Posts Tagged ‘My Sexy Saturday’
Yes, I went there. Again. If you forgave me the first time, you can do it again, right?
It’s time for another My Sexy Saturday blog hop. For those of you playing along for the first time, here are the rules:
Post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. The choice is yours. It can be from a WIP or something you already have published. Your post should be live by 9 am US Pacific Time on Saturday. Put those lucky 7s to work for you!
This week, I promised a hot scene between Erin and Brad. They’re the heroine and hero of the first manuscript I completed, the one that wouldn’t recognize itself if it bumped into its first draft in a dark alley — or in a brightly lit corridor, for that matter.
Erin is an education reporter for the Willow’s Grove Journal-Times; Brad is a social studies teacher at the school she’s investigating (with sportswriter/male stripper Mike James) for giving athletes inflated grades. Erin prides herself on not being superstitious — she goes so far as to go out of her way to walk under ladders. But she wonders if she’s jinxed herself to be perpetually unlucky in love.
In this scene, toward the end of the book, Brad has just learned about Erin’s investigation and asks to see her notes — a request she denies, citing freedom of the press.
Sometimes, there’s nothing hotter than a good argument …
***
“I’m familiar with freedom of the press.” Brad’s hand waved impatiently. “I teach government, remember?”
Erin spoke through clenched teeth. Why did he insist on being so obtuse? “Then you should understand why I can’t share my findings. I shouldn’t be discussing the story with you at all before it goes to press.”
He buried his face in his hands. Seconds ticked by, and when he looked up, all traces of warmth in his eyes had vanished. “Just tell me one thing: Are you sleeping with anyone else to get access to their grade book, or just me?”
The question hit her like a punch to the stomach, flattening her hard-won self esteem with one blow. As her surroundings dimmed, all the breath whooshed from her body. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack. You’ve obviously been cozying up to me so you can snoop through my stuff.”
No. He didn’t — couldn’t — mean it. She refused to believe he could even consider such a thing.
But the look in his eyes told her he clearly did. She ran her tongue over her lips as she gathered what was left of her self-respect, pulling it close as if it could keep her heart from splintering. “If that’s how you feel, maybe you should go.”
Good morning, everyone. It’s Saturday, and you know what that means: Time to kick back with another round of My Sexy Saturday reads.
The rules:
Post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. The choice is yours. It can be from a WIP or something you already have published. Your post should be live by 9 am US Pacific Time on Saturday. Put those lucky 7s to work for you!
To celebrate the sale of my 2011 Golden Heart-finaling manuscript, BEAUTY AND THE BALLPLAYER, to Turquoise Morning Press, here’s an excerpt.
In this scene, the book’s opener, Meg has just realized she’s pregnant and almost lost her job. She and her still-employed co-workers have hit the local watering hole to celebrate the fact that they still have jobs. But she’s feeling weak and needs to sit — and finds herself battling a sexy stranger for the only open table in the bar.
***
As Meg slid into the seat he’d so ungraciously offered, she ordered her unruly hormones to simmer down. A man was the last thing she needed tonight — or maybe ever again. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stare?”
“Sorry.” The word was an apology, but he didn’t look the least bit contrite. “I can’t help staring at beautiful women. It’s my biggest character flaw.”
Beautiful? After the day she’d had — confirming she was pregnant, fighting off morning sickness … all day long … and dealing with a fresh round of layoffs at the foundering ad agency she worked for — even a blind man would know she looked like hell.
Despite her bad mood and his too-obvious pickup line, Meg found herself smiling at the guy. After all, it took guts to tell such a blatant lie — and it’d be nice to talk to a brave man for a change. Her ex, who’d run off to Vegas last month to try his hand at the professional poker circuit, had certainly been lacking in that department. Besides, with her friends otherwise occupied, she had nothing to do but make conversation.
After enduring his appraisal, she had no qualms about completing one of her own. She slid her gaze from the tuft of thick, chestnut hair poking through the back of his burgundy-and-white cap downward, over his golden-brown eyes, straight nose and smiling mouth. She took in his toned arms, broad chest, tree-trunk thighs and — oh my.
Perhaps he had good reason for his arrogance. Meg jerked her eyes back to his face. After they’d mentally stripped each other, it didn’t feel right to not know the man’s name. She extended her hand. “I’m Meg.”
He eyed her outstretched hand, his lips lifting again. She grinned back as she rescinded her offer. He was right: They already knew each other too well for a mere handshake.
Beauty and the Ballplayer, coming in 2014 from Turquoise Morning Press.
You know what day it is, right? Saturday! That means it’s time for another entry in the My Sexy Saturday blog hop.
The rules are simple:
Post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. The choice is yours. It can be from a WIP or something you already have published. Your post should be live by 9 am US Pacific Time on Saturday. Put those lucky 7s to work for you!
This week, I thought I’d give you another peek at Kari and Damien from “Blind Date Bride.” I’m breaking the rules by serving up a couple of extra paragraphs — but since some of my lines are one or two words long, I think y’all can roll with it.
Kari and Damien, strangers who were married after becoming the lucky winners of a blind date wedding, have just agreed to allow cameras to film them for a “Newlyweds” type of show over the course of their network-mandated 90-day “cohabitation period.”
Kari agreed because the network offered them extra cash, but only hours later — when it’s time for bed — does she realize what the decision means for their sleeping arrangements. Her new roommate is now also a bedmate. With the camera crews around 24/7, they’d actually have to sleep in the same room — so she can no longer bank on coasting through the next 88 days or so by avoiding her unwanted husband.
***
Kari plumped her newly acquired pillow, stretched out on her back and stared up at the ceiling. The ceiling fan whirred lazily, making only a few slow circles before Kari was convinced that no one would be spending the night on Damien’s floor. The hardwood floor wasn’t just rock-hard; it was also freezing cold. Kari didn’t know how that was possible when it was in the low 80s outside, but if she didn’t climb into Damien’s bed soon, her boxer-clad butt was going to end up with a severe case of frostbite.
Her gaze flitted from the ceiling to the bed, where Damien still sat, watching her intently.
“Stop looking at me like that!” she snapped.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re on a diet and I’m a hot fudge sundae!”
Damien rolled his eyes. “You think you’re that irresistible, huh?”
“Well —” Kari began. More concerned with her own response to the look he was giving her, she hadn’t thought about how conceited the complaint would make her sound.
“Because I have news for you, sweetheart. I can resist — no problem.”
Kari stood up and sat on the edge of Damien’s bed opposite him, but not before scowling at him. “You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”
He glowered right back. “Why shouldn’t I be? You’re basically saying you don’t trust me to keep my hands to myself, right?”
“Uh —”
“Because I’ve never had to force my attentions on an unwilling woman before, and I don’t intend to start anytime soon. So until you decide you want my hands on you, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Blind Date Bride” coming to e-bookstores everywhere in Spring 2014.
It’s Saturday again — and this week, I don’t feel like I’ve been dragged through a tar pit and then forced to go to prom without changing. My head is only mildly stuffy, not filled with snot, and I’m ready to rejoin the land of the living.
That means I’m back for the My Sexy Saturday blog hop. The rules are simple:
Post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. The choice is yours. It can be from a WIP or something you already have published. Your post should be live by 9 am US Pacific Time on Saturday. Put those lucky 7s to work for you!
This week, I’m bringing you another booty-licious scene with my favorite hero, Mike James.
Aww, who am I kidding? I love all my heroes. That said, I’ll always have a big, squishy soft spot in my heart for Mike. He’s the first guy character I created, although it was quickly apparent he would NOT be Erin’s hero. Not Mike. He wasn’t right for Erin, no matter how much she wanted him to be. Persisted in thinking of her like the kid sister he never had. I realized he needed his own story, the happy ending he didn’t believe he deserved.
And I proceeded to write him one. In OVEREXPOSED, faux bad-boy Mike gets his happily-ever-after, with the ultimate good girl — a 24-year-old virgin.
In this scene, he’s about to relieve her of that condition. They’re at a bar, across the street from the no-tell motel room they’re being forced to share by a snowstorm. They’ve both had a bit too much to drink, and Bree is putting the moves on him (for what she believes at the time to be an excellent reason). Mike is trying desperately to resist her.
***
If I’m lucky, I’ll get drunk enough to pass out before I can do something we’ll both regret.
But as the minutes ticked by, and Breanne responded to every evasion by trying even harder, it became increasingly clear to Mike that resisting her advances wouldn’t be easy. She obviously wanted him — and had for quite a while, if the hints she’d been dropping were to be believed. He desperately hoped her comments weren’t the ravings of a drunken lunatic, because he wanted her, too. He sure as hell didn’t deserve her, but he wanted her just the same. And if she felt the same way, there was nothing to stop them from fulfilling their mutual desire.
Nothing except your innate sense of decency.
And there it was: the elephant squatting on the barroom table. If he did take up with Bree now, he’d become the bad-boy playboy he was pretending to be to hold her, and every decent woman like her, at bay.
He’d never be able to live with himself then. Hell, he barely tolerated himself now.
Time to end this flirtation before it spiraled even farther out of control. Surely she’d balk if he flat-out propositioned her.
“It’s late, Red,” he said, scraping his knuckles over her denim-clad thigh. He stroked her thigh, getting dangerously close to the part of her that he ached to fill. “What do you say we get out of here and find something better to do with our time?”
Instead of pulling away, she practically purred and arched into his hand. “What’d you have in mind?”
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