My Sunday Snog this week comes from my latest release, In Love's Own Time, from Rebel Ink Press. It's a time travel, paranormal, contemporary love story!
Here's the blurb and the excerpt with links to follow:
There may be no place like home and nothing like love…..when history teacher Lillian Dorsey inherits a three story Edwardian brick mansion from the grandfather who banished her pregnant mother decades before, it’s a no brainer. She’ll visit the place, see it and sell it. Instead Lillian’s captivated by the beautiful home and intrigued by the ghost of the original owner, Howard Speakman. Soon she’s flirting with the charming, witty gentleman who’s been dead for more than a century and before long, they admit it’s a mutual attraction. Still, when she’s alive and he’s dead, any shot at being together seems impossible.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way….one afternoon while pretending to visit the past the impossible becomes a brief reality. If they visited 1904 before, Lillian knows they can do it again and if so, she can prevent Howard’s untimely death. With a combination of love, powerful hope, and stubborn will, Lillian bends time to her will and returns to the summer of 1904. But Howard’s death looms ahead and if she’s to find a happy ending, she must save him from his original death.
She dreamed of strawberry fields in tiers along a hillside. Spring breezes rippled through her hair and brought the sweet fragrance of ripe berries to her nose. Above, the sky was a vivid blue with few clouds and no jet contrails to mar the perfect surface. The high pitched sound of a steam train’s whistle echoed through the hills and she saw a small, old-fashioned train puffing around the bottom of the hill, white smoke pluming from its’ funnel into a perfect sky.
Above the rows and rows of strawberries, she saw the elongated leaves of peach trees laid out in symmetrical rows and to the side, apple orchards, trees white with blossoms followed the curve of the hillside. Lillian didn’t need the farmer who stood at the edge of the peach orchard calling out her name to know where she was, Speakman Fruit Farms.
Howard, dressed in work jeans, with the broad brimmed hat, waved, and called her name. She walked toward him with the slow, measured steps of a dream, marveling at how alive, how real he seemed here in his element. Sunlight dappled his hair with highlights and she felt his arms as they reached out, enfolding her into an embrace. At Seven Oaks, they touched but for fleeting moments but here, he could touch her and kiss her. Her mouth widened in a grin matching his as he kissed her. His mouth awakened her nervous system and a thrill shot through her like rogue electricity. She could smell his perspiration, a hint of Ivory soap, crisp laundry starch and the broad, warm smell of the outdoors.
Lillian woke, aroused and unwilling to believe it’d been no more than a dream. Her mouth was dry but her lips were bruised and full. Beneath the thin nightdress, her nipples remained taut. She couldn’t deny the attraction to Howard she’d repressed under the guise of friendship. As crazy as it seemed, as odd as it felt, without knowing if he felt the same wild rush of desire, Lillian realized she’d gone halfway to loving Howard. Her emotions were like a small craft set adrift into a raging flood tide river, beyond control, and although she could’ve wept, Lillian laughed with joy.
When she slept again, no dreams came but she woke in the morning to a flood of sunlight through the old windows and to Howard’s smile as he sat in the rocking chair waiting.
“Good morning, my dear Lillian. I dreamed of you last night.”
Heat flushed her cheeks and her sleepiness shifted into high alert. Something about his smile hinted his dream might’ve been the same as hers. She flipped hair out of her eyes and said the first thing she thought of,
“Do you dream?”
He laughed a robust, cheerful sound. “Yes, I’ve been known to dream. I often dream about my life and wake only to find I’m still here, trapped in this house.”
“But I dreamed of you!”
“We were at the farm.” His voice sounded happier than she’d ever heard before. “The strawberries were ripe and it was spring.”
Her mouth was dry and although she wasn’t afraid, their shared experience unnerved her. Lillian swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Yes. The train came by and then….”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. If his dream didn’t include the same embrace, she would feel foolish.
Find me at
Facebook: Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
A Page In The Life: http://leeannsontheimermurphywriterauthor.com
Rebel Writer: Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
I also have a book trailer here:
“I held you in my arms and kissed you.”
Lillian met his eyes.
“Yes. We shared the same dream. How is it possible?”
“To quote the Bard, there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Howard said. “I’ve no notion how it is possible nor do I yet understand how I’m here, more than a hundred years after my death but I do believe both things are possible. Whether or not it is possible to dream the same dream isn’t what is most important, however.”