Heather at the Between the Sheets blog generously created the Where's the Love blog hop to help celebrate Valentine’s Day. The rules were pretty simple, participants should post an amorous, but nothing x-rated, scene they've written. What could be more fun.
I toyed with posting something from DWARFED, but since I always use that for my Sunday posts, I decided to post a snippet from a novella I started writing a few weeks ago. When all is said and done, it’s going to be a sweet (chaste) historical romance. Since life knocked me off schedule last week, I had to jump ahead and hurriedly wrote my snippet late last night. It’s still very much a first draft so I apologize for the mistakes, and for going a bit over the 250 words.
I'm pretty sure the snippet stands on it's own and doesn't need much explanation or set up. I am hunting for a title and welcome suggestions. It's going to be a shortish, Regency era Christmas story. The main character, Maria, creates bee's wax sculptures.
“What are you doing?”
Oliver rested his cheek on Clover’s roan flank and studied her. “I assumed it was obvious.”
“There’s no need for you to do the milking. I’m well enough to handle the chore myself.” As soon as the words were out of Maria’s mouth, she wished them back. They sounded so harsh, so unappreciative and rude. Considering everything Oliver had done for her over the past few days, everything he’d sacrificed, he didn’t deserve to be mistreated, her only excuse was that the sight of him wearing his expensive clothes while milking Clover unsettled her.
Amusement danced in the depths of Oliver’s gray eyes. “Is that so?”
Something in his voice unleashed a sensation, equal parts anxiety and anticipation, in Maria. The uncomfortable sensation spread from the middle of her chest all the way to her toes. She sucked in her breath and took a step backwards.
Oliver moved the bucket of warm milk out of the cow’s way and rose from the stool. A smile hovered about the corners of his mouth.
Maria swallowed, desperate to ease the dryness in her throat. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she twisted her fingers together and pressed them to her jumpy stomach. “Yes.”
Oliver loomed closer. She shifted backwards until a support beam pressed into her spine. He lifted his hand, Maria smelled a faint hint of Clover’s clean, earthy scent clinging to his skin, and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, allowing his fingers to linger. Oliver leaned in, his warm breath washing over her face. “Good.”
Maria licked her dry lips. She gestured blindly at Clover who watched the pair of them, her expression one of pure bovine patience. “I can finish the milking … and the rest of the chores while you prepare to return to London.”
Oliver placed his brow against hers and chuckled. “I don’t want to.”
“Oh, than what do you-“ His mouth covered hers, silencing her words and wiping her mind of thought.
Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read my snippet.