Description
Successful author, Malory G Holmes, has had a rough year. Wounded by an emotional breakup and writer’s block she returns home after eight months traveling to discover the startling results of a DNA test. Apparently, through her mother’s side, she is related to a baronet with an estate in Briarbay, Northumberland. She decides to visit the place to find out more about this unknown side of her family.
Selene Wylde is content with life, running a bookshop in the small hamlet of Briarbay. She also looks after her father, Reginald, who is grieving over the recent death of his husband, Sir Alan Guyatt. Reginald is worrying about his claim to stay at Briarbay Hall as the Will of Sir Alan has not yet been found.
With the arrival in her shop of a very attractive, well-known writer, Selene’s world begins to tilt alarmingly. Malory and Selene become entangled in a web of secrets and deceptions with the added complication of a rapidly growing attraction.
Chapter 1
Prologue
Malory lay back on the lounger, eyes closed, with the gentle sound of waves lapping the seashore washing through her senses. Their last day in paradise, otherwise known as Bermuda, and she didn’t want to waste a minute of it indoors. With an overnight flight to London, she was soaking up as much sun as possible before they had to leave for the airport.
The final two weeks of her self-imposed sort-of sabbatical had been bliss. Her best friend, Fran, had joined her after spending the first week of her summer holiday soaking up culture in New York. Malory thought that counted as work since Fran taught Art History at the University of Brighton, but Fran loved nothing more than trawling through galleries and museums. Not really Mal’s idea of fun.
She opened her eyes and sat up to accept the cocktail brought over from the beach bar. Time for one more Dark and Stormy, at least. The first sip was heavenly and she sighed in contentment. The peaceful moment fled when someone plonked another lounger next to hers. Fine. She didn’t mind if Fran joined her, although she’d left her best friend up in their hotel suite dithering over what to wear on the plane and what to pack.
But it wasn’t Fran. The blonde looked familiar and was smiling at her. Yeah, she’d danced with her, was it two nights ago? Serena, or something like that, from Durham.
“Hey, Gina. I thought it was you. Mind if I sit here?”
The voice in her head shouted, yes, I mind, the beach is practically deserted. But the typical Brit response kicked in with a softly uttered, “Of course not.” Malory remembered using her pseudonym when they met in the bar. It was always easier than explaining the origins of either her first or middle names. She wrote crime novels using her real name, MG Holmes. But she also had a series of children’s books published as Gina Towers. Gina came out to play at times like this when she didn’t want to spend her down time answering questions about her books.
The main reason for her escape from her life to spend eight months travelling was to avoid the relentless questioning from her agent and fans. Now, after all this time away from home, she still didn’t have an answer to: What are you working on now? Followed up by: Does your dry spell have anything to do with your relationship breakup with Bianca?
Why did people think Bianca Boothby was her muse? Malory sipped her drink and sighed. Once she was settled back in her cottage on the edge of the Sussex downs, creativity was sure to return. She looked over at the woman on the other lounger, sipping her own drink. Mal held up her glass.
“Last one. We’re heading to the airport soon.”
“That’s a shame. I was hoping for another dance.”
Malory couldn’t miss the double meaning. She’d felt the other woman’s disappointment the other night when the dance ended and she excused herself, claiming the need to sit down. Then she left the bar before the next song started. Later, standing on the balcony of her room, she wondered why she’d rejected the chance to accept the not-too-subtle invitation.
Now she was going to turn the woman down again. Swallowing the last drops of her drink, she stood carefully. Still steady on her feet, anyway, after two strong cocktails. Mal slipped the beach towel over her shoulder and picked up her bag.
“Enjoy the rest of your stay.”
She thought she heard the woman say—could have been better—as she walked away. Malory returned her empty glass to the bar. As unfulfilled as her non-existent love life. Definitely time to return to reality and the peace of her cottage with no external distractions to impede her writing process.
Maybe it was time to get a cat. Might as well live up to at least one lesbian stereotype. Malory smiled and gave in to the cosy image of sitting by the fire in her living room, cat purring on her lap, music playing softly in the background. One of Enya’s songs, “Only Time”. That would be appropriate.
Her room was as she’d left it, suitcase open on the bed, clothes strewn about. She had meant to pack up earlier, but the beauty of the day had lured her down to the beach. Her phone pinged. She glanced at the screen and winced. A reminder that the taxi to the airport was due in an hour. Just time to shower and pack.
With the hot water cascading over her body, another of Enya’s songs flowed through her mind. She hummed along, enjoying these last moments of tranquillity before facing the chaos of the long journey ahead.
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