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She knew she was going to lose him, and her heart was being ripped to shreds at the thought. How could she do without him and his guidance, especially now?
When her mother had passed, Sassy had been left to carry the burden of what she was alone, except for her father. He had kept her secret, even as he had her mother’s. Now that she had reached her majority, she was experiencing the ‘transition’; without her m
other to advise her, only her father could help her.
She should, of course, be able to turn to her mother’s family, but they had disowned their only daughter when she’d defied them to marry a poor young man of the cloth. No, Sassy would get no guidance from them, although like her they had the ‘power’.
She set these disturbing thoughts aside as she took up the package Mrs. Plummet handed her and made her way outdoors.
Before crossing the avenue, she meandered down the walkway, stopping to look in the window of the village dress shop. It was still there—a gown that had caught her eye the week before. It was breathtaking. Yellow and in the fashionable A-line, low cut, trimmed with Belgium lace, and much too expensive for her. She sighed as she turned away from it.
Her own ensemble beneath the aged cloak, though once a pretty shade of blue, was becoming threadbare. She hadn’t thought much about refurbishing her wardrobe in the last two years. She had been devastated at her mother’s death, and then this year, while her father’s health dwindled, socializing had been out of the question.
The sound of laughter across the street caught her attention, and she glanced in the direction of the hearty noise.
Two men stood at the curbing at the edge of the avenue, but only one of them stood out. It was as though the atmosphere around him glowed, and her heart actually skipped a beat and then made up for the offense by beating faster.
His beaver-skin top hat was set saucily on his head of black silky hair. His black cloak had been rakishly thrown back over one shoulder, revealing not only the cream silk lining but the breadth of his obviously muscular chest.
As Sassy’s gaze traveled up to his face, unconsciously a small breath of air left her lungs, swished up her throat, and escaped in an audible gasp.
He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, but more than that, he was the man who had been making passionate love to her in her dreams!
This was madness. This was … Before she could complete the thought, it happened. Only this time it was different. This time he was right there. He was nearby—the man of her dreams was standing only thirty feet away.
His blue eyes had suddenly locked with hers, and all at once she felt herself transported to another place.
It was a bedroom—and she recognized the bedroom, for she had been there many times in her dreams. It was as though she were in a theater shamelessly watching herself, watching him—watching, experiencing things she had no physical knowledge of.
She was a virgin, and yet in her dream she had been his intimately many times. Now, with him so near, she saw herself naked and lying across dark, smooth sheets.
He was bending towards her, his blue eyes glittering, his black, silky hair falling across and touching her breasts as he licked her nipple and then suckled there with expertise that sent her body into a convulsion of pleasure. His fingers moved over her flesh, and she could feel herself clench with desire as he touched—
What … ? No! No—this was just schoolgirls’ talk coming back to haunt her. This had to stop. She had to stop. She tried to break with the vision. How could she know what it would feel like to have a man … how could she know?
And then she saw something in his eyes across the avenue that told her a fact she could not deny: she wasn’t having this illusion alone. He was as well. It was so real and not only for her—but for him also!
When he took a step into the street towards her, Sassy Winthrop ran as fast as her little walking boots could take her and escaped around the corner.
An excerpt from Through Time-Whiplash
Through Time-Whiplash
She could be in trouble here
JAZZ WHIPPED AROUND so fast she nearly snapped her neck, to find not only a Seelie Fae but a Royal Fae Prince bearing down on her .
Had he heard the stone call her a Fios? He must have.
Oh, no, oh no. She could be in trouble here.
She had given herself away.
He was not in human Glamour but cloaked with invisibility, yet she had acknowledged his presence when he’d surprised her. What was more, he was a Royal, and her mother had told her tales of what Royals did with their kind. She knew the tales of Royals, all Seelie Fae, visiting, discovering what they were, seducing, and then whisking them off to Faery.
Now what? Play dumb, yes, that was it; she could do dumb. What moved her to peek at him she didn’t know, but she did. He saw her interest with narrowed eyes. What was she doing—what was wrong with her?
She had never seen a Royal before, but she knew by the torque around his neck, which was gold and etched with the insignia of his Royal House, that he was one.
