Dls’s Comments (group member since Sep 14, 2010)

Dls’s comments from the Fans of Eloisa James & Julia Quinn group.

I will say be careful with her back list as it’s being rereleased under ONeal with new titles make sure uou don’t buy the same book twice.

Stay with Like No Other Lover at least until the target shooting scene around p 122 which I cannot read without laughing out loud. Every time.

Barbara Samuels: Jezebel’s Blues.

She is a lyrical writer. She started out writing under Ruth Wind and then moved to this name and now Barbara O’Neal.

Jezebel is a river.

In the deepest heart of the night, Hero awakened. Without words, they’d moved to this attic sanctuary, and there they had stayed without eating or talking—only touching, loving, exploring. He felt like a soldier going off to a war from which he might not return.

Beside him, nestled into the hollow of his shoulder, Heroine slept like a child. A fan of silvery hair sprayed over his arm, and her ripe mouth was parted gently. An angel, he thought. So pretty. He trailed a finger over her jaw, lightly so as not to awaken her. Her slim body was curled next to his, trusting and sweet.

In all the hours they had spent together, she had not asked him to stay, not by word or deed. She had not wept or begged, whispered pleas or coerced him. She only stared him straight in the eyes and told him she loved him. Simple. Like Heroine. She wasn’t afraid to be herself, to tell him her thoughts, to love him—even if he didn’t love her in return.

Hollowness struck his heart as he began to ease away from the warmth of her form, a millimeter at a time. She barely stirred. In the darkness he found his clothes, and in darkness he dressed, his throat tight.

When he was ready to go, he paused at the edge of the bed, staring down at the ethereal beauty that was Heroine. He thought of braiding her hair and remembered her clenching her fists as the snake crawled over her feet and the way she’d brought him brownies.

But mostly he thought of her steadiness. Upon learning of her career teaching algebra and calculus, he’d thought it was ill suited. Having known her, he knew it was right. There was order in Heroine’s world, a constancy and reliability he’d never known. She was a woman of her word.

And for that reason, he could not take her with him. Not that she would go, even if he asked. She loved him, and that love had been the most peaceful thing he’d ever known, as soothing as the song of Jezebel on her way to the Gulf. It tempted him to forget his ramblings, tempted him to try to live up to the man she thought she saw. For Heroine, he wanted to try.

And as he stood there, filling his eyes with her slight, sleeping form, he felt tears well up in his throat and in his eyes. He felt them come without surprise. He had never cried, not as long as he could remember—not over anything, but with Heroine, everything came apart and as he watched her breath sough in and out, the tears spilled over his cheeks, and he let them flow.

He loved her. Loved her as he’d never loved anyone or anything in his life. He loved her for all the things she made him feel, loved her for the light sound of her laughter and her bold kisses and her steadiness. But most of all, he loved her for being absolutely, unapologetically herself.

For one long instant, he realized he was no soldier, only a restless wanderer, that if he wanted to stay, she would welcome him. He nearly knelt, once again, on the soft mattress they had shared and took her into his arms.

But into her stable world he’d brought only chaos. Into the serenity of her simple life he’d brought dark passion and heavy burdens. He had nothing to bring to their union—not even the songs he might once have offered. If he stayed, he would not be giving, he would be taking.

Heroine deserved more than that. Much, much more. He’d told her he would not leave her sleeping, but this time he didn’t think he could bear to say goodbye to her open, guileless eyes. With an ache in his chest, he turned and left her, slipping down the stairs like a night wind.

At the car, he looked back to the house, thinking of her father, who had loved Heroine only when he had time. Hero would not leave her with that same thought about him.

Reaching into the back seat, he grabbed his guitar. In his hand, the weight was familiar and beloved, and for a moment, he nearly wept again for a different loss, for that loss of his hands. He swallowed.

In the gathering light, he climbed the steps to the porch. He left the guitar where she’d find it, leaving one love to the other, hoping Heroine would understand.

* * *

The sound of the car driving away awakened Heroine. It was still dark and it was that darkness that panicked her, that made her clutch the sheet around herself and race down the stairs to the front door. It was the darkness that made her cry out when she saw the tiny red lights already gone down the road. “Hero!”

The sound of her cry thinned and spread to nothing in the still, morning air. He was gone.

In grief she bowed her head against the screen door, a wide ache exploding through her chest and belly, a grief so deep, she could hardly bear it, could not weep it away. As she struggled to control it, to find some handle to keep the pain at bay, she cursed herself.

Because there had been a part of her that had really believed he would stay. His trembling touch, his warring heart, his need of her last night—he loved her.

She had not let him go without making love to her because she’d hoped one last night together might change his heart, might open his eyes to what could be between them. She had hoped that if she loved him unconditionally enough, his wounds would be lanced and he might begin to believe in himself.

Raising her head, her dry eyes, she saw the guitar on the porch. For one long moment she stared at it, then sheet and all, she stepped outside and picked it up.

Inside, she sank to the floor and opened the case. She’d known he had played, that he loved blues guitar, and she had seen the scars that had rendered him unable to make his music. But she hadn’t even seen the instrument upon which he lavished his love. It was made of a hard wood and was finished with a dark blue glaze that made her think of the color of his eyes. It had taken its share of knocks over the years. There were worn places on the neck, places worn away by his thumbs and fingers.

She didn’t know the exact logic that had led him to leave it for her, but she could guess. He’d lost his hands, his ability to play this beautiful instrument, and with that loss, he’d lost himself.

It was the most precious thing he owned, this guitar. Heroine picked it up and held it against her and it seemed almost an extension of him, as if he’d left her his heart.

Holding the cold weight against her, Heroine cursed her father. For Jacob Moon had written this story. Now it was ending. After finding love he could not accept, the hero would wander far and wide and die a bitter death, while the heroine pined away, alone forever.

“Oh, Daddy!” Heroine cried aloud, her heart shattering. “Couldn’t you have written just one happy ending?

I definitely have not read this

I thought it might be

What a pleasure to write 2021

January
4 Susan
11 DLS
18 Oakie
25 Stacy

February
1 Aly
8 Leigh-Ayn
15 Susan
22 DLS

March
1 Oakie
8 Stacy
15 Aly
22 Leigh-Ayn
29 Susan

April
5 DLS
12 Oakie
19 Stacy
26 Aly

May
3 Leigh-Ayn
10 Susan
17 DLS
24 Oakie
31 Stacy

June
7 Aly
14 Leigh-Ayn
21 Susan
28 DLS

I have a guess but it’s a book I haven’t read.

We have only six people interested. I will make a schedule but if posting every six weeks is too often let me know.
And obviously willing to add more.

Hm. I have a theory but that’s all it is

Any one else? We can’t really do it with three.

I have definitely not read this

Hi
Please let me know if you want to be on the puzzler schedule for the first half of 2021.

I know this has been a hard year for many people. Is the puzzler helping you or does it feel like one
More thing you have to do? Let me know!

If you are new to the puzzler and want to know what it involves message me.
Deb (dls)

@Manda I hope you are feeling better and healing well

I have no idea at all. Thanks for posting!

Can anyone post tomorrow? Apparently I skipped a name for December 7

I don’t know it

Time for the reveal Susan!

It does seem familiar

It seems familiar but I can’t place it