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Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Taken Identity by Raven McAllan



Title: Taken Identity
Author: Raven McAllan
Publisher: Totally Bound
Genre: Suspense, BDSM













I was rummaging through a box the other day and found a couple of old diaries. Now before you get all excited and think I have lots of deep and meaningful secrets to share, one glance reminded me I wasn't big on writing a lot in them. I preferred scribbling stories, even then, it seems.

These diaries are a few years apart. It seemed even then I hated liver, loved sunshine, and avoided fairground rides that were any more than a sedate roundabout. Once a wuss, always a wuss. I still go white at the thought of some of those things. (I'm the person who kept her eyes shut on a roller coaster, got off, threw up and said never again.)

Weirdly both of the diaries mention a kiss. The earlier one I was around thirteen or fourteen—and no I'm not saying exactly how old or who the boy was. After all how galling to read. ***** and I kissed. What on earth do you do with noses? His got in the way too much.

Ah well, it's to be hoped I learned soon. And for that matter so did the boy in question. I didn’t report that, and it's long lost in the dim and distant past.

The next diary I was a few years older. Seventeen or eighteen I reckon. Okay, yes, I can check the year on the diary, but once more I'm protecting identities.

This time I'd written. Yuk, **** is such a wet kisser. All sloppy and well yukky. (You'll see my vocabulary wasn't as extensive then). I'd added…Pity, cos he's groovy otherwise. Right then! I have a feeling that relationship didn't last very long.

When I was older, I started to keep diaries on holiday. They come in very handy when Dh says things like, “can you remember where...?” Or “what was the name of that restaurant in…?” For years, I recorded where we went and my impressions of the place, our outings and lots of the minutiae of the day-to-day things you do on holiday. But somehow, never a day-to-day—or even week-to-week—diary of what we did.

Which is a pity

What's even more of a pity is that once I got a lightweight laptop and began to take it away on holiday with me, I stopped writing the diaries. Okay, my handwriting has always been a bit suspect—think demented gnat dipped in ink and let loose on the paper—but to stop altogether? It wasn't a conscious decision, and sadly I didn't transfer my thoughts into typewritten words. I just stopped.
I take the diary away… it just stays empty.

So, if I were in Jules situation, I'd be snookered. Thank goodness she's better at diary keeping than I was.

Blurb for Taken Identity

If someone steals your identity and marries a sex god and that sex god husband shows up at your door…do you get to keep him?

Jules has no memory of marrying a sex god—and no woman is that forgetful.

So when the devastatingly handsome Gray turned up on her doorstep looking for his wife and calling said wife by Jules’ name, Jules wondered briefly if she’d landed in an alternative universe. She knows she’s not his wife and so does he, but apparently someone with her name and history is. Is it a case of coincidence or did his missing wife ‘borrow’ Jules’ life?

Even though the dominant Gray sends her knickers aflame with just one look, with a missing wife in the equation, Jules knows there’s no chance of finding out what else he could achieve.

There’s only one thing to do—unravel the mystery and try to keep their hands off each other in the meantime. The first may well prove far easier than the latter.

Excerpt from Taken Identity:

Jules dug into her capacious bag and brought out a series of notebooks. “Diaries,” she said, in answer to their unspoken questions. Really, men were so predictable in their responses. A raised eyebrow and a disbelieving look at anything they wouldn’t have thought of. “I’m one of those weird women who write things down in a book, not just on my iPhone or laptop. So, when are we looking at? Yup, here we are, just over three years ago. Month?”

“July, when we met, May of the following year when we married. November when she buggered off,” Gray said succinctly.

“Well, that’s concise.” He was, she realized, getting less pedantic in his speech the longer they were together. “Therefore, she must have decided to be me sometime before that. I wonder how far back I need to go. D’you know anything that would help?”

“The one thing I have noticed is that I haven’t found any trace of her before I found you. Not that that’s a lot of help,” Sean said.

“As a matter of great interest, how did you find me all of a sudden? I mean, if you’ve been hunting Julia Frayne since she left Gray, why has it taken you this long? I’m on Google.” Their attitude annoyed her. How up yourself do you sound now, Jules? “And Frayne isn’t that common a name. I’m the only one in the local phone book.”

Gray looked somewhat embarrassed. “Yes, well, er... Oh shit. I—we haven’t been looking that long. I mean, for God’s sake, how do you admit the woman you thought was madly in love with you has made a right idiot of you, left you and taken the family jewels?”

Jules and Sean burst out laughing.

“What?” Gray must have realized what he’d said because he colored and gave a short, self-conscious laugh. “Yeah, well, the way I felt when I found out, you could have said she had. Put me off women for a long time, I can tell you—with the exception of one fiasco I am not going to discuss. Talk about being taken for a ride, twice. However, I have learned my lesson well. No more, never again.” He sat back, folded his arms over his chest and swung his chair on two legs. The action tightened his muscles and drew attention to his body.

“I thought perhaps we could get an idea of when she became me and might find a clue in my diaries,” Jules explained her thought process. “Long shot, but hey, we’ve bugger all else to go on.”

Like the sound of Taken Identity? Buy it here.



A multi-published author of erotic romance, Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.

She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge. As once she is writing she is oblivious to everything else, her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.




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