This past Saturday I told you some backstory to my upcoming April 23rd release of Retribution. If you can stand some more about the book ( LOL) here’s a little bit of a tease…this shows you what Kella’s life is like now, 10 years after she left the FBI.
“This is some menu,” Jameson said, reading down both sides.
“Kella claimed it was the best food for fifty miles,” Tucker told them, taking in the packed room. “I don’t think she was exaggerating.”
He’d called ahead for reservations, and they’d been shown to a table immediately upon arrival. He’d seen no sign yet of Sean or Kella.
“What looks good?” Diego asked.
“Everything,” Anna said, her eyes widening at the vast and varied array of choices. “I’m glad I had that workout today. There’s no dish on here that isn’t at least fifteen hundred calories.”
“Oh, there are a few,” Kella said.
She was standing at their table, three little bodies with her. On her hip was a small girl whose hair and texture were cloned from her mother. Brilliant, oval blue eyes shot out at them, wide and watchful, a thumb secured in her mouth.
Anna was stunned to see the three men rise.
“Sit down,” she said, waving her hand at them and smiling. “These are my girls. This,” she jiggled the toddler in her arms, causing a squeal of giggles to erupt around the mouth-attached thumb, “is Bridget. She’s eighteen months. This,” she laid a hand on the shoulder of her second daughter, a small version of her father with curly black hair pulled back in a headband, and eyes the shape and color of perfect chocolate chips, “is Enya.”
“I’m five.”
“And proud of it,” Kella said. “And this is –”
“I’m Donelle. I’m the oldest. I’m nine.”
Tucker stared, mesmerized by the little girl. Sean’s build, coloring and physical intensity were branded on her, but her face was pure Kella, right down to the slight dip that ski-sloped the edge of her nose. Eyes the shape of seasoned almonds and lashes darker than anything Tucker had ever seen fanned her high, chiseled cheeks when she blinked. A small, lush pouty mouth ended in a strong and perfectly heart-shaped jaw which was boldly upturned, an expression Tucker knew from memory.
“In case you missed it, she’s also the shyest,” Kella said, her lips curving at the corners.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Tucker said, reclaiming his seat.
“How do you know Mommy?” Enya asked. “You’re not from here. We know most everybody ‘cause our daddy owns this rest’rant and everybody in town comes here. But you’re new.”
Tucker managed to conceal the smile looming on his face by reaching for a drink of water.
“I know them from where I used to live,” Kella said.
“In Washington, D.C.” Donelle told her younger sister.
“That’s right. From a long time ago before you were all born.”
Enya turned her attention back to Tucker and said, “You must be old.”
He was reprieved from replying by their waitress returning to take their order.
So, I am almost ready to release my Kindle Vella book Vindication into print. I’ve been editing and updating it for the past month and I even changed the title to RETRIBUTION because I like that one better.
If you aren’t a VELLA reader, this will be your opportunity to read my very first serial murder book. Long before I ever wrote romance I was obsessed with serial killers. In all honesty, I kinda still am. It stems from my psychiatric nursing background.
Here’s a little taste of the story…
Settled in the Mercedes passenger seat, Kella watched Tucker guide both cars, the agents following behind, back to the motel.
“I want to apologize for Sean,” she said. “Hedoesn’t usually behave like that. Seeing you, well, it set him off.”
Tucker fingered his bruised jaw. “You don’t have to apologize. I know he hates my guts.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Tucker.”
His left eyebrow bent into a you’ve-got-to-be-joking angle. “I know he still blames me for what happened, Kella. He feels it was my fault you almost died because of my mistake. I’ve felt the same way every day for the past ten years. And I’d feel the same way if I were in his shoes.”
“No, you wouldn’t and you know it. You’d find some way to rationalize what happened, compartmentalize it into some sort of learning experience, and try to figure out what to do better next time.”
He threw her a pained look.
Grinning, she added, “But it’s nice of you to say that.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes.
“You haven’t changed a bit, you know,” she told him.
“You have,” he blurted, regretting it in an instant.
“I know.” Her laugh was husky and tinged with self-deprecation. “Three kids and a husband who owns the best restaurant in town will do that to you.”
“No, not like that,” he said, flicking a quick glance at her. “You look like you’re in the best shape of your life, actually.”
“I am. Karate plus a home gym helps.”
“It’s your hair. It’s darker, less red than it used to be. Longer, too.”
“Hormones. It darkened up with each pregnancy. I don’t look like a circus clown anymore, thank God.”
Tucker shook his head. “You never looked like a clown, Kella. Your hair was distinctive. It was part of you.”
She laughed and said, “That’s a very diplomatic way of saying it, I guess.”
“Your voice is so different. If I’d heard it on the phone I would never have believed it was you.”
She fingered the scar that ran the width of her neck from just under one ear, all the way to the other. Heavy makeup helped conceal it when clothing didn’t. Every time she looked in a mirror she was reminded of that horrible day.
“It sounds like you’ve been smoking and drinking too much,” he said.
“My doctor told me it was a miracle I could speak at all. The damage to the cords was extensive. I’m just happy to have a voice, no matter how I sound.”
“I imagine Sean thinks it’s sexy.”
Kella’s slow and thoughtful smile lit up the front seat. “Yeah. He does.”
“And you seem happy. Happier than I ever remember you being.”
“I am. I love my life.”
“It’s so different from your past.”
She thought about that for a moment. “In the big scheme of things it’s not. The main part of my life back then was spent taking care of Daddy. Now I take care of Sean and our girls.”
Tucker shook his head. “The main part of your life back then was spent using your magnificent brain to help the Bureau. You didn’t have the most normal of upbringings.”
“I survived.”
“Thankfully. I can’t imagine what your life is like now. The suburban housewife. Carpools; soccer practice. Stepford,” he added, shaking as if an electrical current shot down his spine.
Her lips stretched into a grimace. “Not quite.”
“You were always so independent, so self-governing. Ready to pick up in a half second to run to a crime scene or fly off to one. It’s hard to think of you any other way.”
She shifted in her seat so she could face him. “Tuck, listen. My life is perfect for me. I’ve realized over these past years that before I was just moving through it, waiting for the next big case, waiting to help you or Daddy. I never did anything just for me. Everything I did involved, or was concerned with, one of you. When Daddy died and I decided to leave, I was making the right decision for me. I’ve never looked back.”
“Never?”
“Not once. I have everything I could ever want here. It’s all I want.”
“Tell me the truth —”
“Like I would lie?” she said, smiling when he turned a bemused expression on her.
“No, you never have. Do you ever miss it, even for a minute?”
She watched the streets pass by as they drove through the downtown. “Every now and again,” she began, “I’ll see you on a morning show, or the national news will be profiling the newest case you and the Posse are involved in. I’ll watch you, in typical Tucker Petrie fashion, sail through the questions and make the capture and arrest look like a piece of easy detective work, a no-brainer. And I’ll think to myself: if the people seeing this only knew what it does to you inside, how it makes you feel to get down to the lowest depths of humanity and view the world from the most jaded, sickest minds imaginable; to comprehend what supposedly civilized human beings are capable of doing to one another, you wouldn’t want the job for anything.”
She stopped, turned to him, and saw his lips tighten.
“In answer to your question, Tuck, no. I never miss it. Not even for a millisecond.”
Twenty minutes later he came back upstairs to find her sitting in front of her laptop.
“So?” she asked.
“Good news/bad news. The wiring is fine. But you need to replace both units. They’re almost forty years old, according to the model info. It’s amazing they lasted as long as they did, but the washing machine’s got multiple issues and the dryer even more. It makes more economic sense to replace them both than to repair the issues. It’d be quicker, too.”
She blew out a breath, then flexed her neck side to side, as if stretching some kinks out. He crossed over to her when her hand slid up her neck to squeeze the back of it. “How long will it take to get replacement units?” she asked.
Before he answered and without asking for permission, he flattened his hands across her shoulders and began kneading.
If she was shocked or mad he was touching her she disregarded it, instead letting out a low, guttural moan.
“Oh, good Lord, that feels good.”
“You’re a network of knots back here, Layla.”
“Work hazard,” she mumbled, dropping her chin to her chest as he worked out a particularly tight muscle group. “I’ve been on the computer for a week, exclusively, doing all my work there.”
“How do you usually do it?” He dug his thumb into a mass of knots just below her hairline.
“Oh. Wow. You’re good at this.”
He grinned. “Muscle strains are part of my job. Now, answer me. If you don’t work at the computer all day, what are you usually doing?”
“Visiting showrooms, warehouses. Design stores. I meet face-to-face with clients. Do consults.”
None of which she’d done since she’d been in town.
She slid her neck to one side and he pressed in, deeply, on her scapula. A shudder ran through her that zinged right through his hands and up his arm, like he’d touched a live, sparking wire.
Layla groaned again. The sound, so erotic, so enticing, so damn…pleasure-filled drew a line straight to his dick and he hardened like a brick in an instant. He’d give anything to have her make that sound while he was inside her.
The thought sent an ice river cascading over him.
He lifted his hands, rubbed them together once, then shucked them in his pockets.
What had he been thinking to touch her like that? So boldly. So…intimately.
She’s a client. You need to remember that. No mixing business with fun.
He eased out a breath.
No matter how much fun it might be.
Layla, oblivious to his mounting lust, tipped her head left and right a few times and sighed before she turned around.
Luckily, his hoodie fell below his hips, obstructing the bulge agonizingly pressing against his jean fly.
“I don’t think my neck’s been this loose in weeks.” She lifted her gaze to his, a question in her eyes. “How’d you learn how to do that?”
“My ex was a physical therapist. She practiced on me when she was in school.” A gentle shoulder lift and he added, “Some of it –” he rolled his eyes “– rubbed off.”
That tiny grin she’d shown him previously, built and grew until her lips parted, revealing perfect teeth.
Cody swallowed as his groin grew even tighter.
She dipped her chin a hair as she continued her perusal of his face. Her breathing was a little too fast and when her pupils dilated he took a step forward, then stopped mid-stride.
Her grin flew, a worry line grooving the spot between her eyes as she hissed in a breath.
“Layla—”
“How long will it take to get a replacement washer and dryer?” she asked, the words rushing from her. “And please don’t say weeks.”
He shook his head to clear it. “I can have them here by lunchtime if you know what you want.”
“Really? How? I can’t imagine there’s an appliance store with that kind of inventory and same-day service in Heaven.”
“There isn’t. But there is the next town over. The owner and I went all through school together and because I bring him so much business he’s always willing to help with an emergency. And this qualifies as one.”
Thankful he had something to do instead of stand there, staring at her and wanting to do something to ease the ache in his pants, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and called up the store’s website. “Here.” He pointed to her desk. “Sit down and type in this web address. You can see the brands and models he offers. Decide what you want and I’ll give him a call to make sure everything’s in stock.”
She did as he asked and within fifteen minutes was assured both models would be delivered within the hour.
“I can’t believe this,” she said, when he disconnected the call. “Whenever I’ve dealt with dealers and businesses for merchandise for my clients, I always have to wait weeks, if not months, for the items.”
“You don’t live in a small town,” he said, lifting his toolbox again from where he’d left it in the hallway. “Those local connections go a long way toward making life easier. That old saw about one hand washing the other runs true here. Something you might consider if you decide to set up shop in Heaven.”
She stared across the room at him, a look he couldn’t decipher crossing her face.
“I’m gonna head up to the attic,” he told her. “See to those issues you mentioned. The delivery truck should be here in less than an hour.”
Worry. It was worry forming across her lips and pale skin.
“Can you be in charge of the delivery?” she asked, her voice shaking. It was subtle, and you’d have to know what she sounded like usually to actually hear it. But he did. “I mean,” she threaded her fingers together and pressed them against her tummy. “Since you know them, and everything. I’d just be in the way.”
Silently, he cursed her idiot ex- fiancé again. He doubted she’d ever worried a whit about not knowing deliverymen or anyone else for that matter. He could lay her hesitation and apprehension squarely on his indicted doorstep.
The asshole.
He’d give anything to wipe the worry and dread from her face.
“Give me a shout-out when they get here,” he told her. Relief drifted over her lovely face.
Good thing the idiot ex was in another state, incarcerated, because he really wanted to punch him in the face.
Stay tuned – publication date announcement coming…soon. At least I hope it is, lol!
Don’t let the little heart in that graphic fool you into thinking this is going to be a romance book discussion today.
I just decided to publish another of my VELLA stories and put it into print. VINDICATION was the first serial murder/suspense book I ever penned back in the day when I wasn’t writing romantic fiction.
This one involves the abductions and mutilation murders of 13-year-old girls in the DC area. The SPCD – Sexual Predators of Children division – of the FBI is a group of profilers who study this type of killer and they’ve been given the case. When the team is stymied, they are forced to call in a retired member of the group to help out. What happens then is creepy, gruesome, and – I think – riveting.
Here’s a little taste, which is the opening scene….
Virginia; Ten years ago.
“How does it feel to know you’re dying, Agent O’Brien?”
The soft, dulcet sound of his oddly feminine voice sent a river of ice-cold sweat down her spine. The knife slash he’d slit across her neck pumped blood, like a fountain bubbling over, drenching her. Her father’s dead body was sprawled across the room, the officer assigned to protect them, slouched against the wall where he’d been struck down after answering the demanding knock at the door.
The only movement in the room was the killer’s as he wiped her blood from his hands with a single paper towel.
“Do you feel a calm, almost spiritual joy welling up inside you?” He squatted in front of her, shaved head cocked to one side as he regarded her through eyes devoid of compassion and filled with psychotic glee. “Can you feel death approaching? See any white lights? Is your mind even working with any rational thought right now?”
He rolled the gore-filled towel into a tight ball and stuffed it into his mouth, then swallowed it in one quaff, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.
“Mustn’t leave any evidence behind, must we.” The maniacal grin she’d grown to despise skittered across his face.
Her gun lay, inert, just beyond reach where it dropped when he surprised them with the attack. She tried to crawl her fingers to it, but the sheer force of movement was exhausting. Sweat pumped from her forehead, drowning her eyes, clouding her vision.
Watching her efforts, a bemused expression furrowed his brow and twitched at his lips.
“Don’t bother,” he told her. “Even if you had the strength to pull the trigger, you’d miss. About now your reflexes have all frozen from shock. Your breathing is shallow and quick, your pulse rate thready, barely palpable. All your blood is pumping out of your neck, none of it getting to your organs. You’ll die in another minute or so. I know how this works, Agent O’Brien.”
His mouth broke into a full-toothed smile. “I’ve made death my life’s study. What a rush it is to see the actual life leave a body and know I’m responsible for it happening. It’s a feeling that has no equal. Not even the best sex of your life feels so good.”
The feral grin broadened. “Power. Ultimate and absolute power over life and death. And I have it.”
Her weakened palm pushed against the butt of the gun while he spoke, then across it to slide a finger along the trigger.
“Are you for real?” he asked, derision lacing the question.
She tried to blink the moisture from her vision so she could focus on the gun.
“You really think you’re going to die a hero, don’t you? That I’d let you? Go ahead, then.” He rose and stared down at her, hands on his skeletal hips, sophomoric defiance in his stance.
“Go ahead,” he repeated with a careless shrug. “Try to shoot me. You won’t be able to. You’re too weak to lift your gun, much less fire it. You’ll wind up shooting the ceiling if anything. Guaranteed you won’t hit me.” He folded his arms across his chest and smirked. “I’ve got nothing else to do but watch you and wait for you to die, so just try and shoot me.”
She flicked her parched tongue over lips that tasted of metal and was fueled by the flavor.
“Okay.”
The word was almost inaudible as it croaked from her. With every ounce of life left, she leaned forward and, in one fluid motion, managed to grab the gun, raise it, point, and pull the trigger.
A shocked expression exploded on his face. Eyes bulging from their sockets, mouth paralyzed into a silent moue of amazement, the bullet shattered into his brow, dead center, freezing his astonishment in place, leaving a burning hole smoking with the heat of the bullet. A millisecond later his body fell straight backward, his head banging on the concrete floor, dead.
The gun bounced from her grasp as her hand banged back to the floor.
“I never miss,” she whispered. A volcanic coughing spasm spewed blood from her nose and mouth. Glancing over at her father, a solitary tear escaped from her eye and drizzled down her temple, while a screech of sirens blared in the distance.
Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, the world in front of her went black.
I don’t have a publication date yet, but it’s gonna be soon. I’ll keep you posted.
Can you stand another first draft, unedited look at LOVE MATCH ( HEaven’s Matchmaker, book 2)?
Hee hee.
here ya go…
Her skin was warm under his touch and he could sense the slight thrum of her pulse against his fingers. Was it his imagination, or did it speed up a bit while she sat there, just staring at him?
“Hey, you two. This is a surprise.”
Layla’s rapid blinking pulled him out of a vision of taking her hand, bringing it to his lips, and nibbling on her fingers, one by one.
“Liv.” He glanced up at his cousin, gingerly slipped his hand off Layla’s wrist, then nodded. “What brings you out on this cold day.”
Her eyes tracked his motion. “I’m meeting someone for lunch.”
Then she smiled at him and slid her eyes to Layla.
“How are you doing?”
He let the two of them chat for a moment, observing that his cousin’s eyes flicked from him to Layla several times, her expression thoughtful.
Oh, no, cousin, forget whatever your little matchmaking mind is conjuring.
He could hear the gears turning and squeaking in her brain. She wanted so badly to fix him up with one of her eligible and marriage-seeking clients. She couldn’t believe he was actually happy in his divorced/single state, dating as much as he wanted, hooking up when he could. For Liv, everyone had a someone and she thought it was her mission in life to make sure all in her sphere found their person.
Not gonna happen.
He’d already found his person. Unfortunately, after a while, she hadn’t felt the same. End of story.
“What do you think, Cody?”
He pulled out of musings to find two pairs of eyes focused on him.
“Sorry, what? Thinking of fifty things at once up here.” He pointed to himself.
“I asked,” Liv said, drawing out the word, “If you thought you’d have Layla’s place ready by Christmas?”
He turned his attention to the woman across the table. “I don’t know since we haven’t had a chance to talk about what she wants done yet.”
“We were just about to discuss it,” Layla told Olivia.
“Oh, well, don’t let me stop you. I see my client, anyway.” She lifted a hand and waved to someone.
Almost immediately they were joined by a familiar face.
“Hey, doc,” Cody, stood and shook the man’s hand. “How’s the new addition?
“Perfect,” Hunter Reinhart told him. “Having a home office is so much more convenient. Thanks for all your help and the great work.”
“Glad it panned it.”
Hunter zeroed in on Layla.
Liv made the introductions while Cody sat back down. For some reason, he didn’t like the way the man was staring so intently at Layla.
“Nice to meet you,” Hunter said.
“Likewise.”
“Layla and I are old friends,” Liv told him.
“Are you in town visiting?” Hunter asked.
“For a while, at least. I’m seeing to my grandmother’s house.”
“Effie Mason,” Liv offered.
Hunter’s smile grew. “Effie’s one of my favorite patients. Always smiling, always in a good mood. She’s a doll.”
When Layla returned the smile, Cody’s back shot straight. She’d never smiled like that at him. He rolled his eyes internally at how juvenile he sounded.
“Thank you for saying that,” Layla said. “I think so, too.”
“Everyone loves your grandmother,” Cody said.
Hunter nodded, never looking at him, but keeping his eyes focused on Layla. “It was a shame she couldn’t go back to her home after she broke her hip, but it really was just too dangerous for her to live alone.”
“She loves the Arms, so at least she’s happy there.”
He nodded. “Well, I expect I’ll be seeing you when you visit. I make rounds two to three times a week on all my patients there, both in assisted living and higher care.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Cody wanted to gag. How many times could the guy insinuate his profession into the conversation?
Okay, you’re a doctor. We all get it.
“Well, enjoy your lunch, you two.” Liv took Hunter’s arm and, thankfully, guided him toward a table on the opposite side of the room.
It didn’t get past Cody the man glanced over his shoulder a few times, his attention on Layla.
“Are Liv and him…?” Layla asked, leaving the question dangling.
“No. He’s one of her clients.”
Her brows shot up. “Clients?” She turned to look at them. “I wouldn’t think someone like him would need a matchmaker.”
The hairs on his neck stood at attention. “Someone like him?”
She shrugged and took another sip of her drink. “He’s a doctor.”
He nodded.
“So. Successful, probably has money, and is good-looking. Seems like he wouldn’t have any trouble finding someone to marry him.”
Cody’s eyes slatted. “You in the market? I’m sure Liv would set you two up if you asked.”
The sarcasm and anger in his tone drifted right over her. Instead, she shuddered, knocking him back a few paces.
“No thanks. I’m not looking to get married. Or even be in a relationship. Not now, anyway. Maybe never.” Her face went crimson again as her gaze dropped to the table.
In just 2 weeks my newest Dickens Holiday Romance, SASHA’S SECRET SANTA ( Dorrit’s Diner) releases into the romance reading world and I am sososo excited to share a little snippet with you today.
I hope, after reading it, the piece whets your reading appetite and you preorder your copy to be delivered straight to your kindle on 11.7.2022!
Enjoy…
“Like I told you, the entire community comes out for the holiday tree lighting. It’s a Dickens event. Some people who don’t come from a small town may think it’s hokey, but,” she lifted a shoulder, “it’s stuff like this that binds the town together.”
“I’m beginning to realize there are a great many things different from living in a big city than a smaller, suburban one.”
“Is Dickens the first small town you’ve ever lived or worked in?”
“Yes to both.”
“And?”
He turned to face her fully. The way he dipped his head a little to the side and wedged a corner of his mouth between his teeth sent her pulse kicking up again.
“And, what?”
“Have a preference?”
The distinctive blue in his eyes was almost crystalline from the sun’s momentary appearance through the cloud cover. Sasha found herself envying those eyes. When he honed his gaze in on her, his total attention focused on her face, as if there were no one else around them, her recent thoughts pushed through to the front of her mind again.
Maybe, just maybe, he did…find her attractive, in a she’s-a-woman-I’m-a-man kind of way.
Maybe, just maybe, he had asked her to meet him today because he wanted to spend time with her; get to know her.
And maybe – and she really hoped this one was true – he wasn’t just spending time with her because he wanted to recruit her for the hospital, but because he enjoyed being with her.
Sasha’s breath caught when he leaned in a little closer, so close the warmth of his exhale drifted across her cheeks and made her knees go a little wobbly.
“Yeah, I do,” he said. His lips twitched before he added, “I think, in another life, I was just a…small-town boy…living in a lonely world.”
Her laugh came quick and free and felt so darn good she could have cried. “Did you catch a midnight train to Dickens?”
His own laugh, deep and rich and oh-so-alluring caused several heads to turn toward them, questioning expressions covering them.
“No, but it would make a good story, wouldn’t it?”
“But a better song.”
He shook his head, that charming grin going full wattage.
Honestly. A girl could be blinded by the power and intensity of that small lifting of a pair of lips.
“Gorgeous to look at, smart, sweet, and knows the lyrics to one of my favorite songs from my favorite 80s band. Sasha Charles, where have you been all my life?”
His words, said with a laugh, did more to raise her spirits than the notion of sleeping in past four-thirty in the morning ever could. Thinking quickly, she replied, “Right here in Dickens…waiting up and down the boulevard.”
Steve slammed both hands against his chest, heart-level, sighed loudly and dramatically, and then closed his eyes. “Best day ever,” he said, shaking his head.
The uncontrollable urge to pull his hands away from his body and wind them around her waist shocked her. Before she could give it any more thought, back-feed from the public address system had the crowd audibly wincing.
“Hey folks,” one of the town’s aldermen – Sasha couldn’t remember his name – announced through a microphone from the gazebo. “Mayor Beth is on her way here right now, so we’re gonna get this here beauty of a tree lit in about five minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I don’t think we could move if we wanted to.” Steve glanced around at the crowd. He circled back to light on her. “You still game to come and help me decorate my tree after this?”
With a nod, she said, “How does it look in your house?”
“Huge. Almost hits the ceiling and since the branches have dropped, it really sticks out into the room. I’m glad I asked Gridley to set it up in a corner instead of the main foyer. I don’t think I’d be able to walk around it every day without knocking ornaments off it.”
“If it’s in a corner it’ll be easier to decorate since you only have to do three sides.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
Unexpectedly, she was jostled from behind and pitched forward, off-balance. She shoved her hands out to brace for a fall and they landed squarely on Steve’s chest. Even through the coat covering him from neck to knees, Sasha noted how sturdy and hard he felt underneath it.
Really hard.
Like, she wanted to press in even closer and lose herself in all that…hardness, hard.
“Steady,” he said, winding his hands around her upper arms for support. Through the multiple layers of her outerwear, sweater, shirt and long sleeved Henley, and even though he had leather gloves covering his hands, Sasha’s skin tingled and singed from his touch.
As she stared up into his handsome face mesmerized by the concern drifting through his eyes, she lost the ability to form a sentence and simply gaped at him for a few seconds.
Awareness and excitement slid down her spine and she knew if they were alone and not surrounded by more than half the town’s population, she would have shifted and pressed her lips to his. From the way his brow smoothed and his eyes glazed over, she was pretty sure he was thinking along the same lines.
Just when she found the strength to come up with a few words, the loudspeaker went off again as the mayor came to the podium. Sasha pushed off Steve’s chest, silently sighing at the missed contact, and shoved her chilled hands into her coat pockets.
“Sorry about that,” she said, turning her attention to the gazebo.
He edged closer, and his warm, oh-so-alluring breath drifted across her cheeks again as he murmured, “I’m not.”
Keeping her gaze fixed in front of her, she prayed the heat shooting up her face would be interpreted as a chilled, rosy glow from the cold air instead of arousal.
Currently working on the third book in the ROMANTIC HAUNTINGS series for Magnolia Blossom Publishing, IT’S WITCH O’CLOCK SOMEWHERE. It’s a Paranormal, second chance at love, coming home again romanc.
This one involves Genny Gordon and Declan Wolffe. Dec was her first love, left town at 18, broke her heart, and has now returned.
When Genny gets angry, her powers tend to go a little haywire, causing anything electrical in the vicinity to jumpstart. Here’s a quick scene I’m working on that details those incidents…
Enjoy…
Folding her arms across her chest she leaned back against the counter and glared at him. “I was simply trying to do us both a favor. It’s, as you’ve said, obvious we still have…a thing between us, a deep physical attraction that keeps popping up whenever we’re together. Even Kathy said she could practically smell our pheromones secreting when we’re in the same room.”
He nodded and pulled the bottle back into his hands. He took a drink, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I figured we’d meet it head-on.”
“And just have secret sex.”
“Well, yeah. We’re certainly not going to have it in public.”
“Why do you want to keep it a secret? Ashamed to be seen with me after all these years.” He knew it was a dig, but in some small part of him he was concerned she might be. Genny had worked hard for her upstanding reputation in the community, while his past seemed to still be a hot topic, evidenced by the Barstone Bee byline.
The garbage disposal turned on, the loud whir startling him. From pithy to pissed to furious. Seems she didn’t have as tight a hold on that anger as she thought.
“That’s a disgusting thing to say,” she said, “and you know damn well it’s not true.”
“Is it? Why all the secrecy then? No public outings, no going to the movies or out to dinner. Just straight sex.”
Her eyes narrowed and when she lifted her chin and sliced him with a mere eyebrow lift, he got as hard as concrete before his pulse could trip once.
“You used to like sex, Dec. A lot, if memory serves.”
He swallowed. “Still do,” he said, proud he could modulate his voice to hide what was going on within him.
“Well, good. So do I. We’re not clumsy teenagers anymore, either. We both bring a couple decades of experience along with us.”
“Had a lot of it in this arena, have ya? With anyone I might know?”
As she glared at him the microwave beeped and the door flew open.
Since he hadn’t put anything in it to heat, he knew her magical dander was up.
Again, good. The more she got angry about this stupid scheme, the better.
The character of Amy Dorrit (Charles) is fascinating for so many reasons, but the main one for me is how she loves her 3 adoptive kids and how strongly she protects them. She also doesn’t suffer fools and calls it like she sees it, evident in this scene. She’s found a distraught Sasha crying in her apartment and after listening to the reason why, she…well, she acts like a mom who lays it on the line.
Enjoy.
After several minutes of Amy rocking and cooing to her, Sasha shifted, her tears finally starting to abate.
“I won’t ask if you feel better,” Amy said as she cupped her daughter’s chin and rubbed her thumbs across her cheeks. “A cry like that one serves the purpose of emotionally cleansing and physically exhausting a body.”
“I think I’m more exhausted than cleansed,” Sasha said, swiping her sleeve under her nose. “And now I’ve got a headache to add to it, to boot.”
With a shake of her head, Amy leaned forward and kissed Sasha’s forehead.
“Why are you home so early? I thought you were going to take the entire day to shop.”
“Took most of it.” Amy lifted a shoulder and added, “When we were done, we were done.”
“Most of the day? What time is it?” Sasha asked.
“Half-past three.”
“Oh, God. I told everyone I was only taking a few minutes and it’s been three hours. I need to get downstairs.” She tried to stand but Amy held her back.
“The diner’s fine, baby girl. The girls and Chet have been taking care of things just fine. You sit back down and tell me what got you to blubbering.”
“I need a glass of water, first.” Once Amy let her stand, Sasha filled a glass and downed it in one long draught. After that she ran cold water over her face, knowing she must look like a swollen, red-splotched mess.
Done, she plopped down next to her mother, dragged in several deep, weary breaths, and told her all about her relationship with Steve Caldwell, ending with the conversation she’d had with Kane.
“I should have trusted my instincts,” she said once she was done, the tears spent, and her voice tired. “They told me from the get-go he was only interested in me because he wanted me for the hospital.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Amy said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you every time he comes into the diner. The man is smitten.”
Sasha rubbed her nose, then shook her head. “If he’s smitten it’s with my skills as a nurse, not as,” she blushed, “a woman or anything else.”
“I don’t like repeating myself, but I’m really not sure that’s true, baby girl.”
On the end of a sigh sewn together with exhaustion and a strangled ache, Sasha said, “It’s true enough, mom. He didn’t deny it when I confronted him.”
“Did you give him a chance to? Or did you steamroll right over him like you always do when you want to make a point?
Surprised, Sasha said, “I don’t do that.”
Amy’s brows took a steady climb toward her hairline. When they arrived and settled, her eyes opened wide and she regarded her daughter with an expression Sasha had seen dozens of times during her childhood. A don’t even think about bullshitting me glower that made the person – or child – being glared at confess any and all infractions they’d committed
That the look could still make her crumble at the age of thirty-four like an unbalanced house of cards was worrisome.
And annoying.
“I don’t.”
“Really? I can give you chapter, book, and verse on any number of times you’ve done it in your life. You’ve always been like that, baby girl. Always need to have the last word in an argument; always need to get your point across before anyone else can make theirs.”
Amy’s words stung. So much so, tears started to swell in Sasha’s eyes again. Angrily, she batted them away with her lashes.
Her mother’s expression softened. “Look, sweetie. I’m not saying it to make you upset, just to point out that you have a…tendency we’ll say, not to listen to the other person during an argument when you think you’re in the right.”
“I am in the right about this, mom. Steve was just buttering me up before asking me to work for the hospital. Kane all but proved it.”
Amy’s thin-lipped glare told her daughter exactly what she thought about Kane Barclay and his declaration.
“I know you’ve never liked him,” Sasha said. Before she could continue, though, her mother cut her off.
“I don’t dislike him,” she said. “But he has a habit of embellishing any story he’s telling to garner more attention for himself. He was always that way as a kid and hasn’t changed much as an adult.”
Sasha waved a hand in the air with a careless flitter. “History aside, this time he didn’t embellish, just told me straight out what he’d overheard.”
“You should know better than to believe any info given to you second-hand like that, Sasha Charles.”
A sudden stab of unease speared through her. Was her mother right? Should she have regarded Kane’s declaration warily?
Intrigued? I hope so, LOL
You can preorder the book here and have it delivered to your Kindle on 11.7.2022 on release day. Or, the paperback version is available right now!
With the push on now to get preorders for my upcoming Dickens Holiday Romance release, SASHA’S SECRET SANTA, I figured a little snippet might whet some holiday romance lovers’ appetites!
This one shows the relationship between sisters Sasha and Abra From Fixing Christmas…..
Enjoy.
“What are you doing here?” Sasha asked her sister a few hours later when she answered the persistent knocking at her apartment door. “It’s the middle of the day. Why aren’t you working?”
“Is that any way to greet the person carrying your first niece or nephew?” Abra asked, fisting a hand on her heavily pregnant and no longer visible waist.
“I’m sorry.” Sasha immediately reached out and snaked a hand under her sister’s elbow. “It’s been a morning.”
Abra let herself be led into the apartment she herself had lived in for a few months prior to her marriage.
“How are you and baby feeling?” Sasha asked as she helped Abra out of her puffy coat.
“I don’t know about the peanut, here,” she plopped down onto a kitchen chair and placed a hand over her protuberant abdomen, “but I feel like a sausage stuffed into the wrong-sized casing. My feet look like water balloons about to burst and I can’t go more than twenty minutes without needing to pee.”
“Here.” Sasha lifted her sister’s feet to another chair. A quick glance and she let out a guffaw. “You realize you have two different shoes on, right? Or is this a new fashion trend you’re starting for pregnant women?”
“Oh, good God, do I?” Abra peered at her feet. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I do.” She dropped her chin to her chest. “I knew the right foot felt different from the left but I thought it’s because they’re so swollen and the shoes weren’t fitting right. No one was home when I left or someone would have warned me.”
Sasha gently pulled each shoe off and the groan that blew from between her sister’s lips tugged another laugh from her.
“Too bad it isn’t summer,” Sasha said. “You could wear sandals.”
“Up until the first snowfall I was, and I still do when I’m home. Colton insisted I start wearing closed shoes again whenever I leave the house, after we started getting accumulative snow. He’s terrified I’m gonna get frostbite and lose a few toes before I deliver.”
“He’s a concerned dad-to-be.”
“He’s a worrywart. He’s been through this twice already. You’d think he’d be cool and collected about it all, but no. I’ve got to have a man who invented the term helicopter husband.”
It’s fun taking a fairy tale and reworking it. That’s what I tried to do in my Limitless book Dirty Damsels, and in my indie book WOKE, which releases into the book reading world on 7.1.2020.
In WOKE, I took the premise of Sleeping Beauty and modernized it. This sleeping beauty isn’t waiting for love’s first kiss to awaken her, though. She’s a modern woman who’s grabbing life by the proverbial reins and forging her future.
In today’s Teaser Tuesday, A.J. explains a little about her life, after waking up.
When I’d first woken from ten years of immobility, the muscles in my legs had given me the most difficulty. I was confined to a wheelchair for the first six months, unable to lift to a standing position without help. When I was upright, my legs were too weak to support me. Sam and his team had worked tirelessly day after day to build my upper body strength to some semblance of normal. Once my arms were stronger and I could lift myself I was able to use a walker on my own to help my legs get back their strength.
More nights that I could stand to remember I’d broken down, frustrated at my lack of progress and in serious pain. Maeve and my mother had brokered no whining, though, reminding me often that I was a fifth generation Brightwell and strength and intestinal fortitude were our bedrocks. Maeve had massaged my aching muscles while my mother had become an expert on nutrition and health management.
My coma had been caused by an allergic reaction to the drugs I’d been given, so I was unable to take any prescribed meds for the almost continual pain. I learned to grit my teeth and work through it with Maeve and mom’s help, and today I was relatively pain free.
There’s something to be said for generational fortitude and grit, I suppose.
Intrigued? The ecopy is on preorder here, now. If you like a print book, for some reason Amazon has made that available already, here.
And because I love PINTEREST so much, WOKE has it’s very own board, here
You might like these other modernized fairy tales as well…
What if Cynderella had a one-night stand with a man named Prince? When I first saw Cynderella all covered in soot in that sexy maid uniform, I knew I wanted to be her Prince.She’s a smart and savvy businesswoman who’s built her cleaning company from the ground up. But now that Dirty Damsels was booming, I’ve been hired to arrange a hostile takeover. But the temptation of having her was too much to ignore… We ended up spending one night together–a night neither of us will forget. Now, I want more. I need more. I want to spend every night, skin-on-skin, with my beautiful Ella. Problem is, when she finds out who I really am, she’ll never forgive me.
Nell Newbery has trust issues. It’s hard to trust when you’re the daughter of a fallen financial scion who bilked people out of billions. Nell’s done everything in her power to keep away from men who see her as their ticket to fortune and fame. All she wants to do is run her ultra-successful business, HELPFUL HUNKS, in peace.
But it wouldn’t hurt to find a guy who doesn’t know a thing about her father’s felonious past; one she can give her heart to and trust it won’t come back to her battered, bruised, and broken.
Is Charlie Churchill that guy? On the surface he seems perfect, all polished manners and quiet mirth. Nell’s convinced he knows nothing about her, other than she likes superhero movies and views junk food as a food group.
Can she trust him to be what he appears to be? Or is he just pretending?
For Nell, trust is everything in life…and in love.
Peggy Jaeger, Author 