Yay, this is up for preorder this coming Friday...
She
could feel his impatience. It hit her like a winter wind. Cold and unfriendly,
it bombarded her with slivers of icy annoyance and a shiver ran down her spine.
Jules reckoned she’d better tell him what he wanted and use her ‘knee him in
the balls and slam the door shut’ technique if he didn’t like her answer.
“Well,
Mr Reynard.” She spoke in a brisk fashion, as she did her best to emulate his
tone and pace and show none of the tension he invoked in her. Unfortunately—and
no doubt he’d see it as a weakness—she had to squint slightly to bring him into
focus. It wouldn’t be a pretty look. She’d taken enough selfies sans glasses or
contacts to know that. She peered at him closely to bring him into focus. “So,
how may I help you?”
Even
without twenty-twenty vision, Jules was now close enough to see and decide the
glance he gave her was along the lines of one you might give a not very bright
child. She gritted her teeth, determined to show nothing of how she felt. Which
was like a particularly unpleasant bug under a microscope.
“Well?”
she prompted him in as pleasant a voice as she could manage. When she’d gone to
answer the door, Jules hadn’t had time to put her shoes on and the old stone
floor of the cottage’s hallway wasn’t warm. It would have been oh so easy to
shiver, except she thought it would project a wrong image. She was not scared. Allegedly.
“I
wish to speak to Julia Frayne.”
Sheesh, is he a robot or something? Stuck on
one sentence? “You are
speaking to Julia Frayne. Oh, for fucks sake, hold on a sec.” She remembered
her old glasses, the ones she wore for gardening, were in her jacket pocket and
if she stretched out, she should be able to reach them.
She
managed and shoved them on her nose. All her suppositions were correct. A tall,
dark, dangerous sex on legs specimen of manhood was filling her doorway. A very
pissed off one.
The
expression on his face would have frozen molten lava. Even more now, she wished
she was wearing fuzzy slippers and a warm jumper. The look as well as the nip
in the air didn’t make her feel comfortable in her thin, strappy and long,
floaty skirt. Julia risked a brief glance downward and groaned inwardly. Just
as she thought, her nipples had responded to the chilly atmosphere and pushed
at the silky material covering them. Even though she was getting mighty sick of
the guy, one of Miss McMurty’s expressions floated into her brain and she gave
a stifled laugh. Sticking out like hat
pegs, lovey. She crossed her arms over her chest and ignored the fact she
was annoyed that her action looked defensive.
“You
think something I’ve said is funny?” he asked with a frown on his face. “I beg
to differ. This is no laughing matter. Impersonating someone—or purporting not
to know what I’m referring to—isn’t something to smirk about. You are not Julia
Frayne. And neither are you pregnant.”
Jules
knew her jaw dropped, and she stood and stared at him, mouth open. At last, she
found her voice.
“Half
correct,” she said, pleased her tone was almost as frosty as his. “I can assure
you, I am most certainly the former,
and have been for close to thirty years. Equally, I am certain I am not the
latter.”
For
goodness sake, she thought in
disgust, I sound like his clone with a stick up my ass. Very proper!
“Prove
it,” he said.
The
challenging tone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand upright, and
Jules lost her temper. It was a rare occurrence, but when it happened, friends
and relatives knew to duck. As her parents had often said, she lived up to the
red-haired virago scenario when necessary.
“Certainly.
I’ll fetch my passport.” She slammed the door shut, obviously taking him by
surprise, as he made no move to stop her. Damn
it, I wish I’d trapped his balls in there. Or at least his toes. Arrogant ass.
The
doorbell rang almost immediately, seemingly invested with his impatience. Jules
grinned to herself. She’d bet his finger was jammed on the buzzer, and it would
stay there until she reopened the door. Let it, she had more things to worry
about—like who the hell was he looking for? The bell began to ring in short
staccato buzzes. Well, Mr Whoever-you-are Reynard, you can bloody
well wait, Buzz Colonel Bogey and whistle, and if you hurt your finger, well,
tough. I’m putting my lenses in before I face you again. In addition, I’ll
maybe just wave my passport through the window.
It
only took a few minutes for her to put in contact lenses, swipe the mascara
brush over her pale eyelashes—she really must remember to book an appointment
to get them re-dyed—retrieve her passport from a drawer and return to the front
door. Nevertheless, in the short time she was away, the noise of the doorbell
continued non-stop. At this rate, the battery will stop before he does,
she mused, as she stopped in front of the mirror and checked just what her
uninvited caller might see when he looked at her.
Typically
Celt, she thought ruefully as
she eyed her red corkscrew curls, green eyes, pale skin that never tanned
properly and the myriad of freckles sprinkled over her nose. Never was she
going to be a page three girl—Thank goodness. But, as her mother used to say, “What
you’ve got is all yours!” Her strappy vest was now covered with a long, fluffy
jumper, and her feet had striped socks on. Not haute couture but warm and
serviceable.
Jules
checked that her dad’s old, sturdy golf umbrella was tucked away in its usual
place in the hallway—for poking her visitor, if need be—then slipped the chain
on before she opened the door as far as the security measure allowed. A foot
immediately inserted itself into the gap.
“Congratulations,”
Jules said sarcastically. “A bit slow last time, weren’t you? But be warned, Mr
Reynard, that’s as far as you’ll get. An expert fixed this chain. Now, if you
look to the window on your right, I’ll show you my passport.”
Jules
could almost hear his teeth grinding. Too bad. She had no intention of
handing her passport to a stranger. For any reason. She moved to the side of
the door where a small window brought a little more natural light into her
otherwise darkish hallway and pressed the photograph page of her passport to
the glass. Her—what? Intruder? Unwanted visitor? —moved slightly, without
taking his foot from the door opening and leaned toward the glass. After long
seconds, he stood back with a bewildered expression. He blinked, and tiny lines
radiated out from the corners of his eyes. Then he shook his head.
“Ah…”
he stopped speaking and shrugged.
“Satisfied?”
Try as she might, Jules couldn’t keep the satisfied note out of her voice. “I,
Mr Reynard, am I! Julia Frances Frayne. Spinster of this parish. Do you need
anything else?”
“Yes, actually. I want my wife. Julia Frayne.”
https://www.totallybound.com/taken-identity
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Love R x
Love R x
Great tease, well done!
ReplyDeleteGreat excerpt :-)
ReplyDeleteOh that last line is priceless. Great tease :-)
ReplyDelete