Riley Murphy's Blog, page 29

FIRST CHAPTER OF LOVE OF A LIFETIME

 

This is Jack Midland
and
This is Finley Cullen

This is Chapter One of their story


No.
Heart Thumping.
Ears ringing.
Stomach clenching while raw panic swelled to life inside her as Finley Cullen fought her way through the mind-numbing haze to focus.
They were leaving her.
Don’t go. Jesse!
Thud.
The van door slammed and the vehicle rolled forward as it made its way around the huge snow-covered fountain below.
No.
Unable to speak all she did was stare past the aged bronze beast. Through the Griffin’s wings that were currently frosted in a smooth wave of wintry ice where just beyond, a trail of exhaust smoke lingered in a wavering line, while her colleagues drove off.
Suddenly the wind picked up and the howl that ripped through the courtyard hit the manor’s weather-beaten bricks so ferociously it raised the hairs on the back of her neck. If she weren’t virtually paralyzed at the moment, that blood-chilling sound would have caused her to bolt.
Steady. Focus.
Clang!
The iron gates swung closed with a reverberating clatter of finality. As if they’d never have need to open again. She ignored that thought and kept her eyes on the distance. Peering through the rapid flurries that swirled in a series of mini-cyclone patterns, she blinked hard. A moment later the truck was gone, swallowed up by the distant squall that looked like a cumulous cloud hugging the horizon.
“Jesus.” In a whoosh she fell forward off her tippy-toes, barely catching herself before she connected with the wall and the octagon-shaped window she’d been straining to look through just a second before she was…what? Drugged? More likely enthralled. But being that she refused to believe in ghosts, the hereafter or aliens, she was getting the hell out of here.
There might be a story in it if you stayed.
Yeah, a nice big headline that read, “A young, up-and-coming reporter mysteriously dies while on her first big assignment.” Right. Given the choice, she’d rather create that one than star in it.
Mia shandor lei…
Immediately, she looked down when she heard the quiet whisper. Eerie though it was, she knew what to expect as this was the third time it had happened since arriving at Midland Manor. Although anticipating the oddity, it still freaked her out and made her gasp when her sweater tightened around her in spots as if some invisible person was giving her a hug. That much she could handle, because clearly no one was there, but when the intimate heat followed to steam her up in places—well, she needed to get her shit together and run.
She was halfway across the room before the slap of her bare feet against the hardwood registered. No boots? Skidding to a halt, she forgot about the creep show and fumed. Her beautiful Wooly’s had cost her a good buck. She wasn’t leaving without them. So even if there was something supernatural happening here, the perverted poltergeist could go fuck himself. She wanted her mukluks. Right now.
Scanning the floor she came up empty and one quick check under the bed only left her even more disappointed. Maybe in the closet? Nothing.
“Dammit.”
Teida rula
That masculine whisper, followed by a husky chuckle was enough of an incentive for her to cut her losses. It was beginning to look like she’d be chasing down the passenger van without the comfort of her fuzzy loved ones.
Rushing out the door, she made a right and then her next left, barely pausing as she shot down the double-wide staircase. Thankfully a carpet runner waterfalled over the treads, because at her current clip she was sure she would have slipped on the smoothly polished wood beneath. Out of breath and in meltdown mode when she reached the bottom, she grasped the big cannonball that topped the newel post, squeezed her eyes shut and said a silent prayer.
Dear God, let this be a dream. If it isn’t I’ll do my best, but I may need some help…
Gulping in air, she tried to gain control over her breathing as she waited. Tilting her head higher in order to catch the ethereal reply when it came, but…? No answer. Perfect. Admittedly, she’d been a little thin in the “dialogue to God department” over the last decade, but she was a good person. She volunteered at the SPCA two Saturdays a month and recycled about ninety eight—fifty-seven percent of the time. Hm, she’d have to work on that.
“Well, Fin, once again you ignored the dreams and now that the scary shit is happening, it’s just you,” she whispered and then let go of the bannister. She was fully prepared to do what no movie heroine confronted by a living nightmare had ever done before. She wasn’t going to stop to explore, ask questions or hang around until it was too late. Nope. She was simply going to walk out the front door as if she had on her two hundred and seventy-five dollar pair of boots and the warmth of her brand new ski-jacket that she’d bought specifically for the trip. The thought that maybe one or more of her colleagues had stolen the items, just so she’d be stuck here, wasn’t far out of the realm of possibilities she was currently conjuring to distract herself until the high double doors loomed in front of her and she looked up. The sight was exactly how it had appeared in her premonition. “Now that’s a fire hazard.”
The entrance was locked with twin—she gauged eight inch maybe?— slide bolts and as they were right at the top, and the top in this case was nine feet high or more, she definitely wasn’t leaving through that exit.
Mia shandor lei…
“Oh, no you don’t.” She pushed aside her knitted scarf, ironically the only outer-wear not stolen from her, and grabbed the front of her sweater in a tug. Holding it out so it wouldn’t be squashed against her, and spun around to search the darkened entryway. “Who’s there?” She was just about to repeat her question, but then a blast of heat stole through her, stroking her in places so intimately she had to pay attention. The thrilling sensual force made her fall back against the door and left her gasping for breath.
“D-dammit.”
But she didn’t have time to fully recover as her gaze locked on the bar of light that fell out of the only opened door down the hall. From this distance the distorted rectangle looked like a glowing rug floating over the cherry-wood floors. “Hello?”
Someone had spoken, she was sure of it. The strange words were soft, no more than the barest whisper, but she’d heard them just the same.
Taking a fortifying breath, she pushed off the door with her bottom and took one step forward. The longer she stood there the more room her imagination had to grow. She couldn’t let that happen now, because she needed to find her things and get up that mountain before “the boys” got her share of the promised exclusive. And although her flight instinct was in overdrive, the reality was, surviving in that snow storm without proper attire was a pipedream.
She made it halfway down the hall when she caught sight of another one of those bolts. It was locked in place over the frame of the closed door to her right. She hesitated and then stopped to check the closed door on her left. Sure enough that had one too. With dawning horror, she realized all the doors that flanked the hall were bolted shut. Why?
To keep you out.
With great effort she ignored that little voice and headed straight for the light and the only opened door. She was nearly there. One toe lit within the shining rectangle when the little voice screamed. Stop! The bolts weren’t there to keep you out, but to pull you into this room. Turn around. Run away.
“No. I’m not going to run away,” she muttered under her breath, prepared to talk herself into the idea. So much for not behaving like a stupid horror movie heroine. Don’t be that girl. Look for a different way out. She would have too, if she hadn’t caught the distinct sound of a man’s husky chuckle.  A low and totally satisfied one, if you asked her. That got her suspicions fired. Was someone purposely trying to scare her? Frowning, she called, “Hello?”
Silence.
The idea that she was being punk’d or played gained momentum as she didn’t want to think about the alternative. Sure, it was probably some kind of “first timer’s” initiation. And with that being the case, she didn’t want to look like a coward.  Oh, hell yeah, she was definitely going in that room, there was no doubt about it, but it was one thing to be brave and another to be stupid. She needed something, just in case she was wrong about this. The hall table lamp? Too awkward. The crystal vase beside it? Too fragile. A—her eyes fell on the umbrella stand that had an old-school black one sticking out of it. Perfect. She hurried to get it, and when it wouldn’t budge, she checked inside to the bottom.
“A basketball?”
Yes indeed. One lone ball was jammed in the bottom of the container so tight it caused the umbrella to be stuck. Tightening her grip on the handle, she wiggled and jiggled until it finally gave.
“Gotcha.”
Tapping her index finger against the semi-sharp metal tip at the end, she smiled. This could do some serious damage if she needed it to. She was just about to turn away when she caught sight of the ball again, and for some reason it gave her a measure of comfort. Why? Because it’s real and absolutely normal. As in ordinary. She eyed the bolt on the front door and spun around to examine all the others down the austere hall while she turned her latest premonition over in her mind. Right. Ghosts and demons probably didn’t make a habit of shooting hoops in their off haunting times.
Axe murders might.
True. She held the umbrella tighter and headed down the corridor. Stubbornly ignoring her instincts while visualizing the midget chick in Poltergeist chanting, “Stay away from the light” and instead went directly for it.
“Who’s there?”
More silence.
“I know someone’s there. Hello?”
 A shadow passed over the rectangle making it strobe quickly in and then out of darkness. The proof irrefutable. There was a person in that room. Her heart hammered and the blood pounded in her ears like an African drumbeat.
“H-hello?” she called again. Squeezing the umbrella so tightly the vinyl fabric twisted until all the tines were bunched together to one side in her rapidly sweating fist.
She was careful to position her makeshift weapon like it was Luke Skywalker’s light-saber. Then she sucked in a steady breath and, before she chickened out, quickly stepped in.
“Hello.”
She gasped and jerked to attention. The deep masculine voice cutting through the silence was so calm, she stood rooted to the spot and squinted in the direction it came from. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she spotted him resting casually on his haunches in front of a blazing hearth. Yeah, hearth. There was no other word to describe it except maybe to say a walk-in fireplace. It was huge and he was a solid black shadow as he worked to feed more wood into the flames.
“Wh–where is everyone?” She edged into the room and looked around while she waited for his answer. Until she heard it, she refused to put down the umbrella.
“Everyone? You mean those reporters?”
The stranger unfolded to stand. He had to be about six-foot-six, give or take an inch. Not that exact measurements mattered when such a mammoth confronted a gal of five-foot-four. An inch or two either way was immaterial until he turned in her direction and his heavily muscled frame blocked all the light from the roaring blaze behind. For some reason she had the urge to make the sign of the cross, which immediately put her on the defensive. “Yes, I mean the reporters. Where are they and who are you?” She rudely jabbed the tip of the umbrella his way for emphasis.
His grin flashed a second before she was treated to another one of his chuckles. It was a dirty one, too. Her eyes narrowed while she waited for him to step out of the shadows and once he did, she worked to hide her shock. Seeing him in the full light of the fire’s shine, she had to admit the guy was beyond gorgeous.
An abundance of coal-black hair fell in soft, wavy layers down to his shirt collar where the ends curled as if each strand wanted to kiss his neck. Broad shoulders. Bulging biceps. A chest that filled out a shirt better than any body builder she’d ever seen. Trim waist. Muscular thighs… And when her gaze traveled back up the length of him and she saw his face, she stepped back. His features were more perfect than the rest of him.
“Are you go-going t-to answer me?” she stammered. She couldn’t help it. His strong, chiseled features had her pulse dancing all over the place. Testosterone virtually emanated from his every pore and came at her in sensual ripples that nearly took her breath away. Even the shape of his mouth, which currently had one edge tipped up with a ghost of a smile hovering over it, had her heart beating against her rib cage triple time.
“I might be persuaded.”
That sentence skated over her like silk on glass. Causing her to shiver as his dark eyes drilled into her and pinned her with a molten look, so intense, so purely sexual in nature, that it took all of her will to maintain a coherent thought in her head. She couldn’t seem to get oxygen either, and just as she was scrambling to come up with some clever retort, and possibly gain some air back in her lungs, those gleaming eyes shifted from hers, and slid purposely down to the umbrella. He stared at it meaningfully before she took the hint. With heated embarrassment singeing her cheeks, she slowly lowered her weapon.
“My frie—um, colleagues aren’t here, are they?” Suspicion and panic choked her, but oddly, there was no fear of him. Why?
As if the stranger had guessed her thoughts, his winged brows rose in interest and he smiled. “No, they’re not. Does it matter?” He continued to stare so she answered him.
“N-no.” Was that her voice so soft, ineffective, and strangely accommodating? What was she saying? Of course it mattered.
“I didn’t think so.” He walked to the couch and sat down on the huge upholstered arm. Once he was settled, he whispered, “Come here.”
What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she put the umbrella down? In her mind, she thought this was the most ridiculous thing to do. Like she would obey him simply because he told her to, but then her feet moved, one step, then two, until finally she was standing right in front of him, unsure why she was there at all.
“Are you warm enough?” His soft and husky question made her shiver. An action that had nothing to do with the temperature as there was a hint of promise buried in those words that suggested he was prepared to do something about it if she weren’t.
“I better go.”
Lightning fast he stood. Almost menacing as he towered over her. “I prefer you stay.”
Finley didn’t look up. Instead she closed her eyes and experienced the scent of his released breath as it wrapped around her. Cinnamon. Like the Red Hots she loved. Delicious. Intoxicating as a thrill went through her.
“Are you sure you’re not cold?”
No, she wanted to scream. I’m hot. On fire…for you. Instead she shook her head and opened her eyes, looking up. Not all the way up because his rugged features, with those penetrating jade-colored eyes, had a power over her she couldn’t comprehend. It didn’t take her more than a second to realize the rest of him was equally as magnetic. The onyx curls that curved around his white, pristine collar begged to be touch, rubbed and combed, while the shadowy layer of stubble-roughened skin on his throat beckoned to be kissed and nuzzled. God, even the huge expanse of his chest made her tremble because all she saw was herself disappearing in the strength of his embrace.
“Let me take this off you then.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe even, as he slowly unwound her scarf and pulled it across her left shoulder. Her hair caught against it and shifted with the material as both slid down over her chest, the coarse wool doing a tantalizing drag over her breast where her hair stopped in a bounce to further tease.
“Beautiful.”
She watched the scarf fall from his hand. The action was unhurried and purposeful. As if this were only the first of many items he was going to take from her. “I-I better go.”
“I want you to stay.”
His arm lifted and he slowly turned his hand until his palm was facing up. Her eyes focused on the sterling ring he wore, but then she blinked and paid attention to the action.
The gesture was ordinary and yet so unexpected. If he thought she was going to put her hand in his, he had another thing coming. She stared at it even as she tentatively backed up. She would have gotten some respectable distance between them if she hadn’t tripped on the edge of the area rug.
“Careful.”
He grabbed hold of her and she wasn’t sure whether it was almost falling or being held in his grip that was warm, sure and wholly possessive, that caused her to gasp. All she knew was that she was in over her head. Drowning and she hadn’t even abandoned ship yet. But if there was ever a time…
“I really should leave.” She studied his buttons and waited for him to let her go. Hot cinnamon and heady spice surrounded her. The scrumptious combination made her lightheaded. Dizzy.
“You’re going to stay.”
The shock of that finite pronouncement pulled her out of the daze she was in as she finally shot a look up and demanded, “Who put you up to this? Please tell me it wasn’t Jesse Alt. I thought—I wanted him to be my—”
“Your what?”
He let go of her so fast, she teetered. Once her feet were firmly planted and she’d scooped both sides of her hair behind her ears, she answered him, “My friend.”
His dark scowl eased into a frown and when he softly whispered, “Why?” her heart skipped a beat. It was the oddest thing. How ferocious he was one moment, and then completely tender the next. This whole bizarre interaction reminded her of a scene between Beauty and her beast.
“Why?” he asked again.
There were several answers she could have given him, but only one that she should give him. In the end she chose neither, and said, “He was supposed to help me to get my first great interview. But now I think his being nice was all for show. I know those guys were mad when my name turned up on the list.” She’d been foolish to ignore her instincts. Interviewing the reclusive Jack Midland was tantamount to gaining an audience with the pope. And, being that the most popular guest she’d ever landed on her little lifestyle blog for her local paper so far was the host of a public television show about cats, she’d been right to be suspicious.
Yes, the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. “They probably slipped me a mickey or something. So what? Did they pay you to stay behind to babysit me?”
He sat back down on the couch arm and folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me, do I look like a babysitter?”
Good point. He looked more like the type of guy who could crush an unsuspecting sitter with his bare hands if he had a mind to. “Um, no.”
“Glad we established that, as I’m not one.” His look devoured her from head to toe. And when his eyes lingered on her bare feet she tried to hide them under her pant legs, but it was no use.
Slowly he tilted his head and stared right at her. “Are you sure you’re not cold? The wood can be—”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got bigger problems than potentially freezing to death. Are you going to give me a lift up to the main house, or am I going to have to walk the distance in bare feet?”
When he uncrossed his arms and slipped his palms down each of his thighs, stopping at the knee, her breath caught in her throat. Her heartbeat sped and that heat that had invaded her when she’d heard those whispered foreign words earlier was back with a vengeance. She opened her mouth to question him about this phenomenon, but before she could, he stood and went to the window. His departure took the heat and sizzle between them away.
 She didn’t move as he drew back the heavy brocade drapes and stepped aside. Although darker now, she could still make out the swirling snow falling heavily beyond the arched window.
“I don’t think it would be wise to go out in this, do you?”
“I have to.”
He let the drapes go and shook his head. “No, you don’t. Nothing is so important that you should risk your life and limb.”
“Oh yes. You don’t understand. I need to interview the guy.” She was prepared to lay it on thick in order to convince him. “Really, I’d…” She couldn’t get any more words out. His penetrating stare silenced her. His full attention, directed right at her, acted like an unspoken warning. And the way the jade-green of his eyes turned to a deep and dark emerald color made her breathless. Wary. Wanting something she couldn’t put a name to.
“You’d what?”
He pronounced the “t” in that last word so succinctly she flinched. Before she thought about what to answer him, the words just tumbled out. “I’d be forever grateful if you’d help me.”
The wood in the fire hissed and popped as he examined her. Was he trying to decide? If he was, he wasn’t happy about it because now he was back to scowling again.
“How grateful?”
Wow, there was no mistaking that innuendo. If she had to put a description to his tone, she’d have say, audible sex. She nearly melted, but once she mopped herself up and got it together, she scowled right back at him. Wet dream come to life, or not, the guy needed to know she had boundaries and he’d just trampled them. “I’ll mention you in the Pulitzer prize winning article I’m going to write on Midland.”
Holy hell, he smiled and her knees nearly gave out. No man had the right to look this gorgeous. It wasn’t fair.
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
“No.”
His smile eased to a grin as he walked toward her. The closer he came, the more the warmth inside her spread. Until heavy tingles invaded her breasts, making her already spiked nipples harden in anticipation of being touched. Just the thought had an acute ache sweeping through her to stall right between her legs, where it pulsed so hard that hot desire spilled to soak her panties and she nearly passed out. If he hadn’t taken hold of her arms she was sure she would have crumbled. It took every ounce of willpower she had to get her next words out. “P-please help me find Jack Midland.”
“I already have.”
“Y-you? You can’t be him.”
His scent, the heat and yes, lust that coursed through her shook her to the core. She tried to fight it off and when she couldn’t, she attempted to rationalize it. Maybe she was still feeling the effects of whatever her colleagues had given her. Why else would she be feeling as if she were stuck in an erotic dream?
She didn’t fight him when he pulled her in close. Now she was helpless. Fully caught in his shadow and when he curled down over her, she was lost.
He searched her face, her shoulders, pausing to examine her neck before he huskily promised, “I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”
His head descended and that sensual heat flared within her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her whole body trembled with need. She wanted to give into it. She wanted to let go but—“No.”
“Oh, yes.” He leaned down, and when his lips connected with her neck, her knees buckled well and good. Right out from underneath her. Thankfully, he hauled her in close and tight as he spoke softly against her throat, “Tu me manques.”
Odd was the only word that came to her as she processed that phrase. Finally a language she could understand. French. But what did he mean by, “You are missing from me”?

 

You can add it to goodreads here

You can watch the short book video by clicking on the picture below

Or you can watch a longer version of a book video here that covers the story concept in depth by clicking my heroine’s picture below.

PROLOGUE TO MY NEXT RELEASE: LOVE OF A LIFETIME

Prologue
 
He thought he had all the answers.
With trembling hands he reached for the urn. One touch and his heart nearly burst in his chest. The pain. God, the hollow ache of loneliness echoed through his veins. Scorching and blazing, a path of grief so profound his knees threatened to buckle.
“Mia shandor lei,” he rasped. Forcing the syllables out while he tried to dispel the recalled images of her smiling. Laughing. Crying. The last was the worst because he’d caused those tears.
“It’s enough. Let’s go home where the time will pass quickly. Please. I can’t bear to see you like this.”
Jo-Quinn knew his friend worried. He felt the squeeze of offered comfort on his shoulder, but he couldn’t move. He wasn’t ready to turn away from the last tangible piece he had that connected him to his woman. Ignoring the ice-cold porcelain beneath his fingers, he slammed his eyes shut.
“Leave us,” he whispered. This was all he would say. It was all that was needed, when a moment later he found himself alone in the chill-misted crypt. Opening his eyes, he stared at the familiar design of sky-blue forget-me-nots for a suspended moment in time. When his vision began to blur he reached out and absently traced the floral pattern that spilled wildly over the glossy ivory backdrop of the vase.
His eyes stung as it occurred to him how alike his mate was to those blooms. Vibrant in life and spilling over him as beautifully as—he drew in an unsteady breath. She was gone and now he’d have to walk through day and night alone.
Again.
“Mia lei.” He curled down and embraced the cold pot. Pressing he jaw hard against the surface. Silently willing the clay to break, until the jagged shards cut through his flesh and scattered her ashes on him, so he could take her inside and keep her safe. Shelter her until… “My love. I swear I will wait for you forever. In a place where we’ll be together again. At a time when our hearts are one and you’ll be…”
The sob that escaped him echoed through the room and when it came back to hit him, he welcomed the blow. Far better this, than drowning in the pain of losing her too soon. Something had happened. He hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe if…
Slowly he stood up straight and tilted his head back to view the night sky through the ivy strewn grate above the niche. “It’s too much to bear. Why did you go when you know I have to stay?”
Steam rose from his tears and breath while he waited for an answer. A reply that never came. Only silence greeted him and he went a little mad in the solitude. Crazy though it was, he embraced it, gaining comfort with the knowledge that sanity escapes those that have no fear in their hearts. How could he have fear when the very heart of him was burned to ash? Little more than dust to be scattered on the winds and forgotten.
I choose forget-me-nots.
He heard the voice he craved to hear, as clearly as if she were there beside him. But she wasn’t. All that remained were the memories that were frozen like perfect snapshots, ready to reappear and break him in two. He couldn’t let that happen. He needed to be strong enough for both of them now.
This time when he touched the urn he was calmer. “I will find you. I promise I shall move heaven and hell and every world between to claim you once more. Rest now, mia shandor lei, and know you have always been and will always be my treasured love. We’ll work through the strife that has brought us to this. I swear. I won’t rest until you’re in my arms once more.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face and took two deep breaths. Squaring his shoulders, he turned and then walked out of the crypt. It was a ritual, but this time when the gates were firmly locked behind him, his blood ran as cold an artic stream. The bleak emptiness that permeated through him pierced his determined resolve and shook it to the core.
“No.” He stumbled a few feet forward. Desperate and anxious. Even now praying to any deity that would listen to make this situation right.  But it was no use. The warmth of her love had vanished and he fell to his knees.
“Jo-quinn?”
“I don’t feel her.”
“What?”
“She’s gone from me as if she never was.” He buried his face in his hands and willed every one of those Gods in the universe to annihilate him on the spot. If only it were as easy as his death. He’d have gladly made the sacrifice, because despite his whispered promises, there were no guarantees he’d find her this time. Not now that she was lost in the confusion of a world that neither one of them belonged to…
(End)
Now, this giveaway is for one autographed print copy of Love Of A Lifetime. If you aren’t on Goodreads please feel free to email me your information as I’m doing a separate drawing on the same day, October 21st 2013, and I’ll include your name to the list. Shoot over an email with GIVEAWAY in the subject line to: write2rileymurphy@gmail.com

 

 

Goodreads Book Giveaway


Love Of A Lifetime
by Riley Murphy

Giveaway ends October 21, 2013.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

Enter to win

 

Click on Jack’s picture to watch the book video

 

 

 

I’m going to be posting the first chapter on Saturday. Oh and I’m currently working on an audio version of one of the scenes between Finley and Jack. His voice is smexxy and hers I absolutely adore. It’s going to be interactive if I can pull this off. *fingers crossed* so when I get that done I’ll post it too. Maybe on Saturday. If Honey stops yelling at me. Every time I open the audio file for Jack, Honey yells, “Stop listening to your boyfriend!” Or, he walks by and says, “Keep your pants on.” Hehehe. Honey’s jealous. Super excited about this little project. Can’t wait to share it.
Riley
Hey, did I mention that the song for this video is Honey’s pick for our song? I was blown away when I was listening to samples for the book video and he came into my office and said, “It has to be this one. Whenever I hear this I think of you.” He leaned down and kissed my neck, before he whispered, “Do you remember the first time I asked you to stay with me?” Aw, man. I’m getting chills just telling you guys this. But then, when I wrote Jack Midland I did have Honey in mind.

WHAT HAPPENED TO SUPERMAN AND NURSE BAMBI?

I’ll tell you what happened. Superman ran into some kryptonite which turned him into Lex Luthor and when nurse Bambi got tired of him growling at her she turned into nurse Ratched.
OMG people. Honey is NOT a good patient when the doctor promises one thing and does another. I’ve had to give Madge and the pooch ear plugs and personally? I’ve been blushing up a storm listening to Honey’s muttered tirades about mother suckers with an F in front of it, for the past two days. So here’s the deal. Surgery went well, although it was much longer than I expected it to be and they reattached the tendons without having to graft any pieces on them. Which was great as they would have taken those from the underside of his wrist and recovery would have been twice as long. BUT to do this the way they did they had to reposition Honey’s hand in a cast so that it’s up. (think hi-five position) which is bad because Honey’s wrist took a beating the day of the accident – it didn’t break but it feels like it’s bruised – it aches and stuff and in this new position it’s very uncomfortable for him. Seew, *looks right at you with a: Do you get me? stare* he’s not the most pleasant guy to be around right now. I choked on my Fresca yesterday when the doctor called (yeah, the doc likes Honey and calls him direct) anyway, Honey called him a lying sack of…well, you know. There I am holding my breath until I hear them. I must have missed the bonding ritual because two seconds later Honey was laughing with the guy. Long story short? They made a date to go golfing when he was all healed up but doc assured him he wouldn’t be doing that if he screwed around with the cast (of which Honey’d been threatening to do for two days). Smart doc. He tapped into the one fear Honey has. This injury and/or recovery messing with his golf game. *insert a really aggravated sigh here* Men!
 
 I did put my thinking cap on regarding his cussing. I’m charging him 50 cents a swear word. Man, at the rate he’s going I figure I should have enough moola to get to the Cayman Island’s by Friday. >:)  What? Believe me. I’m going to need a vacation after all this.

Signed,
Nurse Ratched

DO YOU WANNA KNOW WHY I THINK HONEY IS SUPERMAN

 

This is Honey. I took this picture of him by the way. (check out the year on the plate)  God, I was madly in love with him. I mean **totally-skip school-think-up-any-excuse-just-to-be-with-him** in love.

 

I could tell you I think he’s Superman because of his looks…. Man, he had an attitude back then that used to give me a thrill.

I could tell you he’s The ‘S’ man because he’s spent a good deal of time taking care of things for us. Our first pool wasn’t going to beat him. Almost, but not quite.

 

I could tell you it’s because he dressed up for Halloween every year with the kids and took them out. That’s my son in the blue and his cousin in the pink. They went out as Pebbles and BamBam.

 

But then I was no slouch. I may have stayed at home to hand out candy but I always dressed up too. That’s me and my handsome devil boy when he was 8.

 

I could tell you it’s because he built my son and daughter a twelve foot squid because they asked him to one night when we were down at the beach.

 

Or because he let the kids play in the leftover job material when he took them to work with him (even though I expressly told him not to do that) They had a blast!

 

Maybe it’s because he gave our son a plastic hammer on his first birthday to smash the cake with. I was freaking cleaning frosting off those vertical blinds for days! But our son had the time of his life.

Could be because every Christmas he’s the guy who’s putting together all the toys for the kids. With one of them (that’s my daughter) hanging on him. She’s wearing his shirt oh, and that’s our first little bull Terrier Maggie there with him as well. The little baldie crouching on the floor is my niece.

 

Or because he recently took our daughter on a canoe trip down the Hillsborough river because she wanted to conquer her fear of spiders. (If any of you have read Stare Me Down – that part where Jaxx is talking about the canoe filled with spiders? True story. Only it was me on the oar with my mother in law on board) I thought it would be easy because the first time I went Honey was driving and all I did was apply sun screen. Trust me on this. NEVER take your mother in law in a canoe surrounded by snakes and spiders overhead and gators all around you. I can honestly say that is was the first time in my life I didn’t know what to do. I was torn between diving overboard or pushing her over the board. Wow what a day.
So, I could say I think Honey’s Superman for all those reasons, but the real reason I do is simple. Recently he suffered a freak accident at work where a piece of plate glass mirror fell off a wall. The mirror was the size of the wall and had been installed a week or so before the accident happened. They’re not really sure if the adhesive was defective or if it was an installation problem, but never-the-less, he went to the site to do a walk-through before the homeowner and designer arrived, and when he noticed the mirror bulging in a spot he put his hand up to test it for safety and the top corner cracked off and fell. There are so many ways this could have ended, so the damage to his left hand I’ll take as opposed to the alternatives. Anyway, if you read my prior post on this, you know that he tied a tourniquet and managed to get a compression wrap around his hand to staunch the blood. But what I didn’t know until nearly a day and half later, was that after he had sustained his injury and before I got there, he busted the rest of the mirror off the wall. I freaked when I heard this until he explained that there was no way to get in touch with the homeowner to warn him about the mirror’s instability and you see, the homeowner has an little girl who has a crush on Honey and frequently comes to the job site with her dad. He knew he couldn’t leave that mirror up there just in case another piece fell. So there he was. Severely injured making sure that no one else got hurt. Especially the little girl who left a big smiley face for him on one of the walls the first day he started their remodel job – thanking him for making them a nice home.
So super man? I think so.

Riley
Who will be glad when Monday’s over. Honey has surgery to correct the tendons in his hand. *crosses fingers* He won’t need any grafts.

 

Men!

Erm, for those of you who don’t know. Honey had a pretty bad accident at a jobsite he was inspecting two weeks ago. Yeah, it was bad, but the upside is he didn’t lose his left hand and they still may be able to save the top of it. *I hope* we wait. Hey, what can I say? I’m always optimistic. I mean, if you knew what had to happen the morning it occurred you’d believe along with me in angels. Nope, I’m not kidding. I could list the whole pile of things that I never do, but did that morning to wind up less than a block away from where he was in the vacant property. I could mention that I rarely ever know where he’s going during the course of the day and yet I did that morning. I could tell you the only thing he could manage to do with his flip phone was hit the redial number that happened to be my number (again, we don’t call each other a lot during the day). I could go on, but suffice it say, that he called me – dropped the phone and called out instructions as he tied a tourniquet on his arm and wrapped his hand to compress it with towels he carries in his truck for emergencies.

So there I am speeding to get to him and when I turn down the street he’s walking up it. He looked like he’d been swimming, but it wasn’t until he got in my car that I realized he was sweating because he was in shock. As white as a ghost too. I was a nervous wreck and didn’t want to show it so the first thing I said to him was, “Left hand. Good. I more partial to the right anyway.”

When he said, “Good thing.” I wanted to cry but I kept it together. So where was I going with this story that is supposed to be funny? *shakes head*

Right.

He had his hand sewn back together and we’re in a holding pattern. Three of the tendons have been cut and there was other stuff too, but they left the tendons (he’ll have surgery when and if the skin grafts back together again)

Ah, now I remember where the funny part of this sorry story comes in. You see, Honey decided to go back to work (he has a cabillion stitches and his hand wrapped in a cast) but alrighty. I tell him no lifting anything. No moving anything. No climbing on, up or over anything. No ladders or heavy equipment. You get me, right? Well he didn’t. First day out he comes home and I can tell he’d been doing more than strolling the jobsites so I warned him. Did I mention that I’m stuck doing everything now? Cooking, cleaning, garbage, recycling. Dressing and undressing him…well, that last one I don’t mind. I have to put his socks on and tie his shoes. SO, when he comes home on Monday looking like he helped one of the guys out (that’s his favorite thing to do – get his hands dirty…only it was just the one) I went medieval on his ass. I mean, stone cold witch with a B! And what did he do? He went to work the next day and called the surgeon (who we were scheduled to see that afternoon) and told the Dr. about our epic domestic dispute. Now I must pause here and say, that I have been acting as Honey’s nurse. I wash and dress his wound every day. In a low cut shirt and I let him call me Bambi even though I think it’s stupid because the real Bambi was a guy – and he calls the doctor on me?

 Needless to say, that was a barrel of laughs at the doctor’s. The surgeon gives me this load of crap about how Honey can go to work. That his patients who go back to work with injuries like this recover better and faster. I was like, “Yeah, but, hello? He does crazy shit when he’s out of my sight.”

The doctor blinks. “Crazy shit? He said he’s just overseeing his crews. He can’t do crazy shit with that hand.”

Well that wasn’t the end of the visit. They both tried to charm me which didn’t go over very well. I do believe the words, “The two of you are grounded for a month.” Came out of my mouth. *sigh*

The moral of the story? The next morning I refused to put Honey’s socks on for him. I still tied his shoes because I didn’t want him to trip, but I figured making him have to struggle for ten minutes to get his socks on with one hand would be a good reminder to him about his limitations. A concept that worked until yesterday when I noticed (while I calmly sipped my coffee) that he had mastered getting the darn things on without too much trouble with just his one hand. Now, anyone who knows me knows that was never going to do. So this morning when eager-to-get-to work Honey went into his sock drawer for a pair, you can imagine his surprise when all of them were turned inside out. Heheheh. The poor guy was exhausted before he even left the house. Why, *blinks innocently* one might say, too tired to do crazy ass shit at work.

*Dusts hands off* my work there is done. But if his hand doesn’t heal soon so they can do surgery I may have to break out the cuffs. Fortunately I have a pair. With one hand he’d never pick the lock. >:)

 

Riley, who is forever grateful that the accident wasn’t worse. It could have been, so thanks daddy! I know you had the boy’s back that morning.

 

WATCH ME has been released!!!

WATCH ME has been released and (update) it’s first day out and it has already made two of amazon’s top bestselling lists!!!! So excited!

This is Jake and Michaela

This is Paige and Grady

You can watch them in WATCH ME
If you haven’t checked out the excerpts and book video you can (click here)

 

 

UP NEXT IS…

Then up next is Love Of A Lifetime. This is Finley and Jack’s story. Who can resist an unconventional contemporary vampire romance with a twist? Dark, totally erotic and fun all wrapped up in an emotional story that will tear your guts out in parts. Hey, I wrote it and I’m sorry to say, there was one part I cried over after I reread it. That never happens to me. So right on! This will be out in a month.
As for David and Lacy in Requested Surrender? It’s true people. Look out for the quiet ones. *wipes brows* David is…hard to describe, but I’d say wonderful with a whole pile of awesome sauce on top. He’s hard, but fair. Possessive and particular. I think he’s amazing! Of course Lacy doesn’t think so for a while, but he changes her mind about that. Eventually. >:) This will be out this fall/winter.
Then I have two holiday novellas. One titled Perfect Holiday with Ryker Mitchell and Sidney Cap. Ryker’s a bad boy who wants to be good, and Sid? Well, Sid is a good girl who definitely wants to experience bad the first chance she gets…which happens to be with him just before Christmas. I This will release November.
My last book for 2013 is another holiday novella Full Of Possibilities. This one, again, I co-authored with Ms. Bell. It’s steamy, fun and sure to pull at a few heartstrings, but hell, what’s Christmas without a few tears, right? This should be out late fall too.
Then I’m taking a break and coming back in 2014 with a great lineup! Can’t wait!!!

WHAT DO A CROP, A POLICE BATON, A HUM-HER, HANDCUFFS, CLAMPS AND SANDPAPER ALL HAVE IN COMMON?

You’ll find out tomorrow when Watch Me releases!



I wonder? How versatile and sexy can an author make a police baton in a story? Doesn’t matter. Michaela and Jake, in Captive Audience, figured it out all on their own. I’m sure Ms. Bell was stunned. I wasn’t. I was glued to the page as I read the scene, though.

And talking about being glued, I was stunned that Paige, in My Night, didn’t think of that when she had her night. Hm. Maybe next time instead of sandpaper and a metal sound, she’ll get out the Krazy glue. Poor Grady. She’s a handful…but then so is he. I do believe the words Ms. Bell exclaimed after reading the sandpaper scene was, “I thought the spidey scene in Required Surrender was wicked, but you topped it.” Heheheh. I love it when a plan comes together.
Watch Me is set to release tomorrow (the 28th) It is up to the power’s that be over at Amazon about the timing. I will be doing giveaways. *sigh* I love giveaways.
 Riley

 

WATCH ME!

Releases August 28th!!!!!
So riddle me this. Where can you find spankings, handcuffs, a crop, sandpaper, a blindfold, nipple clamps, knives, ropes and partridge in a pear tree?  Hehehe. There’s no partridge, silly, but everything else? Oh, yeah, baby, all that and more is in the book. Oh, *snap* I forgot to mention mint/ginger stimulant gel and…? Well, I don’t want to spoil any surprises so I’ll just leave it at this.

Watch Me

 

Actually, you can watch them in WATCH ME by clicking any one of the pictures.

This is Paige and Grady above


And
This is Jake and Michaela below

I love their song! It was one of Honey and my favorites because…meh, you’ll understand once you hear it.
Riley
Hey if you want to add it to read on Goodreads click here

LOOK WHAT WE GOT!

This is Paige and Grady’s story. It’s also Michaela and Jake’s story. Grady likes to call Paige, Kitten and Jake likes to call Michaela, Gracie.
Wanna read the steamy excerpts?

 

My Night by Riley Murphy

 

He jotted down two short sentences before stuffing the folded note into an envelope. If he was right about this, she wasn’t going to be happy when it played out. She didn’t like to lose and she hated being bested, but it was the only way he could keep the reins on her. If he didn’t she’d run roughshod right over him. He loved her that much. It was dangerous and so fucking exhilarating being challenged by her. God he was honored, but as the saying goes, “with great power comes great responsibility”. Paige was his responsibility and he didn’t take it lightly.
Time to push her buttons. Literally.
He stacked the two envelopes together and chuckled as he mashed the “on” button of the Hum-Her and tilted his head. When a clatter of a brush bouncing on the granite counter sounded, he waited.
“Very funny!”
He grinned, but continued to work up the dial because he didn’t want her thinking it was funny. He wanted her sweating. Panting. Thinking about him being anything but funny. So when she came out of the bathing area wrapped in a huge terry towel and looking flushed with glassy eyes he was satisfied.
Pleased when she carefully sat down on the couch. No doubt the waves that were pulsing through her were a tempting distraction, but he had to hand it to her. She continued with the ritual he loved so well and got dressed. It was the way she moved and positioned herself to do it that captivated him. Always the same. And when she pulled those knee-high’s up. One long leg crossed over the other before she folded her whole body on top of her thighs to smooth the socks out— God, the cleavage that squeezed up over her knees as she reached for her shoes swelled so beautifully— he couldn’t look away if he wanted to.
Once her foot slipped into her loafer, she’d check the fit. Right, then left, but before she switched to cross her other leg and repeat the process, she’d bite her lip, flex that foot and run an index finger slowly over the small leather tassel on the top of her shoe. Caressing it like she did his cockhead just before she opened her mouth and took him inside.
Fuck, he shifted in his seat. She had him hard all over again. “Paige—”
Buzz.
Damn, he was just about to order her to crawl to him. To suck him off, but before she did he would have leaned back and watched her rub that index finger over him. He gave himself a mental shake and answered, “Yes?”

 

Captive Audience by Christine Bell (Chloe Cole)
Her mouth went dry as she stared at him, eyes wide. Sure she knew she should be furious at his audacity, his boldness. But this was the first time any man had ever talked to her that way, and damn if it didn’t feel good.
He reached out his hand over the scant inches between them, slipped it through the bars, and gripped her hip, pulling her close to him. She gasped and swayed a bit as he pressed his hard length against her. He began to squeeze her hip rhythmically, grinding almost imperceptibly against her sweet spot.
She backed away, out of reach, panic lapping at her. Her pussy was wet and ached for him, but she held fast. “You’re going to get me fired, Thompson. You can’t touch me again,” she warned in a low whisper.
“Okay then, I won’t. Not until you ask me to. But it isn’t against the rules to think about someone, is it? So tonight I want you to think about me. And know that I’m thinking about you. All right, Gracie?” he asked, his voice husky with need.
Like a marionette whose strings he was pulling, she was helpless to stop herself from nodding.
“You should go.” Then he added, loud enough for anyone who might be within earshot, “Thanks for explaining that to me, Officer Grace. I’m still getting used to all the ins and outs of things here, so it really helps.” And with that he turned and went back to his bunk.
 She walked away from the cell on jittery legs and finished her rounds on autopilot. This madness had to stop, but she was so drawn to this man and his raw sexuality, she just didn’t know how.

Just click on the button to add!

THE THINGS HONEY AND I FIGHT OVER…

Money you ask? *thinks not at all* Of course, but let’s assume the ordinary things are a given and move onto the less conspicuous culprits of domestic discord between us.
Welcome to the topic of “OUR STUFF”! Things and objects that used to be exclusively mine, but now have become pawns on the battlefield of the dueling “Murphy” desks. Yes, it seems, now that Honey his own at-home office (don’t ask, but if you did I’d tell you the room was redundant and unnecessary and a complete waste of good potentially expandable gym space. Told you not to ask) we have this war going on over things to decorate our respective desktops.
Now, given that both of our children are almost done chewing their way through our wallets, actually bank accounts would be more accurate now that I think about it, there are a few spare pennies available to buy some fancy office decorations for those desks. Only? Well, I’ve had my at-home office for a decade, so I pretty much like what’s on my desk. I mean, it’s taken me years to find the unique and totally un-fancy items I adore. Which brings us to the problem.
Honey adores some of those items too!
Now anyone who knows me knows I’m fairly easy going when it comes to stuff. Ask my sister who has taken every great pair of shoes I’ve ever owned. (Lisa, if you’re reading this I still miss those blue suede Steve Madden’s!) Ask my mom who can’t seem to find the right furniture for her place until I own it. Ask…well, I could go on. Did anyone see me and my daughter at RWA? Yes? She looked great, didn’t she? She got more compliments wearing “my stuff” than I did.
Anyways, here’s the deal. My most precious un-fancy stuff. The things I refuse to share with Honey have become pawns in his prisoner of war game. Captured soldiers, if you will, on the battleground territory known as “Mom’s Little Big Horn.” Every time I leave my post- stupid grocery shopping excursions- and Honey is home he steals the only two things from my desk that mean the most to me. Which is saying a lot because I have my diplomas, my book covers and pictures of our children that I’d gladly give him without complaint…but he wants my gold and what is this gold that I will not part with and he wants SO badly? Are you ready? It’s these two items:

 

 

 

The little ceramic bird our son made in grade four. FOR ME, and when he presented it, he told me I could use it as a paperweight for all my papers. Good thinking, but kind of hard because it wobbles, but never-the-less it has been perched on my desk through all these years. And the ceramic pencil holder? Our daughter made in grade Three. FOR ME, because she said I was always looking for a pen. This too has held prize real estate on an otherwise crowded workspace. So there you have it. A political insight into the battle that Honey will NEVER EVER win…but if he continues taking them hostage? I may have to Crazy glue my treasures down.
Riley a.k.a The Desk Sentinel