Wednesday, September 4, 2013

My Own Sixth Sense by Elene Sallinger


Bridget Ross is a woman with a shameful secret. Despite a life full of success and close friends she denies herself her true desires in penance for the crimes she can't take back.

Connor Reynolds is a man without a purpose. His own tragic past prevents him from putting down roots and pursuing his dreams.

Their paths collide forcing them to face the ultimate question … is their love worth confronting their deepest fears and insecurities?

It's my pleasure to have Elene Sallinger with a special guest post...

Before I jump into today's guest post, let me first say thank you, Jezebel, for hosting me here on your blog.

Truthfully, when it came to write a guest post for my appearance here, I was stuck. I was in the home stretch on finishing my new book and completely burnt out.

So, I reached out to Ms. Jezebel for any topics she might be interested in having on her blog. Her response which included "any encounters with spirits" was just what I needed to get the juices flowing again.

I believe in a spiritual plan. A space where spirits surround us we just aren't able to see them. Perhaps, this is from being raised in a house where it was known someone had died. The previous owner's wife passed away in the room that eventually became my bedroom.

My sister, in typical childlike fashion, told me she handed the house. Most likely, she just wanted to scare me, who knows, but I certainly believed her. Rather than being scared, though, I was more curious than anything else. Over time, I began to hear things that I came to believe were her ghost.

One night, my sister was having a friend sleep over and I begged to sleep with them in the living room. I was probably seven at the time.

We talked and played and finally fell asleep tucked into our sleeping bags in front of the fireplace. I remember being woken by a feminine voice calling my name. I didn't' recognize the voice. It was too mature and melodic to be my sister or her friend who were only ten. And, it lacked the Southern twang that marked my mother's speech.

The exchange went something like this:

voice: Elene

me coming awake, blinking but not moving or speaking 

voice: Elene, go to your bed

Me sitting up and looking around. I was alone. My sister and her friend having abandoned me for her bedroom and a comfortable mattress.

voice: Elene, go

me: okay

Still barely awake, I went and got in my bed. It would only be the following morning that I would contemplate the ramifications of what happened. I asked my sister, her friend and my mother if they'd woken me. None claimed they had. My belief in the supernatural was cemented after that. I harbored no doubts in the existence of spirits as a result of that night.

Over the years, I have other "visits." Primarily relatives of mine who've passed on but had messages for me about my life. They always appear to me in my dreams. Maybe they are nothing more than sub-conscious projections. I really don't know, but I prefer to believe there is a plane where our predecessors and ancestors exist and that we are able to commune with them at some level.

For me, personally, the idea is a comfort.


Jezebel - Thank you again for hosting me and for allowing me to share a bit of myself with you and your readers!

About the Author 

Hailing from Washington, DC, Elene Sallinger first caught the writing bug in 2004 after writing and illustrating several stories for her then four-year-old daughter. Her writing career has encompassed two award-winning children's stories, a stint as a consumer-education advocate, as well as writing her debut novel, Awakening - a novel of erotic fiction that won the New Writing Competition at the Festival of Romance 2011.


“I have no idea why you don’t see yourself as sexy, but you are. From your brain all the way down to your perfectly painted toes. Everything about you is erotic as hell. You get me hard in the same breath that you intrigue me with some thought you just spoke.”

She turned her eyes away and flushed even deeper at the mention of him getting hard over her. She was no prude, but she wasn’t used to men so casually discussing sexual things with her.

He didn’t say anything else, but he did shift until he was sitting more closely beside her. She could feel the heat from his skin through the jeans he wore. The cotton of his T-shirt did nothing to mask it either. A soft breeze washed over them and she could smell the light woodsy scent of whatever soap he used. Her entire body was instantly attuned to his.

She saw his hand move but was still surprised when he gently tipped her chin up to look at him. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but the depth of the desire she saw in his face was not it. She responded almost violently. Her nipples sprang to life, hardening and tingling against the simple cotton of her bra. She went liquid at her core and her heart rate kicked up a notch.

“I want to kiss you, Bridget. Hell, let’s be real, I want to do a whole hell of a lot more than that, but I want to start with kissing you.”

His eyes had deepened to an almost gunmetal gray with lust. She was completely mesmerized by his obvious desire for her, by the touch of his fingers on her chin, by the scent of his body so closed to hers. She didn’t bother reaching for words, she just nodded.

He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. They were warm, and soft. As he deepened the kiss, licking into her mouth, she could feel the rasp of stubble from where he’d shaved earlier that day. His tongue leisurely explored her mouth. No crevice went without tending, but he didn’t force his attention on her.

His hand ran gently up her body, stopping briefly to cup her breast. He lingered but a moment as if testing the weight and shape before moving up her body. She luxuriated in the feel of him. The soft invasion of his tongue in her mouth was both foreign and familiar throwing her even further off kilter.

She moaned and leaned into him bringing one hand to rest on his thigh which flexed under her fingers. Her blood was thrumming through her veins and she felt her body tuning to him. Any lingering embarrassment over the portrait was forgotten as she gave herself up to his kiss.

She could kiss him forever.

Connor brought his hand to her neck and exerted gentle pressure to lean her backwards at the same time he turned and subtly shifted his body to cover hers.


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