Like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm... #LGBT #Pride #ParanormalEroticRomance #MFRWHooks

Welcome to this week’s Marketing for Romance Writers Book Hooks blog hop!

Pride Month is almost over, yet I’ve hardly done anything to celebrate, despite my having quite a few LGBTQ titles (and dearly loving gender-bending and sexual diversity).

To partially remedy this omission, I have another excerpt from my FFF paranormal erotic romance The Witches of Gloucester. Enjoy! 

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.

SPECIAL BONUS: Also includes "Late Show", a contemporary FF erotic romance tale about second chances.

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.

“I hope we may call you Emmeline,” Marguerite purred. She took a step closer. Magnetism pulled at Emmeline’s already taut nipples, so that they lengthened and hardened further. A giddy rush of lust swept through her.

What was going on?

Buy Links (Ebook)

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DBB3ZTN/

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07DBB3ZTN/

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/832808

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-witches-of-gloucester-lisabet-sarai/1128809847?

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/the-witches-of-gloucester-1

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40234194-the-witches-of-gloucester

Buy Links (Audio)

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/The-Witches-of-Gloucester/dp/B07MJQSS2X

Audible: https://www.audible.com/pd/The-Witches-of-Gloucester-Audiobook/B07MQMS93Z

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks event!

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