It's nearing the end of February . . . incredible. Valentine's Day is done and dusted for another year. Hope everyone had a good day—or at least read some great VD romances. I did, some lovely m/m and m/f from my publisher BDP. I really need to get on my Goodreads page and add some of the books I've been reading, but in case I don't, certainly give any of the books from the new Valentine's Day Collection a go: www.bottomdrawerpublications.net If it's only m/m you're after then A New Dream by C J Baty was sweet and lovely, and An Unexpected Party by Henrietta Clarke was a British gem—loved the dialogue.
Apart from a bit of reading, I have also been settling back into some writing. Thank goodness. I'm very happy with the story I am working on right now, and even though I am not ready to share titles or the story's future (well planned anyway), I'd love to share an excerpt that I am really happy with.
Hope you enjoy it. Please remember it is still in draft and unedited.
Till next time.
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“Get up,” a deep voice urged him; a hand shaking his shoulder helping to pull him from his deep sleep. “Get up. Hurry.”
Ryan blinked open his eyes, unsure of what was happening. The room was still dark and he didn’t know how long he’d been asleep. He turned his head, looking up, trying to focus, not recognizing the person whose hand was on his shoulder, its firm fingers digging into his flesh.
“Jesus,” he complained, shrugging his shoulder to try and shake the insistent hand off. “Get the fuck off me.”
“We don’t have time for this. You need to get up, and you need to get up now.”
Ryan felt like shit, his whole body resisting even waking up, let alone getting up. “I’m sick, leave me alone,” he grumbled, allowing his eyes to close again.
“I don’t know what your name is, but if you want to be alive in five minutes, you need to get your ass out of this bed.”
The urgency in the man’s tone roused him, aided by the words “alive” and “five minutes.”
Ryan sat up, the rush of blood to his head almost making him fall back down again. The hand that was still on his shoulder held him firm then pulled him off the bed. “Move,” the man said, taking him by the elbow and leading him quickly and insistently from the room.
Ryan put the brakes on just as they reached the top of the staircase, wrenching his arm out of the man’s grasp, a deep cough issuing from his tortured throat. He was conscious enough now to know that nothing about this situation was right. He’d never seen this man before in his life. “I don’t know you and you expect me to leave this house. Not a chance.”
The man turned. Even in the dim light Ryan could see his determined face. “I’m the good guy, believe me. There is a bomb in this house, right there in the study,” he looked over Ryan’s shoulder toward the room in question, “and if you don’t leave with me now then you will die.”
Ryan blinked, trying desperately to process what the man had said. A bomb? In Jacob’s study? He began to shake his head in denial. “You’re wrong. There couldn’t— Who would—?”
“There is a bomb attached to the safe door in Jacob Rite’s study.” The man’s words were punctuated for comprehension. “The timer is set for”—he glanced at his wrist—“less than two minutes.” Ryan felt a chill pass over his body, and it had nothing to do with him being naked. “So move—now!”
The man turned and Ryan followed him, rushing down the stairs and then through the lounge room, adrenaline pushing his flu-ridden body on. The light from the kitchen was a beacon, allowing Ryan enough visibility to dodge the obstacles in his way. The man in front of him not once looking back to check he was following, as if it was a given.
They entered the large timber and stone kitchen at a gallop, the man in front of him coming to a total unexpected stop, causing Ryan to collide into his back. “What the—”
Not a second later they were moving again, the man turning and locking his hand with Ryan’s. He pulled Ryan to the left, leading him the long way around the counter, but not before Ryan saw what had made him stop. Jenna the housekeeper was draped backwards over the black stone countertop, her eyes wide open, a ghastly red hole in the middle of her forehead.
“Jenna . . .” he murmured, pain evident in the sorrowful word, a million conclusions rapid firing through his brain. What the hell is happening in this house?
Bile rose in Ryan’s throat. He held it down, allowing the man holding his hand to pull him forward, his own mortality innately more important to him at that moment.