when an eccentric enchantress tricks her into drinking mojo-laced absinthe.
reality to have a serious melt down. She travels back in time and wakes up
naked in the bed of her favorite bad boy Bohemian artist, the tall, dark and
mysterious André Bosco. There’s nothing wrong with that except it’s 1903.
cherished model, muse and lover. The chemistry and shared passion between them
is overwhelming. André’s a generous-hearted dream man but there’s a catch.
Every hour they spend together bonds them tighter and time is running out. The
same powers that flung Maya back to 1903 are preparing to snatch her back.
it’s uncertain if they can find a happy ending without the help of a little
magic and La Fée Verte.
super hot sex with an unattainable man, enchanted hallucinatory beverages,
mischievous time-twisters and green fairies.
cluttered room that carried the distinct scents of male musk, linseed oil and
turpentine. A warm breeze blew through an open window. She rolled onto her
side, realizing she was lying on a rumpled bed—naked.
well-worn linen sheets close and darted a furtive glance around the room,
wondering where the hell she was.
blocked her view of all but the bed, which was surrounded by stacks of books,
puddled candle stubs and bits of interesting things like iridescent peacock
feathers, a scrimshaw pipe and a tortoiseshell comb.
there?” a deep male said with caution. “You’ve been lying down a long time. The
morning light is nearly gone. I’d like to get some work accomplished. Will you
be able to model today or not?”
same voice that had coaxed her upstairs. It was André Bosco. She knew he spoke
French but there was none of her usual struggle to comprehend and translate
what was said. It was as if French were her first and only tongue. His words
flowed with ease through her mind.
sheet around her and peeked over the screen. In the corner, a man who looked
exactly like the sketch of André Bosco sat near an open window, furiously
shoveling oil pigments from tiny jars with a blunt knife and daubing them onto
a glass palette.
sunlight lit his eyes a brilliant shade of golden- green. He grinned. “At least
you’re standing—that’s a good sign.” He returned his attention to the palette.
“For a while I was convinced I’d wasted my money on you.”
usually work with models. They’re a luxury I can seldom afford. You inspired me
to try something different and insisted I give you a day’s pay upfront before
coming here. I admired the unusual coppery glint of your hair so I willingly
paid. I prepared a canvas, got my hopes up and then you simply fell down and
forehead with her palm, exploring for signs of injury. This had to be a
delirious hallucination. A small amount of absinthe couldn’t possibly provoke
an effect this strong. Her heartbeat was steady. The room felt solid and Bosco
certainly felt real. What the hell was going on?
artist, an author, mother and wife. I write for Ellora’s Cave, Loose Id
Publishing and a couple new publishers to be announced soon. I try to bring a
touch of the mystical and a big sense of adventure to everything I write
because I believe there’s a bold, kick-ass heroine inside all of us who wants
to take a wild ride with a strong worthy hero.