Thank you so much for inviting me onto your blog, to show you a little of Taken Identity.
Taken Identity was so much fun to write. Yes, I know, I say that all the time, but I enjoy writing, and love adding humour to my stories.
However I also like to try to do a bit if 'what if' in my stories.
This what if is…
What if someone turns up on your doorstep looking for someone one with the same name.
Okay, not too much of a coincidence I guess especially if you're John or Joan Smith. But with the same description, and same job?
Then it gets a wee bit worrying.
So what would you do?
The blurb says it all…
What do you do when someone steals your identity?
Find out why of course.
When a hot, to die for man appears on your doorstep demanding his wife, who it seems has your name and your life, you need to find out what’s going on.
Gray Reynard thought he’d found his wife, instead he found Jules. Who would have been more than happy to be found by him under any other circumstances.
It seemed someone had pointed him to Jules as a red herring, and like all old fish, the whole thing stunk.
They both needed to know what was happening and why so they could move on. Would it be together or apart?
I was more than happy when my muse informed me that this story was set in my neck of the woods. It's one thing I try to do with everything I write. Set them somewhere I know and love.
Excerpt:
“Is this the residence of Julia Frayne?”
Whoever said a tone of voice couldn’t shatter glass was wrong. Very, very, wrong. This one could, and it sent shivers down Julia’s spine. Shivers of the, ‘Oh no, this is not good,’ kind.
Julia—known to all and sundry as Jules—looked at the questioner closely. It was a pity he was a blur. She’d been about to put her contacts in when the doorbell rang, and she hadn’t stopped to pick up her specs before answering.
“So, is this the residence of Julia Frayne?” His tone was tinged with annoyance. “For goodness’ sake, woman, it’s not a trick question. A simple yes or no will suffice.”
He—she assumed it was a he by the deep voice—was distinctly hazy, although from what she could see, there was a tall, drop-dead gorgeous man on her doorstep. Her body tingled. “Why?” she asked. She hated the defensive tone in her voice, but she had no idea who her questioner was, and she was too wary of all the horror stories around to give out information freely. “Who wants to know?”
He stared at her and didn’t answer. That made Jules grit her teeth. If there was one thing guaranteed to get her riled, it was an arrogant, up his own ass man, who ignored something so important as a question like that. Information was a two-way street. She groped around on the shelf by the front door and took hold of her rape alarm. When you lived out in the country, it paid to be careful.
And who didn’t always remember to put the chain on, eh?
Next to it was a spray bottle of water then one of deodorant. A step-by-step disable kit, as Miss McMurty, her next-door neighbor said, just in case. Miss M didn’t specify what case she had in mind, but as she loved Miss M, Jules made sure her homemade alarm kit was always handy. Now she might be glad of it.
“Please tell Ms. Frayne I wish to speak with her.” He invested the Ms. with all the disdain his patrician voice could enunciate.
“Tell her, Mr.—?”
Whoever said a tone of voice couldn’t shatter glass was wrong. Very, very, wrong. This one could, and it sent shivers down Julia’s spine. Shivers of the, ‘Oh no, this is not good,’ kind.
Julia—known to all and sundry as Jules—looked at the questioner closely. It was a pity he was a blur. She’d been about to put her contacts in when the doorbell rang, and she hadn’t stopped to pick up her specs before answering.
“So, is this the residence of Julia Frayne?” His tone was tinged with annoyance. “For goodness’ sake, woman, it’s not a trick question. A simple yes or no will suffice.”
He—she assumed it was a he by the deep voice—was distinctly hazy, although from what she could see, there was a tall, drop-dead gorgeous man on her doorstep. Her body tingled. “Why?” she asked. She hated the defensive tone in her voice, but she had no idea who her questioner was, and she was too wary of all the horror stories around to give out information freely. “Who wants to know?”
He stared at her and didn’t answer. That made Jules grit her teeth. If there was one thing guaranteed to get her riled, it was an arrogant, up his own ass man, who ignored something so important as a question like that. Information was a two-way street. She groped around on the shelf by the front door and took hold of her rape alarm. When you lived out in the country, it paid to be careful.
And who didn’t always remember to put the chain on, eh?
Next to it was a spray bottle of water then one of deodorant. A step-by-step disable kit, as Miss McMurty, her next-door neighbor said, just in case. Miss M didn’t specify what case she had in mind, but as she loved Miss M, Jules made sure her homemade alarm kit was always handy. Now she might be glad of it.
“Please tell Ms. Frayne I wish to speak with her.” He invested the Ms. with all the disdain his patrician voice could enunciate.
“Tell her, Mr.—?”
“Reynard.”
Jules waited, but he obviously wasn’t going to expand his stark statement. What was it with tall, dark men trying to be macho? Okay, she admitted he didn’t need to try very hard. Over six feet of what seemed—even to her un-lensed eyes—to be perfectly proportioned male, whose short, dark hair showed just a hint of curl. And those eyes, oh, those eyes. She’d bet they were deep, dark and what Miss M would call enigmatic, they screamed macho without any effort. It still made her want to stamp on his toe to see if he squealed.
Jules swallowed. He was every woman’s fantasy—or nightmare—depending on how you looked at it.
She didn’t want to look at it—or him—and either way, until she put her contacts in, there wasn’t much chance of that happening. Her stomach did a flip and her skin crawled in a positively uncomfortable manner. All her instincts were screaming trouble as loud as possible.
She could feel his impatience. It hit her like a winter wind. Cold and unfriendly, it bombarded her with slivers of icy annoyance and a shiver ran down her spine.
https://www.totallybound.com/taken-identity
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.
Her very understanding, and long-suffering DH, is used to his questions unanswered, the dust bunnies greeting him as he walks through the door, and rescuing burned offerings from the Aga. (And passing her a glass of wine as she types furiously.)
www.ravenmcallan.com
Happy Reading,
Love R x
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