Tuesday Tales is a weekly blog featuring diverse authors who post excerpts from their WIPs based on word and picture prompts. Today’s prompt is the word dance, and the snippet is from a work in progress temporarily called by the heroine’s name, Shale. Please visit the other fabulous authors at Tuesday Tales.
The man loomed above her on the stairs, his dark eyes questioning. A faint hint of the exotic flared about him, taking Shale by surprise. He gave off a hint of the otherworldly, not ghostly, but out of place or time somehow. She’d bet her boots he wasn’t from around these parts. Her glance flitted to the well-made masculine hand resting on the bannister. She had to stop herself from reaching out to touch it, just to make sure he was real. Boy, she had been immersed in spirit lore way to much of late. He was obviously just someone interested in what the old house had to offer.
Her eyes narrowed. Or had he come after the diary? Now whatever had put that thought in her head? She scanned his lapels for a telltale bulge indicating something hidden in an inner pocket. The only bulges she detected came from his having muscles in just the right places.
She swept upward to the next step. “Excuse me, I wish to go upstairs.”
“By all means.” The resonance of his slightly accented voice lingered on her skin as if he had brushed against her. He moved aside fractionally, not enough to let her pass.
Not a woman to be easily intimidated, even if this was the most devastating male she had seen in her lifetime, Shale braced herself and climbed another step toward him.
That move put her in close proximity to the stranger. Too close. His tantalizing scent heated her body, and his position above her made her feel even more vulnerable. Her eyes locked with his—major mistake. Silence filled the huge house, while all the oxygen seemed to be sucked clean away.
A half smile crossed his features, and his voice caressed her again. “I could dance with you like this all day, Miss Delaney.”
With difficulty she found her gumption and her voice. “Ms. Delaney. How do you know my name?”
“Gertrude Riley mentioned you might be stopping. Are you merely browsing or is there a specific item you’re searching for here in my house?”
She ignored his question. “You’re Mr. Zared then.”
He extended a hand. “Nicholai Zared, at your service.”
As if mesmerized she placed her own hand within his.
Warmth flooded her body. After a long moment, swallowing hard, she jerked away and pushed upward, past his substantial frame. She turned to look back, relieved she was now higher than he. It made her feel more in control. The man sent her fancies soaring, and she didn’t like it one bit.
Why did his bemused expression make her feel like he could read her mind? She furrowed her brow. “Dance over, Mr. Zared.” She hurried up the spiral toward the landing and the attic stairwell.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” His words echoed around her, cascading off the bare walls and ceiling, seeming to promise…something.
Get a grip, Delaney. He’s just a man, not a spook and certainly not a long lost paramour. With determination, she put her mind where it belonged—on the anticipated diary and the ancient female spirit desperate for her help.
Thanks so much for stopping by. Please visit the other fabulous authors at Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Paranormal Fantasy Romance