When you wake up in a strange room, that's bad, but when you wake up in a strange body, time, and everyone hates you, that's REALLY bad...and terrifying.
What do you do when your last memory is being skewered to death and your next is waking up in the body of another, thousands of years in the future?
You set out to be yourself and win over these future beings of course, because for some reason, the gods of your time have decided this is where you are supposed to live out the rest of your life.
Follow Siri as she belly dances, laughs, and teases her way through the distrust of the woman whose body she now inhabits, turning an entire household of haters into her staunchest fans...except for him. Can she win him over, or is he determined to only see the shell of who she used to be?
Jason lifted the bottle from the bottom drawer, twisted the top open, placed it to his lips and chugged. The liquid, nasty and foul tasting, burned a long path all the way into his stomach. There it formed a blazing ball of misery, so Jason chugged again and slipped into the blood red leather chair, propped his feet up, and tipped the bottle back again.
As the warmth in his stomach radiated, his nerves began to settle and his words came back in bold detail.
Oh God, he thought, snapping his feet back to the floor. He told Siri he was filing for a divorce in the morning.
I don’t want to file for divorce—do I? Not yet! Later, most definitely, but not yet!
That’s ridiculous! I should get a divorce now. Wouldn’t it be better to cut my losses and get on with my life?
Despite his threat, he knew he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning custody of his beloved daughter. Once Joanna’s memory returned, she’d have him for fraud and anything else her evil little mind could come up with if he took her daughter.
Until her accident he wouldn’t have thought Mandi meant anything to Joanna, but Siri, could not be a more loving, attentive mother.
Where did that leave him? Right here, if he wanted to be.
It was quite obvious Siri didn’t want him to leave. In fact, it was quite obvious Siri wanted him. God, she went up like a Roman candle in his arms.
So why am I down here drowning my sorrows in a bottle of Irish mash? Why not upstairs buried deeply inside Siri’s volatile heat?
Cause I’m an ass.
A lesser man would have taken all Siri offered. It didn’t mean he had to commit to her. But as long as he was the husband, wasn’t he entitled to the fruits of his wife’s bounty?
He could see no reason to be locked in this awful room, pickling his innards in 120-proof grain alcohol when his body was strung tighter than a hot wire.
He’d played the good husband long enough. It was time he got his. Dammit, she owes me.
He’d been incredibly loyal to the heartless wench.
Jason set the bottle down with more vigor than finesse. It caught the edge of the desk, tipped over, and sloshed all over the side of the desk onto the thick sponge of the imported carpeting.
Joanna was going to have his hide. In that case, maybe he should just have hers first.
Righteously, Jason stumbled to his feet and tried to stand straight. The floor was drunk.
“Can’t handle your mash!” he accused the spreading stain. “Shame on you.”
Teetering against the rolling of the boozing floor, Jason managed, with much effort, to reach the door, but the stubborn thing refused to open. He dropped to the floor staring perplexed at the offending doorknob.
“Wanna keep me in here just in case the floor ties one on?” he asked the door. He turned his head and waited, but the door remained silent. “Not gonna answer!” He looked around the room, zeroing in on the mantle. Maybe there was a secret panel leading directly to milady’s boudoir. He’d read plenty of adventure stories when he was a kid, and there was always a secret passageway between the study and the lady-of-the-manor’s bedroom. Wasn’t Joanna’s great-great-great-great-whatever a pirate? Anthony Moore would have sunk the ship, but the great-great…now there was a brigand.
No self respecting brigand would have built a study without a secret passageway.
Jason stumbled back to his feet. The walls were crooked. Glancing back at the floor, he scolded the floor for feeding its mash to the walls, too. “Bad enough you had to sink into the pits of intoxication, you had to take the walls with you. You’re not nice Mr. Aubusson.”
The carpet ignored his rebuke, and the mantle seemed an awfully long way away. Either that or he was taking baby-steps, and for the life of him he couldn’t think why he would be doing that. Any more than he could figure out why the mantle curtsied for him. “What is this?” he drawled. “Don’t tell me now you want to dance?”
He stumbled over his own feet, reached out and caught the mantle ledge “I don’t think this is the right position for belly dancing, but hell, I’m game.”
The mantle dipped, swung, and spun him around until he felt quite dizzy. “Look Old Girl,” he said to the mantle’s carved trim, “this has been fun, but I’ve got to find that passageway. Don’t suppose you’d care to save me from tripping my fingers all over you by telling me where to look?”
The mantle remained stubbornly mute.