Sarah Cass's Blog: Sarah's StoryLines, page 28

Sunday Snippets 18 – Changing Tracks

Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!

I’m still keeping you all intrigued with the beginning of the series Changing Tracks (The Dominion Falls Series book 1). You know, my amnesiac with the eidetic memory, Jane Doe…and the brothel-owner, anti-hero…Cole Mitchell.

Nearing the end – which means we’re nearing a giveaway In this scene, Cole has just literally saved Jane’s life at great peril to his own. Jane is clearly distraught:

Jane nodded with a weak sob and bent down over Cole. “Please, Cole, I need you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just come back to me.”

“I’ve gotta move him,” Graham knelt down next to him, “He ain’t dead, but if Daisy’s going to do anything, it ain’t gonna be in the street.”

She nodded weakly. “He has to live. I wasn’t worth this.”

“No, you weren’t.”

*Please forgive creative punctuation…I just had to include all these lines

*~*

Did you like this sample, too?  You can pick up the whole series now!!

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

Sunday Snippets 17 – Changing Tracks

Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors! I’m still keeping you all intrigued with the beginning of the series Changing Tracks (The Dominion Falls Series book 1). You know, my amnesiac with the eidetic memory, Jane Doe…and the brothel-owner, anti-hero…Cole Mitchell.

Now we’re back in Jane’s POV. Getting close to the end of the story. Much has happened I can’t explain, but among them, Cole sold the contract on his doctoring whore {Daisy} to another, less “friendly” brothel owner Daisy tries to tell Jane it’s all right, but Jane is having none of it…and in this 8 is my favoritest line ever (the one about the chicken):

“He said the money was too good; after the last attack he needed cash to fix up the saloon and I was the fast way to get it.” Daisy took a shaky breath and forced a smile. “At least I get to dress better, and he’s going to let me do some doctoring.”

“Painting the feathers of a chicken doesn’t make it a peacock.” Jane glared at Guy’s amused visage. “I’m going to kill them both. Stupid men and their pissing contests. They’ll never understand what idiots they are.”

*Please forgive creative punctuation…I just had to include all these lines *~* Did you like this sample, too?  You can pick up the whole series now!!  *~* 

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

Sunday Snippets 16 – Changing Tracks

Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!

I’m still keeping you all intrigued with the beginning of the series Changing Tracks (The Dominion Falls Series book 1). You know, my amnesiac with the eidetic memory, Jane Doe…and the brothel-owner, anti-hero…Cole Mitchell.

Back to Cole’s POV.  He and Jane have FINALLY managed to get themselves in bed…and thanks to their long wait it was a marathon session…and I mean a marathon. These two spent almost 24 hours in bed…very little of it sleeping.  After they disappeared for so long, someone comes to check on them:

When another knock sounded, she groaned, “Oh for goodness’ sake.”

Cole quirked a brow when she pulled away, propping himself up on his elbow; admiring her form as she headed toward the door, he couldn’t help but chuckle. She’d failed to put on a robe. “Uh, Jane?”

She cast a glance over her shoulder with a wicked smirk and a wink, “Yes?”

Laughing out loud at her brazen move, he couldn’t deny he admired her more for it. That sort of gumption took a certain kind of woman-his kind of woman.

*Please forgive creative punctuation…I just had to include all these lines

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Did you like this sample, too?  You can pick up the whole series now!!

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*~*

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

Sunday Snippets 15 – Changing Tracks

Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!

I’m still keeping you all intrigued with the beginning of the series Changing Tracks (The Dominion Falls Series book 1). You know, my amnesiac with the eidetic memory, Jane Doe…and the brothel-owner, anti-hero…Cole Mitchell.

Jumping WAY ahead (I can’t give away the farm here, people)…

Back to Jane’s POV…once again she and Cole have had a spat. Her usual tactic when the two of them argue is to ignore him. Refusing his immense libido tends to clear his head…unfortunately this time he’s been just as stubborn as she and they haven’t spoke for three weeks. The night before this scene Jane did something nice for an old friend of Cole’s, one that is usually picked on in the town, and she did it out of total kindness. It swayed Cole, and softened his anger…and here he is as she’s trying to go home:

“Jane.”

Smooth as silk, Cole’s voice wrapped around her and stopped her dead. One word sent shivers through her body. Damn it. She wanted nothing more than to give in right then, but it wouldn’t do. All it would take was an apology. Could she wait for it?

“You’re a damn annoying woman, ya know that?”

*~*

Did you like this sample, too?  You can pick up the whole series now!!

*~*











*~*

*~*

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

Sunday Snippets 14 – Changing Tracks

Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!

I’m still keeping you all intrigued with the beginning of the series Changing Tracks (The Dominion Falls Series book 1). You know, my amnesiac with the eidetic memory, Jane Doe…and the brothel-owner, anti-hero…Cole Mitchell.

Last week Cole called Jane “his woman” and caught himself off-guard…and realized that even though he didn’t want to care, he couldn’t help himself when it came to Jane. He ran to find her after the Indian raid…and now she spots him:

She lifted her head and saw him. The step she took toward him set his heart pounding. In that moment all the anger and frustration left. He just wanted to hold her in his arms and wipe away that damn tear.

She didn’t make him wait, running toward him at full speed. A wave of relief hit that she ran to him, just him. He held out his arms and braced for the impact. Throwing her good arm around his neck, the catch of a sob in her throat put a lump square in his.

*~*

Did you like this sample, too?  You can pick up the whole series now!!

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*~*

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

Thursday Tell All – Rayna Guilbeau of The Last Daughter

 

What is your story?

I’ve known from the beginning that I didn’t belong in Louisiana, that my roots weren’t there, so I’ve always wanted to find my family. No one would tell me anything about them, or where I’m from. No one would explain why a heart was branded on my chest, or why my so-called Louisiana cousins didn’t like me. My story is that no one would tell me my story. Does that make sense?

 

Who are you?

I’m a girl without a future. Until I can find out who I am, where I come from—who I come from–I have no future. I’m sure that sounds melodramatic to most of you but when you ask who I am—I have no answer for you. My name is Rayna Guilbeau. But is it really?

 

Do you have a problem that wasn’t mentioned in the story?

No, I’m pretty open and transparent. Except … I have to admit I didn’t want to reveal too much to Trent Jones in the beginning. Why should I? No one has ever told me the truth so I didn’t think I could trust him either. Maybe in the beginning my problem was not trusting or maybe my problem was trusting too much. Read my story and decide for yourself.

 

Do you embrace conflict?

Funny you should ask that question. I certainly embraced it in The Last Daughter, didn’t? I butted heads with conflict. In a way, I guess I created it.

 

Do you run from conflict?

Isn’t there an old saying what doesn’t kill us makes us strong. When I think that Trent and I could have lost our lives because of the conflict I brought into our lives, my heart actually skips a beat or two. I realize we’re a lot stronger because we met conflict head on, and I learned a lot about Trent. I can depend on him. I don’t run from conflict, and neither does he.

 

How do you see yourself?

Before my story was created, I actually saw myself as a nonentity: powerless, insignificant, non-existent. Now, after learning who I am, after meeting Trent Jones—after living through my story, I feel whole. Funny that meeting evil face to face, surviving evil, can infuse one with … well, life, I guess. New life.

 

How do your friends see you?

I’ve never had friends. I went through school being the outcast because of the Louisiana ‘cousins’ I lived with. They blackballed me and I never understood why. Because I looked different? Because I acted strange? Because their parents told them my story? Who knows? Maybe that’s something I’ll tackle next. Wouldn’t that be interesting to confront my life and those family members in Louisiana now that I’ve embraced the horrors of my Oklahoma birth?

 

How do your enemies see you?

I was compared to a stray cat. I was told he should have put me in a bag and tossed me in the river the way he did his sister’s kitten. How many daughters can say their father wished them dead?

 

How does the author see you? 

The author of my story loved me from the beginning. She infused me with much of her own strength, but a lot of her own fear and insecurity went into me too. My author made me more beautiful than I felt. Believe me, I argued with her, but she insisted I looked exactly like a young Angie Harmon. I think that’s hilarious. Sometimes I stare into a mirror and try to see what she sees. I still don’t see it. When she knew I was going to confront my father, she put me in a lovely, feminine sundress—one that would show him exactly what he’d done to me. When I walked down those stairs and Trent sucked in his breath, I knew it was the right dress to wear. And when my father saw me for the first time, when I saw the surprise cross his face, his eyes widen … I felt like the winner. Sure, his hurtful words, his cruelty was like a knife jabbing my flesh over and over again, but with my author standing with me—and Trent—I knew I’d come out on top. I just wish I didn’t have to suffer such loss.

 

What, if anything, haunts you?

I keep asking myself if I could have done things differently. I’d yearned for my mother and father for years. I’d prayed for a family that would love me. I believe in happily-ever-afters but I guess we can’t have it all, can we?

 

Has anyone ever betrayed you?

My parents. My author’s husband always asks, “If a child can’t trust her parents, who can she trust?” Is the answer no one?

 

Have you ever betrayed anyone?

No. I work at being fair and honest and loyal to everyone. Even those who betray me.

 

What was your childhood like?

I was raised in a small bayou town in Louisiana. I was told the family that raised me were distant relatives but I’m not sure they actually were. They didn’t act as if I was blood kin—they didn’t want me. Needless to say, my childhood wasn’t happy. I had one friend in seventh and eighth grade but she moved away. I never had another one. I moved into high school and kept to myself during those four years. It was easier being alone than having to explain myself or answer questions. My answer takes me back to your question about embracing conflict. Maybe I really don’t. Maybe I run from it.

 

What in your past would you like to forget?

Nothing. I want to remember it all. I don’t want to forget anything. I can’t. I’ll replay my life over and over again until it finally makes sense.

 

What in your past would you like others to forget?

There are no “others” in my life.

 

 

Who is your true love?

Trent Jones. He says he fell in love with me the moment he saw me snooping around his house at midnight. I don’t know if I believe him but I love hearing him say it.

 

Was there ever a defining moment of your life?

When I saw Wounded Heart, the three story house in Oklahoma City, advertised in that Louisiana magazine, I knew I was connected to it. I knew it held the story of my life.  I should have known it was more than a coincidence, but I didn’t. I quit my job, packed up a few belongings and headed to Oklahoma City. I’d call that a defining moment because my life certainly did change.

 

What is your most closely guarded secret?

I have no secrets any more.

 

What is your most prized possession? Why?

My most prized possession—other than Trent Jones—is Tiva, my childhood doll. Some people think she’s cursed and she very well could be, because I feel safe with her. I guess that’s why she means so much to me; I like how I feel when I hold her. Safe and powerful.

 

What one word best describes you?

Decisive.

 

What is your first memory?

Looking into a pot of soup and watching a hand holding a spoon stir the liquid. I still don’t know who that hand belongs to; who was holding me?

 

Any non-family member adults stick out in your mind? Who were they, and how did you know them? Why do they stick out? 

I don’t remember any non-family members. I remember someone giving me my doll Tiva. All I remember is an arm, a white sleeve, a hand holding Tiva toward me. I only had eyes for Tiva.

 

Who was your best friend when you were growing up?

Lauria was my best friend in seventh and eighth grade. She moved away. I heard my cousins say she was taken away from her parents because they were abusive drunks but I don’t know if that’s true. I still think of her and wonder.

 

What is your fondest, childhood memory?

I went to Mardi Gras once and caught a lot of beads and candy. It was fun watching the parade and decorated floats. There were beautiful people dressed in bright colors. Everyone acted happy.

 

What don’t you like about yourself?

I don’t think there’s anything I don’t like about myself. My author gave me confidence and drive. I make up my mind to do something and I do it. I seldom second guess myself.

 

Do you think redemption is possible? If so, can anyone be redeemed, or are there only certain circumstances that can be? If not, why do you think nothing can redeem itself?

     Of course, I think redemption is possible. Otherwise, how could I have faced my father?    

    Why would I have tried to have a relationship with him? How could I see him day   

     after day and listen to him berate me and call me names if I didn’t believe redemption is

     possible. Anyone can be redeemed if they want to be. All they have to do is ask

    forgiveness—pray—repent, accept love and forgiveness from God and the persons  

    they’ve harmed. Unfortunately, my father didn’t believe in redemption—or maybe he  

    just didn’t believe in me.

 

Is it okay for you to cry? When was the last time you cried?

I cried every time I went to see my father. I’d cry each time I left him and walked back to the house. I could cry right now—thinking of him, remembering some of the horrible things he said to me.

 

What is the thing that has frightened you most? Do you think there is anything out there that’s scarier than that? What do you think that would be? 

I suppose I was most frightened when I realized how much my father hated me. And why. I still don’t fully understand it, and I’m sad to say my mother doesn’t have answers that make sense. There’s nothing scarier than your parents turning on you. Nothing. Thank God for Trent.

 

*~*~*~* 

 | Amazon |

Blurb:  

Given away as a child, Rayna Guilbeau grew up with questions–questions about her real family and questions about how she ended up in Louisiana with a disfiguring heart branded on her chest. When she sees a sale ad for a house in Oklahoma City called Wounded Heart, she feels an instant connection. Somehow, the house holds the key to her mysterious past.

Trent Jones, an easy-going picker who’s always looking to make a few bucks, is the new owner of Wounded Heart, a three-story house filled with antiques and mystery. When an intriguing young woman shows up on his property at midnight, claiming she was born there, he knows his life is about to change.

On an emotional journey into danger, Trent and Rayna seek answers. But can Rayna put the past behind her and accept Trent’s unwavering love?

Excerpt:

“Rayna, I need to talk with you. Rayna?”

Rayna entered from the living area just as Trey reached the bottom of the stairs. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

He rubbed his forehead. “I need to talk to you about that doll.”

Rayna glanced toward a chair where she’d propped her old toy. “What about her?”

He motioned. “I did some research. She’s pretty old. Actually, she’s probably quite valuable.”

“I’m not selling her if that’s what you’re getting at. Honestly, Trent.” She turned from him and entered the room where the doll sat.

“No, let me finish.” He followed. “From what I can tell she’s been sold numerous times, landed in and out of pawn shops and doll stores. There’s been some very questionable happenings surrounding her.”

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

“Things happen. According to several collectors on the Internet…it’s almost like she causes things to happen to people that don’t like her. Or maybe don’t like you–or whoever owns her at the time.”

“That’s absurd. She’s a doll.”

He rubbed his head again. “Maybe a cursed doll.”

“She’s not cursed. Nothing has ever happened to me.”

He dropped his eyes to her chest.

She clasped her hand across her blouse and stared at him. “She didn’t cause that. How could she?”

“How do you know she didn’t? You have no idea how it happened or why.”

“I just know,” she yelled. “She was–” She stopped and squinted at him. “Trent, Trent, what’s wrong?”

*~*~*

AUTHOR BIO:

Jessica Ferguson is the author of The Last Daughter, a romantic suspense published by The Wild Rose Press. Her short story, If You Believe is part of Kathi Macias’ Twelve Days of Christmas series. Jess is co-editor of Swamp Lily Review, A Journal of Louisiana Literature & Arts and a staff writer for Southern Writers Magazine. She is the author of one Silhouette Romance, The Groom Wore Blue Suede Shoes, writing as Jessica Travis. Jess worked as assistant editor/writer/photographer for The Times of Southwest Louisiana, and her work has appeared in magazines and newspapers in Louisiana and Texas.

Follower her blog at http://jessyferguson.blogspot.com

Twitter: @jessyferguson

Facebook: Jessica Ferguson and Jessica Roach Ferguson

Pinterest: Jessica Ferguson

Hump Day Hook 54 – Santa, Maybe

Back to Hump Day Hook!

So very close to release (and a giveaway)!!  So, here’s some more of Santa, Maybe.

Ivy is having lunch with her friend Eve, still stewing over the accusation of her daughter Justina’s parentage.  Eve points out that Justina’s real father did look similar to Alan:

“Then you could call it an honest mistake.”

“An honest mistake which managed to accuse me of being a horrible bitch that would keep a child from Alan.” Ivy shoved her glass away and sank down in her chair. While Eve was one of the few people that knew, and believed, the whole story, she still didn’t know everything. “I made a choice, but if it had been his child I never would have kept it from him. Justina could have been his, I was so full of hormones, we are very lucky the condom was sound.”

Eve giggled when a few heads turned their way. “You said that a little loud.”

*~*

Hump Day Hook asks authors to post one paragraph of one of their stories, whether a WIP, one contracted, or already published.  Please visit and comment on the participants – you might just stumble on the next great read for your library!  To see more participants, click on the HDH banner below:

 

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Don’t forget, even though I’m not hooking them any longer, my Dominion Falls Series is still happily out there.

Did you like this sample?  You can pick up the whole series now!!

Changing Tracks

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Derailed











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Dark Territory

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Tuesday Tales – Wavy

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

In what little spare time I’ve had recently, I’ve been working on book 4 of my Dominion Falls series called Runaway Train. This one has a lot of big emotional upheavals in it, as opposed to an outright mystery…although the start of a mystery that concludes in book 5 Home Signal does start in here.

Anyway, Graham was once Cole’s best friend and his business partner. After being a bastard (again) for most of the book, Jane essentially gave him the one piece of news that softened his anger…and returned him to the guy that once saved her life.

Now she has even more news for him…and isn’t quite sure how he’ll take it. This is the lead-in to the big reveal:

“Gentlemen.” Jane kept her hands behind her back as she breached the threshold. “How could you let me sleep so long? You knew I had somewhere to be.”

“Sorry, Janey.” Cole beckoned her close. “Doc said you’d be tired. Figured I’d let you sleep now.”

“I don’t see why, it’s not like you can keep me up later.” She pushed her lower lip out into a pout. “For once in your life you’re following Daisy’s orders to behave.”

“I always follow orders when they’re for you. Can’t have ya getting hurt worse.” Cole winked and kissed her temple.

“He’s got a point. He still doesn’t listen to what anyone else tells him anyhow.” Tommy chuckled. “We’ve behaved like you told us. Didn’t step a foot near Graham’s place. You sure you’re the one to do this, Jane?”

“Yes. His behavior in the past few weeks has been much different. I think he’s remembered how to be human again. Has he talked to you at all, Tommy?” Jane tapped her fingers on the hidden cigars, turning her attention away from Cole’s handsome face to meet Tommy’s answer.

“Asked me if I knew a good lawyer, since he doesn’t have money to compete with Carrington. I told him I more than knew one, I was related to one.” Tommy grinned. “Nick’s poker face comes in real handy in a court of law. Yes, I already sent the telegram.”

“Good. A man getting a divorce is usually easy as a two bit whore, but if he’s going up against Brooks Carrington and his daughter, Graham needs the backup.” Jane smiled. “I’m glad he took that step, the rest is just details now. And telling him about Linh and the baby require a bit more finesse than you two galoots can handle.”

“Hey now. I got lots of finesse.” Cole tugged on his slightly frayed vest. “You say it all the time in bed.”

“That doesn’t count in this situation, you boor.” Jane laughed and pulled the cigars out from behind her back. “You two enjoy these. I’m going to go have a conversation with the undertaker.”

“Ooh, you brought out the good cigars. You really want us to stay away from this conversation.” Tommy snatched his cigar out of her fingers and grinned. “You do know how to ask nicely.”

Cole chuckled and pulled her close, withdrawing his own cigar a bit more slowly. “Go take care of business with the bastard. Just know I’ll be keeping an eye down the road.”

“I never doubted it.” She tilted her head back to receive his kiss and winked. “Good thing you’re so tall. The thoroughfare is busy today.”

“We might be heading to Cora’s for a bite,” Cole admitted.

“Ah. Well, don’t follow too close, you’ll just annoy me.” She laughed and stepped free of his embrace to head toward Graham’s. With a final wave over her shoulder, she slipped along the boardwalk.

Along the way she was stopped no less than three times for a quick chat with friendly neighbors. Each chat took long enough that it was almost a full half hour later when she finally made it to Graham’s door.

Nearly two years after her hanging and the idea of entering Graham’s undertaker office still gave her a chill. She pushed open the door and stepped inside where several sealed coffins waited for burial. After her hanging she’d been nailed into one and laid out in that very room, where Graham had found her pounding on the wood in the middle of the night.

She shuddered off the memory and headed toward the back room which had once been Graham’s living quarters. He’d since expanded the work space, but Cole claimed he still had a bed and living space back there. She wondered just how often he used it in his loveless marriage.

“Graham?” Jane knocked on the door and pushed it open. “Are you in here?”

“Right here, Janey.” Graham’s back was to the door and he worked on old Mr. Moore. An odd contraption she recognized as an embalmer from some articles she’d read to familiarize herself with the war was set up on the table. Graham’s arms and shoulders worked as he kept his back to her. “Need something?”

The smell of death hit her like a locomotive and her stomach churned. The room tilted on its axis, she gripped the wall to keep steady. Images and wavy lines of color swam across her vision when her knees crumpled.

“Janey.” Graham’s voice was muffled and distant, but his large hand felt solid enough on her back.

She didn’t know where the bucket came from, but she was grateful for it as she heaved into it. Any bit of relief from her nap flew away with each painful lurch of her stomach until she couldn’t heave any longer. Cold sweat broke out across her flesh, and she held onto the bucket as she tried to gain her bearings.

“You all right, there? Never seen you react like that in here before. You had to have come in here lots since your own death.” Graham dabbed at her forehead with a towel. “Should I get Daisy?”

“No.” She didn’t know how she’d found her voice, but she managed. “I guess I’m still out of sorts after my concussion.”

“Come on.” Graham hauled her to her feet and practically carried her to the back door. He yanked it open and set her down on a chair outside before he disappeared.

In the shade of the building a cool breeze helped dispel some of the heat from her bodies upheaval. When Graham appeared with a cold mug of water, she gratefully took it.

“Put some ginger in that. Should help your stomach.” Graham plopped down in the chair next to her. “Any better?”

“Yes. Sorry. You’re right, that isn’t how I usually react, although I still don’t like being in there. No offense.”

“Don’t know anyone that does.” He wiped at his bald head with his towel and sighed. “You don’t need to be apologizing to me, anyhow. I’ve never apologized to you.”

“Tommy tells me you’ve asked about a lawyer. Is that when you decided to start being nice to me again?”

He chuckled. “No. When you told me the Moon’s are in Laramie is what did it. When I heard where she was, something changed.”

“You do love her, don’t you?” Jane turned toward him. “Because if you don’t, you have to know you’re going to go through a lot of hell to once again end up unhappy.”

“Kept telling myself I don’t. No, that I shouldn’t. She isn’t the right kind of person, nobody would understand.”

“Like what Martha and Snowbird went through.”

“Yeah.”

“So you do love Linh.”

“I guess I do.”

*~*

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Sunday Snippets 13 – Changing Tracks

Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!

I’m still keeping you all intrigued with the beginning of the series Changing Tracks (The Dominion Falls Series book 1). You know, my amnesiac with the eidetic memory, Jane Doe…and the brothel-owner, anti-hero…Cole Mitchell.

Since everyone enjoyed Cole’s POV last week, I decided to skip ahead a few paragraphs and keep his POV for this week and next.  There’s just been an “incident”…an Indian raid on the town, and Cole rushes off to find Jane…:

She stood tall, her arms crossed in front of her chest. The tremor in her hand when she swiped at her cheek was impossible to miss. Hammy’s arm circled her shoulders and she didn’t pull away from the comfort.

In a moment a smile slipped across those lips. Cole would have to give Hammy a few free beers for taking care of his woman so well.

His woman? Where had that come from?

He didn’t want to care, he excelled at not caring; but when he caught the glimmer of a fresh tear, concern poured out of him like beer from the tap.

*~*

Did you like this sample, too?  You can pick up the whole series now!!

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

Saturday Spotlight – Playing Doctor by Jan Meredith (5 Flames – NSFW)

PLAYING DOCTOR/Entangled Flaunt

Blurb:

When a fellow RN jokingly predicts that Beth Roberts will meet a tall, ripped and totally lick-o-licious stranger who will fulfill her deepest desires, it’s supposed to be from across a crowded room, not giving CPR to a wedding guest. Given her tragic love life, Beth has no desire to become involved again, but who could have predicted the ponytailed doctor with the mischievous smile would break through her defenses?

 

Dr. Gabriel North blamed himself for his wife’s death. Now, after two years of battling guilt and meaningless hookups, he’s ready to move on. When he sees the sexy brunette at his friend’s wedding, his attraction is swift and strong, and he wastes no time in pressing his advantage. One night with the woman who makes him feel alive again isn’t enough, but gaining her trust is going to take more than medical school has prepared him for.

 

Excerpt:

He worked the button at her waistband free, pulled the zipper down and drove his hand inside. His fingers slid over her sex once, twice, and then plunged deep. Her body quaked, her inner walls grasped and squeezed at his fingers, but it wasn’t enough.

“More,” she moaned. “I need…I’ve got to have my hands on you.” Beth tugged his shirt free of his slacks, keenly aware of the thick column of his cock pressing against his fly. She plunged her hands under the soft fabric, smoothed her palms up the firm ridges of his abdomen. She pressed her hand to his chest, just over his heart, felt the gallop and pitch of it beneath muscle and bone.

For her.

She was in so much trouble and she didn’t give a flying fig. Right now, at this moment, all she cared about was this man, and that he was here, standing before her. Wanting her.

His forehead fell to hers, his breathing ragged and uneven. He pulled her hand from his cock, grasped her hips and dragged her in, grinding his erection against her upper abdomen. “I’ve dreamed about you, woke up with the taste of you in my mouth.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I’ve dreamed about you, too. Of your mouth, your tongue on me.” She shuddered against him.

“God, Beth.”

“I came, but it wasn’t enough. It’s not enough now. I need you…inside me. Right here, right now.”

“Fucking hell!”

Had she not known it was lust that caused his fingers to bite into her hips, Beth would have been frightened, but she knew she was safe. By the way his eyes burned with it, the way his shoulders heaved as he fought for control, by the way his touch gentled, she knew. The hollow feeling in her chest filled to overflowing, sealed over, and healed. A new sensation crept in and tapped at her heart. Open up, it beckoned, and see what awaits.

Fabric shifted, just enough to accommodate. Beth toed off her shoes, slid her slacks and panties down to kick one leg free. Gabe fought his belt open, yanked down his zipper and shoved his slacks over his hips. His cock sprang free, heavy and full.

He bent his knees, cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her up. “Hang on to me. I’m sorry. This is going to be fast,” he apologized and reached between them to align the rigid length of his cock between her thighs. “Ah, damn, you’re so wet,” he gritted, and then slid into her.

Beth buried her face against his neck, ran her tongue along the line of his jaw. His body shuddered. She wrapped around him, wound her arms around his neck, squeezed her legs around his hips and held him there. He was thick and hard and she thought she’d come from the sheer bliss of having him inside her again. He pulled back, all the way to the tip, and, when he thrust back in, the door rattled on its hinges.

They both froze.

Beth sucked in a breath. “Oh, God, as much as I’d love for you to do that again—”

Gabe’s forehead banged against the door. “You’d hate to get fired for getting fucked  against my office door.” He turned, moved to the side and braced his back against the wall.

Beth glanced around the small room, her gaze landing on the desk. Gabe laughed, causing his cock to flex and pulling a moan from her throat.

“Baby,” he rasped, “there’s nothing I’d like more than to bend you over that piece of furniture and take us both to heaven, but unless it’s nailed to the floor…”

“Oh, God.” The image he painted, pushing over the desk, driving into her…her pussy clenched.

“Ah, fuck! Squeeze me like that again,” he panted. “Just…hold on to me.” Widening his stance, Gabe grasped Beth’s hips and lifted her, angling his pelvis up as he brought her back down hard on his shaft. Then he did it again.

“Gabe, that’s…oh, I…just don’t stop!” Each pause was punctuated with another lift and thrust.

“No way in hell. Just don’t scream when you come.” And then he moved, lifting, lowering, rotating his hips to find that sweet spot that drove her wild.

It started in the soles of her feet—that sizzle of electricity signaling her orgasm. It snaked up her legs, curled around her inner thighs, and with a low keening sound, Beth buried her face in Gabe’s neck and welcomed it as it speared her clit with an orgasm that clung to every inch of Gabe as he drove into her. He was right with her, his breath a harsh hiss against her ear as he thrust deep and held her tightly against him.

The soft brush of Gabe’s lips over her sweat-dampened temple was in stark contradiction to the choppy breaths lifting his chest against hers. “I’ve missed you, missed this,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Me, too.” After a moment, when she’d caught her breath, Beth lifted her head and said, “We really…”

“Need to talk,” he sighed. “I know.”

 

 

Bio:

Jan Meredith has been a romance junkie since her teens. When she isn’t penning steamy stories about strong-willed, independent women and the sexy men who love them, she works as an Infusion Therapy nurse. She lives near Mammoth Cave, KY with her husband (and former high school sweet heart) Tommy.

You can learn more about her at her web site: http://www.janmeredithauthor.com/

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