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Tales From the Dark Side will be
a series of standalone books. Each book connected by its author and genre: Dark
Erotic Thriller. In pure Aleatha Romig
style, twists and turns will lead readers to the unexpected. Each book will
contain its own story line and characters. Once multiple books have been
released, they can be read in any order. NEVER will the story line or
characters overlap.
Coming: Autumn 2014...INSIDIOUS
The first excerpt may be found
at: http://aleatharomig.blogspot.com/2014/08/first-official-excerpt-of-insidious.html
Second official Excerpt: (This is
copyrighted material by Aleatha Romig and cannot be reproduced without her
consent
Insidious: Chapter One Excerpt II,
by Aleatha Romig
“Thank you, Mrs. Harrington.” The
saleswoman’s voice reverberated throughout the pricey boutique.
Nodding in response, I took my
purchase and strode toward the door. The five-hundred-dollar shoes weren’t a
necessity. Hell, they weren’t even for a purpose: a dinner, a benefit, or any
other excuse to show me off and parade me around Stewart’s business associates.
They were just because: because they were tall and sleek, with a slender heel
and a thick platform. And because they were red. Red, as in the color of
emotion: emotion that remained pent-up until its only acceptable outlet was a mundane
visible reminder, a way to flaunt the loathing within to the world outside. Oh,
I had covertly exercised other modes of release, yet at the moment, a pair of red
shoes would suffice.
The gentleman in uniform spoke as
he opened the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Harrington. Please come back to see us
again.”
“Yes,” I said, my expression
unreadable.
“Ma’am, we’re all praying for
your husband.”
“Thank you.” I looked down and
bit my lip before I returned his gaze, bravely smiling, and added, “I’m afraid
that’s our only hope.”
His eyes dulled as he sadly nodded,
allowing me to exit through the open door. Rarely did a day go by that someone
didn’t offer me his or her support or encouragement for Stewart as he fought
his unwinnable battle. I’d practiced my responses well. After all, very little
went unseen. While we’d made headlines when we married, mostly surrounding our
age difference, we were making them again as the tabloids and magazines
discussed my impending widowhood at the young age of twenty-eight.
Moving onto the sun-drenched
sidewalk, I covered my eyes with the dark glasses and braced myself for the
wave of heat. Up from the depths of hell, like fire fanned by the devil
himself, my legs tingled with the contrast in temperature. I bit my lip again,
stopping the genuine smile that threatened to shatter my mask of grief. Assuming
hell was real, soon it would have another resident. Before the bun of long
brown hair secured low on my neck could mold to my skin, I settled into the
backseat of the waiting taxi.
Though my car was parked only a
few blocks away, I knew the wonders of technology. The GPS would show that I’d
spent my afternoon in the Harbor Shoppes—at least until I was ready for it to
indicate otherwise.
“To ONE Bal Harbour Resort,” I
instructed, as the driver pulled the car into midday traffic.
After spending most of my life in
southern Florida, I found little beauty in the city of Miami. What appeal it
had was completely lost on me as I scanned the screen of my phone, reading my
text messages. A sense of suffocation loomed omnipresent as I read one from my
husband:
“WE
HAVE A GUEST COMING TO THE WAREHOUSE THIS AFTERNOON. BE THERE AT 4:30. DON’T BE
LATE.”
I closed my eyes, hid my
expression behind my designer sunglasses, and sighed. Thankfully, due to
Stewart Harrington’s recent rapid decline in health, we’d not visited the
warehouse in some time: his text was sent months ago. Nevertheless, I refused
to delete it. It served as my fuel and my daily reminder: a reminder of a time
I refused to forget.
I would not. I could not.
I scanned back to the message I’d
more recently received, one I’d first seen late last night:
“I
NEED TO SEE YOU.”
I gave it one more glance,
grinning at the shared sense of desperation, before I hit delete. I waited
until this morning to respond:
“TODAY?”
After I’d hit send, his response
came back almost immediately:
“NOW.”
We both knew that NOW hadn’t been
an option, but a minor tweaking of my schedule and a slight juggle of my
responsibilities would allow LATER to be a possibility. Smoothing the silk of
my sundress over my lap while trying desperately to ignore the sweat-ladened
stench of the taxi, I relished the reality: <i>now </i>was almost upon me. If only the car could fly instead
of fight the midday traffic.
As Stewart’s time on earth drew
nigh its end, I worried about the legalities of our prenuptial agreement. With
Stewart’s network of good ‘ole boys, finding an ally, someone to look out for
my interests, had been difficult, but thankfully not impossible. Since I’d made
my alliance with Brody Phillips, junior partner at Craven and Knowles, there was
nothing I wouldn’t do to continue the flow of information. Besides, sex was
nothing more than a tool, a weapon. It had been used against me, but I’d
learned to use it for my favor. If sex helped me obtain my goal, there was no
fuck’n reason not to use it.
Minutes upon minutes later, the
cab pulled under the covered drive of the resort, allowing me to exit in the
much-appreciated shade. With an assuming smile, I handed the driver cash for
the fare and a generous tip. Ignoring the sultry summer humidity, I confidently
placed my high-heeled sandals on the steaming pavement, and walked toward the
resort. With the efficiency of a drill sergeant, I moved dauntlessly toward my objective.
Merely a pretentious nod of my head and the door was opened. A crisp one-hundred-dollar
bill at the bellman’s desk and I was armed with the key to a suite on the
eighteenth floor. Walking toward the elevator, I shifted my gaze, daring anyone
to question my presence. No one did. I’m Mrs. Stewart Harrington.
Within less than a minute, I was
ascending the tower toward the eighteenth floor. Although I was confident that
Brody had chosen the hotel suite with other goals in mind, that wouldn’t happen
today. I’d opened myself up—a little—to him for one reason: it wasn’t sex.
It wasn’t as if I always denied
him sex. As a matter of fact, we had an array of locations littered throughout
the city where I hadn’t denied him, but honestly, there was something about
Brody that made me uncomfortable. Sex was a mechanical act for me, a time to leave
my body and zone out. Each time Brody and I were together, that was
increasingly difficult. I didn’t want to face that reality or even the internal
questions that it raised.
As I disembarked the elevator and
peered down the long hallway, the fleeting sense of anticipation took me by
surprise. Rarely did I find myself aroused. However, as I realized that it had
been almost a month since I’d been alone with Brody, my insides involuntarily
tightened.
For more of this EXCERPT and more
about Aleatha Romig go to:
or
AFTER
6:00 AM EST Thursday, September 4, 2014
More...Insidious
to come!!
Add
to you TBR!
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