We had such a fabulous afternoon on Saturday with a group of absolutely gorgeous ladies who arrived for afternoon tea and Pimms to celebrate the release of Under the Full Blooded Moon. We put up a couple of gazebos and the sun graced us with its presence, so much so that we all sat around in a state of gentle tranquillity and enjoyed each other's company.
We had sandwiches with the crusts cut off and plenty of little cakes, the recipes for which I will be posting over the next few days.
It's release day today, if you'd like to get your copy, please follow the links:
Since he lost his father and his childhood at the age of ten to a witch’s curse, cynical journalist Stuart Caldwell has searched the world in his quest to find the key to his family’s centuries-old curse.
What he finds when he lands on the Scottish island of Breggar is far from what he expects. Instead of a battle to the death with the cruel enchantress he believes resides there, Stuart finds he’s the one in the firing line, and the target is his heart.
A wave of tiredness swept over him as he rounded the corner of the house and came to a standstill.
She was there. The lush grass under her naked feet, the brilliant sparkle of sunshine on the water behind her almost blinded him, while the white-streaked sky framed her dark beauty. Her wild locks churned in the wind as she fought the sheet she attempted to put on the line until she could pin it down with wooden pegs.
Unable to tear his eyes from her willowy form, he waited while his heart thundered and his pulse raced.
The brightness of the day just served to make her stand out against her background as she bent to retrieve a pillowcase. Her struggle far less than before, she bent once more, flicked out the last pillowcase and punched the pegs onto it to tether it to the line.
Fascinated, Stuart crossed his arms over his chest and squinted against the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. Pleasure rippled through him at the simplicity of her actions, the fluidity of her moves. Somewhere in his hesitant thought process, he recognized the surge of passion which had his blood thundering through his veins. The swift rush of it filled his ears until he could hear nothing. He couldn’t attribute it to jetlag, but to the undeniable beauty of the woman who drew him to her with her quick, efficient moves.
As the wind whipped her long hair over her shoulder and she turned in his direction, she froze at the sight of him. Her green gaze glowed from a face as pale as porcelain.
Storm clouds rolled in thick and furious behind her to blot out the brightness of the day. The wind lashed at her long, dull brown dress and made a vicious grab at her hair. Stuart’s stomach lurched in confusion and his vision tunneled to narrow in on the apparition before him. Water churned thick and fetid, rising over her ankles to drag at the material of her dress.
Her gaze entranced him while she reached out a ponderous hand, ragged nails blackened with dirt clawed the air in an entreaty. Emerald eyes pleaded with him as they swamped with tears. Her full lips quivered while she begged without words for his help and wrenched at a little part of his consciousness like a memory dredged from deep within.
Dizzy, he raised a hand to his forehead and blinked, convinced he’d lost his mind. He sucked in a deep breath and fought the confusion, pushing back on the darkness.
The picture flashed negative in his mind's eye followed by a blaze of vibrant green grass, bright sparkles on the white spume of the sea, and a clear azure sky.
Tempted to shake himself, he ducked his head to stare at his feet as a wave of nausea struck him. It had to be jetlag. There was no other explanation. While he hauled in another lifesaving breath, powerless to stop her move toward him, he swayed on his feet. Perhaps all he needed was to rest in a darkened room, rid himself of the powerful vision still vivid in his mind.
“Stuart? Are you all right?”
Not yet ready for her, he raised his head, his pulse raced fast and erratic.
He wanted to ask her how she’d done it, but the look of genuine concern made him falter.
Whatever she’d done to him, it had left his mind in a pure fog and evaporated his ability to speak. He raked his gaze over her with narrowed eyes and felt the ground solidify beneath his feet again. “I’m fine.” His voice thick and rusty, he gave a small cough to clear his throat.
“Are you sure? You’ve gone very pale.” She reached out one elegant hand, clean nails clipped square, and touched her cool fingers to his cheek. He may look pale to her, but fiery heat rushed to his face, to scorch his skin so only the gentle graze of her touch could cool it.
With no thought to his intent, he pressed his hand against hers to hold it against the blaze of his skin. Her fingers gave an almost imperceptible spasm, but instead of removing them, she brought her other hand up to cradle his face.
Lost in the misty depths of her sea green contemplation, Stuart took one of her dainty hands in his and placed a kiss in her palm.
She curled her fingers inward and tucked the kiss inside, warming his heart with the simple action.
Time slowed down so when he dipped his head, he knew without a doubt in his mind he was about to kiss her sweet, lush mouth, which curved in secret invitation.
So secret, it appeared Ruth had no idea of his intention as she dropped her light hold on him and stepped back.
“I think you should sit down before you fall.” She gave a flick of her fingers in an airy wave at the picnic table and bench, but her accent had thickened through the husky tones of her voice. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
She was gone. In the blink of an eye, she disappeared. Bereft he gazed after her.
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Where to Find Diane Saxon
Website - http://dianesaxon.com/
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/authordianesaxon
Twitter - https://twitter.com/Diane_Saxon
Amazon Author Page http://www.amazon.co.uk/Diane-Saxon/e/B00DDL4C5W/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
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About the Author
Diane Saxon lives in the Shropshire countryside with her tall, dark, handsome husband, two gorgeous daughters, a Dalmatian, a one-eyed kitten, a ginger cat, six chickens and a black Labrador called Beau, whose name has been borrowed for her hero in For Heaven's Cakes.
After working for years in a demanding job, on-call and travelling great distances, Diane gave it all up when her husband said, “follow that dream”.
Having been hidden all too long, her characters have burst forth demanding plot lines of their own and she’s found the more she lets them, the more they’re inclined to run wild.