Edward Hoornaert's Blog, page 10

Yep, you’re cold #mfrwhooks

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I, Effing Feline, have a few questions for all of you. They may seem like silly questions, but I’m serious, so please be serious in return, okay?

What happened to your tail? Did it hurt? Humans do  have tails, don’t they?

I’m continuing with hooks from one of my pet human’s favorite books, Rescuing Prince Charming. It’s an SFR set in the near future. Dusty and the alien guard get rid the time bomb from mankind’s first ever starship. What will they do next?

“It’s over,” he said.

Funny, it seemed more like a beginning. Even funnier: she’d never been so close to death, yet never felt so alive, so connected to another human being.

He hugged her tighter. “Over!”

His elation fueled hers. She burst into laughter and hopped up and down in his embrace.

“We did it,” he whooped.

“No, no, you did it. That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Hah to that! Without you, that bomb blows apart my face. You were amazing.”

“Without you, that bomb blows up in my arms, because I could never have thrown it as far as you did.”

“Without you,” he said, “I’d still have my pants on.”

“Uh, yeah. I bet you’re cold.” She planted her palms on his buttocks. “Yep, you’re cold.”

He reciprocated by grabbing her bottom. “And you, my brave lady, are hot.”

Be sure to visit the hooks by other fine writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.

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Rescuing Prince Charming

Dusty Johnson, a self-styled ordinary, everyday woman, responds with extraordinary heroism when saboteurs try to bomb the prototype of Earth’s first starship. Although she yearns to return to anonymity, that moment of courage propels her ever deeper into dangers that tear the scabs off her dark secrets — and thrust her into the arms of the unattainable man of her dreams.

[image error]Reese Eaglesbrood, an alien prince, yearns to restore his tattered reputation by guiding the starship project to completion, but his fascination with the unassuming heroine threatens to undermine his fragile authority. Shunning Dusty is necessary, yet unthinkable — and when the saboteurs strike again, she is his only ally against Earth’s most elusive enemies.

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Apple iTunes
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Effing Feline finds a use for pizza #wewriwa

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[image error]I, Effing Feline, love my role models. You probably know one of them — Garfield. I have tried hard to emulate his wonderfully feline attitudes toward life and human beans.

And pizza. You see, Garfield loves pizza.

In this regard, though, I fail my hero. The only pizza I really like is meat pizza, without the pizza. However, I’ve found a use for pizza. I’ll tell you about it after this word from my sponsor, The Saint of Quarantine Island.

Janet Davis has mindlessly followed the man labelled the Saint of Gilford Island to his hotel room.. Last week she unzipped her dress, asserting herself after learning of her husband’s infidelity with her friend. Skipping the removal of all her remaining clothes — you aren’t interested in stuff like that, are you? — here we see how she feels when the saint doesn’t respond how she expects.

Why didn’t he do something, say something? Wink, even. She’d settle for a wink. Why didn’t he wink?

Because he was a saint and not just an ordinary guy the media had slapped a label onto to capture clicks and views? A real, true saint? Incorruptible?

Which made her what? Jezebel?

I hate to burden you with too much reading (there are a lot more snippets to get to), but here are a few more.

His throat bobbed as he met her gaze. Yet still he sat on the bed, visibly aroused but doing nothing about it.

That was when she knew.

Knew that this was really and truly a mistake. Worse than a mistake — it proved she was dead. Shriveled up and dead.

Janet Davis was deceased.

Or at least old, and that was the same thing, wasn’t it? The beauty who could twirl any man around her little finger with a seductive smile . . .that woman had died of old age.

She closed her eyes and stifled a sob.

Effing Feline here again. Tonight, Mr. Valentine and family are ordering pizza. I won’t eat any of it (sorry, Garfield!), but this pic from the Internet has given me an idea I want to try. But only if the pizza is nice and warm!

Wish me luck!

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Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

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The Saint of Quarantine Island

Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

[image error]Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

His body pressed hers with delicious warmth and intimacy #mfrwhooks

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I, Effing Feline, am back once again. I can hear you cheering from here! Thank you, thank you, thank you for recognizing my brilliance!

I’m continuing with hooks from one of my pet human’s favorite books, Rescuing Prince Charming. It’s an SFR set in the near future. Dusty and the alien guard have gotten the time bomb out of mankind’s first ever starship. But how can they get rid of it before it explodes?

Their top-secret facility is underground in a mountain on the alien’s island, so she leads the guard to a terrace overlooking the nearby fjord. As he throws the shoe box containing the bomb, she admires his great . . . arm.

The box hit the water with an insignificant splash. She waited.

Nothing.

That was all? This whole blood-pumping thing was a hoax?

But just as disappointment threatened to chill her, the dark waters of the Pacific erupted as though a school of  sea monsters had farted simultaneously. Dusty jerked closer to the stranger. He was warm and alive and his courage took her breath away. Being held by him seemed the most natural thing in the world.

The explosion’s noise, when it reached her a millisecond later, was anticlimactic. If this were a movie, special effects people would’ve added a louder bang and more fireworks. Movie explosions were impressive, not realistic.

“We make a great anti-sabotage team,” she squealed. “They ought to make us an anti-sabotage squad or something.”

“Even though I am…how did you put it? A stupid idiot?” His chuckle took the sting from his words. This easygoing playfulness was something else to like about him. “One of those arrogant Kwadrans you dislike? With an attitude problem, too.”

It finally sank in, all the way to the deepest marrow of her bones, that she wasn’t going to die, really and truly, and in that instant an orgasmic realization flooded her soul: she’d never had so much fun in her whole life as in the last ten minutes. With a joyous laugh, she pressed her cheek against his warm, hard biceps. “You’re an idiot with interesting pickup lines, which makes all the difference. Provided you don’t mind that I’m the daughter of a plumber.”

“Let me see.” He wrapped both arms around her waist. “No, I find I don’t mind.”

His body pressed hers with delicious warmth and intimacy. Under any other circumstance, she would’ve objected. Maybe slapped him. After all, she didn’t even know his name.

But this wasn’t the real world; it was reality on steroids, a riotous and astonishing moment outside of time, and his fierce embrace was perfect. She buried her cheek in the soft, clean-smelling twag of his shirt.

Be sure to visit the hooks by other fine writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.

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Rescuing Prince Charming

Dusty Johnson, a self-styled ordinary, everyday woman, responds with extraordinary heroism when saboteurs try to bomb the prototype of Earth’s first starship. Although she yearns to return to anonymity, that moment of courage propels her ever deeper into dangers that tear the scabs off her dark secrets — and thrust her into the arms of the unattainable man of her dreams.

[image error]Reese Eaglesbrood, an alien prince, yearns to restore his tattered reputation by guiding the starship project to completion, but his fascination with the unassuming heroine threatens to undermine his fragile authority. Shunning Dusty is necessary, yet unthinkable — and when the saboteurs strike again, she is his only ally against Earth’s most elusive enemies.

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Apple iTunes
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Effing Feline wants to drive #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, went for a car ride this week — to the vet. Yuck! The visit went fine, though, just a checkup, so what I want to talk about are automobiles. Ed drove me there. Next time I have a checkup, I want to drive myself.

It seems pretty simple, with a few minor modifications. For example, a gas pedal extension so my paws can reach. Also a booster seat so I can see out the windshield. Uh . . . what’s that you say? I’d need a brake pedal extension, too? No way. I ain’t stopping for nothing. Outa my way, everyone!

I wouldn’t be the first cat to drive. I’ll prove it right after this message from my sponsor, The Saint of Quarantine Island.

Janet is still in the supposed saint’s  hotel room. She numb because she just learned about her husband’s infidelity — so numb she’s on autopilot, following impulses without thinking. Last week she started unzipping her dress.

She stood facing away from Carlisle, toward the dresser mirror. In the mirror, she watched his reaction to her unexpected move. Was that why she’d done it? To get a reaction?

His face betrayed nothing, but he was male, so he must have had something in mind when he let her come to his room, something more than just a drink of water and soothing her tears and changing his pants. But other than watching the skin revealed by the zipper, he gave no hint what the something was.

Franklin liked extravagant stripteases, the more blatant and explicit the better. She’d always been glad to oblige, glorying in her sexuality and eager to do anything to keep the marital bed hot so he wouldn’t stray.

For that reason, or more likely some other reason entirely, she gave Carlisle several seconds to study the flesh of her back, the thin strap of her bra, and the top of her half-slip. Then she waited a few seconds more. Anticipation was the soul of seduction, a truth she seemed to have been born knowing.

Effing Feline here again. You don’t believe me that cats can drive  Well, Ms Skeptical, here’s proof!

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Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

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The Saint of Quarantine Island

Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

[image error]Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Wow, you have a great arm #mfrwhooks

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I, Effing Feline, am the world’s most literary cat. I can read, write, type . . . and criticize. My claws have been known to tear through the words written by my pet human, Ed Hoornaert. It’s fun! Ed accuses me of megalomania, but that’s okay. I’m sure you’ll agree that megalomania is a cat’s prerogative.

I write a Sunday column for Ed. Now he’s asked me to write one on Wednesdays because he’s too lazy to do it. Starting now, each month I’ll be featuring a different book from Ed’s backlist. The first such book is Rescuing Prince Charming, which Ed had started choosing selections. It’s an SFR set in the near future.

Dusty and the alien guard have gotten  the bomb out of the ship. But how can they get rid of it in time?

Dusty lifted the latch and pulled. The door opened, blasting her with brisk November air smelling of ocean and evergreens. She stepped back to let him pass, and though it would’ve been safer to get as far away as possible, she followed him outside.

“Toss it over the—”

But their minds were in perfect sync; he was already charging toward the railing. He hurled the bomb over the side with the grace and power of a javelin thrower.

Huffing, Dusty grabbed the cold, metal railing and looked down. Three long steel posts reached forty yards down to the steep and rocky forest below. If the bomb landed near a post, the blast would bring down the terrace with her on it. But did she run? Nope.

She leaned over the railing and put an arm on the back of her amazing companion. Although she didn’t know his name, there was no one she’d rather stand shoulder-to-shoulder with, facing oblivion, panting in unison, poised on the knife’s edge separating death from life.

“Wow,” she panted, “you have a…a great arm.”

He said nothing, and she was too busy watching the bomb to notice his reaction. Stupid to just stand there, yet she watched the bomb fall as though in slow motion. The lid floated away, wafting back and forth like a cardboard leaf.

The box arched beyond the pylons and the forest toward the ocean. This being a fjord, the bottom dropped off as steeply as the mountainside, so the box should be well submerged when it went off. She never could’ve thrown it so far.

Be sure to visit the hooks by other fine writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.

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Rescuing Prince Charming

Dusty Johnson, a self-styled ordinary, everyday woman, responds with extraordinary heroism when saboteurs try to bomb the prototype of Earth’s first starship. Although she yearns to return to anonymity, that moment of courage propels her ever deeper into dangers that tear the scabs off her dark secrets — and thrust her into the arms of the unattainable man of her dreams.

[image error]Reese Eaglesbrood, an alien prince, yearns to restore his tattered reputation by guiding the starship project to completion, but his fascination with the unassuming heroine threatens to undermine his fragile authority. Shunning Dusty is necessary, yet unthinkable — and when the saboteurs strike again, she is his only ally against Earth’s most elusive enemies.

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Apple iTunes
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Effing Feline, TV critic #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, dislike television. I don’t hate it, mind you, and there are some good shows on. Pit Bulls and Parolees seemed like it would be interesting, until I learned that the parolees are the ones taking care of the dogs, not dogs who’d been thrown in jail for disturbing the sleep of some poor pussycat or tomcat.

I wonder if the’ll make a movie of my sponsor, The Saint of Gilford Island?

Janet learned of her husband’s infidelity immediately after Kendo gives a speech about Gilford’s creative. She follows him to his hotel room.

The infidelity, the speech, and an overwhelming sense of loss befuddles her. When Kendo asks her what she’s going to do, she says, “Kill myself.” After spilling something in his lap, she has no idea what to do or where to go. So she follows him to his room.

“I’m fine,” she said like a little girl with well-practiced church manners. “I won’t kill anyone.” Except maybe herself.

But she wasn’t a little girl. That epithet swelled in her mind even though she was the one who’d thought it, not him.

She wore a Reformation Chamomile dress with cap sleeves and a thigh slit. It zipped down the back, and she didn’t need Carlisle’s help to unzip it. She might’ve been over the hill, but was still supple enough to reach back and pull the zipper to her waist and an enticing few inches farther.

Why did she do it? No idea.

A wee bit more to finish the scene. They are some really short sentences here!

She hadn’t even realized what she was doing until her arm was tugging the zipper.

Should she stop? Rezip?

No idea.

Effing Feline here again. You know what the main problem is with television these days? They don’t put out enough heat, as old TVs did, and they’re so narrow a cat can’t get comfortable.

Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

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The Saint of Quarantine Island

Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

[image error]Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Effing Feline hates furballs #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, dislike furballs. Why do I tell you this now? Because in North America, we have a long weekend for two different holidays. Labour Day and Labor Day.

Ed, my pet human bought steaks for the first time forever with the intention of grilling them outside. I don’t like that. The grill gets too hot, and I’m wearing a fur coat. Anyway, the only real celebration I’m aware of is eating and overeating.

What does that have to do with furballs? I’ll tell you after this commercial from my sponsor, The Saint of Gilford Island.

Janet learned of her husband’s infidelity right after a speech about Gilford’s creative madmen that he gave to Janet’s charity club. Kendo’s selfless dedication to helping the quarantined unfortunates had inspired a television show that dubbed him the Saint of Gilford Island.

The infidelity, the speech, awe at being in the presence of a saint, and an overwhelming sense of loss befuddles her. After spilling something in his lap, she has no idea what to do. So she follows him to his room.

He got her a bottle of water from his room’s minifridge to rinse away the taste. Scotch might’ve been more appropriate—that was what Franklin would’ve offered. The innocuous bottle in her hand was more evidence this man was a saint.

While he changed in his washroom, she stood by the dresser. Why? She should apologize again then leave. He couldn’t want her around. What she’d done to him was beneath contempt, even though he hadn’t said a word of censure.

He came out wearing jeans and t-shirt with an unfamiliar First Nations design; from Canada, she supposed.

He noticed she hadn’t opened the water bottle, so he opened it for her. As she washed away the vile aftertaste, he asked if there was anything else he could do for her.

A wee bit more to finish the scene:

“No, thank you.”

He asked her what she was going to do. She had a hard time concentrating on his .

“I don’t know. Kill Franklin?”

He took her seriously and protested, so she laughed. It was more of a choked bark, actually.

Effing Feline here again. Consider yourself warned: if you overeat, you’re tummy will get the human equivalent of a furball!

Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

[image error]

The Saint of Quarantine Island

Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

[image error]Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Please take this bomb #mfrwhooks

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I, Effing Feline, am the world’s most literary cat. I can read, write, type . . . and criticize. My claws have been known to tear through the words written by my pet human, Ed Hoornaert. It’s fun! Ed accuses me of megalomania, but that’s okay. I’m sure you’ll agree that megalomania is a cat’s prerogative.

I write a Sunday column for Ed. Now he’s asked me to write one on Wednesdays because he’s too lazy to do it. Starting now, each month I’ll be featuring a different book from Ed’s backlist. The first such book is Rescuing Prince Charming, which Ed had started choosing selections. It’s an SFR set in the near future.

Dusty and the alien guard have found the bomb. Now comes the question: how to get out of the narrow tunnel. Since Dusty is already in the tunnel, she tells him to give the bomb to her.

He took a deep breath and held out the shoebox. “This goes against my sense of chivalry.”

“Screw chivalry.” She reached for the box—but he pulled it away from her grasp.

“I’ll have you know I’m a gentleman.”

“And the School for Chivalrous Gentlemen taught you that Take off my pants is a polite greeting?”

“Is Please take this bomb, with my compliments an improvement?” He gave a tight-lipped sigh. “I don’t like handing this to a woman.”

But he did it anyway. Holding the box reassured her…for a moment. Just an everyday shoebox, heavier than most, but just a shoebox. “Maybe you aren’t as dumb as you look.”

In truth, she hadn’t paid enough attention to know if he looked like a genius or a dunce. A bomb-disposal pro would be trained to handle terror yet remain polite, but she was just an unadventurous tech writer holding death in her hands. That was the best excuse for rudeness she’d ever had, but still… “Look, I apologize for—”

“Get moving!”

Be sure to visit the hooks by other fine writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.

[image error]

Rescuing Prince Charming

Dusty Johnson, a self-styled ordinary, everyday woman, responds with extraordinary heroism when saboteurs try to bomb the prototype of Earth’s first starship. Although she yearns to return to anonymity, that moment of courage propels her ever deeper into dangers that tear the scabs off her dark secrets — and thrust her into the arms of the unattainable man of her dreams.

[image error]Reese Eaglesbrood, an alien prince, yearns to restore his tattered reputation by guiding the starship project to completion, but his fascination with the unassuming heroine threatens to undermine his fragile authority. Shunning Dusty is necessary, yet unthinkable — and when the saboteurs strike again, she is his only ally against Earth’s most elusive enemies.

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Apple iTunes
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Effing Feline shows his fangs #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, recall that one of my fans, Teresa, I believe, suggested I take an anger management class. Ridiculous, right? I ask the rest of you, do you think I need such a class?

Now a word from my sponsor, The Saint of Quarantine Island.

Afraid of the island’s madmen, Janet Davis has been hiding in Billy Seaweed’s floathouse, awaiting the arrival of Kendo Carlisle. She learned of her husband’s infidelity right after a speech about Gilford’s creative madmen that he gave to Janet’s charity club. Kendo’s selfless dedication to helping the quarantined unfortunates had inspired a television show that dubbed him the Saint of Gilford Island.

The infidelity, the speech, awe at being in the presence of a saint combined to inspire her to go to Gilford. Here Kendo responds to her hitting him with her wedding picture.

“You seem to like big, dramatic entrances and exits, but really, hello would’ve been okay.” His words implied amusement, but his tight expression didn’t.

She stared at the floor. She’d been afraid she was about to die, and now she wanted to.

His next words startled her: “Still, I’m glad to see you.”

“You are?”

“You are?” Billy echoed. “So you really do know her?”

“Oh yes.” Kendo tossed the picture frame onto her bed.

And a few more to finish the scene:

Her neck and cheeks warm from a blush as she said, “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me.”

“With your clothes on, you mean?”

Her blush went from warm to blazing. Billy’s eyes widened and his gaze traveled her from neck to knees.

Effing Feline here again. The reason I don’t think I need an anger management class is that I manage my anger just fine, as you can see in this picture of me.

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I ask you:  is that the roar, are those the fangs, of some who has trouble expressing anger?

Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

[image error]

The Saint of Quarantine Island

Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

[image error]Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Can I trust you? #mfrwhooks

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Rescuing Prince Charming is an SFR set in the near future. Native Americans from an alternate Earth have ‘hopped’ their kingdom, Kwadra Island, to our Earth. As the world’s most advanced nation, they’ve offered to help us build our first starship.

But before the ship is finished, someone plants a time bomb in the mechanical deck. Dusty (Desdemona) Johnson knows the unfinished prototype better than most, so she charges on board to search. What she finds is a Kwadran stuck in a tunnel. His first words are “Take off my pants,” because they’re caught on something, trapping him.

Figuring she was small enough to avoid the depantsing shard, Dusty crawled into the tunnel. She bunched his pants around the sharp metal to pad the tip.

“Removing the lid,” he said.

She squirmed to the end of the tunnel and poked her head into the closet. Harsh shadows from his flashlight moved like snapping wolves as he turned to her. “Are you insane?” he demanded. “Or the saboteur?”

“Yes and no, respectively. Is that the bomb?”

“I think so.”

“You think so? What kind of bomb disposal expert are you?”

Shaking his head, he stared at the box and scowled. “Expert?”

“Oh, God.” Dusty’s eyes went wide. “You don’t know bomb disposal, yet you removed the lid? That could’ve set it off, you stupid idiot.” She’d done the same thing when she opened the lunch-pail lid, but that was different…somehow. “Give it to me.”

He shined the flashlight her way and looked up for the first time. “It is too dangerous.”

“Like I’m so far away it won’t kill me? Since you can’t disarm it, I’ll have to carry it to someone who can. Hurry.”

“Can I trust you?”

“Fine.” Her voice grew sharp from anxiety. “Hold onto it until it explodes.”

Be sure to visit the hooks by other fine writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.

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Rescuing Prince Charming

Dusty Johnson, a self-styled ordinary, everyday woman, responds with extraordinary heroism when saboteurs try to bomb the prototype of Earth’s first starship. Although she yearns to return to anonymity, that moment of courage propels her ever deeper into dangers that tear the scabs off her dark secrets — and thrust her into the arms of the unattainable man of her dreams.

[image error]Reese Eaglesbrood, an alien prince, yearns to restore his tattered reputation by guiding the starship project to completion, but his fascination with the unassuming heroine threatens to undermine his fragile authority. Shunning Dusty is necessary, yet unthinkable — and when the saboteurs strike again, she is his only ally against Earth’s most elusive enemies.

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Apple iTunes
Kobo Books
Smashwords