Book Tuesday: Guest Author short story

Hello and welcome to Book Tuesday.  Today I have a special guest blogger/author who has kindly written a story for your pleasure.

 Some of you might have already come across his blog, Lance Greenfield.  Lance has written a fantastic book called Eleven Miles, which I have reviewed in a previous post.  Eleven Miles is available on Amazon and I would definitely recommend it.

For today’s story, Lance has created a story with a different style to his norm, drawing us very quickly into a precarious situation that sets emotions afire with the fluid movement of the plot.  Let us know what you think and if you have a continuation or contribution to this story, feel free to link it on in the comments or a pingback to Lance or myself.


Cold Feet


As the door clicked shut behind me, the other shoe dropped. It bounced as it joined its partner on the floor. The pair of sorrylooking red patent leather stilettos lay down together, their heels crossed. 

My mouth dropped open as the implication hit me. I raised my eyes slightly. A pair of shoeless feet poked out towards me from under the duvet. The shiny red nail polish matched the shiny red patent leather exactly.

Her feet were the only parts of her body that were visible.

The room was silent. Too silent. Far too silent.


I rushed forward, touching her toes as I passed. They were freezing. I whipped the duvet off the bed, throwing it onto the floor behind me.

It was the first time I’d seen Claire naked. I had been hoping that it would be in much more pleasurable circumstances than this. Those wonderful thoughts were very far from my mind at that moment. 

She looked dead. Really dead! She wasn’t breathing. Not even the slightest rise and fall of her chest. I pressed my index and middle fingers against her carotid artery. Nothing! She really was dead!

I sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. I started to sob. My mind was whirring. I was confused and befuddled. I didn’t know how I felt.

What were these emotions that were swamping my body and mind? Was this grief? Was this fear? Was this the effect of falling from high expectation to appalling disbelief? How had she died? What now? What should I do?

I’d only known her for two days. Well, socially anyway. Her company had been doing my company’s marketing for about six months, so we had corresponded by email, and we had spoken many times on the ‘phone. But it hadn’t been until this trade show in Berlin that we had actually met.

As soon as I had walked into the hotel bar on Sunday, having checked in and dropped my bag in my room, I’d spotted her. She shone, just like the sun, across the room from me. I knew, immediately, that it was Claire. Our eyes had met. I had known, at that miniscule instant in time, that she also knew that it was me. We had clicked.

Since that meeting, outside of the professional agenda of the event, we had spent every waking moment together. It may sound like a cliché, but we genuinely had so much in common. We had talked about our travels, our enthusiasms and our passions. There had been an obvious sexual tension, but we had skirted around it, almost afraid of ourselves. We had resisted the unspoken temptation, despite the strong urge to submit and fall into bed together. We were both married, and we both knew that what seemed so right was really so wrong. It would be far too complicated and messy.

But it could never last. On that fateful Tuesday evening, the magnetic cymbals had dramatically clashed together, and there was only one way to go.

“I’m going up now. Just give me thirty minutes. Let yourself in with the spare key card I gave you. I’ll be waiting; willing and ready for you.” She had winked at me before she turned away.

I had watched her as she’d walked toward the elevators. Her long, shiny, raven-black hair fascinated me. In just a few minutes, it would be spread across her pillow as we finally fulfilled out desires. I sat there, sipping my drink and wondering how I could possibly hold myself back for thirty minutes. I’d glanced at my watch and the clock had started ticking. I physically felt every second of those thirty minutes as they crawled past me, one by one. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Now, here I sat, alone, with her cold, naked dead body beside me on her bed. It was incredible!

How will I ever explain this away? What was I doing in her room? How had she died? Oh no! What if she’d been murdered? I’d be the prime suspect. Our colleagues had seen us together. There would be forensic evidence that I’d been in the room.

In two minutes my mind had gone from just whirring to spinning like a tornado.

What should I do? Call an ambulance? Call the police? Call the hotel manager?

I reached out and laid my right hand on her tummy. She was still warm, but her flesh was clammy. I put my other hand on her forehead. It felt the same, almost as if she was a life-sized rubber doll. It was horrible. There was nothing I could do to bring her back to life. I just wanted her to be the lovely, sexy lady who had walked out of the bar less than an hour before, leaving me in a state of anticipation of an exciting night ahead. 

An earthquake reverberated through my whole body.

They’ll think that I killed her! What questions will they ask me? What answers might I give them? I must tell them the truth! What had I to lie about? I had done nothing wrong. Except to harbor some very naughty thoughts, of course. But surely my thoughts were no crime.

I removed my hands and resumed my seat on the edge of her bed. I rested my head in my hands. I cried. Tears rolled down my cheeks. The gaudy patterns of the awful carpet blurred and made me nauseous.

Am I crying for Claire? Or am I crying for me? Self-pity is despicable. Poor Claire. What happened? This is bad!

I cannot tell you how long I sat there, crying.

I was very scared. I couldn’t remember having been that scared in my whole life, and I had been through some pretty horrific experiences. I kept thinking, what if she’d been murdered? They are bound to blame me.

I hadn’t seen any marks on her body, and there’d certainly been no blood. Or had there? I couldn’t bear to look. I just cried.

“Where have you been Ben?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin!

It was her voice. 

Was it a ghost?

“You were so long that I must have fallen asleep.”

Her arms wrapped around my chest and I felt her body, her DEAD body, press against my back.

My heart felt like it would explode and burst through the walls of my chest.

“Why is my duvet on the floor? Come on. Pick it up and get into bed. Quickly! I’m freezing!”

“I-I-I th-thought you were dead!” I stammered.

“Don’t be so silly. I’m very much alive, and very much wanting you Ben. Two days of waiting for this moment and you just sit there gawping at me as if you’ve seen a ghost. Get into bed. NOW!”

I heard her words, and I really wanted to obey her command. But I just couldn’t. I was in shock. I was genuinely stunned. I was so stunned that I was numb. I was physically shaking; trembling.

My mind was telling my arms to reach forward and pick the duvet up off the floor. My body just would not move. I could feel Claire’s soft, warm body pressed against my back. She rubbed her hands over my chest and began to undo my shirt buttons. I knew that I should be aroused, but I was not responding normally. I was being seduced by this gorgeous, very sexy woman and I had turned into a statue.

It struck me that here was a paradox. Claire was naked and hot. I was fully clothed and cold as ice.

Her hands were moving everywhere. It would not be long before I’d be as naked as she was. She planted little kisses across my shoulders and around my neck. Normally, I would be as aroused as she obviously was, but I had just had the worst shock of my life. Then I got a sniff of her sweet scent, flavoured with lemons. The breathtaking fragrance started my revival. A tiny spark flashed deep inside me, kindling a tiny fire.

She moved around me so that she straddled my lap giving me full visibility of her beautiful body. Her actions were having the desired effect. I was still confused, but gradually succumbing to her seductive intentions. She pushed me backwards and leant forward, brushing her dark tresses across my chest. I was coming back to life, even though the mystery still swirled around inside my head.

As she wrapped herself around me, she finally succeeded in completely taking my mind off the recent horrific events. 

That night was long and sleepless. We discovered each other. I even discovered the remarkable reason that she had appeared to be dead, lacking both heartbeat and breath when I had entered the room and seen the other shoe drop to the floor. But that is a completely different story.

I will never forget that night. My emotions had bounced from the greatest heights to the deepest depths and back again in less than an hour. Those memories make me tremble, even now.

2 responses to “Book Tuesday: Guest Author short story

  1. Reblogged this on Lance Greenfield and commented:
    Thanks to Mello-Elo for inviting me along to write a short story for her Tuesday guest spot. If you are reading this on my blog, rather than hers, I would encourage you to skip across to Thoughts by Mello-Elo and start exploring. She always has so much going on there, with a lot of variety.

    She is also an accomplished author in her own right: mainly children’s books, but she has also published a suspense novel, Deception, which I am currently reading.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Womenispiredblog


    Liked by 1 person

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