It was a dark and stormy night when Laurel stepped onto the terrace, the unseasonably warm autumn air enveloped her like a shawl, making the night feel close.  Too close.  Or maybe it was the memories crowding in on her that made her claustrophobic.  Or maybe it was this damned itchy lace.  

She strolled across the empty stone terrace, her arms wrapped around her heaving bosom waist, balancing a champagne glass between two fingers.  A soft breeze kicked up, with it a subtle acrid smell tickled the far reaches of her mind.  Her eyes were automatically drawn to the shadowy woods lining the deep yard.

Tiny white lights framed an outdoor gazebo, creating an almost ethereal quality.  A shudder scurried down her spine.  Suddenly feeling exposed, she tugged at the low-cut neckline of her cocktail dress. 

As you can see, I'm hard at work on my next category-length romantic suspense.  Please check back soon when I hope to have exciting news to share!

                                                                     Alison Stone