hands come up to grasp his, trying to pull them away.
He shakes his head. His eyes show me so much love, but it’s not the type of love I need from them, not friendship.
He kisses me gently, but this time with more intention, and it doesn’t feel remotely like a friendship kiss.
Oh God, that’s good. My body takes over; deep desire for them has a momentum of its own. I must be outpouring intense, sexual desire. So, why is he still sitting here? I need to get my head together.
He parts my lips with his tongue, exploring my mouth, the rasp of our stubble making my cock harder. Jesus.
Involuntarily, I arch my back, shoving my groin into Henry. I’m rock hard, nearly upright against him. Shit, he’s sexy. He’s bigger than me, longer, very thick and heavy with nice, round balls.
My whole system is shorting out. Izzy’s pussy, soft and warm behind me, Henry’s hard, pulsing cock in the front. What are they doing? Shit, I can’t stop.
“You don’t want me,” I rasp out.
“Yes, we do. We love you. Always have, Charlie. Will you let us make love to you?”
I search his face, looking for false notes, any insincerity. There is none. He means this. Shit, what have I missed?
“All we want to do is make love to you, let you know you’re safe and loved with us.”
“I don’t want a pity fuck. You’re not into men anyway,” I say. Now I’m wondering if this is real. Shit, maybe I got slipped something in my drink tonight. The whole night has taken on surreal proportions. I’m starting to lose my grip on reality. I thought I was sobering up, but it doesn’t seem so.
“I’m into you.” Henry’s tawny eyes smolder. It’s the same passionate come-to-bed look he gives Izzy.
I twist around to ask Izzy if this is true. One look at her eyes and I know it is. She has the same heat and passion for me. It digs deeply into my soul.