So tonight the Goddesses are having their Annual RWA Get Together after the Literacy Signing in Anaheim, California. You know, books, fun, refreshments. A party.
But this year, I’m stuck at home, smacked by a hundred degree temperatures and a looming deadline while the goddesses fly off in their fiery chariots, magic carpets, and Hogwarts-approved broomsticks to the West Coast. Today Olympus is quiet and dark. Maybe there’s a faun and a nymph or two disporting in the shrubbery. Claudia Welch is holed up behind a column, scribbling. But mostly, I have the mountain to myself.
Really, you’d think a bunch of goddesses would know better.
I’ve had teenagers. I understand the dangers of leaving someone home alone. Anything can happen.
You remember that scene at the opening of the movie Bridget Jones, with Renee Zellweger in red flannel pajamas opening bottles of wine, waiting for the phone to ring and singing “All By Myself”? Sure you do. If not, you can watch it here.
Welcome to the Mt. Oly “All By Myself” Pajama Party!
Find your inner goddess, pull up a reclining couch to the sacred fire, and join me. (Don’t worry about Claudia hearing the noise. I’ve read Sorority Sisters. The girl knows how to party.)
I’ll provide the book, the virtual drinks and the imaginary men. You bring the cyber refreshments and your pajamas.
What snacks will you bring? What will you wear?
Red flannel PJs like our party mascot, Bridget Jones?
Wonder Woman underwear like Jenny Crusie’s heroine in Don’t Look Down?
A voluminous nightgown like Jane and Lizzie Bennet in Pride and Prejudice?
“I borrowed your shirt to sleep in,” she whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”
A smile worked its way up from deep inside him. “Nope.”
He rubbed his face against her, bringing his hands up to skim her rib cage, to cradle the soft weight of her breasts. He scraped his thumbs over her. Her nipples peaked to tight attention under the worn cotton. “It looks good on you.”
She threaded her fingers through his hair. Tugged his head up. “You can have it back if you want.”
Her teasing roiled him deep inside. He wanted . . . too much. He wanted everything.
“I don’t want to take anything away from you.”
Not his shirt. Not her future.
Her smile gleamed, bewitching him in the dark. “Maybe I want you to have it.”
She stepped back. He watched, heavy and motionless, as she closed the door. The snick of the lock cracked against the stillness. Turning, she gathered the hem of his shirt and pulled it over her head.
You know what they say. When the goddesses are away, the Mt. Oly mice will play. Which of our guests are you reserving a seat for?
One commenter will be chosen to receive her choice of either a paperback copy of CAROLINA HOME or one of my recent releases in mobi (Kindle) or epub (Nook, Sony) format: The Reforming of Matthew Dunn, The Passion of Patrick MacNeill, or The Comeback of Conn MacNeill.