Have you heard of My Sexy Saturday?  Trust me — if you go check it out, it will live up to your expectations of the name!  It uses “sevens.”  That would be seven paragraphs, seven sentences, or just seven words.

It’s also a “blog hop” where writers can share snippets, and it gets your work noticed by readers in places where your writing might not always be seen.  Call it exposure.

Well, you know I’m trying to learn all I can about indie publishing, and that includes blog hopping.  My stories aren’t what I think of as “Sexy” whether Saturday or any other day of the week.  Okay, so “Atonement, Tennessee” has a moment or two where things warm up; maybe it even brushes against Romance territory.  However, “The Dead of Winter” only hints at relationships.

That said, I wrote a scene from one of the dozens of back-stories that roam around in my head for “The Dead of Winter.”  These two people are only briefly mentioned in the book, as the parents of the Zasha character.  However, the “Emlyn-verse” holds many stories that are yet to be written.  Here goes a snippet for My Sexy Saturday…

Innusha

Innusah tossed her long dark curls and gave a joyous and free laugh.  The sudden and certain knowledge of what she was about to do was so liberating, so exciting, so… arousing.  From the moment she saw the amber haired stranger with his twinkling blue eyes and lilting voice she knew she wouldn’t let him leave her homeland, Rus, without her.  Oran was his name, and his accent rolled the “R” in a way that fascinated her.  Her lips puckered as she unconsciously tried to make the sound.

She hugged herself and twirled.  He meant more to her than escape from the frozen tsardom.  From the first moment he spoke her name Innusha never wanted to leave his side.  She bounced on her toes with anticipation.  She glided around her suite gathering the things she would need.

Even as she laid her plan, Innusha realized that if she went through with it, she probably would never see her country again.  Oran’s home was that far away.  Even her father, Count Bolyar, didn’t know anyone who had traveled there.  However, that only made her plan more exciting.

She hesitated for the space of a heartbeat.  She knew no other home than Rus and the lands within it.  But what was Rus to her anyway?  A Dažbog forsaken place where spring came so late that it was over before it arrived.  The sun god didn’t smile upon the tsardom any more than her father smiled upon her.  All of her younger siblings were already wed.  Innusha was neither of importance nor interest to her family.  Still, she would miss them.  She frowned for a moment.  Then she thought of his eyes and his musical accent, and her frown disappeared.

Her feet were light as a dancer’s as she ran to her hope chest.  The carved wooden chest was an object of ridicule from her family.  If they knew about the satin and lace sleep-shift she’d never hear the end of it.  It unfolded even as she lifted it from the trunk.  The golden satin poured down her body as she slid it over her head.  Its caress was cool against her skin and she shivered in anticipation.

She thought of the way Oran’s strong hands had been so firm on her waist as they waltzed.  Innusha twirled around her room, closing her eyes at the memory and imagining his hands moving to more intimate places.  The satin of the sleep-shift swirled around her ankles as she moved like a dancer in the royal ballet.

Still dancing, Innusha took her fur lined cloak from the wardrobe and tossed the cloak onto her bed with a flourish.  Then she spun faster and faster as she thought of Oran and remembered his warm breath against her ear, saying her name in a lilting whisper.  She twirled until finally she collapsed onto her wide bed, dizzy and spent.

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