P.G. Forte's Blog, page 66

Random Adult Excerpt

This is the beer and pizza scene from Love, From A to Z. It's a little bit spicy (and I'm not just talking about the pizza--haha) and I'm posting it for Erin Nicholas, Queen of...too many things to list right now. lol!



Heiress April Valenzuela has everything a girl could ask for--except love. But when her memory goes missing, she learns that all the money in her bank account won't buy it back. Good thing she has hunky guitarist Zach Harris on hand to teach her everything she needs to know about love, from A to Z.



Buy the book here:

  http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/lovefromatoz.htm







The spicy aroma of pizza tickled my nose when Zach flipped the box open to hand me a second slice.

"Mmm." I reached for it greedily. "Thank you." Pizza was delicious, I decided, as I took a big bite.

The late afternoon sun moved slowly across Zach's living room, gilding everything in its path with its warm, golden light. We lay on the couch; each of us propped up against one of the sofa's arms; our legs entwined with one another along the seat. I took another bite and considered my situation. I felt a mass of contradictions at the moment; exhausted yet animated, happy and scared. I was lost. I was found. I was sated and spent. I was starving for more. What I should have been was sleepy--but I was too wound up to sleep.

After we'd finished in the bathroom, Zach had carried me into his bedroom, where he'd laid me on his bed and proceeded to make me scream several more times. By rights, I should have been depressed about that. At this rate, I was never going to make him my love slave.

You were never going to anyway, a tiny voice, way in the back of my mind, sneered at the very thought.

But, I didn't know that. And, right now. I hoped the voice was wrong. I really hoped that, when I found out who I was, I would learn that I did belong in Zach's strange world. That I was 'his kind of woman'. And that I would find a way to make him my slave... at least part of the time.

Because, despite all the weirdness and uncertainty, despite having a lifetime memory that stretched back for all of about ten hours, at this precise instant, what I felt most of all was an underlying contentment. Some inner sense was telling me I hadn't known too many moments like that in my life.

But I didn't want to think about that. There was nothing I could do about it right now, anyhow. And, since that same inner sense was also saying this golden moment was not likely to last very long, I was determined to make the most of it while it was here. I took another bite of pizza and let everything else fall away.

Pizza, I thought, had to be the most perfect food ever invented, although, admittedly, my experience, at present, wasn't all that wide. And pizza and beer together--now that was surely an unbeatable combination.

"What do you call this stuff again?" I asked, picking a small, white blob off the top of my slice and popping it in my mouth. Creamy and warm with a distinct salt tang, I loved the way it melted on my tongue.

Zach smiled. "That's Feta cheese. You like it?"

"Mmm." It reminded me of sex. "And the green stuff underneath?"

"Pesto. Basil, garlic, olive oil...I don't know what else."

"It's good." Pesto tasted earthy and pungent. It reminded me of sex, too.

"Yep," Zach sighed, sounding pretty content, himself. "Green pizza and red beer. It doesn't get much better than that."

Nodding agreement, I leaned down and retrieved my bottle from the floor. After taking a sip I smacked my lips. "Delicious." But it was better than that; really. It was refreshing in a dark, vibrant, exciting sort of way; like a cool, wet, never-ending kiss...

Come to think of it, everything reminded me of sex just now, even the soft cheese that was layered beneath the pesto. Soft, stretchy, springy; it brought to mind the tender sac that held Zach's balls.

I moved my foot a little, stretching my leg as far as it would reach, until my sole was pressed against the bulge at Zach's crotch. I rubbed him with my heel, back and forth in a little semi-circle, testing to see how much of that soft springiness I could feel through the denim of his jeans.

"Hey." Zach swatted at my foot. "Cut it out. Stop that."

He looked amused, however, rather than annoyed, so I decided not to take him seriously. I scrunched up my toes and pressed harder. "Stop what?"

Mischief gleaming in his eyes, he swallowed the last bite of his pizza and put down his bottle. "You're really asking for it, aren't you?"

Was I? I nibbled at the edge of my own pizza while I considered the matter. Truth was, I was feeling a little tired. "Not just right now, thanks. Maybe later."

"That's what you think." Shifting backwards suddenly, so that he was out of my foot's reach, Zach swung his legs over mine.

I sucked in a quick breath when his big toe nudged my pussy. I was pinned beneath his legs, naked under the pink robe. A thin layer of satin was all that separated my most sensitive flesh from his marauding foot. Heat spread through me at the thought, along with a faint trace of alarm. "Zach, don't."

"Don't... what?" he mocked, using his other foot to spread my legs apart.

Tears stung my eyes as laughter competed with nerves. I still wasn't completely sure I could trust him, after all, and with pizza in one hand, beer in the other, what could I use to defend myself if things turned rough? My elbows? Ha. But, even so, desire curled in my belly. My nipples peaked. I felt anxious, vulnerable... and almost more excited than I could stand. "Please..."

"You know I like it when you beg," Zach murmured as his toe massaged my clit. Then his smile widened. His eyes met mine and breathing became that much harder, I could tell he was feeling the same thing I was: my juices soaking through the satin. "You like it too, don't you?"

His voice alone made my clit throb, so intense it was almost painful, reminding me I was feeling more than a little sore. I shook my head. "No."

"No?" All movement stopped. Zach froze, looking startled.

My sex pulsed, mourning the loss of his heat, already missing his toe's tormenting pressure. Screw the soreness. I rocked my hips, trying to rub myself against his foot.

Laughter rumbled from his throat; low, sexy, triumphant. "Liar." Still laughing, he lifted his legs from mine and pulled away from me completely.

"Pig," I muttered, feeling bereft, abandoned, frustrated. My chest heaved and I briefly considered which one to hurl at his head--the pizza or the beer--until Zach solved the problem for me by removing both from my hands and then pulling me down on top of him.

"You are such a nut," he murmured holding me still so he could kiss me.

"Takes one to know one," I replied straddling his legs and stretching out on top of him. No question about it, I liked being on top; liked the feel of his body, broad and strong, laid out beneath me; liked the feel of his big hands cupping my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.

His lips were warm. He tasted of beer and pizza and male. Did all guys taste this good, or was it just him? I sank my teeth into his bottom lip, frustrated by the fact that there didn't seem to be any way to get enough of him.

"Ow." Zach's hands closed on my shoulders. "What'd you do that for?" He held me away from him while his tongue snaked out to explore the damage to his lower lip.

"I like the way you taste," I explained, feeling completely unapologetic as I braced my hands on his chest and gazed down at him. It was his own fault, after all. He didn't have to taste that good.

 

Vote for Old Sins, Long Shadows

Old Sins, Long Shadows received a verrrry nice review this week at Whipped Cream Reviews (AND a "Best Book" rating--I'm still grinning over that!) which means it's eligible for this week's "Book of the Week" honor.



You can find the review HERE. And, if you feel so inclined, voting is on the Whipped Cream home page, HERE.



I usually don't quite believe it when people say it's enough of an honor just being nominated (I know, I'm very cynical that way!) but in this case, it might be true. (Best Book--squeeee!)



However, winning would be really nice too, don't you think?

Sound of a Voice That is Still (the LZ excerpt)

So I've been tweeting a lot of music today, blame it on fellow Naughty Novelist Kinsey Holley, if you'd like. And I decided I had to post this excerpt from Sound of a Voice That is Still because it's got a teeny little homage to Led Zepplin.



I've got a download for the first person to correctly name that tune!



Now only $2.99 at Amazon.  Buy Book HERE



Blurb: Sometimes it seems like Spring will never come again. Sometimes the only alternative to living in inner darkness is death. In the depths of winter, Ryan and Siobhan will have to make a choice: to help each other heal . . . or die trying.





"So, what's next Boss? You about ready for lunch?" Ryan asked. Siobhan looked up from her desk, startled to find him leaning over her, his big hands planted firmly on the desk's surface. They were a lot like his feet, she decided; large and strong looking with long fingers and a light dusting of golden hair. They looked capable and sensitive and.... She looked away quickly, glancing around the room. He'd taken charge of the post-class clean up today, organizing the other volunteers with such efficiency that Siobhan had decided to devote a couple of minutes to catching up on some of her paperwork. But now, the place was spotless and unexpectedly empty.      "Has everyone else left already?"     He grinned suddenly. "Boy, you really do get caught up in your work, don't you? They said good-bye, you know. You even answered them."      "Oh." Siobhan felt herself coloring. "Well, I guess the dog--"     He cut her off with a shake of his head. "It's raining again. I let them both out for a run on the grass a little while ago, but I don't think they want out any more right now."     Oh," she said again. "Well, then yeah, why don't you go ahead and get lunch."      "What about you? Aren't you eating?"     "Oh, um, sure. I was just going to fix something here. I don't want to go out today, what with the rain and all."     He smiled. "Yeah, I figured. That's why I brought my lunch with me today."     Belatedly, Siobhan remembered the brown paper bag he'd been carrying that morning. "Oh."     "You know you keep saying that, don't you?" The light from her desk lamp danced in the depths of his eyes as he teased her. "Oh, oh, oh, oh? Wait, let me guess. Led Zepplin, right?"     "Hmm. Very funny," she said, allowing herself a tiny smile."     His own smile gleamed brighter. "That's better. Now, come on, you've been working all morning. Take a break." *     Ryan watched her as she ate her salad; methodically forking up bits of tuna, spinach, walnuts and raisins while her mind was so obviously elsewhere that he didn't even have to hide his interest. Just as well, because that was getting harder to do. He'd learned a lot about her in the last week. But the more he learned, the more he realized how much he didn't know. Yet. And the more deeply he wanted to delve into the mystery of her.      A faint warning rang in his mind. Was he getting a little too obsessed here? He'd been down that road before, and he'd paid the price for his foolishness. In fact, he was paying for it still; in the form of one busted leg that just wouldn't heal right.      Last September he'd let himself get too caught up in the excitement, the tactics and the chase. He'd gotten carried away, gotten careless. And almost gotten killed. He thought he knew better now, than to put himself into another situation where he could not control the outcome. He thought he'd learned never to dive headfirst into anything, anymore.      There was very little danger of this turning into anything more serious than a brief, bright interlude in an otherwise damp and dismal winter. But all the same, it wouldn't hurt to take precautions. He should've been taking them all along. But for some unknown reason--     Siobhan looked up just then, their glances colliding. Self-consciousness registered in her face. "Sorry, I guess my mind sort of drifted. Did you say something?"      He hadn't, but, "What were you thinking about just now?" he asked, deflecting her question with one of his own. "You looked like your mind was a million miles away."     For an instant she looked even more flustered. She waved one hand in a vague, dismissive gesture. "Oh, no, not really. But listen, remind me to have you fill out one of the volunteer information forms before you leave today, okay?"     "Information forms?" He popped the last bite of his pickle into his mouth and began to stuff the wrappers from his lunch back into the bag. "What kind of information are you looking for?"     "Oh, just standard stuff. You know, name, address, phone number, availability, other interests. I usually get them filled out first thing, but...um, well, you didn't exactly apply in a conventional manner, so--"      He couldn't help himself. His gaze drifted to her lips and lingered there. "Really? It didn't seem all that unconventional to me. Think we should try it again?" Her mouth tightened abruptly. "No. There's no need for that." Despite her frown, he felt his mood improve. So, she was trying to get some information about him, huh? That sounded promising. He smiled at her. "Sure, I'll fill out your forms. And while we're remembering things, don't forget about my ticket for the dinner."        "Right." She sighed. "How many did you want again?"     "Just one," he answered, a little surprised at the question. "Why? how many did you think I wanted?"     "Oh, I don't know." She poked at her salad some more. "I just...well, I guess I just thought you might be bringing a date, that's all."     He leaned back in his chair and pretended to consider the matter. "A date, huh? Yeah. That would be nice. And, to be honest, I was thinking of asking someone if she wanted to go with me, but I don't know if I should. I'm not exactly sure how she'll react to the suggestion."     "What?" She stopped poking and raised her head to stare at him. "Oh, come on. Are you serious? You're worried about asking someone for a date? Yeah, like you're really going to be devastated if you get turned down."     Ryan shrugged. "Hell yeah, I will. I'm a sensitive guy. And this woman...you know, she's kinda been sending some mixed signals. When you've only known someone less than a week, well sometimes it's hard to know where you stand." He lowered his voice to ask softly, "So? What do you think? Do I take the chance?"     She looked at him very strangely. Finally she cleared her throat, and looked away. "This woman...I take it she's someone I know?"     He smiled again. "Yes, Siobhan. You could say that."     She nodded once or twice. "Well, I don't think you've got anything to worry about. I mean, I think she'd be flattered."     Flattered, huh? He felt his smile widen into a grin which he tried his best to hide by taking a last sip from his soda. "Well, now, I don't know why you should feel that way about it, but--"     "No, I mean it Ryan. I'm sure Erin would love to go to the dinner with you."     "Erin?" He stared at her in almost complete consternation. "Who the hell is Erin?"     She looked surprised. "Well, I just assumed-- What do you mean 'who is Erin'? You know damn well who I'm talking about. You've worked with her three times this past week. Who else are we--"     "The kid who works here? That Erin?" Confusion gave way to outrage. "Jesus Christ. Are you crazy? What the fuck are you thinking? She's gotta be what? All of eighteen, maybe?"     "No." Siobhan shook her head. "No, she's at least twenty. Actually, I think she's twenty-one. And anyway, you're the one who said I knew the woman. Who were you talking about?"     "Well, who do you think I'm talking about? I'm talking about you, of course!"      Her face went from pale to red in an instant. "Me? But, Ryan, I--"     He looked at her coldly. "Why the surprise, Siobhan? You have to know I'm attracted to you. Or did you think I went around kissing every woman I came into contact with? You're one of the more interesting women I've met in...several years, I think. Or, at least, you were a lot more interesting when you weren't acting all coy and trying to fix me up with teenagers."     She glared at him. "I've never acted coy in my life. I just-- well, what are you thinking, huh? You're telling me Erin's too young for you? Well, fine. You're too young for me, too."     "Seven years, Siobhan. Stop trying to make out like we're from different generations. And anyway, even if Erin is twenty-one--which I seriously doubt, by the way--that'd still make her fourteen years younger than I am. Twice the age difference between you and me. And you were all for that a minute ago."     "Oh, I was not all for it," she grimaced. "To be honest, I thought it was incredibly shallow of you. But-- and anyway, what makes you think you know how old I am? You're just guessing about that."     "I never make guesses if I don't have to. I don't know why you're so sensitive about the subject, but unless you've been lying to the DMV all these years, I know exactly how old you are."     "The DMV? You're saying you had me investigated?"      Investigated? "Huh! Not hardly." He shook his head, disgusted by the absurdity of the idea. An investigation would have taken a lot more time and turned up a lot more information than he'd thought necessary. But, how the hell had they gotten on this subject, anyway? And what was she afraid he'd find? Whatever it was, he hadn't found it. Not yet, anyway. He shrugged. "I just checked a few records. It's not that big a deal."     "The hell it's not. It's an invasion of privacy. I could have you sued. How dare you check up on me? What gave you the right to do something like that?"     He was quiet for a moment. "Look, I'm sorry if it upsets you. It was just...well, after I'd stuck my foot in my mouth like I did last week--you know, asking you about having kids? I just figured...well, I didn't want to say anything else that might hurt you. That's all."     She looked away, and he was startled by the bitter smile on her face. "Why does everybody do that?"      "Do what?"    She turned back to face him, an expression of cool disdain in her distant blue eyes. "It's so unbelievably arrogant. Do you really think if you don't talk about it, then I'm not gonna remember that my daughters are dead?"     "No, it's not--"     "Oh, yeah, and there's the look. Like everyone's so afraid of what I might do. What are you afraid of, Ryan?" She cocked her head to the side. "You think I might try to kill myself so that I can be with them? That's what you thought that first night, isn't it--on the beach? Or are you just afraid I might cry? You're telling me a big, strong man like you can't handle a few tears? You gonna run away if I start to lose it now? You know, maybe you should reconsider dating Erin. 'Cause, now that I think of it, she's probably way more your speed anyway. Young. Uncomplicated. Nothing in her past for you to check into. No trauma. No pain. No reason for her to start crying when you least expect it."     "Hey. I wasn't running anywhere this morning, was I?" he reminded her, none too gently, crossing his arms and returning her cool stare with one of his own. "When you found those toys on your porch? And believe me, sweetheart, you weren't looking all that happy then."     "Oh, so I have to be happy all the time now, too?" Her smile turned even more bitter than before. "Well, now, that might be asking a bit much."      "I didn't mean--"     "Yeah, I get sad sometimes, Ryan. Sure. Sometimes, when I think about them, I even cry. Is that really so awful? You think I don't know that no one wants to hear me talk about it? Well, I know it! But it doesn't stop me from thinking about them. Or missing them." She hugged herself tightly, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her eyes wide, and endlessly dark as she stared off into the distance. "Sometimes...sometimes I think it's the not talking about it that makes me so crazy."      He stared at her as she sat there, lost in thought. Looking lovely and tragic. Like a queen from some old Irish fairy tale, facing down her doom with a dignity that was completely unconscious. She wasn't asking for his help. She wasn't asking him for anything, in fact. Which made the offering all the easier.      "So, talk, if you want to," he said softly, smiling at the surprise that registered on her face as her gaze swung back to lock with his. "Go ahead. I'll listen."

 Buy at Amazon

Sunday Chat and post-Rapture Ramblings

I'll be chatting this morning...or afternoon, depending on where you are I guess. And I'm assuming no one disappeared into the rapture, although, I must admit to being impressed with Mr. Camping's ability to predict earthquakes with surprising accuracy. Who knew?



Anyway...



The chat. Yes, I should talk about that. It will be at Romance Books R Us. That'll be me, although they seem to want to call me PJ. Which, really, I should be used to by now and to tell the truth, I kind of wished I'd thought to call myself that, if it weren't for the fact that I used my real initials and all. But, however, I'll be talking about my new release, Old Sins, Long Shadows with maybe a sneak peek at some of the other things I've been working on. Who knows? It's two hours. I could come up with a lot of stuff in that time. I do love to chat, you know. *g*



The link is: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/rbruchat/  Love to see you there!



In the meantime, here's an excerpt ('cause I love those too!)



Dawn tinged the sky as Damian made his way home, but he paid it no mind. He wasn't at all concerned about the lateness of the hour. At his age, he was more than strong enough to be able to function at close to normal capacity no matter what time of day it was. And given the surfeit of blood he'd consumed over the course of the night, a few extra minutes exposure to sunlight didn't even rate a second thought.

There were, however, other circumstances that did concern him. He paused in the mansion's entry hall to scent the air, searching for any hint of danger, any sign of impending ambush. With two Lamia Invitus in residence, only a fool would proceed without proper caution.

Satisfied that the coast was clear, he headed for his room, his muscles protesting as he climbed the stairs. His body felt pleasantly and thoroughly used, aching in all the right places.

Once inside his room, he slipped off his shoes and let down his hair. Perhaps he wouldn't even wash before bed. As tired as he was, he'd no doubt sleep soundly, but it was early evening that was still the most difficult part of his day. If he could wake up tonight with the scent of so many strangers lingering on his skin—how could that not help to ease the craving with which he usually awoke? The craving for that which he could no longer have.

He turned to his bureau to retrieve his hairbrush. He might be willing to put off bathing before bed, but failing to give his hair its customary one hundred strokes—that was simply too uncivilized to contemplate. As he reached for the brush, a slight motion in the mirror caught his gaze. He turned around, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. "Conrad?"

"You failed to return to the party as I'd requested," Conrad said as he rose from the chair in which he'd been seated. "Imagine my surprise to learn you'd gone out instead."

The husky edge to Conrad's voice set Damian's heart racing. His body, so recently sated, ached with need. An all-too-irrational hope took root in his soul. "Wh-why are you here?"

"I believe my questions take precedence," Conrad replied as he crossed the darkened room. "Where have you been? I won't ask what you've been doing, since that, at least, seems obvious. You stink of blood and sex."

Damian shrank back against the bureau as his knees went weak once more. After all this time, how was it Conrad still had the power to affect him like this? He curled his fingers around the dresser's edge, determined to hold himself erect by whatever means necessary. "Sí. I imagine I do. It's hardly the first time and, strangely, I don't recall it ever bothering you before."

If anything, the reverse had once been true. For ages it had seemed as though nothing excited Conrad more than the knowledge there had been others before him. Damian's heart tripped and faltered, recalling the hours of furious lovemaking that had so often followed; of a passion so intense he doubted anyone human would have survived it.

"Did I say I was bothered?" Conrad replied, stopping right in front of him; just out of reach, yet still so close it was all Damian could do to keep from lunging at him. "I was merely making an observation.

Old Sins, Long Shadows Children of Night, book 2PG ForteISBN: 978-1-60928-450-3 http://store.samhainpublishing.com/sins-long-shadows-p-6311.html

http://www.amazon.com/Old-Sins-Long-Shadow-ebook/dp/B004TDN7XQ/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_1

Living forever is hard, but loving forever? That's damn near impossible.



1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian's hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.



Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad's explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.



When an old enemy's quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins' lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it's imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.

Release Day!! Old Sins, Long Shadows

Is there anything better than a new release? No, I didn't think so.




 

Old Sins, Long ShadowsBy: PG Forte | Other books by PG Forte

Published By: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

ISBN # 9781609284503

Word Count: 100018

Heat Index  



Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket (.mobi), Rocket, Epub

Read More


About the bookLiving forever is hard, but loving forever? That's damn near impossible.



Children of Night, Book 2



1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian's hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.



Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad's explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.



When an old enemy's quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins' lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it's imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.Product WarningsThis book may not be suitable for readers with an aversion to emotionally damaged vampire heroes. Caution is advised if you have experienced prior sensitivity to any of the following: costume parties, fencing lessons, interspecies, inter-generational or intra-gender dating, occasional mild violence, and/or recreational blood-drinking. An excerpt from the bookCopyright © 2011 P.G. Forte

All rights reserved -- a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication





Vampires are nothing if not adaptable. It's a survival skill; as crucial as fangs. Either you learn early on to blend in, to fold seamlessly into the mise-en-scene, to successfully "pass" as mortal, or angry mobs armed with torches and wooden stakes are likely to figure prominently in your sure-to-be-short-lived future. Conrad Quintano knew this as well as anyone could. Over a thousand years as one of the blood-drinking undead had taught him that nothing was so constant as change.



Still, some changes were indisputably harder to adapt to than others…



"I'm leaving now." The slight hint of a tremor in Damian's voice did nothing to soften the defiance implicit in his words.



Sprawled in his favorite armchair, Conrad opened his eyes long enough to cast a single glance in his direction. "So I see."



His chin tilted proudly, Damian hovered in the doorway of Conrad's study. He was dressed in somber black, his ankle-length traveling coat draped lightly atop his shoulders in deference to his injuries. In his hand he clutched a small, leather valise.



Conrad stared in consternation at the bag. He's been packing for the past several hours. Is that single bag all he has to show for it? Conrad could only assume the rest had been stored in the attic, or boxed up so that they might be forwarded to him later. Not that any of it mattered—he could take the whole household away with him, for all Conrad cared. He closed his eyes again, blocking out the sight of his lover's face, still stained and streaked with tears. "I thought you'd already gone." He'd certainly delayed his departure long enough. The night was almost behind them.



"Conrad…"



"Get out," Conrad replied wearily. What was the point of any more conversation? The time for it had passed. If Damian did not leave now, he'd be traveling during the day. He'd be risking sunlight, exposure, discovery, death. I swear he does these things on purpose—just to add to the grief he causes me. It was not the first time he'd had such a thought. "I should have left you where I found you." If he had, then maybe now, almost four hundred years later, he'd be over the worst of his loss. Instead, it had only just begun.



"You've killed it, you know." Damian's voice throbbed with sudden passion. "Everything. All the love I've ever felt for you… I didn't think it possible, but now…I swear to you, Conrad, I shall hate you forever. I shall die with your name on my lips, cursing the day we met."



"Enough!" Conrad thundered, half rising from his chair and glaring furiously at him, the man whose love he'd cherished, whose life he'd blighted, whose flesh he'd ravaged in an unthinking rage. "Will you be quiet? Get out of here. Now!" How much more of this does he think I can take? How much more damage might I do to him if he stays?



When Damian still hesitated Conrad shifted his gaze, deliberately allowing it to settle on Damian's injured shoulder. He lifted his lips in a sneer that exposed the tips of his unsheathed fangs and snarled, "Or have you not yet learned your lesson? Shall I school you again?"



Damian's face blanched. Without another word, he turned away. The swiftness of the motion caused the skirts of his coat to swirl out around him in a manner that would have sent entire generations of vampire-loving romantics into a swoon, had they but been there to see it. Unfortunately, the effect was largely wasted on Conrad who was not the swooning type and felt only a grudging appreciation for the dramatic beauty of his lover's exit.



And then he was gone. The beauty snuffed out like a candle. The pleasure Conrad had always taken in it destroyed. The slamming of the heavy front door half a minute later bore witness to his departure. Conrad winced at the sound, forcing himself to stay in his chair despite the sudden panic that hammered at his senses. Like a dying swan it beat at his soul, insisting that it was not too late. There was still time to catch him, still time to reclaim what was lost, what was his…what was gone.



No. Never. Hurry! Go after him. Now! Beg his forgiveness, if you must. You've every right to him. You've every reason to command his return—do so!



Conrad held his ground. "For what purpose shall I bring him back? That I might kill him the next time he angers me?" That would only result in even greater anguish.



Dark silence settled around him and was all too soon dispelled by the bright, insistent sound of birdsong, by the slow, inexorable march of daylight across his wall. It was only then Conrad realized that, for almost the first time in over one hundred years, the shades had not been drawn across his chamber windows in advance of the dawn. Light continued to spill in through the unguarded glass until he was finally forced to bestir himself.



Given the great disturbance of the night before, it was hardly surprising that no servant had dared to enter his rooms this morning. Those who hadn't deserted him entirely were likely cowering in their beds praying that, for once, the myths might prove true, that the coming dawn might turn him to ash.

We really must give some thought to the idea of hiring a new staff, he decided as he reached for the velvet drapes. One made up of sturdier souls this time around. He'd have to make sure that part was clearly understood. He'd have to remember to tell Damian…



But no, he was forgetting himself. There was no "we" any longer and, in the future, he would not be telling Damian anything.



As he dragged the curtains roughly along their rods, he spared a single thought to the question of where Damian might have gone to find shelter this quickly, or if he'd found shelter at all yet. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps…



He pushed that thought away, as well. It would not do for him to be thinking in this fashion. He could not bear it if he had to face each and every dawn of the next five or ten centuries wondering about things that were now beyond his control.



For that matter, to hell with the servants also. He'd close up the house and let them all go. He'd travel abroad. Perhaps he'd tour the continent for a season or two, or maybe he'd go out west. He'd heard it said, recently, that there was money to be made in California, and it was past time he began his life anew in any case.



Vampires were nothing if not adaptable. Had he not said so himself, time and again? So be it, then. He was Vampire. He would adapt. He would embrace this change, as he had so many others, for everything did change, eventually, did it not?



I shall hate you forever…



Well, almost everything.



As Damian's parting words echoed in his mind, Conrad's vision blurred. He had to blink several times to restore his sight. Only time would tell if they would be proven true, but Conrad did not doubt he meant them now—and why should he not?



What Conrad had done was unforgivable. True, he'd been goaded beyond reason by Damian's decision to take up with another Lamia Invitus—a vampire who, like Conrad himself, had undergone the brutal turning intended to make them beasts and leave them broken—but did that excuse Conrad's actions? Had he not just proved himself no better than any other of his vile kind?



Conrad pulled the final curtain closed and turned away from the windows. "Via con Dios, mi amor," he whispered. "Wherever you are. And wherever you go I pray your God will protect you as I could not. But I, too, can swear upon forever. And I swear to you now that however great the time or distance you put between us, it will never matter. For I shall love you always, just the same."



Buy the book HERE

The Year of the Rabbit Blog Hop!

Greetings, blog hoppers! Welcome to the Year of the Rabbit Blog Hop. Once again we have our awesome tour bar at the top of the page (courtesy of our awesome tour guides—thank you Alanna and Michael). Simply follow the bunny trail for hot reads and a chance to win some fabulous prizes.



If you stumbled upon this tour by accident (or if you happen to fall off along the way) not to worry! Just visit http://justromance.me/bloghop/ to start at the beginning. And please try and join us for our end-of-the-bunny-hop chat, Sunday 7 p.m. EST in Gem Sivad's chat room 



And now for the fun part. My story takes place at a Hollywood Premier party. The characters are Doc, a drunk veterinarian; Jim, an anxious bounty hunter; and Candy, a picky stripper. Enjoy!



The Year of the Rabbit: A Tale of Two Girls and a Bunny



Bloody footprints. What a way to start the weekend. As I made my way up the footpath that led into LA's Hancock Park, better known to tourists and the world in general as the La Brea Tar Pits, I couldn't help but shake my head at the irony. Unlikely as it sounds, being here was actually an improvement over the way I'd previously been working on getting the weekend started.

Up until twenty minutes ago, which is when my office switchboard finally got through to me with the message that a veterinarian was needed here STAT, I was down at the Sunset Grill, getting shitfaced in an effort to forget the shameless gold-digger who'd so recently broken my heart. And, I gotta tell you right now, the couple of rounds I'd already gone with Jose Cuervo hadn't come close to doing the trick. But a job's a job, right? And unless I decide to blow my pay for tonight's gig on new Manolos, I'll actually be putting money into my bank account this weekend, instead of drinking the sucker dry. So, yep, definitely an improvement.

I hadn't gone more than a couple of yards before I ran into an impediment in the form of a plush, red velvet rope that had been stretched across the path. I swayed to an only-slightly-unsteady stop and stood there, blinking up at the two ginormous security guards, somewhat incongruously dressed in tuxedos, who were stationed on the other side of the rope, effectively blocking my way.

"Can I help you?" one of them inquired, staring down at me in a distinctly unblinking way.

Inquired—that's an educated way of describing the grunting sound that issued from his cavernous mouth. But, that's the kind of gal I am. Educated. And I got a wall-full of diplomas to prove it.

I pulled myself up to my full five-foot-four—inches, five-six, if you count the heels, I guess, and flashed my ID badge in his face. "I got a page. Someone paged me. I've been called in on a...ooh, whatchacallit again? Oh, right, on a consult. I'm here to consult."

The big guy frowned dubiously as he snatched the piece of plastic from my hand. "Says here you're a veterinarian," he said, stating the obvious and glinting suspiciously at me at the same time. I tried to look impressed because, hey, for a guy like him, I figure that probably counts as multi-tasking. I may have overdone it, however because his glint quickly morphed into a leer as he looked me over, idly flicking my card with his finger. He wasn't my type—not by a very wide mile—so I pretended not to notice. "So what kinda business is it brings an animal doctor to a premier anyway?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," I answered, but that didn't exactly get the response I was hoping for either. "Take me to your leader?" I suggested next. Still no response. I sighed. "Okay, look, you've got bunnies here, don'tcha?" I waved my arm in the general direction of the park. "Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus? Well, apparently, someone saw a trail of bloody footprints and figured one of the little critters musta gotten hurt."

"Cunni…what?" He was lookin' at me now as though I'd grown an extra head in the last two minutes and, to be honest, I couldn't really blame him. How anyone in the movie biz could think it a good idea to host an opening night party in a place synonymous with slow, sucking death was a mystery to me as well. Why they'd then choose to compound the event confusion by adding two dozen live rabbits to the mix…well, even sober I'd have a hard time with that one.

"Rabbits," I said, taking my card back and reinserting it into my wallet on only the third or fourth try. I repeated the word for emphasis, drawing it out nice and slow in hopes of igniting a spark of recognition. "Raaaa-biiiits. You know, like Peter? Bugs? Roger? Little Bunny Foo Foo? Tell me, is there even an outside chance of any of this getting through that cranium of yours?"

Jumbo's frown turned ugly and I began to wonder if I wasn't about to be scooped up, like a field mouse, and bopped on the head. Luckily, his partner—the one who'd been passing the time talking into his cufflink, trying to make like he was James Bond, I guess—nudged him in the ribs. "Let her through. She's legit."

I tried not to smirk as I weaved my way between them, but I don't think I was particularly successful.

The museum's grounds had been transformed for the occasion. Klieg beams swept across the sky. Twinkling party lights shimmered in the branches of the surrounding trees. Colored spots illuminated the life-sized models of prehistoric animals (which had been strategically placed in the tar, just in case you'd missed the point of all that prehistoric death) and shone prettily on the small herd of placidly grazing rabbits—all of them perfectly healthy as far as I could tell.

The movie being celebrated was called The Year of the Rabbit; a psychological thriller set in LA's Chinatown—which, I might point out, is hell and gone from this neighborhood. I'm just sayin'. I guess maybe it was the reviews that put someone in mind of the tar pits; the ones calling the film "dark and terrifying." The ones that claimed it, "sucks you in and doesn't let go." Still, as far as I know there aren't any actual rabbits in the film, so it's still something of a stretch, in my opinion.

The park was packed with the usual premier crowd—beautiful people, dressed to the nines. Waiters in traditional, pre-revolutionary Chinese costumes, bearing trays of dim sum and drinks, circulated. I stopped one to ask the whereabouts of my presumed patient.

"No rabbit," he said in response to my query. He nodded at his tray. "Only duck."

Yeah. So not what I was asking. Still, when in Rome, I guess. I helped myself to a coupla dumplings, flagged down a second waiter and relieved him of a flute of champagne and then continued on my trek.



I'd just about finished my circumnavigation of the park—that's another educated word, in case you're wondering—when I saw her. My Candy. A drop-dead gorgeous, artificially buxom, platinum blonde dressed in a gray satin bunny costume, complete with gray satin bunny ears, a gray satin bow-tie, fishnet stockings, and an expensive pair of fuck-me heels that I knew from personal experience added a good four inches to her height. She'd been a mid-sized brunette with a much smaller rack the last time I'd seen her—which was about four days ago in the middle of my living room, just before she walked out of my life. Or so we both thought.

She was not the bunny I was looking for tonight. She was, in fact, probably the last person in the world I wanted to see right now, but try telling that to my feet, which appeared to have developed a mind of their own, and seemed foolishly determined to convey me straight to the sexy siren's side.

"Of all the gin-joints in all the world," I found myself muttering as I drew closer even though, technically, there wasn't a whole lot of gin in evidence here tonight.

The guy she was with looked nervous. Now, that might have been 'cause of the way she was draped all over him, like a cheap slut...I mean suit. Or it might have been the carrot she was teasing him with. I guess she was trying to feed it to him, but it looked more like she was getting ready to poke him in the eye. Then again, the reason his nerves were on edge might have had more to do with the heat he was packing. He looked kind of like a hit man to me, or maybe a mob enforcer—but, then again, that might just have been the tell-tale bulge under his jacket talking. Either way, I guess I probably should have had the sense to keep my distance, but I didn't.

I was only a few feet away when Candy glanced over and saw me. I didn't like the way her eyes narrowed or the way the corners of her mouth drew down as she said, "What's up, Doc?"

I have to admit, her question stopped me cold. It's not like she'd never called me that before—it's been her pet name for me since we met—but all the same, it's just not every night you get to hear that particular line popping out of the luscious red lips of a life-sized gray bunny—satin or otherwise. Laughter began to bubble up inside me, but before I could formulate a suitable answer, she'd stepped away from her gentleman friend and pulled me aside.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in an angry whisper. "Are you following me?"

I shook my head. "Don't flatter yourself, babe. I'm here on a job. I was called in because one of the bunnies was injured."

"But you're a veterinarian!" she hissed. "You treat animals, not people!"

"Exactly." I pointed at the leporids lounging in the grass. "Animals," I said, helpfully. "See? There they are."

"This is just bullshit. I told you the other day: it's over between us."

I couldn't help but grimace. "I know. I remember." She'd been real clear about that. And I can't say she didn't have her reasons—all of which I heard about. In very. Great. Detail. I think my favorite part was when she claimed that my idea of foreplay was telling a girl, "Why don't you take off your shirt?" Which was completely unfair, by the way, and she knew it too.



It wasn't foreplay, okay? I'd been flirting with her. It was a stupid line and I only tried it the once and, even then, I kind of meant it as a joke. Also, I may have been a little bit drunk at the time. Which was the other thing that hurt. If she'd broken up with me because occasionally I hit the bottle a little too hard, that I could have dealt with. But I tend to babble when I'm nervous and, even when I'm not, it's still a whole lot easier controlling what goes into my mouth than what comes out.

"Trust me," I told her. "If I knew you were going to be here, I'd have told them to send someone else. But, what the hell are you doing here anyway? And why are you dressed up like that? Not that I don't appreciate the view, but it's a little late for Halloween, isn't it?"



She tossed the carrot she'd been holding into a nearby bush, fisted her hands on her hips and glared at me. "For your information, I'm here to audition. I can't strip forever, you know. That's why I'm trying to break into film."

"Yeah, but...why the bunny costume?"

" It's obvious, isn't it? This movie documents a year in the life of a Playboy Bunny, right? And that man over there—" she said, waving over my shoulder in the unhappy hit man's direction. "Is a studio big-wig. He could give me the break I need."

"I don't think he's with any of the studios," I felt obliged to point out. "And, even if he is, he's carrying a gun, so probably not that big a wig."

"It's not a gun," she corrected, smiling coldly, making what I can only assume was a badly misplaced reference to one of Mae West's more immortal lines. "He's just happy to see me. And you're jealous."

"He's wearing a shoulder holster!" I snapped, getting really angry with her now. She knew my insecurities all too well—the bitch. "What the fuck are you talking about? And, just FYI, the movie? Year of the Rabbit, right? Not a documentary."

"Oh, what do you know?" she asked, looking slightly uncertain for the first time that night.

"More than you, apparently."

"Everything all right over here, Candy?" a deep voice asked anxiously from behind me.

I glanced around in surprise. Shit. For a moment, I'd forgotten all about Mr. Big-wig-Studio-Hit-Man.

"Everything's fine, Jim," Candy replied, batting about ten pounds of false eye-lashes in his direction. No joke, she could end a heatwave with those things. Somewhere in South America, I thought irrelevantly, a butterfly just got blown to pieces by a freak windstorm. Candy continued to smile sweetly at her hit man. "Doc was just leaving. Weren't you, Doc?"

Suddenly, I was feeling ornery. "Good to meet you, Jim," I said as I turned 'round to face him. I grabbed his hand and pumped it with enthusiasm. "Candy tells me you're with the studio. Is that right?"

"Studio?" Jim repeated, sounding mildly puzzled. "No. I'm not with a studio. I'm a bounty hunter."

"A bounty hunter—no shit?" I stared at him in surprise. At least the gun was explained. "Wait, don't tell me, let me guess. You're hunting wabbits—right?"

"Well, actually..."

"I don't believe this." Candy rolled her eyes in disgust. "Thanks for nothing," she muttered, glaring at both of us in turn. Then she spun on her heel and flounced away. I'll admit I watched her go with more than a touch of regret. It was just before Easter and she was my Candy-Bunny. I wanted to nibble on her ears. I wanted a piece of her tail. I was, in fact, completely mesmerized by the sight of that fluffy, white cotton-ball swinging back and forth with each sway of her hips. The cottontail, by the way, is a specifically American rabbit and is in no way related to the domesticated or European rabbit. Just in case you were curious.

"So...are you really a doctor?" Jim asked, his voice breaking through my Candy-induced trance.

"Yes, I am really a doctor," I answered. I get just a little tired of all the people who assume that only people with the initials M and D after their names qualify as "real" doctors. "What's it to you?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe you could help me out. See, I have this little problem. My doctor calls them anxiety attacks; says they're a form of PTSD. Sometimes I freeze up, see? It happened with the last two skips I was trying to take in. This'll be my third strike. If I mess up on this, I'll be washed up, out of the business."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" I asked, frowning at him in no small amount of confusion. Did he think I was some kind of therapist?

"I thought you could maybe give me something. Pills, an injection—anything you got. Just to help calm my nerves, you know?"

I needed something to calm my nerves, too, damn it. Didn't mean I was about to start popping horse tranqs, however. "Damn it, Jim," I growled at him. "I'm a doctor, not a drug pusher!"

"Sorry I asked," he said, looking dejected in that way that only a really big, heavily muscled, armed man can. For some reason, I kind of felt sorry for him.

"Tell me about the guy you're after tonight," I said, by way of apology as I flagged down a waiter and got us each a drink.

Jim shook his head. "Well, first of all, it's not a guy. I'm looking for a woman. An international jewel thief who goes by the name The Rabbit. Word is, she's gonna hit this premier."

"You can't be serious," I muttered as I glanced around. Not that there weren't jewels a plenty in evidence tonight, because there certainly were, but... "The Rabbit? Really?"

"No joke. And the price on her head is huge. If I can find her and take her in, I'll be sitting pretty." Jim gulped down his champagne then stared in disappointment at his empty glass. I passed him mine.

"So what does this thief of yours look like?" I asked, absently scanning the crowd, looking for Candy. Pathetic, I know. But what can you do?

"Brunette, about five-five, slender build."

"That's not much to go on, Jim," I pointed out, watching as Candy made nice with her new friend: a vivacious redhead, dripping in diamonds...



I think you had to be really looking for it, to see what happened next. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately, it all depends on your viewpoint, I guess—I was really looking. It was all I could do to hide my smile as one of Red's earrings went missing.  "You know what, Jim?" I said, as I signaled once more for the waiter with the drinks. "I think I might be able to help you out, after all."

***

A short while later, my work done, I was heading out of the park when I heard the clatter of stilettos behind me and a voice I knew well calling after me. "Doc! Wait!"

I turned, more than a little surprised to see Candy trotting down the path with a large, fluffy white rabbit clutched to her heaving chest.

"Is this what you were looking for?" she asked, panting a little for breath as she came to a stop.

There were large, rust colored patches on both of the rabbit's hind legs. Big enough to account for the bloody footprints, but nowhere near life-threatening. Nothing that a good cleaning, some antibiotics and maybe a few tranqs couldn't fix. Unfortunately, I was fresh out of tranqs, at the moment. I'd have to take him back to my office to take care of him. I looked from the rabbit to the girl and back again and smiled sadly. "Oh, yeah. Definitely what I was looking for." 

"About the other day," she began, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I didn't really mean all that stuff I said."

I blinked in surprise as I felt unexpected warmth blossom in my chest. "You didn't?"

She shook her head, blonde curls bouncing with the motion. "I was just...I dunno, feeling especially picky, or something. But I thought maybe, if you wanted, we could...try it again?"

"I'd like that," I said. Then I leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "But, you've been a very wascally wabbit."

She gasped softly and pulled back, eyes wide. "You know?" A flood of color rose in her cheeks.

I nodded, unable to stop the satisfied smile that curved my lips. "I know."

"That...that bounty hunter. Is-is he..."

My smile widened. "Sleeping."

"Sleeping?" She stared at me, forehead puckering up. She's real cute when she's confused.

"Like a really relaxed...horse."

What can I say? Sometimes a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do to protect what's hers. And don't think I feel even a little bit bad about that.

"Now, let's get that bunny back to my office so I can patch him up," I said. "That is, if you've gotten everything you came here for?"

"Oh, yeah," she said smiling slyly. "I think I got even more than I'd planned on getting."

She looked cold, so I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then I took the rabbit from her arms and we headed toward the sidewalk, where I'd parked my car. All in all, I had to admit, the weekend was turning out much, much better than I thought it would. Bloody footprints. Who knew they'd lead me to the woman of my dreams?

It's the Luck of the Irish Bloghop!

Click here for Details



Welcome back once again, blog hoppers and a very happy St. Patrick's Day to you all! Once again we have our awesome tour bar at the top of the page (courtesy of our awesome tour guides—thank you Alanna and Michael). Simply follow the trail for yummy reads and a chance to win some great books, a Kindle 3 and other prizes.



If you stumbled upon this tour by accident (or if you happen to fall off along the way) not to worry! Just visit http://justromance.me/bloghop/ to start at the beginning.

This time around, as you probably already know, we're treating you to stories with an Irish theme, featuring a certain set of words. It should be fun to see what everyone comes up with! And you all get to help decide whose story wins.

My story is set within the "world" of my novel Iron. Here's the blurb for the book: 

Nineteenth century Ireland. Blacksmith Gavin O'Malley is a bitter man, with a heart as hard as the iron he forges. He wants his life back—the one that was stolen from him the day his wife died in childbirth—taking their firstborn son with her.

When Aislinn Deirbhile, an immortal, shape-shifting fae, arrives on his doorstep, he knows he's in luck. For Aislinn can give Gavin everything he's been missing: A devoted-seeming wife in the image of his beloved Mairead, and children who are sure to outlive their father. Now, all he has to do is find a way to keep her—without losing his immortal soul in the process.



But Aislinn has an agenda of her own. On the run from a vengeful fae lord who's vowed to either make her his or end her existence, she knows the iron that allows Gavin to take her captive will also keep her pursuers at bay. In order to put herself permanently beyond her enemy's reach, however, Aislinn will need something more. She'll need to win Gavin's heart and convince him to willingly part with a piece of the very soul he's trying to save.



And here's my story...



  Gavin O'Malley rarely smiled. 'Twas a fact to which any of his neighbors in the small town of Killbanning would readily attest. Such had been the case for many a year now, ever since the untimely death of his wife, the presumed love of his life. Word in the tiny Irish village was that sure and whenever Gavin stood upon the green grass and the shamrocks that covered Mairead's grave he must feel the kiss of death upon his own soul, as it were. It was this, or so they believed, that kept the smile from his face and froze his heart so that the love he might have given to another was all but withered away. Nor did anyone expect him to ever be recovering from his grief—not until he had joined his love on the far side of the grave.



In heaven there could be no doubt but that Gavin would wear a smile. Especially an it were a heaven such as an Irishman like himself was most certain to love—a green and pleasant land where the whiskey ran freely and horses were forever grazing in fields of shamrocks, just waiting for someone to come along and ride them.



But, recently, there'd been a change come over O'Malley and he was smiling now though there was none 'round to see it. What's the reason for the change, you ask? Ah, but there's a story worth the telling!



To be sure, the good people of Killbanning had no idea of all that had happened down at O'Malley's forge these past few months—and was happening still. And wouldn't they have had their knickers in a twist were they to be after knowing the cause for this alteration in the fortunes of one of their own? Oh, their tongues would be a-wagging most fiercely, I can assure you of that! There'd be much shaking of their heads if any had had the least inkling about Aislinn Deirbhile, the beautiful Faery princess whom Gavin had been sheltering—and who was even now, if they but knew it, seated by his fireplace with a book in her lap and a wee glass of whiskey within her grasp; her tongue peeking out to lick her lips every now and again when the story reached an especially good part; drumming her fingernails on the arm of his chair if the tale grew tense.



They'd be quite green with envy, all those good Christians, if they'd been made privy to any of this, for there'd be no stopping them from jumping to the very logical conclusion that the Fae must've gifted Gavin with a pot of gold—or even several pots of gold, as her kind was wont to do—as thanks for his gallantry to her the previous winter.



And so she would have done too, had he not turned her down when she'd offered it. Quite shocked O'Malley's neighbors would be to learn of that! Or to know of the reward he was receiving instead; one that consisted, for the most part, of kisses and cuddles and making love.



Not that they had anything against kisses and cuddles and making love, you'll be understanding, just so long as they were kept in their proper place—within the bonds of Holy Matrimony. But, in any case, 'twas not this—the kisses and cuddles and the making love, as it were—that was putting the smile on Gavin's face this fine day. At least not directly. But I digress…



Now, as sometimes happens, O'Malley had had occasion to ride to Dublin on business and was even now on his way back home. It was a most pleasant ride, especially on such a lovely Spring day. There was nary a cloud in the sky and the green fields all around him were abloom with flowers and there was naught but the gentlest breeze, soft as a silk scarf, blowing across his face.



I think it was that breeze as was the very thing causing him to smile, for it carried the fragrance of all those flowers to his nose and that couldn't help but bring the Fae to his mind.



Tall and fair was she, with bright flowing hair and eyes as gray as mist. She'd been dressed in a fine silk gown, all green and gold, when first he saw her and he thought then that in all the green world there could be none so fair as she.



But beautiful and magical though the Fae may be, they do have their weaknesses and one of these is an inability to handle objects made of iron. A sore trial that had been proving to be for poor Aislinn, forced as she was to find shelter within a blacksmith's home!



And so it was that when Gavin went up to Dublin he'd made several purchases—and it was these that were putting the smile upon his face today. Nor was it the new leather boots he'd acquired for himself that filled his heart with satisfaction, I'll have you be knowing. 'Twas rather the gifts he was bringing back for the Fae that most pleased him—gifts sure to gladden any woman's heart, or so he thought. Gifts of cookware—that's what he planned on surprising the Fae with! Covered baking dishes made of earthenware quite handy for making stew,wooden spoons with which to stir the stew, a copper tea kettle, even a cunning tin rack which could be set upon the hearth and used to toast bread.



Ah, now, I know what it is you're thinking. Sure and cookware is not the type of gift any woman would be overjoyed to receive from a man—and a royal princess, such as Aislinn was, even less so. And, in most cases you'd be right! But not this time. For though it might be hard to imagine a less romantic gift, it showed a surprising amount of thoughtfulness on the part of the smith, who might not be expected to understand how it galled the lass to be always at his mercy, so to speak, unable to fix a decent meal for herself without fear of injury due to the iron pots and pans and other utensils with which the smith's hearth was furnished.



So now, as you'll see, the day has mostly passed and O'Malley has just returned to his forge. He's still wearing a smile as he comes through his own front door, arms laden with packages. Aislinn lays down her book and returns his smile. She rises from her seat by the fireplace, eying the packages curiously. No doubt she's hoping that at least a few of them contain food for, you see, the poor thing has had naught to eat the whole time the smith was gone but for the aforementioned whiskey, some cheese and a bit of brown bread to go with it.



"What's all this then?" she asks, trying hard to hide her hunger. And even though Gavin is generally as quick with his words as anyone who'd kissed the Blarney Stone, it takes him more than a moment to find his tongue.



"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he says at last. For it seems to him she looks lovelier each time he sets his eyes on her and this evening in particular. She's wearing her own green dress again—the one cut scandalously low across the bodice so that her nipples are almost peeking out over the top of it. Her hair is tied up with a silk scarf, also green, and elegant ear bobs, fashioned out of gold and set with glittering stones—green again—dangle from her earlobes. Sure and those jewels she's wearing are, without question, each worth a great deal—as much as a pot of gold, most likely—yet they only serve to bring his gaze back to her face. Indeed, it would take a much greedier man than ever Gavin could be to notice anything beyond the Fae's bright smile—even though said smile has turned quite wry at the moment.



"I thank you kindly for the compliment. And pleased I am to see you as well. But, tell me, might I not be getting an answer to my question any time soon?"



"Aye," says Gavin heaving a happy sigh. "That you will." Then he crosses to his table and begins to unload his burdens upon its scarred surface. "Come and see."



The Fae's eyes grow wide as the smith commences to unwrap the gifts he's brought—and, yes, there's some food among them as well—and he cannot help but notice when her nipples peak beneath the thin silk of her gown. Finally, when everything's laid out upon the table, he turns to her. "Well?" he asks, not quite hiding a smile at her excitement and obvious surprise. "What have you to say to all of that?"



"Are they for me then?" Aislinn asks, reaching out to just barely touch the lid of one dish—just dragging the tips of her fingernails across it. Gavin shivers in response, and it's as though it's him she's touching; as though he can feel the bite of her fingernails as they rake across his own bare skin.



"Aye," he answers her, though he has to swallow hard to do it and his voice is husky and thick. "Do they please you?"



"They're quite wonderful," she says as she raises her eyes to his face and smiles again—and he all but loses his breath entirely, she's that lovely. "However can I thank you?"



"I'm sure you can think of a way," Gavin says; by which he means that agreeing to stay with him—to accept a permanent place beside his fireplace and, perhaps, within his heart—would be all the thanks he'd need. But I don't think the Fae has quite understood, for her smile glimmers even brighter and she chuckles in a decidedly sly manner as she slips into his arms.



"Indeed and I'm sure you're right," she murmurs, her voice little more than a purr. "Perhaps something like this would suit?" So saying, she rises up on her toes and kisses him. As she cuddles against him, he can feel her nipples poking his chest. Her tongue tangles with his and he's lost. It's naught but kisses and cuddles he's thinking of and...no, what are you thinking? They're not about to make love. Not yet anyway; for the smith has it in his head that do to so before the Fae's been properly fed, would be unmannerly of him and, in case you've missed it, he's trying to be on his best behavior with her. But after dinner...oh, well, to be sure, making love is not something he'd be likely to hold off doing any longer than that!



After a long, long interlude of kisses and cuddles—so long, in fact, that Gavin's beginning to forget his resolve to not make love to her yet—Asilinn asks, "Mightn't we begin using them now?"



"Using what?" Gavin asks, for sure and his ability to think has been severely impaired. His mind is taken up entirely with thoughts of kisses and cuddles and making love—aye and nipples and tongues and earlobes and other assorted body parts—and he is, in fact, all but tongue-tied with lust.



"Why, all this lovely cookware, of course!" Aislinn says—and this time she doesn't smile, she laughs out loud, so amused by Gavin's befuddlement she can scarcely help herself. "Wasn't that your purpose in bringing them home to me?"



Home. The word wends its way into Gavin's heart, bringing back his smile. It pleases him to hear the Fae refer to his cottage in such a fashion and, indeed, that was his purpose and so he's quite content with himself, at the moment, and with her as well. "Aye, it was indeed."



"Good," Aislinn says, still with a smile, as she disengages herself from his arms. "Then I have just one question for you."



As always, Gavin cannot stop himself from returning the smile. "Just one? Well, that's a first, surely. And what would this question be then?"



"This kettle," she says as she picks up the copper kettle, quite pretty with its verdigris, and lets it dangle from her fingers. "Why is it green?"

 *****

The story doesn't have a title yet. Perhaps someone would like to suggest one? I'll offer a signed Romance Trading Card to the best answer...once the cards arrive, that is. Here's a picture of what it looks like.









 

Iron

P.G. Forte

ISBN 978-1-59578-585-5 



When Aislinn Deirbhile, an immortal, shape-shifting fae, arrives on his doorstep, Gavin O'Malley knows he's in luck. For Aislinn can give him everything he's been missing. Now, all he has to do is find a way to keep her—without losing his immortal soul in the process.

More Luck of the Irish

It's been a long time since I've gotten my act together and posted something for Six Sentence Sunday, but I'm on a bit of a blog roll, if you will, so here's six sentences from Iron. If you're interested in reading more, just check out the blog post below this one.



And, in keeping with this week's theme, here's six sentences in which my very Irish hero is about to get very lucky indeed. lol!



Gavin groaned. "Ah, Aislinn, no one else has ever spoken to me thus. To hear you speak of such things, 'tis like putting a spark to dry tinder; for, in truth, you set me aflame with your words."

      Aislinn pulled him tight against her and whispered in his ear. "Then do as I ask, mo chroí, and take me now. Put your rod inside me and I'll speak such words as will make your hair ignite."

And don't forget to stop back here between Thursday and next Saturday for the Luck of the Irish Blog Hop for fabulous stories, the chance to win some great books or even a Kindle!



Click here for Details 

Iron

P.G. Forte

ISBN 978-1-59578-585-5 



When Aislinn Deirbhile, an immortal, shape-shifting fae, arrives on his doorstep, Gavin O'Malley knows he's in luck. For Aislinn can give him everything he's been missing. Now, all he has to do is find a way to keep her—without losing his immortal soul in the process.

Feeling Lucky?

Not counting e-Bay, or last year's best dressed blog award--ooh, or that game of Bingo I played while on vacation with my grandmother when I was about nine years old--I don't think I've ever won anything. It's no big deal or anything, just the luck of the draw. Some people have it, others don't. I generally don't. Which is why it was such a huge surprise when my book Iron was chosen as one of the finalists in Epic's 2011 e-book awards for Paranormal Erotic Romance. I guess for once I entered something in the right category. Much thanks to everyone who dissuaded me from entering it as a Historical Romance!



The winners will be announced tonight and even though I took one look at the books I'm up against and said, "It's an honor just being nominated," I'll admit to feeling a bit excited today. Lightning could strike twice...couldn't it? I also love that this is all happening so close to Saint Patrick's Day because this is such an Irish book and that's such an Irish holiday and maybe I'll have the luck of the Irish...

Anyway, to celebrate all this good stuff--'cause it's still a pretty cool thing either way--I thought I'd post a couple of excerpts. I also wanted to take the chance to remind you all to stop back here between Thursday and next Saturday for the Luck of the Irish Blog Hop--and maybe you'll get lucky too.



Click here for Details



We're doing something different again this hop; creating short, Irish-themed stories for you to vote on.

Yes! More voting! I'm clearly on a roll here!



My story for the blog hop will involve the characters from Iron (because, c'mon, given the theme, who else am I gonna write about?) but I'm not going to say any more about that now. You'll just have to come back and read it on Thursday.

In the meantime, on to the excerpts...



Excerpt #1. This scene occurs very early in the book--the day after Aislinn's arrival when Gavin still has a lot to learn about the Fae. I've included this one because it will help explain part of the story I'm posting on Thursday.

Since several of the windows in the cottage faced the road, Gavin had hoped Aislinn might have been looking out one of them, so to have observed his victory over her enemy. But, when he let himself in he found her seated by the fireside singing softly to herself as she sewed, seemingly unaware of anything that had transpired outside of the room.

He stared at her for a moment, entranced not just by her song but by the cozy, domestic picture she made. Though the fire had burned low, the room had never seemed so warm or welcoming to him. By comparison, his usual existence seemed colorless and drab.

When she glanced up at him, the look in her eyes had him wondering if she hadn't read his mind. Was she mocking him again? Surely the glow on her cheeks was suspiciously rosy, but when she smiled it was with such disarming sweetness Gavin couldn't help but smile back.

"What's all this?" she inquired, laying aside the green gown she was repairing and nodding at the bundles in Gavin's arms.

"Why, I've brought home the Christmas," he replied, feeling suddenly expansive as he deposited his bounty on the table and shrugged out of his jacket. "Come and see."

His neighbors had done him proud this year. He'd been gifted with both a Barm Brak cake and a loaf of brown bread, a jug of ale, several hand-sized mince pies, one sack of oranges, one of turnips and another of potatoes, and a dressed goose all ready to be roasted for tomorrow's dinner.

The fae eyed the food greedily. "But is it all for tomorrow then? Can we not eat at least some of it now?"

"Now?" Gavin glanced at her, askance. "Why, today's a Fast Day. Don't you be knowing anything about church law? You shouldna have more than one full meal today."

"Indeed?" the fae replied waspishly. "Well, and if ever I should feel myself bound to abide by the rules of your religion I do hope I shall recall that. But, at present, I feel no such compunction. Besides, you've already left me here to fast for most of the day, as it is. Do ye really mean to starve me then?"

Gavin frowned. "And, if you do starve, how would that be my doing? Are ye so helpless then, you could not have fed yourself? Or is it that you think I exist to be your servant? If you wanted to eat, why did ye not cook yourself something afore now?" Aislinn's lips tightened and she looked away as though reluctant to answer. Gavin glanced toward his hearth where all the implements anyone would need to fix a meal stood ready, most of them made by his own hand, or that of his da. All of them of iron. And, finally, understanding dawned. "Ah-ha. You couldn't, could ye?"

Aislinn hesitated for a moment then finally shook her head.

"'Tis because of the iron, isn't it?"

She nodded, even more reluctantly.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Gavin allowed himself a small gloat at the fae's expense. "Well, now, my fine lass, this is a pretty mess you've made for yourself, is it not? Perhaps you should ha' given a little more thought to what you were about afore you forced yourself upon me and made me take you in." 

"I did think about it. I knew exactly what I was facing coming here."

Gavin grimaced. "Having met your intended, I canna say as I'm surprised. I believe I'd sooner take a chance at starving, too, rather than find myself fallen into his clutches."

Aislinn's mouth tilted in a rueful smile. "Aye. 'Tis what I thought as well."

"Ah, well," Gavin sighed, unbending just a little. "I suppose a spot of tea wouldna be out of place. Especially when I've a heathen such as yourself as a houseguest." As the insult registered, anger flashed in Aislinn's eyes. Gavin smiled mockingly and allowed his own gaze to rove openly over her figure, feeling certain that her treatment of him this past twenty-four hours more than justified any insolence he cared to show her. But insolence soon turned to incredulity. "Sweet Saint Joseph. Woman, where the devil did you get that dress you're wearing?"

"'Twas in the chest in your bedroom," Aislinn replied, sounding puzzled by the question. "You did seem offended by my nakedness this morning, and I thought it more fitting that I find something other than your shirt to wear. Did I do wrong?"

"Nay," Gavin muttered, looking away. It was just that he remembered the garment too well and had thought never to see it again—one of the reasons he'd stored it out of sight, rather than giving it away. It was the dress Mairead had been wearing the day she'd informed him he was to be a father. He remembered how her breasts, swollen by her condition in a way he'd found endlessly fascinating, had filled the bodice to the straining point. He'd wanted to fill his hands with them, to draw their distended nipples through his fingers and marvel at the sweet globes in all their ripe fullness. But she'd waved him away when he tried to embrace her, insisting she was too uncomfortably sore to endure his touch. And also insisting that, until such time as she could conceive again, there was now neither reason nor need for the two of them to lie together. Gavin had never been certain which had given her more joy—the thought of the babe growing inside her, or the fact that she'd finally found an excuse to avoid his bed.

"You're not pleased," Aislinn said quietly.

Gavin shook his head. "'Tis not that. I'm just surprised to see it. And I wouldna thought it would fit you so well as it does."

"Well, I did have to let the hem down."

"Aye, that you'd have had to do," he sighed, as he hung the kettle on the hook over the fire. "She was just a little slip of a thing as wore it." Small but spirited, or so Mairead had seemed to him at one time; with eyes of the brightest blue, a smile he thought would surely one day break his heart. And an unexpected coldness that seemed to grow worse each day they were together, and which was what finally ended up doing to him what her smile could not. He took the dishes down from their shelves and the silverware from their drawer and stacked them on the table. "Well, now," he said, after clearing his throat to dislodge the lump that had formed there. "If dishware isn't a problem for you, why don't you see about setting the table for us?"

Excerpt #2. This scene takes place several months later and, obviously, Gavin and Aislinn have grown much closer.  



The weeks continued to pass and it seemed to Gavin that if only time were not rushing away from him, as it was, he might have a chance to think rationally about the matter. But time did not stop and rationality was nowhere to be found, and all too soon it was summer.

All at once, the roses were in bloom and the constant chirping of baby birds begging for their next meal had been replaced by the lazy drone of bees foraging among the flowers. The branches of the apple tree, which had long since lost their blossoms, were bent now under the weight of green fruit and the warm, sweet scent of clover greeted Gavin whenever he stepped foot out of doors.

But the changes to the landscape were insignificant next to the alteration the season had wrought in Aislinn's appearance. She was even lovelier now than she'd been when first he saw her. Though how that was possible he didn't rightly know, for she'd seemed then to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Now, however, her cheeks were rosy and flushed—even though she'd not set foot outside since that day he'd dragged her to the forge—and there was a new lushness to her body that held him utterly transfixed. It was as though she embodied summer; as though the season itself radiated from her, charging the atmosphere around her until Gavin would have sworn he was living within a sun-drenched glen, or a palace of sorts; anything other than an ordinary cottage.

But, that was just by day. At night, her presence infused his rooms with all the warm, wild glory of a sultry, star-studded night—and she the brightest star of all—until the mere sight of her, lying beside him in bed, left Gavin awe-struck and dazzled, too hesitant to even touch her.

"You've a peculiar look about you," she observed, on one such night, her brow puckering slightly as she studied his face. "Is aught wrong with ye?"

He started to shake his head no, and then changed his mind. "Aye," he answered, struggling for words. "Perhaps. Or, nay, now I think on it. 'Tis you. 'Tis everything about you...do you know how beautiful you are?"

An amused smile curled one corner of her mouth. "I do, aye, for 'tis summer, is it not? Do you not recall my saying you knew naught of my true nature, having never seen me at this time of year?" She cast back the covers so there was nothing hiding her from his sight and stretched languidly. "So, Gavin O'Malley, do you like what you see? Does it please you? What is it you feel when you look at me? Tell me. For 'tis been a long time since I've been admired by a man who was seeing me thus for the first time."

Gavin's eyes roved greedily, taking it all in. But his thoughts were a muddle and, "How do I feel?" Ah, if only he knew the answer to that. He felt...distracted, conflicted, confused, humbled and, "Fearful," he replied at last."Fearful, are ye?" A silvery laugh broke free from Aislinn's lips and swept through Gavin, brightening his spirit like a sudden shower after a dusty day. "And what is it you're afraid of then, my darling one? Surely not of me?"

He nodded, still reeling from the effects of her laugh. "Aye, of you, indeed. Mortally afraid, I be."

"You silly man," she murmured, circling her arms around his neck and grinning up at him. "And why, pray tell? Dost thou think I would ever hurt you?"

Gavin sighed. Reaching a hand to her head, he fingered a strand of her hair, which still gleamed gold, even in the starlight. "Lass, I think you could very well destroy me. And I think you know it, too." He shook his head. "I'm a simple man, Aislinn, whereas you..."

"Are not so simple?" she supplied helpfully, as her smile dimmed and turned mocking.

"Not even a little bit."

"Perhaps not. But, I didn't ask for it to be thus, you know. Besides, mo chroí," she murmured wickedly, her smile returning as she rubbed her mound against him. "I've always been one who's enjoyed the simple things life has to offer."

"Have you now?" He took hold of her hips and pulled her against him, letting her feel the growing length of his shaft, enjoying the smoky look it brought to her eyes, the slight hitch in her breathing. Fearful or not, he planned to take full advantage of all that she offered; for he was a man, after all, and she was a risk well worth the taking. "And would I be one of those simple things to which you're referring, then?"

"Oh, you are indeed, mo chroí," she breathed delightedly. "Without a doubt."

Iron

P.G. Forte

ISBN 978-1-59578-585-5 



When Aislinn Deirbhile, an immortal, shape-shifting fae, arrives on his doorstep, Gavin O'Malley knows he's in luck. For Aislinn can give him everything he's been missing. Now, all he has to do is find a way to keep her—without losing his immortal soul in the process.

It's My Birthday!

...and I've decided to celebrate--witness the confetti. Too much?  Anyway, as I was saying, I've decided a party is in order. So I'm going to give away a download of one book from my backlist (HERE) to the commenter who comes up with the best idea for a birthday present or how I should be spending my birthday.

Not that there's anything wrong with the way I'm spending this birthday, but it is somewhat quiet and lacking in an abundance of festivity. Although there were mimosas and homemade (not by me) cinnamon rolls.  Mmm. Brunch. Gotta love it.

And, in the meantime, I'm going to post a brief excerpt from Dream Under the Hill. This is the first scene of Nick's birthday. It ends up being quite an eventful day for the poor dear, but in this scene everything is perfectly halcyon, just like a birthday should be. Enjoy!

Blurb:



The Spring Equinox falls in the month that nearly all Native Traditions recognize as being one of Big Winds—big changes. And big changes have certainly come to Oberon this spring… along with an ancient evil that must finally be laid to rest.



In a month marked by birth, death and marriage, the inhabitants of Oberon must all come to terms with what's really important to each of them—important enough to die for.



Only one thing is certain. When the winds of change finally stop blowing nothing—and no one—will be the same.  

Excerpt:



Today was Palm Sunday, and if he'd still been a good Catholic, Nick knew he'd probably be getting ready to attend Mass. But the Church was something he'd long since fallen away from, and, Good Catholic was a category from which he'd been definitively barred, not just for his divorce and subsequent re-marriage, but for a whole host of supposed sins that, according to canon, had irreparably stained his soul. And while he would have liked to once again experience the feelings of Absolution and Grace, that he used to receive from the sacraments, all things considered, he didn't miss it very much.

What he would miss, however, were mornings like these, cooking breakfast for his family, and sharing some quality time with his son, Cole.

"You having fun there, buddy?" Nick asked the little boy, smiling at the two year old's attempts to stir the batter for this morning's waffles. "You've been at that a while. Think it's almost ready?"

Cole shook his head. "Noooo," he replied, still gamely slapping the big wooden spoon around in the bowl; clearly intending to beat the batter into complete submission.

"All right, we'll give it a little longer then," Nick told him, chuckling to himself as he went back to tending to the orange hollandaise sauce he was making for the eggs Benedict.

Sunday breakfast was Nick's new sacrament. It was also his favorite meal to cook these days, which was odd, considering the one item he'd always considered his signature dish—meatballs––wasn't usually thought of as a breakfast staple. However, since his family was, once again, eating Sunday dinner at Lucy's house, more often than not, breakfast had become his one chance to really cut loose.

Not that his breakfasts were always as elaborate as this morning's meal, but today was special. It was his forty-fifth birthday, and he felt like celebrating.

He also felt like staying home, drawing the day out, enjoying the time with his family and friends. Which was partly why, when Sinead had invited them all to the inn for breakfast, he'd declined. Much as he loved his friend and appreciated her cooking, he didn't want to go anywhere today.

The impulse surprised him. He'd realized only recently that he'd finally begun to think of this house as home.

After almost three years, it was long overdue. It was high time he learned to relax into his new life, to accept that fate had handed him a second chance, to stop worrying that it might all be taken away again.

He took the hollandaise off the heat, checked on the home fries warming in the oven, and then took a minute to stir the tomato sauce simmering on the back of the stove.

The aroma, when he lifted the cover off the pot, wafted him back to his own childhood, and made him happier than ever to be spending this time in the kitchen with his own son. "Does that smell good, Cole?" he asked.

The little boy nodded and mumbled, "Yeshh," but absently, as he continued to concentrate on his work.

At this rate those waffles might end up being part of Monday's breakfast. "You know you can stop that now, if you want," Nick suggested, but as he half expected, Cole shook his head stubbornly. "All right, well, let me know if you get tired."

The rest of breakfast was either warming in the oven or chilling in the fridge––less the eggs, of course, which he'd poach while the waffles cooked––leaving Nick with nothing to do but contemplate dinner.

After breakfast, he'd put the lemon-garlic chicken in the oven, make the meatballs, and stuff the manicotti. Once all of that was accomplished, there was only kale to sauté, eggplant to fry and a huge antipasto salad platter to assemble, with olives, artichokes and marinated mushrooms, roasted peppers and zucchini, a variety of cheeses, smoked meats, capers, anchovies, tuna––and anything else he could think of.

Lucy had offered to make the antipasto as part of her contribution to the meal, but again he'd declined. It was the first dish he'd been allowed to 'cook' as a boy helping his parents in the kitchen, and he'd retained a special fondness for it.

Maybe Cole would like to help him with that, too, he thought, smiling as he turned to his son again. "Okay, why don't you give me that, now, Cole," he said, attempting to gently pry the bowl of batter away from him.

Cole's eyes narrowed. From the angry set of his chin and the way he was scowling, Nick was pretty sure he was getting ready to pitch a tantrum.

Quickly, he took the pan of home fries from the oven and spooned a few of them onto a plate. "Here, try these potatoes. Tell me if they're good."

For an instant, Cole's eyes narrowed even more, but then he smiled, reaching eagerly for the plate in Nick's hand. Nick smiled, too. Despite his own mother's insistence that Cole was the image of Nick as a baby, Nick didn't think it was an easy call to make. It was hard to determine which of his parents Cole most resembled. Until he smiled, and then it was no contest. He was Scout all over, when he smiled.

"Happy birthday, Dad," his daughter, Kate, murmured, drifting into the kitchen to give him a hug.

Nick hugged her back. "Thanks, sweetie. Are you ready for breakfast? I was just about to start the waffles."

"Okay," Kate replied agreeably. She smiled at her brother. "Are those good, Cole? Can I have one?"

Cole stopped chewing and looked at her. It was hard to know what he was thinking, but no was his favorite new word, and Nick would have been not at all surprised if he used it now. Instead, Cole extended his hand, and the very soggy looking potato he'd been clutching, toward his sister.

"Mmm. Yum, yum," Kate said, only pretending to eat it.

Nick smiled at his children. He didn't have a lot of personal experience with sibling relationships, but he was surprised and gratified by how well his kids seemed to get along. Probably the age difference helped with that, he thought. Still, a toddler and a teenager? He must have been out of his mind starting a second family when he was already in his forties. But, crazy or not, it was what Scout wanted, and he knew he wouldn't have done a single thing differently.

However, given how strained things had become between them; how moody and short tempered he'd been of late, he wondered if she realized that was still true? Maybe, it was time he made sure she did.

"I tell you what, Kate," he said, as he poured some coffee into a mug. "Keep an eye on Cole for a couple of minutes, while I go upstairs and wake Scout. Then we can all have breakfast together."

*****

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For more information on the Oberon series, visit the website at www.OberonCalifornia.us