Sarah Cass's Blog: Sarah's StoryLines, page 22

More Than a Name ~ #MFRWHooks

Ready for another Book Hook?

Last week Alan had met Justina’s daughter, and jumped to a conclusion about here. Today Ivy clears things up a little, and chastises him for making such an awful assumption about her:

“How could you?”

He really thought she’d keep his own child from him? Really? She slapped him hard. “Get your head out of your ass. I’m not a total bitch. How dare you accuse me of keeping a child from you! Did you not hear her name? Justina. As in Justin—the man I was dating last time we saw each other.”

“She’s seven.”

“She isn’t yours.”

*~*

| Amazon | SCP | BN | Smashwords | ARe |

Alan Richards returns to Lake Point for the holidays, counting the minutes until he can accomplish the dreaded goal of dealing with his aging parents and get back to the city. Finding his former soul mate living in the town they left together and swore they’d never return to tosses his ordered plans right on their head.

Ivy Nowell has never looked back since she left the city and her ballet career to raise her daughter in Lake Point. Alan’s homecoming dredges up old hurts and the love she never quite let go, but he hasn’t changed, with his relentless commitment to goals that differ completely from hers.

The attraction and instant understanding between them lingers, but neither are who they used to be. Alan wants to give it a chance, but Ivy is worried he’ll change his mind and won’t risk hurting her daughter.

It’ll take Santa and all his magic to keep them from walking away from each other again, maybe for forever this time.

*~*

MFRW Book Hooks are a chance for authors to share their work and get you intrigued. See more great hooks here:

*~*

Top Ten Tuesday – Barabra Novac’s Favorite Romantic Gestures

Like all of us here, I love romance, but like happiness, romance can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. As I get older I feel more comfortable with examinging my need for romance and what I like when I like it, and particularly how my needs for romance change. I loved Valantines Day when I was young, for example, but my opinion on that has changed somewhat, and I’d prefer something more spontaneous at this end of a long term marriage.

However, and this is the difficulty with romance, discussing your romantic needs seems antithetical to receiving them. Seeing hubby walk through the door with a huge bunch of roses is completely different to getting a bunch after telling him I’d like him to bring flowers home more often. Romance can be a delicate thing and nuances, attitudes and circumstances can completely alter the same gesture. I don’t expect my husband to just know what I need in any area of my life, and at the same time, the most romantic moments for me, are when I’ve done nothing to solicit his romantic action.

So, part of romance, is learning how to receive what he is offering as well as getting what I want. My husband likes to make me mix tapes of music he is listening to. We don’t always share the same tastes, but I love those music collections, because I feel as though I have been invited into his secret world, as if he is reaching out to me and bringing me close. They’ve also become a map of our marriage, as we tend to play his latest gift for a solid week or so after he gives it. If a new partner asked me what I like romantically, music mixes might not be at the top of the list, but when they come from my husband, my heart bursts with joy.

So, in the spirit of trying to communicate what our best romantic gestures are, I thought this Top Ten Tuesday on Sarah’s Story Lines will be a ten favourite romantic gestures, in the hope you might make your own, and start the conversation in a gentle way that wakes us up to the romance we need, as well as the romance that might already be all around us.

10. Public declarations of love.

Like everyone, I get insecure every now and then. I love it when my husband, rather than enjoy my insecurity, seeks to reassure me by telling a pretty woman who is trying to flirt with him, how much he loves me, or reaching for me to introduce me to her. These petty rivalries exist (sometimes) between women, and I love it when my husband chooses me, over and over again, above all other women.

 9. Saving for a romantic holiday.

I’m a traditionalist in this department. I love Paris, Rome, London and New York. When we decide we’re going to go to one of these cities, and we plan it, get excited, gather resources and set up a fund account, I get so excited and every little moment is like a huge romantic gesture. (We’ve only done this twice, but I’m hoping there will soon be a third.)

8.  Long slow deep kisses.

Especially when either of us walk though the door at the end of the day. No further explanation required.

 7. Food and Wine gifts

He doesn’t do it all the time, but one of hubby’s romantic gestures I’ve come to love and appreciate, is when he is home late, he brings something to contribute to dinner, like a bottle of wine, a loaf of excellent sour dough, or two delicate pastries. It’s his little way of acknowledging I work too and I had to steer our ship alone today.

 6. Looking at our Wedding Photos Together.

This is one I asked for, but he now knows that we do it each year on our anniversary. We snuggle up in bed and go through the wedding album. He focusses and engages with me and we talk about the year we’ve just had. I love these moments, and they end up being the best part of every one of our anniversaries.

 5. Booking a beautiful restaurant for no reason

Confession time. I’m still working on this one. For some reason I am always the one who suggests the restaurant and the night out. But I’ll get there! I have to think of a way to let him know this is something I would like, without feeling like I forced him.

 4. Sitting and Chatting about our day

This one he does quite a lot. If he comes home and I am cooking, he opens the wine he bought and we sip and chat. He doesn’t run off somewhere else, and I am always so grateful for that. We both work hard, so we have a lot to chat about in our day. It’s never dull and we both feel a close part of it all when we do settle down to eat or get on with something else.

 3. Note and Pics

For some reason, my hubby likes to leave me photos. I’m still not completely sure what this is about, but he will change my desktop or photocopy images and leave them around for me. Sometimes they are funny, sometimes they are just something nice he saw. I have grown to love these little cartoons, jokes and other images, even though I confess, sometimes I wonder where his head is at.

 2. Buying me a book or Journal.

Being a writer books and journals are my very favourite gift. This is one I taught my husband, but he’s really good at it now. He just keeps an eye out and about once a month or so there is a new journal and about every two months, he pops home with a book for me. The best thing is, they’re not always books I would choose, but I try to read every single one. It’s my way of saying thanks.

 1. Mixed tape.

This has to be my number one, because my digital mixed tapes are such a big gift.

What are some of your favourite romantic gestures? 

Barbra Novac is a writer of erotic romance, and erotica. Spellbound is her new book, coming out in April 2013.

Blurb:

When struggling film maker Connie Berringer goes to her local to drown her financial sorrows in cheap wine, mysterious stranger Jack Sinclair offers to buy her a drink claiming she’s beautiful. She begrudgingly accepts to ease her wallet, but is too smart to be fooled by the line. When the drink arrives, it’s not a beer, but a fifty-thousand dollar bottle of Grange Hermitage. Connie’s interest in Jack Sinclair dramatically changes, only to find he’s vanished.

Over the next few days Jack will turn up at the most unexpected moments rapidly becoming a crucial part of Connie’s world, and soon, an exciting adventure in the bedroom. Connie discovers a self in Jack’s arms she never knew, including the depths of passion she is capable of and the lengths Jack will go to stimulate that passion. Jack sees something in Connie he wants, but his search for it in the past will come back to haunt him, resurfacing as a threat to the new relationship he’s found.

Sophisticated, erotic, witty and tantalising, Spellbound reaches into the broad sweep of the soul from the suspenseful drama of a homage to Hitchcock to the slow ticklish thrill of a completely romantic romance.

You can find our more about Barbra Novac at www.barbranovac.com or www.barbrawrites.com

Tuesday Tales – Into a Mirror Darkly

Welcome back to Tuesday Tales!  This weeks prompt is to be inspired by  that picture.

I interpreted the image as a mirror…and although it doesn’t match the mirror I have in my head for my Urban Fantasy/Fractured Fairy Tale/Steampunk story “Into a Mirror Darkly”, I used it for that anyhow.

Red (aka Red Riding Hood/Rose Red) is my badass bounty hunter.  Solange is not the fairy tale character you’d expect her to be…she is Beauty, i.e. Solange LaBelle. And this moment happens…oh, mid-story. This is a tale I have been working on on-and-off for a little over a year. I want it to be right & have my full attention so I’ve not been able to focus on it yet. I have two (smaller) stories to finish and send off for edits, then this baby is coming out to shine again:

It couldn’t be. The Crone had seen to the destruction of nearly all the mirrors in Morgana years ago. So far as Red knew only bits and shards still existed across the lands. While she herself had shards on her person, she’d not seen a full, true mirror in many years. Not since Morgana became a virtual wasteland.

“I found it in the dungeons.” Solange spoke in a hushed voice, and in an eerie tableau the scarred half of her body lingered in shadow. Light from her lantern shimmered and reflected off the mirror. In the half-light her good eye glowed almost as white as her dead eye. “I don’t know what the beast used it for, but in the few glimpses I’ve got it almost seems like you could spy on others with it.”

“It carries a lot of power.” Red drew closer, but avoided touching the reflective pane. Gran had taught her well enough to know to avoid strange mirrors. The magic was untrustworthy if it hadn’t your energy within. Red circled to face the mirror dead on.

In the reflection she noticed Cassandra, Solange’s golden clockwork cat. The infernal creation affected a false purr, the rolling links of its tail curling back in forth in a steady motion along the dirt floor of the dungeon.

Red hazarded a glance toward Solange. Unease rippled through Red’s belly and she set a hand on the dagger at her side. A movement in the mirror drew her eyes back. A shadow passed just on the other side of the glass, she was certain of it.

Solange flicked her hand.

The cat leaped, and while Red reacted quick enough to defend herself, Cassandra managed to throw her off-balance. Red tumbled toward the mirror, and the world swirled around her as she fell down, down, down …

*~*

Hope you enjoyed it!  Click on the Tuesday Tales badge to see more excellent entries!!

Sunday Snippets 27 – Deep-Fried Sweethearts

Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!

Tag is still discussing his possible job at The Midway with his aunt Myrtle. He admits that Michaela seemed skeptical about giving him the job. Myrtle teases him and says all he has to do is charm her, he’s good at that.:

“I’d rather get hired because I can do the job, not because I can charm someone.” Although he didn’t imagine with Michaela it would take much-he could still picture her deep red blush that had so easily filled her cheeks and seeped down her elegant neck.

His aunt was right; he was in a heap of trouble.

The doors to the kitchen swung open with a bang when Myrtle walked back into the kitchen. “Just remember to dress right and shave that scruff off your face,” she yelled over her shoulder.

“I like my scruff.”

“Fine, be a ragamuffin,” she hollered from the back.

He laughed and finished off his drink-after a moment he brushed his fingers along his chin and wondered if Michaela liked the scruff, “Yeah, I’m in a heap of trouble.”

*Creative editing used to fit this into the 8

*~*

| Amazon |  SCP  | BN | ARe | 

Michaela O’Keefe is in over her head with her restaurant, The Midway.  Her ad for an assistant manager brings Owen “Tag” Montague to her doorstep. With an impeccable resume and dozens of letters of recommendation, she has little choice but to give him a chance. Ten years her junior, Tag sets her long-dead libido humming, but she gave up on love and her instincts on men years ago.

Tag has had a crush on his new boss since his youth, but he’s determined to prove he can do the job. Still, he can’t resist the urge to make her blush down to her toes as often as possible. He knows her rough past in life and love makes it hard to trust, and he’s wary of crossing the line he so desperately wants to.

Just when they manage to figure out how to work and play together, Michaela’s ex does all he can to destroy their budding love. When push comes to shove Michaela’s inability to give Tag the benefit of the doubt might destroy everything.

Learning to trust herself again is the hardest lesson Michaela will ever have to learn – and by the time she does, it may be too late for love.

*~*

Head back on over to the Weekend Writing Warriors to read many more wonderful offerings!

Alyson Raynes ~ The Fixer Series

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Title: Deception

Book 1 in the Fixer Series

Author: Alyson Raynes

Genre: Suspenseful Romance/Erotica

Synopsis

Brooke has spent the past eleven years living with a man she thought would be her forever. One afternoon of unanswered phone calls reveals he isn’t the man she thought he was.

Just when things couldn’t get any worse, she’s forced to call upon a stranger for help.

Can Dylan save Brooke from her broken past or does he have secrets of his own that will destroy them before they even get started?

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Title: Promiscuous

Book 2 in the Fixer Series

Author: Alyson Raynes

Genre: Suspenseful Romance/Erotica

Synopsis

Dylan had received a peculiar phone call from the governor, leaving me stranded and alone in his magnificent penthouse. The events of the evening draining me free of any energy I had left. I wanted to ask where he was going, but I had a gut feeling I knew the answer to that question. It was his job to clean up a scene before anyone found out the gruesome details of a crime. Then again, I found myself curious, wondering if Dylan himself had manufactured the hit on Amber Martinelli to frame Stefan.

I stepped out onto the terrace overlooking the city. The lights were bright, twinkling as the roar of late night traffic lingered in the air. A cold front was moving in and a slight chill moved through me. Knowing how Dylan felt about me, I knew he would do anything to keep me safe. Committing murder wasn’t beneath him and it was dangerous for me to think that he could be involved in Amber’s.







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Alyson enjoys bringing characters to life and has been writing since she was a little girl. Her first published book was in elementary school where it was put on display in the library for others to read. Alyson’s love for books is what compels her to write and create new worlds of her own for others to enjoy. She enjoys writing everything from erotica to suspense thrillers. Fixer of Deceit is the first book in the Fixer Series, which is both an erotic romance and suspense thriller.

A Colorado native, Alyson loves to travel. She has visited Ireland, Mexico and most of the United States. Her favorite vacation hideaway is Hawaii. She has a love for the ocean and enjoys swimming with sea turtles in the wild. Alyson is a former accountant who has traded in her abacus for a full-time writing career.



She has been happily married for twenty-one years to her high school sweetheart and is the proud mother of two. Her love of quilting keeps her busy in the winter months when she isn’t writing. Alyson’s favorite past time is spending time with her family, watching football and laughing together.







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Friday Dialogues – Author Stella Wilder

Personal

Can you tell us a little about yourself? I can’t. I’m relatively private. Okay, fine. I know that won’t be good enough. I was threatened with being court martialed once. Oh, and my first love was shot in the head by a terrorist.
What do you like to read? What’s your favorite genre? My tastes are too varied to be pinned down. If a character is compelling and the situation is dire, I’m hooked.
Name your 5 favorite movies. Why? Wow. Five favorite? In no particular order: Duel in the Sun, Ten Things I Hate About You, The Matrix, —I’m stuck. That’s all I can come up with right now.
What piece of advice would you give your teenage self? Be true to yourself.
What’s the best thing you’ve done in your life? Saved a life. And I’ll leave it at that.
What has changed for you personally since you wrote your first book? I don’t think anything has changed. I could be wrong.
Where can people find you on the web? Where can they read more about your books? www.AllThingsStella.com

Your Novel

What is your book about? A soul eating, long-lived assassin with a heart. A sexy deckhand. An inner-city kid with a bad attitude and a secret.
What about your book might pique the reader’s interest? The sex? No, just kidding. I can’t say exactly. I feel it would be a spoiler. Can I just go with: Nothing is what it seems?
What inspired you to write this particular story? It started with Frederick Forsyth’s The Day of the Jackal. One of my favorite books as a teen. It culminated with a need to put a few emotions on paper, but incognito, since I didn’t want to reveal these things personally. My books are often a reflection of what I may be involved in at the moment.
Are the names of the characters in your novel important? You betcha.
How did you choose your title? One of the characters has a white stripe from above the ear to the nape. The characters engage in dark deeds.
How much of yourself is hidden in the characters in the book? Not hidden. That’s me, all up in your face! LOL. No, truly, my books’ main characters are a reflection of my own characteristics and life experiences.
Who is your most unusual/most likeable character? G-Mail
You got the call – your novel is being made into a TV series or movie – who’s in your dream cast? Ha. Interesting question.
What was your favorite part or chapter, and why? When Yaz finds out exactly who G-Mail is.

Writing

Are you a pantser or a plotter? I plot in pants.
How do you develop and differentiate your characters? My books’ main characters are a reflection of my own characteristics and life experiences.
How (or when) do you decide that you are finished writing a story? When my editor writes me and calls BS on an ending that was too convenient. So I have to buckle down and impress him.
Do your characters ever take on a life of their own? Too damn often! Those brats! Love them.
Do you have any advice for aspiring authors? Write the book of your heart. Edit it mercilessly, don’t give up.
What are you working on now? The sequel to White Stripe, Dark Deeds, the sequel to Streetwise:Mercy, a dystopian young adult, an MG thriller, a sci-fi romance, and a MG time travel.
Have you written any other books? A historical, a contemporary new adult. Seasons of Exile, Streetwise: Mercy. Streetwise comes out this month. Or next. I’m not really sure.

Fun (Crazy, odd questions just for fun)

Favorite bumper sticker. No bumper stickers. Don’t do those. They pigeonhole people. Something I’d rather not have done to me. They also give criminals insight into people’s lives which could enable them to perpetrate evil actions.
Are you skilled with fake accents? Not at all. Which sucks, since I speak three languages.
Most frequently played song. I won’t pick one. These days it’s Drake’s HodfdfdfHold On, Flo Rida’s Wild Ones, I Cry, Good Feeling. HHo
If you could be any comic book character, which one would you be? Jessica Rabbit with Wonder Woman’s cool toys! 

 

*~*~*~*

| Amazon | 

Can an immortal-possessed assassin accustomed to dealing in death and deception lower her defenses enough to work with a disowned deckhand and an urban denizen? Will dropping her guard lead to heartbreak and betrayal?

Yaz wants to be human again. Or dead. She pretty much doesn’t care which. Or didn’t care, until she met Sloan. One thing she sure as hell doesn’t want is to care for that freakin’ deckhand and that weird-ass brat from the ghetto with the white stripe in his head. Torn between what she wants to do and what she needs to do, she’s faced with choices. And consequences . . .

Sloan’s more than a deckhand on a charter boat. He’s on a mission, too. But damn if that sexy, cold-hearted bitch that throws knives wasn’t effing it up all the time. What he can’t figure out is why he’s helping her and how to keep her from finding out his own deepest and darkest. He derails his mission, his plan, his life for Yaz . . .

G-Mail doesn’t need much. Or so G thinks. Until meeting an assassin with the gift and skills G wants—the gift of immortality and the skill to kill. Can G trust the assassin when it’s time to reveal an identity and a secret, or will the assassin join the pile of bones G-Mail leaves in the past?

What happens when three forces converge on the hot and humid Houston docks? What happens when they travel back in time to a parallel past?

Warning!

Explicit sex–oh yes, and a bit of killing. Come on, it’s a story about an assassin! And a hot guy.

*~*

Excerpt: Chapter 1

Five days of reconnaissance. I’d learned the captain of the Sugar Baby was a crusty seaman named Ole Pete who engaged in sex trafficking. Oh, and the Sugar Baby had a deckhand who made my body remember things it hadn’t in hundreds of years. That aside, something about that deckhand made me wonder if our paths had ever crossed.

Neither the trafficking nor the deckhand’s sexiness was pertinent to my assignment.

Five days of kneeling, squatting, or sitting on a plastic milk crate in front of a window that had fallen victim to vandalism—dirty, cloudy glass providing the perfect observation point. A missing sliver placed perfectly for looking out, allowing me to keep an eye on the Sugar Baby without getting noticed.

Five days in an abandoned warehouse without air-conditioning, making sure I didn’t leave any evidence behind, just in case someone ever thought to look for any in here. Every day, I stowed my Ducati Streetfighter in a storage unit and trekked here before dawn, staying until after midnight. I was bone-weary, achy-muscled tired. But that had nothing on the mental part. This assignment couldn’t have been better designed to test my psychological boundaries.

Five hellish days of caging my eyes to keep from focusing on the murky ocean or the muddy, catfish-ridden docks. When my eyes strayed, the worst that happened was a lurch in my gut because my feet were on solid ground. If I were standing on a ship the most terrible of foodborne sicknesses wasn’t jack shit compared to my reaction when I saw the water.

That’s what made this particular assignment a bitch. The specific nature of Moric’s instructions. Take out the target while on the Sugar Baby—at sea.

Five days and now my surveillance was complete.

Tomorrow was the day of the hit.

The day after tomorrow it would all be over. I focused on that fact instead of the water.

The surveillance may have been complete, but it wasn’t satisfactory. I found an inconsistency.

I tore my eyes from the Sugar Baby to review the notes I’d penned in the margins of Moric’s files.

Goal: Take out target, then bodyguards, and Sugar Baby crew. Torch boat at sea.

Sugar Baby: Fifty-two foot charter. Four skiffs. Fishing in shallow Gulf waters.

Target: Frenchman. Scumbucket. Organized crime. Two bodyguards.

Captain: (Ole) Pete. Rumored sex trafficker.

Deckhand: Who was he? Not the original deckhand in the picture. Familiar. A hunter.

 

I’d highlighted the inconsistency. Not the original deckhand. I took a sip of bottled water. Room temperature. Room temperature in this case was damned near body temperature. Heat—one of the perks of my latest hometown, Houston.

When I’d received the dossier for this assignment, it had a picture of a different deckhand, a toothless grin from a balding guy. That sure as hell wasn’t the current deckhand, and any deviation worried me.

This new guy. He carried himself with the confidence of a fighter, shoulders squared, eyes assessing.

I blotted sweat from my forehead. The jacket I’d donned before leaving my apartment wasn’t serving me well in the late afternoon hours on steamy docks a few miles south of Houston. But it concealed my weapons. Efficiency over comfort.

I glanced out the window, narrowing my eyes so they’d focus on the Sugar Baby without taking in the water. The deckhand raised his head in my direction, pushing his hair back. Even from this distance I could tell his eyes were narrowed—doing more than just looking around. I backed up. Every now and then over the last few days, he’d scanned the buildings, though it seemed to me his gaze lingered a scant second longer than needed in my general vicinity. I wasn’t sure if I should chalk this up to my typical cautionary ways. Fully aware, never vulnerable, yet relaxed. There was no latent body language to indicate he was anything more than a deckhand—but still.

One day Ole Pete and Deckhand left the Sugar Baby unattended long enough to allow me one foray below deck. I’d ascertained Ole Pete’s room—filthy, filled with porn. And the guest quarters—two rooms, one posh and the other not so much. The deckhand’s room—neat, but not so neat it wasn’t easily identifiable as a man’s. Nothing personal in his room. No photos, no memorabilia, nothing with his name on it. Why no personal effects? Later that night, in the comfort of my apartment, I’d sketched the boat’s layout.

I leafed for the sketch, until—

A scream brought me to a new reality. It sounded like a kid. I jumped up, hiding place and assignment forgotten, and sprinted toward the sound, drawing a throwing knife from its sheath at the small of my back.

Around the corner, in a covered alley between two warehouses, a thug with a scruffy beard, jeans, and a denim jacket held a gun to a little girl’s head. I could still walk away without compromising the assignment. Yeah, like I’d leave the girl with this thug.

A few paces in front of him, a woman reached for the girl. “I’ll pay you for it. I promise, just let her go.” Her grimy, red-tipped fingers flexed in and out the way a toddler’s do when it waves bye.

The thug brandished the gun, holding the child by her scruffy Eeyore T-shirt a few years’ worth of sizes too small. “Yeah right. You’ll pay when you want your next fix.”

Tears streamed down the woman’s gaunt face. Had to be the girl’s mother, who else? She was a bad kind of skinny. Drug skinny. “Don’t, JJ. It’s not her you want to hurt, it’s me.” Snot bungee jumped out of her nose into her mouth then up again when she inhaled. Her teeth were a color of yellow and rot.

“Killing her would hurt you more.” His voice was like sandpaper, his silver-studded leather wrist wraps glinted with wicked foreboding.

The girl couldn’t have been more than twelve. Scraggly unwashed blond hair framed her dirty, tear-streaked face. He shoved the gun into her temple, pressing pale flesh in with its dull metal barrel. The girl’s squeaky cry drowned out the mother’s gasp.

The way he shook, this idiot was suffering from withdrawal—or something. The gun would probably go off without his even pulling the trigger.

I crossed my arms, my blade resting between my forearms and concealed by the sleeves of my jacket. I wanted to go. Forget the whole thing. This could mess up my assignment. Oh, who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to let him hurt the kid. “Let her go.”

JJ turned glazed and reddened eyes my way. “Wha—who the fuck are you? Fuck off, bitch.”

I returned his stare. “No, JJ. You fuck off, but first, let the kid go. Last warning.”

“No!” The mother moved. Right in my way.

It took me a second to process this turn of events. She was protecting him over her child?

I couldn’t even see his hands. Or the girl. The only thing I had a shot at now was JJ’s head. And with a blade, that limited my options. The eye socket was really my only target.

His eyes darted above, behind, beyond, all around. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I’ll kill you, and this little shit, and her skanky-ass mother, too. Don’t piss me off, you don’t—”

His finger twitched enough to make me nervous. I raised my hand level with my shoulder and released my knife with a flick. It sailed through the air, true to its fine craftsmanship.

Thunk! It pierced his left eye. He opened his mouth and dropped to his knees, hands at his sides.

Then he raised his gun hand. It wavered. How was he even alive still? He fought to keep it steady. I was screwed. If he got a shot off it would bring attention I didn’t need. I closed in fast, shoved the kid toward her mother, and pulled a long blade from my boot’s sheath.

“Take her. Go.” I hoped the mother would get her out so she wouldn’t have to see more.

She didn’t.

His hand drooped a bit.

“Go.”

Still she stood, hands draped over her daughter’s shoulders.

He steadied his hand.

I was out of time. Out of choices.

Two steps, and I slipped the knife into his chest, straight to his evil, black heart. I ended his miserable existence with a quick thrust then retracted the blade. All he let loose was a squeak, not much more than a rat’s hiss.

A writhing deep within my abdomen made me catch my breath. The SoulLust was coming to. Bad timing for the thing in me that consumes souls to awaken. This wasn’t the time I could indulge its appetite with a victim. I bent over, took a deep breath, and fought it for control. Pushing the SoulLust’s surge back, imposing my will over its desire to engage in this kill.

Still bent over, I turned my head sideways to the girl who was watching me. She didn’t seem stunned. Either she’d seen a lot of ugliness in her short life or she played the wrong video games.

“JJ,” the woman squeaked, wiping her face with her top. She made a move toward him.

I should’ve call Child Services. Or taken the kid with me. Yeah, that wouldn’t work. An ageless assassin with a death wish was the last thing this kid—or anybody else—needed.

The SoulLust jerked my gut again. I couldn’t keep the grunt in. “Get out” was all I could manage while the SoulLust and I struggled over my body. I straightened, fighting the urge to lean against something. The SoulLust’s surge ebbed back like a slow tide, relinquishing its hold on me.

The girl and her crack ho’ momma scurried away.

I noticed him.

He studied me back.

My palms moistened. I felt my heart rate slowing d-o-w-n.

A few paces away, wielding a metal pipe like a bat, a backpack slung over one shoulder, he gestured at JJ with the black pipe. “Guess you don’t need my help.”

The deckhand.

Far more dangerous-looking than from afar. His eyes were green, unlike a green I’d ever seen—sea foam. Measuring, processing.

Far sexier up close than he was serving as the deckhand of that piece of shit. And even more familiar, but I still couldn’t place him. I was good with remembering faces. Names, not really, but for sure faces stuck—and this face would definitely have stuck like melted marshmallows on s’mores.

And now he was certain to screw up my assignment—that’s what witnesses did. I sure as hell didn’t want the captain’s deckhand to be able to identify me.

In three seconds I could’ve orchestrate his death.

As if.

I knew damned well I wouldn’t kill him. I only kill douche bags and assignments. And ones that threaten my safety. If he’d seen—

“Clean throw.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. Shit, he saw.

“You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

Weird question for him to ask.

His gaze traveled from my black steel-toed boots up to my black jacket, lingering in all the right places, bringing a rise to my body temperature which would be betrayed by my flushed cheeks.

His eyes cut to my core—vivid green lasers that could see my soul. “You’re not an average cop. You’re some sort of special forces, or an agent or something, right?”

“You know I can’t discuss that with you.”

“What will you do with the body?”

The body. Shit, that’s right—the body. JJ, blood coloring his dingy white T-shirt, one blade in his eye. Exit strategy time.

I leaned in and removed my knife, my eyes still on the deckhand.

He didn’t quease. I couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t unfamiliar with this sort of thing. Maybe I was being hypersensitive about him, his motives.

I wiped one blade then the other on JJ’s T-shirt, carefully, thoroughly. Once all the blood was gone, I tucked my weapons back into their respective sheaths, protecting my body from their sharpness and any diseases JJ carried. They pressed against the small of my back, hidden by my jacket.

“I’m not doing anything with the body. Neither are you. We’ll let the local authorities think what they want to. I wasn’t here. If you’re smart, you weren’t either.”

“I wasn’t since I didn’t do anything. Never had a chance to.” He forked his hand through acorn-brown hair too long to be corporate and too short to be hippie, but the perfect length for running fingers through.

I pointed to the pipe. “What are you doing here? With that?”

“Heard a scream. Sounded female. Thought I should check it out.” He tossed the pipe into the dumpster.

“White knight and all that.” I sneered. Nice guy. Probably meant he wasn’t involved in Ole Pete’s enterprises, not if he was going to save a kid. Or so I hoped.

“I’m Sloan.”

“Sloan.” I let the name roll off my tongue, enjoying the sensual feeling of the S while the O made my lips purse. “I’m Yaz.”

“What kind of name is that? Nickname?”

“We don’t need to be chatting it up here. As incompetent as the cops may seem sometimes, they do get lucky. And I don’t like paperwork. Let’s go.”

I should have shaken him loose. Gone my own way, but when he said “Coffee?” I said, “Yes.”

A few blocks away, we took seats at a Starbucks. I sat with the late afternoon sun at my back, almost like putting a spotlight on him. Hoping it made him strain to look directly at me, and unable to read any expressions. Maybe having met him would turn out for the best. He might be able to provide info on Ole Pete and my assignment. One thing I was certain about, whatever Sloan was, he wasn’t simply a deckhand.

He’d ordered a macchiato concoction, and I had my usual quad-venti-skinny latte. I’d fallen victim to the Starbucks baristas and been trained to their lingo. As if saying I wanted a large, non-fat latte with a couple of extra shots was blasphemy.

“You were telling me about your name, Yaz. Is that a nickname or what?”

“It’s a nickname.” Short for Yazmira, I could have said but opted not to. Complications would arise from his knowing too much about me, if he lived long enough.

He took the cap off his drink, tested the temperature against his mouth, licking the whipped cream from his upper lip. His tongue formed a perfect tip as it slid along his lip. Then he caught his lower lip between his teeth, and I fought the shiver that wanted to run from my ass to the top of my spine.

He studied me, a glint in his eye—as if he knew.

My nerve endings tingled. A twinge acknowledged him. It had been a hell of a long time since I’d been with a mortal. This time, I did shudder, unable to stop the rush that passed through my body.

“Cold?”

Damn him.

I looked away then at my cup, studying it as if there’d be a final exam covering cups, hoping to hide the desire flaring between my legs and behind my eyes.

“Where’d you learn those fighting skills?”

His question caught me off guard. “I’ve studied many styles, in many different places.”

He lowered his lids, eyes narrowed. “Which tells me nothing.”

I looked away. The grackles lined up on the telephone lines. Funky birds that looked like blackbirds. They were all over parts of Houston. Weird birds. Every time one flew in and landed, they would all realign themselves to keep a proportionate distance between each one on the line. Odd, how those birds did that, every time one flew in or out. Right now they perched by the thousands, their chirping competing with road noise. It felt like a scene from Hitchcock’s Birds.

I turned my attention back to Sloan. “You already know I’m not going to discuss myself.”

“What can we discuss?”

“Let’s talk about you. Tell me what a man named Sloan does for a living.”

“You already know what I do.” Eyes still narrowed.

“Humor me.”

“Okay. This man named Sloan works as a deckhand on a charter fishing boat doing the bidding of some old fart that doesn’t pay him nearly enough but shamelessly makes use of him twenty four hours a day, on or off the sea.”

“Why don’t you quit, then?”

“Times are tough for clientless financial advisors and newly transplanted journalists.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. He was funny even when he lied. “Aren’t you a bit young to have two failed careers before resorting to being a deckhand?”

“I studied journalism, did a little bit of writing, and then tried financial advising. It’s not like you have to have a finance degree to try to convince people to give you their money. Except, I hate cold-calling, barely know anyone in Houston, blah, blah. I’d have had beaucoup clients if I’d stayed in New Orleans. Family, friends, all that.”

He pronounced it N’Awlins, though he didn’t have an accent.

“What happened to your accent? Or are you not a southern boy by birth?”

“Oh, I’m southern alright.” It came out suth’n, as if he allowed it to slip on purpose. He didn’t have the air of someone who failed at anything, much less a career—or even two.

“Where did you practice your journalism, southern boy?”

“I gave it a shot in the city, New York. Not my kind of place. I’m not good in a town that big. My southern charm isn’t appreciated.” The crinkles around his eyes told me this man smiled a lot.

Another lie—his charm not being appreciated—this man would be appreciated in a room full of lesbians.

The distant sound of sirens caught my attention.

Sloan cocked his head to the side. “JJ’s ride.”

“Probably. Why Houston when New Orleans would have been better?”

“Long story. What were you doing near the docks?” He leaned in. The sun’s rays set those eyes on fire, green ice with blue flecks—until the sun’s brightness caused him to pull back.

“Recon for a job.” And that was true. When your entire existence is a lie, being able to tell the truth can make you feel good.

“No details?”

“You know better.” I took a sip of the latte. At least the coffee had cooled down; my temperature sure as hell hadn’t. I felt a sheen of sweat building on my forehead. Damned jacket, damned heat. Damned man.

“You have an ulcer or something?”

“What? No. What do you mean?”

“The way you were doubled over after JJ. I didn’t think you were gonna hurl. You don’t seem a stranger to blood. What’s up with that?”

“Probably a twenty-four hour thing.” More like a forever thing. How do I even begin to explain SoulLust? Have had for a few hundred years. Using your body as a host. Forcing you to do its dark deeds while it keeps you alive. The symptoms of SoulLust were like a hyped-up pregnancy. Nausea. Controlled by something within me, but yet not me.

“Why have you been casing Pete’s boat for the last few days?”

He knew. Now what? And I was starting to like him. My eyes flew to the grackles while I tried to work out an answer.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, since you’re not gonna tell me anything else about you, why don’t we do it?”

I coughed, choking—spitting my drink, latte sputtering on the table top, and frowned at him. “That’s your come-on?”

“Why would I need a come-on? You’re going to deny the attraction?” He had a charming recklessness that masked supreme confidence.

“I won’t deny it. I mean . . .” Damn.

His lips moved, just the faintest twitch. He was fighting off a laugh. He quit fighting it and laughed.

“You’re not serious.” I squirmed in my seat, not sure I wasn’t disappointed.

“We should go talk somewhere more private. And since my place is a boat that wouldn’t afford luxury or privacy, I was thinking more like yours.”

Why did he want privacy? Though privacy wasn’t a bad idea. Just in case I had to kill him. It would give me a chance to pump him for info. There was something odd about this man. Educated, attractive, but serving as a go-fer on a charter boat.

“I don’t live in Houston.” I added to my lies, thinking of my place a few miles away.

“You probably already have a hotel room, don’t you?”

“Not checked in yet.” Why couldn’t I stop staring at those lips?

“Yeah, right. You’ve been here for days.” He wasn’t asking. He was calling me out.

“I change hotels daily.”

For a second, his brow popped up then settled back in place. “Come on.” He tossed his cup in a trash can.

Thursday Tell All – An Interview with Sarah Bressler of Silk Legacy

Paterson Evening News, July 31, 1913 

AN INTERVIEW WITH SARAH BRESSLER 

Reporter’s introduction: Sarah Bressler is one of our most distinguished and controversial citizens. As an indefatigable fighter for woman suffrage, child welfare and reproductive freedom Sarah is revered by women and reviled by many men. The Paterson Evening News is delighted Sarah has graciously accepted our request for an interview.

Reporter: Sarah, I would like to start at the beginning. When did you arrive in America?

I was born in 1885 in Lebau, Latvia. I immigrated to Paterson, New Jersey with my parents in 1902. Unlike many immigrants, I was fluent in English. My father was a school teacher and taught me. I had worked with my father and planned to become a teacher to help other immigrants.

Reporter: What happened to make you put off your plan to teach?

I fell in love, married, and my dreams died.

Reporter: How did falling in love destroy your dreams?

My husband, Abraham, was also from Lebau but left at age thirteen to avoid being drafted into the Czar’s army. I was three and barely remembered him except for thinking how tall he was. As I said, my father was a teacher and Abraham was one of his students. When we met again in Paterson of course he was still tall, but he was also very handsome and a charmer. He said he loved me and respected me and we married.

Reporter: That still doesn’t explain how your dream died.

Abraham had told me he felt the same way I did about the new calling of a modern woman. We had our first child right away, and I wanted to go back to teaching after he was born, but he demanded I stay home and take care of his house and his child.

Reporter: Isn’t that what wives are supposed to do?

Sarah frowned and exhaled sharply: Isn’t it interesting that men think that way until their family needs money, then they allow, or should I say demand, their wives go to work in the silk mills. I guess most women would envy me. My husband is a man of means and I didn’t have to work. Anyway, I acceded to his demands for eight years, bearing 4 sons.

Reporter: When did things change for you? How did you get so involved with woman suffrage?

Sarah: By accident. Newly arrived immigrants from Lebau brought news that the Czar’s pogroms against the Jews were getting worse. Abe’s father had passed and my husband decided to go back and bring his mother to the United States. I was really scared about his going, but he was a stubborn man and wouldn’t listen to me.

Reporter: You were scared that he would be killed?

Sarah: Of course.

Reporter: Because your children would grow up without a father?

Sarah: Certainly, but worse. My husband’s business depended solely on him. He did not own a mill. He was a jobber. He bought and sold silk yarn. Without him there was no business. If he were to befall an accident how could I support five children―

Reporter: Didn’t you say you had four children?

Sarah: I was pregnant with my fifth.

Reporter: Oh.

Sarah: As I was saying, how could I support five children on a teacher’s salary―

Reporter: And you would have to give up this big house and return to the tenements.

Sarah: I resent that question. I lived in the tenements before I was married. Many of my friends still live in the tenements.

Reporter: I’m sorry.

Sarah: You’re forgiven. What I was afraid of mostly was that my older children would have to go to work in the mills. You know what happens to children in the mills.

Reporter: Of course.

Sarah: Their hands get mangled in the looms. They get lung illness from the toxic fumes in the dye houses.

Reporter: Is that why you also became active to restrict child labor as well as fighting for woman suffrage?

Sarah: Yes. I wanted the same protection for all children, not just those of wealthy families.

Reporter: Let’s get back to how you began your campaigns.

Sarah: I started when Abe was away. I had a young girl helping me with the housework. I was able to leave the house for an hour or two to go to the market. But I couldn’t leave four rambunctious children with her for long. But one day I saw a sign about a suffrage meeting. I went. I decided right then that I was going to get involved no matter what my husband said. And I did.

Reporter: Weren’t you worried about what your husband would say when he got home?

Sarah: Of course, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t think I could become active in the movement because of him. Like I said, he is very insistent on the proper place for his wife. And now I was also going to have an elderly person in the house to care for.

Reporter: But of course you did become active.

Sarah: As it turned out, his mother was the one who allowed me to immerse myself into Paterson’s suffrage movement.

Reporter: How so?

Sarah: My mother-in-law was not feeble like I thought she would be. She had raised five sons. She knew how to handle rambunctious boys and was a great help tending to her grandchildren. For the first time since I married I felt like a free woman. I was able to attend meetings and I even held strategy meetings in my house. Did I tell you Alice Paul was in town one day and came to my house?

Reporter: Alice Paul! She’s quite the revolutionary. Wasn’t she arrested in England when she was part of Emmeline Pankhurst’s radical suffrage group?

Sarah: Yes she was.

They fell into a strained silence while the reporter wrote on his pad. Looking back at Sarah he asked: And you did all this without your husband getting suspicious?

Sarah: He worked all day. He obviously thought I was home taking care of his mother and the children.

Reporter: His mother said nothing?

 Sarah: She thought what I was doing was wonderful.

Reporter: Eventually your husband did discover what you were doing. How?

Sarah: When I was arrested. I thought he was going to explode. Would you like some tea?

Although anxious to hear the rest of her story, the reporter acquiesced to the break: Yes, thank you.

*~*

| Amazon |

SILK LEGACY has been called:

“An Epic Family Saga”

“A Tumultuous Love Story”

“A Slice of American History”

Jealousy, infidelity, arrogance, greed—the characters’ titanic struggles will catapult you into the heights of their euphoria and the depths of their despair.  Who will triumph and who will be humbled is not certain until the last page.

EXCERPT FROM SILK LEGACY:

Set up: 1904, Abe and Sarah were on their first date. They had been on the chasm bridge marveling at the great waterfall when she said she wanted to see his bar. (Abe owned a bar before getting into the silk business.)  Abe was reluctant at first. It wasn’t a place for a proper woman, but Sarah insisted. The following is a piece of the dialogue once they got to the bar.

“Can I see your apartment?” Sarah asked. (Note: His apartment was above the bar)

….

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I was up there.”

….

As she moved around the living room, she ran her finger tips over the silk upholstery and silk draperies, barely caressing them, as she would a delicate flower whose petals might break off if touched too hard.

….

Sarah stared at the Edison phonograph.   “I wish we had one of those.”

“Would you like to hear it?”

“Oh, yes.”

….

“Sounds raspy, doesn’t it?” Abe asked.  “Not like real singing.”

“I love it.  I love all the new inventions.”

“The world is a thrilling place,” he said.

….

“I want to act in a flicker,” she said.

“You’d radiate off the screen and delight everyone in the audience.”

“You make me blush.”

….

“When you smile your eyes sparkle like the mist from the falls that bursts up into the rays of the morning sun.”

She dropped her eyes and reached out to the wing chair for support.

“Do you want to see the rest of the apartment?”

Raising her eyes to meet his, she said, barely louder than a whisper, “Yes.”

He opened the door to the master bedroom.  She looked in and absently said, “Interesting uniforms your bar-maids wear.”   She glanced at her chest.  “I wonder how I would look in one of them?”

“All the men would want only you to wait on them,” he said.

“You think I have enough to fill it out?”

….

His eyes drifted over the curves of her body.  You certainly have enough to fill out any dress, he thought, imagining her bare breasts, round and firm, their rosy nipples taut as he suckled them.  He moved his head to her cheek, inhaling her essence, so fresh and clean.  He kissed her ever so lightly.

She didn’t jump away, but turned to face him.  “Your mustache tickles.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I think it’s handsome.  It makes you look very distinguished.”

Their lips, slowly, cautiously came together.  Abe opened his mouth, drawing her lips apart with his.  He touched her tongue with his.  She pulled back, but only for a moment before following his lead.

*~*

Richard Brawer writes mystery, suspense and historical fiction novels. When not writing, he spends his time sailing and exploring local history.  He has two married daughters and lives in New Jersey with his wife.

Read more about SILK LEGACY and all Richard’s books at his website: www.silklegacy.com

SILK LEGACY is available on Kindle and any e-reader, computer, Apple or Android device that has a Kindle APP, or any tablet that can access Kindle books. (Note: Although not self published the book is no longer available in print as the publisher has gone out of business.)

The Price is $2.99

How Dare He? ~ #MFRWHooks

Ready for another Book Hook?

Since you all enjoyed my reunion/Christmas story intro last week, I’m going to stick with it. Remember as you read, Ivy and Alan last saw each other (and slept together) 8 years ago. There is more to this scene, to be shown in the coming weeks…but I’m sure you can guess what conclusions are being leapt to here:

“So you let me be the bad guy all these years when I didn’t even know?” He stepped into her path with a frown. “Real convenient for you.”

“Real presumptuous of you, don’t you think?” Even if she understood the assumption, she didn’t like to think that he, of all people, would think her capable of such a thing. “You’ve known me for years and you just assume I would do that?”

“We haven’t known each other for years. You just said so yourself.”

She bristled and straightened her spine. “Assume whatever you want, you jackass.”

“How could you?”

He really thought she’d keep his own child from him? Really? She slapped him hard. “Get your head out of your ass. I’m not a total bitch. How dare you accuse me of keeping a child from you! Did you not hear her name? Justina. As in Justin—the man I was dating last time we saw each other.”

*~*

| Amazon | SCP | BN | Smashwords | ARe |

Alan Richards returns to Lake Point for the holidays, counting the minutes until he can accomplish the dreaded goal of dealing with his aging parents and get back to the city. Finding his former soul mate living in the town they left together and swore they’d never return to tosses his ordered plans right on their head.

Ivy Nowell has never looked back since she left the city and her ballet career to raise her daughter in Lake Point. Alan’s homecoming dredges up old hurts and the love she never quite let go, but he hasn’t changed, with his relentless commitment to goals that differ completely from hers.

The attraction and instant understanding between them lingers, but neither are who they used to be. Alan wants to give it a chance, but Ivy is worried he’ll change his mind and won’t risk hurting her daughter.

It’ll take Santa and all his magic to keep them from walking away from each other again, maybe for forever this time.

*~*

MFRW Book Hooks are a chance for authors to share their work and get you intrigued. See more great hooks here:

*~*

Top Ten Tuesday – Holidays with Kristen Ethridge

It’s Spring Break and while the rest of America seems to be on vacation, I seem to be working. I snuck out for one beach day with my kiddos, but the day job has been calling loud and clear this week. But that hasn’t stopped me from daydreaming about holidays recently. And with good reason—all year long, I’m releasing books about finding love on some of the most special days of the year. I call it the “Holiday Hearts” series and I hope you’ll come check it out—the first two novellas, New Year’s Eve and The Cupid Caper, are already out, and a full-length book, Lucky in Love, will be out later this month.

10—Halloween: I haven’t been a big Halloween person for years. I’m just not into all the spooky, scary stuff. But then I had kids. And I love seeing my kids just be kids and enjoy themselves. So Halloween is back on the list because seeing my kids smile makes me smile.

9—New Year’s: I’m not a big resolution maker. But in recent years, I’ve been trying to be more intentional with how I’m living my life and I’ve found that identifying a word or theme for my year has been very useful for me. I do like the idea of drawing a line in the sand and trying to do things different or better. We all need a new start from time to time.

8—Texas Independence Day: I’m a sixth-generation Texan. My great-to-the-something grandfather was the original judge in Anderson County, Texas, and his commission was signed by the one and only Sam Houston. I have a copy of it. Forty-nine other states couldn’t care less about the adoption of the Texas Declaration of Independence on March 2, 1836, but in the Ethridge house, we remember the Alamo. Ha ha!

7—St. Patrick’s Day: I have two redheaded children.  Enough said. They look adorable in leprechaun shirts. Besides, who couldn’t use a little of the Luck of the Irish?

6—Valentine’s Day: A day to be in love with love. I think a lot of it is over-the-top and super-cheesy. But there’s nothing wrong with doing something out-of-the-ordinary to show someone that they are special to you. If we all took the time to tell those we love what they mean to us, I think the world would be a better place.

5—Easter: I love Easter for what it represents as a religious holiday, but I also love it because hands down, it has the best candy. From bunnies to marshmallow eggs, Easter candy is worth stocking up on. Just not Peeps. I don’t do Peeps.

4—Birthdays: Everyone loves the chance to have their own special day. I’ve celebrated my birthday at my favorite restaurant every year since I was 15. (Which is to say…10 years. Ha.) I eat the same thing and get the same dessert—chocolate mousse. But it’s my special day, so it’s ok that I make it my own personal version of Groundhog Day.

3—Independence Day: There’s something about fireworks. I’m lucky to live near one of the best fireworks displays in the nation, so my family goes to see it every year. (And then we wait in the car for two hours to get home, but that’s beside the point!) Our little community also puts on a great local show with games and carnival-style food for the family, plus a concert.

2—Thanksgiving: I’m something of a foodie. In fact, I love to post my favorite real food recipes on my website (www.kristenethridge.com) and share others from my blogger friends on my Facebook page (www.facebook.com/kristenethridgebooks) so this holiday is right up my alley. My favorite thing to eat at Thanksgiving—cajun fried turkey. I haven’t had an oven-baked turkey in years!

1—Christmas: Christmas brings out the kid in me. I love driving around to look at lights. I love getting new ornaments for the tree. Parties, families, special meals and desserts, and peppermint hot chocolate. It’s a time to celebrate with long-standing traditions like church services on Christmas Eve, to create new traditions with your kids, and to brighten someone else’s day with a donation to those less fortunate.

What’s your favorite holiday? Do you live somewhere other than the United States and get to celebrate a fun holiday unique to your own country? I’d love to hear about it!

*~*

| Amazon |

Blurb

Sometimes you’ve got to take Cupid’s bow and arrow into your own hands.

Amanda Marsh is in love with love. As a high school English teacher, she is surrounded by poetry and classic literature, including the love stories written by her favorite author, Shakespeare. She knows she’ll never find anything as romantic as the stories that have stood the test of time, so she’s settled on having a crush on chemistry teacher Luke Baker from a far.

Luke Baker left his career as a research chemist behind to share a love of science with students. And he’s about to make his pet project a reality as the curriculum lead for the district’s new specialized science and technology academy. When a poem shows up on his desk drawing him into The Cupid Caper, the Valentine’s Day-themed dance and fundraiser for Skyview High School’s Student Council, Luke dismisses the whole thing as a silly game. But when he realizes that winning the grand prize in The Cupid Caper is the one way he can help a star student attend the new STEM Academy, he decides to play along.

Paired together, the English teacher and the chemistry teacher both realize The Cupid Caper is more than a game, but neither can tell the other their feelings are no joke. When an education in happily ever after is on the line, will a man whose life has been ruled by the scientific method and a woman who quotes sonnets miss the mark, or will Cupid’s arrow finally ring true?

The Holiday Hearts Series: Heartwarming Stories of Finding Love on the Most Special Days of the Year

*~*

About Kristen Ethridge:

The writing bug bit Kristen Ethridge around the time she first held a pencil. A 2012 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award Finalist, Kristen was discovered by Harlequin through their 2012 So You Think You Can Write contest.

She writes contemporary inspirational romance for Harlequin’s Love Inspired line, as well as sweet contemporary romance. Her favorite stories are filled with love, laughter, and happily ever after–and her favorite happily ever after is the story of God’s love. Although she has fun creating characters, Kristen’s favorite people are her family. She lives in Texas with her husband, children and a self-important poodle. Visit her online at www.kristenethridge.com.

 

 

Tuesday Tales – Nudge

Welcome back to Tuesday Tales!  This weeks prompt is Nudge.

Oops. I had every single intention of continuing Natural Selection for you folks, but I sort of unintentionally wrote the prompt somewhere else first. Rather than interrupt my forward progress on what will be a (lowcost/freebie) story starter, I figured I’d roll with it.

So this is part of Kat’s as-yet untitled story.  Kat is a character from my Dominion Falls series with an interesting back story of her own.  This section is the beginning of Part 2 of her story. Part was was titled “Runaway” – Part 2 is titled “Awakening. In this part, Katherine ran away three years ago, but after her runaway did nothing intentionally to draw attention to herself. She went from one life of propriety into another. Fear and guilt kept her initial rebellion quelled.

Until her eighteenth birthday, where the fire inside is reawakened when she’s forced by contract to find her own way. She begins to plot a way to find her own way, and who to use to do just that:

Katherine leaned on her hand and sighed. Rather than run the numbers she’d been handed, she stared at the door as if it would make something happen.

“Psst.” Melanie nudged Katherine in the side. “There he is again. Like clockwork.”

Katherine straightened in her seat as the gentleman Melanie pointed at removed his hat and scanned the bay of windows. The particular bank Katherine worked in employed all women to handle the everyday transactions, while the men handled the larger business of the bank.

All rumor indicated that Mr. Patrick Warner came to this bank religiously for that reason alone. Rumor also said he’d wooed, corrupted, and then broke the heart of every woman that dared to catch his eye.

Katherine didn’t pull her gaze away when he glanced her direction, as she had for the past two weeks. “Perhaps he’ll visit my window today. I heard tell he’s left Marjorie bereft, so he’ll be looking for a new woman.”

“Katherine Marie, you can’t be serious.” Melanie gasped and set about rearranging the stamps on her desk. “He’s broken the heart of every woman he’s approached.”

“That’s because they were hoping for love and marriage to be taken away from this so-called horrible life as a worker. I, however, have no designs for the life of a wife.” Granted, Katherine had yet to achieve the freedom she’d left Dominion Falls to find three years ago. While Cole’s guidance had taken her to a home and a steady job, for which she was grateful, she’d yet to really find the freedom she’d sought. She’d never been left wanting for food or shelter, but she wanted more. Travel, excitement, and maybe even men.

Just a month ago she’d turned eighteen and, as per her agreement with the woman that had taken her in, Katherine had needed to find a job of her own and living arrangements. She’d managed to find room in a woman’s boarding house and the job at this bank.

Still, she was doing everything she was supposed to, as she was supposed to. With her coming of age, she wanted more. Before she turned spinster, she was curious as to what lay beyond propriety, and she hungered for life beyond her job and the city of Chicago. If she had to start anywhere, why not with learning about sex with a man skilled enough to corrupt numerous proper young ladies as Mr. Warner had?

“Katherine.” Melanie set her hand on Katherine’s arm. “He’s a rake.”

“I know full well what he is.” Kat smiled at the man whose eye she planned to catch, as he spoke with one of the men in the lobby. “Perhaps if he knows what I’m after, we can come to an agreement. After all, the only thing I wish is what he’s rumored to be quite skilled at.”

Deep red hues flooded Melanie’s features, and she shook her head. “It isn’t decent.”

“I’ve been decent for too long.” Katherine had kept her head down and done what she should out of fear her parents would locate her and drag her home if she drew too much attention. At eighteen, the fear was subsiding and the burning need for more that had first flamed to light in Dominion Falls now burned bright again.

Before Melanie could protest further, Patrick approached Katherine’s window. His smile broadened with every step closer he took.

Katherine brushed an unruly curl back into place and returned his smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Warner.”

“Good afternoon. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, and I don’t know yours.” He slid his transaction across the desk.

“I’m Katherine.” She didn’t bother with a last name, though it would be the proper thing to do. “And it wasn’t a disadvantage. I believe you enjoy allowing your reputation to precede you, Mr. Warner.”

“I believe you’re right, Kat.”

She smiled at the nickname, one no one had dared to call her before. Once his transaction was complete, she quirked at brow at his continued presence at her window. “Was there anything else, Mr. Warner?”

“You’re new here.”

“I’ve been employed here for three weeks. Long enough.”

“Long enough for what?”

Katherine shrugged. “To have learned some things.”

“Perhaps we could discuss those things outside of the bank?” He leaned on the counter and flashed a charming smile. “Over supper?”

“No, supper won’t do.” She grinned when he straightened in surprise. “I wouldn’t mind a walk. I have a proposition for you, and it is best discussed discreetly.”

His surprise melted into a wicked grin. “I’m intrigued. For that alone, I’ll take you up on the offer. When shall we have this stroll?”

“Are you free this evening?”

“I can be for one so bold.”

“Then at five, right outside.”

“I look forward to it, Kat.”

“Me too, Mr. Warner.”

 

*~*

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