Sarah Cass's Blog: Sarah's StoryLines, page 23
March 15, 2014
Sunday Snippets 26 – Deep-Fried Sweethearts
Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!
This week we switch to Tag’s point of view. After all, we already know Michaela is lusting after the former jail-bait-turned-21 year old. What does he think about Michaela?
Here he is with his aunt Myrtle, who runs The Diner. He’s just told her he turned in his application at The Midway. Myrtle speaks first:
“What did Mikey have to say?”
“Ugh. I hate that nickname.” He wrinkled his nose and sat at the counter. “She looks nothing like someone named Mikey. She’s sure not a tomboy; she’s all elegant and womanly.”
“That so?” Her brow arched and her lips twitched. “Are you crushing on an older woman?”
*~*
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!
March 14, 2014
Spotlight Saturday – A Countess Most Daring by Jessie Clever
Blurb:
Katharine Cavanaugh, the Countess of Stirling, has always lived according to the expectations of her heritage. American mercenary Matthew Thatcher has spent his life running away from every expectation he has for himself. But when their latest mission from the British War Office goes wrong, trapping them behind enemy lines, they must decide if they dare to realize the greatest expectation of all: the expectation of love.
*~*
Excerpt:
Naples, Italy
April 1815
Sunlight struck him full in the face as he emerged from the grated door of their prison and into the bustling streets of a port city on the Mediterranean Sea. As soon as his feet hit the cobblestone, he dodged to the left, tucking Kate behind him as a cart laden with crates of olives passed just in front of the toes of his boots.
Kate pressed against his back, her heart beating a tattoo into the muscles there. He felt a corresponding ripple in other parts of his body and swallowed to focus on the task at hand. They needed to get away from the prison and the authorities that had brought them there. They needed to find a place to hide until they could regain their composure and perhaps find some suitable clothes for Kate, even if she did make a fetching bar wench.
“Get in the cart.”
Thatcher looked quickly to his right at the cart that had just passed them as if the voice had come from the olives themselves. But knowing that could not be right, he looked up to the bench. A small, squat man, thick through the middle and thin at the limbs hovered like a forgotten presence on the worn bench of the rickety cart. Surely, it was him who had spoken the words, for in the bustle around them, no other person was close enough to utter such words with such clarity for Thatcher to hear.
And the man had spoken in English.
Thatcher turned long enough to scoop Kate into his arms, and together, he launched them into the back of the cart, landing precariously between the rows of olive crates. The cart lurched forward before his body settled onto the boards of the cart, and Kate’s unbelievable warmth came to rest against the full length of his body. He let out a rush of air that had nothing to do with escape and possible pursuit. It was a rush of pure male lust that exited his lungs and with it, his last hope of keeping his hands off of the woman who now lay sprawled across his body.
She struggled against him, likely trying to gain purchase and find a space for herself where there was none in the cart. Thatcher stilled her with his hands a little too far down on her hips, the tattered skirts of her costume having ridden up to her knees, trapping her legs between his. Her head came up, and he stared into hazel eyes, murky with a mystery he could not wait to solve.
“Better relax, my friend. I think we’re going for a ride,” he said, letting his hands slip just a little more down her hips.
And that was when he saw it. The flash of responding desire in those hazel depths that brought a corresponding flicker from his own awareness.
She wanted him.
She may not know that she wanted him, but there, pressed against each other between crates of olives in a cart that was likely to collapse before safely rescuing them away from their captors, driven by a man they did not know and could possibly have nefarious connections, Matthew Thatcher knew that a lusty bar wench wanted him. And not just any lusty bar wench.
Katharine Cavanaugh, the Countess of Stirling.
And for the first time in days, he smiled.
*~*
Bio:
In the second grade, Jessie began a story about a duck and a lost ring. Two harrowing pages of wide ruled notebook paper later, the ring was found. And Jessie has been writing ever since.
Armed with the firm belief that women in the Regency era could be truly awesome heroines, Jessie began telling their stories in her Spy Series, a thrilling ride in historical espionage that showcases human faults and triumphs and most importantly, love.
Jessie makes her home in the great state of New Hampshire where she lives with her husband and a very opinionated Basset Hound. For more, visit jessieclever.com.
March 13, 2014
Faking It by Lydia Michaels (McCullough Mountain 4)
| Amazon | BN | Kobo | iBooks | ARe | SCP |
Blurb:
Sheilagh McCullough has been pretending to be someone else her entire life. When she takes her rebellious act too far, her overbearing brothers decide it’s time for her to grow up and face her future. After six years of procrastination and parties, Sheilagh is finally going to college.
Dr. Alec Devereux is an ethical man, but when Sheilagh McCullough enrolls in his class, his morals as a professor are put to the test. Brilliant, tenacious, and a contradiction to herself in so many ways, Alec is enchanted by his new student and unable to resist temptation. Persistent and logical, Alec unravels the mysterious woman who has captured his heart only to discover the greatest threat to their future might be her past.
A courageous journey of the soul that confronts one woman’s fears of love and embraces the truth in her heart.
Excerpt:
“You have no right!”
“Shut up!” the three of them shouted at once.
Her eyes prickled with unshed tears as they drove. Under the passing shadows she saw each one of them staring away from her, fury stamped into their set jaws. She kicked the seat in front of her and Tristan grunted.
After she discovered Luke and Tristan’s affair, Tristan handled her with kid gloves. Sheilagh didn’t want his pity. She was tougher than that. She was a McCullough, for Christ’s sake. She had five crazy brothers and she could hold her own with every single one of them.
The farther they drove out of town, the more self-doubt crept in. “Where are we going?”
No one answered. The commercial storefronts faded away as Kelly turned the SUV onto the highway leading out of town. As they took the jug handle onto the interstate her concern doubled. Their anger was so thick it seemed to siphon the air right out of the car.
Her concern for herself doubled as her eyes rapidly blinked back tears, forcing those telling little spills to stay put where others couldn’t see. Her entire existence focused on hiding those telltale signs of weakness from the world.
She hated that her stupid, childish heart was permanently damaged and her life derailed. Since the day she’d discovered Luke and Tristan, she’d been going at the world like a runaway train, making one poor choice after another and leaving nothing but self-destruction in her wake. It was the only way she knew to control the pain, control herself. But in truth, over the last few years she felt out of control and with every stupid transgression came another reason to hate herself.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever be normal again. She wasn’t breaking hearts, just breaking herself, battering pieces of her broken heart, little by little, with each poor decision.
Suddenly the car swerved. She slammed into Luke and he pushed her off. Gravel spewed under the tires as Kelly tore onto the shoulder and threw the SUV in park.
It was dark and no one said a word. Fear tickled her spine. Why were they there? It was completely dark and eerie and she wondered if this was their version of some kind of confessional.
The sound of their breathing sawed out of their lungs and she waited. Luke, of course, broke the silence. “Are you out of your god damn mind?”
She turned to unleash the fury inside of her. “Oh, shut up, Luke! You have no right to pass judgment on me!”
Kelly swiveled in his seat, his blue eyes boring into her through the dark. “What did you suspect people would do after you bared your titties for the town? Praise you? Christ, Sheilagh, use your fucking head!”
“Like you have any room to talk, Kelly! There isn’t a woman in Center County who hasn’t seen your wank!”
“And do you think I didn’t pay a price for my actions, Sheilagh?” Kelly stormed.
No, she didn’t. Kelly lived the high life and still managed to find his soul mate. No one in this car had a right to even pretend they understood what it felt like to be invisible.
“It’s like the sheep fucker!” Kelly snarled and turned toward the windshield.
What? “What?”
“Shamus the sheep fucker!” her brother snapped. “The old Irishman in the bar that built the church and sailed the sea, but no one remembers that because he fucked one sheep.”
“No one’s fucking a sheep, you moron!”
“Well, what do you think people would say if you started stripping? You wouldn’t be Sheilagh the beautiful McCullough or Sheilagh the genius. No, you’d only be Sheilagh the stripper. Do you want that kind of reputation?”
She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared out the window.
Tristan turned. “Why would you do this, Shei?”
She blinked repeatedly. Because no one notices me anymore. Forcing an expression of indifference, she shrugged. “Why not?”
“You’re better than that. You know you are,” he said in a soft voice.
She didn’t know what to say back. Maybe she wasn’t better than that. Maybe that’s all she was meant to be, a stripper in some Podunk town.
Luke wouldn’t look at her, but she still heard him growl. “This is bullshit. When are you going to grow up?”
She pivoted and turned her glare on him. “Me? How about you, Luke? When are you going to grow up? You have an awful lot to say about how everyone lives their life, when you don’t have the balls to let the world see who you really are!”
The car grew deathly silent. Kelly said her name in warning and she snapped. “No! I’m sick of it! Just say it! Say it!”
“What do you want me to say?” Luke roared.
Tristan’s stare cut to her and she felt a pinch of regret much like the lament she saw in his eyes. Why couldn’t they just come out and let everyone know they were in love?
“This isn’t about Luke,” Tristan said quietly. “It never was. I’m sorry, Sheilagh. I know this isn’t what you asked for, but sometimes life is unfair.”
She fumed as she glared back at him. “I wanna go home.”
No one said anything for quite some time. “You’re going away,” Kelly finally announced.
“What?”
“You’re going to college. There’s nothing for you here and you know it. It’s time for you to get on with your life and make something of yourself.”
Author Bio:
Bestselling author, Lydia Michaels, writes all forms of hot romance. She presses the bounds of love and surprises readers just when they assume they have her stories figured out. From Amish vampyres, to wild Irishmen, to broken heroes, and heroines no man can match, Lydia takes readers on an emotional journey of the heart, mind, and soul with every story she pens. Her books are intellectual, erotic, haunting, always centered on love.
Lydia Michaels loves to hear from readers! She can be contacted by email at Lydia@LydiaMichaels.org
Webpage: www.LydiaMichaels.org
Other Titles by Lydia Michaels:
Falling InBreaking Out
Coming Home
Sacred Waters
Skin
Chaste
Faking It
Forsaking Truth (Coming Soon)
As Tears Go By (Coming Soon)
Simple Man
Breaking Perfect
White Chocolate
All 4 You
To Catch a Wolfe
Chasing Feathers
Called to Order
Calling for a Miracle
Destiny Calls
Call Her Mine
McCullough Mountain: Family Tree
March 12, 2014
Thursday Tell All – Brent Davenport of His Abductors Desire
What is your story?
I’m the heir to a banking empire headquartered in Boston. I met the love of my life before I was old enough to accept that’s who she was. I lost her and spent the last few years looking for her.
Do you have any special strengths?
I have the ability to go after what I want with single-minded determination until I get it.
Do you have any special weaknesses?
Unfortunately, that strength could be considered a weakness if what I want and what I need are two different things.
Did you ever meet any other family members? Who were they? What did you think of them?
My father died when I was very young so I don’t remember very much about him. He was a banker, a very important man so he was always dressed well. He was very stern. I don’t think I ever remember seeing him smile. But he loved my mother. I remember he would bring home a flower to her every day, even in winter. I always thought he was a magician, until I grew up and realized that anything could be bought, even in winter.
What is your worst childhood memory?
The day my father died. I wasn’t there when it happened, but I remember coming home to see my mother sitting in the front parlor. It’s where she would wait for him every afternoon. She already knew. I didn’t know yet, but the look on her face was terrifying. I’d never seen it look so empty, so devoid of anything. You have to understand, my mother is a talker and very animated. It was so unlike her to be so still. I still remember that moment.
What is more important – sex or intimacy? Why?
For a long time I thought sex was more important. Where I come from women only want two things from me: my name and my money. If they can’t have the first, they’re more than happy to enjoy the second. I never thought intimacy, real intimacy, was possible. The one time I caught a glimpse of it…it scared the hell out of me. Now I know better.
What’s the worst thing you’ve done to someone you loved?
What one act in your past are you most ashamed of? What one act in your past are you most proud of?
Leaving Charity is both the worst thing I’ve done to someone and the one act I’m most ashamed of. I ran from her love because I was a coward, I was afraid. I didn’t even have a good reason.
I’m most proud of the work I’ve done to bring my uncle to justice.
What trait do you find most admirable, and how often do you find it?
Honesty. I’ve found that very few people are actually capable of it.
What one word best describes you?
Determined
How private of a person are you? Why?
I’m a very private person. I’m a Davenport, so people have always expected me to play a certain role. Playboy, gambler. When I was younger, I found it easier to play along than to allow them to know the real me.
What would you wish for if you found a genie?
I don’t make wishes. I prefer to make things happen.
*~*~*~*
Blurb:
Montana Territory, 1887
Heiress-turned-outlaw Charity Blake is determined to get back the fortune the Davenport banking family took from her father—even if she has to hold Brent Davenport ransom to do it! After all, the seductive charmer stole something even more valuable from her five years ago: her heart. But once she has Brent in chains, Charity must face the fact that her desire for the man has grown from the sweet dreams of a young girl to the unquenchable passion of a woman. And soon it’s not clear whether she’s the captor, or the captive….
Excerpt:
“Don’t worry, folks. We ain’t here for yer valuables, just the money in the vault.” Charity’s contrived accent came out deep and loud to make it past the muffling barrier of the scarf covering the lower half of her face and to hide her cultured Bostonian intonation.
As she spoke, her partners took their appointed positions. Elle had come in through the back door and quietly made her presence known, while Dew moved to disarm the men in the room, quickly establishing a stack of revolvers in the far corner.
“Get up and open the vault.” Charity barked the order to the manager.
He sputtered for a moment as if he might argue and looked at the customer sitting across the desk from him. Had she not been watching so closely, Charity would have missed the almost imperceptible nod from the man that gave the manager the courage to get on his feet. Hands still in the air, he walked his wiry frame to the vault, which sat in plain view behind the row of clerks, and stopped there, afraid to proceed.
“Th-the key is on my belt.” He explained, hands still in the air. His gaze went from her to the customer left sitting at his desk.
Charity followed his gaze and found herself looking at a broad pair of shoulders encased in a fine wool coat. The coat was impeccably tailored, not the roughspun typically found this far outside of the town of Helena. A banking official was her first thought, but that didn’t explain why her heart was suddenly threatening to pound out of her chest and the blood had gone cold in her veins. The girl who had long ago been banished to areas deep in her subconscious had already recognized the set of those shoulders. She knew that thick, sable hair brushed back in a style that had been entirely too long for Boston society but was a trademark of his contemptuous nature.
*~*
Author bio
Harper St. George was raised in the rural backwoods of Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was a setting filled with stories of the old days that instilled in her a love of history, romance, and adventure. By high school, she had discovered the historical romance novel which combined all of those elements into one perfect package. She has been hooked ever since.
She lives in Atlanta, GA with her husband and two young children. Look for her short story in the upcoming Romance Writers of America anthology. She would love to hear from you. Please visit her website at harperstgeorge.com.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/harperstgeorge
Twitter: @HarperStGeorge
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/harperstgeorge
March 11, 2014
What Child is This – #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:
“Justina. Come here, baby.” Ivy waved over the young girl and smoothed her hand over the chestnut hair when she drew close. Justina pressed into her side and Ivy looked up at Alan. “This is Justina, my daughter. Justina, this is an old friend of mine. It’s Miss Dotty’s son. You’ve seen his picture at her house.”
“Hello.” Justina’s voice was small and timid, her greeting out of required politeness.
“Hello.” Alan’s jaw set tight. “It’s nice to meet you. How old are you?”
“Seven.”
That did it. Alan shut down cold as ice, anger clouding the hints of regret he’d carried a few seconds ago.
*~*
| 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:
*~*
March 9, 2014
Tuesday Tales – End – Natural Selection
Welcome back to Tuesday Tales! This weeks prompt is End.
A week has passed and Leilyn has been learning and hunting…and Dell has been avoiding (under orders in part, and also b/c he’s trying to be nice).
However, Leilyn takes exception to how she’s being “handled”:
For one week the topic had been avoided and Dell was getting more frustrated. While he understood Leilyn needed time to adjust, he wanted to give her a reason not to run. Every night he battled against sleep to keep an eye on her.
In his gut he knew she wanted to run before the West Virginia pack caught up to her, and they would. Dell had seen the mark on her ankle, most likely made when she was still an infant. It was likely Leilyn had no idea what it was, or thought it was a birthmark, but it wasn’t.
It was a mark of possession, probably the only way they were able to keep her from returning to her true pack once she grew into her Were form. The mark wouldn’t make it impossible to keep her by Dell’s side, where she belonged, but it would be enough for the one that claimed her to track her. No matter where she went.
The mark would fade with time and distance from its creator, and when Dell claimed her as his mate, but for now she had a target on her back.
Worse, that target would bring the very pack that had attacked and murdered many of Dell’s pack back to their doorstep. Everyone in the pack was aware, and the mood in the town had shifted to restlessness, unease. Patrols had increased even after the Cougar pack had moved on further west.
At the bank of the river Dell’s father, Jasper, stood with Leilyn. Jasper had insisted on leading Leilyn on her hunts. Dell had remained human under the direct insistence of his Alpha. Even though he knew it was to hold off overwhelming Leilyn further by figuring out they were mates, Dell didn’t care for it.
After that morning’s hunt, Jasper and Leilyn had remained on the river bank for almost two hours. Dell twitched with impatience, ready to move downwind to hear what they were discussing.
He didn’t have to, as Jasper finally turned and strode up the hill toward Dell. A few feet away, Jasper nodded. “She’ll need you now. The pack is close.”
“How long?” Dell knew it was coming, but his stomach turned at the thought of the upcoming battle.
“Two days at best, sooner if they stay Were and come in hot like they did last time.” Jasper squeezed his shoulder. “The mark is getting darker. He must have a witch on his side.”
Dell nodded. He’d guessed as much. Without another word, he jogged toward the river, slowing a few feet behind Leilyn.
She didn’t move as he approached, her arms folded across her chest. “I’m afraid I upset your father.”
“What?” Dell glanced behind him, but Jasper was already out of sight. “He said nothing of the sort. Why do you think you upset him?”
“I told him I didn’t appreciate what he was doing.”
“Which is?”
“Two things wrapped into one.” She dropped her arms, but her gaze remained up-river. “He’s keeping us apart to keep us from acting on instinct, and he’s doing so to use me as bait.”
He stepped closer. “Explain.”
“I’m not a total idiot, although I was kept clueless about much of pack politics in what I now realize was an intentional misdirection. Plus, Byron has been helping me learn what I was lied to about.”
“That’s not explaining.”
“Birthmarks don’t get darker.” She held out her leg, the bare ankle and foot a tanned, stark relief against the white snow. On her ankle sat the mark, a small circle with three arcs of color bursting from it. The week before the mark had been barely distinguishable from her flesh, but now it shone bright red.
He frowned. “That’s been helped along by a witch.”
“It means he’s getting closer, although I could tell that myself. I can feel it. This is all going to come to an end soon. One way or another.”
“You can’t run from it.”
“I did once.”
“You can’t run from me.”
“I know.” She finally turned toward him. Her features remained stoic, and he couldn’t quite tell what she was feeling. “Instinct tells me as much. Although neither your nor your father would bother to tell me why.”
“Leilyn.”
“I’ve been lied to my whole life. You seem to think you can resolve my turmoil with more lies?”
“I wasn’t lying. I was…”
“What?”
“Procrastinating?” Even to his ears, it sounded weak.
She snorted and turned away. “It will take all your Alpha power to take me to your bed now and erase this mark. Would you do that?”
“Never.” The fierce growl in his words was pure Were anger. “I would never force you into my bed.”
“It’s going to take more than instinct. So this mark is stuck here, and they are coming. I hope you’re ready for a fight that isn’t in anyway fair. They fight dirty.”
“I know, and we’re ready.” Dell stepped closer. “What about you? Will you be with us? Or will you go back to them?”
“I don’t know. I guess I have about…” She tilted her head, her lips pursed as she thought. “Thirty one hours to figure it out. So do you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly.”
*~*
Hope you enjoyed it! Click on the Tuesday Tales badge to see more excellent entries!!
March 8, 2014
Sunday Snippets 25 – Deep-Fried Sweethearts
Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!
Back to Michaela and the delectable Tag. Last week, Tag showed up to apply for the assistant manager position. This week Michaela has agreed to an interview, but worries about a flaw of hers…a tendency to blush at everything:
“Thanks, Miss O’Keefe, you won’t regret it.” He held out his hand; when she responded with her own, his warm hand folded hers in a gentle, but firm handshake.
“Easy, Tag-I haven’t given you the job yet.” She could swear the heat of his hand travelled up to flood her cheeks. If she did give him the job, working alongside such eye candy would be rough—especially with how easily she blushed.
“I know-let’s just say I’ve got a good feeling.”
So do I-oops, hush your inner voice. She had no doubt she was blushing now, but forced herself to smile and nod.
*A little creative editing in force to make it fit in the 8
*~*
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!
March 7, 2014
Spotlight Saturday – No Little Thing by S.C. Dane
| Amazon | Jupiter Garden Press | Kobo | BN | Smashwords | ARe |
Lily Fain’s life as a horror novelist isn’t perfect, but it suits her, even if she has written off true love in exchange for her fictional world of monsters. Then her imagined world comes to life when she discovers she has a stalker who isn’t the average fan, but a real vampire who wants her dead.
Griffyd Fychan is a vampire-killer who is seven feet of lithe muscles, quick reflexes, and an explosion of ferocity that strikes terror in those he hunts, even those he rescues. But when the slayer steps between Lily and her vampire stalker, Griffyd’s instincts not only compel him to protect her from their mutual enemy, but to bond with her, as well.
The problem? Griffyd isn’t human–he belongs within the pages of Lily’s horror novels.
Faced with the menacing vampire-killer’s affections, will Lily retreat in fear to her author’s life? Or will she surrender to her dark passion for Griffyd, whose bonding to her could alter her in ways neither one could have ever foreseen?
*~*
EXCERPT:
Griffyd couldn’t stand it any longer. He had been spying on the human woman while she slept, and had found himself inching closer to where she lay, snuggled comfortably in his bed. Yet one of her arms escaped her cocoon, where it draped over the edge of the mattress as if beckoning him, inviting him to run one of his fingers along the soft skin of her inner wrist.
He felt a purr flutter up through his chest, which surprised him. He had never purred before, and the sensation of it thrilled him, flurried his heart rate. As did the sight he drank in with his obsidian eyes.
His faemne had curled up like a little nestling and had burrowed deeper into the downy folds of his bed. Yes, he liked the sight of that a lot. She looked so peaceful buried in amongst his bedding, so utterly at home, that it sped his breathing so that his chest clenched.
Damn him for what he had the undeniable urge to do. Running his finger along her tender, forbidden skin only heightened his need to touch. He wanted to feel more of her, he desired to feel the weight of her body in his arms, upon his stomach; he desperately wanted to snuffle the dip of her neck where it met her collarbone.
Griffyd the vampire-killer, the monster he knew she thought him to be, got up off his knees and slipped himself beneath her sleeping form to cradle her like she was but a fragile fawn.
And squeezed his eyes shut against the bliss of it.
Min modlufu, he purred.
If she woke at that moment, he would never forgive himself this moment of weakness, and for a breathless second he thought she had. But she only squirmed herself tighter against him, nuzzling her face along his chest, then sighed, and he felt her grow heavier as she drifted deeper into unconsciousness.
Gaestlufe–my soul’s love.
He couldn’t part with her, had to find a way to make her see him beyond the fangs, the horns, the claws. They were weapons, yes, but he could be gentle, he could be gentled. If he could help her to see all of him, perhaps then she would not be so frightened, would understand that the violence in his life took up only a part.
Which encroached with the coming twilight. He could leave her now, knowing she rested safely in his lair, that her wound had grown no worse, nor had she from the toxins entering through it. Her human body would take a while to heal, but he counted on that, hoped she would not prove to be too healthy in that respect. Selfish, yes, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed time.
And for once in the long centuries of his life, he didn’t think he had enough of it.
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March 6, 2014
Without a Trace by Laurie White
ONE COMMENTER WILL WIN AN EBOOK COPY OF WITHOUT A TRACE! So leave your comment for a chance to win!!
Thanks for hosting me, Sarah! It is always nice to guest on a fellow author’s blog. I write romantic suspense, which is also my favorite genre to read…I just love that combination of danger and passion, and it’s pretty fun coming up with a nasty, evil villain in addition to a smoldering, seductive hero and a feisty, sexy heroine! Rachel and Matt are both trying to put tragic pasts behind them, yet are drawn to each other despite their misgivings. I do hope your blog readers will check out WITHOUT A TRACE!
Magazine journalist Rachel Bennett has a reputation for getting to the heart of a story. However, when her sister disappears and is suspected of embezzling from her employer, the story has suddenly become personal. The last thing Rachel wants right now is the distraction of Matt Romero, the detective assigned to the case. She wants a “safe” man…and Matt is anything but that.
Matt accepts the risk that goes with his job. Two years ago, his wife was murdered, a tragedy he blames himself for. He’s vowed to protect his family and friends because he doesn’t want to go through the pain of loss again. However, the lovely journalist soon begins breaking through the icy wall around his heart.
As Rachel and Matt search for answers in order to find her sister, they uncover a corruption that puts them both in danger – and a passion that puts both their hearts at risk.
*~*
EXCERPT:
Something wasn’t right.
Rachel Bennett felt uneasy from the moment she’d set foot in her sister’s apartment. A bead of perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades.
She’d been unable to reach her younger sister Paige for the past three days. She hadn’t even shown up at work. Rachel cut short a long-awaited Palm Springs vacation out of concern for her. The three-hour drive back to Los Angeles this morning was a blur.
“Paige?”
Something made her almost whisper the word. She paused outside Paige’s half-open bedroom door before peering into the sun-splashed room. A hint of Paige’s signature scent, Ed Hardy, hung in the air. The bed, normally covered with a cheerful floral comforter, sat unmade in the messy room. Unusual for her neatnik sister.
She would never just take off like this. At least not willingly.
What’s happened to my sister?
Rachel noticed several black smudges on the wall by the window. A nervous feeling gnawed at her. Slowly, she stepped into the bedroom, toward the telephone. She needed to call for help.
“Police! Stop right there.”
The resonant male voice was strong and authoritative. Rachel froze, confused, blood pounding in her head. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. “I’m Rachel Bennett. My sister, Paige Bennett, lives here. I have a key.”
“Okay. Turn around.”
In slow, careful movements, Rachel complied. Her pulse thrummed even harder as she came face-to-face with the most overwhelming man she’d ever laid eyes on. His features were rugged and darkly handsome, his hair black as sin. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
A twinge of wariness assailed Rachel as her gaze took in the man. All in all, he made a dangerously sexy package despite his ordinary dark gray suit and tie. He looked like no cop she’d ever seen, but his open-legged stance and the familiarity with which he held his pistol—aimed at her—seemed to show years of experience on the force. Or simply a lot of practice using a gun.
Certainly he won’t shoot, she told herself, heart crashing hard against her chest. “Can I see your ID?”
The man’s steely dark eyes never left hers as he unclipped the gold badge from his belt and held it out to her.
“Matt Romero, LAPD Detective Support and Vice,” he said.
Rachel studied the badge. In her work as a writer for Southland Life magazine, she’d seen enough cop badges to know this was the real thing. What sort of trouble could Paige be in?
“How did you…”
“The apartment manager let us in. We had a search warrant.” He lowered his gun, then clipped his badge back onto his belt.
“Search warrant? Has something happened to Paige?” A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Although a part of her didn’t want to know, her reporter’s instinct demanded answers.
Skepticism flickered across Romero’s face, but as he studied her he seemed to relax. He holstered his weapon. “I saw a photo on the desk over there of you with your sister. You resemble each other very much. Why don’t we sit down?” He motioned toward the living room.
Rachel trudged down the hallway, struggling to prepare herself for whatever this man was about to tell her. Horrifying possibilities whirled in her mind. Had Paige been arrested for some reason? Worse yet, badly hurt or even—no, she couldn’t allow herself to think about that last one. A shudder rippled through her.
Then she felt one of the detective’s large hands on the center of her back. The guiding gesture, although gentle, unnerved her. The heat from his palm burned through the thin fabric of her blouse. She walked a bit faster.
In the living room, Rachel sank into Paige’s comfortable powder blue sofa. She took a deep breath to calm herself, but her stomach knotted up when Romero settled into the chair beside the sofa, right next to her.
“Why are you here, Detective? Where is Paige?”
“That’s what my partner and I are trying to find out, Ms. Bennett.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, managing to sound a lot less anxious—and a lot less aware of the man across from her—than she really was.
He looked her dead in the eye. “Your sister is missing, Ms. Bennett.”
*~*
ABOUT LAURIE:Laurie White is the author of two romantic suspense novels from Sweet Cravings Publishing. Her latest novel, WITHOUT A TRACE, was released January 30, 2014 from Secret Cravings Publishing. Laurie is a member of Romance Writers of America and Georgia Romance Writers. Aside from writing, she enjoys reading, spending time with family, traveling, and watching movies. She is the proud mama of four adorable cats and lives in the hills of Tennessee.
PUBLISHED NOVELS:
WITHOUT A TRACE – Available NOW from Secret Cravings Publishing!
TWIST OF FATE – February 2013 from Sweet Cravings Publishing
DESERT HEAT – October 2012 from Sweet Cravings Publishing
March 4, 2014
Never too late for Christmas – Book Hooks 1
My first week participating in MFRW’s Book Hooks!
I’m excited to take part in this new weekly hook-ing fun meme!
To start off fresh, I’m going to hook from my Christmas story, Santa, Maybe…mostly because I was laid up for surgery right after it’s release and it didn’t get the love it whole-heartedly deserved.
Ivy and Alan haven’t seen each other for eight years. Former high school, and college sweethearts they were the “almost” couple…both career driven on disparate career paths, eventually they parted for good after on-again/off-again relationship. This is the first time they’ve seen each other in 8 years:
“Ivy. I had no idea you were back in Lake Point.”
“Been here for almost eight years,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”
“You did. You just didn’t say you would come back here.”
When she pulled back he could’ve sworn he saw the glimmer of a tear at the edge of her emerald eyes. With a blink it was gone and she smiled. “No. I didn’t tell you that part, did I? Goodness, you look good. How have you been?”
“Busy,” he replied, chuckling when she said it at the same time as he did.
*~*
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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:
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