Cynthia
Sax –
He
Watches Me,
Part
One of The Seen Trilogy
She desires to be seen. He
wants to watch.
Anna Sampson has a naughty
secret. Every night, she slips into her neighbor’s yard and swims naked in his
pool. She fantasizes that the dynamic young billionaire watches her nightly
nude aquatics, his brilliant green eyes gleaming with lust.
She discovers this isn’t pure
fantasy. Gabriel Blaine has been watching her via his security cameras, and now
that he has returned to L.A., he doesn’t plan to stop. That’s all he wants—to
watch. Anna knows she shouldn’t allow him and she certainly shouldn’t want
more, but she craves Blaine’s attention, needing his gaze fixed on her body.
Part One of The Seen Trilogy
PG Rated Excerpt (possible
offensive words: breasts):
I’m like a ghost. I drift
aimlessly through the Leigh’s empty Beverly Hills mansion, my bare feet
slapping against the painted gray concrete floor, shoes not allowed in the
sprawling modern bungalow.
I’m not dead. I move the
oversized, never-been-opened book staged on the chrome coffee table an inch to
the right. I’m breathing. I flick one light on and turn another light off,
maintaining the minimum required amount of illumination. I have a physical
form. I rearrange some of the catalogues, creating the illusion that they have
been recently placed on the modern glass table, all of the stores featured
priced out of a new graduate’s budget. But I’m not living, not truly, and no
one sees me … which is how I like it.
I tilt my head back and study
one of the many life-sized portraits of Suzanna Leigh hanging on the walls. No
one would dare look at Mrs. Leigh with disapproval. The plastic surgeon’s wife,
with her blond hair, blue eyes, and big breasts, is the epitome of L.A. beauty.
I’m not. I have brown hair, brown eyes, and a flat chest. I pluck at my faded
pink camisole, the garment clinging to my small breasts, and I continue my
stroll.
The sheer silver curtains
billow in the night breeze, the windows cracked open in an attempt to alleviate
the stifling heat. I can’t afford to turn the air-conditioning on. My agreement
with the Leighs is to pay for the upkeep and utilities while they jaunt around
Europe, straightening noses and increasing bra sizes. In exchange, I get a free
place to stay.
A trickle of perspiration runs
down my bare nape, my constantly frizzy hair pulled up into a ponytail. The
digital wall clock buzzes midnight, and I should return to the tiny bedroom
I’ve been assigned. Instead, I wander to the back door, seeking lower
temperatures.
I slip my feet into a pair of
scuffed baby blue flip-flops and slide the door open, venturing into the
darkness. The scent of newly cut grass teases my nostrils, the gardeners having
mowed during the day while I was at work.
Work. I sigh, looking out at
the covered pool, wishing to swim, that indulgence denied to me by the Leighs.
Who gets fired from a charity? I suspect this will be my fate tomorrow, my
inability to raise donation money straining even my boss’s easygoing personality.
I impulsively grab the towel I
had left drying on the deck railing and meander across the modern-art-littered
lawn toward the wrought-iron gate, unconsciously moving closer to the property
I’ve sworn never to trespass onto again. The soothing sound of falling water
calls to me.
I gaze between the ornately
crafted bars separating me from nirvana, the gate locked. Water cascades down
rock into a naturally shaped pool, the feature blending into the purposefully
wild backyard.
Only the pool is lit. The two-story
house, its design as classic as the Leighs’, is contemporary, and is shrouded,
as always, in darkness. I’m not surprised. I’ve seen Gabriel Blaine, its
elusive and surprisingly young owner, only once in the three weeks I’ve been
house-sitting.
That once made an impact. I had
been fiddling with the finicky front door lock when the billionaire exited from
a long black limousine. He paused, turned his head toward me, and our gazes
met, his eyes brilliant green and hard, so very hard. Even the lock of
ink-black hair falling over his forehead failed to soften his sharp chin and
pronounced cheekbones.
My keys dropped from my
lifeless fingers to the concrete steps and I froze, unable to breathe. Blaine’s
lips twitched and he inclined his head toward me as though I had confirmed
something he’d long suspected. I, idiot that I am, nodded back, agreeing to
what? I don’t know.
Whatever I had agreed upon
seemed to satisfy Blaine. He moved like a predator toward his rarely used
mansion, his stride smooth and almost graceful. He disappeared into his home,
closing the door behind him, and I haven’t seen him since.
I won’t see him today either,
and it would be a shame not to use his gorgeously cool swimming pool.
Trespassing is against the law but I am too much my father’s daughter to allow
little things like laws stop me. I toss my towel over the fence and climb over
the wrought iron, thanking my misspent youth on the rough streets of Detroit
for developing this handy skill.
I pick up the towel and I pad
to the edge of the pool, my flip-flops bending the grass as I walk. I pause and
look around me, having the peculiar feeling someone is watching me.
At the age of thirteen, Angelina
Clark followed in the footsteps of her ancestors by casting an Appalachian love spell, which promised
she would blossom into a beautiful and gifted woman who would find her true love. A young Angelina
had been thrilled to participate in the sacred ritual, but through the years, her father’s untimely death
and her mother’s failing health have shaken Angelina’s magical faith to its core. As her twenty-first
birthday approaches, she refuses to practice her supernatural gifts and no longer believes in the love
charm.
That is, until Dylan Thomas arrives on her front porch.Dylan, a Nashville writer, travels to the mountain town of Maple Ridge to unearth the family’s
supernatural secrets. While her clairvoyant mother is convinced that Dylan is her daughter’s soul mate,
Angelina refuses to see the nosy reporter as anything more than a nuisance.
Despite their constant bickering, sparks fly.
Dylan admits he feels strangely drawn to Angelina and is in no hurry to leave Maple Ridge or publish his
magazine article. Fearful that his emotions are being influenced by the spell, a stubborn Angelina
struggles to fight her own budding attraction to the reporter.
The two inevitably grow closer just as her mother’s health begins to deteriorate, and Angelina is faced
with the possibility of selling the family’s music shop to pay the mounting medical expenses. Desperate
to help the woman he loves, Dylan explores his own family tree and finds support from an unlikely
source. Can he finally prove his love is real—spell or no spell?
A story filled with love, friendship, family, and just a hint of Appalachian magic, Mountain Charm will
leave you spellbound.
Sydney Logan is an Amazon
bestselling author and holds a Master’s degree in Elementary Education. With the 2012 release of her
first novel, Lessons Learned, she made the transition from bookworm to author. Sydney has a very
unhealthy obsession with music, and her iPod is filled with everything from Johnny Cash to Eminem. She
is also the author of two short stories: “Mistletoe Magic,” available exclusively on Amazon Kindle, and
“Stupid Cupid,” which is featured in the Romantic Interludes compilation. When she isn't reading or
writing, she enjoys playing piano and relaxing on her front porch at her home in East Tennessee with her
wonderful husband and their very spoiled cat.
Visit Sydney’s website at www.sydneylogan.com
