Title: Fairy in the Flesh
Author: Katalina Leon
Publisher: Ellora’s Cave
Length: 121 pgs
Sub-Genre: Erotic, romance, paranormal
Maya Rousseau’s fantasy vacation in Avignon France heats up when an eccentric enchantress tricks her into drinking mojo-laced absinthe.
An unexpected encounter with the green fairy causes Maya’s reality to have a serious melt down. She travels back in time and wakes up naked in the bed of her favorite bad boy Bohemian artist, the tall, dark and mysterious André Bosco. There’s nothing wrong with that except it’s 1903.
For André it’s love at first sight. He begs Maya to become his cherished model, muse and lover. The chemistry and shared passion between them is overwhelming. André’s a generous-hearted dream man but there’s a catch. Every hour they spend together bonds them tighter and time is running out. The same powers that flung Maya back to 1903 are preparing to snatch her back.
With a hundred and ten years separating these soul-bound lovers it’s uncertain if they can find a happy ending without the help of a little magic and La Fée Verte.
Note: Story contains super hot sex with an unattainable man, enchanted hallucinatory beverages, mischievous time-twisters and green fairies.
~ * ~
Maya opened her eyes to a sunny, cluttered room that carried the distinct scents of male musk, linseed oil and turpentine. A warm breeze blew through an open window. She rolled onto her side, realizing she was lying on a rumpled bed—naked.
She gasped in shock, clutched the well-worn linen sheets close and darted a furtive glance around the room, wondering where the hell she was.
An ornate, painted Oriental screen blocked her view of all but the bed, which was surrounded by stacks of books, puddled candle stubs and bits of interesting things like iridescent peacock feathers, a scrimshaw pipe and a tortoiseshell comb.
“Miss, are you all right back there?” a deep male said with caution. “You’ve been lying down a long time. The morning light is nearly gone. I’d like to get some work accomplished. Will you be able to model today or not?”
She recognized the voice. It was the same voice that had coaxed her upstairs. It was André Bosco. She knew he spoke French but there was none of her usual struggle to comprehend and translate what was said. It was as if French were her first and only tongue. His words flowed with ease through her mind.
She leaped to her feet, wrapped the sheet around her and peeked over the screen. In the corner, a man who looked exactly like the sketch of André Bosco sat near an open window, furiously shoveling oil pigments from tiny jars with a blunt knife and daubing them onto a glass palette.
Her mouth gaped wide.
Bosco glanced toward her. The sunlight lit his eyes a brilliant shade of golden- green. He grinned. “At least you’re standing—that’s a good sign.” He returned his attention to the palette. “For a while I was convinced I’d wasted my money on you.”
“What?” she gasped.
“I paid you in the square. I don’t usually work with models. They’re a luxury I can seldom afford. You inspired me to try something different and insisted I give you a day’s pay upfront before coming here. I admired the unusual coppery glint of your hair so I willingly paid. I prepared a canvas, got my hopes up and then you simply fell down and passed out.”
“No I didn’t.” Maya dabbed her forehead with her palm, exploring for signs of injury. This had to be a delirious hallucination. A small amount of absinthe couldn’t possibly provoke an effect this strong. Her heartbeat was steady. The room felt solid and Bosco certainly felt real. What the hell was going on?
She peered out the window. A horse and buggy clattered past on the street below. The horse snorted. “The streets are full of buggies and carts—where are the cars?”
“The what?” Bosco looked puzzled.
“The cars, catering trucks, the hip-hop dancers grinding on the pavement with their boom-boxes. The streets were full of television crews, parked vans and people taking pictures with their cell phones at the summer arts festival. I could barely move down the street. Where is everyone?”
“What in God’s name is a hip-hop boom-box? I can’t make sense of such garbled nonsense.” Bosco stared at the colorful cone-shaped piles of paint heaped on his palette with a look of regret. “I’ve wasted my paint today, haven’t I?”
He appeared to be stewing in thought. The steep angle of Bosco’s dark brows lifted and grew stormier by the second. He suddenly bolted forward, snatched a scant handful of clothing from a tabletop and pressed the clothes into her arms. “This is why I never paint women from the square. I should have known better. You’re drunk, aren’t you? I won’t work with a model who passes out cold or talks nonsense all day. There’s no point. I thought you were something special but apparently you’re not. Please get dressed and leave. You can keep the money—just go.”
He looked at her with genuine hurt simmering in his eyes. “I wanted to paint you. I had several canvases already planned in my mind. This is a crushing disappointment.”
“I’m not drunk. I promise you. I was just...” How could she possibly talk herself out of this one? Her idol was cross with her and it stung. If this was her hallucination why couldn’t it be a happy one? This gorgeous man was looking at her with reservations, as if she were a drunken idiot. It was not exactly the stuff of fantasy. She felt her lip tremble. “Why are you so angry?”
“I have an important salon showing next week. I’m under a lot of pressure. I don’t have enough completed canvases and I can’t afford to waste time.” Bosco raked his fingers through his wavy mane of coffee-black hair. “I hoped for your cooperation. Instead you fell down and passed out behind the screen. When you awoke I couldn’t make sense of a single thing you said. I have to assume you’re drunk. This is quite unprofessional. You have modeled before, haven’t you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Why were you standing in models’ square? You agreed to come here. My paints are laid out, the light is perfect and I find your type of beauty inspiring.” He paced across the room in agitation. “What a shame to squander it all. I won’t detain you against your will. If you’re not prepared to work, please go!”