Tag Archives: romance

Poetry Friday ~ Congregate & Passion

10 Aug

Hello, everyone! Welcome to my blog!


Today I wrote a two sentence Horror/Romance story and a Haiku. I’m not sure if the combination of these can be called a Haibun. I also wrote a Tanka. I hope you enjoy.

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Sprint Turned a Wrecked Car Into a Mangled Emoji for This ‘Don’t Text and Drive’ Sculpture.

Each night on the stroke of midnight her young, dead husband would text her. His final message, the one found beside the body at the crash site, read, ‘Stop texting me. I’m driving’.

Final rendezvous

Fire ignited your obsession

A text snuffed it out

On a less tragic note . . . 

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Soft rosy petals

Your lips pressing against mine

Under a blanket of stars

In a place where there is love

Rendezvous in the moonlight

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Congregate and Passion are this week’s prompt words chosen by Colleen Chesebro ~ The Fairy Whisperer. *The catch is that we can only use the synonyms to these words in our poems.

Colleen hosts a challenge that anyone could participate in called, Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge every Tuesday, and you have until Sunday to create a post featuring your Haiku, Tanka, Haibun or Cinquain poem. She is an author and poet, and also does book reviews and so much more on her blog. Be sure to check it out.

Thanks for the visit and have a happy Friday!

Don’t text and drive. 

Haiku Friday – Woke & Up

20 Jul

Hi, everyone! Welcome.

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Scented Poem

Tonight, I shall profess my love for him. When he rises, dressed in silvery light, he’ll rouse all the stars, so they may witness our love.

I shall sleep the day away, shielding myself from the fiery sun. And when the coolness of the blue hour quickens me, I shall open myself to him.

Nightingales, delightful nocturnal songsters, with their lilting songs filled with musical romance are joined by frogs calling and owls hooting, to create the music of the night.

I bloom in the midnight sky, my seductive white petals reflecting my beauty. My sweet, intoxicating fragrance summons him. He cannot resist.

Gorgeous low-slung moon

Shine your light on me tonight

Nature sings for us

Ride through my imagination

I have opened heaven’s door

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The style of poetry I wrote today is called a Haibun, at least my attempt at one. I’m thinking of changing “Haiku Friday” to “Poetry Friday”, because I enjoy trying different types of poetry. I hope you enjoyed the romance between the moonflower and the moon. ;D

Woke and Up are this week’s prompt words chosen by Ronovan Hester of Ronovan Writes.

Ron hosts a challenge that anyone could participate in called Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge every Monday, and you have until Sunday to create a post featuring your haiku poem. He is an author and poet and also does author interviews and much more on his blog. Be sure to check it out. Read Ron’s Haiku Prompt Challenge Guidelines for more information.

Today I’m also participating in Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge. In Colleen’s challenge we’re required to use synonyms of the prompt words. This week’s prompt words are Inspiration and Plan.

Enjoy the rest of your day!

Book Tour: If You Love Me, I’m Yours by Lizzie Chantree

9 Jul

Lizzie Chantree-author-novel-romance-blog_tour-book-Vashti Quiroz Vega-The Writer Next Door

Hello and welcome!

Today, I’m excited to be featuring the latest release by author, Lizzie Chantree, as part of her “If You Love Me, I’m Yours” book release tour.

Lizzie and I are both members of the Rave Reviews Book Club and she has been a guest on this blog before. She is a talented, award-winning author and inventor. It is a privilege to have her as my guest today.

Introducing author Lizzie Chantree.

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Author Bio:


Award-winning inventor and author, Lizzie Chantree, started her own business at the age of 18 and became one of Fair Play London and The Patent Office’s British Female Inventors of the Year in 2000. She discovered her love of writing fiction when her children were little and now runs networking hours on social media, where creative businesses, writers, photographers and designers can offer advice and support to each other. She lives with her family on the coast in Essex. Visit her website at www.lizziechantree.com or follow her on Twitter @Lizzie_Chantree

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If You Love Me, I'm Yours-Lizzie Chantree-author-book-novel-romance-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Quiroz Vega-Blog_Tour

Click on image to purchase.

Book Blurb:


‘If you love me, I’m yours…’

Maud didn’t mind being boring, not really. She had a sensible job, clothes, and love life… if you counted an overbearing ex who had thanked her, rolled over and was snoring before she even realised he’d begun! She could tolerate not fulfilling her dreams, if her parents would pay her one compliment about the only thing she was passionate about in life: her art.

Dot should have fit in with her flamboyant and slightly eccentric family of talented artists, but somehow, she was an anomaly who couldn’t paint. She tried hard to be part of their world by becoming an art agent extraordinaire, but she dreamed of finding her own voice.

Dot’s brother Nate, a smoulderingly sexy and famous artist, was adored by everyone. His creative talent left them in awe of his ability to capture such passion on canvas. Women worshipped him, and even Dot’s friend Maud flushed and bumped into things when he walked into a room, but a tragic event in his past had left him emotionally and physically scarred, and reluctant to face the world again.

Someone was leaving exquisite little paintings on park benches, with a tag saying, ‘If you love me, I’m yours’. The art was so fresh and cutting-edge, that it generated a media frenzy and a scramble to discover where the mystery artist could be hiding. The revelation of who the prodigious artist was interlinked Maud, Dot and Nate’s lives forever, but their worlds came crashing down.

Were bonds of friendship, love and loyalty strong enough to withstand fame, success and scandal?

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Universal book buy link

Please join Lizzie Chantree on Twitter each Monday for #CreativeBizHour

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Have a great week, everyone!

BLOG TOUR: Linda G. Hill | The Magician’s Curse

19 Jun

Hello! Today I am participating in a Blog Tour for fellow author and blogger, Linda G. Hill. Her new novel, The Magician’s Curse will be released in paperback 6/27/17 on Amazon, but you can pre-order the Kindle version now. Please read on and learn more about Linda and her book.


When Herman Anderson leaves home to make a better life for herself, she doesn’t expect to meet a tall, dark stranger with whom she’ll fall hopelessly in love.


Charming and mysterious, Stephen Dagmar is a stage magician seeking an assistant. The moment he sets eyes on Herman, he knows she’s the one. He brings her home to his Victorian mansion where they embark upon an extravagant romance. Yet a shadow hangs over their love. Will the curse on his family end Stephen and Herman’s happily ever after, before it really begins?


Amidst lace and leather, innocence and debauchery, ‘The Magician’s Curse‘ begins the Gothic tale of The Great Dagmaru. Magic and romance await.

Book Cover for ‘The Magicians Curse’ by Author Linda G.Hill

Official Release Date: June 27, 2017! Pre-order your Kindle copy today.

**Available soon on Kobo, and on June 27th in paperback on Amazon.


An excerpt from Chapter 2:

The moment Stephen stepped out the door, the foyer fell silent again. He didn’t have to look at any of the interviewees perched, alert upon burgundy velvet-covered benches against both sides of the room, to know their eyes were on him. They were drawn to him as though he were a human magnet, just as Herman had been. He passed the stairs, turned right, and stepped into the dining room where his agent, Margaret, waited for him to arrive.

“Hey,” she said without looking up. She sat poring over the applications that were strewn across the large antique dining room table. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, staring at the top of her dark mane of hair shining in the light of the chandelier above her head. Her long, graceful fingers, poised to turn a page, were an elegant extension of the rest of her lithe body. Finally, she looked up and took in his appearance with icy-green eyes. She was every bit as beautiful as any of the women outside.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. Being inseparable for five years, both as best friends and then co-workers, made it easy for her to tell when there was something different, however subtle, about him.

“I found her,” Stephen said, his back still to the door.


“She has a perfect body and long, brown hair and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. And her lips! Full and beautiful. And the way they move when she speaks … absolutely captivating.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes. “You hired someone on the train again, didn’t you?” It was a statement more than a question.

Stephen nodded.

“Okay,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Tell me more about her.”

“I think she’s running away from home. She has a job to go to, but she agreed to come and check this one out. She’s sweet and innocent and she’s almost eighteen.”

Margaret crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes even more.

“No, I didn’t audition her the same way I did the others,” he said.

“So you didn’t bang her in the limo on the way here.”

“No! She’s not of age. And anyway, I knew from the second I saw her that she’s the one.”

Margaret began to say something just as the door opened on the far side of the room to her left, and Nina came in from the kitchen. Both Stephen and Margaret glanced at the slight young woman and then at each other.

“Should I leave the two of you alone?” Margaret asked.

Stephen shook his head almost imperceptibly and walked over to have a quiet word with the girl. After a few seconds she bowed and backed out of the room, and Stephen turned back to his friend.

“Well then,” Margaret said, throwing her hands up and glaring down at the stacks of paper in front of her. “Tell them all to go home.”

“No, I still want to interview them.”

“What the hell for?”

“Herman might not take the job.”

Margaret raised her eyebrows. “<em>Herman</em>?”


“Okay, let me get this straight. You’re telling me she’s the one you want but that she might not stay. I’m confused.”

He stood, silently pleading with his friend to understand what he had only begun to comprehend himself.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Stephen? I’ve never seen you undone like this before …”

Margaret put her hand up to her mouth, realization dawning on her face. “Oh my God,” she said quietly.

He closed his eyes as he spoke. “It doesn’t matter whether or not she’ll be my assistant, Margaret.” He opened his eyes and swallowed hard. “She’s the girl I’m going to marry.”


About The Author

Linda G. Hill was born and raised an only child in Southern Ontario, Canada. She credits the time she spent alone when she was growing up, reading books and building worlds and characters of her own to keep her company, as the reason she became a writer.


A stay-at-home mom of three beautiful boys, Linda is a graduate of the Writing Program at St. Lawrence College in Brockville, Ontario. Aside from caring for her family, she enjoys traveling the world, eating trout cooked on the barbecue, and, of course, reading.


Follow Linda on Social Media:

Main blog: https://lindaghill.com

Fiction and Poetry blog: https://lindaghillfiction.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lindaghill.fiction/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/LindaGHill

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15577348.Linda_G_Hill

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Linda-G.-Hill/e/B01K2LICL0/


When A Stranger Leaves An Imprint

31 Jul

Pretty face Blake Lively

Illustrated by Amro (deviantART)



Hello everyone! Thank you for stopping by. A couple of weeks ago I posted a story written by me called It Happened In An Elevator. My post today is a continuation of that story. If you have not read “It Happened In An Elevator” perhaps you should do so prior to reading this one. (Just click on the linked title above)



I saw her today. I was descending subway steps when I noticed a blonde standing on the platform, waiting for a train. Something about her stance and profile was familiar. I stumbled and nearly knocked over a silver-haired lady as I hurried past her. I couldn’t yell out her name because I didn’t know it.



When A Stranger Leaves An Imprint

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

Three feet away from her, I came to a sudden standstill. I stared at her, my brows knit so tight my head began to throb. My heart beat loudly in my ears, drowning out all sounds except the screeching halt of the train. I tried to reach out and touch her on the shoulder to make her aware of my existence. What if she doesn’t remember me? My arms felt like lead. I couldn’t lift them. It was the hotel elevator all over again.

The train doors opened. She walked in. I could follow her in and get off at the next stop if things didn’t work out. She’s not going to remember me. Uncertain, I stepped back. The train doors closed. My eyes followed her as she made her way to the large train window before me. As she reached for the handle overhead, her gaze met mine, and her eyes opened wide with recognition. She smiled and waved hello! As the train began to move, she poked out her lower lip in disappointment and waved goodbye. She remembered me! I let her slip out of my life for a second time. I had two opportunities to meet her, and I hindered both chances. Would I ever get another chance?

The trip back to my apartment was a haze of depression, regret and self-loathing. I had a million questions running through my mind. What was she doing in New York City? Did she live here? I got home and sulked for a while, and then decided to go to bed. I lay there thinking of her face, her smile… She remembered me! I fell asleep.

Maybe an hour later, raps on the door jolted me awake.

“Who is it?” I called out, half-asleep.

There was no answer. I peered through the peephole, and my heart seized up. This couldn’t be! Open the door, idiot! I inhaled sharply and obeyed my inner voice. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The fetching stranger I had met a year ago in the elevator of a fancy hotel, the same beauty I had glimpsed in the train station, now stood before me.

“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked in a sultry voice.

I opened the door wider and gestured for her to enter.

“H-h-how did you find me?” I asked, feeling foolish.

“We can talk, or we can do. What is your pleasure?” She took my breath away with her words. “Come, we’ve both been yearning for this moment for so long. Lets not waste time. We can talk later.”

I rushed to her. My chest heaved with excitement. I grabbed her, trying to control my enthusiasm. I pushed her against the wall and began to kiss her. Her lips were so soft and warm, and as our lips joined, they seem to fuse together. All the nerves in my body were firing at once. Her hands caressed my bare chest and then slid around to my back. She pulled me closer. My hands worked their way around her body, caressing every curve. She gasped and tossed her head back. I nuzzled my face against her neck and kissed her repeatedly.I could hear her soft moans of pleasure as I continued to explore her body.



She reached for my boxer-briefs and began to lower them. My male organ sprang loose as my shorts slid to the floor. She lowered her eyes and then gave me a look of approval. She removed her tank top, revealing her magnificent breasts. Without hesitation, I reached for them. I held them, caressed them, kissed them. I could have made love to them. She held my face in her hands and pushed me away gently. She looked at my manhood and licked her lips. My body tensed, feeling the pressure build up in my most manly parts. She slinked down to a squatting position. She passed her hand over it and stared with the curiosity of a child.

“You’re so vigorous,” she said and slipped my head into her mouth.

My body went slack, and my eyelids became heavy. There are no words to describe the sensations that coursed through my body at that moment. I threw my head back and closed my eyes. Noises escaped my lips I did not recognize. I lowered my eyes to watch her in action. She looked up and smiled. She gripped my rear and took me in deeper, all the while gazing into my eyes. I was mesmerized.

Ring. Ring. Ring. I sat upright in bed. The irritating alarm clock woke me up at the best part of my dream. I tossed my blanket aside. “Ah, damn!” I was a mess. When was the last time I had a wet dream? I couldn’t remember. It was that long ago. I showered and got ready for work, still feeling the regret of the night before.

At work, I was not myself. I was quiet, serious and pensive, a pestering “What if?” hanging over my head.

“Hey, Gallo, ready to go to lunch?” said Antonio.

He was quickly becoming one of the best friends I’d ever had. We met when we were both promoted a few months ago and transferred to the NYC office—me from Boston, and he from Miami. There was only one position open at the NYC branch, and we both wanted it. We fought hard at that board meeting on the 5th floor of the Madison Avenue Hotel, and we both dazzled the sharks. They couldn’t bear to part with either of us, so they hired us both. We’ve been inseparable at work ever since.

“Yeah, I could use something to eat,” I muttered.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“Come on. You’ve been moping around all day.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

Antonio looked at me sideways. We had lunch at Marea on Central Park South. Great seafood. I began to feel better.

“I think it’s time,” said Antonio.

“Time for what?”

“I think it’s time I take you home for dinner.”

“Dude!” I laughed. “You’re not going to tell me you’re gay now, right?”

“No, jackass!” he laughed. “Besides, you wouldn’t be my type.”

“That hurts, dude.” We both laughed at my feigned disappointment.

“Seriously, how long have we known each other?” Antonio asked.

I shrugged. “About a year.”

“We’ve known each other for almost a year, and you’ve never even been to my place.”

“Well, we spend most of our time at work anyway.”

“True, my wife bitches about that all the time.”

“What did you call your wife?”

“Shut up!”

“I’ve never even met your wife,” I told him.

“That’s pathetic.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Alright, that’s it. This Friday, you’re going to have dinner at my house,” Antonio insisted.

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

With that, we paid for our lunch and returned to work.

The rest of the day went by quickly. Work kept me busy, and I had very little time to think of anything else. I was grateful. At the end of the day, I was exhausted. When I got home, I showered, had dinner and tried to do some work on my laptop, but I couldn’t concentrate. Maybe I was just too tired.

Her face appeared in my mind’s eye. I don’t even know her name. It’s funny how some people come into our lives and without saying a word, leave an imprint on our hearts. Moments like these always force me to think about my life. Where is it headed? I’m very successful now. That board meeting a year ago went just as I had planned, but what of my love life? Did I miss the opportunity to meet my soul mate? There’s a reason I can’t get her out of my mind. I believe we were meant to be together. I believe I will see her again, and this time nothing will stand in my way. Not my insecurities, not my fears— nothing!

I have so much—everything I’ve ever wanted. What good are all my possessions, this great life, if I can’t share them with someone I love? Of course, I have met other women and dated a great deal, but even with a night of physical activity, I have failed to achieve the level of passion I experienced with the lovely angel on that elevator. I must find her.

I’m lonely. Can I say that, living in a city of millions? I will find her.

The next day I was at the train station where I had seen her. I was there at the same time and in the same location. I waited for hours, but the angel never showed. I went back again, and she was a no-show once more.

Thursday, Antonio decided to work through lunch. It wasn’t like him to do that, but he said he was running behind. It was a gorgeous day—bright and sunny with a pleasant, cool breeze. Central park was very crowded. There was a band playing, which explained the multitudes. I tried to make my way through the crowd to my favorite restaurant. I scanned my surroundings, and my eyes stopped on a dream. There she was, her shiny blonde hair playing in the gentle breeze, and only a massive crowd between us.

I pushed and shoved my way among the masses, determined not to allow anyone or anything to get in the way of me talking to this woman. When I was but a short distance away, she noticed me in the crowd.

I waved and yelled, “Wait right there, please! Don’t move!”

I sensed the heat rising in my face. I finally stood before her, panting, and no doubt red-faced.

“Please tell me your name,” I implored.

She tilted her head to the side, scrunching her brows slightly, observing me for a moment, and then she finally smiled.


“My name is Charlise.” Her voice was soothing and mellifluous.

“My name is Ethan, Ethan Taylor” I blurted. “I know we’ve only had a brief encounter in an elevator, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that day. When I saw you at the train station a few days ago, I felt it was a sign. You remembered me. We should explore this. I want to get to know you.”

I finally stopped babbling. Charlise stared wide-eyed at me, her eyebrows arched high, her mouth hanging open. I realized I had frightened her. I took a step toward her, and she backed away with her arms in front of her.

“Please, don’t fear me. I mean you no harm. I simply don’t want to miss another opportunity to get to know you,” I told her as gently as I could in my loud surroundings. I watched her shoulders relax, and her eyes gazed sweetly at me once again.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked.

“I do now,” I responded. She smiled, and it was like receiving oxygen after nearly suffocating in a sea of fear.

A short burst of wind blew her hair to mask her face. I reached out and gently straightened the strands of hair. We looked into each other’s eyes the entire time. After removing the last strands, I caressed her face. I noticed an eyelash on her cheek. I removed it with my finger and showed it to her.

“Make a wish,” I told her. She moved closer and shut her eyes. I recognized her perfume. When she opened her eyes again, she puckered her lips to blow the lash from my finger. Her lower lip touched my finger as she blew. I felt the warmth of her breath, and I swear the tip of my finger was connected to every nerve fiber of my being. My body quivered. She grinned, and I wanted to lose control. I craved to take her home. I longed to worship the art of her bare form. I had an overwhelming desire to touch her, taste her, melt into her very soul until the two of us became one.
“Charli, we have to leave. I can’t take this place anymore. My head is killing me,” a young brunette insisted as she tugged at my angel. “Who is this?” She looked at me with reproachful eyes.

“He’s an old friend,” responded Charlise. The brunette’s mouth tightened as she looked me up and down.

“We have to leave now. I’m serious! My head’s going to blow.”

“Alright, alright,” said Charlise, and then she looked at me. “It was nice running into you again. I have to go now.” Her voice was soft, sweet and sad. She wants to stay with me.

“Lets go! God!” shouted the brunette as she pulled her away.

Charlise waved good-bye and disappeared into the crowd. At least now I know her name, and she knows mine. Charlise. What a beautiful name. It was like a melody. We are meant to be together, and I will see her again soon.
I looked at my watch. It was time for me to head back to work. I served no purpose in my office that afternoon. Erotic thoughts of my angel plagued me. I took hold of my manhood and stroked it with thoughts of her until all that was left in my wake was a load of discarded frenzy.

Friday came around. Antonio had been reminding me about our dinner date twenty times a day for the past few days. Needless to say, I was glad the day had finally arrived. At the end of the day, I told him I would make a pit stop at home to shower and dress, and then meet him at his house for dinner.

I arrived at Antonio’s house at seven o’clock. He greeted me at the door.

“Ethan, my brother, welcome to my humble abode,” he said dramatically.

We grinned at each other, and then he took me by surprise when he embraced me. In a very manly manner, of course—crushing me like a boa constrictor and patting me on the back so hard, I thought I would cough up blood.

“Dude! Take it easy!” I laughed.

“I’m sorry, Gallo, I’m just happy to see you in my house.”

“Alright, alright, let’s not get emotional.” I shook my head disapprovingly while Antonio laughed.

I sat on his couch, and he got me a drink. I was relaxed and happy to be there.

“My wife will be out in a moment. You know how women are. It doesn’t matter how much time they have to get ready. It’s like they’re allergic to being on time.”

“I’m right here,” said a female voice. I stood to greet her.  “Hello it’s nice to…” her words were strangled by the look of agony on my face.

I could hardly stand. My hands were shaking. There was an awkward silence while we stared at each other. Her face wore a perturbed grimace. Finally, my eyes fell to the ground. Inside, my chest blazed a firestorm. I was lightheaded. I slumped and held on to my knees.

“What’s going on?” asked Antonio.

I looked up at his puzzled face, and then glanced at hers. Her eyes were wide imploring me to keep my silence. I regained control of myself. I took a deep breath, and stood upright.

“I’ve been feeling poorly all day,” I lied. “I believe I’m coming down with something.”

“Why didn’t you say something at work?” asked Antonio.

“I knew how much you’ve been looking forward to having me over for dinner and to meet your wife. I didn’t want to disappoint.”

Antonio shook his head. “I would have simply made a change of plans, my friend.”

“I can’t stay, Antonio. I’m sorry. I thought I could visit for a couple of hours, but I can’t. I hope I didn’t ruin dinner for you.”

“Of course not. We’ll do this again another night.”



I looked at his wife, gripped in pain. I swallowed hard. “It was nice meeting you, and I’m sorry.” It took everything I had to say those words.

“Please don’t be sorry,” said she tenderly her eyes glittering.

“You have an angel for a wife, Antonio,” I said as I watched him smile and nod.

He put his arm around her, twisting the knife already lodged deep in my heart. Inside, I winced in pain. On the outside, I mustered a weak smile and walked away, certain that my best friend would be holding my true love, my angel, in his arms tonight.

Copyright © 2013 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.










It Happened In An Elevator – Short Story

16 Jul


The Writer Next Door_Vashti Quiroz-Vega_love_story

It Happened In An Elevator

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

I was staying on the 10th floor of a ritzy Madison Avenue hotel in New York City. I was due in the conference room, where my presentation at a board meeting would shape my career. As I pushed the fifth floor button in the elevator commanding it to transport me to this engagement, I was entirely unaware my life would be changed forever: that a stranger would steal my heart. All of this before I had even reached my destination. Who knew so many emotions could blossom in a 4 by 7 ft. suspended box?
She entered my life on the ninth floor, hauling a suitcase on wheels. As her long, shapely legs crossed the threshold, her smile caught my breath. There was something in her glance that made my heart beat faster. A mermaid’s alluring voice said, “Ground floor, please.” She might as well have sung a lullaby. My knees faltered. What is happening to me? This is not the first beauty I’ve seen. I inhaled, remembering to breathe, and absently pressed the button, obeying her command.



I looked at my briefcase and reminded myself of the importance of my session on the fifth floor. My successful performance in this meeting would mean a promotion, a raise—all the things I had been focused on achieving. From the corner of my eye, I caught her checking me out. When I turned, she snapped her head forward and played with her hair. Does she feel it too? I swear the temperature in the small space went up a degree or two as I watched her lick her lips. The intense chemistry filled the chamber—primal, and thick enough to snuff out the air.

The elevator stopped. Talk to her! You may never get another chance. I wrestled with my id. A woman with a haggard face entered the elevator with her brood. Kids played and ran circles in the tight space, while their mother yelled at them to stop. A little boy pushed the beauty, knocking her into me. Prickly sensations coursed throughout my body. I reached out to steady her. As I touched her arm, my eyes narrowed. My pulse raced. I was on fire. Through a cacophony of shrieks and shouts I heard her say, “I’m sorry,” as she moved away a proper distance and tidied her formfitting skirt. How I envied her clothes!

The elevator stopped again. Momma and her chickadees scrambled out of the cubicle. The little boy who had shoved the fetching stranger looked over his shoulder and grinned at me, as if he knew I wanted to thank him. A few more floors, and she would leave my presence forever. As the doors closed before us, she glanced my way and giggled as she shook her head. “Kids,” I said. She nodded and lowered her eyes. She gathered her long tresses to one side, exposing her neck. She feels it too.

Once more, the elevator came to a standstill. This was the fifth floor, my floor. I clenched my jaw as I stared at my briefcase. The meeting can wait. I turned to look at her. She questioned me with her eyes, no doubt reminded that the fifth floor button was glowing when she first entered the elevator. She glanced at my briefcase and then at me again. Slowly the corners of her lips curved upwards. I imagined what they would taste like. Her face told me she knew I had to be somewhere else, but chose to ride with her instead. The doors opened, and I lost her gaze. Frustration began to set in as a woman invaded our sanctuary, her hair twisted in a severe bun. Although it was lit, the woman jabbed at the ground floor button. My body went slack. The last few floors would be spent with this intruder.

I turned my face and looked at the angel. I tried to muster the courage to speak to her. At least ask for her name. The rejection and maltreatment from beauties past rooted my being in fear and fixed my feet where they stood. Even my voice box was gripped firmly shut so as to prevent me from uttering words. Her lovely blonde hair glittered in the dim man-made radiance. I contemplated the smooth curves of her face. The silky texture of her sun kissed skin beckoned my touch.

Ding. The elevator doors slid open. More people plagued us by entering our world, but I forgave them since the alluring stranger moved closer to me to make way for the crowd. My chest heaved in rhythm with my rapid breathing. Her fragrance drifted into my nostrils, rendering me helpless. Her hips lightly brushed across my manhood, making it come to life. My body quivered. Making room for her luggage, she stood so close. She slowly turned her face toward me. We stared at each other. Speak to her! I could feel the warmth of her breath. I watched her full, rosy lips move to form words. My entire body tensed in anticipation. “This is my floor,” she said.

She might as well have stabbed me in the chest. The hoisting platform came to a halt, and my heart skipped a beat. The doors opened. One crowd departed the elevator while another multitude rushed to enter. She wove her way through the mob, slowed by her luggage. The fear that gripped my body finally released me, and I stepped forward to claim my destiny.

A hand took hold of my shoulder. “Ethan, I hope you’re ready for this meeting. Those men are sharks!” It was my boss, grinning and patting me on the back. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but my eyes kept roaming back to the captivating splendor crossing the threshold.

I gripped the handle of my briefcase tightly. “Yes sir, I am ready.” I stepped back to stand next to him and fixed my eyes on the ground. My heart turned to lead, the weight of it dragging me down. I lifted my eyes and watched her walk away. I had never longed for anything as much. Before stepping out of my life she turned and with her eyes, she kissed me goodbye.

Copyright © 2013 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

Romance-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-short story-storytellingThe Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-short_story-storytelling-Romance

Have you ever had an experience like this? I’d love to hear about it in the comment section below. Tell me about the one that got away or the romance that almost was. ;D


Distorted Social Perception – It’s Only Me

28 Jun


Hrithik Roshan

Hello! Welcome to my blog. My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, for those of you visiting for the first time. I am a writer of Fantasy, Suspense and Thrillers. I do, however, have a tendency to mix a little Romance, Horror or Humor (among other genres) into my stories.
I love art, creativity and beauty, and I know these come in many forms. In my quest to build my author platform, I have met and befriended a group of incredibly talented individuals. Writers, poets, artists, and musicians who are masterful at what they do. I feel blessed to have found them, and I would be selfish if I kept the beauty, artistry and creativeness of their craft all to myself.
So for the next few weeks I will be featuring their art, writings and music along with my own work on this blog. I guarantee you will enjoy every bit of it.
This week I will continue my features, and introduce the very talented poet and writer Rohit Chaudhury.

Rohit has written two powerful, passionate and deeply-felt poems, which I’m sure everyone will enjoy. There is beauty in honesty and his words are that and more.


Why do you flee in my sight,
is it fear or is it my might.
Is it because I have seen pain,
to fulfill my foolish gains.

Is it because,
I watch you with cruelty.
With truth in my heart,
I curse quite fluently.

Is this the price,
to live genuinely.
A mask free life,
you all need so poorly.

You see me,
with your crooked sight.
You scorn me,
with your pretentious life.

I don’t care,
if it’s not justified.
Because this is the way,
one should live his life.

I know it’s unwise,
to live a life un-prioritized.
But I wish to die,
living my destined life.

~ Rohit Chaudhury



Thank You

The sparkle in your eyes,
makes me wonder,
am I worthy of you?

My life was freed,
from certain sadness,
by the touch of your livelihood.

Not a movement ceases to be beautiful,
as my heart has finally sung,
was my life just waiting for you?

You are my miracle,
and you are my angel,
my love, thank you.

~ Rohit Chaudhury

Please visit Rohit Chaudhury’s Blog to read more of his fascinating poems.


“It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see.

The writer shakes up the familiar scene, an, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.

~ Anais Nin

“It hurts when you try to do what’s right, and all they see in you is wrong.

~ Unknown

“I’m not interested in trying to work on people’s perceptions. I am who I am, and if you don’t take the time to learn about that, then your perception is going to be your problem.”

~ Jim Brown