Selena Blake's Blog, page 37

Writerly Thoughts from the Trenches

I’m under deep deadlines so I totally flaked on yesterday’s Writer Wednesday post.

But here are a few thoughts and fact checks while I’ve been revising.

Ellipses

I’m a super big fan of them. To me, they’re the perfect indication of a pause in thought or speech. Not an abrupt halt or pause, but more of a thoughtful one.

The ellipsis can also be used to indicate a pause in the flow of a sentence and is especially useful in quoted speech:

Juan thought and thought … and then thought some more.
"I’m wondering …" Juan said, bemused.

Source

Em Dashes

I like these when I want that quick change of pace. Think about someone talking over you or interrupting you, cutting you off. This little guy is great for that.

In informal writing, em dashes may replace commas, semicolons, colons, and parentheses to indicate added emphasis, an interruption, or an abrupt change of thought.

Source and examples

Anaphora

Another personal favorite of mine is anaphora.

Repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or verses.
"I want her to live. I want her to breathe. I want her to aerobicize."
(Weird Science, 1985)

Source

Book Blogger Interview: Reading a Little Bit of Everything

Where are you from?

I’m from Northern Ireland in the UK.. a place that awfully gets forgotten about lol mostly cause we talk weird!

Were you a big reader as a child?

Haha no way would you have seen me anywhere near a book or book store as a child! I think I actually owned 2 books until I was 15.. then the sparkly vampire phase hit and I was a goner for reading.

What made you decide to start a book blog?

Like many people, books are an escape for me so I wanted somewhere I was able to get lost in my own book world. Basically babbling about books I loved reading, wanting to share with others why I loved a particular book and trying to get them to read it. Plus to interact with others who shared my same interests.

What’s your biggest challenge as a book blogger?

It has to be trying to find the time to actually blog! I’m still trying (after two years) to find a balance for it in my life.. it doesn’t seem to be happening as I keep getting distracted by Twitter or more books.

Who are some of your favorite authors and why?

Oh waow! Be prepared here goes:

Top 2: Paige Toon and Tiffany Reisz - As massive as it sounds these two authors both saved my life! Paige Toons writing is so addictive it has the ability to get you lost in a world you’ll feel a connection with. Tiffany Reisz gives you freedom and belief! Freedom to be who you are and the belief you belong! She writes about things you can’t even begin to imagine thinking about which is why I love her novels!

and these following authors Because I LOVE THEM ALL! Lucy Felthouse, KD Grace, Natalie Anderson, Portia Da Costa, Janelle Denison, Kahlen Aymes.. I could probs name a thousand more!

 

What’s your biggest book/story related pet peeve?

Ugh! I don’t know if this counts but I have two! First is release dates! I hate how books are always released in UK mainland, America and Ireland first! Then wee NI gets them after.. it so annoys me that I have to wait months for a book to be released sometimes!

Also! Front covers – sometimes there not even related to anything that happens in the book or especially when the same cover is used for two books.. by two different authors! I want to cry when that happens as the individuality of the book just disappears!

 

If you could only read one genre for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?


That’s so easy! Romance! Can I say that? Is it a genre on it’s own? hmm.. I choose it anyway lol! Because there’s so much romance you can read! Erotic Romance, YA/NA Romance, Contemporary Romance, there’s so much! So my life is sorted

Thanks so much!

Kerry-Ann
Book Blog: readinglittlebitofeverything.blogspot.co.uk/

Personal Blog: blogofanorthernirishgirl.blogspot.co.uk/

Book of the Week: Just A Little Taste

Seven thieves. Seven days. Seven priceless items.

Only one will be crowned the best of the best.

Braxton Hughes has seven days to complete his mission. His reputation is riding on his attention to detail and infallible focus. Not to mention the bet he has no intention of losing. There’s no time for distractions.

But then he meets beautiful Elise Savade. She quickly becomes a complication he can’t afford…and a temptation he can’t resist.

Teaser:

From: Zeus @ theblindbet.com

To: sevenofspades @ theblindbet.com

Subject: The Bet

1787 Lafite G.W.

You have seven days.

Zeus

Braxton Hughes stepped out of the limo and tugged his bow tie into place. Roger Savade’s enormous French chateau sat at the end of the cobblestone walk, looking regal and impenetrable. He held out his hand to the woman in the backseat, and she slipped her satin-gloved fingers into his.

For a woman pushing fifty, Claire Renaldae looked great in her lavender dress with her hair perfectly coiffed. He tucked her arm through his and started up the path with the other guests, anticipation sizzling through his veins.

“Thanks for bringing me tonight,” Claire said, her voice soft. Her silver gray eyes, rimmed with dark liner, sparkled up at him. There was an air of smoky sophistication about her, showing him that she belonged at parties like this one. Rubbing shoulders with the filthy rich, dancing until dawn.

Recently divorced, she was here to show up her ex-husband with a hot new stud on her arm.

Braxton was here for the wine.

He’d known as soon as he’d pushed himself out of the pool at Chateau Le Cannet four days ago that Claire was perfect for him. Perfect for the job. She’d been lying on a lounge chair, a black one piece showing off a trim, sun-kissed figure. The big, fluffy hat hadn’t been able to shadow the look of desire in her eyes when she’d glanced at his body glistening from his afternoon swim.

It had taken little effort to strike up a conversation and find out about her ex-husband and her invitation to the Savade party. Nor had it taken much effort to casually offer to escort her to said party.

“You’re welcome.” He glanced around at the other guests, nodding at the few who made eye contact. “Think he’ll be here?”

“Of course. He wouldn’t miss a party like this, or a chance to show her off.” The her Claire was referring to was her ex-husband’s new mistress, Scandinavian supermodel Mia Rassmusen. She’d mentioned the other woman several times, and he found himself wondering why a woman like Claire would waste her time and energy on a man like her ex-husband. She may not have been a hot, young supermodel, but she was smart and witty enough. And not at all bad on the eyes. Years of spa treatments had, no doubt, seen to that.

“Well, I seriously doubt she’ll look anywhere near as beautiful as you,” he said, playing his part.

Claire preened under his gaze, her spine straightening. “You’re so sweet.” She squeezed his arm.

The receiving line slowed to a halt.

Brax looked around the manor, noting the number of windows and doors and their locations. His gaze traveled over the shrubs and stone walls of the landscape. The large front doors were wide open, and golden yellow light poured out. He could hear music. Probably some lesser known French composer.

“Roger Savade is such a pompous ass. He hosts these parties to show off his money. His things,” Claire whispered. He glanced down at the necklace dripping with diamonds around her neck. Speaking of showing off one’s wealth…. “Just like my ex-husband.”

Brax stayed silent and watched as the hosts greeted the guests. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with her. Roger was known to flaunt his money and his possessions. Brax wondered if he’d have the 1787 Lafite on display in the dining room. That would sure make his job easy.

The line moved forward, and he saw their host nodding to a short, graying gentleman. By habit, Brax surveyed his surroundings for security, both electronic and hard, hired muscle.

Did Roger Savade even know the significance of the 1787 Lafite, or had he bought it just because someone had told him it was rare?

 

A | BN | S

Writers: Want to Go Paperless?

Eliza (@elizagayleauthor) sent me this link a while back and I still marvel at the idea of going paperless. I for one can’t imagine going paperless.

To be fair, I day dream about it. And I’ve made strides to go as paperless as possible. But the simple truth is…I adore office supplies. In fact, I bought these just the other day. I can’t seem to help myself. I love pens and post its and notebooks…folders too. Anything colorful really.

But, I’ve learned to use Evernote to keep myself organized digitally. And I don’t have a paper calendar anymore! Wait. Darn. I just saw my colorful and cute desk calendar piled underneath a few other notebooks on my desk. Nevermind…

New Beta Opp

Hello dear readers!

There’s a new beta opportunity open in the Members’ Lounge. If you’re a member of the Lounge (aka, signed up for my newsletter) head on over and see what’s what. The current project is called Ask For It and it’s a long contemporary romance.

Ready? Set? Go!

Book of the Week: Stranded with a Cajun Werewolf

The car came out of nowhere, horn blaring, bright lights reflecting off the curtains of falling snow. Burke Deveraux let out a curse as a streak of red passed him on the left. His wipers swiped across the windshield, trying in vain to keep the thick snow at bay. Didn’t that lunatic driver realize they were in the middle of a blizzard? On a mountain road?

Despite the snow chains, the tires of his Land Rover slipped on the icy slush and his hands tightened on the wheel. Just ten more miles and he’d be to the cabin. Give or take a few. He’d driven this road for years, but with all the white stuff coming down, it was hard to gage exactly where he was. The only thing that mattered was that he was long gone from Louisiana and whatever was in the water.

There was no other explanation for four devoted bachelors to all find love in the span of five months. And while he was happy that they’d found their mates, and he couldn’t wait to become an uncle, he much preferred his bachelor lifestyle.

His brother and cousins had started talking to him finding his mate the moment André and Juliette had gotten back together. And over the last few weeks, they hadn’t let up. Even the women were in on it. The moment his favorite ski resort had announced an early season opening, he’d high tailed it out of there.

Burke didn’t want a mate.

He just wanted some peace and quiet and to catch some fresh powder. And to forget the memories that clawed at him every time he saw one the women that had infiltrated Deveraux pack.

What he hadn’t bet on was trading hurricanes for the blizzard bearing down on him now.

Or the flash of red that jerked his attention to the side of the road.

He stepped hard on the breaks, trying to avoid the red car and the snow bank. For a nauseating moment the world was a streak of white. Burke’s hands strangled the steering wheel as he fought to keep the tires on the road.

The antilock brakes kicked in and the vehicle slowed, but Burke exhaled too soon.

In the blink of an eye the tires slipped in the slick snow and the back wheels swung right. Curses rent the air and his luggage rolled around like a pebble in a tin can. Gin let out a startled bark from the back seat.

Finally, when everything was still, the SUV was pointed down the mountain. A gust of wind cleared enough snow out of the air that he could see the bright red car half buried by a pile of snow/half dangling off the side of the mountain.

He unclenched his teeth, worked his jaw and huffed out a sigh. So much for a relaxing vacation.

The formerly groggy Labrador was now wide-awake in the backseat. Gin let out a deep bark and smacked Burke in the cheek with his tail. He let out another woof, his nose pressed against the side window.

“You all right?”

Gin sighed in that purely canine way that said he wasn’t thrilled with the situation.

The other driver made no move to back out of the dune and Burke figured that the idiot had wrecked his car. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. He’d report the wreck and wait until the wrecker got here. If the wrecker got here.

No signal.

Great. He tossed the phone aside and reached behind the passenger’s seat for his coat. Maybe the lunatic in the other car had a phone that would work. Tendrils of snow swooshed into the car as he opened the door. Bracing against the icy wind he planted one boot in the ankle deep snow and then the other.

Tugging on his thick Northface coat he headed down the road toward the other car once again questioning his decision to try to beat the storm.

The collision had killed the engine, mangling what he could see of the front end.

Ah hell.

A blonde lay hunched over the steering wheel, not moving. Blood soaked the back of her grey sweatshirt. He knocked on the window and wished he’d tugged on his gloves. The woman didn’t move. He peered into the car, looking for a phone, and saw a large purse wedged between her chest and the steering wheel.

He tested the handle of her door. Locked. Figured. The small window behind the driver’s seat was shattered, half the glass missing. He reached through the gaping hole and flipped the lock.

Wrenching the door open he checked the pulse at her throat. Still thumping. He braced both hands around her neck and the base of her skull and then, as gently as he could, settled her back in her seat and took stock of her injuries.

And arrestingly adorable features. She looked like an angel, a cherub, with glossy pink lips. With a bloody gash across her forehead and — was that a pink streak in her hair? He leaned closer. And a thick purple stripe too.

A fierce wind howled over head, making the trees sway and groan. She gave a soft moan, and then, as if she’d awoken, her body went rigid.

“You’re okay, petit. Just relax. Where do you hurt?”

Stunning aqua blue eyes met his for an instant before she closed them again, wincing. The fear he’d glimpsed there shocked him. “Please,” she said, her voice hoarse and barely a whisper. He leaned toward her to hear over the roar of the elements. “Don’t let…him…take me.”

A | BN | ARe | S

Review of Games Demons Play

Emi Lia from Bitten By Paranormal Romance Said: “I am LOVING this series!!   *Sighs* If only Mystic Isle really existed, lol. An Island where all of the supes go hang out to chill and have all kinds of hook ups, yea totally awesome! “

Stay Tuned for a New Beta Reader Opp

It’s about that time again. I’ll be putting out the call for Beta Readers soon, so if you haven’t signed up for my mailing list, do so ASAP so you’ll have access to the announcement.

Sign up via the little form at the top of each page on my website: selena-blake.com.

Beta Reader opps are available to Wolfpack Members who have access to the exclusive Members’ Lounge (your subscription to my mailing list gets you into the Members’ Lounge.)

Book of the Week: A Werewolf to Call Her Own

Maxim Ciolek drained the bottle of beer in three long swigs.

“Take it easy,” his brother muttered from the next seat over.

Wise-ass.His brother, who went by Hunter these days, had returned from America a know-it-all. Fifteen years separated them, which wasn’t much in the scheme of things, but some days those one hundred and eighty months seemed like a chasm.

“Hah,” Maxim replied, but didn’t let the comment ruin the warm, gorgeous night. “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle rusted.”

“Black. The pot calling the kettle black,” Hunter corrected.

“Shut up and drink your beer.”

“I thought you were supposed to be relaxing. Enjoying a vacation.”

“I’m trying to.” The truth was, Maxim was both loving and hating his complete lack of responsibility. Being second-in-command of Novgorod’s growing pack wasn’t an easy job. And most days it was rather thankless. But he enjoyed the tight community, watching it grow.

A waiter brought them another round of drinks, and Maxim nodded his thanks. Beyond the wide stone terrace, a bonfire blazed in the middle of the white sand beach. The massive golden flame was mesmerizing.

He took a swig of his beer and then surveyed the outdoor space. Sand, surf, and palm trees. The holiday music was a little annoying but when it got to be too much, he could just head down to the waves.

Hunter was right. He’d needed a break. A vacation. Time alone. Of course, the moment Maxim agreed to get away and scheduled a trip to Mystic Isle, his younger brother had invited himself along. Maxim didn’t mind, so long as Hunter didn’t expect to room with him.

A group of women exited the hotel and wove their way through the wrought iron tables. They were gorgeous. But then, most immortals were.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hunter lean forward in his seat. He wasn’t the only man watching them, Maxim noted. It was as if an electrical wire had fallen onto the terrace, charging the air.

“I call dibs on the brunette.”

Maxim frowned over at his brother. Dibs?

Before he could point out that four of the five women in the group had brown hair, a group of men left the bonfire and jogged toward the terrace. A tall, broad guy wrapped his arms around the woman with the beautiful brown skin and twirled her around.

There was much laughter and chatter as the groups merged.

“I guess she’s taken,” Maxim said with a smile.

“I didn’t mean her.”

Maxim didn’t look, but he would have bet ten Euros that Hunter was rolling his eyes.

The tall, lithe brunette with the short-cropped hair giggled as a blond, a vamp from the look of him, threw her over his shoulder and carried her off. One by one, they headed across the beach to the volleyball net.

“Better hurry before someone snaps her up.”

The curvy one with the latte-colored skin turned, showing him her profile. Maxim sucked in a breath. It’d been a long time since he’d had such a visceral reaction to a woman.

“Bikini or shorts?” he asked on exhale, almost afraid to hear his brother’s answer.

The woman in the red bikini laughed at something the blonde pixie said. Then they turned and tried pulling their friend with the gorgeous profile and short shorts toward the game. She resisted, shaking her head.

Why was she hesitant?

“Bikini.”

“Of course.”

Hunter shot him a look.

The blonde gave up and trotted off. Short Shorts held up a finger, the universal sign for give me a minute. She sucked in a deep breath, which pressed her breasts against the T-shirt. He didn’t understand what was so scary about sand and a volleyball. But something had her summoning her courage. She tucked her hair behind her ear again and stared down at the glass in her hand as if it held all the answers.

By the look of her, he bet that the ruby liquid in the glass was not a Merlot. Which made her a vampiress. That explained her innate gracefulness, but not her insecurity.

The brunette in the bikini was giving her friend a quiet pep talk when the guys started wolf-whistling at the pair.

Maxim would never understand why the English called it that. Wolves did not whistle. But the sound had Hunter tripping over himself to run out and join the fray.

Like Hunter, he’d come to the island to relax, work off his stress. Sex was near the top of his list; he was male, after all. But as yet, he hadn’t seen a woman who sparked his interest. Shewolves were too much trouble. Usually aggressive and demanding, they took too much and gave too little. Plus, more often than not, they were on the hunt for a man like him. A man with position and plenty of money.

The shy vamp, though, she had potential. Curvy, pretty, with long, glossy hair that made his fingers tingle with anticipation. Luckily, she seemed in no hurry to join the others.

“Guys against girls,” Avery called as she ran out onto the sand. The guys groaned.

Were they afraid the girls would beat them? Or were they disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to get their hands on the women during the game?

Alone on the stone terrace with a flute of blood in her hand, Ceara Blackwell watched Coco and Grayson kiss beneath the net. Good luck getting those two on separate teams. Half the time Ceara saw them, they were fused at the lip. Or the hips.

The rest of the men huddled next to the net, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Ceara recognized the internationally accepted stance for sports related planning. The women formed their own version of the huddle, a loose circle, hands braced on their knees.

She took another sip of her drink and felt marginally calmer. As the only child of two over-protective vampires, she was used to being alone. Her solitary life had given her plenty of time to study, to watch and observe people. Admittedly, she’d had very little practice at interacting with others. She understood the basics of course. Had studied every etiquette book she could get her hands on. But some situations, public situations, brought a riotous band of butterflies to her stomach.

“Come on, Ceara,” Valencia called, waving her over. The brunette stood in the front row, hands on her trim hips. Ceara tucked the annoying strand of hair behind her ear and worried her lower lip.

Coco also took a position on the front row. Ceara wasn’t surprised that the woman wanted to be as close to her mate as possible.

“Get your derriere out here,” Avery added, spinning the volleyball on her index finger. She was the athlete in their coven and took up the serving spot. Izzy, in what Ceara assumed was an attempt to hide, hovered in the middle row.

“It’s solstice,” Coco yelled.

A time of new beginnings. Ceara knew that, appreciated the sentiment. She had the desire to start fresh, leave the past aside. She’d even boldly made a bucket list. But did she have to start on such a public stage? With a game she’d never played? A game that wasn’t even on her list?

A first kiss. That was on the list. And with any luck and a lot of bravery on her part, she might get to check that item off her list by the week’s end.

That thought spurred her on. She couldn’t meet a man and claim her kiss if she didn’t mingle. She could do this, one step at a time. There wasn’t anything to be scared of out there. Her friends wouldn’t let anything happen to her. And besides, she was a vampire, practically invincible. It was high time she started living like it.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her shoulders back. Step one.

Deciding to keep her flip flops on for now, she stepped off the terrace into the sand. Step two.

Ceara stayed rooted to her spot as the men turned their attention her way. One of them whistled again. Wolf-whistling, she thought it was called. She couldn’t believe he was whistling at her. She wasn’t gorgeous or bold like her coven-mates.

Nerves took over again as he locked eyes with her.

A demon.

The full moon, brilliant bonfire, and terrace lights combined with her vampire sight and she picked out the important details easily enough. Though he kept his horns filed short, there was no mistaking the dark, deep red of his irises. A tremor shot through her and her knees threatened to buckle.

He stalked toward her, a determined glint in his eyes.

“I —um—I think I’ll just sit this one out,” she called, her voice high – almost squeaky.

Walking backward, she tripped over the edge of the patio, and then bumped into a chair. Blood sloshed out of her glass and over her fingers. The demon’s grin kicked up a notch. She deposited the glass on a nearby table so she wouldn’t drop it. With her hands and knees trembling like gelatin during an earthquake, she didn’t trust her reflexes.

Turning in the unfamiliar flip flops, she darted away from the beast who looked like he wanted to eat her up, one limb at a time, and collided with a solid, warm wall. No, not a wall. A person, she quickly realized as large hands shot out to steady her as she bounced backward.

Nose smarting from the impact, she glanced up, eyes watering.

A heartbreakingly handsome man regarded her, the corner of his delicious mouth turned up in amusement. Her body’s reaction was immediate and overwhelming. First, her breathing shallowed, then her stomach fluttered before a flush of blissful heat swept across her shoulders and up her neck. Other parts, parts that had never been excited before, clenched and tingled.

His gaze caught and held hers like a lifeline. He had gorgeous dark brown eyes that reflected every sliver of light the outdoor space had to offer. She’d never seen eyes glitter like that. It was probably because he had a surplus of optical fluid. That would account for the added sheen. But nevertheless, she found their color dreamy and the sparkle mesmerizing.

Then his gaze zoomed up over the top of her head.

He must have felt her shaking, smelled her fear, because he pulled her forward a fraction. “Hi, sweetheart. Sorry I’m late,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

A wolfish grin lit his face, stealing her breath, and she realized that that’s exactly what he was. A wolf in human clothing. An insanely handsome one at that. Her heart stuttered and then jumpstarted. He was lying for her. Playing the part of her beau. And what a beau he was. Talk about beginning on the right foot.

His gaze shifted down to where her fingers had closed over his forearm. Then he glanced over her head again and he took her hand between his. What was he—

He lifted her bloodstained fingers to his lips and stared into her eyes. Oh my… His tongue darted out, gathering the droplets as if they were the finest wine. Ambrosia. Her head tipped back on its own accord. As he sucked one, then another into the wet heat of his mouth to clean them, she sucked in a slow, deep breath.

“Sorry, dude. I didn’t know she was with you,” a deep voice said from somewhere behind her.

Ceara would have said she wasn’t with him, but she couldn’t form the words when he was nibbling on her fingertips like they were made of candy. A hot, delicious feeling took over her insides. Then again, something in his eyes told her that she could be with him if she wanted to be.

Nervousness was the furthest thing from her mind. And for the first time in her life, she wanted a man. Not just any man. This man. This ruggedly handsome werewolf with the wicked smile.

Only when he whispered, “Let’s get out of here,” and ushered her inside, did she realize that her friends had fallen silent. She dared a glance back and saw the four of them in the sand, sharing a worried glance.

But why would they be worried? Wasn’t this why they’d all come here? To “hookup” as it were? Not that she was going to—

“I’m Maxim,” the man at her side murmured when they were safely inside the dimly lit Tiki bar.

“Ceara.”

“Can I escort you somewhere? You seemed to be in a hurry.”

“I—yes…” She gave a self-depreciating laugh. “I was getting as far away from that demon as I could.”

“You know the island is only a mile wide,” he said with a smile. “He would have caught you eventually.”

“But you rescued me,” she murmured, her voice full of awe. She wasn’t sure why. A case of instant hero–worship, perhaps?

“I did,” he said matter-of-factly. There was a second-long pause before those shut-up-and-kiss-me lips curved up in a satisfied smile.

Good gods. He had no right to be that handsome. No one did. Tanned to perfection, tall, broad, perfectly sculpted muscles hidden beneath a midnight blue polo shirt… down to the leather thongs on his feet, he was right off the cover of a magazine.

“I should thank you.”

“You should.” His grin widened.

A | BN | S | ARe | K

Book of the Week: The Cajun’s Captive

The blonde peering into his bedroom window never heard him approach.

“Can I help you?” he asked mildly when he was within pouncing distance.

Shrieking, she whirled to face him, backing up at the same time. Her hands came up to balance herself, but it was too late. He made no move to rescue her even though he could have. Her momentum toppled her over the railing and into the soggy grass below. She landed flat on her back.

From the edge of the porch, he stared down at her not feeling the least bit sorry for startling her. What did a man have to do to get privacy?

Her wheat colored hair covered her face and the rain slowly soaked her clothes. She seemed too startled to move. Finally, she eased up on her elbows. Her breasts heaved and fell as if she might start crying. The last thing he wanted was a crying woman. Or a lawsuit.

“You all right?”

With a perfectly polished hand, she flicked her hair out of her face and glared up at him. The blue eyes that locked with his couldn’t have surprised him more if there’d been eight of them.

Amanda St. James. Alive and in his yard.

Couldn’t be. He narrowed his gaze and took in her features. Same cute pixie nose. Same rosy, heart-shaped mouth he’d longed to kiss. Same delicious curves that his hands itched to caress.

Suddenly he was transported a decade ago when they’d all been hanging out on a hot summer day. It had been August. Suffocatingly humid. Then Amanda had grabbed the hose and proceeded to drench him and his brothers to the bone. Her kissable mouth had laughed and smiled as they’d chased her. When they’d finally caught her, turning the hose on her, the water had plastered her clothes to her sweet young body.It had taken all his willpower not to carry her off that very afternoon. To kiss her all over—from that adorable nose, to those delicious berry pink lips, to her hot pink toenails.

The clap of thunder brought him back to the present. His eyes didn’t fool him. He sniffed the air and her scent filled his lungs. She smelled so sweet, so familiar, and so wonderful that he almost closed his eyes to savor it. Instead, he took in her pitiful form. She looked like a drowned cat. He watched as the rain molded her shirt to her breasts. Either from cold or, heaven help him, desire, her nipples beaded beneath the fabric and stood out like pebbles.

He clenched his fists. Long dormant need surged upward startling him with its intensity. Its rawness. He hadn’t seen or heard from her in nine long years but he’d never stopped wanting her. It was the reason he dated a long stream of women, never settling down. He’d never felt this kind of urgency with anyone else. Although he’d tried to wipe away her memory, none of them could compare to Manda. His Manda.

But her presence now reminded him of how she’d fled all those years ago. She’d gone off to Yankee country for school. Then she’d gone on to work for one of the biggest broadcast companies in the country. Never looked back. Never called. Simply fled. Ran from him.

His inner beast had been too proud to let him chase. Had been sure she’d come back in a week or two. Weeks had turned into years and now almost a decade. Now the beast growled deep inside, for the years he’d lost, for making him want her so, making him wait. It lay coiled, anxious and ready to spring to life and take what it wanted.

He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep the dangerous animal inside on a tight leash.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Amanda St. James.” He couldn’t keep the disdain from his voice. He hoped to hell she couldn’t hear the hurt, the yearning… “Did the Yanks kick you out? Get too cold for ya up north?”

“What a mean thing to say.” For a moment, she looked genuinely wounded. But he told himself that was part of her game. The network probably sent her.

“Then what are ya doin’ here?” Probably snooping for a story, he thought. Figured she’d use her looks, her connections, to get it. Like hell, she was going to get her story.

Her tongue slipped between her glossy pink lips to lick a raindrop. That simple movement reminded him of all the times she’d licked her lips, stuck out her tongue at him—reminded him of everything he really wanted in life.

And just how much he wanted to kiss her.

Once again, he took in her sad wet form and saw everything he’d wanted for hundreds of years. Everything he’d been denied and had denied himself.

Sebastian knew he couldn’t be angry; she was worth the wait. He couldn’t let her get away again. This was a sign from the Gods. She was meant to be his. He’d known it all those years ago when he’d watched her blossom in front of his eyes. While he’d waited for her to grow up. Waited for her to come to him.

He still knew it. Nothing had changed, he reasoned. Except that he wanted her more now than he had nine years ago.

And she was well over eighteen now. He would finally make her his.

With the effortless grace his kind was known for, he leapt over the railing and landed at her feet. Oblivious to the rain, he glared down at her.

“Get up,” he ordered. She started to crab crawl backwards but she couldn’t get away fast enough. In a lightning fast move, he hoisted her over his shoulder. She barely weighed more than a sack or two of sugar.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“Taking what’s mine.”

He knew the instant she comprehended his words. She squirmed and wiggled like a bunny in a trap, but it didn’t matter. He had her where he wanted her.

For now.

A | BN | ARe | S