A mother’s curse...

For the captain of an ancient ship, time is another destination on an endless journey.  Bound to the sea, ANDRÉ MARIN drifts through four endless centuries in search of the virtuous woman whose unconditional love will defeat his mother's curse and return his crew to the mortal world.

A father’s legacy...

In a race against the ticking clock, TINA BELLE MCFEY explores the frigid waves of the North Atlantic Ocean in search of Scottish artifacts.  Her father’s death left her pummeled by a storm of debts, struggling to keep the family salvage business afloat.  Using the snappy wit of a modern woman, Belle must avoid the ghostly captain’s seductive lure long enough to prove she is more than a lucky scavenger. 

When Andre enters Belle's dreams,

they set sail on a passionate sea of undeniable attraction and insurmountable odds.  

 Will their love be his salvation?  Or her ruin? 

Excerpt from

Time Treasure

CHAPTER TWO

“Je ne suis pas un fantôme.”

There was that incredibly sexy voice again, only this time in textbook French. I don’t remember the meaning of fantôme.

“I said, ‘I’m not a ghost’ and, before you ask, I am also not a devil.”

The scent of ocean breezes filled the room. He was with her, but this time his presence was more than a feeling, more than a thought. A man stood behind her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. You’re brave enough to swim with sharks and visit dangerous wreck sites, Belle McFey. You can face the ghost of a French seaman. Two heads, or headless or...

Steeling herself for what she would see, Belle looked over her shoulder.

Oh, you’re a devil, all right. Dark hair tumbled to broad shoulders. Brown eyes the color of melted caramel met her stare. The image was better than the voice.

“If you’re not a ghost or a devil, then what are you?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure what word you would use to describe my existence.”

He wore a blue cotton shirt, open at the neck to show a light dusting of black hair. Loose jeans did nothing to conceal slim hips and a powerful physique. Deck shoes completed an ensemble like Peter’s. Of all her brothers, this smooth-talking apparition had to pick Peter to emulate. “You dressed exactly like Peter.”

“I clothed myself in a manner that would be familiar to you.”

“Oh,” She moved her gaze from his tanned throat to meet his eyes. Her stomach fluttered and her heart raced again. Her ghost would have to be handsome. Sexy. Bedroom eyes. Long mahogany hair, like the actors she’d drooled over in the black and white movies she loved. If only you wore an earring. I’m a sucker for a man wearing jewelry.

He grinned and slid his hair behind his ear. A tiny diamond stud twinkled in the artificial overhead light.

She’d need to mind her thoughts as well as her words. “Do you look like this or did you pluck my fantasy from my mind and become it?”

He chuckled, the ease of his laughter rushing over her like a hot shower after a cold dive. “The clothing is from your thoughts, the rest—is me. If you’d prefer, I can don the uniform I wear on The Trident.

“The Trident?” She’d heard that name before. “Your ship?”

“Oui.”

Later, she’d ask Peter, the walking library of maritime legends, about The Trident. Right now, she stood less than a foot away from a being that was not human. Not a ghost. An alien? No way. A creature from outer space was more than even she could imagine. He, or it, stared at her as if he’d been on a month-long diet and she was made of chocolate. Some thing, not some one. “I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid.”

“Nor should you be. I would never harm you.”

She suspected that wasn’t the complete truth.

All images and writings copyright 2006  Sheila-Rae Z. Mohs  Last Updated 12/30/07