Jenyfer Matthews

Dara England is the pen name of Carol Green, an author of fantasy, paranormal romance, historical fiction, and contemporary fairytales. When she isn’t glued to her computer screen, Dara can be found attending renaissance fairs, going to operas and ballets, or hanging out at her local library and bookstores. Visit her on the web

Brought to Life
Blurb:

Megan Hurst’s life has taken some unexpected turns: First she loses her heart to the dashing hero of a novel. And then she meets an amnesia victim who seems just like him.

The mysterious stranger needs her help to piece his past together, and the closer the two become, the more questions arise about his resemblance to a “fictional” character.

Megan’s romantic feelings and her bizarre suspicions bring her to an impossible question… Has she dreamed the Duke to life?

Excerpt:

None of the onlookers were making a move to help. Megan shoved her way through the crowd to reach the still figure sprawled across the pavement. Kneeling at his side, she noted in a glance that he still breathed. There was little blood except for a thin stream trickling from his face, which
was turned down toward the pavement.

“Someone call an ambulance,” Megan shouted at the staring crowd. “He needs to get to a hospital.”

“I tell you it was like he just appeared,” repeated the driver, coming to stand over her. Megan ignored him.

In the background someone was speaking into a cell phone, presumably to an emergency operator. “The intersection of Fairmont and Main,” the woman was saying. “A man’s been hit by a car. I think he’s dead.”

He wasn’t dead. Already he was stirring and making slight moaning sounds. Megan didn’t dare move him for fear of injuring him worse. Instead she twisted around and lay so that her face rested on the pavement, level with his. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “Don’t try to move. Help is on the way.”

Catching her first glimpse into the face of the injured man she cut off mid-sentence. There was something incredibly familiar about him. Those impossibly gorgeous eyes, the sharp cleft in his chin, and his hair. She’d once read someplace where someone’s hair was described as the shade of
sun-ripened wheat. For some reason that seemed to suit this man.

His emerald colored eyes were wide open. Even in his apparent pain she could read no fear in them. Instead his gaze was fixed steadily, confidently, on her. The expectancy in that look sent an odd feeling through Megan. For a moment she had the weird sense that he somehow knew and trusted her better than she knew or trusted herself.

She cleared her throat of a sudden dryness. “You’re gonna be okay,” she said for want of a better reassurance.

He mumbled something back, but it was hard to make out. It might have been, “I know.” Then his eyes closed and he went limp.

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