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.
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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?”
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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.
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