I
wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas, and give you a little
teaser from my sci-fi novel, The Maker Book 3 in the Lone
Wolf series. The crew of the Flotilla and Hannibal
have been gone from known space for nearly four years. In that time,
Chairman Emmelia Spenser has missed Captain Ben Drexel, who protected
her from Riley and his power hungry moves. It's Christmas Eve and she
misses him more than ever.
Gazing
at the clock on the wall of her lavish living room, Emmelia Spenser,
Chairman of the Mining Guild, watched the hands creep toward
midnight. Drinking a silent toast to absent friends, she tried not to
cry.
"Oh,
Ben," she whispered to the air, "Where are you tonight and
what are you doing? Are you thinking of me as I think of you?"
She
rose, walking to the window of her penthouse apartment, high on top
of the Mining Guild Tower. The tropical setting seemed incongruous to
the occasion. Instead of snowy slopes, she gazed into the crystal
clear ocean. Lost in its depths, she sighed.
Tonight
she'd been obligated by her position, to host an expensive party for
all the somebodies in the Mining Guild. Emmelia had been the
perfect hostess, paying extravagant and insincere compliments to the
hideous wife of the head of the Miner's Consortium. All the while
harboring unkind thoughts that the woman looked more like a troll
than a lady of wealth and substance.
All
the board members were present, their trophy wives in tow. She
couldn't keep track of them any more. They all looked alike: blonde
from a bottle, boobs by design, pouty lips, long legs and tiny little
brains. They dripped furs, jewels, gold, platinum and other choice
tidbits given them by their filthy rich husbands. Usually, there was
a new one every other year and they all had names like Buffy or Tippy
or Missy.
Emmelia
hadn't been alone at her party, of course. There were any number of
eligible men willing to escort the most powerful woman in the Mining
Guild to a posh soirée. The one tonight, Brett, had was smarter,
handsomer, better put together than most—but he wasn't Ben. But few
men could measure up to Benjamin Drexel, the former Marine Captain.
He'd stolen her heart nearly four years ago when Wil sent him on
assignment to protect her from Riley.
Brett
had made the expected advances. Emmelia had repulsed them until she
had too much champagne to drown her sorrows, then she gave in. He was
several cuts above the average hanger-on, but he had to compete with
the memory of Ben.
She
had hoped that Ben would be back from his mission by now, or at the
very least she would hear from him. But there were no messages and
she was still alone.
"Tomorrow,"
she whispered hopefully, "I'll hear from Ben."
A
final sip of champagne and she made her way to bed, where Brett
slept, looking for all the world like a child. She wondered how old
he really was, twenty-five, twenty-six? Did it matter? He kept the
bed warm, didn't drool and didn't snore. Slipping quietly back into
bed, she curled up next to him, facing the door, crying gently.
Brett
must have sensed her presence, perhaps even heard her crying. He
rolled over, putting his arm protectively around her, cuddling up
behind her, breath warm on her neck. Tears fell anew, as she
remembered how Ben did the same thing.
"Tomorrow,"
she thought as she fell asleep, "Tomorrow—"
©
2016 Dellani Oakes
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