The King is dead; How Long will the New King Live? by Toni V. Sweeney

Posted on February 18, 2012 by Linda Andrews

The King is dead; How Long will the New King Live?

The hero’s always, handsome, a brave warrior, the best in the kingdom, dedicated to fighting, fighting, fighting—with occasionally forays into the other battlefield, the boudoir—and nothing more. The heroine’s an iron butterfly, innocent, untouched, ready to be launched by the magic of love, and thoroughly spoiled. He may be a loner, with a terrible secret, occasionally kept celibate by his vows to the Goddess…until that very deity tosses a headstrong, winsome lass onto his path. She may have too high an ideal of what a lover should be until she beholds the perfect man in the flesh—and usually plenty of it!—and takes inventory.

What if the roles were reversed, however?

What if the hero was shy and innocent, a delicate shell of a man, frightened of women, bullied by his mother…at the same time the most sickly of males while being the most powerful man in the kingdom? A fragile seashell hidden in an iron glove. A man cursed, as are his brothers, to give off the scent of roses when he’s upset. And the heroine was brave and strong, the best swordswoman in the kingdom, comrade of her sovereign’s warlord brother, trusted and revered as the daughter of the commander of the king’s army. But inside, she’s still a female, wondering what she’s losing by swearing chastity to an unseen goddess. So what happens when she’s entrusted with the welfare of this invalid king, this man who’s never been alone with a woman, indeed, who hasn’t left his bed but twice in his entire life and is considered nothing short of miraculous that he’s managed to survive for seventeen illness-filled years? Does she pledge her loyalty and alternately experience pity and scorn for such a hapless creature? Or does she become his friend, his playmate, and his doorway to a world he can never inhabit?

Janel Redhu is the only daughter of Jan Redhu and his warrior-wife, Mariah TruBlud, and it’s she who’s chosen to protect the newly-crowned king of Purdha. Crispin du Lance is the former king’s youngest son, chosen by a fluke of royal law as the new heir, the same age as Janel in years but a decade behind her in social and personal development.

When Janel overhears a plot by Crispin’s brothers to overthrow him and seize the throne, what had been an easy assignment suddenly becomes deadly as the young warrior spirits her charge away from the castle, taking him from the only life he’s ever known into a definitely dangerous one, that will turn a boy into a man if it doesn’t kill him first, and change the history of his country forever.

I divided my story into three parts: Part 1 is told by Janel; Part 2 is given from Crispin’s POV, and Part 3 is an omniscient view of the two. It’s a little different but effective, I think, in letting the reader see how both characters react to the same event.

Excerpt: PG Rating

At first, I thought we had walked into a library. There were books everywhere, the walls lined with shelves on which they were stacked. To our right, a door opened into another room. In front of the closest bookcase, a table held a chess board and pieces, other gameboards piled upon it. At the other end of the room, a high-arched, mullioned window let in bright sunlight.
On the opposite side of the room stood a large four-poster bedstead, its headboard against the wall. It was swathed so thickly in translucent draperies its occupant was little more than a faceless figure. Two people stood beside the bed, Prince Carel and the Queen Mother, both painted and draped in the heaviest of mourning.

“So you’ve finally arrived,” Carel greeted his brother brusquely. He flicked a glance at me. “And is this the Lady Comaunder’s choice?” He sounded as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Linus, who is this person?” Lady Mathilde didn’t give her next-to-youngest a chance to answer his brother. She was a small woman, even shorter than I, now plump with middle age— dumpy, to be truthful—and her voluminous gown with its flowing sleeves making her look even more squat and fat. I could see she’d probably been very comely when she was His Majesty’s bride, and that determined little chin and her bright eyes were probably two of the features catching his eye. Now, however, there was too much willfulness in her expression and her eyes appeared small and cruel. Perhaps king’s consorts become that way over time. All I know is I felt whatever she was thinking didn’t bode well for me.

“This is the soldier Comaunder Mariah sent to guard Crispin,” Carel answered for Linus.

“He seems young.” Standing, she bustled over to me, peering into my face. She was shortsighted also, it seemed. I forced myself not to back away. Abruptly, she recoiled. “Carel, this is a girl!”

“Astute of you to notice, Mother.” Carel’s didn’t attempt to keep his answer respectful. That made me frown. Truly, the Royal offspring weren’t acting as I thought they should. Certainly they weren’t deporting themselves as they did on the battlefield. There, they were calm and collected. At the moment, both seemed merely testy, spiteful children. Still, grief affected men in different ways. I hoped that was all it was.

“Comaunder Mariah’s daughter, as a matter of fact,” he went on.

Lady Mathilde stared at her eldest, plainly upset, more than a little angry. Something was wrong, and it appeared to do with my gender.

“She can’t guard His Majesty,” she stated, in a don’t-argue-with-me tone.

“Why not?” Linus spoke up, doing just that. There was so much belligerence in those two words I hoped I wasn’t about to witness a family row.

“She’s a female—” Lady Mathilde began, giving him a glare saying much about a son daring to question his mother’s opinions.

“So?” Carel interrupted. Not letting his mother finish a sentence earned him a scowl.

“Crispin’s guard has to be with him every minute of the day and night. This girl can’t possibly sleep in the same room with His Majesty. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Janel’s a devotee of the Goddess, Madame.” Carel’s reply was clipped as if attempting to control his anger. A faint rose fragrance hovered in the air. “DeOsse requires chastity of her followers. You needn’t worry about her climbing into bed with him.”

That earned him a shocked look. Both from Mathilde and myself. Linus stifled a chuckle.

“She’s too young, Carel. Your brother requires assistance in bathing and other…necessities. Perhaps if she were more mature… It’s common knowledge young women are susceptible to the sight of bare male bodies, even one as frail as your brother’s…”

At this point, I had to bit my lip to stifle my own laughter. Great DeOsse! She thinks I’ll have designs on the King? On that sickly creature? If I were going to break my vows, it’d certainly be for someone in better health than he. Carel or Linus or… Better end that thought right now.

“Stop this, Madame.” Carel’s snort said it all. “Janel Redhu’s no danger to anyone except those who might harm His Majesty. She’s a soldier first and a female second.”

“She can’t guard him constantly.” She wasn’t going to give up. “S-she’ll be indisposed…during…uh…female Times.”

“I’ve spoken to the Royal Leech about that.” Carel’s reply was calm though he avoided both his mother’s gaze and my own. The rose scent was stronger now. I could tell Mathilde smelled it also, from the way her nostrils quivered. “He assures me Followers are blessed with a lack of…that physical property. Until they are released from their vows.”
Carel might be calm but I felt my own cheeks reddening. I studied the floor. Linus fixed an equally interested gaze on the ceiling.

“Nevertheless—”

“Nevertheless, nothing! I asked the Commander for her best soldier and Janel is her choice. She stays.”

There was a sigh and a creaking of the leather straps supporting the mattress. A sleepy murmur, sudden movement from the bed, a body straightening and rolling over.

“M-Mother?” The voice was so shaky and hollow it sounded like an old man rather than a seventeen-year-old boy.

“Yes, my angel.” Mathilde was distracted from further argument as she rushed back to the bedside. She leaned into the draperies, reaching toward the vague figure lying there, assisting His Majesty in sitting upright. Once he was settled and propped on several pillows, she straightened.

“W-we have a v-visitor?” It was asked breathlessly. Crispin sounded as if he’d run a race and couldn’t get his wind. Oh, Goddess, and he stutters, too. I felt my heart dip with pity. He leaned forward slightly. “Who are you, s-soldier?”

“The guard sent from Sword Squad—” Carel began.

I started to supply my name.

“—a female,” Mathilde didn’t let either of us finish. “I’ve told him she isn’t acceptable.”

Oh no. She’s going to talk him out of it. Now I understood Linus’ earlier remark. For some reason, the Queen Mother didn’t want her son to have a guard. I imagined she had enough influence with him to have me sent away. Well, that’d be no reflection on me or my abilities, but it would be an insult. To myself as well as to the Lady Commander my mother for her choice.

“Why not?” It was the whining query of a child being told he couldn’t do something.

“See? Even His Majesty sees there’s no problem,” Carel pointed out, not trying to hide how this pleased him.

Mathilde ignored him, turning back to the bed. “Because your guard must be here at all times. Think about that. You don’t want a female here while you’re being bathed, do you? Seeing you naked? Or watching you relieve yourself into a chamber?”

She emphasized those last words as if this were a crime of the highest order. Crispin cringed. There was no other way to describe the sudden movement the figure behind the draperies made.

“She wouldn’t look…” His voice went up so quickly it became a squeak. There was a loud gulp as he attempted to return it to a more kingly timbre. The shadowy head turned in his elder brother’s direction. “Carel, s-surely she wouldn’t…”

“Of course not.” Where Carel was short with his mother, his tone with his brother was quieter. Matter-of-fact, but slightly pacifying as if he were speaking to someone much, much younger. “Whenever you’re being bathed, Janel will turn her back. And she’ll never be in your company when you perform your other functions. Will you, Prive?” He directed this last question at me so suddenly I nearly jumped.

“C-certainly not, Sire.” It was the first time I’d been addressed directly since entering the room and I grimaced at that brief tremble in my voice. I hoped no one thought I was mocking my king’s stammer. “I swear His Majesty’ll have privacy.”

“Let me remind you, Madame,” Carel went on, pressing the point. “If Prive Redhu’s sent away, the Lady Commander’s next choice may be her son, Marius. You do remember Marius, Mother?”

At mention of my brother’s name, Lady Mathilde shuddered. There was no other way to describe the visible frisson going through that overweight little body. She muttered something. It sounded like “She wouldn’t dare.”

What the hell does that mean?

“Come closer, Prive.” A hand wavered through the draperies. It was waxen-pale, large but bony, almost as white as the lawn sleeve covering it. The arm shook slightly as it extended, beckoning. “What are your orders concerning us?”

Before Lady Mathilde could object, I stepped forward and seized Crispin’s hand. It was as chill as a piece of alabaster, not like a living thing at all. Dropping to one knee, I pressed the cold fingers to my forehead.

“I’m to protect you, Your Majesty, and keep your enemies at bay.”

The hand withdrew, pulling me to my feet as it disappeared back inside the sanctuary of the bed. “Then it’s all right. She can s-stay, Mother.”

“But—” Mathilde wasn’t going to give up so easily.

“His Majesty has spoken, Madame,” Carel pointed out, and the finality in his own voice also held triumph. Got another one past her, it seemed to say. I was beginning to wonder just how much filial devotion there actually was between Mathilde and her sons. Not much that I could see.

Author Name: Toni V. Sweeney
URL: http://www.tonivsweeney.com/
MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/tvsweeney
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/tvsweeney
Twitter: @tonivsweeney
Book Title: The King’s Swordswoman (Lovers of Leonesse, Book One)
Genre: fantasy romance
Publisher: Class Act Books
Purchase URL: http://www.classactbooks.com

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Chapter Two-Blue Maneuver

Posted on February 17, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Chapter Two

I struggled in that murky place between sleep and waking, awareness and oblivion. Rolling over to put out the heat licking my back, I groaned. Please God, don’t let the air-conditioner be broken! I couldn’t afford another bill. Hair tickled my nose and cheek. I brushed it away but it came back, stirred no doubt in the breeze of the overhead fan.
I snuggled deeper into my soft mattress, putting off facing another day of frantic unemployment and plain oatmeal. Out of sheer cussedness, the sheets felt clammy against my skin and smelled faintly of dank grass. I blocked the unpleasantness.
It refused to be blocked.
Shaking my head, I struggled to sit up. Nausea chugged up my throat and pink dusted my closed eyes.
While the world bucked and swayed, my brain clasped at the bobbing thoughts. Not my room at all. And… Pictures scrolled inside my head, accompanied by the pounding of gremlins and the rumble of an engine. The park. The dawn. More images—each led to another like pearls on a string. Mr. No Show Personal Trainer. The near splits on the sidewalk, Mr. Parks and Rec and…
And the dead body.
“Oh, God!” I tasted last night’s nuked dinner of shoe-leather parmesan and gagged on the lump before I managed to swallow it down. Some things should only be experienced once, even if they did cost a budget friendly ninety-nine cents.
Stop procrastinating, Rae. Your feet are propped up on a dead body. Another thought hovered in the fog clouding my mind. Its presence lingered like a malevolent stalker, but I couldn’t glimpse more than an impression. Sighing, I opened my eyes and glanced at my feet.
A log.
My feet were propped up on a log. Laughter bubbled on my lips. I moved my legs. Rough black bark ripped away from the bone-white trunk and scratched at the exposed skin above my ankles. Good heavens, it had been a dream.
All a dream.
Truck tires crunched gravel. From the corner of my eye, I watched Mr. Parks and Rec drive out of the horseshoe-shaped lot. A few branches and mounds of black garbage bags bounced in the open truck bed. At least, he hadn’t witnessed this humiliation.
I reached up to brush my bangs out of my eyes. Just as my fingers skimmed my forehead, pain blitzed my nervous system. My brain sloshed around and my eyes ping-ponged inside my skull. Idiot! Pulling back, I explored the fringes of the knot.
Mother Goose must have laid an egg on my forehead, when I’d tripped. But why had I fallen? I was much too careful to stumble over a tree. I glared at the large limb, basking in the dawn like a black and white crocodile on the river of green.
Obviously my rational mind had been affected by frustration. It couldn’t be Karma. Nothing I’d done would deserve this. And now my body would have to pay the price on the long slog back to my condo. I set my hands on the ground. Muck oozed between my fingers. As I levered myself up, static crackled inside my skull. The world dipped and swayed on the personal Tilt-A-Whirl that made up my equilibrium.
Ugh! Maybe I could unscrew my head and pack it in foam, before attempting to stand again. Maybe Prince Charming would ride to my rescue and carry me home.
What I wouldn’t give for a do-over. I closed my eyes, while my insides quivered in the aftershocks of my movements. The battle of the metal bands raging inside my skull prevented any thinking—positive or otherwise. How on Earth could I walk from here to my condo without moving?
Fly? Like that was going to happen. I sighed and my chin dipped. The world shuddered, measuring about twelve on the Richter scale. “Oh, God!”
“Women usually only call me that, after we’ve met.” A man’s voice rasped against my nerve endings.
Smooth, rich and deep, just the way I liked my chocolate. Had the head banging caused hallucinations? A shadow blocked out the pink sunlight shining across my closed lids moments before an acrid odor mingled with a musky scent. Male. My nose twitched.
My imagination wasn’t good enough to conjure up a picture.
Maybe I’d switch from positive thinking to positively avoiding more than my quota of bad events.
Grass shushed and the shadow fell away from my eyes.
Had he left? No, I turned my head slightly. A punk metal band joined the jamboree inside my skull. Still my ears didn’t detect any sound. Yet I felt him move closer. Man, the guy was quiet.
“Can you open your eyes, obecht?”
Obecht. The exotic word swirled around me and sliced through the pounding. Did it mean my love, or beautiful, or honey bunch? Fingers swept over my brow. How I dreamed of having a man’s caresses explore my dips and curves as if he were an artist and I his greatest sculpture. Calloused fingertips traced my cheek then ran lightly over my jaw. Pleasure skittered through me, sowing warmth that liquefied my muscles.
Part of me screamed to fight the spell he’d woven around me and reminded me that I was alone in the park at dawn. Primetime crime hour. For once, I could see why others found the rational part of me annoying. Besides, I needed help to get home.
“Obecht, you must open your eyes.” Steel laced the velvet chocolate voice. His touches morphed into insistent probes. One finger lifted my eyelid.
Light penetrated my skull, obliterating my view. Fear shoved into the vacant spaces created by my blindness. Could a whack on the head really knock the sense from me? I pulled free of his touch. Once I was certain I wouldn’t vomit, I opened my eyes. My heart thumped against my ribs.
The man was a shadow, no discerning features at all. Adrenalin chased fear’s chill from my skin. I had to get out of here. Back to the safety of my condo. To the presence of other people. Flattening my palms against the gunk on the ground, I pushed myself up. My muscles wobbled and I landed with a splat. Oops, I’d forgotten the whole ‘needing help’ bit.
“Easy.” He shifted, not further away as my fear wanted but closer to me. So close, I felt the heat emanating from his skin. “I’m just going to support you so you don’t sustain further injury. Okay?”
My stomach performed crazy acrobatics, while the world spun. I could use support. I could use a lift home. I blinked in the dim light and made out his broad shouldered silhouette.
I had asked for help.
And here it was.
Something told me I would never get home if I refused it. “Okay.”
“Let me know when you’ve recovered.” The deep timbre of his voice blanketed my fear like a balm and his arm settled around my shoulders. His fingers stroked my spine briefly, before tickling my nape and slipping under my hair to massage my scalp.
Hmm. That felt nice. The vestiges of my fear melted away, leaving only a building ache inside me. When was the last time a man had taken care of me? I wasn’t surprised when my memories turned up empty. Maybe being strong and independent was overrated, if it deprived me of massages.
Even if they were by a complete stranger who banished rational thoughts with his caresses and held me awfully close. A fissure of alarm bubbled up. Stranger, smanger. Someone who smelled like sunshine and soap couldn’t be all bad.
“We’ll just stay right here, until the nausea passes.” Peppermint-scented words stirred the hair on my neck.
“Nausea?” Was that my voice? It sounded a bit rusty and lower than normal. It definitely didn’t match the one inside my head. And just what had the man seen? Good grief! Didn’t witnesses to my humiliation have an occupancy limit?
“You’ve got a knot on your forehead.” His fingers gently combed through my hair.
I wanted to ask if he’d been watching me, but couldn’t summon the words. Instead I focused on the pleasure hemming in the pain. I could play Damsel in Distress.
“You didn’t pass out, did you?”
A glimmer of self-preservation stopped me, before I nodded. “I don’t know. I definitely had the wind knocked out of me.”
I straightened then waited for my head to settle on an even keel. Never had I been this affected by a simple fall. What if my brain was swelling? What if I went to bed and woke up dead? Should I call for an ambulance? See a doctor? Crap on a cracker! I didn’t have insurance to pay for an emergency room visit and there was the matter of getting there. I seriously doubted I should drive, even if I owned a car.
But I wasn’t helpless; I could Dial-a-Ride. Phone. I patted the flat pockets of my shorts. My cell must have slipped out, when I’d tripped. But where had it gone?
His arm fell away from my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Phone.” I brushed the grass near my bottom. Please God, don’t let it have gotten far. I opened my eyes, glanced down and tasted again the onion bagel I’d eaten two weeks ago. Note to self: stop moving head. And just how was I supposed to search for my phone?
“Is it purple?”
My hero. Relief tumbled through me. How many purple cell phones could there be near me? I caught myself before I nodded. “Yes.”
“Here.” Warm fingers curled around mine.
“Thank you.” Seconds later the sleek casing slipped against my palm. Flipping it open, I raised it to eye level. The screen remained dark. My thumb pressed the volume button. Nothing. “Son of a—”
“You can say it.” Soft chuckles drifted on the pearly dawn. “I’m a big boy. I’ve heard lots of words.”
I resisted the urge to look at him. Barely. He’d have to be damn good looking for me to weather another skullquake. “Monkey’s butt!”
He choked mid-laugh. “Monkey’s butt? Is that even possible?”
Maybe not. But it was better than dropping a dollar I didn’t have into the swear jar. It wasn’t even as satisfying as swearing, but it was part of my new self-improvement regime. I snapped my cell phone closed and groped my leg before shoving the thing into a pocket. “You’d be surprised at the advances made in medical science.”
Or not. I would though. I hated science, medical or otherwise. Still, he didn’t need to know that my language could turn a sailor’s ears red. Just one of the many things I learned, when my parent’s moved to that commune near the oil fields in Oklahoma.
“I’ll take your word for it.” He cupped my chin. Gently but firmly, he turned my face to the pink sunrise. With his features still in shadow, he leaned closer. “Aside from a few cuts and bruises, I don’t think you have any other injures.”
Cuts. Bruises. That sounded quite manageable. It was the gremlins playing bass and drums in my head that complicated things. Like walking. Moving.
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
“My eyes?” I thought they were open. I could see him. Well, the shadows filling him at least.
“Widen your eyes, I mean. I need to check your pupils. See if you have a concussion.” A butterfly touch landed on my eyebrow. He exerted a little pressure and light flooded in.
Bile rose up my throat. The light hurt but at least this time my brain didn’t try to squeeze out the back of my head. Focus on something else. Like him. Thoughts of him calmed me more than a roomful of lavender. “Are you a doctor?”
With a voice like that, I wouldn’t mind playing doctor with him.
“Once upon a time I was a medic.”
Close enough. I had an impression of a strong jaw, before white light shone from his hand. I tried to blink but he held my eye open. The brightness seemed to brand the inside of my skull. My stomach cramped. After a calming breath, it eased. I switched my attention back to him. “You were a soldier?”
“Yes.” The light slid out of my eyes then rushed back.
Again, I tried to wince. He held my eye open and drew closer. His breath washed over my face. Minty fresh breath. I could get used to this. Even the pain seemed to have dulled.
“You have a beautiful soul.” He released one eye to focus on the other.
“Soul?” Had I blacked out and missed part of the conversation? Another alarm thrilled low inside me. Was it possible to hit my head so hard, my brain had to rewire itself?
“The eyes tell me.” Amusement lightened the serious tone of his words. “They’re the windows to the soul, you know.”
Ahh. That sounded familiar. “I’ve heard that before.”
“I’ll bet lots of males will say anything to peer into those beautiful brown eyes of yours.” He clicked the light off and released my eyelid but his fingers skimmed my cheek to trace my jaw before falling away.
Pleasure warmed me like summer sunshine. I closed my eyes, giving my vision time to adjust to the new light level. “You think I have beautiful eyes?”
“More than beautiful.” Sowing goosebumps in their wake, his hands skimmed down my arms to toy with my ring finger. “But obviously no one has convinced you, yet.”
Wow! I shivered and the brain bands cranked up the volume. I could deal with that. My special order hero was actually flirting with me. Should I flirt back? Did I even remember how?
He shifted, moving between me and the eyeball skewering light of the dawn.
Good heavens. Where had this guy been all my life?
“Can you stand?” His hand eased back up my forearm to cup my elbow.
Stand. Walk. I raised my chin. If he kept flirting with me, I could samba. The world shimmied and shook to the bass pulsing inside my head. Okay, maybe the dancing was a bit optimistic. Still, I’d have to move if I wanted to get home. “I think so.”
“Good. I’m going to shift to your side, wrap my arm around your waist then we’ll see if we can get you on your feet.”
The royal we. I hated when health care workers used it, like they shared a patient’s suffering. Still… There was no way I could stand on my own. And he said it in that yummy voice. “Okay.”
True to his word, he shifted to my right. Fire trailed in his fingers’ wake as they skimmed my waist.
I sucked in my gut. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the pooch I’d acquired since hitting the big three-oh, two months ago.
He paused before cupping my hip. “Sorry if I hurt you.”
“Nuh-uh.” Obviously the bump on my head had affected my ability to multitask. Of course, I’d always been tongue-tied around men. As my hand crept around his narrow waist, I felt the play of muscles under my palm. Lordy, the man was ripped.
“Let me know when you’re ready to stand.”
“Okay.” When he didn’t begin to rise with me, I turned to look at him. Despite the rockets of agony, my heart stilled in my chest. I knew that chiseled jaw, straight nose and jet hair with a single lock hanging over his cafe-au-lait brow.
My personal hero was none other than my condominium complex’s own Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Latino.
And he was touching me, holding me. Oh, man. Oh, mama. Air rushed out of my lungs in a gurgle.
He peered down at me. Sunlight glinted off the cobalt blue depths of his eyes and danced over the soft lines radiating from the corners. “Perhaps you should sit a bit longer.”
He caught me against him, thigh to thigh and chest to breasts. Tingles zinged through me and a soft humming joined the banging inside my head. Oh, baby.
With his free hand he tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Maybe I should carry you.”
Carry me. Marry me. Rational Rae might stick obsessively to her plans, but Lusting Rae could be flexible. My palm molded the contours of his firm pecs. “Umm.”
Conversation was not my strong suit.
Hash marks appeared over the bridge of his nose. “Are you quite certain you’re okay? You’re alternately pale and flushing.”
“I—” I bit my lip before I confessed my lust. Embarrassment heated my cheeks as he continued to stare down at me. I studied his clean shaven jaw. Great. Not only was the man gorgeous and caring, he actually wanted to hear what I had to say. “I’m just not used to being so…so helpless.”
What a lame excuse. The truth threatened to leap from my tongue. I peeked at him through my lashes.
His eyebrows rose and his jaw went slack for a moment. “You’re not helpless. You’re hurt. There’s a big difference.”
I swallowed my confession. It would be rude to hurl his sympathy back at him. Besides, I was an adult. I could control my lust. As I straightened, my body slid against his. Heat blossomed inside my belly. At least, I hoped I could control my lust. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled.
Butterflies emerged from the heat building inside me.
“Shall we see about getting you home?”
Home. For a moment, the thought of my bed and condo eclipsed even his allure. I nodded and my body folded over just as cramps wrung my stomach.
Crap! I’d forgotten my mental note.
Vomit splattered his grass-stained running shoes and oozed onto the trampled vegetation. Embarrassment set my cheeks aflame and the burn spread down my chest. This was not how I envisioned meeting my dream man.
“That’s good.” His fingers skimmed my ear as he gathered my hair at my nape. “Let it out.”
I blinked at the tears stinging my eyes. Good heavens, could the guy get any more perfect? Saliva flooded my mouth the moment my stomach stopped trying to turn inside out, and I spit out the bitter taste.
With his free hand, he rubbed the small of my back. “Feel better?”
Not even close and this time it didn’t have anything to do with the bump on my noggin or the cacophony trapped inside my head. “Sorry about your shoes.”
He lifted one and shook off the goo still clinging to it. “I didn’t like them much anyway.”
Swallowing hard, I squeezed my eyes closed, blocking out the stringy mass. Should I offer to replace his shoes or wash them? One might put a dent in my dwindling savings while the other… The other would provide an opportunity to see him again. One where I could show off to a better advantage. Of course, I don’t actually do the laundry in pearls and a cocktail dress but I could make an exception in his case.
“I could wash them for you.”
The hand on my back stilled. “Why don’t we see about getting you home first?”
I wisely refrained from nodding but cleared my throat. The sour taste still coated my tongue. Oh, for a drink of water. Bracing my hands on my knees, I took a deep breath. “I’m going to try to stand on my own now.”
His hand left my back to hold my elbow. “Take it slow.”
At the moment, I seriously doubted I had any other speed. Still, it felt nice to have someone looking out for me. Vertebrae by vertebrae, I straightened until I stood upright. Too bad the rest of the world kept moving. My stomach clenched again. If I kept vomiting, I’d soon be throwing up things I’d eaten as a toddler.
“Try and focus on a point far away.” His arm encircled my waist and held me against his muscled chest.
I would have enjoyed it more without the skullquake.
“It might help with the nausea.”
Yeah, except that would require lifting my chin. Right now, staring at the ground seemed the safest choice for both my stomach and his shoes. “Where’s your car?”
Please be close. I slid my right foot along the matted vegetation and shifted my weight to follow. The motion transmitted up to my skull. Ugh. I had forgotten the ankle bone was connected directly to the skull bone.
“Unfortunately, it’s at my house.”
Okay. I dragged my left foot forward. I raised my head a quarter of an inch. We were about five feet from the yellow concrete poles opening onto my street. Once I cleared them I had maybe two hundred yards before I reached the condos and another fifty feet of twisting paths to my front door.
Maybe I’d make it home before the sunset.
I sighed and swallowed the bile pushing up my throat. And there was still the matter of feeding my neighbor’s cat.
“It’s not far.” His grip tightened. “I live at Oasis Springs Condominiums. Just up the road.”
“I know.” I tripped over a pebble. Geez, now the man would think I was stalking him.
“I thought you looked familiar.”
The words barely penetrated the skull bands’ din before I felt the pressure against the back of my knees. In one swoop, he scooped me up and cradled me against his chest. Looping my arms around his neck, I clung to him. The motion wasn’t too bad.
He hitched me a little higher against him. His forearm cut across my back while his fingers teased the bottom of my sports bra.
My breasts tightened to hard peaks. Oh man, oh mama.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Maybe. The Fates must be rolling on the floor clutching their sides from laughing so hard. I’d dreamed of being in his arms all week and now that I was, I couldn’t exactly enjoy it.
“I’m going to start walking now. Let me know if I need to go slower.” His steps whispered through the grass and weeds.
The corpuscle cymbals crashed at the same rhythm and decibel level. “I can handle this pace.”
“Wait until we get onto the sidewalk and we’ll see how it goes.”
Cautious, heroic and strong. I wasn’t a stick insect thin yet he didn’t seem to be breathing hard. Of course, we hadn’t gone five feet. “Let me know when I get too heavy.”
“You? Heavy?” He twisted to ease through the concrete pilings. “I doubt that could happen.”
Wow, if he kept talking like that I’d slip right out of lust and into love. Gravel crunched under his sneakers and each step transmitted through him and out the top of my head. Two hundred yards. I could make it.
“How you doing?”
“Good.” I strained the word through my clenched teeth. As long as I don’t move too much. I managed to raise my head enough to keep his shoulder within sight. His freshly-shaven chin appeared in my peripheral vision. He had a nice chin. If it had a cleft, it would be perfect.
He followed the curved road. Cicadas sang in the Palo Verdes drooping along the sidewalk. Their red-brown pods rustled in the breeze. One hundred seventy-five yards to go.
Silence ballooned in the space between me and him. I groped for words to fill the gaps. His muscles trembled against my back. “I’m sorry to be such a burden.”
Literally.
“I’m not sorry.” He cleared his throat and his fingers dug a little into my leg. “I noticed you about a week ago and was working up the nerve to talk to you when I stumbled across you this morning.”
His voice wobbled a bit on the end. Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Latino had to work up the nerve to talk to me? How could someone this good-looking be shy?
“Now I don’t have to worry about asking for your phone number, I get to take you home.”
I blinked. Cool beans! All that positive thinking was paying off. Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Latino was interested in me. I stroked the silky black hair at his neck before I caught myself.
We’d reached the wrought iron fence circling the complex. Card activated gates blocked vehicles from entering the parking strip rimming the units but the pedestrian entrance swung open on silent hinges in the breeze.
A bead of sweat plopped onto my shirt and an occasional gasp swirled past my ear.
“If you could take me to 2557, I’d appreciate it.”
“2557.” He huffed and angled through the opening. Eucalyptus trees towered over us. Their round silvery leaves tumbled to the sidewalk. “No problem.”
A chill washed down my spine at the transition from sunshine to shade. “Which unit did you buy?”
“2972.” He slowed as he passed the placard with the units’ numbers. “Or 2792. I forget.”
He forgot where he lived? “That could be awkward since all the units look alike. You might accidentally walk into the wrong condo.”
Too bad it hadn’t been mine.
“Yeah, it’s a pain being dyslexic.” When the path forked he took the right branch. “Fortunately, I navigate using landmarks. There’s a purple bush next to my door and a thorny one with red flowers next to that.”
I smiled. Finally, a man who adapted to the world and didn’t demand it change to suit him. Maybe I should put a Justice of the Peace on speed dial. “The condo is just up ahead. First door on the right.”
“Got it.” Within a minute he’d reached the entrance. “I’m going to set you down now.”
“I’m ready.” I gritted my teeth.
Slowly, he lowered my knees. A moment passed then another. One hand settled on my hip, the other caressed my jaw. His warm breath stirred my bangs as he leaned into me. “How do you feel?”
“Not too bad.” Aside from the Caribbean band playing bongos. I might feel better with a kiss or two. Of course, I’d have to tilt my head back to do it. I licked my lips. Or I could invite him inside, push him onto the couch and sit on his lap. Would he wait until after I fed Vivian’s cat and we walked to the next group of units over to my place? Only one way to find out. “Look I—”
“Rae!” A woman yelled.
Sherbet! I turned my body toward the sound.
Ms. Roberts jabbed her cane in my direction. Water dripped off her bathing suit and pooled on the sidewalk. “You tell Oscar to stop making all that racket. I pay good money to live here and I expect to be able to hear my soaps without him carrying on.”
“Yes, Ms. Roberts.” I straightened. I’d tell Oscar the grouchy cat but I doubted the fur ball would listen any more than he had since my cat-sitting stint began a week ago.
The stooped, old woman thumped her cane on the sidewalk. “See that you do.”
I glanced at her.
She glared back.
I wasn’t in the mood for a staring contest with a crotchety octogenarian. Sighing, I turned back to my rescuer. “Well…”
I’d invite him in, but the Roberts’ tattler would snitch on me and Vivian was most particular about who she let inside her house.
My hero cocked an eyebrow. His lips thinned for a moment. “Oscar?”
“It’s a long story.” I tugged on the black cord rubbing against my neck. Keys jingled as they came free of my sports bra. “I’d love to tell you about it over dinner.”
His gaze cut to Ms. Roberts. “Sure. You know where I live.”
Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked away.
I raised my hand. Crap on a cracker. I hadn’t gotten his name. And I didn’t really know where he lived. But I could find it. I would find it. And we would have dinner together. And—
“You shouldn’t let a man lay his hands on you, Rae.” Ms. Roberts’ gray curls bounced against her pink scalp. “In my day, we didn’t have a choice, but your generation does.”
Lay hands on me? I ducked to lift the keys from around my neck and a wave of nausea burst over me. Oh Lord. Ms. Roberts thought Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Latino had hit me. I would have laughed but that would have hurt. Leaving the cord around my neck, I bent my knees and inserted the key into the deadbolt. “Yes ma’am.”
“Humph.” Ms. Roberts shuffled back to the pool accompanied by the rhythm of her thumping cane.
The condo’s door swung open and a rush of air-conditioned air sowed goosebumps on my exposed skin.
Oscar lounged on the back of the chintz sofa edging the tiled foyer. Yellow-green eyes narrowed to slits and his bushy gray tail curled and uncurled in agitation.
“Yeah. I know. I’m late.” I kicked the door shut and dropped the keys. The cord cut across my nape as they jangled to a stop between my breasts.
Oscar turned to look at his dish sitting on the kitchen island’s granite countertop.
Toeing out of my sneakers, I padded across the pristine white foyer and veered to the left into the galley kitchen. Pewter knobs and handles gleamed on the cherry cabinets as the recessed halogen lighting blinked on. If Vivian wasn’t such a fussy person, I’d stretch out on her designer sofa and take a nap.
“Rowrr.” Oscar scolded, stretching along the sofa back.
Remembering to turn my body along with my head, I eyed the gray striped cat. He was as big a snitch as Ms. Roberts, even if he couldn’t talk. I eased to a stop near the can of cat food sitting next to the stainless steel gas range and peeled off the sticky with the word Friday in red sharpie. Oscar was probably already collecting evidence that I’d fed him his entrees out of order. “With the day I’ve had, you’re lucky I showed up.”
Oscar hunched down before leaping the four feet from the arm of the sofa onto the island counter. He nudged his water dish. Bits of food rolled in the rippling water.
“Yeah. Yeah. Food and water.” I popped the top of the gourmet cat food and upended the can into the appropriate dish. Bossed around by a cat. My life certainly hadn’t gone the way I planned.
Oscar stuck his head in the dish and shoved against the can.
But then I was getting paid a hundred dollars to look after Vivian’s precious baby.
“Hold your horses.” I whacked the bottom of the can and the wet pate splatted out.
Oscar reared back. His pink tongue curled over his nose and licked off the dots of gravy.
I lifted the can and rinsed it out in the island sink. Sliding open the specially designed cabinet, I tossed it into the recycling container. The steel rattled against the others inside.
Still eying his water dish, Oscar lapped at the gravy circling the pate.
“Yeah, I get it. You’re thirsty.” Welcome to the club. I licked my dry lips and padded to the refrigerator. Too bad I couldn’t drink one of the bottles of water. But like everything else, Vivian had numbered those too. I plucked the half-empty designer container from its place amongst the ordered regiment then carefully made my way back to the island.
After emptying and rinsing the water dish, I twisted the plastic cap off. Of course, there was nothing to say that I couldn’t finish off this bottle and give the kitty tap water.
Oscar looked up at me and flattened his ears.
Okay, there was his foul temper. No point in adding nasty scratches to the bump on my head. I dumped the water into his dish. “See, I didn’t do it.”
He hunkered lower onto the counter.
Geez was he judgmental. I chucked the empty into the recycle bin and watched the cabinet glide silently closed. “Thoughts don’t count.”
Oscar growled.
Like I needed this. Wiping my hands on my shorts, I glared back at him. “If that’s your attitude, I’m leaving.”
His tail swished.
Ungrateful creature. I retraced my path to the foyer and stepped into my sneakers. The backs folded under the weight of my heels but I didn’t care. I didn’t have too far to go to get home.
Oscar hissed.
“Oscar, really. I don’t feel up to dealing with your male-diva attitude now.” I set my hand on the door knob just as the hair on the back of my neck prickled.
A moment later, a hand covered my mouth and a body slammed me into the door. I hit my forehead. Stars danced in front of my eyes before winking out.

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Chapter One-Blue Maneuver

Posted on February 16, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Chapter One

Alone in an isolated park at dawn, I was practically a statistic waiting to happen.
Except, I wasn’t supposed to be alone. Shoving my damp bangs under my hair band, I scanned the Cave Creek Recreation Area. No sign of my personal trainer. Had I wasted fifty dollars in hiring the guy on my friend’s recommendation? It seemed a bargain in my new ‘change my attitude, change my life’ campaign. I sucked on my bottom lip. Heaven knew something needed to change.
Hopefully, something other than my bank balance.
The sun punched through the clouds and bruised the horizon. Cicadas sang in the drooping branches of a Desert Willow and reptiles slithered in the underbrush. Around me, twisted shadows merged into the basketball hoop, swing sets, jungle gyms, and hard plastic riding animals. A trickle of unease slid down my spine.
“Snap out of it, Rae!” Running my fingers over my head, I mentally cleansed the negativity from my aura. “The park is in the middle of the neighborhood. Maybe he just got lost.”
Or maybe, beginning an exercise routine was just plain stupid.
August in Phoenix was pizza oven weather. The kind that left the unwary burned to a crisp and ready to melt against any cool solid surface, the moment we walked inside. Provided we had air conditioning. A luxury I might have to forgo, if I didn’t find a job soon.
I tightened my ponytail. Skirting the dots of light and the puddles from last night’s storm, I trudged up the serpentine concrete path to the square facilities building. I leaned against the silver disk on the drinking fountain and waited for the water to cool below scalding.
“Today things will change for the better.” I repeated my positive-thinking mantra. Bending over the metal trough, I allowed the musty, chlorine-tasting water to wash the hope from my mouth. I struggled to grasp the positive remnants. If I didn’t get a job, then Mom’s traditional tofu Thanksgiving turkey and Dad’s wheat-germ stuffing would be mighty tasty.
If I could find them, that is.
My counterculture parents never settled in one place long. Big Brother was always watching them, taking chunks of their cash to support shadow programs designed to make us dependent. Like the unemployment insurance I currently lived on. Finishing my drink, I wiped away the dribble of water on my chin and sidled out of the wedge of bug incrusted light by the caged rest room door.
They’d probably be happy to hear I was on the verge of losing my home and ruining my credit. Not that they wanted me to fail. They just wanted me off the grid and away from Big Brother’s prying eyes.
“Enough.” I shook my hands, symbolically ridding myself of the depressing thoughts. “Today things will change for the better. Today things will change for the better.”
Absolutely. Time to exercise. I glanced at the empty parking lot. Where was my trainer? He was the one to insist on this predawn hour, when the temperature was a balmy ninety degrees. Tugging my cell phone out of my baggy running shorts, I hit the side button to bring up the time.
Five minutes after five.
No texts. No messages. No missed calls. Should I get started without him? Maybe a short walk to take the sting out of waking up unused muscles.
I eyed the dark path and the broken lights. Had those always been out? Skeletal shadows reached into the gray morning and a coyote howled. Maybe I should wait until later. Surely walking in a hundred degrees was better than facing a rapist. Or worse. My muscles twitched with indecision. Leave. Stay. Leave. Headlamps appeared down the road. Stay. Definitely.
Gotta give opportunity a chance to help me change my life.
Walking to a pruned Ironwood shading the dark playground, I flattened both hands against the rough trunk. After placing my right foot at the base, I moved my other behind me. The stretch burned up my hamstrings.
I’d have to take it slow. For the last twelve years, my entire cardio experience was limited to exercising only when being chased by large carnivores or small yappy dogs. Not an everyday occurrence, even for me. I switched legs and hissed through the discomfort. Maybe I’d only stretch today and walk a mile tomorrow. No, I’d do what the trainer said. I paid good money for the coaching.
I dusted the crumbly Ironwood bark from my hands as headlights sprayed across me. Flinching, I shaded my eyes. My heart rate kicked up a notch. Finally! Gravel crunched as a truck pulled into a spot in the curved parking lot. My thighs protested as I walked across the sandy playground toward the trailhead near the overgrown wash. Casual. Assured. Yeah, I can be cool, when I need to. A red firebird stared back at me from the truck’s white door panel.
My trainer didn’t drive a City of Phoenix pick-up; he’d mentioned a Prius in our conversations.
I jerked as if slapped and lost traction on the grit coating the cement path. My legs slid in opposite directions, while my arms flapped like a penguin trying to take flight. Graceful I’m not. Halfway into muscle-pulling splits, I managed to stop.
Across the stillness, keys rattled.
“Hey!” A man called out. “You okay over there?”
Embarrassment heated my face. “Yeah! Just peachy.”
Except my pride, which at this very moment, might be registering a complaint with Amnesty International. Then again, what’s the point of humiliating myself without an audience? Gingerly, I worked my toes in then my heels like a country line dancer, until my feet touched. My thighs started to shake and my knees changed to rubber. Okay universe. I got the message.
Exercise isn’t going to change my life for the better.
Double chocolate mocha ice cream will!
Taking a deep breath, I took a step and sucked humid air through my clenched teeth. Crap on a cracker! I’d have to hold an ice pack between my legs during my internet job search.
Keys jingled again. “Are you sure, you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” I cleared the whimper from my throat and took the next step. My inner thighs still screamed in protest. “I’m good.”
I glanced up from the death-trap sidewalk. A silhouette of the Parks and Rec Superhero stood by the caged men’s room door. I felt his eyes on me. That’s right. The walk of shame needed an audience, too. Raising my hand, I resisted the urge to show him my tall middle finger. “Have a nice day.”
He waved a glove back at me. “You, too.”
Locking my jaw, I dragged myself across the trail. The pulled muscles dulled from painful talons gouging my inner legs to fondue forks. My trainer was going to give me a refund with interest. With such an auspicious beginning, my day was going to suck more than a brand new Dyson. I exhaled a long breath and shambled toward the neighborhood entry into the park.
Parks and Rec Superhero still hadn’t budged.
Its okay, Keyman. Thanks to your brilliant observation skills and impeccable timing, you’ve managed to catch yet another citizen at their most embarrassing moment, and once again the world is safe enough for you to unlock the restrooms.
As if hearing my sarcasm, he finally turned away. A moment later, the metal gate clattered open.
I limped a little faster toward the entrance then swerved to the right. What was I thinking? Why should I walk through the serpentine sidewalks of my neighborhood, when there was another entrance to the park not too far from my condo?
Skirting the hedge of high grass and weeds growing against the brick fence surrounding my neighborhood, I trundled on. The pain dulled with every yard. Maybe I wouldn’t have to become intimate with an icepack after all.
A sultry wind whispered through the weeds and something rattled in the brush.
“It’s just seed pods.” I scooted closer to the cement trail and eyed the holes burrowed in the gravel. Sweat trailed between my shoulder blades, before being caught on my sports bra. It couldn’t be rattlesnakes. It had better not be rattlesnakes!
A door slammed behind me. I refused to look. If my trainer deigned to show up, well that’s just too bad. No tight buns, flat abs and firm arms where worth this.
Beyond the band of swaying green and brown vegetation, I spied three bright-yellow concrete poles. Almost home. Just as I plowed into the weeds, the breeze carried the twin scents of fresh-brewed coffee and frying bacon. My stomach growled and nostrils twitched appreciably. Closing my eyes, I inhaled.
My toe caught against something and I pitched forward. Son of a monkey’s butt! My victory over profanity died quickly. I opened my eyes and raised my arms. Half a second later, my hands disappeared into the weeds. Thorns bit into my palms and scratched at my exposed skin.
Oh God, this was going to hurt worse than the pseudo-gymnastics.
My knees hit something soft and squishy. While my brain struggled with the inconsistencies, my palms rammed into the ground. The impact rattled up my arms, jammed the bones in their sockets and jangled out the top of my head. A metallic taste exploded in my mouth where my tooth had nicked my tongue.
Change my attitude? My hairy behind!
I blinked at the nest of green branches in front of my face. When I raised my hand, mud and leaves clung to my skin. The day wasn’t getting any better. I batted away the skeletal weed and watched it bounce into the vegetation.
That’s weird. Why wasn’t it rooted to the ground? Without supplying an answer, my brain shoved two more questions at me. Just what had I tripped over? And why were my feet still elevated?
Good questions.
The skin at my nape prickled. But did I want answers? Nearby, an engine rumbled. The sound grew louder as I dithered. Dang it! Why couldn’t Mr. Parks and Rec Superhero mind his own business?
I needed to move, like five minutes ago. Inhaling a breath for courage, I lifted one leg off the soft squishy thing and moved it forward. My knee parted the short grass, before sinking into the clammy muck with a slurping noise. Eww! Good thing I didn’t have a phobia about bugs and other creepy crawlies. Just as I lifted my other knee, brakes squealed. I had brought my leg under me as a truck’s door creaked open.
Today wasn’t my day.
Maybe I should go home and sleep it away like a bad memory.
Tomorrow was bound to be better, especially if it involved a pint of double chocolate mocha ice cream.
I pushed slowly to my feet and turned to face the witness to my humiliation. My thighs hurt, my palms stung, and my shoulders throbbed. Positive thoughts. Think positive thoughts. At least, I’m alive and in one piece. I rubbed my hands on my shorts. Mud and leaves streaked the gray-knit fabric. And doing laundry will give me a break from job hunting.
The truck door slammed shut. Mr. Parks and Rec Superhero propped his elbows against the ledge surrounding the truck bed. The rising sun cast his face in shadows but highlighted his broad shoulders and gilded his hair. “That’s twice you’ve gone down on me today, and we only met five minutes ago.”
Heat unfurled deep inside me. He couldn’t possibly have meant it that way. But what if he did? Hope welled up. I squashed it. Embarrassment is not foreplay and I’m not desperate!
I stared back at him, not really seeing much thanks to the angle of the light.
Time ticked on and the silence stretched.
What did one say to a man who just accused me of going down on him twice in five minutes? Thanks? Let’s do it again? Where are my hundred bucks?
In one smooth motion, he peeled off his sunglasses. “Maybe I should give you a ride home.”
I blinked. What was with the sunglasses? It was practically night still. I backed up. Maybe Mr. Parks and Rec wasn’t a superhero but a supervillian.
“Are you all right?” He pushed away from the truck and sauntered toward the tailgate.
Shaking my head, I raised my hands to ward him off. “I’m fine. Just fine. I—I can get home just fine.”
Pink rays bathed his aquiline nose and accented his strong jaw line. His long lashes painted spiky shadows across the bridge of his nose. “You keep repeating fine. Perhaps medical attention is in order.”
I shook my head harder. My pony tail slapped my shoulder blades and my bangs escaped the sweatband. “I don’t live far.”
There. I forced a smile on my stiff cheeks. Not a fine in the bunch.
“Its no—” He jerked to a stop before rearing back.
Wow! I never had any rebuff be that effective. I— Wait a minute. His attention wasn’t on me. My gaze followed his line of sight. He stared at the same spot where I tripped. My stomach knotted and cold brushed my skin. I inched closer to him. Adrenalin reduced my aches to white noise.
What had I tripped over?
Swearing, Mr. Parks and Rec’s boots pounded on the gravel.
I slid one foot forward and rose on tip-toe. Something pale lay in the high grass and weeds. Despite the shadowy dawn, the sight seemed familiar. Yet my brain refused to identify it. A little closer and I would see…
The truck door creaked open, there was a click and a cone of light cut across the object.
I almost laughed. A face. It was a face. I blinked. Holy Toledo! It was a stiff face! The eyes didn’t blink, the flat nostrils didn’t flare and the lips were bluish. My sluggish brain finally connected the dots. “He’s dead!”
Who knew that year my parents had managed a hospice would come in handy? No, death didn’t shock me. Except that his eyes were open, he seemed to be sleeping. But something seemed off with this death.
Without saying a word, Mr. Parks and Rec strode toward the corpse.
“Hey! Don’t touch him. He’s evidence.” I patted my shorts. Phone. Where was my phone? It must have fallen out during my swan dive.
Mr. Parks and Rec grabbed one of the plants piled atop the body and tossed it aside.
“Stop it. That’s evidence.” I took a step forward then stopped. Okay, I’m not a death weenie, but guys didn’t collapse along a jogging trail then bury themselves under a mound of weeds. “We need to call the cops.”
Good plan. I refrained from patting myself on the back. Too bad he didn’t listen.
Mr. Parks and Rec knelt next to the body. “He might still be alive.”
And I thought I had the optimism market cornered. My mouth dropped open, before I snapped it shut. People dealt with death in different ways. Maybe he couldn’t stand the idea of a jogger eating the big enchilada in his park. I took a deep breath. I’d helped family members accept loss before. “Look, I know—”
When Mr. Parks and Rec lifted the next weed off the body, three fireflies rose into the air. Their pale blue light washed over his rugged features. “Good. They’re still here.”
I snapped my jaw shut and my skin tightened. When did Phoenix get fireflies? And why were they blue?
I stepped back and crushed something under my heel. Oh snap, not my cell! I winced at the crinkling noise and looked down. An aluminum can folded against my sneaker. Surely, this is more bad Karma than I’ve earned in this lifetime. Maybe Mr. Parks and Rec and his blue light show hadn’t noticed. Shaking off the can, I peeked at them from under my lashes.
Mr. Parks and Rec’s eyes lasered on me like his next target and the lights…they buzzed back and forth.
My stomach cramped. This was so not good. Maybe I should just leave.
One of the blue lightning bugs broke away from the trio and zipped toward me.
“No!” Mr. Parks and Rec’s shout jangled along my nerves and raised the hair on my arms.
The bug showed no sign of having heard, let alone stopping. I waved my hands hoping to fend it off. It darted around and dived into my shoulder.
Into my shoulder.
“What in the world?” My shoulder glowed blue for a moment then the pain blossomed like a mushroom cloud. Waves of heat rippled through me, each one hotter than the next. Holy cow! I think I heard my brain sizzle.
The two remaining lightning bugs darted toward me.
Run!
Sounded like a plan to me. I could call the cops from the safety of my own home. I spun on my heel. The motion jarred my arm, and the burning sensation engulfed my chest. Home. I needed to get home. Through the weeds and over the sidewalk. Thorns scratched at my legs as I plunged into the overgrowth.
“Don’t run!”
Yeah, like that’s going to happen. I was an optimist not an idiot. I focused on the bright yellow concrete columns like goal posts. Leaping over a knot of weeds, I landed in a mud puddle. Water sprayed in every direction and invaded my shoes. I stepped out of the mud with a slurping noise and reached cracked asphalt.
I’m close. Just a little further and maybe I’ll avoid those lightning bugs high on pixie dust.
Something hit the back of my left thigh. Stinging spread from the point of impact and an inferno of heat chased after it.
Darn it! That’s twice the suckers have stung me. When I get home, I’m gonna douse myself with bug spray! I cleared the columns. My sneakers sunk into the mud. Twigs bent under foot as I ran.
Fiery pain wrapped around my head. I felt like a human torch. Black tainted my vision, edging out the familiar surroundings.
Keep going. You can make it. My internal cheerleader grew fainter and fainter.
I sprinted on. Funny how the bug bites didn’t affect my coordination.
The last bug slammed into the back of my head.
Blackness consumed my vision and I stumbled. Aw snap! If I’d known I was going to take this many trips, I would have packed! My right knee hit the ground first. Where was the pain? Had the last bug been a good bug? My thoughts disappeared under a tidal wave of nothingness.

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Some of the greatest Fictional inventions

Posted on February 13, 2012 by Linda Andrews

As I was in bed last night, listening to the dog lick itself, I got to thinking about some of my favorite things that I’d love to see made into a reality. So here they are in no particular order:

The hover car–I’d love to be able to make my own way to work. Of course, what we saved in road maintaince we’d roll into home maintanence as we crushed roofs when we flew over.

Transporter–I don’t have to justify this, the benefits are self-evident.

Food syntesizer–Wouldn’t this be great for the environment? No waste would be generated. You could have gourmet meals for one. Calories could be counted. No refrigerators with science experiments growing in the vegetable bins.

The Nautulius–Okay, sure, we have submarines, but for opulence and luxury nothing beats Jules Verne’s invention. Add in that it can go all the way to the bottom of the ocean, and that’s just pretty darn cool. I’d love to spend a week there.

The Space Station–Not the hodgepodge in space but the ringed one like in Babylon 5 with artifical gravity. Okay, I would include a lunar or Mars base in this category or an underwater one.

A communicator–not the handy cell phones that we have now, I want one that can beam me up (although this comes the closest to being actual technology)

A stargate–if a transporter isn’t a possibility due to the Hisenberg uncertainty principle, then build a stable wormhole from crossing time and space. Think of the feul savings and the lack of contrail experiments.

A dragon–Hearing these wonderful beasties were nothing but explanations for dinosaur bones about broke my heart. I want a dragon that can fly and breathe fire. I’d take care of it. I promise.

A disintegrating ray–Taking out the trash would never be easier, plus you could funnel all the moleculer into a synthesizer. The ultimate recycling machine.

A tractor beam–Towing would be a snap and as a bonus you should be able to reverse it and prevent people from hitting your hover car. Of course, we would have to give up the high speed car chases.

So what are you favorite fictional inventions?

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Is a job a job? By author Jill James

Posted on February 11, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Happy Saturday everyone! I’m pleased to have Jill James on my blog today talking about the career choices our heroes make. Take it away Jill.

A job is a job…
Or is it? In most romance novels these days it seems like all the cool jobs; cop, firefighter, Navy SEAL, Sheik, are taken. What’s a writer to do? I say, go back to basics.
Sometimes a hero is an accountant or a house painter. Your strength of character, your moral fiber, is not defined by your pay check. Your job is not who you are on the inside. A hero can be waiting in an office worker or pizza delivery guy.
In Tempting Adam, my hero is the CEO of a Hollywood movie studio because originally I was writing the story to send to Silhouette Desire, and they wanted high-powered executives. In Divorce, Interrupted I mention that Todd Miller works long hours and ignores his family, but I don’t really mention what his office job really is. The reader can imagine a CPA or pencil pusher. In Someone To Trust, my new book, Brady Jackson is a carpenter with a construction company. He is very much blue-collar, down to earth, and mostly truthful. He has some skeletons in the closet that will wreak havoc with his budding romance with Evie Grimes, antique store co-owner.
Any job can be exciting for your characters if you dig deep and make it real. Any small detail can make the story brighter, bolder, more lifelike. Show the difference between their job and their life. Why they did or didn’t choose their jobs says a lot about a man.
Readers: do you like characters with exciting jobs in your reading? Writers: how do you make your characters jobs exciting?

And now here’e a little bit more about Someone to Trust: Book 2 – Second Chances series

Evie Grimes doesn’t trust men. She’s been lied to and deceived too many times before. Happily single, the last thing she needs is a man.

Brady Jackson is a former Marine. Now a carpenter, he is as honest as the day is long. What you see is what you get.

When Brady falls for Evie he will have to prove he can be trusted with her heart. When danger arrives at her door he will have to prove he can be trusted to protect her. When everyone turns against him, he will have to prove he is someone to trust.

And in case you’re wondering who came up with such wonderful stories, here’s a bit about Jill. Jill has loved to write since she first began putting on puppet shows in her garage for a nickel a person. Her first love was poetry until she picked up her first romance novel, Lily of the Valley, after that it was all romance. She writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense and paranormal romance. She is a member of RWA since 2004 and a member of the From the Heart chapter, Black Diamond chapter, Kiss of Death chapter, and ESPAN chapter. She has been writing romance for a few years with a few poetry contest wins and a published short story, Lunch Break. She lives in Northern California with her husband, the inspiration for all her heroes.
She is a published author with The Wild Rose Press and as an Indie. Her books include Tempting Adam, Divorce, Interrupted, and Someone To Trust.

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The Human GPS

Posted on February 10, 2012 by Linda Andrews

I took my parents to the airport this morning and I noticed something, my mother has so many years as a navigator that she automatically directs me where she wants me to go. After I picked her and my father up out came the finger. Don’t go straight here, turn right. Then Left at the light.
No words were spoken just the hand-signal directions.
In fact, she was talking about something else entirely.
Over and over again until we got to the freeway, her finger pointed the way. Only once we were on the freeway, bumper to bumper in rush hour traffic did she try to get me to merge into another lane. The middle one, which wasn’t going any faster than the one I was in. From the backseat, my dad told me I was driving and I could do what I wanted. Um, yeah. I hadn’t moved from my lane. Mom says I get my stubbornness from my dad. In the rear view mirror he pointed to my mom.
I got it from both of them.
Right on time, I pulled against the curb and dropped them off. After kissing them both goodbye, I drove away with their little dog. She didn’t use her paw to guide me home:-)
Of course given the inclination to turn into my parents as I get older, I’ve noticed that I too function as a Human GPS when my husband drives.

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Interview with the fabulous Sarah Makela

Posted on February 8, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Today, I’m pleased to interview Sarah Makela.
What prompted you to write that first book? Did you always want to be an author?

I was first became inspired to write after reading a collection of my mother’s poetry as a child. My interest rose again when I won an award for a children’s story in the seventh grade after my English teacher had encouraged me to enter the school’s contest. What finally convinced me to write, especially in the genres that I do, was reading Laurell K. Hamilton and Christine Feehan. Their worlds hooked me, and I instantly fell in love with urban fantasy and paranormal romance. I loved them both for different reasons, and I pinpointed what exactly I wanted to write. Did I always want to be an author? Yes, it was there for a long time, but I’d toyed with the idea of doing other things until I finally worked up my nerve to go for it. Now I can’t picture doing anything else.

How do you decide which story to write?

I pretty much decide by what I’m excited about and write it. Although now I also take into consideration the series I’m juggling, I try to work out my schedule so that too much time doesn’t go by between books in my different series.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest release?

My latest release is a western paranormal romance called Captive Moonlight. It’s about a woman named Charlotte whose betrothed, Joe, is taken by a group of men looking for werewolf laborers. She tries to get help from the town, but the sheriff doesn’t feel it’s his place since Joe is a werewolf. It’s then up to Charlotte to do whatever it takes to track down Joe and win him back.

Werewolves in the West? Where did you come up with such an idea?

Actually, the idea came up when my publisher decided to start a multi-author series called Wolves of the Wild West. I love werewolves, and I’ve read (and watched) some pretty darn good westerns. There are these songs that I really like called The Longest Road and Fight For You, which are both by Morgan Page feat Lissie that gave me the original idea for my story about a woman who has to rescue her werewolf betrothed.

You write a lot of paranormal stories, have you ever had a paranormal experience?

I’ve had some things happen that could fit into that, but I mostly write paranormal stories because I love the fact that anything is possible with them.

Do you plot your stories out or do you just start writing?

I fall somewhere in between with that. Certain projects do tend to swing one way or the other. Some might be more plotted out, and others flat-out pantsed, but I generally create a road map for myself with the stories leading me along as I go. With my publisher, I have to turn in detailed book summaries for them, so I come up with an idea of the story as a whole and use that to guide me. It gives freedom and leeway for writing the story, but it also helps me to figure out the basics.

What was the funniest thing you learned about your hero/heroine from writing their story?

Funniest thing I’ve learned about a hero or heroine? Hmm… I don’t really know. I thought the fact that Ian (from my Hacked Investigations series) had an obnoxious, yet awesome gnome was fun.

Which of your characters is most like you and which is least like you?

The character that’s the most like me I guess would be Rubia who appears in Jungle Heat and then has her own book in Jungle Fire. And I’m thinking the character who is the least like me (but whom I love) is Leon from Techno Crazed and Savage Bytes who is an awesome gay male nurse.

Can you describe your office or where you normally write?

I have a decent sized black desk in my home office where I normally write. My husband has his own desk on the opposite wall from mine. We share pretty well, and he knows when to not disturb me. I also have a filing cabinet and a few bookshelves like a normal office. Oh! And a life-sized Legolas cardboard cut-out. *grins*

Which came first the plot or the characters?

Typically, an idea comes first, then I figure out the characters. The characters then help build the plot. It pretty much depends on the story though since some books come to me in different ways than others.

Have you ever gotten stuck while writing a scene or chapter? How did you overcome it?

What I do is sit down and write through it. If I can’t because I’m not sure where the story is going, then I take a day or so to read, and I have a brainstorm session with my hubby and/or my critique partner.

What is the wackiest thing that’s ever happened to you since you started writing?

You mean beside getting published and receiving comments from who like my work? lol Aside from that, I’d said it could be that me and my critique partners all got contracts within a three months period of time. That was pretty amazing.

Did you do any research for your book and, if so, did you find any interesting information that you had to include in the story?

Yes, I did. I’m so not an expert on the Wild West. lol I found interesting facts, but I can’t say there’s anything I found that I had to include in the story. Most of my research was fact checking like what kind of clothes would a wealthy businessman wear or what kind of blunt weapons were there. Nothing too, too exciting, but I always love learning, so I enjoyed it.

Where can readers find out more about you?

Readers can find out more about me at:

Home

http://blog.sarahmakela.com

http://www.facebook.com/authorsarahmakela

http://www.goodreads.com/sarahmakela

Thank you for having me today, Linda!

Thanks for being here today!

Buy link for Captive Moonlight: http://changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1766

Buy links for Savage Bytes: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hacked-investigations-sarah-makela/1037922509

http://changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1677

http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hackedinvestigationssavagebytes-643902-140.html

Bio: Sarah Mäkelä lives in North Carolina with her husband and cats. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, computer and console games, and traveling all over the world. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, as well as the Heart of Carolina Romance Writers and the Fantasy, Futuristic, and Paranormal chapters. Find her online at http://www.sarahmakela.com.

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Valentine’s Day Blog Hop

Posted on February 6, 2012 by Linda Andrews

I’m lucky this year to be part of the Romancing the Valentine’s Blog Hop. There are lots of authors participating this year so be sure to click on as many as you can for some really great prizes.

Since wordpress gives me fits, click on the pretty picture for find other participating sites.

For my prize, I will be giving away 2 pdf copies of Fiona (that way the contest is international). I will select two winners from everyone who leaves a comment on this post between February 6th to 13th.

Here’s Fiona’s Blurb:

Searching for her missing aunt and uncle, self-reliant American heiress Fiona Grey needs the reclusive Marquess of Kingslea to introduce her to the upper echelon of London society. But Kingslea knows her type—rich, spoilt and on the prowl for a husband. Despite the lure of intrigue surrounding Fiona and her missing family members, he wants nothing to do with her…until a murderer begins to take interest.Can he live with himself if he turns his back on Fiona because he’s afraid to risk his heart?

5/5-

Strong and quick witted heroines are always a favorite of mine, but when placed in a historical setting they tend to rise to the top of my Favorite Heroine List.  After such a promising start to the story I was really looking forward to the rest of the book following suit. I am glad to say I wasn’t disappointed in the least. -Kayla, Bitten by Paranormal Romance4/5-

All in all, it’s an entertaining read from the first fog-filled moment to the last romantic one.  For those who like tales of 18th-century England and the Victorian Era, it’s a must.–Tony-Paul



Posted in Promotion, Writing | Tagged , , , , , | 27 Comments

Character Interview: Kiti Dolana

Posted on February 4, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Happy Saturday everyone. It is my very great pleasure to have Cynthia Woolf and her smart and sassy character Kiti Dolana with me today. I love Cindy’s SciFi romance series and have reviewed both fabulous books. And being such a wonderful person, Cindy has agreed to give away a copy of one of her books (winners choice) to one person who leaves a comment. Take it away, Cindy!

Thanks for being with us today Kiti.

 My pleasure.

 So lets get right to business.  Where were you born?

I was raised on Centauri, but I just found out recently that I wasn’t born there.  I was born on Gregara which used to be called Procon.

 Why were you raised on Centauri and by whom?

My father’s mother raised my little brother and me from the time I was about three.  I never knew my parents.  Gram always said they were killed in a lab accident.  Again, I recently found out that wasn’t true.

Sounds like you have some resentment toward your grandmother.

Wouldn’t you be resentful if you found out your whole life had been based on lies?  Damn right I’m resentful.  I’m furious.  I can understand not telling us when we were small but to continue the charade after Joridan, my brother, and I were adults is…well it’s insulting and controlling.

I understand that you are in the Dragonera.  Is that hard to get into? 

It’s very hard.  Only the top ten percent of the academy graduating class is eligible to try out for Dragonera.  There is no guarantee you’ll get in.  The testing is rigorous.  They test not just your physical capabilities but your mental and emotional ones as well.  They have to know that you can handle yourself in any situation.  It’s not easy but if you make it, it’s totally worth it.

You are also a historian and anthropologist.  Why the double major?

I’ve always loved history and it’s served me well to be able to research other cultures when I was on the mission to bring our Queen Dayanara home from Earth.  My research allowed us to make her comfortable and to make her trip home a little easier.  She wasn’t raised on Centauri and had no idea what we are like or what our home is like.  I was able to show that to her and we became friends because of that.

Anthropology because I like learning about other cultures.  I actually had wanted to come to Gregara to gather information for my thesis on the customs of the various tribes there.  Unfortunately, my Grandmother became sick at that time and I had to care for my brother and couldn’t go.

Is there someone special in your life?  Is this a new someone?

There is, but if I tell you how it all ends, you won’t want to read my book, Centauri Midnight, now will you.

Yes he is a new love interest for me.  I’d been with my previous boyfriend, Anton Coridian, for approximately ten years.  Since we were both teenagers.  This was stupid on both of our parts.  I knew that Anton would never marry me.  I was not his lifemate and I should have moved on and found who I was meant to be with.  For Anton, he should have moved on and searched for his lifemate.  He did eventually find her, but he might have found her sooner if we hadn’t been so comfortable together.

If you had one piece of advice for our readers, what would it be?

To follow your heart because you never know where it’s going to lead you, but it will always lead you to the place you are meant to be.  And don’t settle.  Just because it’s comfortable, doesn’t mean it’s right.

Wait for the person who makes you tingle.  Who you can’t get enough of or see too often.  The person who makes your pulse race, just by thinking about him.  This is who you were meant to be with.  Go for it.

EXCERPT

CENTAURI MIDNIGHT

by

CYNTHIA WOOLF

 

“Audra, please.  You’re my queen, but you’re also my friend.  You must grant me this last request.  Let me go after him.  Please you know how much this means to me.”  Tensign Kiti Dolana paced the Her Royal Highness’s beautiful sitting room.  Bile rose in her throat and threatened to strangle her.  Finally, she collapsed into a chair its soft cushions swallowing her as she sat across the small, highly polished and gleaming, coffee table from the Queen of Centauri. 

The Queen, pregnant with triplets, her beautifully distended abdomen disallowing much frivolous movement, reclined on the couch.  She sat up to pour the tea but had trouble reaching the tea pot in the middle of the coffee table.  “Kiti, would you pour our aeta?  I’m a bit like a beached whale right now.”  Audra was anything but a beached whale.  Kiti knew the colloquial term from her study of Earth. 

Her queen was radiant.  Her long, chestnut hair fell in waves to her waist, gathered on one side of her head.  Her clear silver gray eyes shone bright in her pale face.  She wore a beautiful royal purple empire-waisted dress that highlighted her pale features.  She was beautiful.  Kiti remembered a time, on their trip back to Centauri from Earth, when she’d not thought so, because she was jealous. 

That was before Audra’s marriage to Darius, when she’d still been betrothed to Anton.  Kiti had thought herself in love with Anton.  They’d been seeing each other for years, and Kiti was jealous of Audra.  Some of the things she’d said had been unkind, but Audra had seen her jealousy for what it was and forgiven her the words.  They were now best friends.  

Kiti poured the tea and continued to beseech her queen.  “Audra, you have to let me go after him.  Tybold killed my brother, Joridan.  His actions directly led to Anton being captured and tortured.  I need to see they both get justice.  They deserve it.”

“And you are sure it’s only justice you seek?” Audra softly asked.

“Damn it, Audra.”  Kiti got up and paced the room again.  Her long black hair, tied in a high tankipa tail, swung back and forth, slapping against her back with each step.  The thick, plush carpet kept her boots from clicking on the floor.  “I’m begging you to let me go with Garrick Marcus.  It’s not just revenge I need.  I need closure.  I’m the one who should deliver Tybold to the authorities.  Garrick Marcus is the best captain in the fleet and I know Darius is sending him after Tybold.  Joridan needs us both to avenge his death.  To bring his murderer back to Centauri for justice to be served.”

“Kiti, are you combat trained?  We don’t know what to expect from the Gregarians.  By this time, Tybold could have convinced them we are conquerors and he’s their only salvation.  We don’t know.  It could be a suicide mission.  I don’t want to lose my best friend.”  She went on.  “I know you’re grieving.  Joridan’s loss and Lara’s return has been very hard on you.”

“Stop.”  Kiti held up her hand.  “I know what my life has been like.  I mourn the loss of Joridan and I’m still angry about Anton’s capture and torture.  Joridan was my little brother.” she smiled at that.  “Even though he was a head taller than me, he will always be my little brother.  I still smell Joridan’s scent in his room.  Sometimes it’s so fresh it’s like he just passed by.”  Her eyes filled with tears.  “I miss the closeness that Anton and I once shared, but I do not bemoan him finding Lara.  I’m very happy he found his lifemate.  It was something he never thought to do.  After the torture both Anton and Lara suffered at the hands of the Slavariens, it’s amazing they found each other.  I wish I had a lifemate out there somewhere.

“Audra, I’m a historian and anthropologist, but first I’m Dragonera.  Of course, I am combat trained.  All Dragonera are.  We are the Royal Guard.  The best soldiers Centauri has.  For that matter, the best anywhere.”

“You’re right, but I worry anyway.  Must be my maternal instinct.”  Audra patted her abdomen.

Kitty smiled at the thought of Audra as a mother.  She would be a good one, even if she was a might over protective.  At least she was of Kiti.  Kiti could only imagine how she would be with her own babies.

“You know the people of Gregar are centuries behind us technologically.  I’m the only person who can go on this mission that knows anything about their culture.”

“I don’t know,” Audra hesitated.

“Admit it.  Garrick needs me.”

“We don’t interfere in the development of other planets’ civilizations.  You know that.”

“Tybold has already interfered.  I say we’ll be evening the odds for the tribes involved.  And it’s not as though Gregar doesn’t know we exist.  They already trade with other planets.  Just because they’re not our technological equals doesn’t mean they aren’t advanced.”

Kiti saw Audra hesitate again before she answered.  “I’ll have to confer with Darius before I can give you my answer.”

At that moment Darius came in accompanied by Garrick, Anton and Lara.  The three men were in their Dragonera uniforms as was Kiti, the only differences being the color blocking.  All wore the royal colors of amethyst and cream.  Darius and Garrick wore amethyst uniforms with cream colored sleeves, denoting their status as starship captains.  Darius’ uniform also had a cream colored stripe from the left shoulder to the waist, denoting that he was Captain of the Royal Guard.  As a general in the Royal Army, Anton’s uniform was solid amethyst.  Lara, Audra’s twin sister, still had the tanned skin from someone who’d spent too much time in the sun.  She wore the House of Danexx royal colors like everyone else did.  Hers were an amethyst jumpsuit and long cream colored duster.  Kiti’s uniform was solid cream.  Her rank as Tensign was denoted by a patch on her left arm.

 “What do you need to discuss with me?” Darius asked as he took his wife’s arm and helped her to rise from the couch.  She gave him a quick kiss.  Darius rubbed her stomach then bent and said, “Hello, my children.  Are you being nice to your mommy today?”

Kiti swore he expected an answer.

“If you don’t quit that people are going to think you’re crazy,” said Audra.

Darius laughed and kissed her abdomen.

“I am. Crazy in love with my wife.”

Lara made gagging sounds.  ‘Will you two remember that you have an audience?”

“All right.  But you and Anton are just as bad as we are,” Darius said to his soon to be twice over sister-in-law.”

“Never,” retorted Lara.  “No one is as over the moons as you two.”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty much over the moons about you,” said Anton waggling his eyebrows at her.

The banter was not aimed at Kiti.  She didn’t think the two couples even remembered they were not alone.  Kiti glanced at Garrick, who rolled his brandy colored eyes at her.   “Audra, the mission.”  She reminded her queen to hurry by tapping the comulator at her own wrist.

“Oh, yes.  Darius, Kiti has requested to be assigned to go with Garrick to Gregar, to apprehend Lord Tybold.  I told her I would discuss it with you.”

“I don’t know if she will be needed,” Darius responded.

Garrick spoke for the first time since entering the room.  “I think an anthropologist would be very useful on this particular mission.  Tensign Dolana would be a definite asset to me in bringing in Tybold.”

“Thank you, Garrick.”  Kiti was warmed by his words and agreed with him one hundred percent. 

“Very well,” said Darius.  “You will receive your orders tomorrow.  In the meantime, can we eat dinner?  I’m a starving man.”

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Signing Romance Books at A Chocolate Affaire

Posted on February 3, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Happy Friday Everyone!

I’ll be signing my romance novels in downtown Glendale (AZ) tonight from 5-10PM, tomorrow 10AM-2PM, and on Sunday 12-5PM. I’ll also be giving a lecture on ghosts, how to bring the dead to life on the page sometime on Saturday (noon).

If you’re in the area, check it out. The things people do with chocolate is amazing. Of course, there’s other food including a local winery or two. Ohh, and don’t forget the tour of Cerreta’s Chocolate Factory and a chance to make a Chocolate pizza! It really is a fun couple of days and I’m not just saying that since I grew up there!

Oh, and ladies, the delicious Jimmy Thomas is scheduled to be there too!

And for you western lovers, none other than Marshall Trimble will be speaking.

As for you true crime buffs, Kerrie Droban will be talking in the library about the Triano murder that happened in Tucson.

There’s something for everyone!

Here’s the link for more information: http://www.glendaleaz.com/events/chocolateaffaire.cfm

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