I've been having a lot of fun writing my next paranormal romances! Time travel and magic anyone? Both of these stories are available now as preorders so I thought I'd post a couple of excerpts. First up...some fun with...
An Unsuitable Entanglement
(cover to be revealed soonish!)
1816 - Bramleigh Park, England
“Why not Lord Strathmore you ask? Because he’s an idiot, that’s why not.”
Alison dabbed at the corners of her eyes, trying to control her mirth once she realized Ariana had been serious in her preposterous suggestion.
“You will have to be more specific, Alison.” Ariana smiled across the candlelit ballroom, somewhat distracted. Her besotted focus, Alison knew, was on her husband, the duke. Although how Ariana found him in a sea of similarly black and white attired gentlemen she didn't know. To her, they seemed like life-size puppets who had their movements choreographed in advance --bow to the ladies dressed in their colorful finery and sparkling jewels, elegantly offer them an arm to lay a gloved hand upon, lead them gracefully onto the dance floor. It was slightly hypnotic to witness and Alison had to shake her head to break the spell.
She heaved a gusty sigh. It had been a mistake to come. She'd hoped to speak with Ariana about urgent business, but this ball, a belated wedding reception for Ariana and Justin, was not the time to talk shop.
But finding an opportune time to speak with Ariana had become a challenge. Ariana spent half her time here, at Bramleigh, and half her time at Dragon's Keep. Her efforts to blend her past as a guardian with her present as a duchess continued to have disconcerting side effects for everyone within her sphere. It explained Alison’s inclusion on the guest list and it explained Ariana’s notion that her husband’s best friend, Lord Percifield Winthorpe, Earl of Strathmore, could possibly be considered a candidate for recruitment in guardian affairs. Granted, she had a grudging respect for Justin’s proven ability to adapt, but that respect did not extend to Lord Percifield.
Alison tapped her fan on Ariana's arm to get her attention. "You want examples of the man's incompetence?” Alison had plenty. "Where do I begin? I will start with the most important. You seem to have forgotten that he can’t even teleport without getting sick.”
That should have been the beginning and end of the discussion, but Ariana shrugged off the valid point with an unconcerned lift of a slim shoulder. “It is hardly fair to use that incident as proof of his lack of intelligence. It happened one time. Once does not make a pattern. Perhaps he won’t be laid low by the experience the next time.”
Alison gave an inelegant snort. “I will pass on being present if there is a next time, thank you very much.”
Ariana turned her head, giving Alison her full attention. “Why do you dislike him so?”
“My opinion has nothing to do with like or dislike. I have simply assessed his skills and found them lacking. He is entirely unsuitable.” She relished the opportunity to get back to the business of listing his faults. “He is too beautiful by far. A veritable Greek god."
Ariana’s eyes sparkled with laughter. "Since when is that a fault?"
"With a face and body like his, how could he possibly blend into the background? He probably gets distracted by his own image in every mirror.” Speaking of distracted, the recurring malody had apparently struck Ariana again. Her gaze was fixed over her shoulder and Alison assumed the duke had relocated. She resisted the temptation to snap her fingers in front of Ariana's face. “Shall I go on?”
Ariana bit her lip. “You might not want to do that.”
“Why stop now? I'm just getting started.” She paused to take a breath to continue, but found she’d lost her train of thought. Where was she on the unsuitability list of Lord Strathmore? In the lull, a deep voice inserted itself somewhere above her left ear.
“What, may I ask, has my face and body disqualified me from?”
Alison jumped. Percy. How had he managed to appear behind her unnoticed? Not about to credit him with some unwarrented skill of stealth, she blamed the chatter and bustle of the crowded ballroom.
"Nothing to concern yourself with Lord Strathmore." She turned to face him, irked that he could tower over her. It made it difficult to look down her nose at him, but she hoped the disdain in her voice made up for the unfamiliar loss of her height advantage. "Your talents are not required."
He raised an eyebrow. “None of them? Are you sure you don't want to find out what they might be first?"
His husky voice suggested wicked talents. Alison cursed the flush she felt warm her from head to toe. "Quite certain."
His dimples flashed. "Why Alison Gray, I do believe you need some fresh air to cool your cheeks."
***
Release date: December 6, 2015
Now available for preorder at these retailers:
Apple
***
And, now, the second, longer excerpt, of a paranormal with a heavy dose of romantic suspense that beings with a contemporary setting...
Worth the Risk
What
did a professional hit man look like anyway? She knew the tough guy image
created in the movies wasn't accurate. No, he’d have to be average enough to
blend into the crowd. And he'd have a convenient “day job” to keep his taxes
legitimate -- something that didn’t require background checks or require
staying long in one place. That would be about right. And he’d have a nice, but
unremarkable face, like a character actor who played the same role with a
success you hardly noticed.
Carrie Riley hoped the accuracy of her profile wouldn’t be proven today. She
knew he lurked out there somewhere, hiding in plain sight. One of the joggers
running with his dog in the adjacent park? One of the coffee shop’s customers?
Or even the waiter who approached her now from across the leaf-strewn patio. He
had a nice face.
She
assessed the waiter from behind her sunglasses. His youth didn’t automatically
clear him, but his job involved too much...well, waiting in one place, she
thought ironically, for him to be the one. He’d have to have known she’d come
here and that was impossible. She had no routine.
Unbidden,
her thoughts turned back. Instead of the friendly, smiling face of the young
waiter before her she saw an older gentleman. Vander had known her routine.
He'd had a nice face too. She'd been his target and she’d escaped only through
an extraordinary coincidence of having unknowingly helped his son out of a
legal jam. Her brother called it her extraordinary luck. He worried it made her
an idealist, or that she thought nothing could touch her. In her experience,
that was true. That day a hitman had been in her debt and spared her life. He'd
even come back to save her.
He'd
died in the effort. On that day, 304 days ago, her extraordinary luck had run
out.
"Would
you like more time to decide?"
Startled,
Carrie realized she'd been staring at the waiter. For how long, she didn't
know. Embarrassed heat flushed her cheeks. She shook her head and ordered a
cappuccino.
After
the waiter left, Carrie chided herself to relax. She lifted her face to the
lingering rays of late autumn sunshine. This had always been her favorite
season in Washington, D.C., when the southern warmth advanced to reclaim the
city from a northern chill like a Civil War battle charge. It was a season of
stolen days, and too much temptation for someone who longed for a stolen hour.
Wasn’t
this why she’d convinced herself to leave the hotel room? One more hour with
only her thoughts and the television for company and she would have lost her
mind. It had been barely tolerable while the cold rain spattered against the
windows, but once the sun came out she hadn’t stood a chance of staying put.
Without even registering a conscience decision being made, she’d made an abrupt
detour in her pacing to grab her black pea coat, tuck her distinctive red hair
into a throwback knit beret, and head out the door for a glorious taste of
freedom.
She
rationalized her impulsiveness by deciding her original plan had flaws.
According to the final stage of The Plan, she was to stay put at her hotel
until the last minute when secure transportation arrived to deliver her to the
Federal Courthouse in Alexandria. There were no field trips allowed in The
Plan.
But as
the minutes dragged into hours, she began to have doubts. Her imagination took
flight. Wasn’t she drawing attention by sequestering herself? Was the hotel’s
staff talking about the strange woman in Room 682 who never left and hid in the
bathroom when room service arrived? Possibly. She imagined a chart in the
kitchen for the staff to keep track of bets. Maybe they thought the mystery
guest had a horrible disfigurement. Or maybe she was a celebrity recovering
from plastic surgery. Or maybe she was Carrie Riley, the star witness for the
political scandal of the year.
Bingo.
Put
that way, it seemed an easy deduction to make that she had to get out.
Logically, she should get out to
avoid drawing curiosity. She bit her lip. It might be too late for that.
Tomorrow she’d move to a different hotel and modify her strategy. She needed to
act normal, keeping a low, but not too low, profile. She’d go shopping and play
the part of a tourist.
Her
chin lifted. If he could hide in plain sight so could she. But as a cool breeze
brushed along the nape of her neck, it seemed perfectly timed to elicit a
shiver as a reminder of her exposure. Was she risking everything she’d so
carefully arranged by changing things up now?
The
waiter returned with her cappuccino, and Carrie’s effusive thanks had more to
do with her gratitude for distracting her from her dwindling confidence than
for the beverage. She wrapped her fingers around the warmth of her cup. Four
more days, she reassured herself. In just four more days, she’d tell her part.
She had foolishly hoped they wouldn’t even need her testimony since she hadn’t
actually been an eye-witness to the worst of Matt Banning's crimes. That
task fell to the Senator and his daughter, her sister-in-law Beth. They were
the ones who had been witness to Matt's final meltdown at the Senator's
mansion. He'd shot Margaret, the Senator's wife, in cold blood. The Senator had
been his next target, and he'd been saved only by Ben's extraordinary
intervention. In spite of his efforts, Beth had ended up in the line of
fire. To her eternal gratitude, Beth, who she loved dearly, had survived being
shot.
They
had all survived.
Her
hand shook as she lifted the cup. She knew all this second-hand. It was what
she knew first hand that made her a trembling wreck. The prosecutors didn't
even know the extent of what had happened earlier that day when Matt had found
her alone at the hotel. No one did, not even her brother and Beth. The event
had slipped under the radar in the aftermath of the shooting. By the time Beth
had recovered and Ben had seen her again, the bruises could be hidden. What
Matt had done to her, according to the hierarchy of law, hadn’t been the worst.
Carrie
swallowed hard and hot liquid went down the wrong way. Instantly, her eyes
watered. Oh, crap. Now she’d done it. She had a split second to think: cough
quietly. Maybe no one would notice.
Right.
She
noisily gasped for breath and a couple sitting at the next table with their
toddler glanced over at the sound of her sputtering. Carrie lifted her hand in
an “I’m all right” gesture. She lied. The more she tried to suppress her cough,
the less graceful her efforts became. Finally, she ended her coughing fit with
a sneeze.
At
least that was over.
Carrie
blew her nose, calling herself ten kinds of idiot. She should leave. Were
curious eyes watching her now, trying to place her? She glanced around, but no
one was paying her any mind. Coughing wasn’t a crime. If anything, once the
potential need of medical attention had passed, everyone purposefully avoided
eye contact, as polite, ordinary people tended to do.
But
two-year-olds, like the toddler with the blonde curls at the next table, hadn’t
learned this social nicety yet. The little cherub held a cracker suspended in
her chubby fist and her china-blue eyes were locked on Carrie in an unblinking
stare. Carrie winced when the baby opened her mouth and made her announcement
loud and clear into the quiet.
“Lady
choke!”
Several
chuckles erupted from the patrons. The baby clapped and Carrie had a feeling
she should take a bow.
“I
don’t choke,” the baby said. “See?” She shoved her crackers in her mouth,
including her fist.
“Samantha
Jo, that’s too much!” The baby’s mother pried crackers from her child’s chubby
fingers and smiled apologetically at Carrie.
Carrie’s
smiled weakly back. Keep a low profile. Right. Somehow that never seemed to
work out for her. She wouldn't have needed her extraordinary luck if she didn't
always land in trouble. Her brother also used to say she needed a “keeper.” As
much as she hated to admit it, her current mess seemed to prove him right.
At the
thought of her brother, she blinked away the sting of tears. He’d pulled her
out of more than one scrape, but this time she was on her own. Ben couldn’t
help her now. He had enough guilt on his plate for not seeing Matt for the
traitor he'd shown himself to be. She wouldn't add to it.
No, she
could not tell Ben what else Matt had done. Especially not now, when it looked
like he might just get off scott-free. The two eye-witnesses had been handled
-- the Senator quieted with blackmail, and Beth's testimony had been barred
from the trial. When she’d last spoken with Ben he’d been spitting mad and
rightly so. It galled them all that Matt had found yet another way to add
insult to injury and further exploit Beth's history. And Ben...well, there was
no way he could even prove he'd been at the Senator’s mansion.
That
left her. She had to see it through and testify. Then maybe she could finally
get her life back.
Carrie
bit her lip. Who was she kidding? She didn't know if she'd ever get back what Matt
had taken from her. Gone was the girl who had taken such pleasure in goading
him every chance she'd had. She'd never liked him, but he'd been her brother's best
friend and she hadn't thought him dangerous. Now she knew exactly what he was
capable of, and the last thing she wanted was to face him in court.
She
didn’t doubt he felt the same about her. He’d see her dead first.
Thwack!
The
sudden nearby noise wreaked havoc on her jumpy nerves, but Carrie relaxed when
she saw it was only a tennis ball that had hit the sidewalk. The ball must have
sailed over the hedge bordering the park. A black and white puppy barreled
through the shrubs and skidded after the ball. He trapped it between his front
paws, and plopped down on the sidewalk with his rear end stuck up in the air.
Cute.
She smiled, grateful for the puppy for making her field trip worthwhile. Five
more minutes and then she would go.
Carrie
took a careful sip of her traitorous drink and turned her attention to the
park. She focused on an oblivious-to-the-world teenage boy who skateboarded
down the hilly path. Damn, he was good. And the kid was texting on his phone as
he skateboarded. She couldn’t help admiring, and also envying, his amazing
sixth sense for avoiding obstacles, never once looking up as he approached the
turn from the park’s path onto the sidewalk.
Carrie
glanced back toward the puppy still on the sidewalk. If he didn’t move, he’d be
directly in the kid’s path.
She
whistled. It was soft, but the puppy perked its ears and cocked his head in her
direction. He wagged his tail but maintained his playful stance.
Oh, for
Pete’s sake. Subtlety was not working. She patted her jean-clad thigh and
called to the pup, trying to keep her voice little more than a whisper while
inflecting every ounce of cajole she had in her. “Come here, boy! Come, on!”
The
puppy settled his butt down to chew on his ball. And the kid on the skateboard
rounded the curve onto the sidewalk.
She
jumped to her feet. As her luck would have it, she knocked a tray out of a
passing waiter’s hands. China shattered on the brick of the patio.
Carrie
groaned. The baby laughed. The puppy didn't move.
Oh,
hell. Subtlety had never been her style, anyway.
She
sprinted across the grass, yelling at the kid, but he couldn’t hear her over
the headphones. She swooped up the puppy, turning just in time to realize she
was going to become the object the kid with the sixth sense wasn’t going to
move around.
The
impact knocked her into the shrubs. Somehow she landed on her back, still
holding the squirming puppy.
Ow! Rose bushes. Carrie stared up into the sky as the puppy
whimpered and licked her face. “Knock it off, you troublesome beast.”
She
laughed and hugged the pup. It was crazy, but by rescuing the puppy she felt
she’d somehow gotten back a tiny piece of what had been stolen from her. If she
hadn’t been there, something bad would have happened. It had been worth the
risk.
The sky
darkened.
Carrie
blinked up as a broad-shouldered man blocked the sun. Her warning signals went
into overdrive as he lowered the length of his body to crouch beside her.
He
looked...hard. As dark as a fallen angel and just as beautiful. Dark,
overlong hair framed a face straight out of every woman's Byronic fantasy of a
man 'mad, bad, and dangerous to know.' Her eyes took in every detail of
full, thick lashes, chiseled cheekbones and a strong nose. Perfection was
broken by the lines bracketed his mouth, making her think he hadn’t sleep well
in a long time. And he needed to shave.
"Are
you all right?” His harsh, gravelly tone didn't match his question. He plucked
the puppy from her arms. She missed the warm contact. Was he the owner? He
didn’t look like a puppy owner, but Carrie desperately clung to the explanation.
The alternative was much less appealing.
“Yeah,
are you okay?” The skateboarder hovering behind the man asked after her welfare
much more anxiously. "I didn’t see you!”
Carrie
spared the kid a thought that at least he wasn’t a hit and run skateboarder,
but it was the man who held her attention.
“I’m
fine.” She struggled to sit up. Her hair had escaped from her hat and become
entangled in the thorny bushes. “My hair is caught...”
“Then
hold still.”
Carrie
froze. She didn’t blindly obey anyone, but he’d spoken to her like she was a
child who said her eye hurt when she rubbed it with her finger. No sympathy.
Just a “then don’t do it.”
“I’ll
deal with you in a minute,” he said, his low voice for her ears only. He moved
his leather jacket aside, giving her a glimpse of a shoulder holster and a gun.
“Stay put and keep quiet if you don’t want the boy or anyone else to get hurt.”
Carrie
sucked in her breath. No, he wasn’t a puppy owner. More than that, her profile
of average when it came to hitmen had just been shot to hell.
“Do we
understand each other?”
Did she
understand? The puppy he cradled in one large hand licked his fingers. The
gesture of simple trust gave her a pang of regret. How could someone so
beautiful be a killer? No, she didn’t understand at all.
“Carrie?”
Her
eyes flew to his at his use of her name. They were flint gray, unreadable. She
doubted her own eyes were masking her feelings and desperately wished her
sunglasses hadn’t flown off. He waited for an answer.
“Yes,”
she bit out.
He gave
a nod and stood. He towered over the skateboarder kid who backed up a step.
“You got lucky,” he said in his raspy voice. “She’s not hurt but she could have
been. Trust me, that would have been bad for you.”
In any
other circumstance, Carrie might have enjoyed the protective act. But she knew
that’s all it was. An act. Bitterly, she couldn’t help wondering why it
mattered to him if she’d been hurt. Wasn’t he planning to do more than hurt
her?
He took
a step toward the kid. “I want two things from you."
“Yeah,
yeah, sure.” The kid tripped over his words. “Anything.”
“One,
apologize to the lady.”
The
boy’s thin shoulders slumped with obvious relief and he instantly complied.
“I’m sorry!”
Carrie
opened her mouth, but he answered for her. “Apology accepted.”
She shut
her mouth and glared. Hypocrite, she thought snidely. In one breath he ordered
manners and in the next he showed how they didn’t apply to himself.
“Wh-what’s
the second thing?” the boy asked.
“Get
this dog back to its owner.” He thrust the puppy at the boy and nodded toward
the hedge. “Try the twin girls over there.”
Through
the shrubs from her vantage point, Carrie saw the girls he referred to
searching for their puppy. The kid took the puppy and pushed off on his
skateboard back to the park, obviously glad to leave Carrie in his hands.
Wait! I
need your help! Carrie
bit her lip to hold back the words. She couldn’t involve the boy. Her eyes
darted around looking for somebody. If she screamed…
“Don’t.”
His
softly spoken word held a world of warning. Carrie swallowed hard. The
remaining onlookers had scattered like the autumn leaves and her window of
opportunity was disappearing fast. She felt as alone with him on the public
sidewalk as she would have in the desert. She knew she couldn’t entangle anyone
else in her mess. All those months ago with Vander she'd been lucky. She missed
her long lost extraordinary luck.
“You
don’t happen to have a relative I’ve helped in the past do you?”
He
frowned, obviously not understanding her weak, inside joke. He crouched down
next to her again.
“You
scratched your face.”
It was
her turn to be confused. There was that misplaced concern again. Even in a
state of fear she could not deny the kick to her solar plexus from the contact
with his steel-gray eyes. She turned her head away, wincing as her hair, still
caught on the thorns, pulled at her scalp.
“Hold
still.”
His
long fingers began to work loose the strands of her hair. Carrie shivered. It
could have been because she sat on the cold ground, but she didn’t think that
was it.
***
Release Date: February 7, 2016
Now available for preorder at these retailers:
Smashwords
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
Apple
***
If you'd like to catch up with The Guardian Angel Series, the book If I Stay ($2.99) and the loosely linked book Ghost of a Promise (available for FREE at the retailers above limited time!) It can be found at the right for Amazon (may still be 99 cents here).
