It’s not until you live out in the countryside, or in a small village, that you realise that not only do you get the benefits of rural life—the beauty of the landscape, the lack of exhaust fumes and noisy traffic and excessive doorstop cold callers—you also get the disadvantages of rural life.
Disadvantages such as the log lorries which rumble down the lane at 5am and wake you up, that make you wonder if there’s an earthquake. Cold callers on your doorstep who to get there have had to catch one of the three buses from town, and then have several hours to wait until the next one. Middle of the night owls hooting and foxes calling. (And, just like in town, husband snoring)
Lost deliverymen and tourists. The former lost because our lane is named not numbered, and, a lot of the names aren’t that clearly marked. After all, everyone who needs to know, already knows (except new delivery men). The lost tourists because they rely on their sat-navs and they think we’re the bed and breakfast which is around the corner..
That’s a big problem it seems. The corner. Across the road there is a sign that says no unauthorised entry. Fine, but right next to it is the sign pointing to the B and B…
“But the website says the last house,” I get told very crossly. And then on one occasion, even more bizarrely, “Are you sure you’re not the B and B? The sat-nav says you are.”
I assure you, we are not a B and B.
(Although sometimes when we have a houseful and I’m cooking a fry up, I do wonder. Thankfully that doesn’t happen often.)
And as my hero in Taken Identity, Gray, discovers, there are no take-aways virtually on the doorstep, ready and willing to deliver your meal. We do have one now, but they have to deliver from around fifteen miles away. If we were just another mile up the glen, then we’d have no chance. Mind you, there’s no mobile phone reception for most of the time as well.
Ah the joys.
Having said all of that, would I chance my rural ‘idyll’ for the inner city life?
Nope not at all. Not even the outer city life either. Yes, we have to remember to stock up on essentials in the winter. One of my daughter’s friends, who lived in a small town several miles away, couldn’t get over milk in the freezer.
“Have you lived out here?” DD asked.
“But, you have a Co-op.”
“Yeah and if the weather is bad, how does it get its deliveries?”
A full-of-essentials store cupboard is a necessity in the winter. (And in the summer, come to think of it when the tourists stock up in the Co-op and we wander down as usual, only to find empty shelves.)
An Aga and a box of candles don’t go amiss either.
But, oh how you miss the take-aways.
Blurb for Taken Identity:
If someone steals your identity and marries a sex god and that sex god husband shows up at your door…do you get to keep him?
Jules has no memory of marrying a sex god—and no woman is that forgetful.
So when the devastatingly handsome Gray turned up on her doorstep looking for his wife and calling said wife by Jules’ name, Jules wondered briefly if she’d landed in an alternative universe. She knows she’s not his wife and so does he, but apparently someone with her name and history is. Is it a case of coincidence or did his missing wife ‘borrow’ Jules’ life?
Even though the dominant Gray sends her knickers aflame with just one look, with a missing wife in the equation, Jules knows there’s no chance of finding out what else he could achieve.
There’s only one thing to do—unravel the mystery and try to keep their hands off each other in the meantime. The first may well prove far easier than the latter.
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of light bondage and BDSM.
Publisher’s Note: This book was previously published elsewhere. It has been revised and re-edited for release with Totally Bound.
“What about dinner? Shall we eat now, or can we call for something later?” Jules laughed aloud at that and shook her head at him. “Typical townie statement that, Gray. Who d’you think will deliver to us out here in the sticks? There’s no conveniently situated take-away in miles. However, if you’re happy with home cooking, there’s no problem.”
Gray stared at her, looking as if he could hardly believe his ears.
“Replay what you said. Home…cooking. Oh, yeah, sadly, I did mishear. You said cooking. Cooking. With a C.”
Huh? Oh, that was it. She was going to have to go to meditation or hypnosis or something to learn how to control this awful blush. The raised eyebrow, the quirk of his lips, his pointed look down his body to a very, “Hey, look, I’m here. Don’t forget me,” part of his anatomy, made her giggle. He was not such a stuffed shirt after all.
“Anyway,” he continued. “If you are sure you don’t mind, I’d love some home cooking. I eat just about everything.”
“Tripe and onions?” “Er, almost anything, Jules. Don’t think that covers tripe.” She was aware of how he held himself rigid, presumably to stop the involuntary shudder that had started, and she noticed his erection had completely subsided. Now she knew what she had to do if he became too aroused. Mention tripe.
Jules wholeheartedly agreed with him as she said, “Thank goodness. I hate the stuff.” She laughed as they crossed the tarmac to his car. “I was thinking if we nip to the supermarket on our way, I can do seafood pasta.”
“Much better. Can we stop at a bottle shop?”
“Offey, beer off, supermarket, you’re back in Britain now. No need to buy wine. I think I can find something to do the food justice.”
Like the sound of Taken Identity? Buy it here.
A multi-published author of erotic romance, Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge. As once she is writing she is oblivious to everything else, her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.
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