Six Sentence Sunday


Sam drew her knees close to her chest, and tried to stop the shaking of her hands by clasping them tight. Although her mind registered Bryce said he wouldn’t hurt her, she didn’t know if she could trust him. For all she knew he could be a sadistic pig, waiting for her to lower her guard and when she thought she was all cozy and safe, he’d rip her apart and deliver what was left back to Harold.

God she wished she smoked, or drank, anything so she had something to do with her hands, occupy her thoughts, anything other than this waiting.

Casting a glance at Bryce through her lashes, she noted his relaxed posture as he sat on the end of the bed. He may have looked relaxed, but she knew he was keenly aware of everything around him, he'd proven that back at the diner.

Six Sentence Sunday

This comes from my paranormal, Dark Desires. Cian is old world, has seen everything and Tessa is the One Foretold. And she has no inkling. In this scene - Cian's entered her dream.

     Silken cords drifted down from the top of the canopy bed and wound gently around her wrists. She tested the boundaries of the cords, but didn't struggle.

     Her flawless skin shimmered in the candlelight, and he soaked in all the details, committing them to memory. All her lush curves, from full breasts, down a sun-kissed belly, to the delicious mound nestled between slender thighs. He planned on exploring every inch of her with his hands and mouth.
 
     The bed dipped as he placed one knee on the edge and kneeled over her. 



Deleted Scene - According to Plan

     My debut novel ~ According to Plan ~ will release in a couple of weeks, and I'd like to give you a chance to read some of the scenes that ended up on the cutting floor. I liked this one, because it shows the sexual attraction Shelby and Tank have for each other, plus Polly cracks me up.
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     Erotic dreams, twisted sheets and a foul mood. Not the best way to start your day. Sexually frustrated, I regretted the hands off policy I'd instituted, but didn't know how to put an end to it and still maintain some pride.

When I finally shuffled down to the kitchen, it was mid-morning. Tank, already seated at the table, was digging into a big plate of pancakes, a steaming cup of coffee beside him. Thick, sweet maple syrup covered his pancakes and he’d accidentally (?) gotten some on his index finger. With a dangerous glint in his eye, he licked his finger clean.
 
Slowly.
 
Thoroughly.
 
Into his mouth up to the second knuckle, and then out. His mouth and oh-so-talented tongue sucked every drop of sweet syrup off his finger.
 
I watched, captivated as damp heat spread between my thighs and my pussy tingled. Then, realizing what he was up to, I clamped my mouth shut.
 
Oooooo... dirty pool. War had just been declared and I wouldn't take any prisoners.
 
Let’s see if he reacts to this? I sauntered to the fridge, opened the door and stuck my ass in the air as I bent way down and rummaged about in the  lower shelves, wriggling my butt more than I had to. Reaching deep into the fridge, I arched my back, which forced my ass to lift even higher.
 
 There were no sounds of pancake eating as I continued to search the fridge. Score one for me.
 
With a pout I straightened and turned, acting like I couldn't find anything to eat. It was then I spotted bananas on the counter. Oh yeah, just what the doctor ordered, and grabbed the largest one. Wrapping my hand around the banana, I trailed a fingernail down the outer edge, slow and deliberate.
 
I strolled back to the table and slid into the chair opposite Tank. With deliberate movements, the banana was peeled and deeply enjoyed. By now, Tank’s fork was stopped halfway to his mouth. All pretense of eating completely forgotten.
 
Eyes closed, I pushed the banana in my mouth and after a few seconds, pulled it out, playfully nipping the end off. Knowing it would drive him crazy, I swirled the tip of my tongue around the bitten edge.
 
When I heard a stifled groan I popped a wide eyed stare. "Want some?"
 
I meant the banana, of course.
 
Tank clamped his lips shut, and like a man on a mission, shoveled food in his mouth. Once finished he took his plate, put it in the dishwasher, stalked over to the fruit bowl and grabbed a peach.
 
He flashed a wolfish grin before tearing out a big bite. The ripped edges of the peach were juicy, and droplets threatened to trickle onto the floor. Everything in me tightened when his tongue laved the torn edges, lapping up every sweet, sticky drip.
 
I held my breath as a stray drop was deftly caught by his curled tongue, sighing when he closed his mouth around the bruised fruit and sucked it dry. Not once did he remove his heated gaze from me. Oh, how I wished I were that peach.
 
If he gave me one more sultry look, I knew I’d orgasm, right there on the spot, riveted to my chair. Pride be damned. I was going to jump his hard body-- someone knocked on the patio door.
 
Polly. She had the timing of a prison warden doing rounds. Unaware of sexual undercurrents she cruised in.
 
"Morning hon'. How are you feeling?" She sashayed right up to Tank, and started massaging his shoulders. My mouth dropped open.
 
"Hellooo.” I waved my dinosaur bandaged hand in front of her face. “I was the one almost abducted, and got a plank in my palm fighting Vincent."
 
"Oh pfffttt. I know you can take care of yourself. You’re tough for a little bitty thing.”
 
Exasperated, I plopped back into my chair and finished eating the banana. Tossing her Louise Vuitton on the table, Polly sat where Tank had been and took a sip of his coffee. She choked and put it back down.
 
"Gah! You drink that?"
 
Tank threw his unfinished peach into the garbage. "I've got some things to do. Catch you later." He pointed a finger at me. "We're not done here, I'll be back to finish what we started."
 
Goosebumps shivered down my back. He sounded ominous.
 
Good.
 
Polly placed her chin on her palm and watched him exit. "Mm, mm, mmm! I hate to see him go, but I sure like watching him leave." She brought her bright green eyes back to me, "Okay, what’s going on? You can cut the tension in here with a dull knife."
 
So much for me thinking she was oblivious.
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Thank you for reading this deleted scene, and I hope like crazy you like the whole enchilada, once it's released.


 





Friday 56

'A Matter of Honor' by Jeffrey Archer

Romanov smiled and looked down in the girl's green eyes. Dressed in the dull grey uniform of her trade, no one would have given her a second look. But in the nude she was quite magnificent. He leaned over until their lips nearly met.
"You'll have to rise very early, Anna, but for now, just turn out the light."

If you've never read this book by Sir Jeffrey Archer, then you've missed out on a fantastic suspense told by a masterful story teller. This was the first book of many I'd ever read by him, and he had me hooked. Check it out.

Writer's Block

The two words authors dread most - Writer's Block. Makes you think of big bulky cement dividers, standing in your way as you try to get to Starbucks for a much needed Grande Latte (no fat, no foam). Ugh.

I suffer from writer's block. There I said it. The big elephant in the room has been acknowledged. I can think of all sorts of wonderful plot lines, snappy dialogue, but the minute I park my tuckus in front of the computer... poof - gone. I know it will pass, but as I suffer through this I wonder what other authors do to reconnect their thoughts into actual words on the page?

My husband's timely advice is to get out and exercise. I look at him as if he's grown two heads. This is his cure for everything. He's on a health kick right now, and *shudder* is running about 5 miles a day. I sweetly ask, 'Why? Do you think I need to exercise?'  heh, heh. Double whammy for the poor man. How does one answer that question without insulting the askee? Ah, but I digress. We were talking about writer's block.

My muse has gone on an extended vacation. This is why I'm sitting here in my office at 0400 hrs on a Sunday morning. Not because I've gotten up early to write while my mind is fresh, but because I haven't gone to bed yet.

And that brings me back to the original question. What does one do when faced with writer's block? If you have any suggestions, pass them on. I'd love to hear them.

Friday 56

The purpose of Friday 56 is to post a snippet from page 56 of whatever book you are reading.  Mine is from 'Master of the Mountain' by Cherise Sinclair. Man, I like her writing.

"Thanks." Don't overexert yourself. She gave him a stiff nod and left. Matt might well talk with Logan; if she asked for a cabin, she'd all too likely end up in his bed - again. She frowned. Last night hadn't been exactly her decision, and they hadn't done that much...really...but a second time would mean real sex. She pressed a hand over her stomach where her supposedly nonexistent libido turned a few somersaults. Damn.

I'm only up to Chapter Nine, and already I'm involved with Logan and Rebecca. The conflicts between the main characters are real and I'm left wondering how Ms. Sinclair will resolve them to everyone's satisfaction.