He studied it as he had a thousand, thousand, times. The only picture he had taken of her in Paris, December 6, 1904, that evening at 5 Avenue Carnot. The photo lacked the banked embers color of her hair, but he loved the strength of her shoulders. So real to him still, the taste-memory of kissing her lightly freckled skin, nuzzling down to slip the cloth from her breasts with his lips. Closing his eyes, he felt her chest move against his. It rose and settled with the thrum of each beating breath. That moment slowed—he held her again, but not for long enough—between the tick and turn of the hands of the clock. For decades, the touch—the feel—of her and the beat of her heart had led him across continents hoping to find her. She was lost… in time, and it was running out.
Follow my writing, including updates on stories, here.
The above excerpt is part of the new content from a novel that expands two of my novellas into book one of a trilogy. That novel is THE GIRL WHO BECAME. Coming Summer 2018. Want to be a beta reader and read it before it’s published? Just let me know via email or leave a comment below.