Good early afternoon!
I've cleaned the kitty litter and one of the bird cages, so I feel I've done sufficient hard labor to sit around for awhile. I've got a lot of writing to do today.
Aside from hopefully releasing Figuratively Speaking--I'll give you an excerpt --as always, I've changed things from previous excerpts.
A book is fluid, after all, until it goes "live." Anyway, I'm getting the first and second installments of Rainy Day Lover ready for Torquere.
I'm late, but how many of us have been struck down by this year's version of The Crud? I'll give you a snippet of Figuratively Speaking first, since it's coming out first--this weekend if God is willing and the creek don't rise--
Figuratively Speaking (releasing this weekend)
For many years, Alyssa managed to live under the radar. She scraped by, hiding who she was and what she could do the best she could, even though she didn't exactly know why anymore. One thing she does know--happily-ever-afters don't just happen. Sometimes you have to give them a hand.
Excerpt: “Please, Grandfather. I don’t belong here,” she choked. “Just let me go back to the city where I know what to expect. I'm not your responsibility,” she whispered raggedly. "I-I can deal."
She was struggling to contain her tears. Here she was, twenty-four years old and acting like such a baby. She buried her face in the pillow she was clutching, holding on for dear life.
“You don’t like our island, Alyssa?” a deep, cultured voice asked.
"Oh god, shoot me now," Alyssa groaned, wishing she could wink away like a fairy or something.
Nikodemos Kosmapoulos was the single most attractive man she’d ever met. With his dark brown hair, eyes like green ice, narrow hips and broad shoulders, she found him overwhelmingly desirable. That must be why she made a fool of herself whenever their paths crossed.
The dam burst at that moment and she began to cry in earnest. “Damn it! I don’t… I can’t… ” She gasped between sobs. “I’m sorry,” she just couldn’t help herself -- she didn’t know what was happening to her.
This had to happen in front of His Majesty, the king of sexy! Great!
Could there possibly be anyone else on this island she could offend? Turning on his heel, Nik had gone. She was still gasping for breath and struggling with her sobs when he returned. His presence had only just registered with her when he pressed a glass of whiskey into her hand.
“Drink,” he ordered.
“Is alcohol… the answer… to everything… in this family?” she gasped out.
In answer, he took the liquor and put it on the table beside her bed. He marched back to her and scooped her up. Tumbling her to the bed, he reached down and removed her shoes.
“Drink,” he growled a second time, holding the glass to her lips. Eyes wide, she took a swallow. “Again,” he ordered. With difficulty, she swallowed the rest of the dark, amber liquid, almost afraid to do anything else.
My other task, fun thing to do, book to write (whichever you prefer--they're all true) is to wrap up the inaugural installments of Rainy Day Lover, which will come from Torquere.
Rainy Day Lover
Sometimes a man just needs a break--something for a rainy day. There aren't many rainy days in Denver, though.
Louisiana averages 114 inches of rain each year. What better place to find--or be--a rainy day lover?
"Je te veux," Zimi said finally, attempting once again to scoot away.
Something stirred in Cliff's memory, a song by composer Erik Satie, sung by Gilbert Becaud, his mother's not-so-secret crush-- Je te veux. I want you. Cliff could work with that. He allowed his hand to relax a little, no longer pressing, simply resting against Zimi's chest.
"I'd like you to stay," he murmured, sweeping his thumb in a small arc across Zimi's flat nipple in an unmistakable message.
Swallowing audibly, eyes glued once again to Cliff's, Zimi rasped, "How you called? Tu nom?"
"My name? Oh, we never got that far, did we?" Cliff remembered, a little embarrassed. "My given name is Ebenezer …"
"Ee-bon-a-zay," Zimi repeated, applying his own accent to the appellation. "Ebon." Zimi's voice caressed the letters and syllables, tasting, savoring, rolling the name around in his mouth and testing it with his tongue.
The sensual baritone caressed his name, a name he'd never liked, stretched it, and made it seductive, luxurious. Cliff really had planned to tell him his real name--the name he went by…sort of. It wasn't as if Ebenezer wasn't his actual, real name. It was a family name, a relic. He'd been christened Ebenezer Clifton Moss, after all. His father hadn't liked the name Ebenezer, thus, he had been called Cliff all of his life.
Tonight, he would be Ebenezer--Ebon.
I'll be back in a short while to see what you think of these excerpts. The more comments you leave, the more likely you are to be selected as a winner.
So, tell me what you like, what you don't like, what you're doing this weekend. Tell me all! If you want a look at the earrings you can choose from, check here: http://www.artfire.com/ext/shop/studio/RiJoys
We don't take the best pictures ever, but we're getting there. And there will be many new pieces of jewelry added this weekend. We like to keep busy : -) Take care!