St. Patrick’s Day Blog Hop
I’m starting by sharing an excerpt from my M/F erotic romance novella, The Other Brother. It’s set in New York, but one of the characters is of Irish descent, and even shares the saint’s name…
When you’ve checked out the snippet, scroll down for fabulous prizes and to check out the rest of the blogs on the hop!
Melodie Carr reluctantly clicked delete on the e-mail with a disappointed sigh. She couldn’t contribute to the charity calendar for the Hero Family Fund, a cause very close to her heart, because she didn’t know anyone suitable to photograph. Although her photography work varied—from children to pets, landscapes to portraits, she’d done a bit of everything—she got the impression the call for calendar models sought hunky guys to create a collection to make women swoon. Unfortunately, she didn’t work with professional models and therefore had to give up on the idea. A cute dog, something she had plenty of images of, simply wouldn’t cut it.
She might not be able to contribute, but resolved to find out when the calendar would be available and do her bit to help by buying a few copies. Some eye candy on her wall would definitely not go amiss, and her friends Poppy, Lola and Charis, and her grandmother, Joyce, would no doubt appreciate it. She grinned. Joyce, always good fun, said, there’s no such thing as too much eye candy. The saucy old broad.
Her smile faded. She missed her, having not been back to Boston to see her friends and family for a while. She should ask Joyce to come and visit her in New York—she hadn’t traveled much, and would love the hustle and bustle, the endless opportunities to people watch. Maybe Melodie and the rest of the family could buy her a ticket for her birthday. She’d have to give it some thought. It sure would be nice see a familiar face, other than via Skype.
Someone pressed the buzzer to her apartment and she sighed again. It was probably a delivery driver trying to get into the building. It wouldn’t even be a package for her.
Taking her time getting to the intercom, she hoped whoever it was would go away. No such luck—the buzzer squawked again. She inhaled deeply, trying to rein in her annoyance and avoid being rude or abrupt.
“Hi,” a male voice said. “Are you Melodie? Melodie Carr?”
“I am.” A caller looking for her? Had she ordered something and forgotten about it? “Who’s calling?”
“It’s Patrick,” the voice replied. “Patrick Brogan.”
“Patrick….” Speechless, she laid a hand on the wall to steady herself as the bottom dropped out of her world. Evidently, running to New York—albeit under the pretense of a good career move—hadn’t been enough. Her past still followed her, still tried to flood her with reminders of what she’d lost.
Damn, the man’s persistent. She never should have admitted her identity before asking his. She could have told him he’d gotten the wrong place and sent him away.