K. Bromberg's Blog, page 18
April 10, 2016
ACED EXTRA: An Alternate Point of View
****WARNING – ACED SPOILERS CONTAINED BELOW***
♠ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ ACED, PLEASE DO NOT READ ♠
When I wrote ACED there were a few chapters that I had originally wrote in the alternative perspective (i.e. I originally wrote it in Colton’s POV but decided to rewrite in Rylee’s POV after getting some feedback). The following is one such chapter. This alternate chapter is Chapter Fourteen of ACED but told in Colton’s Point of View. A few things to note before you read it:
I left it as is, meaning that the dialogue will not match the published Chapter Fourteen not all of the physical placement of characters.
This chapter has NOT been professionally edited… therefore this is a clear warning to the grammar gurus that I know there will be errors or sentence structure issues… so no emails are needed to tell me there are errors.
I chose not to use this perspective because after talking it over with a fellow author, we thought it left more impact to not know what was in Colton’s head in this scene. I still agree with my decision to write it the way I published it… but I still thought you all would like a little revisit with your Ace.
♠
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Colton
Not this time. No fucking way.
That’s the only thought that runs through my head on constant goddamn repeat as I stand in the doorway and push away images burned in my mind from that night so very long ago: the blood everywhere, the baby we lost, finding Rylee lifeless like a Raggedy Ann doll.
Not this time, I repeat as I step into the room and release the breath I feel like I have been holding since I hopped on the chartered plane after the race to get back here when I see Rylee. She’s asleep in the bed, bands are around her belly, the baby’s heartbeat owning the silence of the room in the most comforting of sounds.
Everything that is important to me is in that bed and yet I did this to her. The race. The video. The stress of it all has put them both in jeopardy.
I don’t want to disturb her, wake her from the rest I know she desperately needs, and yet I can’t resist – never can when it comes to her – so I move to the side of the bed and just stare. The curls of her hair on the pillow. Her dark lashes against her pale skin. The rise and fall of her chest. The glitter of my ring on her finger. The shine on the skin on her abdomen from being stretched with life beneath it.
Damn it, she still scares me. Unnerves me. Every damn hour of every day and yet there’s a part of me that needs that. Fear drives a man to go places he’ll never venture, to push himself beyond his reason, and here I stand scared shitless with a woman I can’t live without and a baby soon to be born when I swore those were two things I was never capable of.
Goddamn fear. I love it and I hate and yet I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it because I’m looking at the result of it right in front of me.
I shake away to overage of emotion that I’m still not good with. I’m just tired, worn the fuck out from the race and the sleep I should have got on the plane but couldn’t because I was too damn busy looking out the window hoping the scar tissue holding my heart together would hold fast until I was able to see her again and know she is okay.
And here she is, whole and strong and so beautiful and my fingers itch to touch her, but I hesitate even though she’s so much stronger than I ever give her credit for. It’s me I worry about now as I lift my eyes to watch the baby’s heart monitor on the opposite side of the bed.
My mind flashes back to a father I’ve never known. Doubts creep into my resolve and make me question if I’m going to be able to handle this. A little fucking late to ask myself, I know, and yet did he stand next to my mom at some point and wonder the same thing? Did he start out wanting to be a good man and then not make the connection with me so he left without a second thought? Or did he not know I existed at all?
The notion sticks with me as I stare at my whole goddamn world lying on the bed in front of me and that fear takes hold again. I just hope the fear will continue to make me more of a man this time around because I’m petrified I’m going to fuck this up.
I need to call Kelly and decide whether I want him to continue the search for my biological dad or not. The jury’s out on that one. I have enough shit churned up right now that I don’t need to muddy the already murky waters.
Drawing in a deep breath I know the only way to silence the disquiet in my head is to hold onto the one person in my life who never seems to doubt me, Rylee. Giving into the urge as inherent as breathing, I sit gently on the bed beside her making sure not to disturb any of the wires she’s plugged into. When she doesn’t stir, I shift so that I can lie down behind her, my front to her back. I breathe her in as she snuggles her back against me in her sleep like she knows I’m here.
We lay like this for a few minutes, the scent of her vanilla in my nose and so many thoughts, so many emotions, flood through me and yet I can’t put concretes to any of them. How can I even concentrate on them when she’s like this with me: Finding comfort when I’m the reason she’s so stressed out in the first place.
But I’m here now and I’m not going to let anything happen to her.
I hold tight to that truth with her body against mine, calming my nerves. I’m about to drift off, the ease of being right where I need to be pulling me into sleep, when her arm reaches back to grab my hand and pull my arm around her. Our fingers lace together and we sit in the silent comfort for a few moments.
“Hey,” I say, pressing a kiss into the back of her head, my voice thick with emotion.
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” she murmurs drowsily when I feel like the same words should be falling from my mouth.
“You two scared me,” I say, trying to put words the fear that lodged in my throat when my dad told me she was having contractions.
“Everything is fine now,” she explains. Her words do nothing to abate the fear that held me hostage as I was suspended on a plane in the air, helpless with only the warnings Dr. Steele has given us over the course of the pregnancy to occupy my thoughts. The high risk. The damaged arteries from the accident. The scar tissue from the miscarriage that could cause heavy bleeding during labor. The pressure on her fragile uterus that will increase the bigger the baby gets.
But I shake them away right now because I’m here and she’s okay and the baby seems content to not meet us just yet.
“Why was your blood pressure through the roof?” I ask although I already feel like I know the answer.
Because of me…
“There’s a lot going on,” she states softly and there’s something in her tone that makes me think I’m missing something, but I can’t see her face to know for sure.
“What haven’t you told me?” I ask hating the vague answers she keeps giving me.
“They gave me some type of steroids for the baby to help lung development,” she says, avoiding my question and fueling my temper.
“Rylee.” Her name is a stern warning not to fuck with me because I’m tired and worried and now I definitely know something is going on. “Whatever it is, let me help. Please. I’ll fix…” and my words fade off because the last time I said I’d fix it, I failed epically so why would she trust me now?
The silence stretches between us and I hate that it feels uncomfortable when we are body to body, our heart beating as one. I wait for the other shoe to drop when I had no idea there was one dangling by a shoelace.
“Someone wants to foster Zander,” she says causing my body to freeze in a war of emotions. The unwanted kid still lingering inside of me stands at attention knowing the worth that this must be instilling in Zander right now. And yet at the same time a part of me knows that as much as Rylee’s life mission is to give her boys a home and better life, she has to be dying inside with the fear she’s going to lose a boy that really never was hers to keep.
The stiffness in her posture confirms my assumption without her saying a word. “It’s his uncle. Ex-con. Druggie,” she states evenly when all of my senses revolt at the very idea that some piece of shit like that gets to even have the honor to know a kid like Zander.
“Money.” It’s my only response, and yet I know it’s the right one because I hear the uneven rattle as she draws in a breath.
“Zander called me, upset, scared…asking me to help him and I had no clue what was going on.” I can sense her getting riled up and pull her tighter against me.
“C’mon. Calm—” I stop myself from telling her to calm down since last time it was followed by a melt down worthy of global warming. And then I hear that damn hitch in her breath the same time I feel her body shudder and I know I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy, keep the baby safe, and make sure that Zander is taken care of regardless of what that might be.
“How can I calm down?” she says as I hear the sounds on the monitors begin to pick up their pace in the room around us. “Teddy didn’t tell me and Zander is scared and there’s nothing I can—”
“We’ll adopt him,” I blurt out, my own comment surprising me because while adoption is something we had spoken about before, it had never been in this context.
“No, we can’t.” Her voice breaks and the sound pulls at every chord within me. “I couldn’t pick just one boy. That’s just…But thank you for saying it. The fact that you’d even consider it means the world to me.”
The sound of the baby’s movement on the monitor refocuses my mind to the here and the now. To what it might take to make sure Rylee and the baby remain safe and healthy. But as the sound of Rylee’s heartbeat slowing fills the room, I wonder just how I’m going to accomplish that without taking care of things for Zander too.
Her boys are her heart.
And she is mine.
So how do I prevent either of them from breaking?
At least in the hospital I can hear it beating, know it’s healthy. I hold onto that thought as the gentle staccato of her heart soothes the still erratic one within me.
“I shouldn’t have called and worried you…taken you away from your victory celebration,” she confesses, “but I was scared.”
Me too.
“As long as you promise to take it easy and listen to the damn doctor then we’ll get you home and have our own celebration,” I tell her, the notion not lost on me that as always she is thinking about me when she should be thinking about her.
“Ha. And you expect me to keep my blood pressure down with how you like to celebrate,” she teases as she wiggles her ass against my dick causing me to muffle a laugh into the back of her head. “I have a feeling this victory lane is closed for business for a while.”
“Good thing I just claimed it in Indy.”
“You better be talking about a trophy, Ace.”
♠
Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading and for leaving reviews for ACED on the site you purchased it from. I truly appreciate it.
-Kristy
♠ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ ACED, PLEASE DO NOT READ ♠
When I wrote ACED there were a few chapters that I had originally wrote in the alternative perspective (i.e. I originally wrote it in Colton’s POV but decided to rewrite in Rylee’s POV after getting some feedback). The following is one such chapter. This alternate chapter is Chapter Fourteen of ACED but told in Colton’s Point of View. A few things to note before you read it:
I left it as is, meaning that the dialogue will not match the published Chapter Fourteen not all of the physical placement of characters.
This chapter has NOT been professionally edited… therefore this is a clear warning to the grammar gurus that I know there will be errors or sentence structure issues… so no emails are needed to tell me there are errors.
I chose not to use this perspective because after talking it over with a fellow author, we thought it left more impact to not know what was in Colton’s head in this scene. I still agree with my decision to write it the way I published it… but I still thought you all would like a little revisit with your Ace.
♠
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Colton
Not this time. No fucking way.
That’s the only thought that runs through my head on constant goddamn repeat as I stand in the doorway and push away images burned in my mind from that night so very long ago: the blood everywhere, the baby we lost, finding Rylee lifeless like a Raggedy Ann doll.
Not this time, I repeat as I step into the room and release the breath I feel like I have been holding since I hopped on the chartered plane after the race to get back here when I see Rylee. She’s asleep in the bed, bands are around her belly, the baby’s heartbeat owning the silence of the room in the most comforting of sounds.
Everything that is important to me is in that bed and yet I did this to her. The race. The video. The stress of it all has put them both in jeopardy.
I don’t want to disturb her, wake her from the rest I know she desperately needs, and yet I can’t resist – never can when it comes to her – so I move to the side of the bed and just stare. The curls of her hair on the pillow. Her dark lashes against her pale skin. The rise and fall of her chest. The glitter of my ring on her finger. The shine on the skin on her abdomen from being stretched with life beneath it.
Damn it, she still scares me. Unnerves me. Every damn hour of every day and yet there’s a part of me that needs that. Fear drives a man to go places he’ll never venture, to push himself beyond his reason, and here I stand scared shitless with a woman I can’t live without and a baby soon to be born when I swore those were two things I was never capable of.
Goddamn fear. I love it and I hate and yet I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it because I’m looking at the result of it right in front of me.
I shake away to overage of emotion that I’m still not good with. I’m just tired, worn the fuck out from the race and the sleep I should have got on the plane but couldn’t because I was too damn busy looking out the window hoping the scar tissue holding my heart together would hold fast until I was able to see her again and know she is okay.
And here she is, whole and strong and so beautiful and my fingers itch to touch her, but I hesitate even though she’s so much stronger than I ever give her credit for. It’s me I worry about now as I lift my eyes to watch the baby’s heart monitor on the opposite side of the bed.
My mind flashes back to a father I’ve never known. Doubts creep into my resolve and make me question if I’m going to be able to handle this. A little fucking late to ask myself, I know, and yet did he stand next to my mom at some point and wonder the same thing? Did he start out wanting to be a good man and then not make the connection with me so he left without a second thought? Or did he not know I existed at all?
The notion sticks with me as I stare at my whole goddamn world lying on the bed in front of me and that fear takes hold again. I just hope the fear will continue to make me more of a man this time around because I’m petrified I’m going to fuck this up.
I need to call Kelly and decide whether I want him to continue the search for my biological dad or not. The jury’s out on that one. I have enough shit churned up right now that I don’t need to muddy the already murky waters.
Drawing in a deep breath I know the only way to silence the disquiet in my head is to hold onto the one person in my life who never seems to doubt me, Rylee. Giving into the urge as inherent as breathing, I sit gently on the bed beside her making sure not to disturb any of the wires she’s plugged into. When she doesn’t stir, I shift so that I can lie down behind her, my front to her back. I breathe her in as she snuggles her back against me in her sleep like she knows I’m here.
We lay like this for a few minutes, the scent of her vanilla in my nose and so many thoughts, so many emotions, flood through me and yet I can’t put concretes to any of them. How can I even concentrate on them when she’s like this with me: Finding comfort when I’m the reason she’s so stressed out in the first place.
But I’m here now and I’m not going to let anything happen to her.
I hold tight to that truth with her body against mine, calming my nerves. I’m about to drift off, the ease of being right where I need to be pulling me into sleep, when her arm reaches back to grab my hand and pull my arm around her. Our fingers lace together and we sit in the silent comfort for a few moments.
“Hey,” I say, pressing a kiss into the back of her head, my voice thick with emotion.
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” she murmurs drowsily when I feel like the same words should be falling from my mouth.
“You two scared me,” I say, trying to put words the fear that lodged in my throat when my dad told me she was having contractions.
“Everything is fine now,” she explains. Her words do nothing to abate the fear that held me hostage as I was suspended on a plane in the air, helpless with only the warnings Dr. Steele has given us over the course of the pregnancy to occupy my thoughts. The high risk. The damaged arteries from the accident. The scar tissue from the miscarriage that could cause heavy bleeding during labor. The pressure on her fragile uterus that will increase the bigger the baby gets.
But I shake them away right now because I’m here and she’s okay and the baby seems content to not meet us just yet.
“Why was your blood pressure through the roof?” I ask although I already feel like I know the answer.
Because of me…
“There’s a lot going on,” she states softly and there’s something in her tone that makes me think I’m missing something, but I can’t see her face to know for sure.
“What haven’t you told me?” I ask hating the vague answers she keeps giving me.
“They gave me some type of steroids for the baby to help lung development,” she says, avoiding my question and fueling my temper.
“Rylee.” Her name is a stern warning not to fuck with me because I’m tired and worried and now I definitely know something is going on. “Whatever it is, let me help. Please. I’ll fix…” and my words fade off because the last time I said I’d fix it, I failed epically so why would she trust me now?
The silence stretches between us and I hate that it feels uncomfortable when we are body to body, our heart beating as one. I wait for the other shoe to drop when I had no idea there was one dangling by a shoelace.
“Someone wants to foster Zander,” she says causing my body to freeze in a war of emotions. The unwanted kid still lingering inside of me stands at attention knowing the worth that this must be instilling in Zander right now. And yet at the same time a part of me knows that as much as Rylee’s life mission is to give her boys a home and better life, she has to be dying inside with the fear she’s going to lose a boy that really never was hers to keep.
The stiffness in her posture confirms my assumption without her saying a word. “It’s his uncle. Ex-con. Druggie,” she states evenly when all of my senses revolt at the very idea that some piece of shit like that gets to even have the honor to know a kid like Zander.
“Money.” It’s my only response, and yet I know it’s the right one because I hear the uneven rattle as she draws in a breath.
“Zander called me, upset, scared…asking me to help him and I had no clue what was going on.” I can sense her getting riled up and pull her tighter against me.
“C’mon. Calm—” I stop myself from telling her to calm down since last time it was followed by a melt down worthy of global warming. And then I hear that damn hitch in her breath the same time I feel her body shudder and I know I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy, keep the baby safe, and make sure that Zander is taken care of regardless of what that might be.
“How can I calm down?” she says as I hear the sounds on the monitors begin to pick up their pace in the room around us. “Teddy didn’t tell me and Zander is scared and there’s nothing I can—”
“We’ll adopt him,” I blurt out, my own comment surprising me because while adoption is something we had spoken about before, it had never been in this context.
“No, we can’t.” Her voice breaks and the sound pulls at every chord within me. “I couldn’t pick just one boy. That’s just…But thank you for saying it. The fact that you’d even consider it means the world to me.”
The sound of the baby’s movement on the monitor refocuses my mind to the here and the now. To what it might take to make sure Rylee and the baby remain safe and healthy. But as the sound of Rylee’s heartbeat slowing fills the room, I wonder just how I’m going to accomplish that without taking care of things for Zander too.
Her boys are her heart.
And she is mine.
So how do I prevent either of them from breaking?
At least in the hospital I can hear it beating, know it’s healthy. I hold onto that thought as the gentle staccato of her heart soothes the still erratic one within me.
“I shouldn’t have called and worried you…taken you away from your victory celebration,” she confesses, “but I was scared.”
Me too.
“As long as you promise to take it easy and listen to the damn doctor then we’ll get you home and have our own celebration,” I tell her, the notion not lost on me that as always she is thinking about me when she should be thinking about her.
“Ha. And you expect me to keep my blood pressure down with how you like to celebrate,” she teases as she wiggles her ass against my dick causing me to muffle a laugh into the back of her head. “I have a feeling this victory lane is closed for business for a while.”
“Good thing I just claimed it in Indy.”
“You better be talking about a trophy, Ace.”
♠
Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading and for leaving reviews for ACED on the site you purchased it from. I truly appreciate it.
-Kristy
February 15, 2016
Down Shift Cover Reveal and Excerpt
I’m so excited to show you all the cover for Down Shift and give you a sneak peek at Zander and Getty! Thank you to USA Today’s Happily Ever After blog, you can head there right now and go see it: CLICK HERE
Let me know what you all think!!!
January 11, 2016
♠ ♠ ACED IS LIVE ♠ ♠
ACED is finally LIVE.
What readers are saying:
“This is the happily ever after…AFTER…the happily ever after…I didn’t want it to end, and yet, I couldn’t flip the pages fast enough. … I felt content with an ending so fit for one of my favorite book couples. Bromberg absolutely ACED this installment of the Driven series.” – Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads
“I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew it would be great to see Colton and Rylee again, but it has gone way past anything I could have imagined. …K. Bromberg has tied up the love story between Colton and Rylee with a big beautiful bow and has given this present to her readers. Open it slowly, take the time, grab the tissues, this book has it all.” – Louisa
“I needed to be with you again, Colton. Thank goodness K. Bromberg understands me and the rest of her readers. Thank goodness she wrote this beautiful, heartbreaking, sweet, seriously hot … book.” – Vox L.
“This story is honest and true and a great addition to an all time favorite series. K. Bromberg knocked it out of the park once again! Definately a must read.” – A is for Alpha
Buy Links:
Amazon ♠ ♠ iBooks ♠ ♠ B&N ♠ ♠ Kobo
Amazon UK ♠ ♠ Amazon CA ♠ ♠ Amazon AU
What readers are saying:
“This is the happily ever after…AFTER…the happily ever after…I didn’t want it to end, and yet, I couldn’t flip the pages fast enough. … I felt content with an ending so fit for one of my favorite book couples. Bromberg absolutely ACED this installment of the Driven series.” – Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads
“I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew it would be great to see Colton and Rylee again, but it has gone way past anything I could have imagined. …K. Bromberg has tied up the love story between Colton and Rylee with a big beautiful bow and has given this present to her readers. Open it slowly, take the time, grab the tissues, this book has it all.” – Louisa
“I needed to be with you again, Colton. Thank goodness K. Bromberg understands me and the rest of her readers. Thank goodness she wrote this beautiful, heartbreaking, sweet, seriously hot … book.” – Vox L.
“This story is honest and true and a great addition to an all time favorite series. K. Bromberg knocked it out of the park once again! Definately a must read.” – A is for Alpha
Buy Links:
Amazon ♠ ♠ iBooks ♠ ♠ B&N ♠ ♠ Kobo
Amazon UK ♠ ♠ Amazon CA ♠ ♠ Amazon AU
December 14, 2015
Aced Prologue and Chapter 1 on iBooks
Sooooo there might be a sample of ACED over on iBooks. Like the Prologue and First Chapter type of sample… get a little bromance in the sample too!
Make sure you check it out so I you can get a taste of what it’s going to be like…
Click HERE
**If you don’t want ANY hint about ACED, don’t read the following: One note I’d like to make to those who are anti-baby in books… I want to make it clear that this book does not center around anything baby. Yes, you get your answers to your questions from Crashed but not how you expect…Having 3 kids myself, I know that babies are far from sexy…so while this sample may elude to a certain direction the story will take, it’s doesn’t go where your assumption takes you.
Make sure you check it out so I you can get a taste of what it’s going to be like…
Click HERE
**If you don’t want ANY hint about ACED, don’t read the following: One note I’d like to make to those who are anti-baby in books… I want to make it clear that this book does not center around anything baby. Yes, you get your answers to your questions from Crashed but not how you expect…Having 3 kids myself, I know that babies are far from sexy…so while this sample may elude to a certain direction the story will take, it’s doesn’t go where your assumption takes you.
December 8, 2015
A little Sweet Ache extra to heat up your holidays…
Hi ladies… I hope you don’t mind but I decided to stop in and spend a little time with Hawkin & Quinlan from Sweet Ache. Here’s you go:
“Q?”
Hawke’s voice floats down the hall, a mixed melody of curiosity and excitement in that velvet rasp of his. I shift in anticipation. My body already on fire for his touch.
It’s been eight long weeks. Fifty-six days worth of Skype chats, dirty talking over the buzz of my vibrator and his strained voice panting my name. One thousand three hundred forty four hours of missing him, wanting him, waiting for him to come home to me.
“In here,” I say at the same time the sounds of his boots stop outside the bedroom door.
I’ve envisioned the next few seconds in my head – how it’s going to play out, what his reaction will be – and as much as I want it to be absolutely perfect, I’m having a ridiculously hard time not running to the door, throwing it open, and jumping into his arms.
The handle turns. I hold my breath. The door swings open. My body stills as my bad boy rocker with the good guy heart slowly comes into view. I take in the black combat boots, the Eagles’ T-shirt, leather wrist cuffs – my body vibrating with excitement. And then I meet his eyes. Storm colored irises stare back with so many emotions swimming in them – happiness, relief, longing, and desire.
The moment holds. Two lovers kept apart by distance, now reconnecting yet savoring those final last seconds before libidinous hunger gives way to the clothes ripping, teeth nipping, hands digging kind of sex my body instantly craves at the sight of him.
“Hi.” My voice is breathless. Desperate. Needy.
And then his eyes leave mine and take in the rest of me. His quick intake of breath fills the room and even though he doesn’t speak, that singular sound is all I need to hear to know he feels the same way.
I watch his eyes scrape up the high heels, fishnet stockings, and leather cupless bustier before meeting my eyes. A slow, cocky grin pulls up one corner of his mouth the same time he drops bags with a thud to the floor.
“Hi.” A bob of his Adam’s apple. A twitch of his fingers as if he’s itching to touch. A quirk of his eyebrow. All a slow seduction themselves when I don’t need anything but him and me. Right here. Right now.
“Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed.” All three of my demands are equally important. Only one is urgent.
That tug of a smirk turns into a full-blown grin as Hawke casually makes his way toward me, drawing out his reaction in painstakingly slow fashion. “Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed,” he repeats with a raise of one eyebrow. “It’s time to unwrap my present.” The comment takes me back to that first time I drove him home three years ago.
You’re like unwrapping a present. So many surprises to discover.
He stops in front of me, our bodies a whisper apart, our breaths feathering over each others, and desire ricocheting in the space between us. His cologne, his energy, everything I’ve missed over the past few months assaults my senses and makes me want to take and ravage but I know he likes his foreplay. And his sugar.
Let’s see how long it takes him to find it.
With eyes intense, his hands come up to frame my face. Every part of me that wasn’t already standing to attention, sparks instantly to life. Unspoken words pass between us as his mouth slowly descends to meet mine. A soft brush of a kiss. A gentle touching of tongues. My hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to touch the corded muscle beneath. His fingers tensing on my jaw as he draws out this first meeting of lips in a tantalizing temptation of everything I want to devour but love that he’s savoring.
God, I missed him. Missed this. Can’t wait to drown myself in more than just the taste of his lips over the next three weeks he’s home and off tour. And completely mine.
“Now that’s a welcome home if I’ve ever seen one,” he murmurs as the kiss ends but our lips remain brushing against each others.
“There’s a lot more where that comes from.” Suggestion laces my tone but desire tinges the edges.
“I can see that,” he says as he runs his hands down my bare arms to link his hands with mine. He steps back and holds our arms out so that he can look at me once again. And the minute he sees it, I can tell. The dart of his tongue to wet his lips. The stutter in movement. The flash of gray up to meet my eyes. “My two biggest vices – you and sugar – all wrapped into one stellar package.”
I love the grate in his voice. The audible sound of his desire. It turns me on. Causes that sweet ache he always creates to intensify.
“Unwrap me, rocker boy.”
A strained chuckle falls from his lips. With eyes still on mine, he pushes me to sit back on the bed behind me as he drops to his knees on the floor before me. The spread of my legs apart is an instant reaction, my own reflection of need for him as he moves between them. His eyes flick down to my nipples and an appreciative groan rumbles deep in his throat before his gaze lifts back to mine.
He lifts a brow in question. “For me, sweetness?”
It takes everything I have to not throw my head back and laugh. Who else does he think I’d wet my nipples and dip them in pixie stick sugar for?
“You use instruments. I use sugar.” My last word falls off into a gasp when his lips close over the sugared peak of my breast. My head falls back, my legs fall open, and my body eases into the bliss of his tongue sweeping circles over the sensitive skin.
One of his hands finds its way between my thighs as his tongue continues its welcome assault on my senses. His other hand grabs my ass and scoots it closer to the edge of the bed and farther into the adept skill of his fingers waiting and wanting there.
“Hawke.” His name is on my lips while my taste is on his tongue as he switches from side to the other with a satisfied sigh. And when his lips close around my nipple this time, his guitar hardened fingers part the lips of my pussy and dip into my wetness.
“Fucking perfection,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice, warmth of his mouth, and skill of his fingertips give me everything I’ve been missing, craving, and desperate for. With his thumb on my clit, he begins to slide his fingers in and out of me, scraping over right where I need it to me.
And while my vibrator may have taken care of business while he’s been gone, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – that equals the feeling of his hands on me. In me. Pleasuring me into that riotous orgasmic frenzy that only he can.
His teeth scrape over my nipple. My hands thread through his hair. His fingertips curve against my hub of nerves. My body tenses. He quickens the pace of his fingers, driving me harder and faster. Our breaths pant. Our hearts race. His absence has made my orgasm so much easier to summon.
A moan falls from my lips as I tighten around his fingers, my tell tale sign I’m so very close. He lifts his face to watch me: eyes locked, teeth biting into his bottom lip, sex personified.
“I’m coming,” I moan just as my body goes tight, the orgasm slamming into me with reckless abandon. My fingernails dig into his arms as he draws out the sensations: softer strokes, incendiary words, intense eyes.
“Goddamn. I’ve missed watching you come. Making you come,” he murmurs as he leans in and kisses me long and thoroughly, sugar and need a potent combination on his tongue. He withdraws his fingers, the sounds and smell of my desire fill the room, an aphrodisiac that only makes me want more of him.
When Hawke rises from the floor, his knees still between mine, he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it with one hand before tossing it aside. I take the moment to appreciate every single inch of him but stop to watch his hands, still glistening from my arousal, undo the buttons on his jeans.
Damn.
“My turn, sweetness.”
My eyes flash up to his, sass on my lips and reignited desire in my eyes. “Play me, Hawkin.”
I hope you enjoyed the scene… and if you haven’t read SWEET ACHE or any of my other novels, and would like to, you can go onto my Amazon page HERE to find out all about them.
“Q?”
Hawke’s voice floats down the hall, a mixed melody of curiosity and excitement in that velvet rasp of his. I shift in anticipation. My body already on fire for his touch.
It’s been eight long weeks. Fifty-six days worth of Skype chats, dirty talking over the buzz of my vibrator and his strained voice panting my name. One thousand three hundred forty four hours of missing him, wanting him, waiting for him to come home to me.
“In here,” I say at the same time the sounds of his boots stop outside the bedroom door.
I’ve envisioned the next few seconds in my head – how it’s going to play out, what his reaction will be – and as much as I want it to be absolutely perfect, I’m having a ridiculously hard time not running to the door, throwing it open, and jumping into his arms.
The handle turns. I hold my breath. The door swings open. My body stills as my bad boy rocker with the good guy heart slowly comes into view. I take in the black combat boots, the Eagles’ T-shirt, leather wrist cuffs – my body vibrating with excitement. And then I meet his eyes. Storm colored irises stare back with so many emotions swimming in them – happiness, relief, longing, and desire.
The moment holds. Two lovers kept apart by distance, now reconnecting yet savoring those final last seconds before libidinous hunger gives way to the clothes ripping, teeth nipping, hands digging kind of sex my body instantly craves at the sight of him.
“Hi.” My voice is breathless. Desperate. Needy.
And then his eyes leave mine and take in the rest of me. His quick intake of breath fills the room and even though he doesn’t speak, that singular sound is all I need to hear to know he feels the same way.
I watch his eyes scrape up the high heels, fishnet stockings, and leather cupless bustier before meeting my eyes. A slow, cocky grin pulls up one corner of his mouth the same time he drops bags with a thud to the floor.
“Hi.” A bob of his Adam’s apple. A twitch of his fingers as if he’s itching to touch. A quirk of his eyebrow. All a slow seduction themselves when I don’t need anything but him and me. Right here. Right now.
“Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed.” All three of my demands are equally important. Only one is urgent.
That tug of a smirk turns into a full-blown grin as Hawke casually makes his way toward me, drawing out his reaction in painstakingly slow fashion. “Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed,” he repeats with a raise of one eyebrow. “It’s time to unwrap my present.” The comment takes me back to that first time I drove him home three years ago.
You’re like unwrapping a present. So many surprises to discover.
He stops in front of me, our bodies a whisper apart, our breaths feathering over each others, and desire ricocheting in the space between us. His cologne, his energy, everything I’ve missed over the past few months assaults my senses and makes me want to take and ravage but I know he likes his foreplay. And his sugar.
Let’s see how long it takes him to find it.
With eyes intense, his hands come up to frame my face. Every part of me that wasn’t already standing to attention, sparks instantly to life. Unspoken words pass between us as his mouth slowly descends to meet mine. A soft brush of a kiss. A gentle touching of tongues. My hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to touch the corded muscle beneath. His fingers tensing on my jaw as he draws out this first meeting of lips in a tantalizing temptation of everything I want to devour but love that he’s savoring.
God, I missed him. Missed this. Can’t wait to drown myself in more than just the taste of his lips over the next three weeks he’s home and off tour. And completely mine.
“Now that’s a welcome home if I’ve ever seen one,” he murmurs as the kiss ends but our lips remain brushing against each others.
“There’s a lot more where that comes from.” Suggestion laces my tone but desire tinges the edges.
“I can see that,” he says as he runs his hands down my bare arms to link his hands with mine. He steps back and holds our arms out so that he can look at me once again. And the minute he sees it, I can tell. The dart of his tongue to wet his lips. The stutter in movement. The flash of gray up to meet my eyes. “My two biggest vices – you and sugar – all wrapped into one stellar package.”
I love the grate in his voice. The audible sound of his desire. It turns me on. Causes that sweet ache he always creates to intensify.
“Unwrap me, rocker boy.”
A strained chuckle falls from his lips. With eyes still on mine, he pushes me to sit back on the bed behind me as he drops to his knees on the floor before me. The spread of my legs apart is an instant reaction, my own reflection of need for him as he moves between them. His eyes flick down to my nipples and an appreciative groan rumbles deep in his throat before his gaze lifts back to mine.
He lifts a brow in question. “For me, sweetness?”
It takes everything I have to not throw my head back and laugh. Who else does he think I’d wet my nipples and dip them in pixie stick sugar for?
“You use instruments. I use sugar.” My last word falls off into a gasp when his lips close over the sugared peak of my breast. My head falls back, my legs fall open, and my body eases into the bliss of his tongue sweeping circles over the sensitive skin.
One of his hands finds its way between my thighs as his tongue continues its welcome assault on my senses. His other hand grabs my ass and scoots it closer to the edge of the bed and farther into the adept skill of his fingers waiting and wanting there.
“Hawke.” His name is on my lips while my taste is on his tongue as he switches from side to the other with a satisfied sigh. And when his lips close around my nipple this time, his guitar hardened fingers part the lips of my pussy and dip into my wetness.
“Fucking perfection,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice, warmth of his mouth, and skill of his fingertips give me everything I’ve been missing, craving, and desperate for. With his thumb on my clit, he begins to slide his fingers in and out of me, scraping over right where I need it to me.
And while my vibrator may have taken care of business while he’s been gone, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – that equals the feeling of his hands on me. In me. Pleasuring me into that riotous orgasmic frenzy that only he can.
His teeth scrape over my nipple. My hands thread through his hair. His fingertips curve against my hub of nerves. My body tenses. He quickens the pace of his fingers, driving me harder and faster. Our breaths pant. Our hearts race. His absence has made my orgasm so much easier to summon.
A moan falls from my lips as I tighten around his fingers, my tell tale sign I’m so very close. He lifts his face to watch me: eyes locked, teeth biting into his bottom lip, sex personified.
“I’m coming,” I moan just as my body goes tight, the orgasm slamming into me with reckless abandon. My fingernails dig into his arms as he draws out the sensations: softer strokes, incendiary words, intense eyes.
“Goddamn. I’ve missed watching you come. Making you come,” he murmurs as he leans in and kisses me long and thoroughly, sugar and need a potent combination on his tongue. He withdraws his fingers, the sounds and smell of my desire fill the room, an aphrodisiac that only makes me want more of him.
When Hawke rises from the floor, his knees still between mine, he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it with one hand before tossing it aside. I take the moment to appreciate every single inch of him but stop to watch his hands, still glistening from my arousal, undo the buttons on his jeans.
Damn.
“My turn, sweetness.”
My eyes flash up to his, sass on my lips and reignited desire in my eyes. “Play me, Hawkin.”
I hope you enjoyed the scene… and if you haven’t read SWEET ACHE or any of my other novels, and would like to, you can go onto my Amazon page HERE to find out all about them.
December 7, 2015
Holiday Reads Scene
Hi ladies… I hope you don’t mind but I decided to stop in and spend a little time with Hawkin & Quinlan from Sweet Ache. Here’s you go:
“Q?”
Hawke’s voice floats down the hall, a mixed melody of curiosity and excitement in that velvet rasp of his. I shift in anticipation. My body already on fire for his touch.
It’s been eight long weeks. Fifty-six days worth of Skype chats, dirty talking over the buzz of my vibrator and his strained voice panting my name. One thousand three hundred forty four hours of missing him, wanting him, waiting for him to come home to me.
“In here,” I say at the same time the sounds of his boots stop outside the bedroom door.
I’ve envisioned the next few seconds in my head – how it’s going to play out, what his reaction will be – and as much as I want it to be absolutely perfect, I’m having a ridiculously hard time not running to the door, throwing it open, and jumping into his arms.
The handle turns. I hold my breath. The door swings open. My body stills as my bad boy rocker with the good guy heart slowly comes into view. I take in the black combat boots, the Eagles’ T-shirt, leather wrist cuffs – my body vibrating with excitement. And then I meet his eyes. Storm colored irises stare back with so many emotions swimming in them – happiness, relief, longing, and desire.
The moment holds. Two lovers kept apart by distance, now reconnecting yet savoring those final last seconds before libidinous hunger gives way to the clothes ripping, teeth nipping, hands digging kind of sex my body instantly craves at the sight of him.
“Hi.” My voice is breathless. Desperate. Needy.
And then his eyes leave mine and take in the rest of me. His quick intake of breath fills the room and even though he doesn’t speak, that singular sound is all I need to hear to know he feels the same way.
I watch his eyes scrape up the high heels, fishnet stockings, and leather cupless bustier before meeting my eyes. A slow, cocky grin pulls up one corner of his mouth the same time he drops bags with a thud to the floor.
“Hi.” A bob of his Adam’s apple. A twitch of his fingers as if he’s itching to touch. A quirk of his eyebrow. All a slow seduction themselves when I don’t need anything but him and me. Right here. Right now.
“Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed.” All three of my demands are equally important. Only one is urgent.
That tug of a smirk turns into a full-blown grin as Hawke casually makes his way toward me, drawing out his reaction in painstakingly slow fashion. “Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed,” he repeats with a raise of one eyebrow. “It’s time to unwrap my present.” The comment takes me back to that first time I drove him home three years ago.
You’re like unwrapping a present. So many surprises to discover.
He stops in front of me, our bodies a whisper apart, our breaths feathering over each others, and desire ricocheting in the space between us. His cologne, his energy, everything I’ve missed over the past few months assaults my senses and makes me want to take and ravage but I know he likes his foreplay. And his sugar.
Let’s see how long it takes him to find it.
With eyes intense, his hands come up to frame my face. Every part of me that wasn’t already standing to attention, sparks instantly to life. Unspoken words pass between us as his mouth slowly descends to meet mine. A soft brush of a kiss. A gentle touching of tongues. My hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to touch the corded muscle beneath. His fingers tensing on my jaw as he draws out this first meeting of lips in a tantalizing temptation of everything I want to devour but love that he’s savoring.
God, I missed him. Missed this. Can’t wait to drown myself in more than just the taste of his lips over the next three weeks he’s home and off tour. And completely mine.
“Now that’s a welcome home if I’ve ever seen one,” he murmurs as the kiss ends but our lips remain brushing against each others.
“There’s a lot more where that comes from.” Suggestion laces my tone but desire tinges the edges.
“I can see that,” he says as he runs his hands down my bare arms to link his hands with mine. He steps back and holds our arms out so that he can look at me once again. And the minute he sees it, I can tell. The dart of his tongue to wet his lips. The stutter in movement. The flash of gray up to meet my eyes. “My two biggest vices – you and sugar – all wrapped into one stellar package.”
I love the grate in his voice. The audible sound of his desire. It turns me on. Causes that sweet ache he always creates to intensify.
“Unwrap me, rocker boy.”
A strained chuckle falls from his lips. With eyes still on mine, he pushes me to sit back on the bed behind me as he drops to his knees on the floor before me. The spread of my legs apart is an instant reaction, my own reflection of need for him as he moves between them. His eyes flick down to my nipples and an appreciative groan rumbles deep in his throat before his gaze lifts back to mine.
He lifts a brow in question. “For me, sweetness?”
It takes everything I have to not throw my head back and laugh. Who else does he think I’d wet my nipples and dip them in pixie stick sugar for?
“You use instruments. I use sugar.” My last word falls off into a gasp when his lips close over the sugared peak of my breast. My head falls back, my legs fall open, and my body eases into the bliss of his tongue sweeping circles over the sensitive skin.
One of his hands finds its way between my thighs as his tongue continues its welcome assault on my senses. His other hand grabs my ass and scoots it closer to the edge of the bed and farther into the adept skill of his fingers waiting and wanting there.
“Hawke.” His name is on my lips while my taste is on his tongue as he switches from side to the other with a satisfied sigh. And when his lips close around my nipple this time, his guitar hardened fingers part the lips of my pussy and dip into my wetness.
“Fucking perfection,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice, warmth of his mouth, and skill of his fingertips give me everything I’ve been missing, craving, and desperate for. With his thumb on my clit, he begins to slide his fingers in and out of me, scraping over right where I need it to me.
And while my vibrator may have taken care of business while he’s been gone, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – that equals the feeling of his hands on me. In me. Pleasuring me into that riotous orgasmic frenzy that only he can.
His teeth scrape over my nipple. My hands thread through his hair. His fingertips curve against my hub of nerves. My body tenses. He quickens the pace of his fingers, driving me harder and faster. Our breaths pant. Our hearts race. His absence has made my orgasm so much easier to summon.
A moan falls from my lips as I tighten around his fingers, my tell tale sign I’m so very close. He lifts his face to watch me: eyes locked, teeth biting into his bottom lip, sex personified.
“I’m coming,” I moan just as my body goes tight, the orgasm slamming into me with reckless abandon. My fingernails dig into his arms as he draws out the sensations: softer strokes, incendiary words, intense eyes.
“Goddamn. I’ve missed watching you come. Making you come,” he murmurs as he leans in and kisses me long and thoroughly, sugar and need a potent combination on his tongue. He withdraws his fingers, the sounds and smell of my desire fill the room, an aphrodisiac that only makes me want more of him.
When Hawke rises from the floor, his knees still between mine, he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it with one hand before tossing it aside. I take the moment to appreciate every single inch of him but stop to watch his hands, still glistening from my arousal, undo the buttons on his jeans.
Damn.
“My turn, sweetness.”
My eyes flash up to his, sass on my lips and reignited desire in my eyes. “Play me, Hawkin.”
I hope you enjoyed the scene… and if you haven’t read SWEET ACHE or any of my other novels, and would like to, you can go onto my Amazon page HERE to find out all about them.
“Q?”
Hawke’s voice floats down the hall, a mixed melody of curiosity and excitement in that velvet rasp of his. I shift in anticipation. My body already on fire for his touch.
It’s been eight long weeks. Fifty-six days worth of Skype chats, dirty talking over the buzz of my vibrator and his strained voice panting my name. One thousand three hundred forty four hours of missing him, wanting him, waiting for him to come home to me.
“In here,” I say at the same time the sounds of his boots stop outside the bedroom door.
I’ve envisioned the next few seconds in my head – how it’s going to play out, what his reaction will be – and as much as I want it to be absolutely perfect, I’m having a ridiculously hard time not running to the door, throwing it open, and jumping into his arms.
The handle turns. I hold my breath. The door swings open. My body stills as my bad boy rocker with the good guy heart slowly comes into view. I take in the black combat boots, the Eagles’ T-shirt, leather wrist cuffs – my body vibrating with excitement. And then I meet his eyes. Storm colored irises stare back with so many emotions swimming in them – happiness, relief, longing, and desire.
The moment holds. Two lovers kept apart by distance, now reconnecting yet savoring those final last seconds before libidinous hunger gives way to the clothes ripping, teeth nipping, hands digging kind of sex my body instantly craves at the sight of him.
“Hi.” My voice is breathless. Desperate. Needy.
And then his eyes leave mine and take in the rest of me. His quick intake of breath fills the room and even though he doesn’t speak, that singular sound is all I need to hear to know he feels the same way.
I watch his eyes scrape up the high heels, fishnet stockings, and leather cupless bustier before meeting my eyes. A slow, cocky grin pulls up one corner of his mouth the same time he drops bags with a thud to the floor.
“Hi.” A bob of his Adam’s apple. A twitch of his fingers as if he’s itching to touch. A quirk of his eyebrow. All a slow seduction themselves when I don’t need anything but him and me. Right here. Right now.
“Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed.” All three of my demands are equally important. Only one is urgent.
That tug of a smirk turns into a full-blown grin as Hawke casually makes his way toward me, drawing out his reaction in painstakingly slow fashion. “Welcome home. Merry Christmas. Get undressed,” he repeats with a raise of one eyebrow. “It’s time to unwrap my present.” The comment takes me back to that first time I drove him home three years ago.
You’re like unwrapping a present. So many surprises to discover.
He stops in front of me, our bodies a whisper apart, our breaths feathering over each others, and desire ricocheting in the space between us. His cologne, his energy, everything I’ve missed over the past few months assaults my senses and makes me want to take and ravage but I know he likes his foreplay. And his sugar.
Let’s see how long it takes him to find it.
With eyes intense, his hands come up to frame my face. Every part of me that wasn’t already standing to attention, sparks instantly to life. Unspoken words pass between us as his mouth slowly descends to meet mine. A soft brush of a kiss. A gentle touching of tongues. My hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to touch the corded muscle beneath. His fingers tensing on my jaw as he draws out this first meeting of lips in a tantalizing temptation of everything I want to devour but love that he’s savoring.
God, I missed him. Missed this. Can’t wait to drown myself in more than just the taste of his lips over the next three weeks he’s home and off tour. And completely mine.
“Now that’s a welcome home if I’ve ever seen one,” he murmurs as the kiss ends but our lips remain brushing against each others.
“There’s a lot more where that comes from.” Suggestion laces my tone but desire tinges the edges.
“I can see that,” he says as he runs his hands down my bare arms to link his hands with mine. He steps back and holds our arms out so that he can look at me once again. And the minute he sees it, I can tell. The dart of his tongue to wet his lips. The stutter in movement. The flash of gray up to meet my eyes. “My two biggest vices – you and sugar – all wrapped into one stellar package.”
I love the grate in his voice. The audible sound of his desire. It turns me on. Causes that sweet ache he always creates to intensify.
“Unwrap me, rocker boy.”
A strained chuckle falls from his lips. With eyes still on mine, he pushes me to sit back on the bed behind me as he drops to his knees on the floor before me. The spread of my legs apart is an instant reaction, my own reflection of need for him as he moves between them. His eyes flick down to my nipples and an appreciative groan rumbles deep in his throat before his gaze lifts back to mine.
He lifts a brow in question. “For me, sweetness?”
It takes everything I have to not throw my head back and laugh. Who else does he think I’d wet my nipples and dip them in pixie stick sugar for?
“You use instruments. I use sugar.” My last word falls off into a gasp when his lips close over the sugared peak of my breast. My head falls back, my legs fall open, and my body eases into the bliss of his tongue sweeping circles over the sensitive skin.
One of his hands finds its way between my thighs as his tongue continues its welcome assault on my senses. His other hand grabs my ass and scoots it closer to the edge of the bed and farther into the adept skill of his fingers waiting and wanting there.
“Hawke.” His name is on my lips while my taste is on his tongue as he switches from side to the other with a satisfied sigh. And when his lips close around my nipple this time, his guitar hardened fingers part the lips of my pussy and dip into my wetness.
“Fucking perfection,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice, warmth of his mouth, and skill of his fingertips give me everything I’ve been missing, craving, and desperate for. With his thumb on my clit, he begins to slide his fingers in and out of me, scraping over right where I need it to me.
And while my vibrator may have taken care of business while he’s been gone, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – that equals the feeling of his hands on me. In me. Pleasuring me into that riotous orgasmic frenzy that only he can.
His teeth scrape over my nipple. My hands thread through his hair. His fingertips curve against my hub of nerves. My body tenses. He quickens the pace of his fingers, driving me harder and faster. Our breaths pant. Our hearts race. His absence has made my orgasm so much easier to summon.
A moan falls from my lips as I tighten around his fingers, my tell tale sign I’m so very close. He lifts his face to watch me: eyes locked, teeth biting into his bottom lip, sex personified.
“I’m coming,” I moan just as my body goes tight, the orgasm slamming into me with reckless abandon. My fingernails dig into his arms as he draws out the sensations: softer strokes, incendiary words, intense eyes.
“Goddamn. I’ve missed watching you come. Making you come,” he murmurs as he leans in and kisses me long and thoroughly, sugar and need a potent combination on his tongue. He withdraws his fingers, the sounds and smell of my desire fill the room, an aphrodisiac that only makes me want more of him.
When Hawke rises from the floor, his knees still between mine, he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it with one hand before tossing it aside. I take the moment to appreciate every single inch of him but stop to watch his hands, still glistening from my arousal, undo the buttons on his jeans.
Damn.
“My turn, sweetness.”
My eyes flash up to his, sass on my lips and reignited desire in my eyes. “Play me, Hawkin.”
I hope you enjoyed the scene… and if you haven’t read SWEET ACHE or any of my other novels, and would like to, you can go onto my Amazon page HERE to find out all about them.
November 24, 2015
The things I am thankful for…
This time of year brings about a litany of comments from people about the things they are thankful for… and I’m about to add mine to the lists you see but I think it’s important to stop every once in a while and take stock…So here goes:
I’m thankful for…
♥ My family. For putting up with this craziness. For being patient when I’m scattered. For dealing with my not so great cooking. For being a little more forgiving when I’m on the computer longer than I should be. For loving me just the way I am.
♥Deep belly giggles and high pitch screams and accusations of “you love him/her more’ from my children. I know I much rather prefer one over the others but it doesn’t matter because I GET to hear them. I GET to be frustrated and full of love and overwhelmed by my three kids when I know so many others can’t/will never get the chance/no longer get the chance to.
♥Getting lost in a book. Crawling inside the pages, losing myself in a world created by words, and forgetting that time is passing.
♥My readers. Man… you guys know how to make a girl feel special.
♥For words. Words are so powerful. I’m so thankful that I get the chance to use them on a daily basis. I’m thankful that I’m able to express myself with them. I’m thankful that my words touch people in different ways. Help them to relax. Help them to heal. Help them to remember.
♥That I still blush when I have to read aloud any passage I write that contains the word “p*ssy” … Yes. Silly. But so very true.
♥For chocolate. Because… well, chocolate.
♥For other authors. For this huge support network we’ve created amongst ourselves in this constantly changing publishing world.
♥For consistency. The world is so full of chaos that I thrive when things are consistent. (I have three kids under the age of 9….so consistency is a rarity but one I appreciate more and more with each passing day).
♥For Diet Coke… because coffee is nasty. (Don’t throw tomatoes at me for this one… because I don’t like tomatoes either. (and yes, my Italian mother doesn’t know how that happened either)).
♥For friends. For the ones I’m lucky enough to call that term. Trust isn’t something I give away easily. When I do, I value those who take it, hold it tight, and don’t ever try to damage it.
♥For hard work. For my parents teaching me that you only get out of life what you put into it. They led by example. They taught me that hard work pays off. To not complain about it because you’ll be the recipient of the blood, sweat, and tears in the end. It’s a lesson I hope to pass onto my kids.
♥For Colton and Rylee. It’s amazing how those two fictional people have changed my world.
♥For compassion. I think we often forget how a little compassion can go a loooooonnnggg way in making someone else feel better. Pay it forward.
♥For the warm California sun. I know some days I complain it’s hot but right now it’s warm when so many other places are cold.
♥For music. For lyrics. For making them the soundtracks to our lives.
♥For time. Isn’t that all we ever want more of when it runs out? So I’m especially thankful for time.
I could keep going… I’m thankful for so many things…but I’m sure I’ll bore you so I’ll leave my list at that…I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving with your family and/or friends or characters of a book.
What one thing are you most thankful for?
I’m thankful for…
♥ My family. For putting up with this craziness. For being patient when I’m scattered. For dealing with my not so great cooking. For being a little more forgiving when I’m on the computer longer than I should be. For loving me just the way I am.
♥Deep belly giggles and high pitch screams and accusations of “you love him/her more’ from my children. I know I much rather prefer one over the others but it doesn’t matter because I GET to hear them. I GET to be frustrated and full of love and overwhelmed by my three kids when I know so many others can’t/will never get the chance/no longer get the chance to.
♥Getting lost in a book. Crawling inside the pages, losing myself in a world created by words, and forgetting that time is passing.
♥My readers. Man… you guys know how to make a girl feel special.
♥For words. Words are so powerful. I’m so thankful that I get the chance to use them on a daily basis. I’m thankful that I’m able to express myself with them. I’m thankful that my words touch people in different ways. Help them to relax. Help them to heal. Help them to remember.
♥That I still blush when I have to read aloud any passage I write that contains the word “p*ssy” … Yes. Silly. But so very true.
♥For chocolate. Because… well, chocolate.
♥For other authors. For this huge support network we’ve created amongst ourselves in this constantly changing publishing world.
♥For consistency. The world is so full of chaos that I thrive when things are consistent. (I have three kids under the age of 9….so consistency is a rarity but one I appreciate more and more with each passing day).
♥For Diet Coke… because coffee is nasty. (Don’t throw tomatoes at me for this one… because I don’t like tomatoes either. (and yes, my Italian mother doesn’t know how that happened either)).
♥For friends. For the ones I’m lucky enough to call that term. Trust isn’t something I give away easily. When I do, I value those who take it, hold it tight, and don’t ever try to damage it.
♥For hard work. For my parents teaching me that you only get out of life what you put into it. They led by example. They taught me that hard work pays off. To not complain about it because you’ll be the recipient of the blood, sweat, and tears in the end. It’s a lesson I hope to pass onto my kids.
♥For Colton and Rylee. It’s amazing how those two fictional people have changed my world.
♥For compassion. I think we often forget how a little compassion can go a loooooonnnggg way in making someone else feel better. Pay it forward.
♥For the warm California sun. I know some days I complain it’s hot but right now it’s warm when so many other places are cold.
♥For music. For lyrics. For making them the soundtracks to our lives.
♥For time. Isn’t that all we ever want more of when it runs out? So I’m especially thankful for time.
I could keep going… I’m thankful for so many things…but I’m sure I’ll bore you so I’ll leave my list at that…I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving with your family and/or friends or characters of a book.
What one thing are you most thankful for?
November 17, 2015
Top 20 Things I’ve learned…
It’s been 30 months since I pushed publish on Driven. 30 months of learning something new every single day. And I’m asked all the time what those things are, so I thought I’d share the top 20 things I’ve learned. Here goes…
1. Words are powerful. They can hurt. They can heal. They can allow you to become whole again. They are open for interpretation and no two people will read them the same way.
2. I will never be able to please everybody with every story. No author will. We know it. And yet we will always try to. Strive for it. Fail at it. The endless cycle.
3. For every reader who wants each open ended thought/hint/notion in a story tied up into a pretty little bow, there are just as many who want it left open to interpretation so they can use their own imagination. See Item #2.
4. Quality. Quality is ten times more important than quantity. I could pump a book out every few months but the story wouldn’t be as detailed, as in depth, as touching. I prefer quality. Always.
5. I’ll never be able to write fast enough. See item #4
6. People are much braver behind the console of their computer than when they are face to face. #Truth
7. I’ll always be nervous on release day. ALWAYS. It never gets easier.
8. Romance readers are the #1 most underrated readership in the world. We are huge. We are mighty. And yet we are still discredited because we like to read damn good love stories. #HopelessRomanticsUnite
9. Authors are quirky. I’ve met many. I’ve befriended a lot. There are a few I don’t care for. The other 99.8% are the most incredible, supportive, positive, and creative people I know. For all the drama you see online, there is so much support behind the scenes. And paranoia. Are we good enough? Creative enough? And the list goes on…
10. Sometimes you have to take risks. Sometimes you have to spread your wings and try something different or your creativity will fall stagnant. I’m okay with that. I welcome the challenge. I want nothing more than to wow you with something different every now and then.
11. Readers are incredible. They are loyal. They are passionate. They are all unique in their own ways. They are picky – know what they like and don’t like. They are voracious for more. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
12. This industry is constantly changing. Just when you think you have it figured out, something comes along and knocks it on its ass so that you have to figure it out all over again.
13. There will never be enough Colton and Rylee. (See, I do listen to you guys ☺ )
14. Advertising is a necessary evil. It doesn’t work like it used to. There are so many authors and so many ads for their books that yours is just one among a fish in the same school. We know this. And yet we still need the visibility.
15. Readers don’t realize how important it is to an author when they recommend a book through either word of mouth and/or with a review. Authors realize it. Appreciate it. Are grateful for it. Especially this author. So thank you. Thank you ‘x’ infinity.
16. Every day is different for an author. Yes, it might look the same – with our ass in a chair in front of our computer and a Diet Coke beside it
1. Words are powerful. They can hurt. They can heal. They can allow you to become whole again. They are open for interpretation and no two people will read them the same way.
2. I will never be able to please everybody with every story. No author will. We know it. And yet we will always try to. Strive for it. Fail at it. The endless cycle.
3. For every reader who wants each open ended thought/hint/notion in a story tied up into a pretty little bow, there are just as many who want it left open to interpretation so they can use their own imagination. See Item #2.
4. Quality. Quality is ten times more important than quantity. I could pump a book out every few months but the story wouldn’t be as detailed, as in depth, as touching. I prefer quality. Always.
5. I’ll never be able to write fast enough. See item #4
6. People are much braver behind the console of their computer than when they are face to face. #Truth
7. I’ll always be nervous on release day. ALWAYS. It never gets easier.
8. Romance readers are the #1 most underrated readership in the world. We are huge. We are mighty. And yet we are still discredited because we like to read damn good love stories. #HopelessRomanticsUnite
9. Authors are quirky. I’ve met many. I’ve befriended a lot. There are a few I don’t care for. The other 99.8% are the most incredible, supportive, positive, and creative people I know. For all the drama you see online, there is so much support behind the scenes. And paranoia. Are we good enough? Creative enough? And the list goes on…
10. Sometimes you have to take risks. Sometimes you have to spread your wings and try something different or your creativity will fall stagnant. I’m okay with that. I welcome the challenge. I want nothing more than to wow you with something different every now and then.
11. Readers are incredible. They are loyal. They are passionate. They are all unique in their own ways. They are picky – know what they like and don’t like. They are voracious for more. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
12. This industry is constantly changing. Just when you think you have it figured out, something comes along and knocks it on its ass so that you have to figure it out all over again.
13. There will never be enough Colton and Rylee. (See, I do listen to you guys ☺ )
14. Advertising is a necessary evil. It doesn’t work like it used to. There are so many authors and so many ads for their books that yours is just one among a fish in the same school. We know this. And yet we still need the visibility.
15. Readers don’t realize how important it is to an author when they recommend a book through either word of mouth and/or with a review. Authors realize it. Appreciate it. Are grateful for it. Especially this author. So thank you. Thank you ‘x’ infinity.
16. Every day is different for an author. Yes, it might look the same – with our ass in a chair in front of our computer and a Diet Coke beside it
October 13, 2015
Hard Beat Excerpt
I finished editing a book late last night (er, actually early this morning) and I’m about to open a document to start something brand new … I hadn’t taken a break from my daily writing schedule in almost three years. The month off from it was welcome but now I’m antsy to jump in and bring some new characters to life… 
But first…. I thought I’d share a little bit from Tanner and Beaux and HARD BEAT
♦
“Dude, hold your horses!” I walk over to the door. Just as my hand grips the handle, I hear Beaux’s muffled voice from the other side, and it surprises the shit out of me.
“Don’t even think you’re heading out without me.”
How in the hell did she know something came up?
When I turn the handle and let the door fall open, we stand motionless as she stares at me with her green, assessing eyes. The damn woman is observant, and I’m not sure if I love that or hate that yet, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out one way or another because she doesn’t seem to be a wilting flower in any sense of the word.
She enters when I take a step backward, and I like that the hard glint in her eyes goes hazy for just a moment when she takes notice of my bare chest. She stares a bit longer than is professional before dragging her eyes over my torso and back up to my face. Can’t say it doesn’t give me a small thrill of satisfaction to know she likes what she sees. Except there’s no way in hell I’m letting her touch me again.
And then of course she opens her mouth and ruins it all. “Going somewhere, Pulitzer?” She stands with her hands on her hips and her head angled to the side.
“You stalking me or something?” I prop my shoulder against the wall and shove my hands deep in the pockets of my cargos.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Last time I checked, I didn’t have to.”
♦
HARD BEAT releases November 3rd. If you pre-order, make sure to enter your pre-order information in this Google.doc HERE for your chance to win one of TEN paperback advanced copies of ACED.
Pre-Order Links:
Amazon
iBooks
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
But first…. I thought I’d share a little bit from Tanner and Beaux and HARD BEAT
♦
“Dude, hold your horses!” I walk over to the door. Just as my hand grips the handle, I hear Beaux’s muffled voice from the other side, and it surprises the shit out of me.
“Don’t even think you’re heading out without me.”
How in the hell did she know something came up?
When I turn the handle and let the door fall open, we stand motionless as she stares at me with her green, assessing eyes. The damn woman is observant, and I’m not sure if I love that or hate that yet, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out one way or another because she doesn’t seem to be a wilting flower in any sense of the word.
She enters when I take a step backward, and I like that the hard glint in her eyes goes hazy for just a moment when she takes notice of my bare chest. She stares a bit longer than is professional before dragging her eyes over my torso and back up to my face. Can’t say it doesn’t give me a small thrill of satisfaction to know she likes what she sees. Except there’s no way in hell I’m letting her touch me again.
And then of course she opens her mouth and ruins it all. “Going somewhere, Pulitzer?” She stands with her hands on her hips and her head angled to the side.
“You stalking me or something?” I prop my shoulder against the wall and shove my hands deep in the pockets of my cargos.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Last time I checked, I didn’t have to.”
♦
HARD BEAT releases November 3rd. If you pre-order, make sure to enter your pre-order information in this Google.doc HERE for your chance to win one of TEN paperback advanced copies of ACED.
Pre-Order Links:
Amazon
iBooks
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
September 25, 2015
Lost/Found Colton POV Scene
***DRIVEN SERIES SPOILER ALERT***
(If you have not finished the Driven series, do not read any further)
So I was looking through my computer, cleaning it up, and I just happened to find a partially written Colton POV scene. It’s not perfect and it’s not completed to the extent I would have preferred it to be, but it does me no good sitting on my computer. I thought you guys might like to read it.
Originally I had written this as a possible chapter for the Raced compilation but for some reason or other didn’t like it at the time. So you may not like it either.
The scene: This scene was supposed to be the set-up for Colton going to ask Rylee’s Dad for her hand in marriage. I didn’t get that far…but I got far enough that it will make you smile seeing Ace back in action…
Here it is:
“You can stop driving me to work you know.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that but I’m kind of partial to the view I get when you walk towards the house.” Curves. Attitude. One helluva package that’s now my whole world.
Rylee flashes that smile of hers – pure innocence – but I know the truth behind it. Know the defiant vixen that owns me hook, line, and huge ass sinker. And fuck how I’d love to drag her back into the Rover and take her back to our bed – or any convenient location – and have my way with her again.
I glance at the back seat, my mind contemplating possibilities.
“Dream on, Donavan.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.
I can think of better ways to make her eyes roll back.
Back seat’s looking better and better.
She starts to close the door and then stops. She glances toward The House where I’m sure at least four pair of eyes are on us in the front window and then looks back to me. Angling her head to the side, she studies me – pursed lips, crease in her forehead – and now I’m fucking worried that she knows.
But she can’t. It’s not possible.
Then again falling in love wasn’t possible either and look at me now. My how times are a’changing.
“What?” I ask, feigning nonchalance. Well trying to. The thumping of my thumb on the steering wheel might be a dead giveaway that something is up. Thank fuck I have sunglasses on. She knows me too well. Would be able to see right through me and know I’m hiding something.
It’s not every day you ask your girlfriend’s dad for her hand in marriage. Remember Hell? Yeah, it’s definitely cold now.
“I’m okay, Colton,” she says, mistaking my nerves for concern over leaving her here. “You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Zander’s dad is gone, I’ve recovered from the miscarriage…nothing’s going to hurt me.” The sincerity in her voice plays me like a fucking violin, pulling on the strings I thought that had been broken and irreparable. Her words make me feel and that in itself is crazy as fuck.
“I know. I like driving you though. Like coming in to see the boys when I can…and love kissing you goodbye.”
“Hm. I do especially like that last part.” She steps on the running board and leans into the cab toward me. Our lips meet, tongues touch and fuck if she’s not the sweetest addiction a man can have.
Only this man.
And I plan on making that a step further today.
We break apart, her taste still on my tongue. “Baby, there’s no doubt about that. Have a great shift. Tell the boys I’ll come in when I pick you up tomorrow and they better be ready for me to kick their butts in an all out Madden NFL marathon.” That’ll distract her. Promises of Playstation duels will draw her attention elsewhere.
“I hear your warning loud and clear. The testosterone alert has been heeded,” she groans playfully.
“”You like my testosterone.” I lift my eyebrows, the sound of her laugh turning me on.
Fuck. I’ve got it bad. Her damn voodoo pussy calling to me on every level: eyes, dick, heart.
“Have fun in San Clemente.”
My heart stops at her comment. “What?” I cough the word out. What in the fuck is she talking about?
“I heard you on the phone with Becks. Something about going there for a meeting today.”
“Yeah. Yes.” Get it together, Donavan. “Going to lunch with one of the Penzoil reps,” I finally stammer. Real smooth. Sweet Jesus, why don’t you just tell her what you’re doing already by overreacting?
“Cool. Have fun.” She shuts the door and then looks in the window. “I love you.”
The emotion in her eyes is like an arrow to my heart. Shit, I’m pathetic, thinking cupid and shit. But damn if the words – the ones that used to choke me, make me ill – don’t come to my tongue like they can’t wait to be said. “I love you too.”
See? Not great… but still our Ace.
If you want more, make sure you pre-order the all new Colton and Rylee book titled, ACED. This books is an entirely new chapter in their story and I can’t wait for you all to read it!
(If you have not finished the Driven series, do not read any further)
So I was looking through my computer, cleaning it up, and I just happened to find a partially written Colton POV scene. It’s not perfect and it’s not completed to the extent I would have preferred it to be, but it does me no good sitting on my computer. I thought you guys might like to read it.
Originally I had written this as a possible chapter for the Raced compilation but for some reason or other didn’t like it at the time. So you may not like it either.
The scene: This scene was supposed to be the set-up for Colton going to ask Rylee’s Dad for her hand in marriage. I didn’t get that far…but I got far enough that it will make you smile seeing Ace back in action…
Here it is:
“You can stop driving me to work you know.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that but I’m kind of partial to the view I get when you walk towards the house.” Curves. Attitude. One helluva package that’s now my whole world.
Rylee flashes that smile of hers – pure innocence – but I know the truth behind it. Know the defiant vixen that owns me hook, line, and huge ass sinker. And fuck how I’d love to drag her back into the Rover and take her back to our bed – or any convenient location – and have my way with her again.
I glance at the back seat, my mind contemplating possibilities.
“Dream on, Donavan.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.
I can think of better ways to make her eyes roll back.
Back seat’s looking better and better.
She starts to close the door and then stops. She glances toward The House where I’m sure at least four pair of eyes are on us in the front window and then looks back to me. Angling her head to the side, she studies me – pursed lips, crease in her forehead – and now I’m fucking worried that she knows.
But she can’t. It’s not possible.
Then again falling in love wasn’t possible either and look at me now. My how times are a’changing.
“What?” I ask, feigning nonchalance. Well trying to. The thumping of my thumb on the steering wheel might be a dead giveaway that something is up. Thank fuck I have sunglasses on. She knows me too well. Would be able to see right through me and know I’m hiding something.
It’s not every day you ask your girlfriend’s dad for her hand in marriage. Remember Hell? Yeah, it’s definitely cold now.
“I’m okay, Colton,” she says, mistaking my nerves for concern over leaving her here. “You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Zander’s dad is gone, I’ve recovered from the miscarriage…nothing’s going to hurt me.” The sincerity in her voice plays me like a fucking violin, pulling on the strings I thought that had been broken and irreparable. Her words make me feel and that in itself is crazy as fuck.
“I know. I like driving you though. Like coming in to see the boys when I can…and love kissing you goodbye.”
“Hm. I do especially like that last part.” She steps on the running board and leans into the cab toward me. Our lips meet, tongues touch and fuck if she’s not the sweetest addiction a man can have.
Only this man.
And I plan on making that a step further today.
We break apart, her taste still on my tongue. “Baby, there’s no doubt about that. Have a great shift. Tell the boys I’ll come in when I pick you up tomorrow and they better be ready for me to kick their butts in an all out Madden NFL marathon.” That’ll distract her. Promises of Playstation duels will draw her attention elsewhere.
“I hear your warning loud and clear. The testosterone alert has been heeded,” she groans playfully.
“”You like my testosterone.” I lift my eyebrows, the sound of her laugh turning me on.
Fuck. I’ve got it bad. Her damn voodoo pussy calling to me on every level: eyes, dick, heart.
“Have fun in San Clemente.”
My heart stops at her comment. “What?” I cough the word out. What in the fuck is she talking about?
“I heard you on the phone with Becks. Something about going there for a meeting today.”
“Yeah. Yes.” Get it together, Donavan. “Going to lunch with one of the Penzoil reps,” I finally stammer. Real smooth. Sweet Jesus, why don’t you just tell her what you’re doing already by overreacting?
“Cool. Have fun.” She shuts the door and then looks in the window. “I love you.”
The emotion in her eyes is like an arrow to my heart. Shit, I’m pathetic, thinking cupid and shit. But damn if the words – the ones that used to choke me, make me ill – don’t come to my tongue like they can’t wait to be said. “I love you too.”
See? Not great… but still our Ace.
If you want more, make sure you pre-order the all new Colton and Rylee book titled, ACED. This books is an entirely new chapter in their story and I can’t wait for you all to read it!
