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Release Date: September 2, 2012
THE LURE OF THE SEA
My newest paranormal romance is entitled The Selkie. For those of you who might not have heard about these mystical creatures, they are seal shape shifters who generally originate from the Scottish isle of Orkney. It is said that if a mortal woman is unhappy with her love life, she need only cry 7 tears into the sea to call an immortal selkie man. He will then love her as no mortal man can.
Sounds good, non?
As I was writing this story, I began to wonder about the lure of the sea. You see its influence everywhere in popular culture, and that influence has been felt for centuries. Take a glance at Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and you will see all sorts of water nymphs. Pick up a book of classic fairy tales, and mermaids abound. And every year or so, another Hollywood movie details the plight between a mortal lover and someone finny.
Why is that?
The sea has always been a romantic figure, almost a persona unto itself. It represents lovers who’ve been separated by water. It reminds us of sailors who’ve drowned, leaving their broken-hearted wives behind. And, of course, there are countless tales of water gods dragging their abducted princesses down to the watery depths.
The sea is fantasy. It reminds us of that which we cannot have, that which we dare not wish for. I must admit, I’ve always wanted to find Atlantis. Preferably on the arm of a dishy merman!
Selkie folks straddle the great divide which is the sea. They can appear as beautiful humans, living on land for a time. Despite that, they will always want to return to their beloved waves. For a woman who falls in love with a selkie man, this can be a daunting prospect to say the least. I hope you will get a chance to read The Selkie, and see what happens to my heroine, and how she deals with her immortal lover. Will the lure of the sea ultimately claim him, too?
- Rosanna Leo
This was supposed to be her year. However, after losing her job and discovering her fiancé cheating, Maggie Collins has her doubts. When her grandmother dies, she hits rock bottom. Maggie travels to her grandmother’s home in Orkney, Scotland to sort through her gran’s things, only to discover the old woman has left her a seal pelt as her inheritance. She also learns that others are after the pelt.
To add to her frustration, Maggie’s dreams are filled with luscious images of a long-haired man, images that draw her to the magical beaches in Orkney. Although she’s lost her trust in men, this dream man inspires her with a lust she’s never known before.
Calan Kirk has also been dreaming. Dreaming of Maggie, the mortal woman who arouses him as no other woman ever has. Meeting her in the flesh when she arrives in Orkney is nothing short of spontaneous sexual combustion. But she is a human, and not to be trusted. He needs the seal pelt, not a red-haired temptress.
As a thief ransacks Maggie’s grandmother’s house, Maggie and Calan are thrust together. They must search for the animal skin, a mythical relic which once found, will either bring them together or rip them apart forever.
She was attempting to stand on her wobbly legs, only to fall back down on her bottom, when she heard the sound of splashing water. Thinking it was her seal, Maggie turned to look.
Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the animal at all.
It was a man. He was rising out of the waves, walking toward her. She froze. He was nude, utterly nude, and was staring at her with overflowing intimacy. As if they’d had, God help her, relations.
And she realized, with sudden panic, they’d had! In her dreams. He was the seal-man from all her sex dreams.
Her first instinct was to call for help, but there was no one near. And then she realized with frightening awareness that she didn’t want any help anyway. Glued to her spot, she couldn’t help but drink him in.
He was beautiful, if unnervingly wet and naked. He had long, shiny, brown hair that hung down past his shoulders. His face could have belonged on an ad for expensive cologne, and he had a body to match. Sculpted shoulders gave way to arms corded in muscle. His defined chest was blanketed by a smattering of sparse, brown hair that led tantalizingly to his rock-hard abs.
Maggie held her breath as her gaze traveled lower on his body, taking in trim calves and thighs a quarterback would envy. And, she noted with simultaneous hunger and horror, his penis was the biggest she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. It was thick and long and glistening with the droplets of water that yet cascaded over his body. And it seemed to be reaching for her. She gulped, and forced herself to look back up at his face.
There was a faint glow about his skin, a shimmery aura. Dismissing it as a trick of the moonlight, she shook her head.
He was almost upon her, and his full lips were taut in a teasing grin. Maybe he was a surfer who’d lost not only his board, but his shorts in the waves. She knew she should be frantic, but wasn’t. There was something in his brown eyes that was so familiar, so soothing, even as they swept over her own body with lustful appreciation.
He stopped in front of her, and stood boldly, unashamed of his glorious nakedness. She managed to spit out one hushed word. “You.”
“You,” was his equally awed reply.
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