You read that right. At this very second, well not exactly this second but a bunch of seconds after this. I’m working on a mummy romance. A suspenseful, steamy mummy romance with ties to Valentine’s Day.
Enjoy a little preview of my current work in progress
“Let’s all thank Dr. McKenna, kids. Then we can go see the dinosaurs.”
Their forced chorus of “thank you” was stunted at the promise of dinosaurs. Wide-eyed, the horde made a beeline for the next exhibit and their massive stegosaurus skeleton. A sad chuckle rose in Emma’s throat, her attention turning back to the mummy.
She didn’t expect to hear its echo but in bass. The edge of her eyes became her entire face as a man walked up beside her. “In my day, mummies held far more sway than some dusty old bones.”
That rich voice hurled her back to her grad school days. Not the ones spent sweating in the sands, fearing dehydration or worse. But the cool, electric nights in the clubs as the hottest locals tried to suss out the newest American arrivals. Though he didn’t dress like the typical twenty-something douchebag of either here or Egypt. Instead of saggy jeans and a button-up tossed over a t-shirt, he looked like a man late for a Fortune 500 meeting. The pinstripe suit was so sharp Emma could cut herself on it. A cane with a flat disc of gold at the top rested at his side, holding none of his weight.
Her eyes darted to his shoes to note the style of laces, then up the buttons and the cufflinks out of habit. Curse of doing her undergraduate in historical fashion, with an advisor forcing her to emphasize on the Merovingians. It also helped her to avoid staring directly into his eyes while all her gray matter pooled into her spinal column.
There’s handsome, and then there’s so handsome he hit beautiful then rounded back to rugged. That jawline was a hundred-percent bounty hunter outlaw, ready to light a match for a stick of dynamite with a flick. It wouldn’t look out of place under a strategically dipped 1940’s fedora. But the nose was more delicate than lace. It reminded her of an elf. While his eyes were the most dangerous feature on his face. Emma feared if she started too long into his deep brown wells, she wasn’t coming back.
And he said something to her. Something…funny?
It hit her in a flash, and she said, “I suppose if the Egyptian pharaohs had been twenty-stories tall with razor sharp claws, the kids might care.”
The man snickered, his full lips ticking up. A flush burned over Emma’s cheeks and she absently tugged on her lab coat, wishing she didn’t have its boxy shape hiding her.
Ellen Mint Books 