Writing Retreat

It’s hard to believe that my first novel, The Initiation of Ms Holly, has been out seven years. I remember well that first
decent royalty check and the decision I made to celebrate with my own private writer’s retreat. I did the research, decided I didn’t want to travel too far or spend too much, and I didn’t want to go to a place like the Lake District, where I would rather walk than write. I chose the lovely Portland Cottage in Lyme Regis down on the Jurassic Coast. For those of you who don’t know, the place has a rich literary history, being the setting for John Fowles’ book, and the film, The French Lieutenant’s Woman, Jane Austen’s Persuasion, Tracy Chevalier’s Remarkable Creatures, and others.

 

The flat at Portland Cottage had gorgeous views and room for me to spread out, write, read, sprawl, pace and oh yes, the best part, a lovely tub for inspirational bubble baths. And the town itself was a total delight. I could walk on the beach, explore the village and let my Muse guide me until late afternoon, then it was back to Portland Cottage to write until I got too sleepy to continue. I’d sleep in a room with a sea view and listen to the tawny owls call, then wake up to the sun rising over Golden Cap, and start all over again.

 

I managed 35,000 words that first year, and even more important, I learned that a writer’s retreat – a private one — not one where it’s more about workshopping and socializing, but one with just me and space to write and think, was an invaluable tool worth every single pound I spent.

For the next six years, I made that yearly pilgrimage in late September or early October to Lyme Regis and Portland Cottage, and every year I managed massive word counts, fantastic walks, glorious inspiration, and came back home feeling refreshed. The lion share of seven of my novels has been written at my writer’s retreats, and they have become a non-negotiable part of my writing year.

 

I’m writing this before I leave for my 2017 writer’s retreat, because I will have my head down writing hard by the time you read this. Sadly I won’t be doing it at Portland Cottage this year. The flat has been sold on as a private residence. Happily, I’m doing it from a lovely flat in Zagreb Croatia just off Maksimir Park. You’ll hear all about that when I get back home.

 

For me going to Zagreb for my sacrosanct writing week is not only a new beginning, but a reclaiming of a place I lived in long ago, a place I loved. The story of why it has taken me so long to reclaim this wonderful place is one for another time, but let’s just say even though I write this before I’m actually there, I fully expect to accomplish a lot and to be totally inspired. I have a sneaking suspicion I might meet old friend there and maybe make some new ones too.

 

For me, it’s a time of new beginnings, and as difficult as it is to let go of the old familiar, as frightening as it can be to
move forward, it’s essential for growth. Certainly it’s crucial for creativity. As I write this post, I’m anticipating what this next week will bring. As you read this post, I will be embracing another new beginning and moving forward in my own creative journey. I can’t wait to tell you all about it when I get back home.

 

P.S. Be sure to check Facebook. I might just pop a few piccies on from time to time.

 

Series Lover’s Paradise!

 

 

Happy October, everyone! I’m just back from a lovely, if soggy, walking holiday in Snowdonia. For my lovely readers who are not from the UK and don’t know, Snowdonia is a lovely national park in the mountains of North Wales. During the long rainy nights with no Wifi, Mr. Grace and I both curled up with a good binge read. For us, that means it’s series time.

 

Nobody loves a good series more than I do. In my humble opinion, the only thing better than a good doorstop novel is a series. If an author can engage me in a world, in a series of events, in the trials and tribulations of her characters, I am SO there!

 

And that’s why I’m so excited about this giveaway event. If you like the never-ending story a good series offers, here’s the perfect giveaway for you.  

 

Author Cross Promotion Start-a-Series Giveaway:

This is an awesome way to make sure you’re well-supplied with some serious binge reading material. Here is your opportunity to win up to 45 eBooks and help us celebrate that best ever binge-reads, the series.

 

This giveaway runs until October 9. All you have to do is follow the link for your chance to win. https://AuthorsXP.com/giveaway

 

As a writer of series as well as a fan, I’m especially excited about this giveaway because In The Flesh, the first novel in my Medusa’s Consortium sizzling, chilling urban fantasy series, is included. I’m especially excited because it’s just in time for the release of Blindsided, the second novel in the series, now out for your reading pleasure.

 

 

Book I – In The Flesh Blurb:

When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.

 

 

The Gazillionaire and the Virgin Now Available in Audio

 

Lisabet Sarai’s BDSM novella, The Gazillionaire and the Virgin, which turns the billionaire and virgin story on its ear is now available on audio!

 

Trust can’t be bought—it has to be earned.

 

The Bazillionare and the Virgin Blurb:

 

When Silicon Valley entrepreneur Rachel Zelinsky meets reclusive genius Theo Moore, she finds him strangely compelling. Theo is both arrogant and socially awkward, but he has an aura of power that speaks to Rachel’s carefully-hidden submissive side. Disturbed and aroused, she tries to focus on her original objective—a deal to incorporate his Artificial Intelligence software into her company’s popular virtual world. Rachel’s not a woman who lets pleasure interfere with business, but for some reason, she can’t resist Theo’s geeky appeal.

 

Theo Moore can’t be bought. His past battles with poverty make him deeply suspicious of the billionaire CEO. Still, with her voluptuous curves and brilliant mind, Rachel embodies his ultimate sexual fantasy. Too bad his knowledge about sex derives from extensive research and a stash of kinky porn rather than real-world experience.

 

That doesn’t bother Rachel, however. In his bed—in his arms—in his bonds—she discovers the bliss of total surrender. Rachel may be Theo’s first lover, but Theo is Rachel’s first true Master—and the first man to truly touch her heart. It seems that love may harmonize their differing goals and values, until Rachel’s unwitting violation of Theo’s trust threatens to tear them apart forever.

 

 

The Bazillionaire and the Virgin Excerpt:

 

The firmness molding my back and butt suggests I’m stretched out on the bed. Have I been asleep? I don’t recall lying down, indeed, don’t remember anything for the space of several breaths. Then it all comes crashing back, a tsunami of embarrassment, fear and regret. The fund raiser. Rachel. Oh, my God!

 

“Theo? Are you awake?”

 

She keeps her voice low, as though she understands the pain bouncing around in the hollows of my skull. Memory flutters back in bits and pieces. A dizzy, endless journey. Struggling not to vomit on Rachel’s upholstery. I crack open my eyelids, squinting into the welcome dimness.

 

“Rachel?” I rasp, my mouth dry as the Santa Anas. All I can see is the featureless ceiling. “What happened?”

 

When I raise my head, seeking her, the room spins and my stomach objects strenuously. She’s there, though, leaning toward me, seated on one of my dining room chairs, which she’s dragged to the side of the bed. Her curls have come loose from the glittering clips she used to tame them, and her make-up is smudged. She’s unspeakably gorgeous.

 

Despite my sorry state, the headache and the cotton mouth and the dizziness, my cock stirs inside the monkey suit I’m apparently still wearing. Ah, the tenaciousness of lust!

 

 

Buy Links:

 

Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/The-Gazillionaire-and-the-Virgin/dp/B075WZS3TN/

 

Audible:

https://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/The-Gazillionaire-and-the-Virgin-Audiobook/B075X1XN87/

 

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36315580-the-gazillionaire-and-the-virgin

 

Also available in ebook and print!

 

 

About Lisabet

 

LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.

 

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.

 

Review Quotes

 

“…sweet and romantic but steamy and sexy at the same time. …. I adored it!”

~ Crazie Bettie, Amazon US

 

“This book is one of the top five hottest books I have read. These were two of my most favorite lovers. I was wrung out when I finished it but what a delight!” ~ Sheila, Amazon US

 

“I was completely drawn into this relationship, and the relationship IS the story. The connection Rachel and Theo build between them is vividly portrayed, beautiful and well-written, poignant in some ways and hot enough to melt the pages in others. Which is exactly what I want in erotic novels.” ~ Lola White, Goodreads

 

“Do I recommend this one? Oh hell yeah. Realistic D/s with hot as hell kinky sex? Yes, please!” ~ Kayla Lords, http://kaylalords.com/2016/02/the-gazillionaire-and-the-virgin-lisabetsarai/

 

 

 

 

Out Now—Fast Lust by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #badboy #biker #sexy #romance

Blurb:

When a straitlaced journalist and a fearless motorcycle racer are thrown into an interview together, will they find any common ground? Or are they destined to clash?

Gloria Heath loves her job as a lifestyle journalist. She also loves the perks—free meals, complimentary spa treatments, behind-the-scenes access and more. So when her boss sends her on an assignment to the British Superbikes tournament at Donington Park, she’s less than impressed. Sports are definitely not her thing, and her brief is to find a rider with an interesting back story and write about their journey. But how is she supposed to do that when she really doesn’t care one way or the other?

When she experiences the atmosphere and the racing, however, she starts to see the attraction. Soon after, she finds the perfect case study for her article. Rafe Donovan is fearless, ambitious, and the underdog of the tournament. He’s also drop dead gorgeous. She eagerly sets out to interview him, but soon discovers the bad boy biker is a tough nut to crack. The more she asks questions, the more he shuts down. Throw some chemistry into the mix and things go from bad to worse. Can she get the material she needs, or is her first foray into sports writing doomed to fail?

Note: Fast Lust was previously published in the British Bad Boys Boxed Set.

Buy links:

Amazon (universal link): http://mybook.to/fastlust

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2x4spOs

iBooks: http://apple.co/2vYu96M

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2vEKkuH

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/2wA3NKh

*****

Excerpt:

Gloria Heath gaped at her boss, Graeme, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. No, no, she couldn’t have heard him correctly, because she thought he’d said he wanted her to go and cover the first round of the British Superbikes at Donington Park. She shook her head and chuckled. He must have said The Great British Bake Off. That sounded similar, didn’t it?

Graeme frowned. “Something funny, Gloria?”

She snapped her focus back to her editor and smiled. “Sorry. I must be going deaf, or mad, because I thought you said you wanted me to cover some motorbike race.”

His expression was stony. “I did,” he replied coolly. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Blinking, she opened her mouth, then closed it again. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “But I’m a lifestyle reporter. I cover—”

“I’m well aware of what you cover, Gloria. I’ve been your boss for three years—don’t you think I’m familiar with what you write by now?” He sighed. “I know it’s not your usual thing, and is way out of your comfort zone, but don’t you think a change would be nice? A bit of a challenge for you?”

Gulping, she replied, “A ch-challenge? Graeme… did I do something wrong?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s an article, Gloria, not a bloody punishment. No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Your work is exemplary—always has been, and I’m sure it always will be. But I have one of the sports writers off sick, with no one else available to take his place, and not covering the first round of the British Superbikes is tantamount to blasphemy for our motorsport readers.”

A feeling of dread settled in her stomach, making her nauseous. “Do I… have a choice?”

Graeme raised his eyebrows. “I’m an editor, not a dictator. But come on, Gloria, do me a favour here. Like I said, there’s no one else to take his place—you’re the only one with time in your schedule. If I’m not mistaken, the stuff you’re currently working on isn’t time-sensitive. Sunday’s race, however, is.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, then flashed her a smile. “We’ll even put you up in a nice hotel, right near to the track. One little article, Gloria. You’ll be saving my life. Please.”

Gloria knew when she was beaten. Graeme wouldn’t force her, she knew that, but it was clearly very important to him. And he’d never asked her to do something like this before—he was generally very laid back, and let her get on with writing pretty much whatever she wanted to. So one article out of her comfort zone—albeit way out of her comfort zone—was the least she could do. “All right,” she said resignedly. “I’ll do it, for you. But you have to give me a full briefing on what exactly you’re looking for. The last thing I want is to end up writing something where I’ve taken completely the wrong angle.

“And,” she added, “where the hell is Donington Park, anyway?”

Graeme’s expression turned despairing. “In the Midlands, Gloria. Near Derby and Nottingham. North of Watford Gap.”

“Bloody hell, that’s miles away! Have I got to drive? I’ll need a pool car.”

“Drive, get the train, hell, you can even fly. The circuit’s next door to a bloody airport. I don’t care, as long as you go, all right?”

She folded her arms. “The train will be fine. Though a first class ticket wouldn’t go amiss.”

Graeme rolled his eyes. “Done.”

“And about the briefing…”

“Of course! I wouldn’t send you in there unprepared. Right, you go and carry on with whatever you were doing while I get all the arrangements sorted. Come and see me when you get here tomorrow morning, and we’ll go through everything you need to know.” She nodded and stood up, then turned to leave. “Oh, and Gloria?” She turned back. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, boss. Just don’t make a habit of it, all right?” She winked to show she was joking.

Grinning, he waved a hand at her. “Go on, get out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves and Hiding in Plain Sight. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter and get a free eBook: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Tempting and Teasing You with the Entire First Chapter of In The Flesh

 

 

We’re still in the post-launch after-glow here at Grace Manor with Blindsided, book 2 of the Medusa’s Consortium series, just out the door and me planning and scheming the next novel before empty nest syndrome can set in.

 

As the celebration continues, I just want to remind those of you who haven’t yet started the Medusa Consortium series, but want to, now is the time. In The Flesh, book 1 of the Medusa’s Consortium series, is still only 99 p/c for a couple more days. So go ahead and indulge!

 

To tempt and teas you, I’m including the entire first chapter for your reading pleasure, so pour yourself another cuppa or glassa, settle back and enjoy.

 

In the Flesh Blurb:

When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.

 

In the Flesh — Chapter One

“Susan, this is going to sound completely barking, but I think he might be God.”

What the hell do you say to that? ‘My boyfriend might be God’? I mean it’s not exactly common convo for a girls’ night out. Okay, so neither of us was famous for our successful love lives. Mine was basically non-existent, but Annie Rivers was notorious for her bad choices—usually married men or narcissistic twats with a wide range of addictions. But as far as bad choices went, this was a doozy. Aside from the fact that it was totally mad to think Lover Boy was God, even I had to admit it was right up Annie’s alley. Let’s face it, God—any of the gods for that matter—is not known for being faithful or particularly nice.

Annie hadn’t mentioned that she was seeing anyone, but I knew she had a lot on her mind with her heavy load at the estate agency and the renovation of what she was now affectionately calling Chapel House. Under the circumstances, I was surprised when she invited me up to Manchester for a long weekend, but she said she needed some girl-time, and we were long overdue for a good catch-up. Since I had no deadlines pressing and found myself with a bit of free time, I jumped at the chance to escape my claustrophobic flat in Brixton and spend some quality time with my friend. The last time we’d been together, she had just made an offer on the deconsecrated church.

“It happens all the time,” Annie told me when I went with her to view the place. “No one’s religious any more, so small churches are deconsecrated when they’re no longer in use, and they’re sold as boutiques, office buildings, houses and even pubs. But this one is about to become my home.”

She had chatted away enthusiastically about the lounge that would be where the altar was, how the whole nave would be open-plan living at its best, kitchen with an Aga, study in what had been the small choir loft, and the perfect master suite that she’d always dreamed of. What good was money if you couldn’t spend it?

This time, however, when I arrived, she was otherwise occupied.

“You’re early.” Breathing heavily, Annie peeked from behind the door she had opened only a crack.

I wasn’t early, but I wasn’t stupid either. Her hair was mussed, and the flush in her cheeks was a testament to my bad timing.

“Shall I come back in an hour? Two?”

She threw a quick glance over her shoulder, and from inside I caught the strong scent of jasmine, Annie’s favorite flower. “Thanks, Susan. You’re a dear.”

“Okay, you lucky cow, but when I come back, I’ll expect details.” I barely managed a kiss on her cheek before the door slammed in my face.

After what I felt was an appropriate amount of time at a nearby Starbucks, I returned with a nice bottle of chardonnay and my best ‘tell me all about him’ smile. I knocked; then I knocked again.

I was just beginning to think she was having such an orgy that she’d forgotten about me when the door opened and she squinted out into the fading evening light.

“Susan?”

She was wearing her robe, but the glow was gone, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She forced a smile. “I must have fallen asleep.” Her anemic embrace alerted me to sharp angles and jutting bones that had been cushioned by shapely curves when I saw her three months ago.

“Honey, you’re thin. Must be too much shagging and not enough chocolate. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the—”

She flipped on the switch behind her, and it was evident in the harsh light of a bare bulb that, for all practical purposes, she had done nothing with the place.

She looked around and color rose to her cheeks. “I’ve been busy.”

“Things wild at work?”

“I’ve taken some time off,” came the curt reply.

In spite of all her big plans, Chapel House was still a church, complete with dusty pews and an altar covered in plastic drop cloths.

“I see the previous owner hasn’t moved out yet.”

She ignored my comment. “I’ll show you around.”

“No need. You showed me around last time. Just find some glasses and fill me in on all your news.” I followed her down a narrow hallway into a more recent addition to the building, added on to a small lady chapel no longer in use. It had become a kitchen and a couple of rooms for classes and meetings, now all divided off by hanging drop cloths, just as they had been when she’d shown me the place three months ago.

“You can sleep there.” On the floor behind one partition was a mattress with a duvet thrown over it. There was a dusty wardrobe in one corner and a backless chair for a makeshift night table. “Bathroom’s down the hall.” She gave a listless nod in that direction.

“Annie?” I took her in my arms. “What’s going on? What did you and Shag Boy get up to anyway that left you this exhausted?”

“Don’t call him that.” She pushed me away with an effort that seemed uncharacteristically fragile for the woman who had been her company’s best agent three years running. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

I took her hand and led her into the kitchen. “A glass of wine and a nice Chinese will set you right. You should have told me he’d be here. I could have come some other time, or he can stay. I mean I have earplugs, you know. And anyway, when do I get to meet him?”

She offered a shrug and shoved limp blond hair behind her ear. “It’s complicated.”

Isn’t it always?

I ended up drinking most of the bottle of chardonnay, and a lovely takeaway was wasted as Annie picked at her Mongolian beef and practically fell asleep at the table.

“Come on.” I took the glass from her hand and pulled her to her feet. “You’re exhausted, and I’m not sympathetic, but you can’t tell me juicy gossip when you’re falling asleep in your rice. Now which of these lovely rooms is the master suite?”

 

 

“I sleep there.” She shot a glance back down the hall toward the nave. “I like the way the moonlight comes through the big windows in the apse above the altar,” she added quickly.

“Are you the sacrifice?” I took her arm, surprised at her strength as she jerked away.

“I told you, I just like the light.” In spite of her protests, I walked her up through the nave, trying to ignore the disquiet clawing at my stomach as she shuffled up the aisle between the pews, past the transept and the chancel, to a pallet of blankets and pillows on the floor at the foot of the altar. The air was redolent with the scent of jasmine, but there were no flowers that I could see. A chill fingered its way up my spine.

“Annie, I’ve always known you were a little weird, but this is just creepy.”

“No really, look.” With a feline stretch, she lay back in a pool of moonlight and I caught my breath at the effect. It was as though she were lying under a luminous waterfall. In the monochrome tones of growing night, she appeared startlingly transparent. As the robe that she wore fell open, her nipples peaked, and the woman who had always been a little bit shy about her body tugged and shoved aside the robe until she lay naked atop the blankets, her pale hair spread across the pillow like a reaching halo. The moonlight exaggerated the arch and curve of rib bones way too visible for the woman I knew.

Goose flesh rippled over her rice paper skin, and for a moment, in her writhing and stretching, in the soft moan that filled her throat, if I hadn’t been standing there watching, I’d have thought her to be making love with someone. In spite of what my eyes told me, I gave a quick glance around the room to be certain we were alone, and even then, I wasn’t sure.

Annie was usually the take-charge chick, but action seemed better than letting myself be freaked out by what was probably, what was hopefully, nothing.

I sat down next to her and pulled the mound of tangled blankets up around her chilled body, tucking her in. Before she could protest, I laid a hand against her forehead. “Annie, tell me what’s wrong. Have you seen a doctor? Are you ill?” My insides knotted at all the horrible things loss of weight and constant tiredness might herald.

“No! No, Susan, nothing like that, I promise you.” She sat up and threw her arms around me in the most enthusiastic show of affection I’d had since my arrival. “Oh, Susan, I want so much to tell you everything. I can hardly contain myself, but I just get so tired. You’d understand better if you knew him.”

“Does he at least have a name?”

She squeezed my hand and lay back on the pile of pillows.

Outside, somewhere close by, someone was burning garden trash. I looked around to close the window, but none of the arched windows in the nave were open. Judging from the way my eyes burned, it must have been quite a bonfire.

Annie coughed and cleared her throat. “Please, Susan, if you’re my best friend, don’t ask any questions. Just let me tell you in my own time, in my own way.”

“All right. I’m listening.” A flutter of a breeze curled around the altar and rustled the plastic ever so slightly.

For a long time she didn’t speak. Her lips were the only things about her that were still full and shapely, but even they seemed pale and colorless in the moonlight. She smoothed the blanket carefully over her thighs. “I knew he was watching me even while Todd and I were still together.”

“Todd? You mean the married bloke?”

She nodded. “So many times I felt like someone was near me, looking out for me. I really didn’t realize who was pursuing me until after I broke up with Todd, about the time I moved in here.”

She lay silently for a few seconds, still smoothing the blanket unnecessarily. “I realized I no longer wanted to live without him. That was the first time our relationship became… physical.”

“Became physical,” I chuckled. “Right.”

She ignored my sarcasm. The bow of her mouth, the way she curled a lock of hair around her finger, made her seem childlike, innocent. “Oh, Susan, you’d understand if you knew him.”

I’d call the police if I knew him, I thought, all the while wishing the neighbors would stop with the damned burning already.

“I know you must be thinking I’m crazy.”

 

 

“Hon.” I squeezed her hand. “I’ve always thought you were crazy, so what else is new?”

She forced a jagged little laugh and continued, “He was so angry when I invited you.”

The disquiet I felt escalated into something a little more tetchy. “Jesus, Annie, he controls who your friends are? That’s really sick.”

“No, it’s not that. He’s been wanting to meet you for ages. He was angry that I waited so long to do it. He finally forced the issue. He felt I didn’t want you to know about us, that I was ashamed of him. I wasn’t,” she added quickly, “I could never be. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. In the end, he convinced me that you were someone who would understand.”

That I had somehow gotten this bloke’s attention made me feel slightly queasy. “What else does he know about me?”

“He knows everything, Susan. He knows what we’re saying now, what we’re thinking, what we’re feeling.”

“What the fuck is he, a mind reader?”

In the growing gloom, she seemed as insubstantial as the plastic on the altar. She pulled the blanket close around her with tightly fisted hands, knuckles chalk pale. “Susan.” Her voice was a thin whisper that I might not have heard in a place less silent. “This is going to sound completely barking, but I think he might be God.”

 

Buy In the Flesh Here for 99c/p:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Amazon DE
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords

 

“No one writes paranormal fiction like KD Grace. In penning her tales of myths and magic, she plumbs psychological and spiritual depths that most authors don’t even realize exist. Ms. Grace ignores tropes and conventions, following the trail of her stories down the rabbit hole of her own fertile imagination. The truths she unearths amaze, arouse, terrify and delight.” Lisabet Sarai

 
© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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