– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –
Today I’m on the ‘Love You Bad’ blogtour, organized by Zooloo’s Book Tours.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.
About the Author :
Louise Mullins writes full-time using the experience she gained in a prior life working in the field of forensic mental health, working with offenders and survivors of serious crimes.
Kerensa lives a life of privilege few could imagine. Loving husband. Luxury home. Financial security.
But in the attic of their sea view mansion is a secret waiting to be discovered, threatening to destroy their perfect marriage.
When their daughter’s au pair uncovers Dominic’s carefully constructed illusion, one lie at a time, it ends in murder.
It wasn’t love at first sight. I didn’t notice her until she dropped a quarter from her palmful, collected from the slot machine flashing WIN!
I was hungry, tired, and wanted to drink myself into oblivion, so I’d taken my last ten cents and headed into the casino. I lost it on a game of roulette within minutes of entering. I had nowhere to go, my wallet was empty. Then she dropped that quarter.
I collected it from the red carpet, noted the gold rings on her fingers as I handed it to her. She smiled, turned away. I stood back and examined her. She was slimmer than her friend, though still pudgier than I was used to. Older too. But she wore her age with class. And she threw money in that machine like it didn’t dent her purse. That’s when I knew I had to go home with her. If I let her slip away I’d be spending the night in the subway with the junkies and I didn’t want to wake up shoeless the next morning. Those bastards will nick anything worth a dollar.
Her friend tried to persuade her to stay. ‘Have another drink,’ she said. The universal language of women who felt uncomfortable in the presence of a man. What she meant was, ‘Don’t take him back to your room. You don’t know him. What if he’s a killer?’
She told her friend not to worry, promised to text her some secret code that would assure her she was safe and well later, and said – looking me in the eye – to call the cops if she didn’t, and to knock on the door of her hotel suite to check that she was still alive first thing in the morning if she did. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from blurting out how stupid I thought it was for her to give me such a long stretch of opportunity to choke, stab, or shoot her so-called bestie.
I let her take the lead, let her think she was in control as she led me from the casino and back to her suite. She closed the door behind us and walked me to the bed. The duvet was made from unruffled, high thread-count Egyptian cotton. The sheets were unstained. It was her first night in the hotel.
I chose this side of Las Vegas as it was just a quick walk from the casino that offered its compatriots free booze while they lost their money. That way I only had to stagger a couple of blocks to where my mate had been putting me up in his apartment.
I’d met him in the green room of a party where the drugs were delivered on silver trays like hors d’oeuvres by barely clothed waitresses. He liked my drifter lifestyle, said it was refreshing to meet a true bohemian and not a stoned, privately educated, trust funded student pretending to be one. With a woman on each arm he invited me and one other man back to his apartment. A woman laced her arms round the man’s waist and another round mine. I stood and followed them out the door.
I don’t remember much about that night, but I woke up with a sore dick and my fingernails were clotted with pussy juice and cocaine. I don’t know what the guy did for a living, but he had tonnes of money and enjoyed wasting it, and I wasn’t averse to helping him.
The only ones who survive Las Vegas have money or marry someone who does.
So back to the hotel room with the older woman whose midline rose over her hips and whose stretchmarks turned silver when the lamplight caught her thighs, bent over the bed with her skirt hitched up to her waist and her panties pulled aside to reveal the mound of hair between her legs. I closed my eyes and slammed into her, imagining she was younger, tighter. And when she pushed me in the stomach to stand I fought the urge to shove her face-down and fuck her until she cried my name. The internal war raged on until I pulled out of her.
The Magic of Wor(l)ds