Gloucester Harbor (photo by Lisabet Sarai)
Welcome
to this week’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop! It’s finally June, which
means it is Pride Month. Over the next few weeks I’ll be
celebrating by sharing snippets from my (many and varied) LGBTQ
titles.
Today
I’m featuring The Witches of Gloucester. It’s an FFF
paranormal erotic romance that’s very dear to my heart, at least
partly because it is set in one of my favorite places, the coastal
town of Gloucester, Massachusetts. I’ve always felt there was
something magical about Gloucester. In this book I indulged myself
imaging just where that magic might have come from.
By
the way, I’ve extended my sale on this title from last week. It’s
still available for only 99 cents, until next Sunday.
Blurb
It’s
not
about
power.
It’s
about
love.
The
historic port of Gloucester, Massachusetts has a special charm, due
at least in part to its resident witches. For decades, raven-maned
Marguerite and red-headed Beryl have lived among its hard-working
inhabitants, making magic and mischief. Love and sex fuel their
supernatural abilities, but duality limits their power. To reach
their full potential, they need a third witch to complete their
circle.
Rejected
as
a
nymphomaniac
by
her
puritanical
boyfriend,
Emmeline
escapes
to
Gloucester
to
work
on
her
PhD
thesis.
From
the
moment
she
arrives,
Marguerite
and
Beryl
sense
her
erotic
vitality
and
unrecognized
paranormal
talent.
The
platinum-haired
beauty
may
well
be
the
enchantress
they
have
been
awaiting
for
so
long.
Now
they
need
to
show
Em
that
her
prodigious
libido
is
a
gift,
not
a
liability,
and
to
persuade
her
that
her
destiny
lies
in
the
sea-girt
town
they
guard,
and
in
their
arms.
The
Hook (Rated R)
Emmeline
perched on the rail of her tiny porch, watching the gulls wheel and
swoop among the masts crowding the sky. A man in a knit cap and tall
rubber boots balanced in a dingy, shouting to someone who looked like
his twin back on the wharf. One of the town’s many churches rang
six PM, but the sun still rode high above the inner harbor.
Honeysuckle blossoms growing across the narrow bay scented the air,
mingling with the closer odor of raw fish.
She
loved the sea, always had. Renting a cottage right on the water, a
space of her own where she could work on her dissertation in peace
and privacy – that had been her one dream after the nasty break-up
with Tim. Okay, so the place was hardly more than a shack, one room
plus a cramped bath with a cold shower, but it was painted lemon
yellow and had pansies in the box beneath its one front window. Not
to mention this back porch, the ideal place for her to hang out and
enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of the ocean. At night, little
waves lapped at the pilings that supported the rear half of the
building, lulling her to sleep. It was hard to imagine an environment
more conducive to study.
She
couldn’t seem to relax, though. She couldn’t focus on her work.
Since she’d arrived a week ago, there’d been a constant
undercurrent of tension running through her, a sort of mental itch
that made it difficult to sit in one place for any length of time.
Like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm, she bristled with electric
potential, with a sense of impending change.
Maybe
I just need sex.
She’d brought her vibrator, of course, but the recollection of
Tim’s ugly accusations held her back from indulging. “You’re a
nymphomaniac,” he’d complained. “An addict. Sex is all you
think about. You’re sick, Emmeline. You need professional help,
girl.”
Was
it true? Was she really sick? Nonsense! Sure, she needed help – in
the form of a man who wouldn’t reject her just because she had
strong physical desires. Wasn’t that what most guys pretended to
like?
What
about that guy with the boots? Would he be interested? She imagined
pulling her top over her head, exposing her bra-less tits to the sun
and his eyes. The denim between her thighs dampened as she imagined
the scene. He’d row his dingy over to her porch and gaze up at her
like Romeo adoring Juliet. A rickety ladder led down to water level.
She’d descend to his boat, kneel on the waterlogged planks at the
bottom, unzip him...
Bang!
Bang! What the heck? Who could be
knocking on her bright yellow door? No one but her mother knew
Emmeline was hiding out here, and Mom had sworn to keep the secret
safe. In particular, she didn’t want Timothy showing up, begging
for another chance. Everyone had told them that they made a perfect
couple, but she understood now just how false that perception was.
“Go
away,” she muttered to herself. “Nobody’s home.” The banging
continued, however. Maybe whoever was out there had caught a glimpse
of her out here behind the building.
Bang,
bang! The window rattled in its frame. Would they kick the door in if
she didn’t answer?
“Okay,
okay – I’m coming.”
The
door didn’t have a peephole. Hiding herself behind the door,
Emmeline peeked out through the wavy glass of the old windowpanes.
Two
women stood side by side on the short path that led from the street
to her door. Two very remarkable women.
The
one on the left made Emmeline think of a lioness. A gleaming black
mane framed her face, which featured high cheekbones and unusually
plump lips. Her caramel-hued skin flowed over finely balanced muscle,
alternately hidden and revealed by the royal purple cape that
fluttered from her bare shoulders. Underneath, she wore a brief,
sleeveless black dress that molded to her generous curves. As
unlikely as it seemed on a steamy June day in New England, the dress
appeared to be made of leather.
The
one on the right was as fair as her companion was dark. A storm of
red curls tumbled over her shoulders, catching glints from the
afternoon sun. Her chin was perhaps a bit too sharp, her nose a
little too prominent, for her to be called classically beautiful, but
she had a sort of presence that drew the eye and the mind. Like the
Amazon queen at her side, the redhead was taller than average, but
she had a slighter build, compact and athletic rather than
voluptuous. She was clad in a long Indian print skirt that grazed her
instep and a green cotton halter top which made it abundantly clear
she wore no bra. Brass bangles circled her wrists and her ankles,
tinkling softly when she shifted her weight. Perhaps it was just her
classic hippie image – though she could not have been older than
thirty – but Emmeline thought she looked familiar.
Both
visitors wore smiles of such warmth that Emmeline felt embarrassed.
How could she be so suspicious and inhospitable? She unlatched the
bolt and swung the door wide.
“Yes?
Can I help you?”
“Good
afternoon.” The redhead glanced at a scrap of paper she carried.
“Ms. Emmeline Scott?”
Suspicion
tugged at Emmeline’s spirit. She ignored it. “Yes, that’s me,
though I can’t imagine how you would know.”
“Electric
company records, Ms. Scott.” The lioness had a musical voice that
soothed away all Emmeline’s concerns. Indeed, when the woman paused
for breath, Emmeline ached for her to continue, to hear that melody
again. “Forgive us for what may seem like an invasion of privacy,
but we’re from the Ladies’ Welcome Brigade. When we heard through
the grapevine that a young woman had rented old Flaherty’s cottage,
we felt we should drop by and say hello.”
“Um
– that’s very kind of you. Thanks very much.” Emmeline suddenly
remembered how scantily she was dressed. Hot blood climbed into her
cheeks. She was annoyed to realize that her nipples had beaded under
her thin shirt and that her denim shorts had stuck to her skin.
“We
wanted to make sure you have everything you need.” The
copper-haired hippie picked up where the lioness left off. “We
thought you might be lonely out here by yourself.”
“No,
no, I’m fine. I need the quiet, the privacy. I’m working on my
doctoral thesis.”
“Ah!
That’s why you were looking for those old books. In my shop, over
on Main Street,” the hippie added.
“Oh,
right! I knew you looked familiar. I’m so sorry!” Emmeline had
thought the proprietress acted a bit odd that day, but she’d put it
out of her mind. Now she recalled how the inner itch had intensified
to a near-unbearable level under the woman’s stare. In fact, she’d
left the store without finding any of the titles she was seeking.
She’d been too uncomfortable to stay.
“We
brought you this.” From somewhere in the folds of her cape, the
lioness produced a pastry box. “Baked especially for you.”
“How
– how incredibly sweet...”
“They
are indeed sweet. Oatmeal, almond and honey bonbons. They’re my
special recipe. Good for you, too. I’m Beryl, by the way. Beryl
Robinson. And this is my dear friend Maguerite da Silva.”
Strangely
reluctant, Emmeline grasped Beryl’s outstretched hand. Weird
electricity buzzed through her as their skin made contact. She pulled
away as though she’d been burned, then blushed further at her lack
of politeness.
Find
all the buy links at
https://www.lisabetsarai.com/witchesofgloucesterbook.html
Remember,
the novella is currently marked down from $2.99 to 99 cents at all
outlets.
I
hope you’ll visit the other authors participating in today’s Book
Hooks.
