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Max W Miller

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Egyptian Moon Series Book I: Return
by Max W Miller   

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Books by Max W Miller
· Spending Christmas with a Yeti
· The Legacy of Sadie Mae Stevens Book I: The Gordite Witch
· Blood Melt
· After Hour Banking
                >> View all

Category: 

Romance

Publisher:  Ironshield Marketing LLC ISBN-10:  0985595566 Type: 

Copyright:  To be Releasd December 1, 2013 ISBN-13:  9780985595562
Fiction

The perfect boyfriend with a bright future
The haunting from a demi-god from a past life
The stalking by a mystery guy having his own purpose

Price: $3.95 (eBook)

 It Started in New York when Megan Smart touched an artifact from ancient Egypt. Immediately she had a reaction that catapulted into a haunting vision in her bedroom suite that night. What she saw ignited a flame that the shy, reserved freshman used to walk sensuality right into her boyfriend, Tyler bedroom, even with her parents in the same hotel suite.

Hoping the stirring of heated boldness was for Tyler only, Megan goes to a frat party; there, she is asked to dance by the same incredibly alluring dark haired stranger that frightened her in the courtyard earlier. Resisting but not winning, Megan accepts the extended hand he offered. Their moves, their groves twined together as they moved provocatively as one with only one problem … Tyler was watching it all. Distraught and on the brink of a break down, Megan is rescued for the second time by an unnamed stranger.


Excerpt

Long ago in ancient Egypt …

Find pleasure in him while you can. Wrap yourself in the fine linens of the gods. Bathe in the perfumed waters of his choosing. Give your wanting to him and let him satisfy your moments. With burning candles and scented oils, prepare your chamber then let him in. Maintain your black silken locks and make green your eyes. Take your nobleman from a foreign land; lie with him and let him inside. You can never be his wife so bed him over and over again. The Pharaoh who is a loving father may come to take you as his own; it is his right, or the right of a doting brother, maybe even a cousin. Lift your head in this entire affair, watch for signs that you may one day sit upon the throne or become regent to the male who is next in line.

Come myrrh, come natron to embalm my flesh, carry me and my foreign lover to the second kingdom. And one day when my soul finds a place to rest, I will emerge as a new kind of pharaoh, letting love decide fate. Then, once again, I will spend heated nights between fine scented linens. He will only be satisfied by the taste of my breast, and with fire we will climax. With my foreign lover, I will walk in another time … and we will wear the crown of pschent!

Present day …
In New York City, when the artifacts from King Tutankhamun’s tomb were on tour, I touched a broken piece of an ancient clay tablet called an Amarna Letter. In that moment, during a non-public viewing, when I had touched the seemingly harmless dust, the tips of my fingers lit with the feel of electrical bee stings, and since then, Megan Smart have not felt like Megan Smart. Normally, I was focused, shy and reserved; not one to slip into my boyfriend, Tyler’s, bedroom while my parents slept in the same hotel suite. Even that bold move paled in comparison to what really filled my insides with terror, blowing me apart like a whiff from the nostrils of a storm. It was the ancient writing on the Amarna tablet. I could read it. Had I paid attention to the quivering of my left eye, I would never have done it.

My dad, Dr. Eli Christopher Smart III, a noted Professor of Neurological Surgery, at Duke University, totally white, but born in Cairo, Egypt, had infected me at an early age with his love for the place of his birth. My granddad, Eli Christopher Smart, Sr., was a successful businessman in the import/export business, traveling extensively through North Africa until his mysterious, untimely death five years ago.

I loved the rich and colorful design of Egyptian clothing, make-up, Jewry, and the extraordinary architect of the ancient cities. I wasn’t very knowledgeable about the inner workings of the people, then or now, except for the pharaohs and how a few of them may have been women in disguise. I’d always seen that as so awesome. Queen Nefertiti was my favorite ancient woman of power.

Even though I didn’t pay close attention to half of what dad tried to teach me, I got one part of ancient Egyptian lifestyle very clearly and it was disgusting to me. How gross was it to marry their own children, sister, brother, father? Eeeeu.

The tour guide at the Metropolitan Museum of Art had said that these Amarna Letters or tablets as they were also called, were politically motivated in nature and mostly written in Akkadian/cuneiform, the writing system of ancient Mesopotamia, rather than of ancient Egypt. I didn’t know how to read ancient Egyptian, and this Akkadian/cuneiform stuff: no way should I have been able to read that. And what was up with the bee stings?

Since my tenth grade school year, dad started creating his idea of the perfect trip for us to tour the ruins of ancient Egypt. He chose the time frame for this momentous event to be the summer before my first semester at Morgan Nielsen University. In truth, not the best time of the year to tour the super-heated sands of Egypt, still, we wanted one last vacation together before I moved out of the house. Like a swarm of blood sucking locusts, the political upheaval in Egypt swooped down upon our plans, eating every part of it.

“Fear not, my lovely Meg,” Dad had said, “a brain surgeon of any worth always has a plan B, tucked away in his surgical bag of tricks.”

“Plan ‘Bs’ always sucks, dad,” I wanted to see King Tut, the boy who would be king, in all his glory, not just a watered down New York tour.” My dad moved from sitting on the winged back chair in our living room and squeaked his soft bottom shoes across the polished hardwood floor. He joined me on the sofa.

“Daniel Brogan is the curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He’s been wanting me to come up and evaluate some troubling neurological symptoms his wife is experiencing, and—” He pointed his index finger at my brooding face. I looked square into his steady grayish-blue eyes, and felt lucky to have been spoiled by him.

“He’s promised that he’ll give me and my family a special tour.” Lightly bumping heads with mine, he continued. “He says he has some pieces that the public haven’t seen yet and promises that if I come, it’ll be worth the trip.”

“Humm.” My arms pressed tightly underneath my breast. “Are there no doctors in New York who knows how to evaluate his wife’s neurological symptoms?”

“Definitely are, but sometimes the truth is best excepted through a longtime friend.”
“On, my God, you already know it bad, don’t you?” Even though dad always backed up his assessment with test results, he possessed an uncanny sense of nailing accurate diagnosis over the phone.
“Well, we’ll see after I review her chart.”

A man of quiet patience, tall with a straight spine, and no unusual features to speak of, he carried a big stick in his field of medicine: Chairman of the Department of Neurological Surgery, and Director of Neurosurgical Oncology. He taught and lectured at Duke’s school of medicine, performed complicated and invasive brain surgery, served as keynote speaker at seminars around the world, and consulted on baffling neurological cases.

Craning his neck toward the kitchen he tried to get a visual of Mom busily preparing dinner. I followed the movement of his eyes and the nodding of his head. “And she’s coming with us.”
Lower lip hanging, “No way.”
“Yes, way.”
“Shut up, dad. Are you serious?”
“I am.”

Whispering, “Is she still trying to learn how to read astrology charts?
He wrapped his arms around my shoulder to bring my ear closer. “Yep, she says she wants to become a professional astrologer and get certified in hypnosis.”
“So this is her next torture chamber for us, huh?”

“I would say it is. From corporate project manager, to stay at home mom, to seamstress, to florist, and now the great and powerful Oz will foretell our future.”

“I hear you whispering in there.” The strong voice of Katherine (Katie for short), Smart rang from the kitchen. “Keep it up and no dinner for you two. Eli, I swear, I don’t know what you’re going to do when Meg leaves this house. You won’t have anybody to gossip with about me.”

“Oh, honey, you and I will reconnect like glue on feather and roll ourselves into one big ball of happiness.”

“Yeah, right, right. What are you guys in there whispering about?”

“We were just discussing that we need to make an appointment with you to get our horoscopes read for tomorrow, shall we go out, or shall we stay in the house with you?

As we laughed, I knew my dad was just being silly. He loved my mother like I’ve never seen a man love a woman, supporting her mentally—she really didn’t need his financial support; she had a serious trust fund from her deceased father. I guessed that’s why she didn't mind playing around in the house on most days.

“Go ahead, make fun of my wonderful new talent, why don’t you. As a matter of fact, before she goes off to that wonderful school you pulled strings to get her in, I’m having Meg’s chart read by someone better at this than I am.”

“Aaaah, no you’re not.”
“Aaaah, yes I am.”

Dad squeezed my shoulders and said, “Give up while you can and I’ll run interference and change the subject.”

“And Tyler dear, will you have his chart read too?”

“No dad, no.” My heart raced when he mentioned Tyler. He knew better than to do that.
After a pause she answered. “You guys need to set the table, I am not your servant.”
“See, dad, do you see what you’ve done, now I’ve got to eat and look at her eyes condemning me or listen to how the right choices must be made in every area of my life—otherwise the circle is not complete.

”Dad gave me that teasing look, eyes dancing with mischief. “Let’s really get under her skin. Ready, on the count of two.”

When he said two, we shouted, “Yes you are our servant.”
“Alright, no dinner for either of you.”

******

I’d never had a vision before; I thought those kinds of things only happened to prophets, evangelist, psychic or witches. Yet, inside our New York suite, the unexplainable happened to me. I lay as if pinned to my bed starring up at … something from nowhere I’d ever visited. I’d just showered, dried off, mist on my favorite Bath and Body Works fragrance, Jasmines in Bloom, and slipped on a silk cami with a matching barely there bottoms. Walking toward my very king sized, totally empty bed, all I could think of was how slow the hours would progress, tortured by knowing Tyler lie two bedroom doors away, under his sheet, in a very king sized, totally empty bed, too. Sure he wanted to be in here with me, just like the hunger I felt to be with him, I nearly lost my will to breathe. I had never been that heated, and always able to bring myself down. But, after this frightening, exquisite scene, how could be anything but on fire.

My first thoughts came saying: this could not be real. I had to be dreaming even though my head had just touched my pillow. One thing kept me from having an immediate spasm, held me inside the walls of sanity: the awesomeness of it all. The skillful strokes of a master artist, Michael Angelo came to my mind, painted with grace, a room over the white on my ceiling. Oddly, after my initial shock, I calmed into feeling very peaceful. Was I hallucinating something so beautiful and so familiar until even though I could not move, I didn’t believe I wanted to?

“Oh, my God, so–”beautiful.” The colors of the room, vivid golds, reds, and blues, floor coverings like I’ve never seen. The room could not be matched except for by the image of a tall slim young lady, about my age and based on what I knew, Egyptian. She wore the most gorgeous white gown I’d ever seen, having a gold trimmed band underneath her breast and trailing from her torso down to mid-thigh. It hugged her long, shapely body, looking as if it was made of a soft delicately textured material. She stood elegantly poised, solemn with her arms positioned behind her back. Chest lifted, chin perfectly aligned, one leg slightly crossed in front of the other. Flawless and dark, her complexion radiated, bringing attention to high cheek bones, and full moist lips. Maybe she was an angle, here to give me a special message.

Around the middle section of her thick, black hair, she wore some type of headdress. I didn’t know whether it was feather or some type of material. A bang came to her brow, accenting heavy dark eye make-up. A thick gold necklace, about six inches deep, definitely a show piece filled with jeweled stones, covered her shoulders and the upper portion of her chest.

Inside my gut, I could not help from thinking that she stood in composed anticipation, waiting for something to happen, or maybe someone to come. And then without warning the Michael Angelo original painting came to life. Her head tilted ever so slightly in my direction. With beautiful brown eyes, she looked at me. Still pinned to the surface of my bed, I was helpless, caught in this scene that was preparing to go live. Her lips moved, she spoke something to me that I could not hear. All I could do was to push my eyes out as far as they would go, my peaceful moment gone to hell. Now, I wanted out!

After a few seconds of her speaking and me not hearing, she turned her head in another direction, and then he appeared from behind heavy draperies. The drapery flared aside from his rushing entry. Even though she held her pose, her lips curved; a dance filled her eyes as he crossed the room. She waited for him, hips floating in a small movement, a dignified show of excitement. I could only see the back part of him, wearing an over the top, two toned head dress, and a brown, man-skirt wrap (that was my name for it when dad and I used to read about ancient Egypt). In my mind, I didn’t see this man entering her bed chamber dressed in fine linen and a prom date head dress as a commoner. “Shendyt, I edged the words from my mouth, trying to remember the history, not knowing if I could be heard. If I was seeing them, maybe they saw me too.

Tall with broad shoulders, he wore a leopard skin wrap across his chest. His bear arm exposed muscles stacked underneath his brown skin. When he came close enough, her arms unlocked from behind her and moved underneath the animal skin, unlocking the fastener that held it. She ripped the sliding skin from him and sailed it across the room. A smile brightened her already beautiful features, white teeth against fine chocolate. “Oh, my—” The streaming video prepared to go there. He’d held his arms wide open, bidding her to have her way. No confusion remained in my mind about what they were about to get into. Why was I made to be a part of this totally private moment?
She undressed his bottom, first the wrap, then bending down before him to loosen the side ties on probably the first style of the male thong. I squeezed my eyes tight. “Aaah, man, God, I don’t want to watch this mummy pornography. “Why, why me?” Eyes still close, I tried to unpin myself form the bed, run screaming for my parents. Honestly, I didn’t want to run to my parents. The heat was building inside of me. I wanted to get to Tyler, show him my new pink thongs that weren’t so ancient.

But my parents were here; right in the same hotel suite. I would never do anything with Tyler having them so … so close. No, I wouldn’t. I fought even the hint of what my body suggested. Megan Smart would never do that. I resisted opening my eyes, they kept trying to flutter open, see what the mummies were doing, and be a part of their experience. But Megan Smart said, “Oh, no, this ain’t happening, cannot be.” It happened despite my mind’s protest. My eyes opened My petrified brain looked back inside mummy land. Maybe this was a curse placed on me for rooting for normal people in all the zombie movies I’d watched during my lifetime. Finally the zombies came to claim me, tricking me, not looking like zombies at all. I was able to move now, run for help, go to mom and dad—if there’s was the bedroom door I sought.

“Tyler.”
They had gone deeper into their love making. “Mummy porno, right on the ceiling of my room!” More alive than ever, her beautiful white dress lay crumbled on a rug, lean curvy body, naked. I tuned in just in time to see him sucking on her bottom lip then going into her mouth for her tongue. Her hands grabbed as much of his ass as she could, while he seemed to enjoy letting his tongue slide out of her mouth, in a rapacious journey to her breast. Her hands went limp as she arched her neck and lifted her chest to him, letting him tease her nipples with his tongue.

Awareness eased its way closer, creping icy horror into my pores—a horror that my mind accepted without the cooperation of my warming body. The electrical bees from earlier came back on the tips of my fingers, not painful as before, but with a stimulating tingle, working with what my body was already experiencing. A throbbing longing, came with their refined stings, sending a sensitivity to my tongue, my mouth, the tips of my breast and beyond where shy, inexperienced Megan Smart had ever gone alone. But was I really alone?

I tried to look away, I really did, I knew that this streaming video was not a part of services provided by an expensive New York hotel suite. With every move they made, I noticed my chest rising and falling, my breathing deepening. I heard a moan inside my throat and realized that my hands were under my cami, touching and enjoying the feel of me. “Get, up, Meg,” I tried to obey my brain, tried to escape from what I might do next. “Please, Megan. My name is Megan, Smart.” I stumbled the words out. And Megan Smart does not … do not … will not.” My hands went lower and lower; I freed my body from the confinement of my barely there sleeper bottom, still too confining for this new level of heat. “No, Megan Smart has never and will never, hell no. “Aaah haw. Noo. Aaaah haw. Hell yeah!”

I looked up at her. She seemed to have her brown eyes glued inside mine. I thought I saw a smile and maybe a slight wink. At that moment, I felt like they had compelled me to take part in getting to know them better, edged me toward an active role in their love making. I felt used, stimulated through Mummies making out on a hotel ceiling.

With his powerful arms, he lifted her straight up. Her long model-like legs spread outward, and then she wrapped her thighs around his waist, using her legs to lock her in place. She wrapped her arms around his neck; he responded to her passionate twining a round his body by flooding her with kissed. They bit and nibbled on their lips, moving their tongues freely in and out of their mouths. The man, whose face I never saw, looked strong. As he carried her toward a huge bed that had steps around it, I could see that his calf muscles were well developed. In these days, he’d probably pump heavy iron at a gym. As he walked with her clinging to the front of him, she looked back at me, and from inside my head, I heard the only words she wanted me to.

“The beautiful one has come.” Inside my head, her voice sounded stern and commanding. I didn’t think she and I would become friends in this life. One thing I had to admit, they had won the first round, no doubt about it. I was sucker-punched the moment I walked out of the bathroom. I’d watched their mummy sex movie and it turned me into another kind of Megan. Scary shit! I hope she’s gone forever. But for tonight, why waste this brave new Megan, not afraid to walk right past my parents’ bedroom door and into Tyler’s. I’ll roll with it for tonight and pray that I don’t get used to this transformation inside my head.

Mom had made sure our bedrooms were not next to each other. She didn’t trust Tyler, not understanding how straight laced he was. After my mummy show, her eyes should have been rolling and peering all day at me instead of Tyler.




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