.jpg)
About The Book:
Title: Danger and Desire Boxed Set
The individual novels cost over $35 in total and have more than 2,000 5-star reviews on Goodreads. This set is only available for a limited time, so grab your copy NOW!
Danger and Desire: Ten Steamy Romantic Suspense Novels
Hold on tight for ten tales of intrigue and passion from New York Times Bestselling and award-winning authors. Men in uniform, sexy spies and pulse-pounding action fill over 650,000 words of this limited edition boxed set.
***************
Katie Reus - Sensual Surrender
Excerpt:
“I won’t miss it,” he said, taking his planner and setting it down without looking at it. He stared at his laptop, his fingers clacking away on the keys as he spoke. “Besides, you’re coming with me to that one. I don’t know why you’re so stressed today.”
She bit her lip, trying to find the right words. Impossible ones she just needed to get out. Maybe the silence was more weighted than she realized because he looked up then, his blue eyes electric in their intensity.
“You are going with me to that meeting?”
“Wyatt, I’ve enjoyed working for you more than I can say.” She smoothed her hand down her skirt again, a stupid nervous habit.
His expression went flat. “You’re not quitting.”
She blinked at his forceful tone. “I appreciate everything you did for me when I graduated.” He’d given her a job right out of school. She’d just gotten her Master’s in Business Administration and had been hungry to work. Landing a position with one of the richest men in the country had been a dream come true. She worked her ass off, but he compensated all his employees well and she loved what she did. Leaving this position was one of the hardest decisions, but she knew she had to do it. Once she told Kevin that she’d been fired—a tiny lie—she wouldn’t be able to help him with whatever plan he had to rob the Serafina. This was the only way.
Frowning, Wyatt stood, pushing his chair back before rounding his desk. Wearing a custom-made pinstriped suit, the tall man with midnight black hair and electric blue eyes, that were so damn intense as to be scary, was giving her all his focus. She didn’t like feeling as if she were under a microscope, but stood her ground.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the front of his desk and faced off with her. Even though he wasn’t as tall as Jay, the man was certainly intimidating. She’d seen him use this glare with business associates and even enemies before and had never thought to be on the receiving end of one of his ‘looks’. “Are you giving your resignation?” he asked quietly, disbelief threading through every word.
Even though she wanted to stay strong, she dropped her gaze and fished out the folded piece of paper she’d tucked in the back of her skirt. It was slightly wrinkled as she handed it to him. “I’m sorry that I can’t give you two weeks’ notice and if you won’t give me a reference I completely understand. I hope that you will as I’ve enjoyed working here, but—”
“I’m not accepting your resignation,” he said calmly, his bluntness taking her by surprise. She forced herself to meet his gaze again. “Is this about you and Jay? Are you guys having problems? Whatever this is about, we’ll work it out. Do you want a raise? Hell, you deserve one so consider it done, effective tomorrow.”
She shook her head, taken aback by the offer. “I…” For a brief moment she thought of telling him that her thieving ex-boyfriend wanted her to steal from him. If she didn’t work here anymore, the bastard couldn’t blackmail her into anything. Which meant she’d become useless to Kevin and he’d leave her alone. She knew how that rat Kevin operated. But if she stayed on as Wyatt’s assistant, she’d always be a target for Kevin. He would keep coming at her until someone in her life got hurt.
She bit her lip, trying to find the right words. Impossible ones she just needed to get out. Maybe the silence was more weighted than she realized because he looked up then, his blue eyes electric in their intensity.
“You are going with me to that meeting?”
“Wyatt, I’ve enjoyed working for you more than I can say.” She smoothed her hand down her skirt again, a stupid nervous habit.
His expression went flat. “You’re not quitting.”
She blinked at his forceful tone. “I appreciate everything you did for me when I graduated.” He’d given her a job right out of school. She’d just gotten her Master’s in Business Administration and had been hungry to work. Landing a position with one of the richest men in the country had been a dream come true. She worked her ass off, but he compensated all his employees well and she loved what she did. Leaving this position was one of the hardest decisions, but she knew she had to do it. Once she told Kevin that she’d been fired—a tiny lie—she wouldn’t be able to help him with whatever plan he had to rob the Serafina. This was the only way.
Frowning, Wyatt stood, pushing his chair back before rounding his desk. Wearing a custom-made pinstriped suit, the tall man with midnight black hair and electric blue eyes, that were so damn intense as to be scary, was giving her all his focus. She didn’t like feeling as if she were under a microscope, but stood her ground.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the front of his desk and faced off with her. Even though he wasn’t as tall as Jay, the man was certainly intimidating. She’d seen him use this glare with business associates and even enemies before and had never thought to be on the receiving end of one of his ‘looks’. “Are you giving your resignation?” he asked quietly, disbelief threading through every word.
Even though she wanted to stay strong, she dropped her gaze and fished out the folded piece of paper she’d tucked in the back of her skirt. It was slightly wrinkled as she handed it to him. “I’m sorry that I can’t give you two weeks’ notice and if you won’t give me a reference I completely understand. I hope that you will as I’ve enjoyed working here, but—”
“I’m not accepting your resignation,” he said calmly, his bluntness taking her by surprise. She forced herself to meet his gaze again. “Is this about you and Jay? Are you guys having problems? Whatever this is about, we’ll work it out. Do you want a raise? Hell, you deserve one so consider it done, effective tomorrow.”
She shook her head, taken aback by the offer. “I…” For a brief moment she thought of telling him that her thieving ex-boyfriend wanted her to steal from him. If she didn’t work here anymore, the bastard couldn’t blackmail her into anything. Which meant she’d become useless to Kevin and he’d leave her alone. She knew how that rat Kevin operated. But if she stayed on as Wyatt’s assistant, she’d always be a target for Kevin. He would keep coming at her until someone in her life got hurt.
***************
Interview:
Who is your favorite author and why?
My favorite author is definitely Anne Stuart, especially her Ice series, though I love many of her historicals, too. But I feel like she really punched through the wall of how dark a hero can be with that Ice series, and I just love it. I love how complete those heroes seem in their darkness, and how they make sense. They’re not just dark as a feature like hair color, or in some actions that surprise you, but they’re dark clear through in a primal way that makes sense and drives everything about them. It’s a way she builds her heroes that I greatly admire. She walks this very tricky line and even edges into dubious consent and really makes it work.
I know there are a lot of dark erotica romances coming out with super dark heroes, and I really enjoy those, but Anne feels like her own breed, in a way. Maybe it’s because she was the first (for me, anyway). I don’t know. I also crazy love secret agents (obviously) and that’s what the Ice guys are. Her Ice books are wedged into my mind like these perfect things.
What is the most surprising thing you discovered while writing your book(s)?
My heroine in Against the Dark is a retired safecracker – she’s been out of the game for years, but she’s pulled back by her girl gang for one last job for a good cause. (And you know it’s always that one last job that gets characters in trouble!) Anyway, I really had to research safecracking and lock picking for it, just to get the details right, and I found out two things that were very interesting.
First, there is this whole scene devoted to picking locks. I had no idea of this, but there’s a scene for My Little Pony, so why not? They have conventions and things, and competitions where people sit at a long table and race to pick locks. (And open them really fast. **Eyes front door lock**). The combination lock is apparently still the best kind of lock, and did you know you actually need two tools to open a lock? Not just one like Hollywood makes you think?
Also, I was coming into romantic suspense from urban fantasy. Here’s the thing about urban fantasy: it’s really just romantic suspense with some magic and shifters and vampires (or disillusionists!) thrown in. I’m always kind of surprised the audiences don’t cross over more, but that’s another post.
But one big difference: I could make up all the shit I wanted with urban fantasy. Romantic suspense, not so much!! So I was a little bit grumbly about having to research things for RS. I saw it as kind of a holdup to writing. The surprise was that it was the opposite: research takes time, yeah, but it gives you awesome information you can’t make up. Stuff you can work with and exploit. With the safe cracking, the more I got into how it works, the more I realized how the entire art of it related to my heroine in really interesting ways. For example, she likes to stay in the background, hidden, and has a lot of guilt issues, and safecrackers have to be good at feeling and visualizing the insides of safes—it’s like a mini world you have to sink into, and it felt like a natural escape for my heroine, into this dark interior, into the shadows, in a way. It really made things nice for me as a writer to have those two things link up like that.
What advice would you give a new writer just starting out?
I have noticed that there are two dispositions writers can fall into. It’s kind of a spectrum and in my mind, it makes all the difference to whether somebody will succeed or not. On one side is “Please admire my talent.” On the other side is, let’s say, “I’m a fierce learning and growing machine.” I have noticed that the “admire me” ones wash out pretty quickly. Because they don’t get good at learning, and being good at learning is soooo critical.
So my best advice is to be a fierce and mercenary learning machine. Take everything as an opportunity to learn, but most especially feedback. Even negative feedback is a gift that you can seize and use if you can learn not to react to it or let it get you down. “Please admire my talent” is such dangerous territory for a writer to live in. Yes, all writers want praise, and every human being wants love, but you can’t grow and evolve if you fixate on getting praise. And it takes vigilance.
With a newer writer stuck in “Please Admire My Talent” if you point out a problem, they’ll explain why they did what they did it, or they’ll feel bad or angry, and it’s no way to grow.
The fierce learning machine side is taking risks and being okay with failure and trying new things and having flaws pointed out. The learning machine writer doesn’t bother to explain when something isn’t working—you have given her something she can use by telling her that something isn’t working. That scene isn’t clear. That character isn’t working for at least one reader. Whatever. That is useful stuff even if it sucks. As a writer, you absolutely shouldn’t take every bit of feedback to heart—not all readers will give you value. Some will be completely wrong, but if you have that learning machine disposition, you get better at assessing and using feedback in general, and it’s just such a key skill.
What is the hardest part about writing for you?
I am trying so hard to learn to write faster. I have so many books I want to write, and a limited amount of time in a day, obviously, so I’ve really been thinking about it and reading books about it. There’s this one called “2K to 10K a day” that’s really good. I’m still at 2k, but still.
I think I daydream a lot, and fuss a lot with sentences that I later cut. So, I’ve changed my style to not polish much as I go, and that has helped.
My third Undercover Associates book, Into the Shadows, features a spy who is super into Bruce Lee, who has all this martial arts advice about getting out of your own way and letting go of structure and being totally responsive.
I’ve been thinking lately that some of that advice Bruce Lee gives martial artists would be good for somebody trying to learn how to write fast. I’m in my own way a lot, and I think I don’t sink as deeply into the material as I could. I think sometimes my fixation on where I want the material to go stops me from following it where it wants to go. Well, we’ll see if that advice helps when I start drafting my next book.
Where are you from and what do you love best about your hometown?
I’m from a smallish lake town in Wisconsin, and it’s a totally quirky place. I think I would never be able to write about it because people would think I was making it all up. There was the rich end of the lake and the poor, swampy end of the lake, and people would drive around in boats, like along the shore, with drinks—we’re talking coolers here--and yell to the people on shore or talk about them and tell elaborate stories about them. And tell the same stories over the over. The people in this house did this or that. When I moved away, every time I went back home there would have to be this boat ride where I learned about all the latest on the lake. Everybody was out there doing that.
Once I got married, even my poor husband ended up having to take the drunk boat rides and getting all the stories, many of which I’m sure he can repeat. In fact, the entire culture kind of revolved around being drunk in boats. There would be drunken boat parades, too, and of course, the races. I’m kind of amazed there weren’t more accidents. And then there were these lovely rituals, like, the boat lift parties, where dozens of families would band together and the guys would take the boat lifts off the shore and stick them in the water and set them up and position them in spring, or pull them out in the fall. Boat lifts are super heavy, so it takes a group of guys to deal with them. It’s kind of like the Amish, like a barn raising. Except drunk. God, maybe I do need to put this stuff in a story!
Do you use a pen name? If so, how did you come up with it?
Carolyn Crane is a pen name. It’s a lot like my real name, I’m really Carolyn C., but my day job is freelance advertising writer, and it’s a competitive field, and while most of my clients are super cool, I don’t need them googling me and getting to a hot secret agent with a stocking fetish giving oral sex to a hotel singer in Bangkok, and certainly not to my pen name Annika, with her erotic “Taken Hostage by Hunky Bank Robbers” series. Because, let’s face it, it’s not the sort of thing that would fill a client with confidence when they’re thinking about paying me to write about their banking services or whatever.
When I first started out writing urban fantasy for Random House, I wanted a super goth name and I told my agent and editor I wanted to be Carolyn von Krüik. Don’t you think that’s kind of cool? Well, they didn’t. They were like, if you get really famous, we’ll want to make your last name huge, and von Krüik is too weird. I think maybe they just secretly hated it and were trying to be nice about it. Anyway, I tossed it out. Then I couldn’t decide between Carolyn Crane and Carolyn Crowe (because I like birds, and Russell Crowe!). Crane won out in the end. I guess it just felt more right. And, now I'm glad I didn’t go with the funky name.
My favorite author is definitely Anne Stuart, especially her Ice series, though I love many of her historicals, too. But I feel like she really punched through the wall of how dark a hero can be with that Ice series, and I just love it. I love how complete those heroes seem in their darkness, and how they make sense. They’re not just dark as a feature like hair color, or in some actions that surprise you, but they’re dark clear through in a primal way that makes sense and drives everything about them. It’s a way she builds her heroes that I greatly admire. She walks this very tricky line and even edges into dubious consent and really makes it work.
I know there are a lot of dark erotica romances coming out with super dark heroes, and I really enjoy those, but Anne feels like her own breed, in a way. Maybe it’s because she was the first (for me, anyway). I don’t know. I also crazy love secret agents (obviously) and that’s what the Ice guys are. Her Ice books are wedged into my mind like these perfect things.
What is the most surprising thing you discovered while writing your book(s)?
My heroine in Against the Dark is a retired safecracker – she’s been out of the game for years, but she’s pulled back by her girl gang for one last job for a good cause. (And you know it’s always that one last job that gets characters in trouble!) Anyway, I really had to research safecracking and lock picking for it, just to get the details right, and I found out two things that were very interesting.
First, there is this whole scene devoted to picking locks. I had no idea of this, but there’s a scene for My Little Pony, so why not? They have conventions and things, and competitions where people sit at a long table and race to pick locks. (And open them really fast. **Eyes front door lock**). The combination lock is apparently still the best kind of lock, and did you know you actually need two tools to open a lock? Not just one like Hollywood makes you think?
Also, I was coming into romantic suspense from urban fantasy. Here’s the thing about urban fantasy: it’s really just romantic suspense with some magic and shifters and vampires (or disillusionists!) thrown in. I’m always kind of surprised the audiences don’t cross over more, but that’s another post.
But one big difference: I could make up all the shit I wanted with urban fantasy. Romantic suspense, not so much!! So I was a little bit grumbly about having to research things for RS. I saw it as kind of a holdup to writing. The surprise was that it was the opposite: research takes time, yeah, but it gives you awesome information you can’t make up. Stuff you can work with and exploit. With the safe cracking, the more I got into how it works, the more I realized how the entire art of it related to my heroine in really interesting ways. For example, she likes to stay in the background, hidden, and has a lot of guilt issues, and safecrackers have to be good at feeling and visualizing the insides of safes—it’s like a mini world you have to sink into, and it felt like a natural escape for my heroine, into this dark interior, into the shadows, in a way. It really made things nice for me as a writer to have those two things link up like that.
What advice would you give a new writer just starting out?
I have noticed that there are two dispositions writers can fall into. It’s kind of a spectrum and in my mind, it makes all the difference to whether somebody will succeed or not. On one side is “Please admire my talent.” On the other side is, let’s say, “I’m a fierce learning and growing machine.” I have noticed that the “admire me” ones wash out pretty quickly. Because they don’t get good at learning, and being good at learning is soooo critical.
So my best advice is to be a fierce and mercenary learning machine. Take everything as an opportunity to learn, but most especially feedback. Even negative feedback is a gift that you can seize and use if you can learn not to react to it or let it get you down. “Please admire my talent” is such dangerous territory for a writer to live in. Yes, all writers want praise, and every human being wants love, but you can’t grow and evolve if you fixate on getting praise. And it takes vigilance.
With a newer writer stuck in “Please Admire My Talent” if you point out a problem, they’ll explain why they did what they did it, or they’ll feel bad or angry, and it’s no way to grow.
The fierce learning machine side is taking risks and being okay with failure and trying new things and having flaws pointed out. The learning machine writer doesn’t bother to explain when something isn’t working—you have given her something she can use by telling her that something isn’t working. That scene isn’t clear. That character isn’t working for at least one reader. Whatever. That is useful stuff even if it sucks. As a writer, you absolutely shouldn’t take every bit of feedback to heart—not all readers will give you value. Some will be completely wrong, but if you have that learning machine disposition, you get better at assessing and using feedback in general, and it’s just such a key skill.
What is the hardest part about writing for you?
I am trying so hard to learn to write faster. I have so many books I want to write, and a limited amount of time in a day, obviously, so I’ve really been thinking about it and reading books about it. There’s this one called “2K to 10K a day” that’s really good. I’m still at 2k, but still.
I think I daydream a lot, and fuss a lot with sentences that I later cut. So, I’ve changed my style to not polish much as I go, and that has helped.
My third Undercover Associates book, Into the Shadows, features a spy who is super into Bruce Lee, who has all this martial arts advice about getting out of your own way and letting go of structure and being totally responsive.
I’ve been thinking lately that some of that advice Bruce Lee gives martial artists would be good for somebody trying to learn how to write fast. I’m in my own way a lot, and I think I don’t sink as deeply into the material as I could. I think sometimes my fixation on where I want the material to go stops me from following it where it wants to go. Well, we’ll see if that advice helps when I start drafting my next book.
Where are you from and what do you love best about your hometown?
I’m from a smallish lake town in Wisconsin, and it’s a totally quirky place. I think I would never be able to write about it because people would think I was making it all up. There was the rich end of the lake and the poor, swampy end of the lake, and people would drive around in boats, like along the shore, with drinks—we’re talking coolers here--and yell to the people on shore or talk about them and tell elaborate stories about them. And tell the same stories over the over. The people in this house did this or that. When I moved away, every time I went back home there would have to be this boat ride where I learned about all the latest on the lake. Everybody was out there doing that.
Once I got married, even my poor husband ended up having to take the drunk boat rides and getting all the stories, many of which I’m sure he can repeat. In fact, the entire culture kind of revolved around being drunk in boats. There would be drunken boat parades, too, and of course, the races. I’m kind of amazed there weren’t more accidents. And then there were these lovely rituals, like, the boat lift parties, where dozens of families would band together and the guys would take the boat lifts off the shore and stick them in the water and set them up and position them in spring, or pull them out in the fall. Boat lifts are super heavy, so it takes a group of guys to deal with them. It’s kind of like the Amish, like a barn raising. Except drunk. God, maybe I do need to put this stuff in a story!
Do you use a pen name? If so, how did you come up with it?
Carolyn Crane is a pen name. It’s a lot like my real name, I’m really Carolyn C., but my day job is freelance advertising writer, and it’s a competitive field, and while most of my clients are super cool, I don’t need them googling me and getting to a hot secret agent with a stocking fetish giving oral sex to a hotel singer in Bangkok, and certainly not to my pen name Annika, with her erotic “Taken Hostage by Hunky Bank Robbers” series. Because, let’s face it, it’s not the sort of thing that would fill a client with confidence when they’re thinking about paying me to write about their banking services or whatever.
When I first started out writing urban fantasy for Random House, I wanted a super goth name and I told my agent and editor I wanted to be Carolyn von Krüik. Don’t you think that’s kind of cool? Well, they didn’t. They were like, if you get really famous, we’ll want to make your last name huge, and von Krüik is too weird. I think maybe they just secretly hated it and were trying to be nice about it. Anyway, I tossed it out. Then I couldn’t decide between Carolyn Crane and Carolyn Crowe (because I like birds, and Russell Crowe!). Crane won out in the end. I guess it just felt more right. And, now I'm glad I didn’t go with the funky name.
***************
Pamela Clare - Skin Deep
***************
Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.
My next release is DEMON STORM (10/20/14), book 5 of the Belador series. It’s an urban fantasy with a sexy romance going on between Evalle and ... ahem, Storm. Evalle is a key warrior for the Beladors, but not a pure blood, so she’s known as an Alterant. Storm has Ashaninka and Navajo blood – he’s a Skinwalker who shifts into a black jaguar. So why is it called DEMON STORM? I won’t give spoilers, but it could mean a lot of things or just be a play on his name. *grin* Storm and Evalle’s growing relationship will be put to the test in this story, plus we’ll finally find out more about Storm and the secrets in his past. Tzader is now inside the castle where he couldn’t go before due to a ward against immortals, but now all the Beladors are in a frantic search for their warrior queen, Brina. Evalle, Quinn and Tzader are best friends, but poor Quinn is dealing with the aftermath of an awful loss (because I’m a mean author – lol!). Feenix, Evalle’s two-foot-tall gargoyle with a lisp, is back too! (see more at www.AuthorDiannaLove.com)
My next release is DEMON STORM (10/20/14), book 5 of the Belador series. It’s an urban fantasy with a sexy romance going on between Evalle and ... ahem, Storm. Evalle is a key warrior for the Beladors, but not a pure blood, so she’s known as an Alterant. Storm has Ashaninka and Navajo blood – he’s a Skinwalker who shifts into a black jaguar. So why is it called DEMON STORM? I won’t give spoilers, but it could mean a lot of things or just be a play on his name. *grin* Storm and Evalle’s growing relationship will be put to the test in this story, plus we’ll finally find out more about Storm and the secrets in his past. Tzader is now inside the castle where he couldn’t go before due to a ward against immortals, but now all the Beladors are in a frantic search for their warrior queen, Brina. Evalle, Quinn and Tzader are best friends, but poor Quinn is dealing with the aftermath of an awful loss (because I’m a mean author – lol!). Feenix, Evalle’s two-foot-tall gargoyle with a lisp, is back too! (see more at www.AuthorDiannaLove.com)
Do you hear from your readers much? What do they say?
Yes, all the time – bless them!! I mainly hear “write faster!” lol I love that they send me letters and emails saying how much they enjoy a particular series or character. That is the energy inside my muse. I beat myself up to make every book as strong as it can be then I hope the readers see what I saw. When I hear from them and they caught ‘little things I slipped into the stories’ it really tickles me. I think an ultimate compliment was, “I read a lot of books so I normally skim often, but I have to read every word of yours.” That rocks my writing world.
Do you use a pen name? If so, how did you come up with it?
I get asked that a lot because of having the last name Love! But Love is actually my maiden name, so when two publishers asked me to go from Dianna Love Snell to Dianna Love, I said sure. I do have a pen name that I share with another author. USA Today bestseller Mary Buckham and I decided to write an unusual sci-fi/fantasy young adult trilogy so we chose a pseudonym to keep that separate from our very sexy adult stories. The Red Moon Trilogy – TIME TRAP, TIME RETURN and TIME LOCK – is written as USA Today bestseller Micah Caida (www.MicahCaida.com)
Do you have a favorite quote or saying?
“Nothing is worth more than this day.” Johan Wolfgang von Goethe
That’s pretty much the philosophy I live by. I try to make the most of every day whether it’s a workday or a play day – nothing is worth more than that moment in time. You can’t replace it. To me, time is the most valuable commodity.
That’s pretty much the philosophy I live by. I try to make the most of every day whether it’s a workday or a play day – nothing is worth more than that moment in time. You can’t replace it. To me, time is the most valuable commodity.
***************
Dee J. Adams - Against the Wall
Interview:
How long have you been writing?
I started writing in 2000 then got serious about writing for publication in 2001. That’s the year I joined Romance Writers of America and the local Los Angeles Romance Authors chapter of RWA. It’s been a 15 year journey with a ton of learning along the way. I never dreamed that when I wrote that first—very accidental—story, it would be the start of something that changed the course of my life.
This has varied for me depending on the story and the characters. Usually, the characters come first. I know who they are and I want them to face their fears, but sometimes – like in Against The Wall – I came up with an idea for a plot and decided who the characters were after that. I wanted the strongest conflict I could come up with so I gave the H/H exact opposite goals. (Within those parameters, they also have to work together to achieve a goal against another, larger obstacle) So, I had an idea for a plot first, then a growing idea who the characters were. I will say that those characters wrote the book. It was the first time I had no idea what was going to happen in terms of how they were going to achieve their goals. Every time they hit a wall, they redirected the next best way to get what they needed with very little help from me. Their personalities showed up pretty quickly once they found themselves in such hot water. Their determination and drive sharpen as the story progresses and we get to see more of who they really are and what they’re made of.
I started writing in 2000 then got serious about writing for publication in 2001. That’s the year I joined Romance Writers of America and the local Los Angeles Romance Authors chapter of RWA. It’s been a 15 year journey with a ton of learning along the way. I never dreamed that when I wrote that first—very accidental—story, it would be the start of something that changed the course of my life.
What advice would you give a new writer just starting out?
Don’t ever give up. Definitely have an open mind when it comes to your craft. Not everything will appeal to everyone, but if everyone around you is saying the same thing about your writing, then take note. Adjust. Learn. Grow. We are all constantly growing and getting better with each story. Perseverance is the key. You won’t get anywhere if you quit and if you stick around long enough, if you continue to hone your craft and write good books, you will succeed. Be it traditionally or on your own. Just be prepared to tackle the business and promotion end of it too. I think for most writers that’s the hardest part.
How do you develop your plot and characters?
I have to admit that it’s a little different with every book. Much of the time, I’ll start at the end of the book when I plot. I know what the ending is then I have to work my way backward to make it happen. We all want our characters to have an arc. Some will have a bigger change than others and I think that’s okay as long as we see growth. That first inciting incident is going to rock our characters’ world enough to start them growing, because of the decisions they make and the fears they’ll have to face in the process of their journey.
Other times, depending on the characters, the plot will depend on which way they decide to go to reach their goal. This actually leads into the next question…
I have to admit that it’s a little different with every book. Much of the time, I’ll start at the end of the book when I plot. I know what the ending is then I have to work my way backward to make it happen. We all want our characters to have an arc. Some will have a bigger change than others and I think that’s okay as long as we see growth. That first inciting incident is going to rock our characters’ world enough to start them growing, because of the decisions they make and the fears they’ll have to face in the process of their journey.
Other times, depending on the characters, the plot will depend on which way they decide to go to reach their goal. This actually leads into the next question…
What comes first, the plot or characters?
This has varied for me depending on the story and the characters. Usually, the characters come first. I know who they are and I want them to face their fears, but sometimes – like in Against The Wall – I came up with an idea for a plot and decided who the characters were after that. I wanted the strongest conflict I could come up with so I gave the H/H exact opposite goals. (Within those parameters, they also have to work together to achieve a goal against another, larger obstacle) So, I had an idea for a plot first, then a growing idea who the characters were. I will say that those characters wrote the book. It was the first time I had no idea what was going to happen in terms of how they were going to achieve their goals. Every time they hit a wall, they redirected the next best way to get what they needed with very little help from me. Their personalities showed up pretty quickly once they found themselves in such hot water. Their determination and drive sharpen as the story progresses and we get to see more of who they really are and what they’re made of.
Have you ever eaten a crayon?
No. But I did eat dirt in Texas when I was forced to keep up with the neighborhood boys. I did not like to be left out!
***************
Norah Wilson - Guarding Suzannah
Excerpt:
“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”
Suzannah groaned and tried to burrow deeper into the pillows, grasping at the threads of her lovely dream. Hard masculine hands on her body, gravel-voiced words of praise in her ear, hot mouth blazing over her skin...
“Come on, Suzannah. I got a dog at home whose gonna pee on my brand new speakers if I don’t get home and let him out.”
Her eyes flew open. John Quigley. He’d stayed last night, and now he was in her bedroom. She jackknifed up, the twisted sheets pooling in her lap. “Of course. Go. Yes. By all means.” Oh, Lord, she was stammering.
“It’s early yet, barely dawn. I’d stay longer, but the dog...”
“The speakers. Right.” She pushed her hair back from her face and glanced at the digital alarm. Not yet five a.m. She glanced back at John to find his face had changed, sharpened with an edgy, dark intensity.
Oh, hell! Her nipples thrust sharply against her thin cotton tank, thanks to that dream. A dream in which the man standing by her bed, mere inches away, had played a starring role. For a wild, terrifying second, she visualized herself reaching out to touch him as she might have in the dream, her caress bold, sexual, deliberate. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind that he’d answer her need with gratifying urgency.
The idea was scary, dizzying, thrilling, incredibly powerful. Then sanity returned.
She sank back down onto her pillows, pulling the covers up to her chin and burrowing back into her pillow as though to go back to sleep. “Okay,” she mumbled through the sheets. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Whoa, whoa. Don’t go back to sleep just yet. I need you to throw the deadbolt behind me. It’s getting lighter by the minute, but I’d feel better if the bolt were thrown.”
Damn. “Okay.” She sat up again, this time with the sheets modestly clamped to her chest. “Give me a sec. I’ll drag on a robe and meet you down there.”
His eyes said eloquently that he wished she wouldn’t bother with the robe, but he merely nodded and withdrew.
The moment she heard his tread on the stairs, she leapt out of bed. Damn it, damn it, damn it! She strode into her walk-in closet and yanked a silk robe off a hanger with less care than the garment deserved. Of all the men in her world for her to fixate on, why this one? He was arrogant, pushy, exasperating in the extreme. Too tough, too forceful, too ... yang.
And he was a cop.
So why did her body light up for him as it did for no other?
Chemistry. Random, unreasoning, unfortunate chemistry.
She pulled the robe on, wrapping it around her. Well, she never had been very good at chemistry back in school. And she’d get along very well without it fogging her brain again, thank you. On that thought, she cinched the belt of her robe tightly around her waist and marched downstairs to lock Detective John Quigley out of her house, and with any luck, out of her life.
Suzannah groaned and tried to burrow deeper into the pillows, grasping at the threads of her lovely dream. Hard masculine hands on her body, gravel-voiced words of praise in her ear, hot mouth blazing over her skin...
“Come on, Suzannah. I got a dog at home whose gonna pee on my brand new speakers if I don’t get home and let him out.”
Her eyes flew open. John Quigley. He’d stayed last night, and now he was in her bedroom. She jackknifed up, the twisted sheets pooling in her lap. “Of course. Go. Yes. By all means.” Oh, Lord, she was stammering.
“It’s early yet, barely dawn. I’d stay longer, but the dog...”
“The speakers. Right.” She pushed her hair back from her face and glanced at the digital alarm. Not yet five a.m. She glanced back at John to find his face had changed, sharpened with an edgy, dark intensity.
Oh, hell! Her nipples thrust sharply against her thin cotton tank, thanks to that dream. A dream in which the man standing by her bed, mere inches away, had played a starring role. For a wild, terrifying second, she visualized herself reaching out to touch him as she might have in the dream, her caress bold, sexual, deliberate. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind that he’d answer her need with gratifying urgency.
The idea was scary, dizzying, thrilling, incredibly powerful. Then sanity returned.
She sank back down onto her pillows, pulling the covers up to her chin and burrowing back into her pillow as though to go back to sleep. “Okay,” she mumbled through the sheets. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Whoa, whoa. Don’t go back to sleep just yet. I need you to throw the deadbolt behind me. It’s getting lighter by the minute, but I’d feel better if the bolt were thrown.”
Damn. “Okay.” She sat up again, this time with the sheets modestly clamped to her chest. “Give me a sec. I’ll drag on a robe and meet you down there.”
His eyes said eloquently that he wished she wouldn’t bother with the robe, but he merely nodded and withdrew.
The moment she heard his tread on the stairs, she leapt out of bed. Damn it, damn it, damn it! She strode into her walk-in closet and yanked a silk robe off a hanger with less care than the garment deserved. Of all the men in her world for her to fixate on, why this one? He was arrogant, pushy, exasperating in the extreme. Too tough, too forceful, too ... yang.
And he was a cop.
So why did her body light up for him as it did for no other?
Chemistry. Random, unreasoning, unfortunate chemistry.
She pulled the robe on, wrapping it around her. Well, she never had been very good at chemistry back in school. And she’d get along very well without it fogging her brain again, thank you. On that thought, she cinched the belt of her robe tightly around her waist and marched downstairs to lock Detective John Quigley out of her house, and with any luck, out of her life.
***************
VK Sykes - Lethal Confessions
Interview:
Tell us about a favorite character from a book.
My most favorite character in the world is Amelia Peabody from The Amelia Peabody Mysteries by the fabulous Elizabeth Peters. Amelia is the most outrageously confident, decisive character one could ever hope to meet between the pages of a book, a classic depiction of the non-nonsense, late Victorian heroine who marched through life in a determined effort to improve the world. Naturally, Amelia often gets it wrong, but she’s also fearless, indomitable, smart, hilarious, fiercely protective of those she loves, and eternally optimistic. I think she’s one of the most brilliant characters ever created. Randy’s favorite fictional character is probably Jack Reacher from Lee Childs’ great series.
What are your favorite TV shows?
Right now both Randy and I are totally hooked on Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, and The Black List. I lean toward The Walking Dead as my fave, and Randy would probably come down on the side of Breaking Bad. But all three shows share the same characteristics: strong, flawed, but incredibly engaging characters, high stakes, smart writing, and some very dark humor. Good or bad, you care about these characters and want to find out what’s going to happen to them. All three shows are master classes in how to create riveting stories. Plus…zombies. Anything with zombies pretty much gets my vote.
Do you write in multiple genres or just one?
Between the two of us, we write in three genres: contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and Regency-set historical romance. We love all three, although we both wish that we had more time to write romantic suspense. We do have the first draft of a sequel to Lethal Confessions, and we hope to get that book finished sooner rather than later. My next historical romance, Tall, Dark, and Royal, comes out in November, and we also have a new contemporary romance series debuting with Grand Central in February. It’s the Seashell Bay Series, and it’s set in a lobster fishing community on a small island off the coast of Maine.
What is your favorite meal?
If left to my own devices, I would probably eat chocolate cake 24/7. Since that’s not realistic, I think I’d have to come down on the side of brunch, which encompasses most of our favorite foods—eggs and bacon, pancakes, French toast, home fries…what’s not to love? I guess that makes us pretty boring in the world of foodies, but we’re more into comfort food than exotic culinary adventures.
----------------------
V.K. Sykes is really two people – Vanessa Kelly and Randy Sykes, a husband and wife team who write USA Today Bestselling contemporary romance and also romantic suspense. Randy excels at plot and characterization, but tends to fall down on the job when it comes to that pesky old thing called emotion. That’s where Vanessa steps in. She usually writes the sex scenes too, since Randy is a bit uncomfortable when it comes to that sort of stuff. Vanessa also writes award-winning Regency-set historical romance for Kensington Zebra under her own name. You can check out their books at www.vksykes.com and also have a look at Vanessa’s bestselling historical romances at www.vanessakellyauthor.com.
***************
Amber Lin - Giving It Up
Excerpt:
We stripped at the same time, both eager. I wanted to see his body, to witness what he offered me, but it was dark in the room. Then he kissed me back onto the bed, and there was no more time to wonder. The cheap bedspread was rough and cool against my skin. His hands stroked over my breasts and then played gently with my nipples.
My body responded, turning liquid, but something was wrong.
I’d had this problem before. Not everyone wanted to play rough, but I was surprised that I’d misread him. His muscles were hard, the pads of his fingers were calloused. I didn’t know how he could touch me so softly. Everything about him screamed that he could hurt me, so why didn’t he?
I wanted him to have his nasty way with me, but every sweet caress destroyed the illusion. My fantasy was to let him do whatever he wanted with me, but not this.
“Harder,” I said. “I need it harder.”
Instead his hands gentled. The one that had been holding my breast traced the curve around and under.
I groaned in frustration. “What’s wrong?”
He reached down, still breathing heavily, and pressed a finger lightly to my cunt, then stroked upward through the moisture. I gasped, rocking my hips to follow his finger.
“You like this,” he said.
Yes, I liked it. I was undeniably aroused but too aware. I needed the emptiness of being taken. “I like it better rough.”
Colin frowned. My eyes widened at the ferocity of his expression.
In one smooth motion he flipped me onto my stomach. I lost my breath from the surprise and impact. His left hand slid under my body between my legs and cupped me. His right hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back. His erection throbbed beside my ass in promise. I wanted to beg him to fuck me, but all I could do was gasp. He didn’t need to be told, though, and ground against me, using my hair as a handle.
That small pain on my scalp was perfection, sharp and sweet. Numbness spread through me, as did relief.
The pain dimmed. My arousal did too, but that was okay. I was only vaguely aware of him continuing to work my body from behind.
I went somewhere else in my mind. I’d stay that way all night.
At least that’s what usually happened. Not this time. Instead I felt light strokes on my hair, my arms, my back. His cock pulsed hot against my thigh, but he didn’t try to put it inside me, not in any of the places it would almost fit. His hands on me didn’t even feel sexual. He petted me, and I arched into his caress.
“Why did you stop?” I meant it to come out demanding, but instead I sounded weak. I hated sounding weak, especially about sex. He may be the one with the cock and the fists, but I called the shots. I had to.
“Allie, shhh. It’s okay.” He was trying to soothe me, and it was working. He turned me back over and began to kiss me, still murmuring words against my lips. “I’ll give it to you. Don’t worry. Relax.” More words than he’d spoken all night.
I was lost, my emotions all jumbled up from my arousal and my high and subsequent low, at the mercy of this stranger.
My body responded, turning liquid, but something was wrong.
I’d had this problem before. Not everyone wanted to play rough, but I was surprised that I’d misread him. His muscles were hard, the pads of his fingers were calloused. I didn’t know how he could touch me so softly. Everything about him screamed that he could hurt me, so why didn’t he?
I wanted him to have his nasty way with me, but every sweet caress destroyed the illusion. My fantasy was to let him do whatever he wanted with me, but not this.
“Harder,” I said. “I need it harder.”
Instead his hands gentled. The one that had been holding my breast traced the curve around and under.
I groaned in frustration. “What’s wrong?”
He reached down, still breathing heavily, and pressed a finger lightly to my cunt, then stroked upward through the moisture. I gasped, rocking my hips to follow his finger.
“You like this,” he said.
Yes, I liked it. I was undeniably aroused but too aware. I needed the emptiness of being taken. “I like it better rough.”
Colin frowned. My eyes widened at the ferocity of his expression.
In one smooth motion he flipped me onto my stomach. I lost my breath from the surprise and impact. His left hand slid under my body between my legs and cupped me. His right hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back. His erection throbbed beside my ass in promise. I wanted to beg him to fuck me, but all I could do was gasp. He didn’t need to be told, though, and ground against me, using my hair as a handle.
That small pain on my scalp was perfection, sharp and sweet. Numbness spread through me, as did relief.
The pain dimmed. My arousal did too, but that was okay. I was only vaguely aware of him continuing to work my body from behind.
I went somewhere else in my mind. I’d stay that way all night.
At least that’s what usually happened. Not this time. Instead I felt light strokes on my hair, my arms, my back. His cock pulsed hot against my thigh, but he didn’t try to put it inside me, not in any of the places it would almost fit. His hands on me didn’t even feel sexual. He petted me, and I arched into his caress.
“Why did you stop?” I meant it to come out demanding, but instead I sounded weak. I hated sounding weak, especially about sex. He may be the one with the cock and the fists, but I called the shots. I had to.
“Allie, shhh. It’s okay.” He was trying to soothe me, and it was working. He turned me back over and began to kiss me, still murmuring words against my lips. “I’ll give it to you. Don’t worry. Relax.” More words than he’d spoken all night.
I was lost, my emotions all jumbled up from my arousal and my high and subsequent low, at the mercy of this stranger.
***************
Misty Evans - Deadly Pursuit
Excerpt:
Taking two steps back, she pointed the gun at his chest. “Emilio Paloma-Londano, you are under arrest by the United States government for charges relating to the organization and running of the San Diego Mafia.” She took a deep breath and one more step back as she watched Emilio’s face transform from utter confusion to pure anger. “Drop to your stomach and put your hands behind your head.”
He stood stock still, effectively refusing to lie down on the ground, but all hell broke loose around them. FBI, DEA, and local police officers emerged from the nearby lifeguard house and descended from the boardwalk. Spotlights came on, illuminating Emilio, still standing, and Celina, who managed to return her dress straps to her shoulders while never moving the gun sight from Emilio’s heart. Their eyes locked on each other and though he didn’t move or say a word, Celina felt the intensity of his hatred penetrating every cell of her body.
Special Agent Quarters came up beside her and took the Glock from her grip while she watched two police officers force Emilio face down in the sand. Within seconds, his hands were cuffed and his rights read. She stood there shaking, teeth chattering, arms crossed over her very wet, cold breasts. The officers raised Emilio back to a standing position, and again the dark eyes she knew well snapped to hers. Again she saw the depth of his anger. And then he took her by surprise.
He ignored Quarters and spoke to someone behind Celina. “Give her my jacket so she can cover herself.”
As Celina watched Emilio be led away, a soft warmth fell over her shoulders and enveloped her. Instinctively she pulled it closer, stuffed her arms into the sleeves. It was not Emilio’s jacket, but a red Billabong sweatshirt.
She smiled as she turned to face Cooper. “Thank you,” she said, forgetting the past few months of fear and manipulation the moment she saw his face.
It was a beautiful face. Not in the pretty L.A. boy actor way. Those types of faces she saw all the time and they were fake. No, Cooper’s was a rugged beauty, deeply tanned and handsome. It was the controlled face of a man who lived with danger every day for several decades.
His gaze was as serious as always as he stared down at her. “You all right?”
“Better than fine.” Now that you’re here. Every time she stood next to the DEA agent, she felt like she’d just downed a triple mocha latte with whipped cream. Warm, buzzed, and ready for seconds. “How’d I do?”
He was silent for a moment, studying her. “You went off the rez and we need to talk about that, but…you did okay, kid.”
Celina’s smile faltered. Kid? Kid? “I’m not a kid, Cooper. I’m twenty-four years old.” She held his stern gaze. “I did better than okay and you know it. I just nailed Emilio Londano.”
Said out loud, those words seemed to vibrate in the air. The moon smiled down at her and she drew her first fearless breath in months. She felt a sudden hot rush in her veins, a tingling sensation shooting through every cell of her body.
Letting her head fall back on her shoulders, she let it come, this rush of accomplishment instead of fear. It roared through her.
Laughing up at the sky, she sang out, “I did it! I arrested the Lord of the Cartel World!” She took a few steps back, staring at the sky, and held out her arms. Twirling, she let her herself enjoy the sweet tingle of relief and success racing through her body.
He stood stock still, effectively refusing to lie down on the ground, but all hell broke loose around them. FBI, DEA, and local police officers emerged from the nearby lifeguard house and descended from the boardwalk. Spotlights came on, illuminating Emilio, still standing, and Celina, who managed to return her dress straps to her shoulders while never moving the gun sight from Emilio’s heart. Their eyes locked on each other and though he didn’t move or say a word, Celina felt the intensity of his hatred penetrating every cell of her body.
Special Agent Quarters came up beside her and took the Glock from her grip while she watched two police officers force Emilio face down in the sand. Within seconds, his hands were cuffed and his rights read. She stood there shaking, teeth chattering, arms crossed over her very wet, cold breasts. The officers raised Emilio back to a standing position, and again the dark eyes she knew well snapped to hers. Again she saw the depth of his anger. And then he took her by surprise.
He ignored Quarters and spoke to someone behind Celina. “Give her my jacket so she can cover herself.”
As Celina watched Emilio be led away, a soft warmth fell over her shoulders and enveloped her. Instinctively she pulled it closer, stuffed her arms into the sleeves. It was not Emilio’s jacket, but a red Billabong sweatshirt.
She smiled as she turned to face Cooper. “Thank you,” she said, forgetting the past few months of fear and manipulation the moment she saw his face.
It was a beautiful face. Not in the pretty L.A. boy actor way. Those types of faces she saw all the time and they were fake. No, Cooper’s was a rugged beauty, deeply tanned and handsome. It was the controlled face of a man who lived with danger every day for several decades.
His gaze was as serious as always as he stared down at her. “You all right?”
“Better than fine.” Now that you’re here. Every time she stood next to the DEA agent, she felt like she’d just downed a triple mocha latte with whipped cream. Warm, buzzed, and ready for seconds. “How’d I do?”
He was silent for a moment, studying her. “You went off the rez and we need to talk about that, but…you did okay, kid.”
Celina’s smile faltered. Kid? Kid? “I’m not a kid, Cooper. I’m twenty-four years old.” She held his stern gaze. “I did better than okay and you know it. I just nailed Emilio Londano.”
Said out loud, those words seemed to vibrate in the air. The moon smiled down at her and she drew her first fearless breath in months. She felt a sudden hot rush in her veins, a tingling sensation shooting through every cell of her body.
Letting her head fall back on her shoulders, she let it come, this rush of accomplishment instead of fear. It roared through her.
Laughing up at the sky, she sang out, “I did it! I arrested the Lord of the Cartel World!” She took a few steps back, staring at the sky, and held out her arms. Twirling, she let her herself enjoy the sweet tingle of relief and success racing through her body.
***************
Kaylea Cross - Singed
Excerpt:
He leaned even closer, placed his hands on the counter on either side of her to cage her in, all the while holding her gaze. “No,” he said again, softer this time.
A spurt of panic flickered in her eyes. She tried to duck out from under his arm but he blocked her easily, pinning her hips with his own. Her head snapped up, those wide gray eyes filled with shock as she felt his erection pressing into her belly. She jerked her eyes away, swallowed again. “Let me go. Right now, Gage, I mean it.”
She was strung so tight she was on the verge of shattering. A volcano about to erupt. And God, he’d love nothing more than to incinerate in the ensuing explosion with her. He wasn’t worried about her hurting him. Whatever she could dish out, he could take it and more. “No.”
His calm tone acted like a trigger. With an inarticulate sound of rage, she twisted and shoved at his shoulders. Gage caught her wrists and quickly shifted her away from the counter, backed her up against the kitchen wall and pinned her there with his weight. He had only a moment for his brain to register the feel of her soft curves molded to him before she began struggling, trying to shove him away. Not happening.
He held her there, refusing to back down. Her teeth were bared, eyes narrowed, breath coming in short gasps. Low, animal sounds came from her throat as she fought and got nowhere. He could tell it infuriated her more that he’d subdued her so easily, overpowered her with his greater strength. Recognizing she couldn’t win, after a minute or two she stilled, quivering with fury, every line of her luscious body rigid with anger and outrage. With him so close she was forced to tilt her head back to look into his face. The warm puffs of her uneven breaths bathed his skin.
“Fuck you, let me go,” she snapped, her voice ragged, tight with emotion.
Hands holding her wrists on either side of her head, he waited for her to calm down and meet his gaze. At last she did and he could see the turmoil written there. All the anger and pain, the physical need she was trying to hide from him. Her sweet citrus scent, intensified by her increased body heat, swirled around him. He could get drunk on her so easily. Just lean down and put his mouth to the rapidly thrumming pulse in her neck, taste that soft, fragrant skin.
Holding her gaze, he let one heartbeat of charged silence spread between them. Another. Letting her know without words that he was fully capable of keeping her like this for as long as he wanted. His body was primed, begging him to grab her, tear that tight black skirt and top off her and force her to vent everything that was eating at her from the inside, replace it with white-hot sexual release.
The throb between his legs bordered on painful. He shifted his hips against her and bit back a moan at the feel of her against his erection, noting the way her pupils expanded and her nostrils flared. The evidence of her arousal kicked his lust into high gear. Gage forced himself to take a single, calming breath, waited until the roar in his ears subsided. If this was the last time he got to have her, he was going to make it one hell of a goodbye.
Staring straight into her eyes, he released her wrists and murmured, “Turn it loose.”
A spurt of panic flickered in her eyes. She tried to duck out from under his arm but he blocked her easily, pinning her hips with his own. Her head snapped up, those wide gray eyes filled with shock as she felt his erection pressing into her belly. She jerked her eyes away, swallowed again. “Let me go. Right now, Gage, I mean it.”
She was strung so tight she was on the verge of shattering. A volcano about to erupt. And God, he’d love nothing more than to incinerate in the ensuing explosion with her. He wasn’t worried about her hurting him. Whatever she could dish out, he could take it and more. “No.”
His calm tone acted like a trigger. With an inarticulate sound of rage, she twisted and shoved at his shoulders. Gage caught her wrists and quickly shifted her away from the counter, backed her up against the kitchen wall and pinned her there with his weight. He had only a moment for his brain to register the feel of her soft curves molded to him before she began struggling, trying to shove him away. Not happening.
He held her there, refusing to back down. Her teeth were bared, eyes narrowed, breath coming in short gasps. Low, animal sounds came from her throat as she fought and got nowhere. He could tell it infuriated her more that he’d subdued her so easily, overpowered her with his greater strength. Recognizing she couldn’t win, after a minute or two she stilled, quivering with fury, every line of her luscious body rigid with anger and outrage. With him so close she was forced to tilt her head back to look into his face. The warm puffs of her uneven breaths bathed his skin.
“Fuck you, let me go,” she snapped, her voice ragged, tight with emotion.
Hands holding her wrists on either side of her head, he waited for her to calm down and meet his gaze. At last she did and he could see the turmoil written there. All the anger and pain, the physical need she was trying to hide from him. Her sweet citrus scent, intensified by her increased body heat, swirled around him. He could get drunk on her so easily. Just lean down and put his mouth to the rapidly thrumming pulse in her neck, taste that soft, fragrant skin.
Holding her gaze, he let one heartbeat of charged silence spread between them. Another. Letting her know without words that he was fully capable of keeping her like this for as long as he wanted. His body was primed, begging him to grab her, tear that tight black skirt and top off her and force her to vent everything that was eating at her from the inside, replace it with white-hot sexual release.
The throb between his legs bordered on painful. He shifted his hips against her and bit back a moan at the feel of her against his erection, noting the way her pupils expanded and her nostrils flared. The evidence of her arousal kicked his lust into high gear. Gage forced himself to take a single, calming breath, waited until the roar in his ears subsided. If this was the last time he got to have her, he was going to make it one hell of a goodbye.
Staring straight into her eyes, he released her wrists and murmured, “Turn it loose.”
No comments:
Post a Comment