Jamie DeBree's Blog, page 65

Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 58

This serial novel is posted in draft form every Tuesday and Friday.




Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54| Ch. 55|Ch. 56|Ch. 57




The Biker's Wench










Chapter 58

A woman shrieked just outside the open front door as Burns pulled a gun and leveled it at the man Monica presumed was Nick Benoit. Benoit put his hands up, and Harley's gaze darted to the hall, found her and nodded slightly toward the kitchen. She moved through the doorway, staying close to the wall but the bodyguard spotted her, pointing his own gun her way.

"Hold it right there," he said, the command causing both Benoit and Burns to look in her direction. Harley slammed his body into Burns's back, catching the man off guard and sending him toppling into Benoit. In turn, Benoit fell into the bodyguard, hard enough to knock him against the hall table. The jumble forced him to lower his hands and the gun to keep from falling, but it was clear he'd recover quickly.

"Head's up," Harley called, tossing her the pillow from the couch as he swept his fingers down into the plant pot to retrieve the camera. In two long strides he was beside her, pulling her through the kitchen and out the back door. A loud pop rang in Monica's ears, and she heard something whizz by, but didn't feel anything and Harley didn't break stride. They reached the car in seconds and hopped in, Harley peeling away from the curb in a squeal of rubber on asphalt.

"Get the recorder out of the pillow," he said, turning left, then right just a few yards later, his eyes constantly darting to the rear view mirror. She did as he asked, tossing the pillow in the back seat and shoving the small audio device into one of her front pockets. She grabbed the camera off the seat and disconnected the cord, putting that in her other pocket, all the while trying to stay upright as Harly tried to lose the car following them.

"Just lay down on the seat," he said, taking another sharp corner. "It will be safer that way. If I can just..."

She ducked down, bracing her feet under the dash as she grasped the seat with both hands. It seemed like forever until he slowed down, and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel when he finally brought the car to a stop. He turned the engine off, then breathed for a few seconds before he looked down at her.

"You okay?"

She nodded, pushing herself up on the seat and looking around. They were in an alley of some sort, both sides lined with thick concrete block buildings. "Fine, I think," she said, turning back to him. His face was pale, and she frowned, reaching out to feel his skin. It was cold and clammy. "But you're not. What's --" she finally noticed the red staining the seat beside him. "Oh no. You have to get to a hospital. Let me drive - tell me where to go..." She reached behind her for the door handle, but he caught her other wrist, pulling her back with more strength than she would have expected.

"I'll be fine. You need to get that information to the FBI. Burns probably already has the police out looking for us, and who knows what he's told them by now." He took a deep breath, then let it out, and glanced toward the back seat. "The black bag has a change of clothes and some money. The bus station is just on the other side of this wall. Get on the next bus out of town, and go to the field office in Las Vegas. Tell them everything, and give them the evidence. Bring them back to the ranch."

She shook her head, blinking at the tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't just leave you here - not like this. Not by yourself. I won't. I'm not running away again."
Enjoying the story? Try Tempest, available now at:

 
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Weekly News & Goals – 3/27/11

So...last week was kind of an exciting
one in the publishing world, eh? I'm not going to name drop or
anything (did that on the other blog already), but suffice it to say
I read a ton of blog posts last week. To the detriment of my writing,
perhaps (probably) – considering they all pretty much said the same
thing and I'm only just caught up on my writing. But I wouldn't be a
very good writer if I didn't gawk at current events, right?

Moving on...

I have postcards with the Tempest
& Desert Heat covers on them – the first I've done as
sort of "draft cover cards". I'll send these out to anyone
who emails me with your name & address – all stamped and
everything, first come, first serve. I have 6 Desert Heat and
7 Tempest. These are the basis for the cover cards I'm
designing next month, which will have the cover art on the front and
the blurb on the back, with my signature for ebook buyers who still
like to collect cover art. I'm looking forward to the finished
product!

I also got my new mini-card bookmarks
and business cards – all have my covers on them, so if you'd like a
set for yourself or to give away, send a SASE to me at PO Box 21153,
Billings MT, 59104.

So what's going on this week? Well,
it's our last week for the "Sex on the Page" series, and
we're talking about those "Dirty Details" (like bodily
fluids, etc). Visit Carol B.'s blog on Tuesday for her post, and then
stop back here Thursday for my take on the same. More from the ranch
on Wednesday, and on Saturday, an excerpt from a love story by author
Greg Messel.

This Week on The Variety Pages

Monday: Weekly News & Goals

Tuesday: Ch. 58
of The Biker's Wench

Wednesday: The Fantasy Ranch - Meet
Harley Majors

Thursday: Sex on the Page – The Dirty
Details

Friday: Ch. 59 of The Biker's Wench

Saturday:
Excerpt by Greg Messel

Goal Reports

Last week was one of those
"barely kept my head above water" weeks. I kept wanting to
get ahead, and never could quite manage to, even though I started
ahead. It's very frustrating. So I got all my serial installments
done, and I managed a workout every day, but that's it. Like I said,
very frustrating.

But
the only thing to do is move forward, of course...

Goals for the Week

Writing

6
serial scenes

Crits

Anything
extra on two current drafts

Business

Write
two guest posts

Fill
out a long-overdue interview

Send
out package & postcards

Personal

Keep
up the workouts.

Do
laundry before 10pm Sunday night

Do
taxes and pay bills

And
that's it for me – aiming for moderation this week. What's on your
plate? Or page, as it were....

On the Bookshelf: My Perfect Wedding by Sibel Hodge

Chapter 1

The customs
officer flipped open Kalem's passport and scrutinized the photo.

I tapped my foot. Come on, come on, don't you know we've got a
wedding to get to? My perfect wedding, nonetheless. And on top of
that, the duty-free shops were seriously calling my name. We'd
already been shuffling along in the security queue for forty-five
minutes like a couple of tortoises, and I could almost smell the
teasing waft of bargain perfumes, designer lipsticks that stay on for
three days, and bumper packs of chocolate sending out silent buy
me signals in the shopping area beyond.

Luckily, we'd got to the Airport in plenty of time. Kalem wanted to
check in early to try and get a seat with extra leg-room. Not that it
bothered me, really. At five foot nothing, I never had a problem with
being crammed in like a stuffed sausage, but Kalem's legs were long
and toned and…well, pretty damn sexy.

Kalem ran a hand through his cropped dark hair and nodded towards the
passport. 'I probably had more hair then,' he said to the customs
officer.

I giggled, remembering the frizzy out-of-control footballer's perm
he'd had when the photo was taken, which resembled my unruly curls
on a good hair day.

'I don't think so,' the customs officer muttered,
narrowing his eyes at Kalem.

I stepped out from behind Kalem and leaned on the counter. A wave of
loud tutting broke out from the queue behind me.

'It's a serious offense to tamper with a passport, sir,' the
customs officer said in a deadly tone, glaring at Kalem.

'Pardon?' Kalem's eyes widened with surprise. 'I can assure
you that my passport hasn't been out of my sight. And it definitely
hasn't been tampered with. If you'll just let me show you –'
Kalem reached out his hand.

The customs officer shot his hand in the air, passport held up high,
so Kalem couldn't get anywhere near it.

'Sorry...' my eyes shot to his name badge, 'Officer Head. What
seems to be the problem?' I asked, thinking he was obviously some
sort of jobsworth with nothing better to do than annoy innocent travelers.

Officer Head tried the same suspicious glare on me and shot his other
hand up for silence. Then he picked up a phone on the counter and
whispered something into it. I heard the words 'possible' and
'terrorist' but the rest of it was inaudible.

I gulped. What was going on? This was ridiculous.

'Right. You two will have to come with me.' Officer Head climbed
out from behind the passport control booth and marched off along the
airport floor.

Another loud tutting session erupted from the group of people behind
us.

I glanced at Kalem with a questioning look. 'What's happening?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. It's probably just some kind of
simple misunderstanding. The quicker we get this over with, the
quicker we can get on with our pre-honeymoon.' He lowered his voice
to a whisper. 'And don't say anything.'

'What do you mean, don't say anything? If he asks me a question,
I'll have to say something, won't I?'

'You know what I mean – don't say anything ridiculous.'

Me? Ridiculous? As if.

We fell into step behind the crazy customs guy. 'I know.'
I smirked at Kalem. 'This is the surprise you said you'd
organized, isn't it? I bet we're really going to be escorted to a
VIP lounge, where we can drink champagne and eat those little canape
things. Ooh, great. I love those. I wonder if they've got those
little smoked salmon rolls with the cream cheese fillings. Yum.'

'This isn't the surprise.' Kalem's forehead scrunched up into
frown lines.

'Oh, yeah, good one. I bet you're just saying that so I'll be
even more surprised when we get there.' I paused. 'Well done.
Good surprise.' I giggled. Wow, this was going to be such a great
start to our brand new, exciting life together.

'It's not,' he hissed at me.

My jaw dropped open. 'What do you mean, it's not? What is it
then?' A sudden blanket of fear swept over me.

Kalem was saved from answering as we reached a door marked Customs
– Private.

Officer Head punched in a security code on the keypad lock and led us
into a massive rectangular interrogation room with a desk at the far
end, separated by two chairs on one side and two on the other. The
desk seemed miles away from the entrance, like I'd suddenly been
transported into a freaky Alice in Wonderland world, where everything
was out of proportion. I felt like Kalem and I had turned into tiny
little munchkin-type people, but everyone and everything else was
ginormous.

'Sit,' Officer Head barked so loud that my ear almost imploded.

We dropped down onto the hard plastic chairs. This was not good. Not
good at all.

'Another officer will be joining us shortly,' Officer Head began,
'but until then, I'm going to ask you some questions.' He
opened Kalem's passport again. 'Right. Let's start with you.'
He looked at Kalem. 'What is your name?'

I gazed at Officer Head, who actually looked like Mr. Potato Head –
only his nose was a little less red – and panicked. My brain
flickered away like a dodgy light bulb. There had to be some
completely rational and normal explanation for this mix-up. I mean,
yes, normal and rational weren't words that I could usually
associate with my life. I would probably describe myself more as
accidentally challenged. But still, this was just a simple mix-up,
surely.

'Kalem Mustafa,' Kalem replied.

'Ha-ha.' I let out a nervous laugh.

Officer Head gave me a narrow-eyed stare, then turned back to Kalem.
'Is that your real name?'

'Er…excuse me. Is that a trick question? It's obvious what his
name is. It's in his passport,' I said, not wanting to state the
obvious, but someone had to do it.

Oh, I get it now. It must be a dream. Yes, that was it.
Recently, I'd been having a few of those pre-wedding jittery dreams –
well, more like nightmares, actually – where I turned up at the
venue in front of all our guests, and my wedding dress had suddenly
turned see-through. And, even worse, I'd somehow decided to have my
bikini area waxed into the shape of a dartboard, complete with
bullseye. This was just one of those nightmares, that was all.

I leaped off the chair. 'Come on Kalem, let's go.'

'You can't go until I say you can go,' Officer Head insisted.

'I can do whatever I want. It's my dream,' I said to him
with a haughty gleam in my eye.

'SIT DOWN,' he shouted back at me.

I heard a loud ringing in my ear. Surely you didn't hear
ear-ringing in a dream? I pinched myself. Ow! Shit. I was
still awake. I slumped back in the chair. Uh-oh. This was for real.

The door swung open and another customs official with a toilet brush
crew cut walked in.

'Richard,' the second officer acknowledged his colleague with a
tilt of his head and then turned to us. 'I'm officer Goodbody.'
He sat down, and I heard a noise like a whoopee cushion exploding. I
couldn't tell if it was him or the chair, though.

'Let's start again, shall we?' Officer Head leaned forward. 'Is
that your real name?'

Kalem swallowed. 'Of course it's my real name.'

I looked between the customs men with suspicion. Richard Head? Was
this for real? The light bulb was back on full power now. 'Ha! I
know what's going on.'

They both raised an intrigued eyebrow and waited for me to enlighten
them.

'No one could be called Dick Head and Officer Goodbody. It sounds
like something out of a bad Seventies porn movie. This is one of
those TV shows, isn't it?' My eyes darted around the room like a
maniac, looking for any signs of hidden cameras and cabling. 'It's
like Candid Camera, or You've Been Punk'd, or something. Or…I
know.' I squinted at them. 'Are you Ant and Dec in disguise? Are
we going to be on their Saturday Night Takeaway show where they're
always playing practical jokes on people?' I leaped up and leaned
over the desk, so I was inches away from their faces, examining them
for signs of false noses and excessive, disguising make-up.

Kalem shot me a horrified look.

'Give me your passport.' Goodbody ignored my outburst and held
his hand out to me.

OK then, maybe not.

I reached into my bag and handed it to him.

'Now, where were we?' Dick Head shuffled in his chair. 'Ah,
yes. Kalem Mustafa. I will ask you again. Is that your real name?'
He glowered at Kalem.

'Yes.' Kalem shot me a silencing side glance.

'And what's your name, hmm?' Goodbody asked me.

'You know what my name is; it's on my p–'

Kalem stared at me, jerking his head towards Dick Head and Goodbody,
silently willing me to just answer their questions.

I sighed. 'Helen Mustafa.'

'Ah ha!' Goodbody waved my passport around. 'It says Helen Grey
here. Is this a fake passport?'

'No! Sorry, I meant to say that my name's going to be
Helen Mustafa in six days time. We're getting married. At the
moment, I'm Helen Grey. You know how it is when a girl's getting
married: she gets a bit over-excited and starts signing her new
married name for months in advance and repeating "Mrs. Mustafa"
over and over again.' I could tell by the look on his face that he
didn't have a clue what I was on about. 'In fact…' I glanced
at my watch. 'We're supposed to be catching our plane in
about forty-five minutes. We're supposed to be having a few
days of relaxing pre-wedding sand, sea and s… '

'Sharap,' Kalem interjected.

'Did you just tell me to shut up?' Dick Head frowned at Kalem.

'No, he said sharap. It's Turkish for wine,' I informed
him. Since I'd found out that Kalem and I were going to be moving
to North Cyprus, I'd desperately been trying to learn some Turkish
words. So far, I'd mastered the important things like: "More wine
please" and "Where are the toilets?" I could also say: "cat",
"thanks", "very much", "I'm full", "cucumber",
"large", and "melon". It wasn't a lot, I know, but it could
make for an interesting sentence.

'Why have you got a single plane ticket? Why aren't you returning
to the UK?' Dick Head peered at us as if this were highly
suspicious.

'We're moving abroad. We're going to live the dream.' I gave
him a wistful smile as I thought about how perfect our new life was
going to be.

'What dream?' Goodybody said.

'You know, we're escaping the dreary British weather and the rat
race to experience life in the sunny and relaxing Mediterranean.'
Daydreams rapidly filled my head: walking hand in hand with Kalem on
a sandy beach after a leisurely swim in the warm sea; sitting on our
orange blossom scented, sun-baked villa terrace with a chilled glass
of rosé as we watched the blazing sun set over the sea; sipping tiny
cups of strong coffee in a chic waterfront café; eating succulent,
freshly caught sea bass or juicy king prawns, cooked to perfection on
a barbeque.

'Your name sounds like a Muslim name. Are you a Muslim?' Officer
Head's voice broke into my daydreams, sending me spiraling back to
the reality of being stuck in a tiny, lifeless room with overpowering
lights and a sweaty, stale smell. 'Well?' He peered at Kalem,
waiting for his answer.

Kalem folded his arms casually across his chest. 'Not really.'

'Hmm. Not really. That's a strange answer. What does "not
really" mean?'

'Well, my parents are Turkish Cypriot. The religion of Turkish
Cypriots is Muslim, but we don't exactly practice it or anything.
Most Turkish Cypriots are relaxed in their religious practices and
very tolerant of other people's religions.' Kalem shrugged.

I jigged my leg up and down. We were going to miss our flight. My
wonderful pre-honeymoon would be ruined.

'Is that what they told you to say?' Goodbody leaned in
closer, resting his elbows on the desk.

'Who?' Kalem asked.

'Are you a member of Al-Qaeda?' Officer Head looked deadly
serious. 'We have to be extremely vigilant these days, you know.'

'What?' Kalem blustered. 'Of course not!'

'Where are you traveling to?' Goodbody wanted to know.

'North Cyprus,' I said, jigging harder. 'We'll miss our
flight if you keep us here any longer. What's going on?' I
whined, feeling my heart bouncing around in my chest. I was going to
have a panic attack in a minute. Maybe if I fainted, they would let
us go. I slouched down further in my chair, so I wouldn't have as
far to fall if I hit the ground.

'Are you a suicide bomber?' Dick Head growled at Kalem.

'He's a teacher!' I cried.

'And who do you teach? Terrorist cells?' Dick Head beamed with
excitement at Officer Goodbody. 'I think we've got one of the
Al-Qaeda's main men here.'

Kalem shook his head in amazement. 'I teach woodcarving and
sculpture!'

'Is that a code name of some sort?' Goodbody asked Dick Head. 'I
seem to recall one of the Bin Laden breakaway groups had a code name
like that. What was it now?' He scratched his toilet brush head,
deep in concentration. 'Ah yes! The Splinter Group.'

'I haven't heard of that one before.' Dick Head frowned. 'But
it's possible. Woodcarving… splinter…yes, it sounds possible to
me.'

'Why are we here?' I furrowed my brow and gazed at both of them,
interrupting what seemed like the most surreal conversation I'd
ever heard in my life.

Dick Head ignored my question and stood up. 'Hand over your bags,
please. I want to take a look inside.'

I gave him mine. Kalem lifted his rucksack and put it on the table in
front of us.

Goodbody rummaged around in my bag with interest and then pulled out
my camera. 'Why do you need such a big camera? Are you going to be
taking surveillance photos?'

'I'm a photographer,' I said.

'Hmm. A likely story.' Goodbody's eyebrow shot up.

Dick Head started on Kalem's rucksack, pulling out a book, a couple
of apples, and a tub of edible chocolate body paint. He held up the
body paint to Kalem. 'What's this?' He unscrewed the lid and
glared at it as if it were packed full of Semtex.

Kalem shrugged. 'Well, it is going to be our pre-honeymoon.'

I felt my insides turn to goo. He still had that effect on me. Oh,
yes, bring on the chocolate body paint!

'Was that the surprise you were talking about?' I said to
Kalem, turning my head away from the customs men who were busy
scouring our bags for hidden compartments.

Satisfied there was no Semtex, suspicious looking shoes, or packets
of nails in our hand luggage, they returned their attention to us.

'We're going to miss our flight.' I looked at my watch again,
desperately hoping they'd hurry up.

'Why has your passport been tampered with?' Dick Head asked Kalem
again.

'It hasn't,' Kalem insisted.

'Well what do you call that then?' Dick Head turned the
passport around to face Kalem.

I gulped and my brain did a silent mental shriek. 'Oops,' I
squeaked, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Kalem stared at the photo section on his passport. The picture of a
footballer-permed Kalem had been replaced with a picture of an old,
fat, bald man with huge black square glasses.

'I think I'm going to pass out,' I muttered. If I caused a
distraction, maybe we could just make a run for it.

'What's that?' Kalem gasped, turning his head slowly to
me with dread.

Dick Head and Goodbody gave me an icy glare.

'Ah,' I croaked. It was all my fault. How was I going to explain
this one?

'Well?' they said in unison.

'Erm…well…what happened was…Kalem is always playing practical
jokes on me,' I paused, thinking how this was going to sound.
'Anyway, about four months ago I bought this hair dye…'

Goodbody snorted.

'What does hair dye have to do with this?' Dick Head growled.

'It's very relevant, actually,' I started again, running a
shaky hand through my hair. 'So, I bought this hair dye, and when I
got it home, I realized I didn't like the colour.' My eyes darted
to Kalem, who gawped at me. 'A few days later, I took it back to
the shop and asked the woman at the counter if I could return it. But
when she took the box back off me, she stared at it for a while with
a puzzled look and then turned it around to show me.'

Dick Head and Goodbody had deadly straight faces.

'Do go on. This is thoroughly enlightening,' Goodbody said in a
voice that clearly meant it wasn't at all.

'Well, that was when I noticed that someone had drawn a mustache
and beard on the picture of the woman on the front of the box.' I
narrowed my eyes at Kalem, who chuckled under his breath,
remembering.

'Anyway, I was really embarrassed and had to pretend that it must
have been like that in the shop when I'd bought it.'

'Is there a point to this?' Goodbody asked, glancing at his
watch.

'I wanted to get Kalem back, and I knew he was going to the
building society a few days later to get some money out, and he
needed to take some ID. He can never find his driving licence, so he
always takes his passport,' I paused. 'Because I'm a
photographer, obviously I've got loads of old photos lying around,
so I thought it would be really funny to pay him back for all the
practical jokes he plays on me. I found this photo, cut it out, then
stuck it over his passport photo with removable adhesive and put it
back in the drawer. Then, of course, I forgot all about it.' I
tried to swallow, but my throat felt like I'd swallowed a Brillo
Pad. 'Until now.' I tucked my hair behind my ears with shaky
hands.

Kalem coughed. 'Actually, I managed to find my driving license and
took that to the building society instead.'

I cast him a sheepish look. 'Yes, I realize that now.'

'You see! This is all perfectly innocent,' Kalem said to Dick
Head and Goodbody. 'Can we go now?'

'Not yet. Are you a Muslim too?' Goodbody asked me.

'No, I'm not a Muslim,' I said.

A confused glance passed between Dick Head and Goodbody. 'Well you
certainly look like one. Can you please explain why you're wearing
a burka if you're not Muslim,' Goodbody asked me.

I glanced down at the floor length, head-to-toe black burka that I'd
almost forgotten I was wearing. Even if the rest of the stuff sounded
slightly odd, there was at least a perfectly reasonable explanation
for this.

'Well, there's an ancient tradition with Turkish Cypriot
families. When a new bride-to-be arrives in North Cyprus to get
married, it's good luck for her to be wearing a burka, isn't it?'
I glanced at Kalem, willing him to explain this peculiar custom
further. Instead, he kind of gave me a small shake of his head, and
his jaw dropped.

Oh, God. I recognized that look. There was no such custom. This was
another one of his wind-Helen-up practical jokes. If they could've
seen my face, which of course they couldn't because I only had a
two inch rectangular slit for my eyes, they would've seen it
completely drain of colour. Luckily, they accepted this explanation,
and neither of the customs officers seemed to notice that my eyelids
had just pinged open in surprise or that Kalem's face had turned a
scorching-hot shade of pink.

Dick Head picked at the adhesive on Kalem's passport photo and
pulled it off, examining the official picture of Kalem underneath.
'What do you think?' He handed the passport to Goodbody.

'Mmm.' Goodbody scrutinized it. 'It looks legitimate.' He
sounded disappointed.

'That's a shame,' Dick Head huffed and turned to Officer
Goodbody, frowning. 'Seems like we'll miss out on our CAT bonus.'

'What's that?' Kalem asked.

'Catch-a-terrorist bonus,' Dick Head grumbled at us. It was clear
from the look on his face that he'd already worked out what he was
going to spend it on.

'Can we go now?' I pleaded.

'OK,' Goodbody said with much reluctance. 'But don't let this
happen again.'

'Thanks, Dick.' I yanked Kalem's arm and hurried him away to
catch our plane before they changed their minds.

We arrived at the gate with minutes to spare, just as a rather
harassed looking baggage handler was about to search for our luggage
to offload.

OK, maybe this wasn't exactly the kind of start to our perfect life
together that I had in mind, and one day I was actually going to
laugh about this, but I couldn't allow myself to relax until we
were sitting in our allocated seats and the plane was taxiing down
the runway. We were on our way to an exciting destination, full of
possibilities. Living a life abroad that most people just dreamed
about but never got to experience. An amazing adventure that nothing
was going to spoil.

Nothing will spoil my wedding. Nothing will spoil my wedding.
Nothing will spoil my wedding.

Or so I thought.

Available at:  Amazon US  | Amazon UK | Smashwords




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Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 57

This serial novel is posted in draft form every Tuesday and Friday.




Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54| Ch. 55|Ch. 56




The Biker's Wench










Chapter 57

Monica avoided Burns's eyes as he walked in. Clasping her hands in front of her, she willed them to stop shaking. Harley didn't so much as glance her way, but reached out to shake Burns's hand. Burns ignored it, brushing past Harley to take the baby out of the carrier and hold her up at arms length.

"You said there was a bruise on her arm?" He frowned, turning the now-fidgeting child this way and that. "Show me."

Monica stepped up and pointed, her eyes meeting Harley's over Burns's arms. He'd thought she made it up, judging from the look on his face.

"Mmm-hmm." Burns turned and handed the child back to the nanny. "It's a pretty small thing - and kids do get bruised occasionally, but you wouldn't know that, of course." His patronizing tone grated on Monica's nerves, but she managed to remain silent as he continued. "How about we knock off three percent of the price for damaged goods. This will be my last deal for awhile, and I'm feeling generous."

Harley stroked his chin, appearing to consider it. "I was thinking more like five percent," he said. "Don't want the neighbors thinking we beat up on our kid."   

"Four percent."

Harley smiled as if that was what he wanted all along. "Done." He handed a credit card to the man behind him, then rubbed his hands together. "So are you taking a vacation or retiring?"

The baby started crying, and the nanny handed her off to Monica. "You may as well start now," she said, taking the bag off her shoulder and setting it on the couch. That's the diaper bag, and there are some diapers in the side pocket."

"Thank you," Monica said, pitching her voice lower than normal. "I'll just take her too her room..."

Burns held a hand up. "Did that payment go through yet?" The bodyguard nodded once, and Burns dropped his arm. "That's fine then. Enjoy your new baby, ma'am."

She nodded and put the diaper bag over her shoulder, keeping her eyes downcast as she carried the baby down the hall. Leaving the door open she changed the child as quickly as she could, thankful for the few babysitting jobs she'd had as a teen. Putting the baby in the crib, she went back to the door and tried to hear the conversation from the living room, but the voices were too soft.

Noting the child was sleeping again, she decided to leave the girl there, where she'd be safe if anything happened. Closing the door behind her, she walked back down the hall, unsure whether she should join the others, or wait until Burns and his people were gone. It was odd they hadn't left yet. They had the money. Maybe something was wrong.  

She stepped into the living room just as the front door burst open. A man came through the doorway, his face tight with anger as he surveyed the scene.

"What the hell is going on? Who are you people, and what are you doing in our house?"
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Sex on the Page: Foreplay

Have you read Carol's post on foreplay yet? Go read, I'll wait...



Back? Great. What I found interesting about Carol's take on things is the context of foreplay in her stories. Just as in all stories, it's a subtle form of characterization and tension, but for her in particular, it has a historical context as well, in that she's writing in a different era, where things just weren't nearly so bold and in the open as they are now. I'm reading God's Thunderbolt (her first novel) now, and I can tell you that while the interactions are very subtle, they also serve the purpose nicely and fit well within the time period.



As a side note, If you've never read a western, I really do encourage you to try them. It's a genre like no other, and very romantic even when it doesn't intend to be, simply due to the codes and moralities of the day.  Carol is an amazing writer that I'd highly recommend, and my favorite western writer back when I was binging in the genre as a teen was the absolutely wonderful Zane Grey (Twin Sombreros is my favorite).



So, coming back to my contemporary world and using a broad definition, foreplay is the main "glue" that holds and builds the conflict between characters in a romance novel. It's not just a plot device, but I'd argue the main device for carrying the relationship between two characters forward. Everything is foreplay in a romance novel, from the time the heroine meets her would-be hero to the time they finally get together (they have to, after all - in a romance, there's no chance the relationship won't work in the end). Without some sort of emotional reaction to the other character, there simply is no spark, no chemistry...and no romance. While sex itself isn't required for a romance novel, I'd argue that there can be no romance in fiction without foreplay.



I think foreplay *can* be graphic, but hardly ever is. More often it's subtle, and doesn't need to involve touching at all. A look, a smell, a few words - anything that gets the blood pumping and that chemistry going can be considered foreplay in my world. It's the slow build that keeps the tension tight between characters and pulls them toward their inevitable joining (be that closed door sex, marriage implying sex later or full on graphic sex). It's the *hope* of sex that creates that oh-so-addictive tension.



I do think foreplay is different for men and women, because of how differently the genders are wired to prepare for sex. Women are mental (ha!) - so foreplay is more of an emotional experience. Men are more visual creatures, and for them, foreplay is more of a physical thing - a look, a touch (though most men aren't all that picky, as we well know, right?). A woman is still going to get turned on by a man's brawn while he's opening a jar, but it's the emotional impact of him doing something to help her that has more instinctive meaning as foreplay. For a guy, a touch on the arm or direct eye contact is probably going to have more impact than the thank you for opening the jar (though not by much). I'd say overall, men are far more easily affected than women in this regard, because for them, anything that gets them closer to a physical joining is more than welcome (it's instinctual, not a bad thing).



I don't always remember to pay attention to the gender differences in my writing, though I do try. But I think a lot of the secret to keeping the tension tight between characters is to use foreplay as much as possible. Even if the characters aren't touching (or speaking), there has to be that hope that eventually they will throughout the story. Otherwise, there's just no point, and the relationship between the characters will be flat and unsatisfying.



How big a part does foreplay take in your writing, or in your genre? Do you use it only in certain scenes, or try to run it through the entire book? Do you pay attention to the different ways men and women react to foreplay? **Please note - comments take a few moments to appear. Refresh the page to view new comments.

Introduction to Fantasy Ranch

I had no idea when the details for The Biker's Wench started coming into focus that the setting for the story would develop into a character in and of itself. Fantasy Ranch was born from laziness, in that I don't like to do a lot of research for my writing (I know some writers live for that – not me), so I decided to make up a location. Somewhere out in the "wild" where there wasn't anything in real life, where I could just make up the details as I wrote. Little did I know that the path I chose would be just as much, if not more work than researching an existing location, but I still prefer it because I have complete control over my little fictional "world". In short, it's fun.

Up to this point in my writing, I really gave very little thought to the settings in my books, and went out of my way to be vague. But Fantasy Ranch is a real place in my head, and I hope readers will be just as intrigued by it as I am. I've really learned a lot about setting and world development even though I've only begun to scratch the surface. I'll tell you what though – once you get a taste of this world creation stuff, it's very addictive, or it has been for me. I have a major city under development in my head where the next two (at least) stand alone novels will be set, but I'll share more about that later.

Today, I want to show you around the ranch a bit. Keep in mind that I'm still fleshing out much of this in my head, and everything here is subject to change.

Owners: Harlen "Harley" & Betsy Majors, brother and sister. Harley's story is the first in the series, and Betsy's is the second.

Location: Approximately 6 miles northwest of Reno, Nevada. Why Nevada? Because Nevada's the only state where I could reasonably site a ranch that caters to adult fantasies without suspending my own belief too much. Why Reno? Because I needed a big city close by to make it easy to get supplies and a steady stream of tourist clientele without all guests staying at the ranch. Vegas seemed too cliché to my mind. And I didn't want anyone to think I was basing my ranch off the very well known brothel close to Vegas. It turns out there is a gentleman's ranch southwest of Reno, but my fictional business runs on an entirely different principle & philosophy.

Services: Fantasy Ranch is a fantasy fulfillment adult playground. Staff members are not to engage in sex with clients while on the clock, and it's a fire-able offense to do so. Doesn't mean it doesn't happen, but prostitution is not the purpose of the ranch.

Fantasy fulfillment is achieved through themed areas/buildings where adults can live another life for a few hours. There's a biker bar, an old west tavern, a sultan's palace complete with a harem, a mansion, a race car track, a clinic (with a real doctor & nurses on staff), a church, a full-service salon, and more. All of these areas have normal business hours, and maintain a strict theme adherence policy. Staff must be in costume and character at all times, and guests must rent proper attire from the main office or bring their own. Each themed area is available to reserve for parties as well, and companies occasionally hold conferences at the ranch. A dormitory houses the staff, and another offers guest rooms, though generally guests do not stay overnight. A shuttle service is available, as well as onsite parking.

Special quirk: Before Harley bought the ranch, it was owned by a cult group who dug a warren of tunnels underneath, running between many of the buildings. A few of the tunnels lead off in other directions as well – and you'll find out more about those in the books. There are many rooms along the tunnels, and Harley's renovating some for special rentals, and others for his own use.

Layout: Fantasy Ranch is arranged in a large square area, like a little town with two gravel roads running parallel to each other. At the front is the parking lot and the main office building where visitors check in and pay for access. The theme buildings are located on two sides of the square, with a double row running down the middle. The race track is just past the north side of the town, and the stables/barn are to the south. Along the end of the square is where the chapel, graveyard and a park are located. I'll try to get some rudimentary sketches done for the web site this summer.

So that's a general look at the ranch and what goes on there. Next month I'll be building a web site for the Fantasy Ranch novels at FantasyRanchNovels.com that will include more detail, character sketches and a list of upcoming books. In the meantime, I'll post snippets here when there's an opening in the post schedule. Naturally if you want a taste of the ranch, you can read all or a portion of The Biker's Wench in draft form right here on the blog, which is set to be released in ebook and print on July 31, 2011.

What do you think? Are you intrigued by the ranch? Questions & comments welcome, of course…**Please note - comments take a few moments to appear. Refresh the page to view new comments.

Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 56

This serial novel is posted in draft form every Tuesday and Friday.




Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54| Ch. 55




The Biker's Wench










Chapter 56

Harley glanced back at Monica and nodded. He straightened his suit jacket and opened the door, standing back to let the woman from Room 312 back at the ranch in, followed by her bodyguard. The woman carried a car seat covered with a fleece blanket. The man carried a silver briefcase.

Monica stepped forward, and Harley was impressed with the expression of longing she managed as she looked at the bundle hanging from the woman's arm.

"Is that my baby?" she asked, moving closer, a hopeful smile playing at her lips. Damn, Harley thought. She's good.

The woman swung the carrier neatly out of reach. "Payment first," she said firmly, nodding toward the man who had opened his case on the entry table. 

"I think we should see what we're getting first," Harley said, noting that the bodyguard seemed almost bored with the situation. That was good. The more normal things appeared, the less skittish they'd be.

"You wanted a girl baby, you get a girl baby. Payment first. Those are the terms. Or we can leave."

Harley stroked his chin, looking over her head and out the window. A black sedan was parked outside and he could just make out a person sitting in the passenger seat. Burns had come along after all then, overseeing this drop personally. That would make things a lot easier.

 "I think if that baby was healthy, you'd have no problem showing me the merchandise, so to speak," Harley said, looking down at the woman. "I think there must be something wrong that you don't want us to know about." 

"Nothing's wrong with the kid." The gruff tone from the bodyguard told Harley he was pressing the right buttons. Just a few more, and hopefully they'd call Burns in.

He turned to face the bodyguard. "Why should I trust you? You just want money. I want to be sure I have a healthy child." He looked over his shoulder at Monica. "I don't think this is a good idea, honey. I don't trust them."

"Just give them a quick look," the bodyguard said, frustration in his voice. "Let's get this done already."

"But we're not supp--"

"Just do it."

The woman reluctantly set the carrier on the couch and removed the blanket. Nestled in another blanket lay a small child with a shock of dark hair already on her head. She was sleeping, and Monica leaned in for a closer look while Harley stood back and watched. Would she do that with their child someday?

Monica straightened, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "There's a bruise on her arm," she said, wringing her hands in front of her. "It's fading, but--"

High-pitched beeps drew their attention to the bodyguard, punching numbers on his phone. He held the device to his ear. "We might have a problem. There's a bruise on the kid's arm." He hesitated, then nodded.
"Okay." Disconnecting the call he pushed the phone back into his pocket and went to the door. "The boss wants to verify for himself."

Harley suppressed a grin as the man opened the door, and Stephen Burns walked into the trap.Enjoying the story? Try Desert Heat, available now at:

 

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Weekly News & Goals – 3/21/11

Happy Spring! I hope your Monday's off to a great start, or as great as a Monday can get, anyways.

This weekend was fabulously productive for me, resulting in goals met, extra writing done, and a lot of sleep enjoyed. Some of that productivity resulted in updated web sites, and a new domain set up for the Fantasy Ranch series at FantasyRanchNovels.com. Watch that site in April for information on The Biker's Wench, background on the Fantasy Ranch, character profiles and more...

Next Sunday Katie Salidas is interviewing me on her blog – stop in and say hi if you get a chance.

And don't forget to stop by Carol's blog on Tuesday for her post on Foreplay, part of our "Sex on the Page" series.

I don't have an author interview for you this week, so I'll be posting some background on the Fantasy Ranch series/world on Wednesday.

This week at The Variety Pages:

Monday: News & Goals

Tuesday: Chapter 56 of The Biker's Wench

Wednesday: Welcome to the Fantasy Ranch

Thursday: Sex on the Page – Foreplay

Friday: Chapter 57 of The Biker's Wench

Saturday: Excerpt – My Perfect Wedding by Sibel Hodge

Goal Reports

Last week I wrote not 6, but 7 scenes, so blew right past that goal. It doesn't happen often, but I love it when it does! Unfortunately, the extra work wasn't on TBW, but it's all good. I'll have extra time this week for writing (I could probably double it...my husband will be out of town Monday afternoon through Thursday late night), so I'm not too worried. I didn't get the crit done either, which really just needs to be higher priority this week.

I finally got my business cards reordered (whew!), and updated the web sites as mentioned earlier. I didn't get the package re-sent, but that's high on my priority list for this week as well.

As for personal stuff, I'm two for two there. I did post on my nail blog, and I took the stairs at work for part of the week. I didn't get much more cleaning done though, and didn't get around to calling the donation spots either. Gotta set a reminder on my PDA for that. As far as workouts go, I'm about to seriously kick it up a notch in that area. I got a Total Gym last week, and so far, I love it. Resistance training has always been my favorite, and now I finally have the means to do that at home and get a great workout (I've been sore all weekend from just two workouts last week – the good kind of sore). This writer is going to get in shape, finally – and predictably, I've set up a new blog - Body in Motion - for keeping track of my progress, if you'd like to watch/cheer/join in.

Goals for the Week

Writing

6 serial scenes

Crit pages

Finish the TBW draft

Business

Look into some advertising opps/sales

Work on information for the Fantasy Ranch site

Re-send that prize package

Personal

Workout 6 days 

Clean bathroom/bedroom

Catch-up on laundry

Get to bed by 1am nightly (morningly?)

That's it for me this week...what's up with you? Reading any good books? How goes the writing? Feel free to post a link to your own news and/or goals in the comments, if you have a post at your blog for that...**Please note - comments take a few moments to appear. Refresh the page to view new comments.

On the Bookshelf: Legend of the Oceina Dragon by J.F. Jenkins

He wanted to be with her, to be one with her, and it was the only thing he'd been looking forward to for months since the day he decided she was it for him. But as much as he wanted to be with her, he couldn't help but be weary of the idea. He couldn't tell if she meant it, and he wanted this moment to mean something. This would be the first time for them both. It was supposed to be special. The atmosphere was perfect though, and they were married. What could make it more special than that?

"Of course I'm sure." she said. She stared up into his eyes and he was completely swept away in hers. They were filled with certainty, and when he looked into them he did not see a dreamy, dazed, or confused look. Her pupils appeared normal, even her smell suggested she was recovered from the spell well and returning to her right mind. Her smell told him she lusted for him. If anything, she looked determined. Love at first sight? He'd heard a lot of stories about it, and while he had been hoping for it, he was also a little skeptical about the idea. Love at first sight had worked for his brothers, but it seemed too good to be true. Now he realized how much he worried over nothing. His dreams from the past six years were now coming true. That reassured him, and so did her words.

"If you're my husband, that means I love you more than life. I need you to love me. I want you. I feel safe now. Love me and protect me from the dragons."

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Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 55

This serial novel is posted in draft form every Tuesday and Friday.




Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31 |Ch. 32 | Ch. 33| Ch. 34 | Ch. 35 | Ch. 36 | Ch. 37 | Ch. 38 | Ch. 39 | Ch. 40 |Ch. 41 |Ch. 42 |Ch. 43 |Ch. 44 |Ch. 45 |Ch. 46 |Ch. 47 |Ch. 48 |Ch. 49 |Ch. 50 |Ch. 51 |Ch. 52|
Ch. 53 |Ch. 54




The Biker's Wench










Chapter 55

Harley walked briskly down the block, his head up and shoulders back to portray a man who knew exactly where he was going and why. When he reached the gray house, he pulled the note he'd scrawled out of his pocket, and knocked on the door exactly three times. It opened almost immediately, a distinguished middle-aged man in a sharp gray jacket that matched his house peering out at him.

He held out the paper. "Message for Mr. Benoit."

The man took it from him, frowning as he scanned the contents. "Darcy!"

Heels clicked puposefully across the hardwood floor as a tall blond with impeccable makeup came into view. "What's wrong? Are they not coming? Did they change thier minds? Oh--" She stopped short when she saw Harley. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."

"He's not company." Nick tucked the note in his pocket, then took his wallet out. "Get your purse. The meeting place has changed and we need to leave now if we're going to make it." Darcy disappeared and Nick handed Harley a ten dollar bill. "Thanks," he said, turning away and closing the door.

Clearly dismissed, Harley walked down the street, past the car and around the corner, just in case Benoit was watching. He turned up the alley and went back to stand in the bushes adjacent to the Benoit house, watching and listening for any activity. He heard the garage door go up, and then a car started. From his vantage point he could just barely see the side of the Cadillac as it glided out into the street and pulled away.
He picked the back door lock and went inside, making sure there were no alarms or cameras already in place. Leaving the back door unlocked, he went back down the alley and around the corner to where Monica waited in the car.

"They're gone," he said, leaning in the open driver's side window. "Hand me that box, and we'll go in the back. The less people who see us at the front of the house, the better."

She handed the box through the window then rolled it up, locking the car as she got out. "How far did you send them?" They retraced Harley's path up the alley and through the Benoit's back yard.

"Next town over," he said, setting the box on the dining room table. "It's about a thirty minute drive, so by the time they get there and realize they've been scammed, it will take them awhile to get back. Hopefully long enough." He checked his watch. "We've got about fifteen minutes - help me get this camera set up in the living room."

They hid the camera at the base of a large potted tree, and Harley cut a hole in the back of a couch pillow and put a small recording device inside aimed at the room. Monica put the box under the kitchen counter, and they took a quick tour so they'd know where everything was. Back in the living room, Harley looked at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand count down to the hour.

At three-o-clock sharp, there was a knock at the door.
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