Pick a Genre Already: #MySexySaturday Decisions and Sacrifice

Friday, 21 March 2014

#MySexySaturday Decisions and Sacrifice

Welcome to the 41st week of My Sexy Saturday where a bunch of authors get together and share 7 paragraphs, 7 sentences or 7 words of a sexy snippet from a WIP or published work.

This week our topic is all about those difficult decisions and the sacrifices couples sometimes have to make for the ones they love.

I chose this snippet from time-travel erotic romance
Lost Time.

Blurb:

Within this frame, his curse is time…

Hannah Keys thinks she’s setting off on the trip of her dreams—a month in England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland—but after one mishap after another—beginning with her best friend abandoning her in the airport and ending with the man of her dreams dead—she’s renaming it the vacation from hell.

When Hannah Keys discovers a four-hundred-year-old portrait in Wales, she is intrigued and somewhat saddened by the handsome Highlander portrayed by the artist’s masterful, lifelike strokes. But when she runs into the majorly hunky model for the painting—in the flesh, in the middle of the night—she learns first-hand all about masterful strokes when she shares a night of medieval passion with him.

Lockhart Munro has been cursed inside the portrait until he meets Hannah Keys. For four hundred years, no one has heard him or seen him, let alone touched him. The one woman who can do all these things may be the key to his long-awaited freedom.

But if Hannah sets Lockhart free from his prison, will she be cursed to spend the rest of her lifetime without him?

Or perhaps freeing Lockhart will be just the beginning…

Excerpt:

“You seem very moved by the paintin', lass. Almost as if it were real to ya. It was speculated in the documents that I have read… It was believed Lockhart could move outside of the paintin'. Is it true? Have ya seen him, lass?”

“Yes,” she admitted, no longer caring if he though her crazy, but the warm empathy in his eyes undid her.

“I am not one to baulk at things that I do not understand. I’ve seen things in this very hall that I cannot explain. But if ya have broken the curse for Lockhart, by returnin' him home, then allow yourself to feel relief for him that he is in a better place. He should have been dead for at least three hundred and fifty years, lass. You’ve freed his soul to find its rightful resting place. He is finally at peace. Take solace in that.”

But now, would she ever find peace? “May I have a moment,” she gulped, not wanting to hear his words. To her, Lockhart had been very much alive only a few hours ago. And he’d never been given the chance to live his life. It was so unfair.

He bowed formally. “Of course.” She watched him walk away.

Hannah placed her back against the wall and slid down it dejectedly. “Why didn’t you tell me that you would never come out again? Or did you and I was too stupid to understand the consequences?” She sighed. “And here we are—in your home, just as you wanted, and your descendents are here. What happened to ‘There are secrets in the paintin', lass, they’ll know what to do’? You knew that just bringing you back would set you free.” She slammed her elbow against the wall in anger. “I would have stayed with you, you know. I meant it when I said that if I met a man like you that I would stay. I would have made it work somehow even if we’d only been given whatever time you were allowed to be free of the painting. It would have been enough.” She wiped her face.

“But maybe Llachlan is right. After so many years of desolation and loneliness, freedom is your reward. And I should not be selfish for I will only have to endure one lifetime without you.”

She didn’t know how long she sat there before Llachlan stood over her.
“Come, English, there will be no more cryin’.” He held a hand down to her.

She looked at him, shaking her head slightly, remembering Lockhart calling her ‘English’. “It’s Hannah. Hannah Keys,” she said, placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her to her feet.

He grinned. “How appropriate, Miss Keys.”

She blinked, swaying forward into his arms, feeling quite dizzy, the tunnel vision returning. “He looked just like you,” she whispered, touching his cheek. Llachlan held that same pulling magnetism that Lockhart had.

“So I’ve been told,” he said, setting her on her feet. He stroked her wet cheek. He backed her against the portrait, his eyes on her lips, as if he might kiss her.