hristmas is less than two weeks away, so I thought I’d get in the spirit with an excerpt from one of my favorite holiday stories, Gray Christmas. The heroine is an arthritic senior citizen – like me – who just happens to write BDSM erotic romance – also like me. I guess you might say that this story is a bit of a personal holiday fantasy.
Blurb
You’re never too old for some holiday naughtiness
Widowed author Emma Granger has reconciled herself to spending Christmas Eve in snowy Boston, with a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio and her cat Vronsky. Her daughters have their own lives on the West Coast. Emma knows she can’t expect them to visit every holiday.
A loud crash from the apartment above her overturns her plans for a quiet evening at home. When she investigates, she meets Nick North, an energetic iconoclast with a gray ponytail, a silver earring and bright blue eyes that kindle feelings she’d thought were gone forever. Nick is her own age, maybe older, but his lean body and impish grin affect her as if she were a horny teenager.
Although Emma makes her living writing spicy romance, sex with a stranger seems ludicrous when you’re an arthritic grandmother in your sixties. Still, the attraction she feels for her charismatic upstairs neighbor appears to be reciprocated. A Christmas fling might be just what Emma needs to brighten her holiday.
Excerpt
I peered out into the gathering gloom, blinking away tears. Velvety fur brushed my hand, drawing my attention from the wintery scene to the unblinking green eyes fixed on mine.
“Yes, I know, Vronsky. I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself.”
“Mrreow,” he agreed, as I stroked the underside of his chin. Cats are so wise. Plus, he was probably hungry.
“Don’t worry, I have plenty of cat food. Would you like tuna for your Christmas Eve repast?”
In answer, the sleek gray feline leapt to the floor and headed for the kitchen. Half way across the room, he paused, swiveling his ears in my direction.
“Okay, okay. I’m coming!”
Trying to ignore the twinge in my hip, I unfolded myself from my cramped position on the upholstered sill and followed Vronsky toward the back of the apartment. I was emptying a can into his dish when a loud crash from overhead made us both jump.
“What the heck?”
Another sound came from the apartment above, a solid thud as though something heavy had hit the floor. The Russian Blue and I both froze, listening intently, but only silence followed.
“I should probably go upstairs to check on what’s going on.” The cat stared at the bowl in my hand. Taking the hint, I set it down in front of him. “Bon appétit. I’ll be back in a minute.”
My narrow brick building had once been a single family home. Now it contained three condos, one on each floor. Though I’d been in the second level unit for more than five years, I didn’t know the third floor occupant. There was a name on the mailbox, but whoever lived there was so quiet that the apartment might as well have been empty. That made the ruckus from above all the more alarming.
With as much speed as I could manage, I negotiated the winding staircase and knocked on the red-painted door.
“Hello? Is everything okay?”
“Humph—um—yeah.” A man’s voice, muffled, possibly in pain. “Yeah, I think so. Come on in. It’s open.”
The brass knob turned easily. I opened the door to a scene of chaos.
The living room had the same layout as my own, and like mine, was lined with bookshelves. Where I had my worn but treasured Persian carpets, the wooden floor here was bare. Across the planks, its base near the front window and its top-most needles almost brushing my sneakers, stretched a fir tree so tall and bushy I couldn’t imagine how it had gotten there.
A tinsel garland looped around the top, then trailed off over the furniture. A few ornaments still clung to the branches, but most had been scattered to the far corners of the room. Fortunately they appeared to be wood or clay rather than the fragile glass confections I recalled from my childhood.
The scent of balsam hung in the air. Evergreen needles littered the floor. A coffee cup, apparently knocked off a table by the falling tree, lay in a brown puddle near the fireplace.
“Made quite a mess, haven’t I?” A chuckle came from the far side of the room, an area hidden by the massive tree. “I should know better, at my age.” A male figure rose from behind the curtain of green, shaking his head and rubbing his elbow. “Banged myself up a bit, too. I always tend to overdo things.” He flashed me an apologetic smile. “Sorry to disturb you with all the noise.”
“That’s okay,” I replied automatically. “I wasn’t disturbed.” But I was disturbed, profoundly so, as I surveyed my upstairs neighbor. He had to be at least my age, but he exuded a kind of vitality rare even in men decades younger. His lean, wiry body seemed ready to leap into action. He’d pulled his gray-streaked hair into a low ponytail. The style gave him the look of an artist or maybe a revolutionary. His silver earring, Che Guevara tee shirt and faded jeans heightened that impression.
Webs of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and his mouth suggested he smiled often. Certainly he was smiling now, as he righted the metal step-ladder he’d been using to decorate the tree and used that to maneuver his way over the wall of bristling green that separated us.
“I’m Nick.” He offered his hand. I just stood there, speechless—me, the wordsmith who always had something to say—transfixed by the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Sensations I’d almost forgotten flooded my body. My cheeks burned. My nipples knotted under my sweater. A sweet pressure throbbed in my pelvis. My sensible cotton panties might even be damp, inside my sweat pants.
Uncharacteristically nervous, I ran my fingers through my cropped gray curls. If only I hadn’t listened to Jacquie. She’d insisted that long hair looked silly on a woman of my age. How did I end up with such a conservative daughter?
“Are you all right?” my companion asked, his voice full of warmth and concern. I shook myself out of my trance. I didn’t want him to think I was an idiot.
“Um—yes, sorry. I’m just amazed. By your tree, I mean.” I grasped his outstretched hand, noting the strength in his long fingers. “How did you ever manage to get it up here?”
He shrugged. “A friend and I wrestled it up the stairs. And of course they trussed it up in rope so we could take it away. It looked a lot smaller on the lot.” He gave me a rueful grin that made those astonishing eyes sparkle. “Guess I should have gotten a more heavy duty base.”
I glanced around the room, going into the problem solving mode so familiar from plotting my stories. He had a bay window like mine, which was where he’d been trying to set up the tree, but no window seat. Wrought iron tieback hardware protruded the window frame on either side, the remnants of some long-vanished fancy draperies. Just the thing.
“Do you have any rope? We could stabilize the trunk using those brackets.”
“Great idea!” I felt blessed when he beamed at me. “Let me dig around in the kitchen. Meanwhile, see if you can find someplace to sit—I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name…”
“Emma. Emma Granger. From downstairs.”
“Delighted to meet you, Emma. Be right back.”
He strode off toward the back of the apartment, all energy and muscle. I perched on a stool near the door, taking deep breaths and trying to calm my racing heart. My reaction to Nick’s physicality astonished me. I’d thought I was long past this sort of crazy arousal.
Buy Links
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N6JJIQD/
Amazon UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N6JJIQD/
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/691291
Barnes and Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gray-christmas-lisabet-sarai/1125380853?ean=2940153925790
Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/gray-christmas
Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1189334886
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33550862-gray-christmas
Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks.
