Opera gets magical!
The Bel Homme Quartet saga continues in Book #2 with this mystical standalone story…
British member Jamie Stratton joined the world famous pop-opera singing group called “Bel Homme” for one reason only: money. It’s a year later now, and he’s rolling in it. But Jamie also possesses a spiritual side he can’t deny. He was raised by his gran at the most legendary place on earth: Stonehenge. She manages the gift shop there, and Jamie grew up in the flat over the store. His grandmother is an eccentric old bird who reads her Tarot cards and predicts true love is coming into Jamie’s life.
Jessica Evans is an American psychic medium from Illinois who’s always believed in astral protection—but then she’s assaulted by a man who does devastating harm to her family. While she lies near death in a coma, she dreams of a stranger who is her destiny. When she finally wakes up and needs a safe place to heal, a hometown tie to the American member of Bel Homme gives her access to the group’s secure compound in Royal Tunbridge Wells, England.
That’s when Fate steps in and brings Jamie and Jessie together. But in the midst of their timeless romance, Jamie must deal with a crisis involving his grandmother while Jessie is once again confronted by her brutal attacker—and Jamie is the only one who can save her.
Love or money: which would you choose? It’s Jamie’s turn to decide.
Please welcome author Cindy Irish to Brooke Blogs. She’ll be telling us all about a typical day in her life. Thank you so much for stopping by, Cindy! I don’t think it sounds boring at all. 🙂
My life is as boring as they come. I’m a watcher, not a doer. I’m a dreamer, not a schemer.
I get up around 7 and go downstairs. I rarely drink coffee. I drink a big glass of water. Sometimes I’ll have tea or warm water and lemon. I feed the cats. I go down another flight of stairs and boot up my computer that’s in a windowless room. That doesn’t bother me, actually, because outside stimulus distracts me. I like total silence when I write. Oh, I love music, but I only listen to a special song that’s connected to each individual story when I want to give my mind a rest and just daydream.
I check social media before I start on my writing.
But then I dig in and write, re-write, research, think, dream, imagine.
I eat breakfast around 11 a.m.
When I’m revising, I do it in multiple formats: on my computer screen, then on my tablet, then printed out on paper. Back and forth because every one gives you a different perspective to the work.
It’s sometimes really hard to come out of it and jump right into reality. When you’re having conversations with real people, you start rewriting the dialogue—both yours and theirs—in your head, too. You also zone out and meander into other mental states at odd times. This sounds rather psychologically unstable, but it’s not. Your mind is quite clear on a critical level. You just go off in tangents with the characters you’ve created. I can’t tell you how many times I’ll be talking to my mother on the phone, and then I’m gone somewhere else because an idea has taken hold. Suddenly, I realize there’s dead air, and she’s asking me where I just went! Or I’ll be talking to my husband and realize I’m just sitting there, staring at him. I come back to the present without even being aware I’ve been gone.
I’m a loner—or now that I’m reading this, maybe it’s more that others avoid me because I’m weird!
I make dinner around 5 p.m. Sometimes, if I’m brain-dead, I can’t do anything else but sit there in front of the TV like a zombie and do nothing. I like watching Two and a Half Men to unwind. I like ending my days watching The Golden Girls. Both those shows are very well-written. I like the work of Aaron Sorkin, who wrote West Wing and The Newsroom. I just received all the seasons of Downton Abbey on DVD, and I’m going to glom that. If you analyze the show, HOUSE, you’ll notice what great writing it has. You learn timing in writing when you watch good-quality TV.
I love the Hallmark Channel, too. I like ending my day with shows on specific channels like National Geographic, The Smithsonian Channel, The History Channel. I love Through the Wormhole and Monk, although they’re not on right now. (They need to bring those reruns back!) And, get ready to throw spitballs at me, but I love watching The Kardashians. I know! There’s something wrong with me, but I love how they stick together through thick and thin. It sounds like I watch a lot of television, but I really don’t.
I write before I go to bed, which is usually not until after midnight. I do this almost every day.
“Okay.” Jessie started sliding back and forth. “But I’m really gonna move this time so try to keep up.”
The horny, arrogant Jamie showed his true colors. “You think I’m all passive and proper?” He felt nothing like the sedate British gentleman now. “Here’s a warning, luv. You’d better hang on because”—he used an American accent—“I’m gonna getcha!” Around her giddy laughter, he cupped her bottom and started maneuvering her in a faster rhythm, plunging up into her as he manipulated her down. Abruptly, he rolled them over so he was on top. He went up on his knees. “You want action, Yank?” His fingers digging into her skin, he grabbed her hips and jerked her closer. “I’ll give you action.” And then he dropped down and rammed deep.
Jessie cried out from the split-second pleasure he was shockingly capable of stoking in them both. “Oh, my God, aren’t we full of surprises!” He grew wild under her hands, and she thrilled at the magnificent results of his pathos. Moving with a panther’s grace and a lion’s imperious demands, he pounded into her, relentless in his pursuit. She was being bounced and buffeted, his overwhelming strength unexpectedly raw.
Jamie lifted and looked down. “This and more, luv.” His stamina unleashed, he didn’t play it safe and cool now. “I want this and more.” He grasped her legs and lifted her higher into his downward thrusts. “Show me what you’ve got.”
No soft words. No kind understanding. Nothing but a man’s possession and adjuration, and Jessie laughed out loud as she rose to his commands. If indeed that’s what this was, she relished the competition. Angling her hips, she answered back, using the undulation of feminine muscles, both inside and out, and in no time at all, she was the one in control.
They moved in lilting harmony on their way to mindlessness. The payoff came when they did, climaxing in that space in time like no other.
How much more could his awakening heart take? he asked himself as he sank down onto her, wasted and complete.
How much more perfect could an orgasm be? she wondered as she gathered him close and cradled her redeemer.
Harsh breathing. Hearts pounding. Total and utter fulfillment. The flawless consummation of two made one.
“Jamie,” she whispered seconds later, “is this love?”
He smiled and kissed her sumptuous breast. “At the very least.”
About the Author
Cindy Irish writes Contemporary, Paranormal, and Speculative romance fiction. She’s a member of The Authors Guild, Romance Writers of America, as well as the Mid-Michigan and Greater Detroit RWA chapters.
Cindy lives in Michigan with her family.
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