FOTI_Excerpt

Fire on the Island – Excerpt

He felt her presence before he saw her. It came in the form of an overwhelming pressure wave of fury and hurt. It spread through the room like wildfire, and he could tell the other patrons felt it when they began to fidget nervously, some even physically jerking in their seats.

And then she was there, stomping into the room like a tempest, and once again, the crowd parted for her. He stood up when she approached him with hands fisted at her sides, eyes flashing.

He never saw it coming. She smacked him with a vicious right hook in the mouth, so hard that his head snapped back to send him stumbling backwards into the booth, seeing stars. The large ring she wore on her middle finger had cut into his lip and he tasted blood.

He sat there on the old leather bench, panting and staring up at her with astonishment and not a little awe. She’d sure rung his bell but good.

“You…first…rate…bastard!” she ground out through clenched teeth, anger reaching a fever pitch. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, still unable to string two thoughts together, but he had a sinking feeling he knew what she was talking about. “Listen, Isla, it’s not what you think.”

“Shut up! You’ve no idea what in the hell I’m thinking! Did you think that because I’m some small-town Scottish island girl that I didn’t know how to use a computer? I can spell Google!”

“Of course that’s not what I think,” he said, willing his voice calm so as not to aggravate her even more.

“So what, did you hear a rumor about some crazy witch living on the island and come to check it out?” she spat. He winced, her words hitting too close to home. “Well I’m not going to be anyone’s science project,” she hissed and turned on her heel to storm out, slamming the door in her wake.

*Disclaimer: Fire on the Island is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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