P.G. Forte's Blog, page 67
February 24, 2011
While we're on the subject...
...of Spring. What, you missed my obsession with the season? Well, anyway, I have a post up at the Nine Naughty Novelists' blog today all about my adventures this week in wineland. But, it seems I'm not yet ready to put the topic to bed and so...here's an excerpt from Touch of a Vanished Hand--book 5 in the Oberon series.
True, the story takes place at the height of Summer, but it's set in a winery so, it works for me. Also, it's got a fabulous new cover as well.
Excerpt:
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Nick brought his motorcycle to a stop in the winery's parking lot. He took off his helmet, and felt the moisture on his skin evaporate in the dry heat radiating from the yellow stone walls.
He looked around grudgingly. Lupa e Cervo was certainly a showplace, no question about it. Christ, even the parking lot offered a fabulous view. The massive granite blocks that made up the mansion in which the winery was housed were mellowed to a buttery hue, softened by ivy, by bougainvillea, by time. Endless rows of grapevines surrounded the building. They curved over the hills in every direction, drawing the eye along with them. Although Nick knew it was an illusion, the impression that they extended all the way to the ocean which could just barely be seen--a blue smudge far in the distance--was almost irresistible. And it all belonged to Adam Sasso. Scout's stepbrother. The only family she had left and, for the past six months, a pestiferous pain in Nick's butt. "Nice view," Ryan remarked taking off his own helmet. "Guess I didn't really get a chance to see it last time." He sighed--a little too heavily, Nick thought, given the circumstances. "Yeah." Nick eyed the other man curiously. Ryan seemed unusually quiet today. "Thanks for coming out here with me." For a moment a look of surprise flashed across Ryan's face. "Oh, uh...yeah, sure. No problem," he said as he climbed off his bike. "What's the deal here anyway?" Nick shrugged. "Ah, who knows. Sasso's claiming someone's been attempting to break into the place. I asked him if he wanted to file a report, but of course he can't prove that anything's going on, so he declined." Nick paused to light a cigarette. Adam was up to something. That was why he'd asked Ryan to tag along. He wanted a witness to this meeting--just in case. He focused his attention on the view as he shook out the match, and tried hard to shake off the feeling he was being manipulated. "Scout's show is happening in a little less than two weeks. Supposedly I'm here to offer any suggestions I can think of in the way of increased security." "Security, huh?" Ryan chuckled as they headed up the stairs and across the wide stone terrace. "Think maybe the guy's wishing he'd taken a few of the dogs, after all?" "Yeah, maybe." The dogs would have been a good idea. But although Nick, Ryan and most of their friends and relations had all adopted at least one of the supposedly wild dogs which had terrorized the town for months, Adam had declined that offer, as well. At the time, he'd claimed he had all the security he needed. Nick couldn't help but wonder what had happened in the meantime to change his mind. The view from the terrace was even more impressive than the view from the parking lot. From here, he could see a small, white farmhouse, bracketed by trees, anchored on a postage stamp lawn of emerald green. And, beyond it, the distant shimmer of a tiny lake, set like a sapphire in the wide gold field that was home to half a dozen peacefully grazing horses. "Nick. Thank you for coming." Adam's voice came out of the shadows, the rest of him emerged an instant later. With his shoulder-length, blond hair, patrician features and wide green eyes Adam Sasso looked like he had just stepped from the pages of GQ. He was impeccably dressed, as always, and his gracious tones and graceful nod of greeting seemed too studied to be genuine. Nick supposed he was meant to be impressed by Adam's sudden appearance--or possibly discomfited by it--but he'd met enough guys like Adam in his life to know better than to take any of them too seriously. They were pretentious SOB's, the whole lot of them. Former nerds who'd reinvented themselves and seemed honestly to believe that being smart and financially stable gave them special rights--placed them above the law. Nick usually took great pleasure in putting them back in their places. A pleasure which fate had denied him in this case. "Adam." He nodded curtly at the closest thing he had to a brother-in-law. "You remember Ryan, don't you? What can we do for you?" Adam gazed unblinkingly at Ryan for a long moment before slowly extending his hand. "Yes, of course. You were with Siobhan Quinn at the dinner here last February, weren't you?" "Yeah, that was me." Ryan shook hands with him briefly, and then looked away across the terrace. "Nice place you've got." "Thank you." There was a thread of amusement in Adam's voice. He turned to Nick. "Come on, why don't I show you where the problem is?"
*****
To read more about this title (including reviews and another excerpt) click on the button.
For more information on the Oberon series, visit the website at www.OberonCalifornia.us
True, the story takes place at the height of Summer, but it's set in a winery so, it works for me. Also, it's got a fabulous new cover as well.
Excerpt:
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Nick brought his motorcycle to a stop in the winery's parking lot. He took off his helmet, and felt the moisture on his skin evaporate in the dry heat radiating from the yellow stone walls.
He looked around grudgingly. Lupa e Cervo was certainly a showplace, no question about it. Christ, even the parking lot offered a fabulous view. The massive granite blocks that made up the mansion in which the winery was housed were mellowed to a buttery hue, softened by ivy, by bougainvillea, by time. Endless rows of grapevines surrounded the building. They curved over the hills in every direction, drawing the eye along with them. Although Nick knew it was an illusion, the impression that they extended all the way to the ocean which could just barely be seen--a blue smudge far in the distance--was almost irresistible. And it all belonged to Adam Sasso. Scout's stepbrother. The only family she had left and, for the past six months, a pestiferous pain in Nick's butt. "Nice view," Ryan remarked taking off his own helmet. "Guess I didn't really get a chance to see it last time." He sighed--a little too heavily, Nick thought, given the circumstances. "Yeah." Nick eyed the other man curiously. Ryan seemed unusually quiet today. "Thanks for coming out here with me." For a moment a look of surprise flashed across Ryan's face. "Oh, uh...yeah, sure. No problem," he said as he climbed off his bike. "What's the deal here anyway?" Nick shrugged. "Ah, who knows. Sasso's claiming someone's been attempting to break into the place. I asked him if he wanted to file a report, but of course he can't prove that anything's going on, so he declined." Nick paused to light a cigarette. Adam was up to something. That was why he'd asked Ryan to tag along. He wanted a witness to this meeting--just in case. He focused his attention on the view as he shook out the match, and tried hard to shake off the feeling he was being manipulated. "Scout's show is happening in a little less than two weeks. Supposedly I'm here to offer any suggestions I can think of in the way of increased security." "Security, huh?" Ryan chuckled as they headed up the stairs and across the wide stone terrace. "Think maybe the guy's wishing he'd taken a few of the dogs, after all?" "Yeah, maybe." The dogs would have been a good idea. But although Nick, Ryan and most of their friends and relations had all adopted at least one of the supposedly wild dogs which had terrorized the town for months, Adam had declined that offer, as well. At the time, he'd claimed he had all the security he needed. Nick couldn't help but wonder what had happened in the meantime to change his mind. The view from the terrace was even more impressive than the view from the parking lot. From here, he could see a small, white farmhouse, bracketed by trees, anchored on a postage stamp lawn of emerald green. And, beyond it, the distant shimmer of a tiny lake, set like a sapphire in the wide gold field that was home to half a dozen peacefully grazing horses. "Nick. Thank you for coming." Adam's voice came out of the shadows, the rest of him emerged an instant later. With his shoulder-length, blond hair, patrician features and wide green eyes Adam Sasso looked like he had just stepped from the pages of GQ. He was impeccably dressed, as always, and his gracious tones and graceful nod of greeting seemed too studied to be genuine. Nick supposed he was meant to be impressed by Adam's sudden appearance--or possibly discomfited by it--but he'd met enough guys like Adam in his life to know better than to take any of them too seriously. They were pretentious SOB's, the whole lot of them. Former nerds who'd reinvented themselves and seemed honestly to believe that being smart and financially stable gave them special rights--placed them above the law. Nick usually took great pleasure in putting them back in their places. A pleasure which fate had denied him in this case. "Adam." He nodded curtly at the closest thing he had to a brother-in-law. "You remember Ryan, don't you? What can we do for you?" Adam gazed unblinkingly at Ryan for a long moment before slowly extending his hand. "Yes, of course. You were with Siobhan Quinn at the dinner here last February, weren't you?" "Yeah, that was me." Ryan shook hands with him briefly, and then looked away across the terrace. "Nice place you've got." "Thank you." There was a thread of amusement in Adam's voice. He turned to Nick. "Come on, why don't I show you where the problem is?"
*****
To read more about this title (including reviews and another excerpt) click on the button.For more information on the Oberon series, visit the website at www.OberonCalifornia.us
February 23, 2011
Speaking of Spring...
I've been thinking a lot about Spring this week--never mind what the calendar says, or the likelihood that it will start raining again tomorrow. Never mind the fact I'm wearing socks this morning because it's really not as warm as it could be. Bottom line: the sun's out, the sky's blue, there are flowers in bloom. It's Spring, damn it.
And, because it's Spring, I'm celebrating with an excerpt from my quintessential spring book, A Taste of Honey.
Ooh, and here's a look at its snazzy new cover:
Excerpt:
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Lucy drove out to the nursery early that afternoon, with the windows rolled down. No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom, an album she'd 'liberated' from her teenage son's music collection several years earlier, was blasting from the Explorer's CD player, and a plan for fixing the deteriorating relationship between her husband and her son was cooking in her head. In fact, if things worked out the way she hoped they would, she might even be able to give her own relationship with Dan some added spice.
It was a glorious Spring day. The air along the coast was warm and lushly scented with yerba buena, eucalyptus and sage. Fat, majestic puffs sailed across the sky, casting cloud-shaped shadows onto the earth and sea below, further mottling the already variegated landscape. When she turned off the coast road onto the canyon drive that led to the nursery, she saw that the hills that lined the way, gray-green, emerald, and gold for most of the year, had been transformed. They'd blossomed overnight into an almost endless expanse of orange and blue--mostly California poppies and lupine--disrupted only where the spiky silver foliage and dried flower heads of wild artichokes broke through to tower above them.
It was the same thing that happened every year, but, as always, the beauty of it took her by surprise and made her catch her breath.
It was a perfect day for a picnic, she had decided after leaving Marsha and Scout that morning; and so she had gone home and packed a basket with which she hoped to tempt Dan to join her at Seth's ball game this afternoon.
The relationship between the two men in her life had become so strained of late. And, even though she had taken care to pack all of Dan's favorites--marinated artichoke hearts, olives stuffed with sun dried tomatoes, roasted eggplant and goat cheese sandwiches on fresh foccacia bread, and a mint-mango salad--she wasn't sure that even that would do the trick.
It wasn't so much that she feared her husband's relationship with their son was in any real danger of becoming irrevocably damaged, as had happened to Dan's relationship with his own father; although the possibility had certainly occurred to her, and more than once. It was just that it was so very obvious how much both he and Seth were suffering from their estrangement. And it would be good for Seth to see that, annoyed as he often was with him, his father still supported his efforts.
Besides, she knew very well that her own attendance at his games was almost more frustrating for Seth than supportive. Despite all her years as a spectator, Lucy still seemed to be missing the finer points of the game. Their mutual interest in baseball had always been a passion that Dan and Seth enjoyed sharing. And really, what was the point of sports, if not to allow men the opportunity to renew their bonds with one another without shedding too much blood?
She pulled off the road before she reached the nursery's main entrance, unlocked one of the gates that led directly into the fields, and detoured through the back of the nursery's grounds to check on her hives. Sunlight shimmered in the air, and as she walked through the field she breathed in deep lungfuls scented with the heady fragrance of flowering plants and warm earth. The bees were everywhere; crawling on the flowers, filling the air with their busy flights, and clustering around the hives' entrances in a carefully choreographed confusion. Lucy reminded herself to keep all her movements slow as she moved among them. She was entranced by their gentleness as they detoured around her. Even without the honey, she'd enjoy keeping them. Of course, she hadn't been stung yet, although everyone who worked with bees assured her that it was inevitable, and she hadn't yet been forced to contend with a swarm, either. Perhaps she'd feel a little less enthusiastic after either of those occurred. But for now, it was a terrific little sideline business.
She watched the bees for several minutes longer, observing their activity, trying to take a count of the bees as they moved in and out of the hives, as she'd been taught to do; looking for anything unusual, any suggestion that the hives were ailing. Finally, satisfied that all was well, she slowly turned and walked back towards her car. She'd come back out here this weekend, with all her equipment, so she could inspect the hives properly, but right now, she had an even more interesting project to work on.
Seth was not the only one whose bonds with Dan could use a little renewing, she thought. It had been months since she and Dan had enjoyed the kind of romantic adventure she had planned for them. Altogether too many months. And man could not live by sports alone.
She'd included a jar of her honey in the picnic basket. If she and Dan could find a private, secluded little spot for their picnic, perhaps she'd find a way to increase his appreciation for her new hobby.
*****
Click on the button to read more about this title--including reviews and another excerpt.For more information about the series, visit the Oberon website at www.OberonCalifornia.us
And, because it's Spring, I'm celebrating with an excerpt from my quintessential spring book, A Taste of Honey.
Ooh, and here's a look at its snazzy new cover:
Excerpt:
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Lucy drove out to the nursery early that afternoon, with the windows rolled down. No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom, an album she'd 'liberated' from her teenage son's music collection several years earlier, was blasting from the Explorer's CD player, and a plan for fixing the deteriorating relationship between her husband and her son was cooking in her head. In fact, if things worked out the way she hoped they would, she might even be able to give her own relationship with Dan some added spice.
It was a glorious Spring day. The air along the coast was warm and lushly scented with yerba buena, eucalyptus and sage. Fat, majestic puffs sailed across the sky, casting cloud-shaped shadows onto the earth and sea below, further mottling the already variegated landscape. When she turned off the coast road onto the canyon drive that led to the nursery, she saw that the hills that lined the way, gray-green, emerald, and gold for most of the year, had been transformed. They'd blossomed overnight into an almost endless expanse of orange and blue--mostly California poppies and lupine--disrupted only where the spiky silver foliage and dried flower heads of wild artichokes broke through to tower above them.
It was the same thing that happened every year, but, as always, the beauty of it took her by surprise and made her catch her breath.
It was a perfect day for a picnic, she had decided after leaving Marsha and Scout that morning; and so she had gone home and packed a basket with which she hoped to tempt Dan to join her at Seth's ball game this afternoon.
The relationship between the two men in her life had become so strained of late. And, even though she had taken care to pack all of Dan's favorites--marinated artichoke hearts, olives stuffed with sun dried tomatoes, roasted eggplant and goat cheese sandwiches on fresh foccacia bread, and a mint-mango salad--she wasn't sure that even that would do the trick.
It wasn't so much that she feared her husband's relationship with their son was in any real danger of becoming irrevocably damaged, as had happened to Dan's relationship with his own father; although the possibility had certainly occurred to her, and more than once. It was just that it was so very obvious how much both he and Seth were suffering from their estrangement. And it would be good for Seth to see that, annoyed as he often was with him, his father still supported his efforts.
Besides, she knew very well that her own attendance at his games was almost more frustrating for Seth than supportive. Despite all her years as a spectator, Lucy still seemed to be missing the finer points of the game. Their mutual interest in baseball had always been a passion that Dan and Seth enjoyed sharing. And really, what was the point of sports, if not to allow men the opportunity to renew their bonds with one another without shedding too much blood?
She pulled off the road before she reached the nursery's main entrance, unlocked one of the gates that led directly into the fields, and detoured through the back of the nursery's grounds to check on her hives. Sunlight shimmered in the air, and as she walked through the field she breathed in deep lungfuls scented with the heady fragrance of flowering plants and warm earth. The bees were everywhere; crawling on the flowers, filling the air with their busy flights, and clustering around the hives' entrances in a carefully choreographed confusion. Lucy reminded herself to keep all her movements slow as she moved among them. She was entranced by their gentleness as they detoured around her. Even without the honey, she'd enjoy keeping them. Of course, she hadn't been stung yet, although everyone who worked with bees assured her that it was inevitable, and she hadn't yet been forced to contend with a swarm, either. Perhaps she'd feel a little less enthusiastic after either of those occurred. But for now, it was a terrific little sideline business.
She watched the bees for several minutes longer, observing their activity, trying to take a count of the bees as they moved in and out of the hives, as she'd been taught to do; looking for anything unusual, any suggestion that the hives were ailing. Finally, satisfied that all was well, she slowly turned and walked back towards her car. She'd come back out here this weekend, with all her equipment, so she could inspect the hives properly, but right now, she had an even more interesting project to work on.
Seth was not the only one whose bonds with Dan could use a little renewing, she thought. It had been months since she and Dan had enjoyed the kind of romantic adventure she had planned for them. Altogether too many months. And man could not live by sports alone.
She'd included a jar of her honey in the picnic basket. If she and Dan could find a private, secluded little spot for their picnic, perhaps she'd find a way to increase his appreciation for her new hobby.
*****
Click on the button to read more about this title--including reviews and another excerpt.For more information about the series, visit the Oberon website at www.OberonCalifornia.us
February 20, 2011
Myths and Legends
It's Spring! Well, okay, not really. But it feels like it today, or at least it looks like it, what with the sun finally coming out from behind the clouds and the cherry trees in bloom. I love cherry blossoms. In fact, I think I may need to get my son to add some falling cherry blossoms to my tattoos.Hmm...
Cherry blossoms make me think of cherries--which I love, btw--and that reminds me of cherry trees, and that reminds me that tomorrow is President's Day. Which might seem an odd train of thought to a lot of people because you just don't hear the old story about George Washington and the cherry tree much anymore. With good reason, I might add, since it's completely fictitious. Not, of course, that there's anything wrong with fiction!
I guess it must be coded in our DNA, this urge to create not just stories but myths, legends, fables...or, as some might term it, lies. But a made-up story that pretends to be real created to teach children the importance of telling the truth? I know it's early and I haven't had much coffee yet today, but my mind is seriously boggling.
As luck would have it, I've been working this week on a story about three people who are all lying, mostly to themselves, but to each other as well. And, no, I'm not going to share anything from that one just yet because I'm just not that far into it.
Instead, I'm going to share a snippet of Old Sins, Long Shadows , the second book in the Children of Night series and the sequel to In the Dark . I wish I could share the cover with you all as well, but I can't yet. Trust me, however, it's gorgeous!
This series is about vampires, so it fits in well with the whole "myths and legends" title of this post. In this book, a lot of the focus is on Conrad and Damian: how they met, how they fell in love, how they fell apart and came back together again. I have several more books planned and there's still a lot that hasn't been revealed about their respective backgrounds--and, oh, the reviews I'm going to get about all the loose ends I've left hanging! I can only imagine. *sigh*
Still, I'm as satisfied as I can be with this book. Maybe too satisfied as I'm having a little trouble letting it go so that I can work on other books. So, I'm going to post the blurb and a bit of an excerpt here, and then go back to working on...I don't know...something else. Look for this book to be available on May 3rd. Just a little over two months away. I can't wait.
For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad struggles against the urge to bring his estranged mate back to his bed. 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, it's imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.
"Ah, there you are!" Damian swept into the kitchen, startling Conrad, who was seated at the table. "Good. I've been looking for you."
Conrad fumbled the PVC blood bag he was holding, nearly dropping it. He bit back an oath and glanced up, scowling. Damian was dressed as though he'd just come from the gym, and all in black like a damn cliché. His dark hair was pulled away from his face and the scent of exertion still clung to his skin. Conrad's fingers clenched more tightly around the bag in his hand. His heart pounded with a savage rhythm. Of all the people he could not bear to be this close to right now, with his hunger running rampant and his self-control at low ebb, Damian undoubtedly topped the list.
"What do you want?" he growled, frustrated by his inability to tame the simmering need that even now was urging him to grab Damian by the throat, slam him against the nearest surface, bury his fangs in his neck and reclaim what was his. He buried his fangs in the bag instead and felt his gut heave at the faint chemical taste.
It tasted wrong. It was always going to taste wrong. And it was never going to be enough to satisfy either his hunger or his thirst.
"I need to talk to you about something." Seemingly oblivious to Conrad's foul mood, Damian pulled out a chair and seated himself. He was close enough to Conrad they could have clasped hands on the tabletop had either of them been so inclined. Close enough that they might speak softly to each other and not be overheard. Entirely. Too. Close.
"Very well then. Talk." Forcing himself not to recoil, Conrad swallowed another mouthful. Another tremor wracked his frame. He tried not to imagine the pitiful picture he must be presenting. He would survive it. His pride had taken worse hits than this over the centuries.
Damian made no answer. Conrad glanced impatiently at him. "Well?"
Damian waved a hand at the bags heaped on the table. "What are you doing here with all of this?"It was so stupid a question Conrad refused to even dignify it with an answer. "Is that really what you came down here to talk to me about? I would have thought you'd have better things to do with your time." He drained the pouch in his hand, tossed it aside and was reaching for another when Damian put out a hand to stop him.
"Espere," he said. "Querido, wait." His fingers closed on Conrad's wrist and time stalled.
A low growl rose from Conrad's throat as he stared, transfixed, at the hand on his arm. His control began to slip. Furious, he lifted his gaze to Damian's face and the hand was hurriedly withdrawn, but Conrad's skin still burned from the touch. With his eyes locked on Damian's, daring him to try and interfere again, he picked up a new bag and deliberately sank his teeth into the plastic.
Damian's nostrils flared. "Honestly, if this is all you've been eating, it's no wonder you've yet to regain your full strength. You need fresh food, Conrad. Living food. Shall I find you some?"
Conrad sighed. He knew exactly what he needed and didn't need, as well as what he could and could not have. He drained the second bag and reached for a third, forcing himself to speak calmly. "No, this is not all I'm eating. But, this early in the day… I fear I do not always find myself in the proper frame of mind to attempt anything else."
He toyed with the unappetizing bag while he considered his options, coming quickly to the same conclusion he'd already drawn. There were none. By later this evening the edge of his hunger would be blunted. The worst of his venom would have been reabsorbed. He would have more choices. Until then, no matter how much he wished to feed from the living, he would not do it. He couldn't take the chance of damaging one of the staff. That would only cause trouble, start rumors and end badly. As for attempting to take nourishment from one of his own… Appealing though the thought of it was, as an option it was even less acceptable.
His gaze following his thoughts, he cast a glance in Damian's direction. His eyes cut to the scarf knotted at Damian's throat. Anguish flared. Did Damian mean for it to serve as a constant reminder to him of the injuries it covered—injuries Conrad himself had inflicted—or was that just a happy accident?
He forced his gaze back to Damian's face and inquired coldly, "You weren't by any chance thinking of offering yourself for the purpose of slaking my thirst, were you?" As he'd expected, Damian's face blanched. One hand crept protectively toward his neck. Conrad sneered, cruelly amused by the sudden increase in the tempo of Damian's pulse. "No. Not such a pleasant thought, is it?"
Damian swallowed hard. He placed both hands on the table and deliberately folded them together. His face impassive, he met Conrad's eyes with a steady gaze. "You still aren't sleeping well, are you? Is it the nightmares again?"
Above all else, Conrad hated that Damian should know him so well. That he could so unerringly pinpoint the exact location of every weakness, every fault line, every flaw. "Yes."
"What can I do to help?"
Conrad sighed. "You can tell me whatever it is you came here to talk to me about and then you can leave me to finish my meal in peace."
Damian frowned crossly. "Very well, then. We need to do something about the twins. They're having a little more trouble adjusting to life here than I'd expected. I thought, perhaps, if I could explain to them—"
Conrad put up a hand to silence him. "No. Absolutely not."
"Just enough so they can understand why—"
"I said no!"
"You did not even let me finish." Damian's dark eyes narrowed in annoyance. "How do you know what I was about to say?"
"It really doesn't matter, does it?" Conrad asked in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. "I know you're hoping I'll change my mind about something, that I'll agree to do things in a different way—your way. I have no intention of doing so."
Cherry blossoms make me think of cherries--which I love, btw--and that reminds me of cherry trees, and that reminds me that tomorrow is President's Day. Which might seem an odd train of thought to a lot of people because you just don't hear the old story about George Washington and the cherry tree much anymore. With good reason, I might add, since it's completely fictitious. Not, of course, that there's anything wrong with fiction!
I guess it must be coded in our DNA, this urge to create not just stories but myths, legends, fables...or, as some might term it, lies. But a made-up story that pretends to be real created to teach children the importance of telling the truth? I know it's early and I haven't had much coffee yet today, but my mind is seriously boggling.
As luck would have it, I've been working this week on a story about three people who are all lying, mostly to themselves, but to each other as well. And, no, I'm not going to share anything from that one just yet because I'm just not that far into it.
Instead, I'm going to share a snippet of Old Sins, Long Shadows , the second book in the Children of Night series and the sequel to In the Dark . I wish I could share the cover with you all as well, but I can't yet. Trust me, however, it's gorgeous!
This series is about vampires, so it fits in well with the whole "myths and legends" title of this post. In this book, a lot of the focus is on Conrad and Damian: how they met, how they fell in love, how they fell apart and came back together again. I have several more books planned and there's still a lot that hasn't been revealed about their respective backgrounds--and, oh, the reviews I'm going to get about all the loose ends I've left hanging! I can only imagine. *sigh*
Still, I'm as satisfied as I can be with this book. Maybe too satisfied as I'm having a little trouble letting it go so that I can work on other books. So, I'm going to post the blurb and a bit of an excerpt here, and then go back to working on...I don't know...something else. Look for this book to be available on May 3rd. Just a little over two months away. I can't wait.
For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad struggles against the urge to bring his estranged mate back to his bed. 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, it's imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.
"Ah, there you are!" Damian swept into the kitchen, startling Conrad, who was seated at the table. "Good. I've been looking for you."
Conrad fumbled the PVC blood bag he was holding, nearly dropping it. He bit back an oath and glanced up, scowling. Damian was dressed as though he'd just come from the gym, and all in black like a damn cliché. His dark hair was pulled away from his face and the scent of exertion still clung to his skin. Conrad's fingers clenched more tightly around the bag in his hand. His heart pounded with a savage rhythm. Of all the people he could not bear to be this close to right now, with his hunger running rampant and his self-control at low ebb, Damian undoubtedly topped the list.
"What do you want?" he growled, frustrated by his inability to tame the simmering need that even now was urging him to grab Damian by the throat, slam him against the nearest surface, bury his fangs in his neck and reclaim what was his. He buried his fangs in the bag instead and felt his gut heave at the faint chemical taste.
It tasted wrong. It was always going to taste wrong. And it was never going to be enough to satisfy either his hunger or his thirst.
"I need to talk to you about something." Seemingly oblivious to Conrad's foul mood, Damian pulled out a chair and seated himself. He was close enough to Conrad they could have clasped hands on the tabletop had either of them been so inclined. Close enough that they might speak softly to each other and not be overheard. Entirely. Too. Close.
"Very well then. Talk." Forcing himself not to recoil, Conrad swallowed another mouthful. Another tremor wracked his frame. He tried not to imagine the pitiful picture he must be presenting. He would survive it. His pride had taken worse hits than this over the centuries.
Damian made no answer. Conrad glanced impatiently at him. "Well?"
Damian waved a hand at the bags heaped on the table. "What are you doing here with all of this?"It was so stupid a question Conrad refused to even dignify it with an answer. "Is that really what you came down here to talk to me about? I would have thought you'd have better things to do with your time." He drained the pouch in his hand, tossed it aside and was reaching for another when Damian put out a hand to stop him.
"Espere," he said. "Querido, wait." His fingers closed on Conrad's wrist and time stalled.
A low growl rose from Conrad's throat as he stared, transfixed, at the hand on his arm. His control began to slip. Furious, he lifted his gaze to Damian's face and the hand was hurriedly withdrawn, but Conrad's skin still burned from the touch. With his eyes locked on Damian's, daring him to try and interfere again, he picked up a new bag and deliberately sank his teeth into the plastic.
Damian's nostrils flared. "Honestly, if this is all you've been eating, it's no wonder you've yet to regain your full strength. You need fresh food, Conrad. Living food. Shall I find you some?"
Conrad sighed. He knew exactly what he needed and didn't need, as well as what he could and could not have. He drained the second bag and reached for a third, forcing himself to speak calmly. "No, this is not all I'm eating. But, this early in the day… I fear I do not always find myself in the proper frame of mind to attempt anything else."
He toyed with the unappetizing bag while he considered his options, coming quickly to the same conclusion he'd already drawn. There were none. By later this evening the edge of his hunger would be blunted. The worst of his venom would have been reabsorbed. He would have more choices. Until then, no matter how much he wished to feed from the living, he would not do it. He couldn't take the chance of damaging one of the staff. That would only cause trouble, start rumors and end badly. As for attempting to take nourishment from one of his own… Appealing though the thought of it was, as an option it was even less acceptable.
His gaze following his thoughts, he cast a glance in Damian's direction. His eyes cut to the scarf knotted at Damian's throat. Anguish flared. Did Damian mean for it to serve as a constant reminder to him of the injuries it covered—injuries Conrad himself had inflicted—or was that just a happy accident?
He forced his gaze back to Damian's face and inquired coldly, "You weren't by any chance thinking of offering yourself for the purpose of slaking my thirst, were you?" As he'd expected, Damian's face blanched. One hand crept protectively toward his neck. Conrad sneered, cruelly amused by the sudden increase in the tempo of Damian's pulse. "No. Not such a pleasant thought, is it?"
Damian swallowed hard. He placed both hands on the table and deliberately folded them together. His face impassive, he met Conrad's eyes with a steady gaze. "You still aren't sleeping well, are you? Is it the nightmares again?"
Above all else, Conrad hated that Damian should know him so well. That he could so unerringly pinpoint the exact location of every weakness, every fault line, every flaw. "Yes."
"What can I do to help?"
Conrad sighed. "You can tell me whatever it is you came here to talk to me about and then you can leave me to finish my meal in peace."
Damian frowned crossly. "Very well, then. We need to do something about the twins. They're having a little more trouble adjusting to life here than I'd expected. I thought, perhaps, if I could explain to them—"
Conrad put up a hand to silence him. "No. Absolutely not."
"Just enough so they can understand why—"
"I said no!"
"You did not even let me finish." Damian's dark eyes narrowed in annoyance. "How do you know what I was about to say?"
"It really doesn't matter, does it?" Conrad asked in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. "I know you're hoping I'll change my mind about something, that I'll agree to do things in a different way—your way. I have no intention of doing so."
February 14, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day!!
Since it's Valentine's Day (and since I still have all these pretty little hearts sprinkling the page) I thought I'd get into the spirit of things by posting an excerpt from
Sound of a Voice That is Still
.
This is one of my favorite Valentine's Day scenes, featuring one of my favorite couples...
Lucy took a long last look around the bedroom. It was perfect. Rose scentedcandles stood ready on each of the nightstands, and in their bathroom a bottle of vanilla flavored massage oil steamed peacefully in the bottle warmer. A picnic basketcontaining most of the ingredients for the meal she'd planned sat ready on the bed.Olives and oysters and double cream Brie. And cherry tomatoes—out of season, ofcourse, and not nearly as good as the ones they'd get later in the year, but that could not be helped. She'd fared better with the avocados and the artichokes.
Two weeks of searching had turned up several bottles of a nice Cabernet that was anear match for the wine they had shared all those years ago. She'd struck out when itcame to the fresh strawberries, however. To compensate she'd bought a box ofmarzipan fruit and two cans of whipped cream.
She was ready. Closing the door behind her, she headed down the hallway towardher kitchen to check on the rest of the meal. She looked at her watch, to see how muchtime she had, and felt a momentary tightness in her chest when she saw how late it was. Where was he? Surely he wouldn't be late tonight?
Not that there was any hurry, of course. They had all night to eat and talk, and tolove each other. To remember the way things used to be. Could still be. Were.She could hear Mandy and Kate giggling in the family room as they watched one ofthe videos she'd rented for them. She thought of Scout and her cousin, probablyalready checked in at the spa—already in bed, perhaps. And Marsha, out to dinner withSam. She tried to rein in the jealousy which for weeks had threatened to overwhelmher.
She'd had a whole lifetime of loving and being loved, after all. It was petty of herto begrudge her two best friends a little of the same happiness she had, wasn't it? Butshe did, all the same.
As she checked on the artichokes, wiggling a couple of the outer leaves to see howloose they were, she imagined how it would feel to slide one of them into his mouth, to feel the touch of his lips as they brushed against the tips of her fingers. The faint tug asshe pulled the leaf out again, and his teeth clamped down on it, resisting her. Sheimagined the taste of and the feel of melted butter as it dripped down her chin. Thesweet aftertaste in both their mouths as he licked the butter away and then kissed her.
The artichokes were ready she decided, turning off the heat beneath the pot. And sowas she. Ready to break down the wall that had sprung up between her and Dan.Ready to break through the silence that threatened to suffocate them both. Ready toreclaim her marriage.
And reclaim her husband, too, from whatever it was that had stolen so much of hisattention recently.
She had everything she needed to accomplish her task, except for one little thing.Dan still wasn't home. She resisted the urge to check her watch again, and uncorkedone of the bottles of wine. It was just as well that he was late. It was a fairly youngvintage, after all. It could use a few minutes to breathe. She poured herself a glass of it, anyway, admiring the deep, clear color of the wine.
Three drops, red as heart's blood fell on the white tile counter. She wiped them upand licked her finger, and then turned at the sound of the door opening, her chest tightagain.
"Hey babe. Sorry I'm late," Dan said, smiling as he came toward her. He wascarrying a bouquet of roses and a small, insulated paper bag.
Lucy could hear her heart thudding in her ears. "Hey, yourself," she murmured,putting her glass down, and leaning back against the counter. She cocked her head tothe side. "What's in the bag?"
He put the roses on the counter and leaned in close. "Your Valentine's present."He pushed her hair back behind her ear and nuzzled her neck. His voice was a warmwhisper. "Part of it, anyway. I thought maybe we could take this back to our bedroomwith us later, maybe have our dessert in there tonight?"
He brushed a brief kiss against her lips and then pulled away, and handed her thebag. "Here. Take a look." He rested his hands on the counter, one on either side ofher, and watched as she opened the bag.
"Lavender ice cream?" Her favorite. She stared at him in wonder. There was onlyone place in town that made it, and then only during the summer. "How'd you get it?"
He flashed her his most mischievous grin. "It was easy. I just called and asked ifthey'd make up a batch of it special for me. Told them I'd give them a real good dealon the lavender this year, if they did. That's why I'm late tonight, I had to stopdowntown and pick it up."
Lucy clutched the pint container against her chest, mindless of the chill, as shethought about the velvety smoothness of the ice cream, the sweet taste of lavender, the way it would feel later tonight, as it melted on her skin.
Dan's eyes gleamed as he watched her. "Well? Don't you have anything for me?"
She nodded and reached for his hand. "Come on. I'll show you. Bring the roses,"she said, smiling at him over her shoulder.
She'd been foolish to be so worried, she thought, as she led him down the hallwaytowards their bedroom. Nothing had changed between them. They were still on thesame wavelength, still in sync. Still in love.
She dropped his hand as they entered the bedroom. Crossing to the bed, she pulleddown a corner of the bedspread, so he could see the rose petals she'd layered between the sheets: red and white, just like the ones he'd brought her.
He smiled at her from across their bed. "The red rose is a falcon and the white roseis a dove," he recited softly. "The red rose whispers passion and the white rosebreathes of love. Looks like we might have been thinking along similar lines today."
"Hmmm." She returned his smile. "Looks like."
He frowned suddenly. "Except...I think I may have reversed the order of thoseverses."
She shrugged, and rested one knee on the bed. "Does it really matter?"
"No." His glance sizzled as it wandered slowly over her. "Not at all. So, what areyou tonight? A falcon, or a dove?"
"I don't know." She shrugged again. "I haven't decided, yet. Maybe neither."
"Neither, huh?" He looked amused. "Why don't you come over here and let mechange your mind about that."
She peered up at him teasingly, "What's your hurry, Cavanaugh? You got placesto go?"
"Just one," he said. His glance went briefly to the basket on the bed between them."Are we having a picnic?"
She nodded. "Take a look."
She held her breath and watched as he lifted the lid and looked inside; watched thesmile that slowly crept across his face, watched his throat work as he swallowed. Heremembered. Her heart soared at the look in his eyes when he looked at her again; atthe heat and the passion that blazed within them.
"C'mere," he said and his voice, husky with emotion, warm and dark, set all hernerves aflame. He reached for her across the bed and she went to him, she felt his arms close around her, felt the sting of tears in her eyes as he kissed her. His lips, warm and familiar, told her everything she wanted to know. All the things he hadn't put into words in so long.
My favorite thing about this book is how all the couples' stories intersect and parallel each others. And I have rather a few couples, as it happens; four, to be exact--which is fitting since it's actually the fourth book I wrote, even though it's only number three in the series.
I hope you'll check it out, if you haven't already. It's available in paperback and digital formats and it's also one of the books I'll be signing in LA this April at the Romantic Times Booklover's Convention.
Paperback: 446 pages
Publisher: SynergEbooks (April 15, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 074430783X
ISBN-13: 978-0744307832
ebook: Word count 159,168
ISBN: 0744306892 Heat Index
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket, Epub
This is one of my favorite Valentine's Day scenes, featuring one of my favorite couples...
Lucy took a long last look around the bedroom. It was perfect. Rose scentedcandles stood ready on each of the nightstands, and in their bathroom a bottle of vanilla flavored massage oil steamed peacefully in the bottle warmer. A picnic basketcontaining most of the ingredients for the meal she'd planned sat ready on the bed.Olives and oysters and double cream Brie. And cherry tomatoes—out of season, ofcourse, and not nearly as good as the ones they'd get later in the year, but that could not be helped. She'd fared better with the avocados and the artichokes.
Two weeks of searching had turned up several bottles of a nice Cabernet that was anear match for the wine they had shared all those years ago. She'd struck out when itcame to the fresh strawberries, however. To compensate she'd bought a box ofmarzipan fruit and two cans of whipped cream.
She was ready. Closing the door behind her, she headed down the hallway towardher kitchen to check on the rest of the meal. She looked at her watch, to see how muchtime she had, and felt a momentary tightness in her chest when she saw how late it was. Where was he? Surely he wouldn't be late tonight?
Not that there was any hurry, of course. They had all night to eat and talk, and tolove each other. To remember the way things used to be. Could still be. Were.She could hear Mandy and Kate giggling in the family room as they watched one ofthe videos she'd rented for them. She thought of Scout and her cousin, probablyalready checked in at the spa—already in bed, perhaps. And Marsha, out to dinner withSam. She tried to rein in the jealousy which for weeks had threatened to overwhelmher.
She'd had a whole lifetime of loving and being loved, after all. It was petty of herto begrudge her two best friends a little of the same happiness she had, wasn't it? Butshe did, all the same.
As she checked on the artichokes, wiggling a couple of the outer leaves to see howloose they were, she imagined how it would feel to slide one of them into his mouth, to feel the touch of his lips as they brushed against the tips of her fingers. The faint tug asshe pulled the leaf out again, and his teeth clamped down on it, resisting her. Sheimagined the taste of and the feel of melted butter as it dripped down her chin. Thesweet aftertaste in both their mouths as he licked the butter away and then kissed her.
The artichokes were ready she decided, turning off the heat beneath the pot. And sowas she. Ready to break down the wall that had sprung up between her and Dan.Ready to break through the silence that threatened to suffocate them both. Ready toreclaim her marriage.
And reclaim her husband, too, from whatever it was that had stolen so much of hisattention recently.
She had everything she needed to accomplish her task, except for one little thing.Dan still wasn't home. She resisted the urge to check her watch again, and uncorkedone of the bottles of wine. It was just as well that he was late. It was a fairly youngvintage, after all. It could use a few minutes to breathe. She poured herself a glass of it, anyway, admiring the deep, clear color of the wine.
Three drops, red as heart's blood fell on the white tile counter. She wiped them upand licked her finger, and then turned at the sound of the door opening, her chest tightagain.
"Hey babe. Sorry I'm late," Dan said, smiling as he came toward her. He wascarrying a bouquet of roses and a small, insulated paper bag.
Lucy could hear her heart thudding in her ears. "Hey, yourself," she murmured,putting her glass down, and leaning back against the counter. She cocked her head tothe side. "What's in the bag?"
He put the roses on the counter and leaned in close. "Your Valentine's present."He pushed her hair back behind her ear and nuzzled her neck. His voice was a warmwhisper. "Part of it, anyway. I thought maybe we could take this back to our bedroomwith us later, maybe have our dessert in there tonight?"
He brushed a brief kiss against her lips and then pulled away, and handed her thebag. "Here. Take a look." He rested his hands on the counter, one on either side ofher, and watched as she opened the bag.
"Lavender ice cream?" Her favorite. She stared at him in wonder. There was onlyone place in town that made it, and then only during the summer. "How'd you get it?"
He flashed her his most mischievous grin. "It was easy. I just called and asked ifthey'd make up a batch of it special for me. Told them I'd give them a real good dealon the lavender this year, if they did. That's why I'm late tonight, I had to stopdowntown and pick it up."
Lucy clutched the pint container against her chest, mindless of the chill, as shethought about the velvety smoothness of the ice cream, the sweet taste of lavender, the way it would feel later tonight, as it melted on her skin.
Dan's eyes gleamed as he watched her. "Well? Don't you have anything for me?"
She nodded and reached for his hand. "Come on. I'll show you. Bring the roses,"she said, smiling at him over her shoulder.
She'd been foolish to be so worried, she thought, as she led him down the hallwaytowards their bedroom. Nothing had changed between them. They were still on thesame wavelength, still in sync. Still in love.
She dropped his hand as they entered the bedroom. Crossing to the bed, she pulleddown a corner of the bedspread, so he could see the rose petals she'd layered between the sheets: red and white, just like the ones he'd brought her.
He smiled at her from across their bed. "The red rose is a falcon and the white roseis a dove," he recited softly. "The red rose whispers passion and the white rosebreathes of love. Looks like we might have been thinking along similar lines today."
"Hmmm." She returned his smile. "Looks like."
He frowned suddenly. "Except...I think I may have reversed the order of thoseverses."
She shrugged, and rested one knee on the bed. "Does it really matter?"
"No." His glance sizzled as it wandered slowly over her. "Not at all. So, what areyou tonight? A falcon, or a dove?"
"I don't know." She shrugged again. "I haven't decided, yet. Maybe neither."
"Neither, huh?" He looked amused. "Why don't you come over here and let mechange your mind about that."
She peered up at him teasingly, "What's your hurry, Cavanaugh? You got placesto go?"
"Just one," he said. His glance went briefly to the basket on the bed between them."Are we having a picnic?"
She nodded. "Take a look."
She held her breath and watched as he lifted the lid and looked inside; watched thesmile that slowly crept across his face, watched his throat work as he swallowed. Heremembered. Her heart soared at the look in his eyes when he looked at her again; atthe heat and the passion that blazed within them.
"C'mere," he said and his voice, husky with emotion, warm and dark, set all hernerves aflame. He reached for her across the bed and she went to him, she felt his arms close around her, felt the sting of tears in her eyes as he kissed her. His lips, warm and familiar, told her everything she wanted to know. All the things he hadn't put into words in so long.
My favorite thing about this book is how all the couples' stories intersect and parallel each others. And I have rather a few couples, as it happens; four, to be exact--which is fitting since it's actually the fourth book I wrote, even though it's only number three in the series.
I hope you'll check it out, if you haven't already. It's available in paperback and digital formats and it's also one of the books I'll be signing in LA this April at the Romantic Times Booklover's Convention.
Paperback: 446 pagesPublisher: SynergEbooks (April 15, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 074430783X
ISBN-13: 978-0744307832
ebook: Word count 159,168
ISBN: 0744306892 Heat Index
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket, Epub
February 11, 2011
Spreading the Love Blog Tour
Welcome back, blog hoppers and happy Valentine's Day! 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 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.
(Photo Copyright 2011 Michael Clothier)
A Rose for Rosa
He won't have remembered that it's Valentine's Day. As Rosa pedaled her way through the crowded streets on her way to meet Marq for their weekly coffee "date", she reminded herself over and over again not to expect too much. It was too soon in their relationship for her to assume that February 14th meant anything to him other than another Monday.
It had been like-at-first-sight when the two of them met—both involved with someone else, both more than content with friendship…and a little harmless flirtation on the side. They'd shared laughter at each other's jokes. They'd shared sympathy when their relationships ended. Then, just this past weekend, they'd shared a pizza, their first kiss, and the realization that their friendship had unexpectedly caught fire. But it was too soon to acknowledge that fact with hearts and flowers—wasn't it? It was just too soon for Valentine's Day—much too soon.
Reaching the café, Rosa parked her bike, straightened her clothes, tried to settle her nerves. What was the big deal? It was just coffee with a friend—with Marquis—just like every week. But it really wasn't like every week, and she couldn't fool herself into believing that it was. Not with lacy red hearts decorating the café's steam-fogged windows, or with memories of Marq's lips on hers setting her own heart to pounding.
"Too soon," she muttered to herself again. "Maybe next year."
If only they'd figured things out earlier—even a couple of weeks earlier. But what was the use of "what ifs"? They hadn't figured things out earlier. And, now?
"It's just another Monday," she told herself as she straightened her shoulders and reached for the door knob.
Warmth and chatter and the sweet smell of coffee and pastries washed over her as she stepped inside. Her gaze went at once to their usual table. Her heart sank when she found it empty. He was always here before her. Always. Unless he wasn't coming.
There'd been a few times when one of them hadn't been able to make it—although even from the start they'd each been scrupulous about letting the other know if they were going to be absent or late. Maybe she'd read things wrong this weekend? Maybe she'd scared him off somehow?
"Happy Valentine's Day, pretty lady."
Rosa's heart stuttered at his words—and at the sight of Marq, on one knee, holding out a rose. "For me?" she couldn't keep from asking, even as she blushed over her own stupidity. Of course it's for you, you idiot. "You remembered." There. That was at least a little better.
"A rose for my Rosa," Marq murmured with a little smile. Then his eyes grew wide, his gaze vaguely reproachful. "Of course I remembered—did you really think I wouldn't?"
"I-I thought, maybe, it was…too soon."
Nodding, Marq got to his feet. "I know," he said as he embraced her. "We really should have figured things out much earlier, shouldn't we?"
"Things?" She returned his embrace, reveling in the spicy scent of soap and cologne and man.
Marq pulled away a little, gazing at her gravely. "Yes, "things"." He shook his head. "I think I've loved you from the start."
"Oh." Rosa's heart sped up. She wouldn't be needing coffee to get her blood moving this morning. In fact, she might never need coffee again. She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. "Me, too."
She sighed blissfully as his lips met hers again. So what if she hadn't thought to get anything for him? They had time now. She could make it up to him. And next year…next year they'd both remember.
♥♥♥♥♥
My prize this time around is a download of Let Me Count the Ways.
She's thinking fling, he's thinking forever.
Former film star Claire Calhoun has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now, she's in his bed and he'll do whatever's necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan.
To read more about this title, go to http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/letmecounttheways.htm
If you enjoyed the stories posted during our New Year's tour, and want to read them again (along with some additions) be sure to pick up your copy at:
http://justromance.me/planning/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Romancing-the-New-Year1.pdf
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.
(Photo Copyright 2011 Michael Clothier)
A Rose for Rosa
He won't have remembered that it's Valentine's Day. As Rosa pedaled her way through the crowded streets on her way to meet Marq for their weekly coffee "date", she reminded herself over and over again not to expect too much. It was too soon in their relationship for her to assume that February 14th meant anything to him other than another Monday.
It had been like-at-first-sight when the two of them met—both involved with someone else, both more than content with friendship…and a little harmless flirtation on the side. They'd shared laughter at each other's jokes. They'd shared sympathy when their relationships ended. Then, just this past weekend, they'd shared a pizza, their first kiss, and the realization that their friendship had unexpectedly caught fire. But it was too soon to acknowledge that fact with hearts and flowers—wasn't it? It was just too soon for Valentine's Day—much too soon.
Reaching the café, Rosa parked her bike, straightened her clothes, tried to settle her nerves. What was the big deal? It was just coffee with a friend—with Marquis—just like every week. But it really wasn't like every week, and she couldn't fool herself into believing that it was. Not with lacy red hearts decorating the café's steam-fogged windows, or with memories of Marq's lips on hers setting her own heart to pounding.
"Too soon," she muttered to herself again. "Maybe next year."
If only they'd figured things out earlier—even a couple of weeks earlier. But what was the use of "what ifs"? They hadn't figured things out earlier. And, now?
"It's just another Monday," she told herself as she straightened her shoulders and reached for the door knob.
Warmth and chatter and the sweet smell of coffee and pastries washed over her as she stepped inside. Her gaze went at once to their usual table. Her heart sank when she found it empty. He was always here before her. Always. Unless he wasn't coming.
There'd been a few times when one of them hadn't been able to make it—although even from the start they'd each been scrupulous about letting the other know if they were going to be absent or late. Maybe she'd read things wrong this weekend? Maybe she'd scared him off somehow?
"Happy Valentine's Day, pretty lady."
Rosa's heart stuttered at his words—and at the sight of Marq, on one knee, holding out a rose. "For me?" she couldn't keep from asking, even as she blushed over her own stupidity. Of course it's for you, you idiot. "You remembered." There. That was at least a little better.
"A rose for my Rosa," Marq murmured with a little smile. Then his eyes grew wide, his gaze vaguely reproachful. "Of course I remembered—did you really think I wouldn't?"
"I-I thought, maybe, it was…too soon."
Nodding, Marq got to his feet. "I know," he said as he embraced her. "We really should have figured things out much earlier, shouldn't we?"
"Things?" She returned his embrace, reveling in the spicy scent of soap and cologne and man.
Marq pulled away a little, gazing at her gravely. "Yes, "things"." He shook his head. "I think I've loved you from the start."
"Oh." Rosa's heart sped up. She wouldn't be needing coffee to get her blood moving this morning. In fact, she might never need coffee again. She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. "Me, too."
She sighed blissfully as his lips met hers again. So what if she hadn't thought to get anything for him? They had time now. She could make it up to him. And next year…next year they'd both remember.
♥♥♥♥♥
My prize this time around is a download of Let Me Count the Ways.She's thinking fling, he's thinking forever.
Former film star Claire Calhoun has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now, she's in his bed and he'll do whatever's necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan.
To read more about this title, go to http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/letmecounttheways.htm
If you enjoyed the stories posted during our New Year's tour, and want to read them again (along with some additions) be sure to pick up your copy at:http://justromance.me/planning/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Romancing-the-New-Year1.pdf
December 31, 2010
Romancing the New Year Blog Hop
Woo-hoo! Welcome to the first blog hop of 2011. I'm sure you all know the drill by now, don't you? Simply use the bar at the top of the page, follow the trail all the way to the end (visiting lots of fabulous authors along the way) and you'll be entered to win a pre-loaded Kindle and other great books.
If you stumbled upon this tour by accident (or if you happen to fall off along the way) not to worry! Just go to http://justromance.me/bloghop/ to start at the beginning.
Also, don't forget to join us this Sunday, 7 pm EST, at Gem Sivad's chat room for the chance to win even MORE prizes! Details can be found HERE and HERE.
(c) Aaron RohdeTony and Kristy
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That strip of bare skin across Kristy's back—the one that appeared in the gap that stretched between the hem of her shirt and her pant's waistband whenever she bent to get something from beneath the bar, as she was doing right now—had been driving Tony crazy all evening. Working this New Year's Eve party together—why had he ever thought that was a good idea?
Oh, yeah. The money. And the chance to spend time with her. Perhaps the chance to sneak a kiss at midnight.
That hadn't happened though. When the balloons had dropped, just a couple of minutes earlier, they'd both been far too busy pouring drinks and making sure everyone's glasses were topped off for the thought to even enter his head.
The guests were kissing though, especially that one couple on the other side of the bar. They'd locked lips even before the final ten-second countdown had begun and if they'd come up for air any time since, Tony must have missed it. All around them, people continued to celebrate the new year with toasts and smiles and kisses…
"Hey, bartender, can I get another over here?"
...all except for the old man who sat alone at the end of the bar. nursing his porter Tony had no idea what the man was doing here tonight. Why come alone to a New Year's Eve party? Why sit by yourself and drink alone all night?
"Bartender?" the man repeated.
"Yes, sir," Tony replied. "Right away."
But getting the man his beer meant passing behind Kristy, who was still bent over the bar. And that was a problem because all Tony could think about was how it would feel wanted to press close behind her, slide his hand up her back beneath her shirt, and pin her against the polished teak surface of the bar. He could imagine the look of surprise on her face as she'd turn to look at him, the flare of heat in her cheeks, the way desire might darken her eyes...
"Tony. What are you doing?" she'd ask.
"Don't move," he'd say, using his other hand to tug at her pants; so curious to discover what type of underwear she had on.
A thong would be hot but he doubted that was the case. Wouldn't the strap be visible with her bent over the way she was, her tempting derriere on display? Maybe a pair of bikini panties then…but, on second thought, surely there would be lines, if that were the case?
He glanced again at Kristy's upturned butt. Could it be…?
"Going commando?" He'd raise an eyebrow, put on an expression of shocked disapproval. "Have you been a naughty girl this year?"
So, okay, the year was, technically, only a couple of minutes old and, besides, he was a week late for the whole naughty or nice thing, but who could resist the temptation she represented? He'd push his hand deeper into her pants, seeking the wetness that would let him know she was enjoying this game as much as he was.
She'd wiggle her ass, as though she were trying to get away, but her fingers would be clenched on the edge of the bar. She'd rock her hips, pushing herself more firmly into his hand with every motion until his fingers were sliding back and forth over slick, wet flesh. He'd lean in even closer then and whisper, "Do you need a spanking?"
At that she'd gasp. "Tony, not now. There are people watching!"
Well, that was a given. There would definitely be people watching them. Like those two at the back of the room. The ones who hadn't once taken their eyes off that couple near the bar who were still kissing.
"Let 'em watch," he'd murmur, stroking harder.
"Hey! Buddy," the man at the end of the bar barked suddenly. "Think there might be a chance of me getting that beer some time this year?"
Tony started, coloring as he was jerked back to reality. "Yes, sir," he replied, shaking his head in an effort to clear away the fantasy.
He headed for the cooler where the beer was stored. "Behind you," he said as he passed Kristy, his voice so thick with lust he barely recognized it.
She straightened abruptly and collided against him as she took a startled step backward. Her hair, and the scent of her fragrance tickled his nose and he reached for her without thinking.
"Careful," he cautioned, instinctively taking hold of her hips to help her regain her balance.
"Tony." She craned her neck to glance up at him, arching her back a little as she did, so that her butt brushed against his groin. He groaned softly. A faint flush colored her cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't see you there."
"No problem," he said with a weak smile. Impulsively, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Happy new year."
"To you too." Kristy turned in his grasp and pressed against him, planting a kiss on his lips that seemed every bit as heated as the ones he'd been imagining. "A very happy new year."
oh, yeah, baby, Tony thought, the old man and his beer forgotten now. But, just as he was about to pull her closer, Kristy pushed out of his grasp. "No," she whispered. "Not now. We're working."
Not now? Tony grinned. "So…you're saying...later then?"
Kristy flashed a wicked look as she spun around and bent down again to reach into the beer cooler. "Maybe," she said as she passed him the beer he'd come to get.
The hell with that. Tony shook his head. "Definitely," he corrected. Then he brushed his lips against hers and turned away once more.
Another couple of hours and this party would be over. Theirs would be just beginning. The New Year was already off to a great start.
*******Happy New Year, everyone! I wish you all a very peaceful and prosperous 2011.
Please visit my website at: www.PGForte.com
December 20, 2010
Let Me Count the Ways--now at ARe
I guess it's a "Slow News" day, here at Casa Forte. Or did you really want to hear about my plumbing crisis instead?
Yeah. Didn't think so. lol!
So here's a promo and excerpt. You know, sometimes I forget how much I really like this book and these characters. Enjoy!
Let Me Count The WaysBy: PG Forte | Other books by PG Forte
Published By: Liquid Silver Books
ISBN # 9781595784070
Word Count: 66391
Heat Index
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket
Read More
About the bookAs the owner of The Body Electric, LA's hottest new exercise studio, sexy, former film star Claire Calhoun has her pick of studly young men eager to do her bidding. Small wonder she's used to calling the shots, both in and out of bed. But everything changes the night the actress-turned-entrepreneur has one mojito too many at a party and decides it would be fun to pick up her accountant, Mike Sherman. She's thinking fling. He's thinking forever. Claire has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now, she's in his bed and he'll do whatever's necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan.
An excerpt from the book
Prologue
Mike
I guess you could say I fell for Claire Calhoun the first time I saw her up there on the big silver screen. I don't know what it was about her that affected me so strongly. Maybe it was the Titian hair. The sultry shimmer in those hazel, hellcat eyes. The curve of her lips when she turned and smiled right at the camera--right at me. Whatever it was, it was simply ... stunning. Literally. It hit me hard and low and just wouldn't quit.
She looked like an angel with all that California sunshine spilling down around her; like sweet, lust-inducing innocence dipped in honey. A vision straight from some Garden of Earthly Delights.
But if her face was made for heaven, everything south of that had been built with a far different destination in mind. Her body was sinful enough to tempt even a saint into straying. Happily. Right through the gates of Hell. And I'm far from being a saint.
Despite my on-going fascina tion with the woman, I'd just like to state for the record that I never deluded myself into believing we had a relationship. Claire could have been as fictional as any of the characters she played for all the good I figured it was ever going to do me. There had to be at least a million other guys in the world who wanted her as badly as I did and I knew any number of them were more likely than I to even meet her. Not that it stopped me from dreaming, of course. But dreaming, fantasizing, collecting memorabilia--along with copies of every one of her films I could get my hands on--that's as far as it went.
For a while, Claire's name was box office magic. Everything she touched turned golden. But then a string of unsuccessful movies and even less successful relationships caused her star to plummet. These days, her screen appearances are mostly limited to round-ups subtitled 'Where Are They Now?'
To me, however, Claire would always be a major star, a full blown fantasy, a lush and lovely dream come true. Which is why I could scarcely believe my eyes the day she walked into my office hoping to secure my services as accountant to her new exercise studio, The Body Electric.
To say I was star-struck in her presence is to understate the case by a very, very wide margin. I was hopelessly tongue-tied, socially inept, and all but physically impaired by the kind of hard-on most men my age have given up expecting to achieve without pharmaceutical assistance. It still surprises me that we both made it through that first meeting; that I didn't embarrass myself any worse than I had; that she didn't bolt for the door after spending less than five minutes in my bumbling presence.
Luckily for me, I had come highly recommended by Claire's attorney, Dave Gillen. Dave, who'd recently extricated Claire from marriage number six and brokered the deal that allowed her to walk away with enough money to start her business in the first place, w as also one of my oldest clients.
Claire trusted Dave, Dave trusted me, and the rest, as they say, is history...
* * * * Chapter One
Claire
Yoga is not easy, so the Bhagavad Gita warns, for those whose minds are not subdued. But I can tell you, it's pretty damn hard for any of us. Especially after forty.
I suppose I shouldn't say such things. After all, Yoga did save my life. I turned to it in much the same way Tina turned to Buddhism after Ike. Married to a cruel, emotionally distant man, my career, my health, my looks, my self esteem had all hit the skids. Yoga offered me a way out, a way back. It offered sanity, peace of mind, discipline, and the courage I needed to pick myself up and turn my life around.
That's why I used the money I got in my divorce settlement to open The Body Electric. I wanted to give something back, to share the blessings I'd received, to support myself by working a t something I could still believe in. Still, as the Gita says, it's not easy. Of course, the same can be said of pretty much anything; business, relationships, life itself. There are days, and today was definitely one of them, when it all seems damn near impossible.
Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling smoked glass that lined one entire wall of my second-floor office, I watched the class working out in the studio below me. A dozen and a half youthful beauties--mostly female--twisted their bodies into pretzels. Willingly. Eagerly. Effortlessly.
The first two were something I could completely understand and totally empathize with, given that their instructor was Derek Novello. Derek has some of the most beautiful musculature I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot. What woman wouldn't be eager to give her all for a piece of that? But the effortless part--now, that's where they had me beat. That's what had me feeling every last year of my age today.
How many years, you wonder? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but there are some things I just don't share. Age is nothing but a number, you know, and a girl's entitled to keep a few secrets.
Derek is the most popular teacher we have here, which is saying rather a lot. Especially when you consider that his classes are also among the hardest we offer. He's tough enough to challenge the men to push themselves to their limits, charming enough to make the women want to melt--into those same willing pretzels I've mentioned.
Tireless, talented, passionate, intense. Derek brings everything he has to his teaching. For almost five months, he brought most of it to our lovemaking, too. All but his heart. That, I suppose, was par for the course, and frankly I wasn't expecting anything more. These older woman/younger man things rarely last long and are almost never about love. I knew the moment it was over. Probably before he did. I could tell right away that Derek's heart had been lost to a pretty blonde pretzel.
Still, I really can't complain. I've been dumped before, but never so discreetly. To the casual observer I'm sure it appeared that I'd tired of him, rather than the other way around. I think even the pretzel was confused. And, in the months since our affair ended, I'd discovered another reason to be thankful. I no longer have to take even one of his classes. I can't tell you what a relief that's been!
At least I still look fit, I thought, taking a step back so that I could see my reflection in the glass. I sucked in my tummy, tucked in my buns, pivoted from side to side. "Not bad," I murmured as I thrust back my shoulders and studied my breasts, wondering how much longer I could get away without having them lifted. "But you're not what you used to be, that's for sure." Still, things could be worse, and no doubt they will be, in time.
"Nonsense," a male voice insisted from somewhere behind me. "You're as beautiful as ever."
I spun around, startled to find Mike Sherman watching from the doorway--which just goes to show you the kind of funk I'd been in all day. I'd totally forgotten his standing, bi-monthly appointment to go over the books, three p.m. every other Thursday.
"Sorry," he mumbled, his face flaming. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"Don't be silly." Calling on all my training to hide my own embarrassment, I rolled my eyes and grimaced slightly. "Actors, you know." I waved my hand in a negligent gesture as I seated myself--not in my chair but on the edge of my desk--where my crossed legs would appear to their best advantage.
"We're always so focused on appearances." And ain't that the truth?
"Well, you have to be, don't you? The same way singers have to take care of their voices." He looked so sincere as he said it too. As if he really might mean it.
"What a nice way of putting it." I beamed at him as he crossed the room to his own desk. "How are things with you, Mike? How's your day going?"
He didn't answer right away. A small smile played over his lips as he slid his briefcase beneath the desk and seated himself. Then he glanced up at me, his eyes twinkling. "It's always a good day when I know I'm going to see you, Claire. Don't you know that?"
"Flatterer." Laughing, I leaned forward a little, just enough to flash some cleavage in his direction. Call it a reward, if you will. "You have all the right answers today, don't you?"
If they ever make a movie of my life, no doubt they'll get someone like Danny DeVito to play the part of Mike, which will be a shame. Don't get me wrong, I think Danny is a fine actor and he's got the bald head, the soulful brown eyes and the teddy bear physique the part calls for. He'll do a fine job of catching the nervous, slightly awkward exuberance Mike exhibited when we first met. But there's so much more to the role than that.
For starters, Mike is big. Brian Denehy big. With Denehy's surprising gracefulness--when he's not acting all nervous. Mike, I mean. Then there's his impeccably trimmed beard, the wicked twinkle in his eye and his rare and wondrous smile, all of which bring Sean Connery to mind.
But, even though Sean would be a dream to work with, if I were casting for the part I'd go for something different. I'd pick someone like a young James Earl Jones, for example. For his eyes and his smile and his size. For his astonishing ability to shift from fearful to fierce, from stern to boyish, from gentle to regal to commanding to jovial--or back again, or all at once. But, more than anything else, for his voice. For that deep, dark, delicious river of sound that could never be anything but male and can't help but leave you wondering, why all the fuss about Tenors?
"It doesn't count as flattery if it's fact," Mike replied in that lovely, low rumble of his.
"Oh, fact, is it?" I couldn't help but smile as I recalled my recent conversation with Dave, my lawyer, over tapas and drinks. Dave had been pleased I'd taken his advice and gone to see Mike, but he'd seemed shocked by the deal we'd worked out...
"He's handling it himself?" Dave asked, looking up from his seared tuna, clearly having trouble coming to grips with the idea. "Didn't he assign you to one of the people who works for him? You don't have to bring your paperwork there? He just shows up at your office--himself--every month?"
"No, twice a month," I corrected, nibbling at the celery stalk that had come in my michelada. "Why? Isn't that what you told me to do--to hire someone reputable? Someone I could trust? You said he was the best."
"I know I did, but, damn it, Claire, he doesn't even do that for me anymore, and I was one of his very first clients! How much is he charging you, anyway?"
Surprised, I told him.
"Oh, hell, no," Dave replied, sounding almost insulted. "That's n othing!"
I sipped my drink and refrained from pointing out that, in my current financial state, it hadn't seemed quite like nothing to me. Then again, neither had Dave's fees. You get what you pay for, I suppose.
Dave's gaze had turned speculative. If he were anyone else, I know exactly what he'd have been thinking--that I must be giving Mike some additional form of compensation. Entirely too many people still confuse the terms 'actress' and 'prostitute'.
"He's a fan, Dave," I tried to explain. "It's not that uncommon." Although, these days, I'm afraid it really is.
But Dave had his own ideas. "You know what I think it is? He probably knows your business is too small to afford his usual rates yet. Probably he figures he can afford to give you a break because he's banking on the fact he can use your name to attract other Hollywood types."
"Well, that would be foolish," I sighed. I knew just how far my name would take him in Hollywood, even if Dav e didn't. It wouldn't even take him as far as it takes me. Which is close to nowhere anymore. "Maybe he's just being nice."
"Nice is no way to stay in business," Dave grumbled, which only made me laugh because Dave is one of the nicest people I know. "He probably doesn't want to pay one of his employees to work on an account he's not making any money on. I bet that's why he's doing it himself."
"I'm sure you're right," I murmured. One thing I've learned over the years is that there's no arguing with a man who's made up his mind about something. So why bother trying? Reason and logic are no match for sheer, pig-headed, male determination. And, when it turns out you were right all along, that'll just prove to him that you're a bitch. Directors are especially good at making that connection.
"It is," Mike insisted now. "Absolutely fact."
And I wasn't about to argue with him, either. Not just because he's a man. Not just because I didn't want him to re-think the great deal he was giving me, or assign my account to someone else. No, I had an even better reason than those.
Mike's a fan, no matter that Dave doesn't see it that way, and you never, ever argue with your fans. That's rule number one of being a celebrity. Fans are the lifeblood of our business. They're why we do what we do. They're the customer. They're always right. And you never want to run the risk of their turning into Kathy Bates
* * * *
Mike
Amusement shimmered in Claire's eyes. "Whatever you say, Mike," she murmured as she slid off her desk. She stood there for a moment, staring absently, running her hands up and down her thighs in a way that couldn't help but focus my attention there.
All sorts of inappropriate thoughts followed. I had to clear my throat to relieve the tension there.
Claire started and smiled. "Well, I guess I'd better stop wasting your time and let you get to work, huh?"
Her voice was tinged with regret as she said it. As though she really was sorry. As though she'd like nothing better than to spend the rest of the day chatting with me. I loved that. Even though I knew it was an act, I loved the tinge and the implication that went with it. And I loved her all the more for that small gift of pretense. For taking the trouble to sound like that for me. For allowing me the tiny pleasure of pretending right along with her.
I nodded with mock gravity. "Yes, well, you know what they say. Time is money." And was rewarded again when she flashed a swift smile in my direction before she turned and slipped into her seat.
Silence settled over the room as we both settled into our work.
I'm good at what I do. That's not bragging, it's just a fact. And Claire's account is simple, straightforward--boring work really--nothing I can't do ... well, pretty much in my sleep at this point. Which was lucky for both of us since, wi th the best will in the world, I still could not manage to keep my mind completely focused on what I was doing. Not with Claire seated in the same room with me, constantly re-igniting every fantasy I'd ever had about her.
She'd caught me off-guard with her question about my day. Since taking her on as a client, my life had become a surreal, slightly pathetic routine of counting. Every morning when I got up I automatically counted the days until I'd see her again. When every other Thursday rolled around, I counted the hours, and then the minutes. Finally, I counted the blocks I had to drive to get to her studio, the stairs I had to climb to reach her office.
And then there were most of my evenings. Nights when I could find no better way to occupy my time than to spend them conversing with her shadow in my mind. Or replaying our actual conversations. Remembering in detail each word, each look, each nuance. Weaving her every gesture into the fantasies I'd already spent years honing.
Well, what did you expect? I said it was pathetic, didn't I?
But I couldn't help it. I reveled in the knowledge that when she spoke my name, when she turned her head and saw me and smiled in greeting--her eyes shining, her whole face lighting up--that it was really me she was talking to and smiling at.
She hadn't been smiling when I arrived today, however. Her face, reflected in the glass, looked sad, vulnerable. I was pretty sure I knew why. It was him. Derek. Her former lover. The ... kid ... she'd recently broken up with. Or who'd broken up with her, if my suspicions were correct.
Which is not to say she didn't put on a great act, just like always, but I'd seen the way she looked at him--the way she was looking at him today through the windows in her office. I know what it's like to watch and want and worship from afar; to long for something you can never have. He'd moved on--that's how I read it--and Claire was putting the best f ace on it that she could. But it was all for show When she thought no one was looking, when she was alone, unobserved, that's when she let down her guard. That's when her real feelings shone though.
I would have liked to have said something more to comfort her, but what could I have said? Should I have told her it was all for the best? That she should have known better? He was too young for her. She was too good for him. It was doomed from the start. All true, but hardly likely to make her feel any better.
I could have told her that a woman like her shouldn't have to waste her time playing with boys. Not when there was a man around who could understand what she wants, what she needs...
But, no, what was I thinking? A woman like Claire? Impossible. Such a creature doesn't exist. There's no one like Claire. She's an original. She's in a class all her own.
"Are you doing anything later this evening?" Claire's voice broke into my reverie.
Startled, and pretty certain I was hearing things, I glanced at her. "I'm sorry ... what did you say?"
"I was wondering if you were busy tonight?" she said and then shook her head and smiled. "Sorry. I guess I'm thinking aloud again. It's just that a friend of mine has a new gallery. They're having an opening party tonight. She's sent me a bunch of invitations and I was wondering if you would be interested in attending?"
"A gallery opening? Tonight? Will you be there?"
Claire nodded. "I try to attend as many of these things as I can. This seems like a nice one ... cocktails, hors d'oeuvres, live music. But, it's short notice. You probably have other plans..."
"No, actually, I don't." The only thing I had going tonight was the start of a new countdown. Fourteen long days until the next time I'd see her. Or thirteen days, twenty-one hours and change, if you want to be exact. But so what? It would feel like a long time, that much I knew. Why would I not want to shave even a few hours off that total? "I'd love to go."
Yeah. Didn't think so. lol!
So here's a promo and excerpt. You know, sometimes I forget how much I really like this book and these characters. Enjoy!
Let Me Count The WaysBy: PG Forte | Other books by PG Forte
Published By: Liquid Silver Books
ISBN # 9781595784070
Word Count: 66391
Heat Index
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket
Read More
About the bookAs the owner of The Body Electric, LA's hottest new exercise studio, sexy, former film star Claire Calhoun has her pick of studly young men eager to do her bidding. Small wonder she's used to calling the shots, both in and out of bed. But everything changes the night the actress-turned-entrepreneur has one mojito too many at a party and decides it would be fun to pick up her accountant, Mike Sherman. She's thinking fling. He's thinking forever. Claire has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now, she's in his bed and he'll do whatever's necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan.
An excerpt from the book
Prologue
Mike
I guess you could say I fell for Claire Calhoun the first time I saw her up there on the big silver screen. I don't know what it was about her that affected me so strongly. Maybe it was the Titian hair. The sultry shimmer in those hazel, hellcat eyes. The curve of her lips when she turned and smiled right at the camera--right at me. Whatever it was, it was simply ... stunning. Literally. It hit me hard and low and just wouldn't quit.
She looked like an angel with all that California sunshine spilling down around her; like sweet, lust-inducing innocence dipped in honey. A vision straight from some Garden of Earthly Delights.
But if her face was made for heaven, everything south of that had been built with a far different destination in mind. Her body was sinful enough to tempt even a saint into straying. Happily. Right through the gates of Hell. And I'm far from being a saint.
Despite my on-going fascina tion with the woman, I'd just like to state for the record that I never deluded myself into believing we had a relationship. Claire could have been as fictional as any of the characters she played for all the good I figured it was ever going to do me. There had to be at least a million other guys in the world who wanted her as badly as I did and I knew any number of them were more likely than I to even meet her. Not that it stopped me from dreaming, of course. But dreaming, fantasizing, collecting memorabilia--along with copies of every one of her films I could get my hands on--that's as far as it went.
For a while, Claire's name was box office magic. Everything she touched turned golden. But then a string of unsuccessful movies and even less successful relationships caused her star to plummet. These days, her screen appearances are mostly limited to round-ups subtitled 'Where Are They Now?'
To me, however, Claire would always be a major star, a full blown fantasy, a lush and lovely dream come true. Which is why I could scarcely believe my eyes the day she walked into my office hoping to secure my services as accountant to her new exercise studio, The Body Electric.
To say I was star-struck in her presence is to understate the case by a very, very wide margin. I was hopelessly tongue-tied, socially inept, and all but physically impaired by the kind of hard-on most men my age have given up expecting to achieve without pharmaceutical assistance. It still surprises me that we both made it through that first meeting; that I didn't embarrass myself any worse than I had; that she didn't bolt for the door after spending less than five minutes in my bumbling presence.
Luckily for me, I had come highly recommended by Claire's attorney, Dave Gillen. Dave, who'd recently extricated Claire from marriage number six and brokered the deal that allowed her to walk away with enough money to start her business in the first place, w as also one of my oldest clients.
Claire trusted Dave, Dave trusted me, and the rest, as they say, is history...
* * * * Chapter One
Claire
Yoga is not easy, so the Bhagavad Gita warns, for those whose minds are not subdued. But I can tell you, it's pretty damn hard for any of us. Especially after forty.
I suppose I shouldn't say such things. After all, Yoga did save my life. I turned to it in much the same way Tina turned to Buddhism after Ike. Married to a cruel, emotionally distant man, my career, my health, my looks, my self esteem had all hit the skids. Yoga offered me a way out, a way back. It offered sanity, peace of mind, discipline, and the courage I needed to pick myself up and turn my life around.
That's why I used the money I got in my divorce settlement to open The Body Electric. I wanted to give something back, to share the blessings I'd received, to support myself by working a t something I could still believe in. Still, as the Gita says, it's not easy. Of course, the same can be said of pretty much anything; business, relationships, life itself. There are days, and today was definitely one of them, when it all seems damn near impossible.
Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling smoked glass that lined one entire wall of my second-floor office, I watched the class working out in the studio below me. A dozen and a half youthful beauties--mostly female--twisted their bodies into pretzels. Willingly. Eagerly. Effortlessly.
The first two were something I could completely understand and totally empathize with, given that their instructor was Derek Novello. Derek has some of the most beautiful musculature I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot. What woman wouldn't be eager to give her all for a piece of that? But the effortless part--now, that's where they had me beat. That's what had me feeling every last year of my age today.
How many years, you wonder? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but there are some things I just don't share. Age is nothing but a number, you know, and a girl's entitled to keep a few secrets.
Derek is the most popular teacher we have here, which is saying rather a lot. Especially when you consider that his classes are also among the hardest we offer. He's tough enough to challenge the men to push themselves to their limits, charming enough to make the women want to melt--into those same willing pretzels I've mentioned.
Tireless, talented, passionate, intense. Derek brings everything he has to his teaching. For almost five months, he brought most of it to our lovemaking, too. All but his heart. That, I suppose, was par for the course, and frankly I wasn't expecting anything more. These older woman/younger man things rarely last long and are almost never about love. I knew the moment it was over. Probably before he did. I could tell right away that Derek's heart had been lost to a pretty blonde pretzel.
Still, I really can't complain. I've been dumped before, but never so discreetly. To the casual observer I'm sure it appeared that I'd tired of him, rather than the other way around. I think even the pretzel was confused. And, in the months since our affair ended, I'd discovered another reason to be thankful. I no longer have to take even one of his classes. I can't tell you what a relief that's been!
At least I still look fit, I thought, taking a step back so that I could see my reflection in the glass. I sucked in my tummy, tucked in my buns, pivoted from side to side. "Not bad," I murmured as I thrust back my shoulders and studied my breasts, wondering how much longer I could get away without having them lifted. "But you're not what you used to be, that's for sure." Still, things could be worse, and no doubt they will be, in time.
"Nonsense," a male voice insisted from somewhere behind me. "You're as beautiful as ever."
I spun around, startled to find Mike Sherman watching from the doorway--which just goes to show you the kind of funk I'd been in all day. I'd totally forgotten his standing, bi-monthly appointment to go over the books, three p.m. every other Thursday.
"Sorry," he mumbled, his face flaming. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"Don't be silly." Calling on all my training to hide my own embarrassment, I rolled my eyes and grimaced slightly. "Actors, you know." I waved my hand in a negligent gesture as I seated myself--not in my chair but on the edge of my desk--where my crossed legs would appear to their best advantage.
"We're always so focused on appearances." And ain't that the truth?
"Well, you have to be, don't you? The same way singers have to take care of their voices." He looked so sincere as he said it too. As if he really might mean it.
"What a nice way of putting it." I beamed at him as he crossed the room to his own desk. "How are things with you, Mike? How's your day going?"
He didn't answer right away. A small smile played over his lips as he slid his briefcase beneath the desk and seated himself. Then he glanced up at me, his eyes twinkling. "It's always a good day when I know I'm going to see you, Claire. Don't you know that?"
"Flatterer." Laughing, I leaned forward a little, just enough to flash some cleavage in his direction. Call it a reward, if you will. "You have all the right answers today, don't you?"
If they ever make a movie of my life, no doubt they'll get someone like Danny DeVito to play the part of Mike, which will be a shame. Don't get me wrong, I think Danny is a fine actor and he's got the bald head, the soulful brown eyes and the teddy bear physique the part calls for. He'll do a fine job of catching the nervous, slightly awkward exuberance Mike exhibited when we first met. But there's so much more to the role than that.
For starters, Mike is big. Brian Denehy big. With Denehy's surprising gracefulness--when he's not acting all nervous. Mike, I mean. Then there's his impeccably trimmed beard, the wicked twinkle in his eye and his rare and wondrous smile, all of which bring Sean Connery to mind.
But, even though Sean would be a dream to work with, if I were casting for the part I'd go for something different. I'd pick someone like a young James Earl Jones, for example. For his eyes and his smile and his size. For his astonishing ability to shift from fearful to fierce, from stern to boyish, from gentle to regal to commanding to jovial--or back again, or all at once. But, more than anything else, for his voice. For that deep, dark, delicious river of sound that could never be anything but male and can't help but leave you wondering, why all the fuss about Tenors?
"It doesn't count as flattery if it's fact," Mike replied in that lovely, low rumble of his.
"Oh, fact, is it?" I couldn't help but smile as I recalled my recent conversation with Dave, my lawyer, over tapas and drinks. Dave had been pleased I'd taken his advice and gone to see Mike, but he'd seemed shocked by the deal we'd worked out...
"He's handling it himself?" Dave asked, looking up from his seared tuna, clearly having trouble coming to grips with the idea. "Didn't he assign you to one of the people who works for him? You don't have to bring your paperwork there? He just shows up at your office--himself--every month?"
"No, twice a month," I corrected, nibbling at the celery stalk that had come in my michelada. "Why? Isn't that what you told me to do--to hire someone reputable? Someone I could trust? You said he was the best."
"I know I did, but, damn it, Claire, he doesn't even do that for me anymore, and I was one of his very first clients! How much is he charging you, anyway?"
Surprised, I told him.
"Oh, hell, no," Dave replied, sounding almost insulted. "That's n othing!"
I sipped my drink and refrained from pointing out that, in my current financial state, it hadn't seemed quite like nothing to me. Then again, neither had Dave's fees. You get what you pay for, I suppose.
Dave's gaze had turned speculative. If he were anyone else, I know exactly what he'd have been thinking--that I must be giving Mike some additional form of compensation. Entirely too many people still confuse the terms 'actress' and 'prostitute'.
"He's a fan, Dave," I tried to explain. "It's not that uncommon." Although, these days, I'm afraid it really is.
But Dave had his own ideas. "You know what I think it is? He probably knows your business is too small to afford his usual rates yet. Probably he figures he can afford to give you a break because he's banking on the fact he can use your name to attract other Hollywood types."
"Well, that would be foolish," I sighed. I knew just how far my name would take him in Hollywood, even if Dav e didn't. It wouldn't even take him as far as it takes me. Which is close to nowhere anymore. "Maybe he's just being nice."
"Nice is no way to stay in business," Dave grumbled, which only made me laugh because Dave is one of the nicest people I know. "He probably doesn't want to pay one of his employees to work on an account he's not making any money on. I bet that's why he's doing it himself."
"I'm sure you're right," I murmured. One thing I've learned over the years is that there's no arguing with a man who's made up his mind about something. So why bother trying? Reason and logic are no match for sheer, pig-headed, male determination. And, when it turns out you were right all along, that'll just prove to him that you're a bitch. Directors are especially good at making that connection.
"It is," Mike insisted now. "Absolutely fact."
And I wasn't about to argue with him, either. Not just because he's a man. Not just because I didn't want him to re-think the great deal he was giving me, or assign my account to someone else. No, I had an even better reason than those.
Mike's a fan, no matter that Dave doesn't see it that way, and you never, ever argue with your fans. That's rule number one of being a celebrity. Fans are the lifeblood of our business. They're why we do what we do. They're the customer. They're always right. And you never want to run the risk of their turning into Kathy Bates
* * * *
Mike
Amusement shimmered in Claire's eyes. "Whatever you say, Mike," she murmured as she slid off her desk. She stood there for a moment, staring absently, running her hands up and down her thighs in a way that couldn't help but focus my attention there.
All sorts of inappropriate thoughts followed. I had to clear my throat to relieve the tension there.
Claire started and smiled. "Well, I guess I'd better stop wasting your time and let you get to work, huh?"
Her voice was tinged with regret as she said it. As though she really was sorry. As though she'd like nothing better than to spend the rest of the day chatting with me. I loved that. Even though I knew it was an act, I loved the tinge and the implication that went with it. And I loved her all the more for that small gift of pretense. For taking the trouble to sound like that for me. For allowing me the tiny pleasure of pretending right along with her.
I nodded with mock gravity. "Yes, well, you know what they say. Time is money." And was rewarded again when she flashed a swift smile in my direction before she turned and slipped into her seat.
Silence settled over the room as we both settled into our work.
I'm good at what I do. That's not bragging, it's just a fact. And Claire's account is simple, straightforward--boring work really--nothing I can't do ... well, pretty much in my sleep at this point. Which was lucky for both of us since, wi th the best will in the world, I still could not manage to keep my mind completely focused on what I was doing. Not with Claire seated in the same room with me, constantly re-igniting every fantasy I'd ever had about her.
She'd caught me off-guard with her question about my day. Since taking her on as a client, my life had become a surreal, slightly pathetic routine of counting. Every morning when I got up I automatically counted the days until I'd see her again. When every other Thursday rolled around, I counted the hours, and then the minutes. Finally, I counted the blocks I had to drive to get to her studio, the stairs I had to climb to reach her office.
And then there were most of my evenings. Nights when I could find no better way to occupy my time than to spend them conversing with her shadow in my mind. Or replaying our actual conversations. Remembering in detail each word, each look, each nuance. Weaving her every gesture into the fantasies I'd already spent years honing.
Well, what did you expect? I said it was pathetic, didn't I?
But I couldn't help it. I reveled in the knowledge that when she spoke my name, when she turned her head and saw me and smiled in greeting--her eyes shining, her whole face lighting up--that it was really me she was talking to and smiling at.
She hadn't been smiling when I arrived today, however. Her face, reflected in the glass, looked sad, vulnerable. I was pretty sure I knew why. It was him. Derek. Her former lover. The ... kid ... she'd recently broken up with. Or who'd broken up with her, if my suspicions were correct.
Which is not to say she didn't put on a great act, just like always, but I'd seen the way she looked at him--the way she was looking at him today through the windows in her office. I know what it's like to watch and want and worship from afar; to long for something you can never have. He'd moved on--that's how I read it--and Claire was putting the best f ace on it that she could. But it was all for show When she thought no one was looking, when she was alone, unobserved, that's when she let down her guard. That's when her real feelings shone though.
I would have liked to have said something more to comfort her, but what could I have said? Should I have told her it was all for the best? That she should have known better? He was too young for her. She was too good for him. It was doomed from the start. All true, but hardly likely to make her feel any better.
I could have told her that a woman like her shouldn't have to waste her time playing with boys. Not when there was a man around who could understand what she wants, what she needs...
But, no, what was I thinking? A woman like Claire? Impossible. Such a creature doesn't exist. There's no one like Claire. She's an original. She's in a class all her own.
"Are you doing anything later this evening?" Claire's voice broke into my reverie.
Startled, and pretty certain I was hearing things, I glanced at her. "I'm sorry ... what did you say?"
"I was wondering if you were busy tonight?" she said and then shook her head and smiled. "Sorry. I guess I'm thinking aloud again. It's just that a friend of mine has a new gallery. They're having an opening party tonight. She's sent me a bunch of invitations and I was wondering if you would be interested in attending?"
"A gallery opening? Tonight? Will you be there?"
Claire nodded. "I try to attend as many of these things as I can. This seems like a nice one ... cocktails, hors d'oeuvres, live music. But, it's short notice. You probably have other plans..."
"No, actually, I don't." The only thing I had going tonight was the start of a new countdown. Fourteen long days until the next time I'd see her. Or thirteen days, twenty-one hours and change, if you want to be exact. But so what? It would feel like a long time, that much I knew. Why would I not want to shave even a few hours off that total? "I'd love to go."
December 10, 2010
Holiday Rush Blog Hop
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Happy Holidays, Blog-Hoppers,
and welcome to another great tour!
I'm sure most of you know the drill by now. Simply use he bar at the top of the page, follow the trail all the way to the end of the tour (visiting lots of fabulous sites and getting lots of eye candy on the way) and you'll be entered to win a sleigh-full of really cool books and other fun prizes.
If you stumbled upon this tour by accident, go to http://booknibbles.com/bloghop/ to start at the beginning.
Also, don't forget to join us this Saturday, 7 pm EST, at Gem Sivad's chat room for the chance to win even MORE prizes! Details can be found HERE and HERE.
Today I've decided to entertain you with my own (decidedly different) version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, inspired in part by Frank Kelly's version, which can also be found below. Mind you, I have nothing against birds, but I think you'll find my "gifts" a bit more fun...
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a partially clad man in a tree...
I have no idea what he's doing up there, but he sure improves the scenery.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me two (excuse the pun) lovey-doves...
and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three French men...
(they're from the Olympic fencing team, if you must know, and who doesn't love that?) two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me four call girls...uh, I mean birds(wings, see?)...
three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree (I dunno, maybe he thinks he's Peter Pan?).
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me five wedding rings...
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(and a wish for Marriage Equality for everyone!)
four calling birds, three French men, two lovey doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave up on the geese and substituted goose down comforters and a lot of sexy sleepers laying around in it and also, well, you know, laying. Yeah. it's another pun. sorry about that...
five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me seven surfing Santas (give or take a dude)...
six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love thought about giving me eight maids a milking...
but decided one was enough and instead concentrated on the cowboys she would obviously need to help her with the herd...
(Good choice, don'tcha think?) seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
Could be he's up there 'cause he's trying to stay clear of the cows. Smart man.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love resorted to You Tube to give me nine pipers piping...
eight helpful farmhands, seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me ten drummers drumming...
nine pipers piping, eight helpful farmhands, seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me eleven lords a leaping (hell, yes, they leap. trust me. just wait for the end)...
ten drummers drumming, nine pipers piping, eight helpful farmhands, seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me twelve ladies dancing (and most appropriately, too)...
eleven lords a leaping, ten drummers drumming, nine pipers piping, eight helpful farmhands, seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling girls (oops. I mean birds!) three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
And, just in case you haven't had enough yet, here's two more versions. First, Frank Kelly with an Irish rendition...
And, finally, this version from Straight No Chaser...
and welcome to another great tour!
I'm sure most of you know the drill by now. Simply use he bar at the top of the page, follow the trail all the way to the end of the tour (visiting lots of fabulous sites and getting lots of eye candy on the way) and you'll be entered to win a sleigh-full of really cool books and other fun prizes.
If you stumbled upon this tour by accident, go to http://booknibbles.com/bloghop/ to start at the beginning.
Also, don't forget to join us this Saturday, 7 pm EST, at Gem Sivad's chat room for the chance to win even MORE prizes! Details can be found HERE and HERE.
Today I've decided to entertain you with my own (decidedly different) version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, inspired in part by Frank Kelly's version, which can also be found below. Mind you, I have nothing against birds, but I think you'll find my "gifts" a bit more fun...
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a partially clad man in a tree...
I have no idea what he's doing up there, but he sure improves the scenery.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me two (excuse the pun) lovey-doves...
and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three French men...
(they're from the Olympic fencing team, if you must know, and who doesn't love that?) two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me four call girls...uh, I mean birds(wings, see?)...
three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree (I dunno, maybe he thinks he's Peter Pan?).
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me five wedding rings...
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(and a wish for Marriage Equality for everyone!)
four calling birds, three French men, two lovey doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave up on the geese and substituted goose down comforters and a lot of sexy sleepers laying around in it and also, well, you know, laying. Yeah. it's another pun. sorry about that...
five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me seven surfing Santas (give or take a dude)...
six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.On the eighth day of Christmas my true love thought about giving me eight maids a milking...
but decided one was enough and instead concentrated on the cowboys she would obviously need to help her with the herd...
(Good choice, don'tcha think?) seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
Could be he's up there 'cause he's trying to stay clear of the cows. Smart man.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love resorted to You Tube to give me nine pipers piping...
eight helpful farmhands, seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me ten drummers drumming...
nine pipers piping, eight helpful farmhands, seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me eleven lords a leaping (hell, yes, they leap. trust me. just wait for the end)...
ten drummers drumming, nine pipers piping, eight helpful farmhands, seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling birds, three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me twelve ladies dancing (and most appropriately, too)...
eleven lords a leaping, ten drummers drumming, nine pipers piping, eight helpful farmhands, seven surfing Santas, six sexy sleepers, five wedding rings, four calling girls (oops. I mean birds!) three French men, two lovey-doves and a partially clad man in a tree.
And, just in case you haven't had enough yet, here's two more versions. First, Frank Kelly with an Irish rendition...
And, finally, this version from Straight No Chaser...
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas (take two)
I'm blogging about this same subject over at the Nine Naughty Novelists' blog today as well. I guess you could say it's on my mind, especially as I gear up for this weekend's Holiday Rush Blog Hop. Time was, I'd be drowning in Holiday Cheer at this point...uh, in a good way, that is. But somewhere along the way, writing stories centered around Christmas (well, at least in part) seems to have superseded actual decorations, at least in part.
So here's a few short excerpts from some of my Christmas-themed books. Enjoy!
A blacksmith with a tragic past. A faery princess with an uncertain future. And a love that burns like iron.
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That Christmas was the happiest Gavin had known since childhood. He was up early for Christmas Mass, leaving the house shortly before dawn, and leaving a pouting Aislinn in his bed with the promise he'd be back within a few hours time to fix breakfast for her.While the world lay silent and cold, he made his solitary way into town, his path lit only by the stars that sparkled overhead and the Christmas candles that burned in the front window of every house he passed. And a thought occurred to him, as he walked along the empty lane, that each flame was a sign of hope for the future—and that, perhaps, he could feel an answering flicker, newly kindled in the darkness of his own heart. And he laughed at himself then, for putting on such airs and for the absurdity of his thoughts and his breath puffed out in little white clouds that melted away in the frosty air.When he got to Saint Ita's he found a seat in the very last pew, where he'd be sure of being among the first out the door when mass ended. He didn't take Communion, although he'd made his Confession just the day before and he was sure Father Cullen would remark on that fact the next time he saw him. But too much had happened between then and now and his soul did not feel easy with the thought of it. Although he'd still have sworn to anyone who'd asked him that the woman he'd made love to the day before had been his wife, a small part of him doubted whether the Church—or Mairead herself—would choose to see things in quite the same way.Not that he regretted his actions of the day before. To the contrary, he felt more at peace with himself that morning than he had in many a year. But his mind was so consumed with thoughts of repeating the act he barely heard a word of the service and hurried off as soon as it was over, before anyone could engage him in conversation, or take notice of his agitation.Then it was home again, where breakfast and a sulky fae awaited him. Aislinn was wearing her own, repaired green dress and, at Gavin's request, she once again resumed her impersonation of Mairead. It was obvious she was less than happy about it, however. But Gavin was in a good and generous humor so, once the goose was cooking, he took a few minutes to tease her out of her bad mood. He sat her on his lap, just as if she were his bride in truth, and fed her pieces of orange, tickling her as she tried to eat them until she laughed and then licking at the juice as it ran down her chin, until, finally, her smile was restored. And she rewarded him with several songs while he saw to the rest of the meal.
Read more about Iron HERE
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There'll be a lot of creatures stirring in Oberon this Holiday Season. It's Christmas. Got ghosts?
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Christmas Eve dawned foggy and cool. The heavy air seemed to muffle sound. Long before the silent night could fall, the day had a hushed and breathless feel to it. As if the whole world was holding its breath....Last minute shoppers thronged The Crone's Nest all day long, keeping Marsha too busy to ponder the irony. It flew in the face of logic, but every year she sold more of everything on the day before Christmas than she did on the day before Yule.Business was brisk at Cavanaugh's nursery, as well. Shortly before noon, Dan packed up most of the unsold trees from the lot and delivered them to a local food bank. There, they would be handed out to the families who came in to pick up boxes of groceries and canned goods that kids in the local elementary schools had spent weeks collecting.At Lupa e Cervo, goodwill of a slightly different kind was being dispensed. Sinead had set up a table of appetizers in the winery's tasting room, turning the daily free wine sampling into an impromptu party.Out of deference to Adam's feelings on the subject, she'd had a separate table set up on the terrace outside the tasting room—and out of his direct line of sight—where she offered prospective customers a holiday twist on the winery's usual offerings."Mulled wine?" Adam stared at her, appalled when she explained what she was doing. "Hot mulled wine?"She nodded, lips trembling as she tried not to smile too broadly. In truth, it was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud at his outrage."You're taking my wine and...heating it? In a...in a crock pot? With—?""With spices, yes." She smiled at him, and added, gently, "That's how it's done, I'm afraid. It's what we did last night, too, you know. Out on the back terrace?"Adam shuddered, his revulsion obvious. "No. I didn't know. Thank the gods for that." He eyed her suspiciously, and then asked in a voice filled with dread. "Which vintages?"But Sinead knew better than to answer a loaded question like that. She was just damn glad Nick could have no idea about Adam's feelings on the subject. There was no telling how much mileage he'd try to get from it, if he did.As it was, she was more than a little worried about what kind of surprises the two men might have in store for each other…It was a subject that was causing Scout some concern, as well. "I can't believe you won't tell me what you got Adam for Christmas," she complained. Perched on the kitchen counter, she watched as Nick pressed fresh dough into the pasta maker, turning it into noodles for tonight's lasagna. They were celebrating this evening with his daughter Kate, who would be spending the next couple of days with her mother. Tomorrow, they would be going to Lucy's.If she were honest, Scout would have to admit that she wasn't all that disappointed that Adam and Sinead would not be at Lucy's as well. She'd already spent two days this week playing referee. She deserved a day off.But, she would have found it a whole lot easier to relax if she hadn't learned—only last night—that both Nick and Adam had purchased presents for each other. And, how weird was that, anyway?Nick glanced up from his pasta and smiled. "Tell you now? And spoil the surprise? No way."She watched him for a moment longer, but he was focused on his work, and his expression gave away nothing. "It's not something that's gonna...oh, I don't know…blow up in his face, or something. Is it?""No, of course not," Nick said, feeding another sheet of pasta into the machine. "I mean, not unless he's really careless. If he got distracted, or something, then I guess, theoretically, it might be possible.""Oh. Right." Scout rolled her eyes. "So, I guess, in that case, your plan is to be around when he uses whatever it is. So you can make sure he's distracted?"Nick grinned at her, eyes twinkling. "You know, you used to be a lot more trusting of me.""You used to be a lot more predictable," Scout snapped. She thought about that for a moment. Maybe predictable wasn't quite the right word. He'd just been…defensive. Like a fighter who had gone too many rounds but was still too stubborn to stay down. Sheer determination might keep bringing him to his feet, but he had nothing left for anything more. He was too beaten up by life to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other and, over and over again, walk right into the next punch it threw him.Scout thought back over the last year. He was so much more relaxed now. So much more lighthearted and carefree than he'd been, even last Christmas. She'd like to think she could take some of the credit for that. Maybe, after a year and a half, he'd finally begun to trust that, this time around, the happiness that had eluded them for so long would not be snatched away again.She slid from the counter. Nick turned his head to smile at her as she came up behind him and put her arms around his waist."Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.Nick nodded. "There sure is. Just stay right where you are. That's all I need, you know.""Good," Scout murmured happily, resting her head against his back. "Me, too."She'd been running for such a long, long time. Right now, staying put was all she ever wanted to do.
Read more about The Spirit of the Place HERE
When you live forever, you're bound to make a few mistakes...
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Holding her breath, Suzanne went up on her toes, her arm stretched out as far as it would reach, to hang yet another sparkling ornament on the tree. Her hand hovered over the branch tip. She released the hook and smiled as the tiny, silver bell swayed safely in place. Relaxing again, she took a deep breath. The scent of pine was so strong it nearly knocked her off the ladder. She loved Christmas—all the shiny, bright wonder of it. Familiar carols playing on the stereo. The cool taste of peppermint tingling on her lips. The sugar and spiciness of gingerbread cookies still warm from the oven mixing with the buttery fragrance of freshly made popcorn. And, this year, she was going to have the best Christmas ever. There could be no doubt about that.Cocking her head to the side, she admired her handiwork, or as much of it as she could see from this angle. The tree was so big it was impossible to take it all in at a glance, so big that, even standing on the top of the stepladder, she still couldn't reach the highest branches. That meant the placing of the final star would have to be done by someone else, by Conrad, she hoped, as her mind started spinning a happy little fantasy.They would stand on the ladder together, his arm around her shoulders, and after he'd affixed the star to the top-most branch he'd turn to her with love in his eyes and a smile on his lips. "Merry Christmas," he'd whisper as he bent to kiss her…and outside the house, in the dark, star-filled San Francisco night, it would begin to snow… Well, maybe someday. Or, then again, maybe not. What were the odds, really?From inside the room—where it was almost as dark as night—came a long, low, furious rumble to distract her from her thoughts. Words she didn't know, yet whose meaning couldn't be more clear, spilled in a seemingly endless stream from Armand's lips."You know what's funny?" she said as she turned to face him. "Even in French, cursing still sounds like cursing."Eyes narrowed, he glowered at her, glancing up from where he sat on the floor surrounded by the string of lights he'd been attempting to fix. Most of the exterior decorations were already in place when this string had inexplicably gone out and the workmen, unable to discover the problem, had returned it to Armand in its present condition: a dark, tangled seaweed-looking mass. That had been almost an hour ago."This is all your doing," Armand growled, sounding so much like Conrad, she had to laugh. "I know," she said, unable to keep from ginning. It was for her—all for her—that Conrad, that Armand, that all of them, were doing this. The tree, the tinsel, the cookies, the lights—all because she said she wanted it. And she wasn't about to feel the least bit sorry about that, either.Armand watched her for a moment longer, his expression softening until he was smiling too. "Well then, don't you think the least you could do is come down here and help me straighten this mess out?""All right." She jumped down from the ladder, grabbed the plate of cookies from the side table, then seated herself across from him, with the bulk of the lights—and the plate piled high with gingerbread—on the floor between them. "Now, what do you need me to do?"
Read more about In the Dark HERE
So here's a few short excerpts from some of my Christmas-themed books. Enjoy!
A blacksmith with a tragic past. A faery princess with an uncertain future. And a love that burns like iron.@font-face {
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That Christmas was the happiest Gavin had known since childhood. He was up early for Christmas Mass, leaving the house shortly before dawn, and leaving a pouting Aislinn in his bed with the promise he'd be back within a few hours time to fix breakfast for her.While the world lay silent and cold, he made his solitary way into town, his path lit only by the stars that sparkled overhead and the Christmas candles that burned in the front window of every house he passed. And a thought occurred to him, as he walked along the empty lane, that each flame was a sign of hope for the future—and that, perhaps, he could feel an answering flicker, newly kindled in the darkness of his own heart. And he laughed at himself then, for putting on such airs and for the absurdity of his thoughts and his breath puffed out in little white clouds that melted away in the frosty air.When he got to Saint Ita's he found a seat in the very last pew, where he'd be sure of being among the first out the door when mass ended. He didn't take Communion, although he'd made his Confession just the day before and he was sure Father Cullen would remark on that fact the next time he saw him. But too much had happened between then and now and his soul did not feel easy with the thought of it. Although he'd still have sworn to anyone who'd asked him that the woman he'd made love to the day before had been his wife, a small part of him doubted whether the Church—or Mairead herself—would choose to see things in quite the same way.Not that he regretted his actions of the day before. To the contrary, he felt more at peace with himself that morning than he had in many a year. But his mind was so consumed with thoughts of repeating the act he barely heard a word of the service and hurried off as soon as it was over, before anyone could engage him in conversation, or take notice of his agitation.Then it was home again, where breakfast and a sulky fae awaited him. Aislinn was wearing her own, repaired green dress and, at Gavin's request, she once again resumed her impersonation of Mairead. It was obvious she was less than happy about it, however. But Gavin was in a good and generous humor so, once the goose was cooking, he took a few minutes to tease her out of her bad mood. He sat her on his lap, just as if she were his bride in truth, and fed her pieces of orange, tickling her as she tried to eat them until she laughed and then licking at the juice as it ran down her chin, until, finally, her smile was restored. And she rewarded him with several songs while he saw to the rest of the meal.
Read more about Iron HERE
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There'll be a lot of creatures stirring in Oberon this Holiday Season. It's Christmas. Got ghosts?
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Christmas Eve dawned foggy and cool. The heavy air seemed to muffle sound. Long before the silent night could fall, the day had a hushed and breathless feel to it. As if the whole world was holding its breath....Last minute shoppers thronged The Crone's Nest all day long, keeping Marsha too busy to ponder the irony. It flew in the face of logic, but every year she sold more of everything on the day before Christmas than she did on the day before Yule.Business was brisk at Cavanaugh's nursery, as well. Shortly before noon, Dan packed up most of the unsold trees from the lot and delivered them to a local food bank. There, they would be handed out to the families who came in to pick up boxes of groceries and canned goods that kids in the local elementary schools had spent weeks collecting.At Lupa e Cervo, goodwill of a slightly different kind was being dispensed. Sinead had set up a table of appetizers in the winery's tasting room, turning the daily free wine sampling into an impromptu party.Out of deference to Adam's feelings on the subject, she'd had a separate table set up on the terrace outside the tasting room—and out of his direct line of sight—where she offered prospective customers a holiday twist on the winery's usual offerings."Mulled wine?" Adam stared at her, appalled when she explained what she was doing. "Hot mulled wine?"She nodded, lips trembling as she tried not to smile too broadly. In truth, it was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud at his outrage."You're taking my wine and...heating it? In a...in a crock pot? With—?""With spices, yes." She smiled at him, and added, gently, "That's how it's done, I'm afraid. It's what we did last night, too, you know. Out on the back terrace?"Adam shuddered, his revulsion obvious. "No. I didn't know. Thank the gods for that." He eyed her suspiciously, and then asked in a voice filled with dread. "Which vintages?"But Sinead knew better than to answer a loaded question like that. She was just damn glad Nick could have no idea about Adam's feelings on the subject. There was no telling how much mileage he'd try to get from it, if he did.As it was, she was more than a little worried about what kind of surprises the two men might have in store for each other…It was a subject that was causing Scout some concern, as well. "I can't believe you won't tell me what you got Adam for Christmas," she complained. Perched on the kitchen counter, she watched as Nick pressed fresh dough into the pasta maker, turning it into noodles for tonight's lasagna. They were celebrating this evening with his daughter Kate, who would be spending the next couple of days with her mother. Tomorrow, they would be going to Lucy's.If she were honest, Scout would have to admit that she wasn't all that disappointed that Adam and Sinead would not be at Lucy's as well. She'd already spent two days this week playing referee. She deserved a day off.But, she would have found it a whole lot easier to relax if she hadn't learned—only last night—that both Nick and Adam had purchased presents for each other. And, how weird was that, anyway?Nick glanced up from his pasta and smiled. "Tell you now? And spoil the surprise? No way."She watched him for a moment longer, but he was focused on his work, and his expression gave away nothing. "It's not something that's gonna...oh, I don't know…blow up in his face, or something. Is it?""No, of course not," Nick said, feeding another sheet of pasta into the machine. "I mean, not unless he's really careless. If he got distracted, or something, then I guess, theoretically, it might be possible.""Oh. Right." Scout rolled her eyes. "So, I guess, in that case, your plan is to be around when he uses whatever it is. So you can make sure he's distracted?"Nick grinned at her, eyes twinkling. "You know, you used to be a lot more trusting of me.""You used to be a lot more predictable," Scout snapped. She thought about that for a moment. Maybe predictable wasn't quite the right word. He'd just been…defensive. Like a fighter who had gone too many rounds but was still too stubborn to stay down. Sheer determination might keep bringing him to his feet, but he had nothing left for anything more. He was too beaten up by life to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other and, over and over again, walk right into the next punch it threw him.Scout thought back over the last year. He was so much more relaxed now. So much more lighthearted and carefree than he'd been, even last Christmas. She'd like to think she could take some of the credit for that. Maybe, after a year and a half, he'd finally begun to trust that, this time around, the happiness that had eluded them for so long would not be snatched away again.She slid from the counter. Nick turned his head to smile at her as she came up behind him and put her arms around his waist."Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.Nick nodded. "There sure is. Just stay right where you are. That's all I need, you know.""Good," Scout murmured happily, resting her head against his back. "Me, too."She'd been running for such a long, long time. Right now, staying put was all she ever wanted to do.
Read more about The Spirit of the Place HERE
When you live forever, you're bound to make a few mistakes...p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 3pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 125%; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }
Holding her breath, Suzanne went up on her toes, her arm stretched out as far as it would reach, to hang yet another sparkling ornament on the tree. Her hand hovered over the branch tip. She released the hook and smiled as the tiny, silver bell swayed safely in place. Relaxing again, she took a deep breath. The scent of pine was so strong it nearly knocked her off the ladder. She loved Christmas—all the shiny, bright wonder of it. Familiar carols playing on the stereo. The cool taste of peppermint tingling on her lips. The sugar and spiciness of gingerbread cookies still warm from the oven mixing with the buttery fragrance of freshly made popcorn. And, this year, she was going to have the best Christmas ever. There could be no doubt about that.Cocking her head to the side, she admired her handiwork, or as much of it as she could see from this angle. The tree was so big it was impossible to take it all in at a glance, so big that, even standing on the top of the stepladder, she still couldn't reach the highest branches. That meant the placing of the final star would have to be done by someone else, by Conrad, she hoped, as her mind started spinning a happy little fantasy.They would stand on the ladder together, his arm around her shoulders, and after he'd affixed the star to the top-most branch he'd turn to her with love in his eyes and a smile on his lips. "Merry Christmas," he'd whisper as he bent to kiss her…and outside the house, in the dark, star-filled San Francisco night, it would begin to snow… Well, maybe someday. Or, then again, maybe not. What were the odds, really?From inside the room—where it was almost as dark as night—came a long, low, furious rumble to distract her from her thoughts. Words she didn't know, yet whose meaning couldn't be more clear, spilled in a seemingly endless stream from Armand's lips."You know what's funny?" she said as she turned to face him. "Even in French, cursing still sounds like cursing."Eyes narrowed, he glowered at her, glancing up from where he sat on the floor surrounded by the string of lights he'd been attempting to fix. Most of the exterior decorations were already in place when this string had inexplicably gone out and the workmen, unable to discover the problem, had returned it to Armand in its present condition: a dark, tangled seaweed-looking mass. That had been almost an hour ago."This is all your doing," Armand growled, sounding so much like Conrad, she had to laugh. "I know," she said, unable to keep from ginning. It was for her—all for her—that Conrad, that Armand, that all of them, were doing this. The tree, the tinsel, the cookies, the lights—all because she said she wanted it. And she wasn't about to feel the least bit sorry about that, either.Armand watched her for a moment longer, his expression softening until he was smiling too. "Well then, don't you think the least you could do is come down here and help me straighten this mess out?""All right." She jumped down from the ladder, grabbed the plate of cookies from the side table, then seated herself across from him, with the bulk of the lights—and the plate piled high with gingerbread—on the floor between them. "Now, what do you need me to do?"
Read more about In the Dark HERE
October 29, 2010
Halloween Blog Hop!
Hello blog-hoppers. Happy Halloween! You know the drill. Follow the tour all the way to the end and you'll be entered to win a slew of great books and other prizes. If you stumbled upon this by accident, go to http://booknibbles.com/bloghop/ to start at the beginning. And don't forget to join us for one of our fun chats (details can be found HERE).
Now, on to the eye candy...
I have a bit of a confession to make. I couldn't find any Halloween-themed pictures of men to inspire me this year. The women were okay. There were any number of attractive devils...
witches...
...and bats.
But the men were a problem, you know? However, it all worked out in the end because that's what led me to think about some of the men that had inspired me this year.
So what did I come up with? Rugby.
Yes, rugby. Surprised me, too, because I am generally sooo not Sports Girl. And, to be perfectly honest, I still don't understand the first thing about the rules of the game...but it sure is fun to watch and the men are simply gorgeous.
By the way, those last three photos are from a sports drink ad campaign. You can read more about that HERE.
And, now, because no blog-hop post would be complete without a video...
Well, that's it. I hoped you enjoyed this stop on your tour. Now, it's time to head to the showers.
I'm also running a contest until the end of this month in conjunction with the print release of my vampire story, In the Dark. Click here for details: http://rhymeswithforeplay.blogspot.com/2010/10/in-dark-print-release.html
Now, on to the eye candy...
I have a bit of a confession to make. I couldn't find any Halloween-themed pictures of men to inspire me this year. The women were okay. There were any number of attractive devils...
witches...
...and bats.
But the men were a problem, you know? However, it all worked out in the end because that's what led me to think about some of the men that had inspired me this year.
So what did I come up with? Rugby.
Yes, rugby. Surprised me, too, because I am generally sooo not Sports Girl. And, to be perfectly honest, I still don't understand the first thing about the rules of the game...but it sure is fun to watch and the men are simply gorgeous.
By the way, those last three photos are from a sports drink ad campaign. You can read more about that HERE.
And, now, because no blog-hop post would be complete without a video...
Well, that's it. I hoped you enjoyed this stop on your tour. Now, it's time to head to the showers.
I'm also running a contest until the end of this month in conjunction with the print release of my vampire story, In the Dark. Click here for details: http://rhymeswithforeplay.blogspot.com/2010/10/in-dark-print-release.html
