Read Online Christmas Wishes (novella) by Rhian Cahill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rhian Cahill
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Greenwood’s Commanding Officer in Afghanistan, and as such, the man ultimately responsible for his death.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Grease Monkey Jive by Ainslie Paton
When Alex was a kid, she gave herself a nasty electric shock by sticking a knife down the slot of the toaster to rescue her breakfast. As the electricity gripped her in the seconds before shutting off, every muscle spasmed and the air crackled and fizzed with blue sparks.
She was twelve years old, had burned fingers, and was in lot of trouble with Mum and Gran.
She was twice that age now and hadn’t forgotten the intensity of that electric zap and how wildly it made her heart beat and her thoughts fly, from the sheer physical surprise and the recognition that she was in serious strife.
There was no toast, no toaster, and no knife anywhere to hand, but the sensation that struck her body when she looked into his eyes was the same. Electricity pulsed through her nerves, leaped in her muscles, and fired inside her brain. She was in deep trouble.
All he’d done was lower his chin and raise his eyes, looking at her from across the room. That’s all. It barely counted as a movement. It was more a re-positioning, more an adjustment than a conscious action, but everything changed in that moment.
The breath sucked out of her; the room closed in. She felt energised and inspired beyond the bounds of her training and the encouragement of the music. There was nothing she couldn’t achieve. Her feet flew through the steps, her placement never more accurate, her leaps and kicks never higher, her body positioning and posture never prouder or more abandoned at the same time.
She danced on air, as a beam of sunlight might chase a shadow across the floor. It was physically effortless and without the need to think. She was carelessness and precision, passion and control, pure energy and heat. She was the blue fizz and crackle, she was the shock of power, and she adored it.
When she got closer to him she could hear him breathing hard, see the dark blue of his bright eyes and their expression of wonder. She caught fire. When she circled around him, she saw tension flick along the ridge of muscle in his back and across the breadth of his shoulders. The line of his jaw tightened and his lips twitched into a smile as he looked for her and the fire caught, flared, lifting her higher, giving her iridescent wings and divine purpose.
When the music stopped, the silence was hopelessly profound. Her body became her own again and she felt the old stiffness behind her left knee and the too tight strap of her shoe.
She looked at Dan, still standing where Trevor had put him, but studying her as though he’d never met her before. She looked at Scott – surely he’d noticed something odd just happened – but he only had eyes for Dan, critical eyes.
She shook her head to try to reclaim her scorched senses and when she walked across to the stereo, she thought her legs might give way on her and spill her on the wooden floor.
Dan’s eyes never left her and a flood of self consciousness coursed through her, replacing the earlier feeling of joy with embarrassment. That was too much inspiration for a trial run. She could’ve just walked it through; there was no reason whatsoever to have danced like that, not for Dan, he’d have no idea of the technique he was seeing. Scott might’ve enjoyed it, the freedom and clarity of it, but Scott would’ve been annoyed she didn’t dance like that for him.
“What do you think?” said Scott, but not waiting for her reply. “You’re a good physical match and he does look the part. Of course, you’ll have to do all the work, girlfriend, but assuming he can at least do what he did then, we might be able to pull this off.”
Afterwards, Alex would wonder what she’d said in reply; she was already thinking it might be better to abandon this idea before it took on its own life and required her to reorganise hers.
He felt like
Keep reading for an excerpt from Grease Monkey Jive by Ainslie Paton
When Alex was a kid, she gave herself a nasty electric shock by sticking a knife down the slot of the toaster to rescue her breakfast. As the electricity gripped her in the seconds before shutting off, every muscle spasmed and the air crackled and fizzed with blue sparks.
She was twelve years old, had burned fingers, and was in lot of trouble with Mum and Gran.
She was twice that age now and hadn’t forgotten the intensity of that electric zap and how wildly it made her heart beat and her thoughts fly, from the sheer physical surprise and the recognition that she was in serious strife.
There was no toast, no toaster, and no knife anywhere to hand, but the sensation that struck her body when she looked into his eyes was the same. Electricity pulsed through her nerves, leaped in her muscles, and fired inside her brain. She was in deep trouble.
All he’d done was lower his chin and raise his eyes, looking at her from across the room. That’s all. It barely counted as a movement. It was more a re-positioning, more an adjustment than a conscious action, but everything changed in that moment.
The breath sucked out of her; the room closed in. She felt energised and inspired beyond the bounds of her training and the encouragement of the music. There was nothing she couldn’t achieve. Her feet flew through the steps, her placement never more accurate, her leaps and kicks never higher, her body positioning and posture never prouder or more abandoned at the same time.
She danced on air, as a beam of sunlight might chase a shadow across the floor. It was physically effortless and without the need to think. She was carelessness and precision, passion and control, pure energy and heat. She was the blue fizz and crackle, she was the shock of power, and she adored it.
When she got closer to him she could hear him breathing hard, see the dark blue of his bright eyes and their expression of wonder. She caught fire. When she circled around him, she saw tension flick along the ridge of muscle in his back and across the breadth of his shoulders. The line of his jaw tightened and his lips twitched into a smile as he looked for her and the fire caught, flared, lifting her higher, giving her iridescent wings and divine purpose.
When the music stopped, the silence was hopelessly profound. Her body became her own again and she felt the old stiffness behind her left knee and the too tight strap of her shoe.
She looked at Dan, still standing where Trevor had put him, but studying her as though he’d never met her before. She looked at Scott – surely he’d noticed something odd just happened – but he only had eyes for Dan, critical eyes.
She shook her head to try to reclaim her scorched senses and when she walked across to the stereo, she thought her legs might give way on her and spill her on the wooden floor.
Dan’s eyes never left her and a flood of self consciousness coursed through her, replacing the earlier feeling of joy with embarrassment. That was too much inspiration for a trial run. She could’ve just walked it through; there was no reason whatsoever to have danced like that, not for Dan, he’d have no idea of the technique he was seeing. Scott might’ve enjoyed it, the freedom and clarity of it, but Scott would’ve been annoyed she didn’t dance like that for him.
“What do you think?” said Scott, but not waiting for her reply. “You’re a good physical match and he does look the part. Of course, you’ll have to do all the work, girlfriend, but assuming he can at least do what he did then, we might be able to pull this off.”
Afterwards, Alex would wonder what she’d said in reply; she was already thinking it might be better to abandon this idea before it took on its own life and required her to reorganise hers.
He felt like
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