Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #frifreebits

I started a new book last week.  If you want to go back and check the info I shared...here's the link:
http://mizging.blogspot.com/2015/01/friday-freebits-with-ginger-simpson_9.html

Here's another "freebit" from Culture Shock:

She hummed as she went about the rest of her Saturday cleaning. Still, in the back of her mind, she wished she lived somewhere more presentable. How was she going to explain this rat hole without being embarrassed? She stood back and assessed the drabness. Maybe if she planned lots of fun things, they wouldn't have to spend much time at The Cairns.

She took a deep breath. "Stop it Cynthia! Kevin and Sara know you're just starting out. They won't be expecting the Ritz!" She laughed. They also wouldn't be expecting her to talk to herself as much as she did lately. 

Armed with her bottle of window cleaner, she pushed aside the tattered rags masquerading as curtains. Once her checkbook was back in the black she planned to buy some new ones. There was no use asking the super about replacements. He hadn't even fixed her lock. 

She misted the glass then wiped it dry. Why she bothered she didn't know. It must have been years since the outside was cleaned. So many water spots made it look as though she hadn’t touched the pane, but there wasn’t much to look at in the littered alley below. The scenic view fit the rest of the motif. 

She leaned in. Movement caught her eye in the form of someone seemingly pilfering through the trash bin. Maybe one of the vagrants she passed every day on her way to the station? 

She wasn't used to seeing so many bums and homeless people on the street, but this man didn't look like one of those types. At least she considered the person a “him.” Something vaguely familiar niggled at her--perhaps his frame, his hair. What was it? She squinted through the blotchy glass. 

He bundled something inside a blue wrapper then, glancing side-to-side, he poked around in the trash, appearing to move things about before tossing his package into the dumpster. He almost looked to be hiding something, and when he turned, she recognized the building super. 

You can find Culture shock on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Books We Love gave me the opportunity to breath new life into "Beside Myself."  The book was originally published only in paperback and not read by many people other than a few reviewers.  This is one of the snippets I saved because it really touched my heart.

"This is one of the most entertaining suspense novels I have ever read.  I do not however, recommend reading it at your desk on your lunch break because it is just too difficult to keep the laughter inside."

Keely Skillman

Reviewer for Karen Find Out About New Books and Coffee Time Romance (5 cups)

A Page Straight From Linda Nightingale #apagestraightfrom

Sinners' Opera by Linda Nightingale

Isabeau glimpsed a flash of color in her peripheral vision.  Wood scraped on brick.  Her head whipped left, and her heart did a double somersault and nosedive.  The star of the show stood at the head of the table, his mischievous grin and sparkling blue eyes for Isabeau alone.

“How ‘bout them apples?” Kirsty murmured.

“Good evening.”  His voice was an angel’s voice.

Heat flooded her cheeks.  “Good evening.”

The velvet ribbon had disappeared.  Sleek blond hair flowed to his shoulders.  The man was regal, sophisticated and handsome enough to stop a heart.  Charisma to the nth degree.  A flustered Isabeau smiled, felt she should curtsey.

Kirsty waved a hand at him.  “Please sit down, Morgan.  Sorry we’re late.”

He inclined his head as elegantly as he’d bowed on stage.  Through thick lashes, his eyes held Isabeau prisoner.  “I’m accustomed to rise when a lady comes to table.”

The other men shot to their feet.  His Lordship had reminded them to be gentlemen.  A few of the women glared at their escorts.  Some, like Isabeau, couldn’t surrender the vision at the head of the table.  How delightful to see Old World elegance teaching colonial gentry a lesson in proper etiquette!

“Ladies.”  The pianist shook back his hair, indicated their chairs with a graceful hand.

The bottom lip of Isabeau’s smile trembled.  What was wrong with her?  He was only a man—a man with glorious hair, enchanting eyes and a body to make a grown woman weep.  And he played the piano as if he had sold his soul to the devil.  In self-defense, a moment to breathe, she glanced at his hands.  The epitome of composure was twisting his napkin.

He waited until they’d taken their seats and resumed his.  With another of those Gabriel gestures, he flicked the creased napkin across his lap.

The woman seated to his right traced his cuff with a crimson nail.  A smile tugged at the corners of his luscious mouth, but his gaze didn’t waver from Isabeau’s.  Heat flooded her body.  Desire sizzled eye-to-eye.  I’m going to burst into flame.  Damn his arrogant hide, everyone was staring at her.  One woman craned her neck to see who’d captured His Lordship’s interest.

Isabeau’s head gave a drunken spin.  Bright spots sparkled in her peripheral vision.  Her focus narrowed to Gabriel’s blue eyes.  She tried to peel her gaze from his but failed.  Morgan’s eyelids flickered.  He glanced down, his lashes curled on his cheek.  Isabeau felt a silent snap as he broke eye contact, and her thoughts cleared.

The pianist turned to the woman clawing for his attention.  The dark-haired beauty leaned near him, her boobs threatening to spill from her low-cut bodice.  He twirled his wine glass, gazing at her as if he hung on every word.  No doubt about it, D’Arcy was one of those men born knowing how to please a woman.  The brunette looked like she was ready to strip off her Versace gown, kick off her Gucci shoes and do him on the table.  Would those Gucci’s be tucked under his Lordship’s bed tonight?  Isabeau lost her appetite.

Make mine jealousy lite.  I’m counting emotional calories.

Stupid thought.  She had no right, or reason, to be jealous of a man she didn’t know.  He probably turned down more sex than most men dreamed of.  She was engaged and intent on her career.  With a sharp flick of her wrist, she unfolded the crown of a napkin and glared at the salad plate.  A single red tomato topped spring greens and romaine.

“That green blush to your cheeks is very becoming.”  Her friend elbowed her.  “The renowned British pianist is watching you while that rabid bitch tries in vain to capture his attention.  Let’s talk about pianos.  Maybe he’ll come talk to us.  The program said he played—”

“Don’t, Kirsty Ann.”  Isabeau tensed, embarrassment blushing her cheeks.

Buy Link and web site:  http://www.lindanightingale.com