Khwezi glanced back at Wayne with a wink. “Nothing.”
It was their secret. There was this puppy Khwezi thought Sara would like for when she traveled alone during her missions. He could’ve just paid for the dog, but he understood Khwezi’s need to earn this for Sara on his own.
The rest of the hike passed in silence until a trail of smoke coming from the direction of Dumile’s house told him they were close to home. The farm flourished. It had been a good summer. Soon, winter would set in, and if how high the birds built their nests was anything to go by, it was going to be a nurturing winter with a high rainfall. The grasslands could do with the irrigation. So could the fields Dumile and his people were preparing for the sorghum. The old man would make a reasonable profit by selling the feed to the co-op, enough to cover the building of his new barn and the few cows he’d insisted on having. Dumile had always had a weakness for a good Jersey cow.
Until the plans for the new house were approved, Sara, Wayne, and Khwezi lived in the cabin. At night, they sat around the fire and played a game with Khwezi or read a story until bedtime. The highlight of Wayne’s day followed after tucking Khwezi in. It was the moment he’d sit with Sara, listening to her day. It was the moment he could be a man for her, a man who loved to take care of her, even if she did a damn good job of it herself, and a man who took her to his bed.
There were so many things he wanted to talk to Sara about. He wanted to discuss the furnishings of the house, the design, the game, and bringing that new lion from up north. It was almost time to open the farm for the safaris that would start in winter, and he was thinking of buying a few buffalos and a rhino, the last just to tease Sara about that time they’d met. There were many things to say, and more to do still, but his thoughts were tranquil and content. For the first time in years, he slept at night.
“How about spaghetti and veggie balls for supper?” Sara said, breaking his amiable train of thought.
This time, Khwezi shot him a worried look. “Maybe Wayne should do the cooking.”
“Maybe he should,” his wife replied with a smile in her voice, and when she looked back at him, he forgot everything he was going to say.
About the author
Charmaine Pauls was born in Bloemfontein, South Africa. She obtained a degree in Communication at the University of Potchefstroom and followed a diverse career path in journalism, public relations, advertising, communications, photography, graphic design, and brand marketing. Her writing has always been an integral part of her professions.
After relocating to Chile with her French husband, she fulfilled her passion to write creatively full-time. Charmaine has published thirteen novels since 2011, as well as several short stories and articles. Two of her short stories were selected by the International Society of Literary Fellows in conjunction with the International Research Council on African Literature and Culture for publication in an African anthology from across the continent.
When she is not writing, she likes to travel, read, and rescue cats. Charmaine currently lives in France with her husband and children. Their household is a linguistic mélange of Afrikaans, English, French, and Spanish.
Books in the Seven Forbidden Arts series by Charmaine Pauls
Pyromancist (Book 1)
Aeromancist, The Beginning (Book 2)
Aeromancist (Book 3)
Hydromancist (Book 4)
Geomancist (Book 5)
Necromancist (Book 6)
Books by Charmaine Pauls
Between Fire & Ice
The Winemaker
Second Best
The Astronomer
Short stories by Charmaine Pauls
A Miracle for Christmas (Holiday Hopes Anthology)
The Ice Hotel Wedding Test (Frozen, A Winter Holiday Romance Anthology)
The Grayton Christmas Supper Contest (A Holiday to Remember Anthology)
Artificial Tears (Propose to Me Anthology)
Author website:
www.charmainepauls.com
To be notified when Charmaine’s next book is released, please join her mailing list:
http://charmainepauls.com/subscribe/
Available April 2017
Chiromancist (Book 8, Seven Forbidden Arts)
Bono Black is not part of Cain Jones’s taskforce. He’s merely their pilot. The minute he walks into a sex club in Amsterdam, he is no longer an outsider to the war on their beautiful target, Sky Val. Bono wants her like he’s never wanted anyone, and he’s a determined man. The only snags are three major obstacles. One, Sky belongs to the most dangerous sex dealer in the Netherlands who’d see her dead before he lets her go. Two, she’s undeniably involved in the murders of a senator and president. Three, Cain has ordered her dead. But time is on Bono’s side. Before the team leader slits her throat, they need information on her boss. With the interest Sky has shown in Bono, Cain decides Bono is just the man for the job, and that seduction will be his choice of arms.
Life has never been good or kind. From where Sky Val is standing, life looks infinitely bad. Her existence is nothing but physical and emotional torture, but one motivation keeps her going. It is a secret she can’t give up on. Bought at the age of sixteen for her forbidden art to manipulate time, Sky’s owner constructed the perfect jail to confine her. The invisible chains he put on her are much more effective than a brick and mortar prison. She will do anything her owner or his boss demands, even make the handsome, caring Senegalese pilot, Bono Black fall in love with her. Love is, after all, a woman’s best weapon when her mission is to steal a man’s secrets.
Every wise person knows things aren’t always what they seem, but the truth becomes muddled in a war where the good guys suddenly seem bad, and the devil like a savior. In an upside-down world full of dangerous secrets and supernatural powers, many hearts will be broken, but only one team can win. Which one of them will walk away with their secrets and life intact?
Excerpt
(This excerpt is unedited and subject to change.)
Outside the haunted house, Sky leaned on the fence, bending her knee to rest a foot on the wood. She broke off a piece of cotton candy and held it to Bono. He didn’t react immediately. He took a second to appreciate the sight in front of him.
Dusk had fallen. The air had a dusty-pink color. A comfortable breeze stirred the warmth of the day. A mixture of generator fumes and burned sugar wrapped around them. Laughter and ecstatic shrieks rose above the carousel tune. The atmosphere was thick with excitement and the unspoken anticipation of lovers for how the night might end. With the lights shining at her back, her body was a dark silhouette to him, every curve and dip begging to be copied by the hollow of his hand.
“What?” she asked, her arm still poised in the air.
Upon his silence, her half-smile started slipping. How could he tell her the things in his heart when he was supposed to protect his team?
The spun sugar had melted to a clump between her fingers. She slowly lowered her hand, but he grabbed her wrist and brought her fingers to his mouth, wrapping his tongue around each delicate digit covered in sticky, pink sweetness. The coolness of her eyes grew one shade of blue warmer as she watched him taste her. Her casual comportment didn’t change, but the sexual energy that drew her body and nipples tight was as palpable as the stiffness of his cock.
Coming to her senses with an inaudible gasp, she pulled her fingers free. He allowed her to deny him her taste, but he didn’t release his grip on her wrist. Gently, he dried her fingers on the hem of his shirt. A group of girls turned their heads as they passed, making wolf whistles at him and giggling behind their hands.
Sky gave them a hard stare, one that clearly said hands off. He liked that she showed her little claws on his behalf. It meant she was jealous, and if she was jealous, she had staked her claim, maybe not of him, but at least of this time they were spending together. Circling his arm around her waist, he pulled her delicate body up against his. She was warm and soft. Her breasts molded under h
is breastbone and her hips locked with his as if she was made for him. She didn’t fight him, but she didn’t embrace him either. The pliantness of her body was enough permission for him to lean forward, putting their faces so close he could feel the ghost of a vapor escape from her lips and smell her cotton candy breath.
There were so many things to consider, Doumar and his team for starters, not to mention that he was seducing her to steal information for Cain. Not even the knowledge of what a lowlife he was could drag him away from those lips. The lure was too strong. The only thing that could stop him, and save them both the heartache the truth would bring, was if she said no.
“I’m going to kiss you, Sky. If you don’t want this, now is the time to say so.”
Say no, beautiful. Save yourself. Tell me to fuck off, and I will.
Her answer was to hold his gaze and slip a hand around the back of his neck. Her skin was cool and her touch light. Everything about her was fresh and untouchably fragile, like a cloud in the sky. She was like a phantom energy, a mist in the night–too delicate, too intense, and way too fleeting.
Too late.
They were both screwed. He was breaking every rule in his book, starting with rule number one—never hit on another man’s woman.
“Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to run,” he whispered, blowing air over her lips as her tongue peeked out to wet them.
She kept her eyes open as his mouth came closer, like he knew she would. There was nothing scared in her breakable, vulnerable body. The kiss was sweet, and like her touch, light. He didn’t push for more. Something inside him warned him to take baby steps with her. He folded his arms around her and cradled her body against his, nipping at her lips while giving her what he sensed she needed most–warmth and comfort.
He only took what she offered until she broke the kiss. Her lips were red and plump, deliciously bruised from his stubble and teeth. It stirred a possessiveness in him that was scary, because she didn’t belong to him and while she was with Doumar she never would. They were on opposite sides of the fence, each playing for the enemy team. It was a cruel tragedy, a Romeo and Juliet kind of fucked-up situation.
Resting his forehead against hers, he pulled her against him for a quick hug. “Fuck, Sky.” The desolation he felt sounded in his voice.
She pushed back with her hands on his chest, regarding him as if she couldn’t figure him out.
“What is it, beautiful?”
“You’re not like other men.”
“Do you want me to be?”
“No.”
He gripped her chin in a soft caress, searching her eyes. “Then we’re okay.”
A tremble ran over her body. “I’m going home.”
Confused at her sudden change, he grabbed her arm when she turned from him. “I’ll take you.”
“I can walk.”
“I’ll walk you.”
She pulled free and started making for the exit, dumping the cotton candy in a trashcan on the way.
He caught up with her and moved around to block her way. “Did I do something wrong?”
She shivered and hugged herself, even if the night wasn’t cold. He pulled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, expecting her to protest, but she didn’t. The reason for bringing her here was to make her happy. He wasn’t going to let her go like this. Besides, he still had to get some answers, or Cain might decide to pull him out and kill her sooner. That wasn’t an option.
“Sky.” He took her shoulders. “Tell me.”
She rested her chin on her shoulder, staring blindly into the crowd. “Why didn’t you take advantage? You could’ve. I would’ve let you.”
“I want you, but not like that.”
She sniffed and looked back at him, the flicker of hope in her terrified eyes almost his undoing.
“It’s all right.” He pulled her against him and stroked her back. “We’ll figure it out. Will you let me see you home? I don’t like the idea of you wandering around alone this late at night.”
“You’re concerned about me?”
“Yes.” More than she could know. If she knew what were in the cards for her, she’d run from him. The pain of his betrayal was something he’d expected, but not the intensity.
“We’ll find a way,” he said, more to himself than to her.
He had to find a way to keep her safe. How to do that while saving not only himself, but also everyone else on the team, was a problem he didn’t yet have answers to.
Also Available
From Satin Romance
Pyromancist
Seven Forbidden Arts, Book 1
Charmaine Pauls
At the same time as mysterious fires commence to rage through Clelia d'Ambois' home village in Brittany, France, she starts sleepwalking. Daughter of a Japanese orphan, Clelia's heritage is riddled with dark secrets that threaten anyone she loves. In a recurring nightmare she sees Josselin, the haunted man who abandoned their village nine years earlier, come for her, but she doesn't know why. All she knows is that she has to run. As fast as she can.
Leader of a paranormal crime taskforce, Josselin de Arradon is called back to his hometown with a mission—find and kill the firestarter responsible for Larmor—Baden's blazing destruction. Sensing that Clelia is the key to solving the crime, Josselin kidnaps her to use her as bait. The battle doesn't turn out quite as he expected. Nothing could have prepared him for the truth, or the depth of his desire for his prisoner.
Excerpt
Chapter One
The dream was always the same. A helicopter circled in slow motion over the sea, the dynamic of its movement casting a net of circles over the water while she walked down the jetty like a bug to a windshield. Around her, the forest bordering the island was dark, and beyond it, the village was burning.
The helicopter dipped, turned–deliberate this time–and descended. Lower still. She could feel the wind from the propeller on her face, fanning the flames. It landed where the jetty expanded onto the quay. The metal body was motionless, but the machine continued to cut through the air. Swoosh.
Suddenly it all seemed wrong. Upside down. She could see the image of the craft disperse, as if she were seeing it through water. The sea beneath was weightless, atmospheric. Nothing. There was nowhere to fall. The blades made ripples in the liquid air, a pebble thrown into a pond. It was done. The stone had been dropped. The waves had to follow.
She could smell the ocean now, the fermenting seaweed that broke through the clean scent with every ebb and flow of the breeze. It mixed with the scent of wood turning to charcoal in the fire and the diesel from the boats. The hot carbon dioxide fumes burned her nostrils. Her senses were alive, indicating it was real, even as her mind urged her to pull out of her sleep. Yet, she stood watching like a rabbit rendered helpless by the hypnotizing headlights, its extermination a forlorn conclusion.
The hatch lifted. A masculine boot was placed firmly on the wooden boards. The tip of a long coat slipped from the seat, revealing the dark shine of the man’s pants. He had to fold his body double to fit his tall frame through the opening. His black hair, streaked with silver, fell loose down his back, the ends whipping up around his face in the wind of the blades. Her breath caught in her throat. It always happened the same way, and even if she had dreamt it repeatedly, his identity always shocked her.
Josselin de Arradon. He straightened unhurriedly and turned slowly, his gaze targeted on her, like he had known she would be standing there, at the top of the pier, at that moment, on that day. For a few seconds their eyes remained locked. She had frozen, and now he started to move. As he walked along the jetty, his dark coat lifted to his midriff, flying to the beat of an invisible fan. His hair billowed behind him. After the terrible tragedy, the strands framing his face had turned white overnight. His thigh muscles flexed and bunched as his flat boots hit the ground. His features were older now, mature, but his jaw had the determined set from his youth, and his gray eyes had the same haunted look. Jos
selin de Aragon was coming for her. She didn’t know why, but she knew it meant she had to run. As fast as she could.
Clelia d’Ambois woke with a start. Beneath her, she felt damp earth. Above her, she could see branches of the giant pine trees holding hands in the light of the moon. A cry escaped her lips as she shot upright. Snow, her wolfdog, sat beside her. He yelped softly. A little way farther off, she could make out the other three wolf hybrids, Rain, Cloud and Thunder, who started howling when she moved again. She couldn’t tell the time but morning wasn’t far. The faint light of the coming sunrise turned the distant horizon purple.
The pine needles rustled as the wind suddenly picked up. She shivered. Her cotton pajamas were wet from the dew. She felt Snow’s warm tongue on her arm.
Clelia took a deep breath and lifted her head. Usually she liked being in the woods before sunrise. It was like seeing a person who had just tumbled out of bed, with his face still unwashed, the night’s dreams still in his eyes. But this new thing frightened her. Her fear spoiled the untainted day’s beauty. Snow nudged her with his nose. She trailed her fingers down the white fur of his back.
“Oh, Snow. Not again. How long have I been here?”
Snow trotted to the outer circle where the other dogs stood guard. They immediately obeyed their alpha by falling in line.
Clelia got up and made her way back to her grandfather’s fishing cottage, her feet light but her heart heavy.
The cottage stood alone on the French shore of the Gulf of Morbihan, on the Island of Berder, the Breton name that meant The Island of Brothers. It was high tide. The sea had washed up to the stonewall of their terrace. Her grandfather Erwan’s small fishing boat was gone. He would have left at four in the morning with the turn of the tide. Beyond the smooth surface of the ocean, their house rose white against the black grass hill that would turn a luminous green in the light of the day. It was a simple home with a kitchen, bathroom, shower and two bedrooms. Around the back, they had a chicken coop for rabbits, hedgehogs, and turtles, a shed for Erwan’s fishing gear, and wooden houses for the dogs. The stray cats slept wherever they could, usually inside the house, as far away from the wolfdogs as possible.
Scapulimancist (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 7) Page 29
