Spell of Appalachia

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 26,934
0 Ratings (0.0)

Stunned by personal tragedy and exhausted from overwork, novelist Onida Burke flees to her secluded cabin in the Appalachian Mountains to seek solace among the verdant peaks. Under the affectionate-but watchful-eye of her nurse, Delma Clack, Onida struggles to regain the hope and confidence she once knew. When a ghostly lover appears and takes her to new heights of ecstasy, she is unsure if he is real or a phantom embodied from the drifting mists.

His factory destroyed in a raging fire, entrepreneur Liam Cannan works feverishly to salvage what he can from the ruins. Throughout his ordeal, his thoughts keep returning to the lifelike dreams in which he and a mysterious woman make passionate love until he awakens shaken and exhausted.  He embarks on a quest to find this woman no matter who or what stands in his way.

Is Liam's search in vain?  Will Onida find happiness in her beloved mountains?  The answer lies somewhere in the all-encompassing mountain mists.

Spell of Appalachia
0 Ratings (0.0)

Spell of Appalachia

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 26,934
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Professional Reviews

Jenie P., Manic Readers Reviews, 4.5/5 STARS

"The love scenes are sensually hot and explosive. The writing is extraordinary and inspires the reader to come back for more. Loved it!"

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Excerpt

In this world, she was no longer Onida Burke. She was no longer pulled in every direction by editors, agents, and publishers. No one knew her in this place. There was no scandal, no clucking tongues and pity-filled glances. Here, she was safe from the past, if not the memories.

Her soul needed the solace and peace that only this place could offer. The many long and secluded weeks she had spent here throughout the past years were all that kept the dark nightmares at bay. The seemingly magical healing powers of this sanctuary had quickly become vital to her sanity.

Wrapped in the soft cotton quilt she had inherited from her grandmother, she listened to the muted sounds of her hazy valley below. The quilt's vibrant colors hailed the awakening day, urging it to burst forth into existence.

The resonance of her soul did not match the silvery music of the untouched morning; she was bone-weary and nearly crushed by the weight of what had happened almost two years before. That tiny ember of hope within, fading with each passing moment, threatened to suffocate as the awakening day approached.

She was lost in her musings when the air around her began to change. The sun had not yet brought in the filmy gray of dawn when an awareness crept along her spine and into her consciousness. It was a sensation that she had gratefully encountered on previous visits. She welcomed it now, voicing her relief in a faint sigh.

The hair at the top of her neck lifted, causing her skin to prickle. She tensed as a mockingbird trilled in the darkness. It was impossible to tell from which direction the bird called, so thick was the mist. This setting was becoming familiar, but it still never ceased to astonish her. Onida knew she was not alone.

He was suddenly there, soundlessly formed from the vapor that surrounded her. The power of his presence announced his silent passage into the physical plane. Before the first touch of his hands, the radiant heat emanating from his body warmed the back of her quilt. It was almost tangible in its intensity, this surreal energy that encompassed his presence.

Onida was afraid to move, fearing that the mere motion of her body would cause him to disappear as he had done so many times before. She knew it was him. No one else could invade her cognizance with such captivating urgency. It had to be him. Still, she dared not move.

As if by sorcery, the quilt lifted away from her shoulders and fell in a pool at her feet. The crisp morning air nipped at her through the thin white satin of her sleeveless nightgown. She shivered slightly, but soon became oblivious to the chill. It seemed an endless moment before there was actual physical contact. Was it really physical contact, though, when she could not be sure whether this was a living man, a phantom, or an invention of her lonely mind? When his hands finally settled upon the bare skin of her arms, his touch was cold as death and hot as the fires of hell. She responded with a rush of breath hissing through her parted lips.

The pain of the past months lay forgotten like the quilt at her feet. Her mangled soul ceased to ache as her body warmed under his touch. The two men lying in those graves weren't tormenting her at present. Raw guilt no longer devoured what was left of her spirit. She had ceased to care, if only for this moment. All that mattered now was this haunting apparition, the one who held his tense body just inches from her own, whose hands rested so deliberately upon her flesh.

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