Today is the our blog stop for Tell Me A Fantasy by Tamara Lush.
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Tell Me A Fantasy Synopsis
Samantha Citrouille’s anxiety won’t stop her from attending London Fashion Week and collecting a lifetime industry award. After all, when iconic designer Karl Lagerfield requests your presence at an exclusive party, you have to jump on a plane. Even if you’re deathly afraid of flying.
While white-knuckling it on the turbulent flight from Florida, Samantha's seated in business class next to a handsome stranger named Colin. His low, smooth voice helps calm her nerves. But her panic reaches its peak when the plane is forced to land in Iceland due to mechanical failure. Distraught, she's horrified to discover that all hotels are booked due to a summer solstice festival. As the world’s top designer of tropical resort clothing, Samantha _ known as Sam C. to her legions of fans _ is used to luxury at her Palm Beach estate, not sleeping on airport benches with only a pashmina wrap for a blanket.
Her impossibly sexy seat-mate Colin kindly offers to share his accommodations, because a business contact owns a sleek pied-à-terre in Reykjavik. Samantha, emotionally wrung out, agrees for what she thinks is one quick night.
A freak volcano eruption forces Samantha and Colin to stay in the Icelandic capitol for a long weekend, and the two have nothing better to do than share cocktails, bare their past sins in conversation, and indulge in each other under the midnight sun.
But things become complicated after their idyllic fantasy weekend together. Colin, a self-described modern-day rake, is sure he’s finally found the woman of his dreams. But Samantha, who has her own fears and ghosts of the past, isn’t so certain. She'd rather fly around the world, twice, than have her heart broken again.
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I toe-heeled my black ballet flats off and gingerly stepped onto the cold airport floor. Tiptoeing, I avoided the spills, the spots, and the grime dotting the linoleum.
Balancing on the balls of my feet, trying not to focus on the germs and the smell of God-knows-what body odor lingering in the air, I bent to pick up my shoes, then took a few quick steps toward the security line.
Of all the things I hated about flying, the TSA line was far from the worst. I shivered as I unwrapped the black pashmina from my shoulders. Normally it would be a pleasure to precisely fold such a luxurious piece of fabric, but I stuffed it into a ball and into the container. My long hair crackled and levitated with static electricity, and I twisted it into a messy bun at my nape.
“I’ll be there around seven a.m.,” the man next to me brayed into his phone. My bin was nearing the conveyor belt, and I tiptoed along, sliding the cubby next to my hip onto the steel rollers.
“Ma’am, your laptop. Get it outta there.”
What about a please? Did the security guard have to address me so brusquely? It had been years since I’d flown. Was this how people acted in airports now?
“Goodness,” I whispered under my breath. I looked at the guy on the phone, then to the conveyor belt helplessly. I needed another plastic tub, but the stack was several feet away. The phone guy—a doughy, road-warrior type in a white oxford and khaki pants— didn’t notice me at all and was of no help. Get off the stupid phone. A tall man behind him paid attention to my plight, wrestled a bin from the stack, and offered it in my direction.
“Thank you.” I reached around the guy on the phone and took the bin.
I heaved a sigh. I didn’t want to travel across the pond. Didn’t want to leave my Palm Beach estate. But when Karl Lagerfeld summons you to London Fashion Week for a lifetime achievement award, you say yes. Even if you’re deathly afraid of flying.
I opened my custom black Birkin bag and reached for my MacBook Air. The laptop went into the empty bin, and I set the bag in a second bin. So many bins.
“You know what I’m going to do to you when I get there?” The doughy guy next to me chuckled lasciviously, and I heard the giggle of a woman through the phone. Why couldn’t people stop yakking in public? God, I hated technology. I tried to use it as little as possible and usually succeeded. That was the benefit of having assistants. And being rich, I supposed.
I inhaled in disapproval.
“I’m going to eat your pussy.”
I gasped and looked up with huge eyes, pressing a hand to my chest. My fingers squeezed the pearls around my neck.
How vulgar. In the TSA line at the Miami International Airport, no less. The man laughed into the phone. “Yeah, baby. Wait for daddy.”
The oral sex-lover didn’t notice my offense, but the tall man behind him did. We locked eyes. His were blue, azure and beautiful. I grimaced in horror, and the blue-eyed man grinned and then chuckled. Somehow, the terrible guy between us didn’t notice the mocking or the disgust.
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Tamara Lush Bio
During the day, Tamara Lush writes news as a journalist with The Associated Press. At night, she writes fictional romance tales about complicated, sexy men and the women who love them.
Her first full-length novel, HOT SHADE, was published in September 2015 with Boroughs Publishing Group. INTO THE HEAT is her second full-length novel and it’s also with Boroughs.
TELL ME A STORY is Tamara’s first novella. It’s the first episode of The Story Series, a five-novella serial about a bookstore owner who reads erotica to a billionaire during a literary event in Florida.
When Tamara isn’t reporting, writing or reading, she’s doing yoga, cooking for her Italian husband or chasing her dogs on a beach on Florida's Gulf Coast. She loves connecting with people on social media.
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