Copyright © 2008 Maggie Toussaint
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
By reading this excerpt, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are younger than 18 years old, you must exit this site at once.
"Looking for something?"
Paint streamed off the end of Emma Heartly's paintbrush. Thin scarlet beads trickled down the splintery boards and pooled in the long late-summer grass. She slapped another brush full of color on the barn. Speckles of paint dotted her bare feet.
She needed a new direction, only she couldn't shake off the chains of the past. Those bonds shackled her to a dead-end job which paid too well and a boss who was her ex-boyfriend. To make matters worse, her saving grace, her escape route into a new career, cost too much money.
The loud thumping of her heart replaced the happy twitter of nearby birds. Paint fumes filled her head, dulling her remaining senses. Her field of vision narrowed to the blood-colored paint staining the old barn. Dreams. What a waste of time. Heartly's always ended up with shattered dreams.
Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd find a way out of this mess. She had to. She swabbed on the last of the paint from the can.
Something registered in her peripheral vision.
Something shiny.
Shoes.
Men's shoes.
"Aah!" She whirled. In what seemed like slow motion, an arc of red paint flew from her brush. It splattered across the crisp white fabric of the man's shirt and his striped navy tie. Oh. God. She'd ruined his clothes. She'd have to use her grocery money to replace them. Could this Saturday possibly get any worse?
She stared at the man, her heart beating wildly. Besides the splotches of red paint on his clothing, he looked like he'd just stepped off the pages of a glossy magazine advertisement. All right, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous, what wrong turn did you take to bring you here?