Shiloh Walker's Blog, page 47

Happy New Year…

All the best in 2015

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An idea I’m playing with…

So, I had the idea for this a couple of weeks ago and started working on it today.  It’s going to be a contemporary romance, which I do a lot, but I’m doing it first person, all male, POV…something I’ve never done.

I like doing new stuff and so far, this is fun.  Hopefully you’ll like it.  Dunno when I’ll be done with it, though.  Title, etc, will be posted if I finish it.

I ain’t no hero.

If you’re familiar with my story, either heard about me on the news or read about me in some gossip rag somewhere, then you maybe you think otherwise.  Or maybe you’re one of the smarter ones and you realize the truth of it—realize that under it all, I’m a bastard—and a lucky son-of-a-bitch, too.

But I ain’t no hero.

Some people, though, they insist on saying otherwise.

If you want, you can have a seat, order yourself up a drink and I’ll tell you the truth of it.  I’m in the talking mood.

The story ain’t always a pretty one, though.  It can be downright ugly.  Sometimes it’s funny and sometimes, it’s nothing but dirty.  If you’re looking for sunshine and roses, you might want to look on elsewhere.

Still here? Okay, then.

My name is Bobby.  Bobby Cantrell, and please, do not call me Robert, or even Bob.  Robert was my father’s name and that bastard, may he rot in hell, was one of the first people in life to make me understand was pure mean was.  It was a lesson that had to be learned, I guess, and he taught me well, but I want nothing to do with him, not even his name.  My mom called him Bob and by default, I became Bobby.

She’d called me that for as long as I can remember and the sound of my name in her sweet voice is one of the few happy memories of my childhood, so Bobby is who I am.

We grew up poor and broke in the eastern heart of Kentucky, right up until I turned thirteen.

We up and left, Mama and me, not long after my father departed this earth and we moved around. A lot.

Mama died when I was nineteen.  Cancer took from me and anger settled deep, deep inside me.  It took me a long, long time to realize just how angry I was, too.

That anger just about ruined my life.

It controlled me even up to the day my life finally changed.

And it changed just twenty minutes after I’d finished up a job interview—I didn’t get the job.

But then again, I hadn’t really expected to.

There were…elements, we’ll say, from my past that men like me undesirable to just about every single damn employer out there.

Oh, I’m smart enough.

Contrary to how it might sound.  I might sound like some slow, country bumpkin who just fell off the back of a turnip trunk, but my brain works just fine.  I even enjoyed school—hell, why wouldn’t I?  It was an escape from school and I even had a free, hot meal every day.  It took me a while to realize just why I had a free, hot meal—charity.  My mama hadn’t been too proud to ask for help for her boy.  When my father found out, he hurt her something awful, but she didn’t back down.

I never hated him more than I did…sorry, my thoughts are prone to wandering, but you’ll figure that out soon enough, if you haven’t already.

Anyway, I enjoyed school, or I did—up until I didn’t.  I may or may not explain that.  We’ll see how it goes.

But it wasn’t my brain that kept me from getting a job and it wasn’t that I wouldn’t hard.  Even my past employers would admit that I was one of the hardest workers they’d ever had.  I wasn’t a thief—I wouldn’t take a damn thing I hadn’t worked for and that was sometimes a problem.  More than once, it had me out sleeping in the cold, or burning in the blistering heat of the sun when I couldn’t afford to pay the rent.  Too many times I’d gone to bed hungry because I had no money to pay for food and I can’t tell you how many often I’d ended up cleaning up in some public restroom just because I had no place to take a shower.

It looked like I was about to be out on my ass again, too.  I was already a week behind on my rent and the cheap-ass apartment I was in wasn’t run by some guy with a heart of gold—a heart of flint would be more fitting.

There I was, striding down West Muhammed Ali, moving through the crush that was already forming around the so-called party venue that was Fourth Street Live.  It was Mardi Gras.  Louisville, Kentucky was not New Orleans, but that didn’t stop any party-lover from getting their drunk on.  Girls was out there in skirts barely larger than my palm and shirts—if you could call them that—that barely covered the legal bits.  I’m a healthy, warm-blooded male.  Yeah, I looked. And I wanted to grab them a damn coat.  It was freezing. I was shivering in the threadbare coat I’d found in a secondhand store a month ago. Under it, I had on a flannel and T-shirt and I was still freezing.  How could they stand to be out there in heels and mini-skirts and what was supposed to be a shirt?

I guess the alcohol helped.

One of the women looked up at that moment and caught my eye.

A slow smile curled her lips.

A hint of appreciation twisted through me, but I just kept on walking.

That place had a dress code and dollar limit that I couldn’t afford.

I couldn’t even buy myself a six-pack of the cheapest shit beer on the market.

Up ahead, a couple of cop cars sat, lights flashing.

It was instinct that had me turning left on Fifth.  There were more of them the next block up and swearing, I hooked another left, leading me back to Fourth.  I hooked a right, then, striding past the ritzy Seelback on my right. I didn’t bother to look at the hotel.  This was where the high-rollers stayed. Around Derby time, this place gets crazy.

Kind of that night, really.

I dodged a couple of reporters and ducked my head, scowling as I waded through the mass of people.

I’d gone that way to avoid everybody.

I was so busy trying to avoid people I missed seeing her right up until she crashed into me.

I caught her arms, trying to steady her.

She was a cute little mess of blonde curls and the kind of curves our society likes to mock…the kind of curves I love to mold.

She tore away so quickly, I was left standing there with my hands in mid-air.

Scowling, I lowered them, only to leap out and grab her when she tried to dart out in the road.

We ended up sprawled on the street, with me half on top of her.  “The fuck’s the matter with you?” I growled at her as the car laid on its horn, speeding by without even slowing down.  “You want to end up dead or what?”

She glared at me.  “Get off of me, you idiot.”

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Do you review? EDGED BLADE is up…

Available at Net Galley for just over two weeks!

https://www.netgalley.com/catalog/show/id/58597

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For Christmas…a Damon POV for you…

May you have a joyous and blessed Christmas. God bless!

From the end of Night Blade

There were things in my life that had haunted me, but there would never be anything like that day. I deserved every awful, miserable second and I’d taken a thousand more days like this—if I could take it from her.

She was thin, like it had been months instead of weeks since she’d disappeared. Kit was so mouthy and arrogant, half the time she made a person think she was bigger than she was, but under all that attitude, she was slender, almost delicate and now, she looked it. Her skin looked paper thin and her cheekbones were too sharp, jutting up against the hollows of her face.

And she was bruised.

Even though she was clothes on now, I could remember the area of every fucking bruise. Every mark put on her.

The worst of all of it, though, was her eyes. There was no life in them—almost as if Greaves hadn’t acted in time and she had gone over that edge.

I wanted her to look at me, wanted to find some way to strip that loss of…everything…from her, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Standing there, lost in the trees, I looked at her and waited, watched for some sign that she even knew I existed, knew I was here. If she gave me any sign, I would have crawled over the frozen ground, broken glass and through the fires of hell. If she said, kill…I’d storm that fucking fortress and everybody inside it would be dead in a moment.

But all she did was sit there, huddling behind Doyle and clutching a borrowed coat around her narrow shoulders. Doyle had saved her, so I throttled down the need to grab the kid and beat him bloody for daring to be at her side when everything inside me said it should be me with her.

I’d lost that right. Nobody knew that as well as I did.

But nothing could drag me from that spot there.

If somebody breathed too loud, she flinched and I couldn’t stand it.

This was the mean, ball-busting little bitch who’d once pulled a blade on me. When she was afraid, she kicked people in the teeth. When she was nervous, she mouthed off. And if she was pissed, you better check her hands for sharp objects.

And now…

Red flooded my vision. A furious roar flooded my head—the one I couldn’t voice. No matter how many times, I tried to block it out, I kept seeing her as she came tearing out of the big pile of stone behind us. I’d thought…

No, man. Don’t go thinking.

If I started thinking, I was going to remember what she’d almost done. She kept darting looks out through the trees and my gut told me if she thought she could, she might still try to just…end it.

And if I kept looking at her, I thought maybe I was going to be the one to lose my mind. I couldn’t do this. But I couldn’t walk away from this place, either. Shifting my attention to the fortress in the mountains, I stared at it. The monster in me stretched his muscles, claws outstretched, teeth bared. He wanted to come and play–destroy. He was a mean bastard even under the best circumstances. And when another broken gasp came to me on the wind, I had to admit…these weren’t the best circumstances.

She wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t let me get near her and any time I tried, she backed away like she thought I might hurt her. The bitch of it all…I even understood that. If I didn’t do something, I was going to explode. The monster raging inside me saw to that.

I didn’t bother stripping out of my clothes as I slid off into the night. The shift took care of them. They fell in shreds around me and I paid about as much attention to them as I did to the snow blasting again my skin. I knew it was there, but I didn’t fucking care.

There were only two things that mattered—one of them was behind me…and she didn’t want to see me.

The other was in that huge mausoleum of a house and as soon as he came out, I didn’t care if he was under guard or not, I was going to rip him apart. I’d bury my claws in his gut and then rip him apart. I could already smell the acrid, rotting stink of his blood and the burn of anticipation was the only thing that had made me feel good since this nightmare had started.

Hiding myself in the shadows, I looked back at her. She huddled against the tiger and I whispered, “I’m so damn sorry.”

But it didn’t matter. I hadn’t protected her. The one thing I’d promised her and I’d failed.

No wonder she didn’t want to look at me.

I didn’t think I’d ever be able to face myself again, not after this.

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So. AWESOME news…

For me, at least!

J.C. Daniels will be attending Dragon*Con in 2015! I’m so excited!

Dragon*Con

9.4.15 – 9.7.15

Info

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Winner….

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Just a reminder, per my disclaimer, the winner is responsible for checking back/claiming prize!

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Razed…another snippet

“I knew you were naked under this. I knew it.”

“How?” She blushed even deeper as he cupped her breast and stroked his thumb across her nipple.

“Instinct.” He flashed her a grin. “And it was driving me crazy.”

The blouse caught around her waist as he turned, sat on the bed and guided her to kneel between his thighs. She was naked from the waist up. Leaning back, he let himself feast on the beauty of her, on the elegance of her tattoos scrolled up her arms, the way they swirled along her shoulders and down her upper chest to stop just above the slopes of her breasts.

He traced the lines of the rose that bloomed on her neck and pressed his mouth to it, male satisfaction rolling through him as she shuddered. He’d needed this, needed to feel her shaking as he touched her, needed to feel how much she wanted him. Was it as much as he wanted her? Could she ever want him that much?

He’d do his damnedest to make it happen, to brand himself on her as indelibly as those incredibly sexy tattoos.

More tattoos started along her sides and he tried to trace them only to get caught in the shirt. “Clearly, I didn’t think this through.” Easing her back, he stood up and grasped the shirt, pulling it upward. She lifted her arms to help him and he folded it, placed it on the table near the bed, before he went back to stroking his fingers along the tattoos, determined to memorize each and every line, every stroke, every curve, every swirl.

“You act like you haven’t seen them before.”

He looked up at her, smiling slowly. “The shower doesn’t count. I didn’t have my glasses, so I couldn’t see everything. And you wouldn’t let me play.” He slid his finger along the vine that started under her left breast. “Now I’m going to play.”

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Razed…available now!

 

“I knew I didn’t want dating advice from you two.” She was not going to discuss sex with Javi standing right there. She wasn’t. Absolutely not.

“Hey, this isn’t bad advice. Besides . . . you know how bad an idea it is to get drunk around a guy you don’t know.”

An ugly headache started to pound at the base of her skull. Yes. Keelie knew full well how bad an idea that was. But all she said was, “That’s why I don’t generally drink when I’m going out on a first . . . or even a second or third date.” She didn’t drink much and when she did, it was only within the company of friends.

Anais waved a hand. “Just order a beer at the bar. That’s all you need. One drink. You’ll loosen up a little. Now . . . the most important thing . . . and I mean it, this is serious shit.”

Keelie lifted a brow. “You understand the concept of serious, Ani?”

“Absolutely. But only in reference to men and metal.” Anais did take metal seriously.  As the only piercer they had on staff at Steel Ink, that was a good thing.  She excelled at her job.  And the men definitely loved her.  “Now, are you listening to me or not?”

“I’m all ears.” And she was. Considering that Anais actually looked halfway serious, Keelie wanted to know just what would her friend considered serious.

“So am I.”

Keelie shot Javi a look. Part of her suspected she should make him to leave. There was no telling what would come out of Anais’s mouth. She had no filter. None. But Javi was like a brother to her and if what Anais had to say was going to embarrass her, it would likely embarrass Javi, too. Keelie believed in sharing the misery.

Unaffected by Javi’s presence, Anais pinned Keelie with a wide, direct stare. “Listen, no matter what, no matter how hot you think this guy is—and he is hot, I’ve seen him—no matter how hot he is, you can’t give him a blow job on the first date.”

The bell over the front door jingled, shattering the silence that had fallen after Anais’s declaration.

She might have said something—anything—to ease the embarrassment crawling through her.

But then she heard a familiar voice.

“Hey . . . anybody around?”

That embarrassment exploded and, suddenly, she had a hard time breathing. Her heart raced. Blood crashed in her ears. Her hands felt hot and sweaty.

“Did you hear me, Keelie?” Anais asked, lifted a brow. The hoop there caught the line, shining back. “No blow—”

Blow jobs. She clapped her hand over Anais’s mouth just as Zane Barnes appeared in the doorway. Yes. It was exactly who she’d thought it was. Anais was going on about blow jobs and now—

An image formed in her mind. Full-blown, so detailed it might have actually happened, and larger than life.

Stop it, she mentally shrieked. Stop it right now.

Like it had happened yesterday, she could feel his hands on her, the way he’d covered her mouth as she came, muffling her cries, the way he’d twisted his fingers inside her, playing her body like he’d been born to do just that. His mouth on hers.

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Christmas Cards for soldiers

Interested in sending some cards to soldiers?  Take a name (or more) below.

Please do NOT share to facebook!

Tim Luedecking (main contact 150 in his unit)

4th Sustainment Brigade

TF Wrangler Bagram AFB

APO AE 09354-9998

Roy Banzon (they have 20 in their unit 7 females, they gave me first names for the women, write to either of these men under their name put share or the female name)

MSG Fernando Marquez

Erika

Stephanie

Barbara

Sandra

Rosa

Rochelle

Julienne

AFS BN Qatar

Unit 530

APO,AE 09898

Jorge Baeza

HHC 3-8 CAV 1 ABCT 2ID

Unit 15817

APO,AP 96257-5817

this young soldier is stateside he is in Texas hid dad is a Marine Vietnam Vet 19 years old

E1 Kade McCammon

F- 5155

527 I AVE

Unit 2488

Sheppard AFB TX 76311

Wayne Simonsen

PSC 2 Bos 6431

APO,AE 09012

Matthew Butler

PSC 63

PO BOX 001

APO,AE 09397-0001

okay finally names from John’s unit

SPC Acevedo

SPC Wendrick

PFC Angaangan

PFC Morris

SSG Bowden

396 TC

Camp Buehring

APO,AE 09330

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Razed… couple of days…

“So, this place. You want me to meet you there. For coffee.”

“Yeah.” She angled her chin up.

It made him want to bite her, kiss her, hug her, cuddle her. That cocky, almost brash exterior . . . what did it hide, he wondered? Sweeping his thumb across her mouth, he murmured, “And just why are we meeting for coffee? You just like caffeine?”

“If you’re going to be an asshole,” she started.

He cut the rest of her words off with his mouth.

She’d answered his question. He’d just wanted a chance. Now, taking advantage of her already parted lips, he slanted his head and licked the inside of her mouth, sliding one hand up to cup her cheek, angling her head back.

With his other hand, he cupped her hip. Only her hip, because it would be so very easy to try for more.

Everything inside him pushed for that.

But he wasn’t going to rush this.

Not this, of all things.

He slid his tongue along hers, growled when she caught him and sucked him just a little. Dark, dirty little thoughts raced through him as he imagined her doing that to his cock. His fingers tightened on her hip and she swayed, leaning closer.

The sound of her moan pierced the fog and he forced himself to end the kiss, bit by bit. His heart was racing when it was done and his muscles were tight with the urge to grab, take . . . keep.

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