Winner – Feelin’ Lucky Giveaway Hop

With the help of Random.org, the winner of the Feelin’ Lucky Giveaway Hop has been chosen. Her name is Kristin and she has been contacted by me for delivery of her prizes. Thank you to all who commented, who stopped by… I truly appreciate it. Thank you as well to I Smell Sheep and Fictional Candy for organizing the hop.

There are several others I will be participating in over the next couple of months, so… stay tuned and picks some books to read 😉

~lissa

Snippet Saturday – Character Sass

Ah, hell y’all…character sass is our theme for today. This is an easy one. I’m about as full of sass and sarcasm and smart mouthedness (Yes it’s a word! I just made it up. I can do that. I’m a writer!). And if Southerners know anything, it’s how to sass. Whether it be our elders, for which we get the switch taken to us for, or our frenemies, or our boyfriends…no one is safe from sass.

As I was thinking about this post and thinking about my books, well there is one very good sass giver…Rosie. She doesn’t let Decker have a moment of peace from her sharp retorts and back talk. It gets her a behind numbing spankin’, but her mouth is one of the most loveable things about her character.

Snippet:

“Rose!” Decker pulled up alongside her and called out her name through the open window. When she didn’t acknowledge him or his beat up work truck, he called out again. “Rose!”

She finally turned, pulled the bright green earbuds from her ears, and cocked her hip out to the side with her hands on her waist. “The name is Rosie. Not Rose. R. O. S. I. E. Rosie. Now, you try it.”

She gestured toward him, and he grinned. She hated being called Rose. He didn’t think there was a real reason why, but after a few days he’d learned that she wasn’t going to respond to anything with any kind of delicious heat unless he called her Rosie. “Rosie. Better?”

She grinned back. His dick hardened, and his heart melted. He wasn’t sure what it was about the curvy, pint-sized waitress that turned him on, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wanting her and damn when the roofing job was done, he was going to figure out her weakness and get her into bed with him.

“Yes, better. What do you want, Decker? I’m on my way to work and don’t want to be late. Besides, you’re blocking traffic.”

Decker laughed and shook his head. There was no traffic in the small town at this ungodly hour of the morning because everyone was either still asleep or having a nice leisurely breakfast down at the diner. “I stopped to see if you’d like a ride to work.”

“It’s only about a half mile down the road. I think I can make it. Thanks. And you’re going in the wrong direction anyway.” She started walking again, summarily dismissing him. He drove up to the next street and turned around. When he pulled up alongside her again, she didn’t wait until he’d shouted her name to look at him. She kept walking though.

The way her peach-colored dress pulled across her hips and ass when she walked did nothing to sway his libido in any direction other than the current where’s-the-nearest-flat-surface one. The bodice hugged her breasts in just the right way, not too tight, not too loose, but dear Lord in heaven she had a beautiful pair. He hadn’t seen them naked yet, but he had a pretty good imagination and it told him that she’d overflow his hands and respond so well to the teasing tip of his tongue.

She had pretty, blemish free skin, save for the few freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. She walked to work every day, too, and had strong-looking legs. She wasn’t thin, slender or skinny. She had too many curves for that, which suited him just fine. He didn’t go for the rail thin, magazine-size women. Never had and it was too bad that L.A. was all about skinny and bikini and boy hips. He didn’t go for the centerfold type either. He’d always been partial to real women that took care of themselves but weren’t afraid to indulge in real food and that had a little extra flesh. It marked up so well to his spankings, floggings, whippings. They could take a real good fucking, too, and he wasn’t afraid he’d break them in half. Oh yeah, Miss Rosie was perfect for him. He just had to convince her of that.

“Why are you following me? Aren’t you supposed to be working on my house?”

She was still walking but had looked in his direction as she spoke. “I’m not following you. I’m walking you to work. Sort of.”

“Cute. You don’t have to. I can make it there on my own.”

“I know, but I wanted to. What’s wrong with that? Ever hear of something called chivalry? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

“No, why?”

Was that a blush he saw coloring her cheeks? “You seem a little grumpy.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not grumpy. I just don’t like to talk in the mornings.”

“You’re in the wrong line of work then, aren’t you? Don’t you have to talk to people?”

“That’s different. I prefer not talking to anyone on my way to work.”

“Kind of like your alone time? Gearing up for the day ahead?”

“Exactly.” Her face brightened in the early morning sun. “That’s exactly what it’s like. Thanks for understanding. Now, go away.”

“Afraid I can’t do that. We’re too close to the diner, and I’m suddenly famished. I need a good breakfast before I start my day. As they say, breakfast is the most important meal.”

She stopped then, and he put on the brakes. He was a little surprised when she pulled open the door and climbed up into the cab of the truck. She slammed the door and stared straight ahead with her arms crossed over her chest. “Fine. Take me to work so I can get you some food and then you can get me a roof.”

Decker grinned again. Hell, he’d been grinning since he woke up and realized the hard-on he was sporting was all because of her. Then, he spotted her walking this morning and knew he was in danger of that grin being a permanent fixture on his face He couldn’t remember another woman with that effect on him. Ever.

Rosie was special.

When Buck, one of his best friends, contacted him about a roofing job and new business opportunity, Decker had packed his gear, grabbed the keys to his truck and headed out. He didn’t stay in one place very long, liked travel, liked seeing different parts of the country and Buck’s call had come at just the right time.

During the last storm, a branch had dropped from a tree outside Rosie’s little cabin and straight through the roof into the kitchen, leaving a large gaping hole.

He was replacing the old shingled roof with a beautiful red metal one. The red would stand out against the green mountain countryside the cabin was nestled in. Surrounded by trees, the dark worn wood would take on a whole new life with the red.

“I think I know what the problem is,” he said quietly.

“What the problem is with what?”

“You.”

She turned her head sharply in his direction. Dark auburn tendrils of hair framed her face while the rest was pulled back in a ponytail that hung against the top of her dress collar. He rarely saw her without her hair up or pulled back, but then he rarely saw her anywhere other than the diner.

He’d been in town for two weeks and had taken to her like a fish to water. He was hooked and wasn’t afraid to admit it.

“Me? What the hell are you talking about?”

“The problem is that you want me. You’re trying to deny it, trying to fight it. It’s making you really grumpy.”

She dipped her head, looked up at him from under her lashes and over the bronze metal frame of her glasses. “I want you?”

“Yes.”

“If I wanted you, shouldn’t it make me happy rather than grumpy?”

Decker shook his head and pulled into the diner drive, parking in a spot directly in front of the door. He shifted in his seat to look at her, hooking his arm over the steering wheel. “Not if you don’t want to want me. Which, I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t. I mean, I’m rather amazing.”

He puffed out his chest and tilted his head in profile like the kings of old he’d seen painted in portraits. The next thing he heard was the slamming of the truck door for the second time that morning. Rosie stood on the ground, scowling and trying to fight a laugh. Her lips were quivering, and her beautiful eyes were crinkled at the corners. He drove her crazy and he liked it, was proud of it, but after two weeks of her fighting the heat and attraction between them, the time had come to make some forward progress.

“Well, let me put your mind at ease before you hurt yourself preening like a peacock. I do want you. I want you so much I can’t sleep at night because when I do manage a little of it, I dream about you. It’s driving me nuts. You,” she pointed a finger at him, “are driving me nuts.”

He sat there stunned and speechless, nothing coherent forming in his mind beyond the admission that she wanted him. Her words played over and over in his head as he stared at her, mute.

“I’m going inside now. When you’ve gotten your wits about you again, come on in and I’ll get you some food so you can go work on my house and get the hell out of my life. Okay?”

She turned on her heel and walked up the concrete steps, flung open the glass door, and went through, out of sight. She wanted him. She’d said so and even though he’d already known it, her admitting it…well there were no sweeter words at the moment.

She said she dreamed about him too.

Holy shit.

Of course, then she’d said she wanted him out of her life. No way, no how. Not after that confession, no matter how grudgingly given. She was stuck with his happy ass now.

He pulled the keys from the ignition and got out of the truck. She thought she was going to get rid of him. Decker laughed. She hadn’t seen the glint in her own eyes. She hadn’t seen the way she looked at him, the way she let her gaze wander over him every time they saw one another. She would see it though. He’d make sure of it.

* * *

The bell chimed above the door and out of the corner of her eye, Rosie saw the bane of her existence walk through. Though bane was a really harsh word and not at all accurate. He was more or less every bit of her fantasy life. He took a seat at the far end of the counter, straddling the barstool, and all she could think about was straddling him. She didn’t want to serve him breakfast and coffee. She wanted to serve him herself, on a platter, in a bed or in the bed of his truck. She didn’t care where or when or how…she just wanted him.

And she didn’t know how to handle it. She hid behind her snark and sarcasm because it kept her safe, kept the locals and those just passing through at a distance unable to see the naughty secret she hid. They all knew her as sweet, part girl part tomboy Rosie with the ex-hippie mother that had fallen in love with the most eligible bachelor in town at the time. Rosie hadn’t grown up to be a shy or timid woman. In her line of work, she couldn’t be. She wasn’t uncertain about herself either. She just liked to keep her personal life…personal.

She’d lived in this little town all her life, loved it, didn’t want to live anywhere else. She met interesting people every day, learned a lot from the tourists, and essentially that’s what Decker wasa tourist. He was there for a short period of time and for a specific reasonto put a roof on her house. He was there as a favor, with a purpose, and wasn’t going to be hanging around after the job was done. She couldn’t want him. It was a dumb idea to want him, but damn… From the first minute she saw him, she’d wanted him. Completely, totally.

He sparked the kind of want and need and hunger and desire that was flat out too close to what she craved and what she tried so hard to hide from everyone that had known her since she was knee-high. Only one other person knew her secret longings because they’d grown up together, were best friends, and had accepted the differences in one another.

Though, it was a good bet that her new friend, Caroline had figured it out, too. She and her boyfriend, Buck, had moved to Blue Ridge about a few months ago during the summer and the two women had hit it off immediately.

A few times when Rosie had gone to hang out with Caroline at the woman’s cabin, little things had captured her attention—the wooden paddle left on the end table, the riding crop on the coffee table, the strips of leather on the end of a counter. But it was the ball gag that had really piqued her interest and made her ask questions.

Caroline never shied away from them and never blushed when talking about it. Rosie didn’t try to hide her curiosity, but she thought she’d at least hidden her hunger and envy at what Caroline and Buck had.

“You want me to get his order?”

Rosie glanced at Decker who was staring at her. Evidently, Caroline had picked up on Rosie wanting more than to live vicariously through her and Buck, too. She shifted her gaze back to Betsy, her partner at the counter this morning. “No, I’ll get to him. Eventually.”

Problem wasn’t her getting to him. Problem was him getting to her. And the longer he remained in Blue Ridge, the more he got to her. She’d just admitted to wanting him, just told him she couldn’t sleep because of him. She shouldn’t be admitting things like that. She knew deep down it wasn’t going to deter him, either. Hell no, it was only to make him more determined.

“You sure? I don’t mind. Thinkin’ I might like to get more than his order.”

Rosie would be irritated if it was anyone else, but Betsy was pushing sixty-five. She winked at the other waitress. “Go for it then, Bets. He might be into cougars.”

Betsy laughed. “You bad girl. That man is young enough to be my son. Sadly, I don’t think he comes in here to see me. I believe he’s only got eyes for you.”

Yes, Rosie knew that to be true. He did. And it sucked. He was still staring at her, too, smiling. She didn’t know his friend Buck all that well, but at the moment, she wanted to kill him for asking Decker to come and work on her house. Which in turn would lead to her wanting to kill Caroline because Rosie had no doubt the other woman had mentioned it to Buck. Yeah, mass murder all around.

“He’s a good one.”

Rosie snorted. “How do you know that?”

“I can just tell. You know, my Bert proposed to me three days after we met. The heart knows.”

“So your heart knows that the roofer is what? A good man?”

“Yes. But more importantly, your heart knows it, too.”

“Things don’t happen like that anymore, Bets.”

“Oh, girl, please. The heart is the same. The feelings are the same. The details may be different, but in the end the heart knows. He’s one of the good ones. He’s one of the few worthy ones. Now, are you gonna go get his order or…?

“I’m going. I’m going. You drive a hard bargain. You know that?”

“That’s my job. You’re the granddaughter I never had. Now scoot and stop giving that young man such a hard time.”

Rosie stuck her tongue out at the grandmother she never had and made her way to the other end of the counter. It just wasn’t as easy as Betsy made it sound. Rosie wished it were, but… She shook her head and glared at Decker. “You want the usual? To go?”

“Nope. I’m not in a hurry this morning.”

Of course not. “Well, we’re pretty busy, so how about I get it all bagged up for you anyway and you can give up your seat for another customer. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You’re not being very hospitable, Rosie. Might have to talk to your manager.”

It’s not that she didn’t want him around. It’s that she wanted him around too much. It threw her off her game. She didn’t know how to handle a man’s interest like his. Hell, she didn’t know how to handle her own interest in him. She was thirty-seven years old and had never come across a man as potent as him—straight sun-streaked brown hair to his collar, black-rimmed glasses with skulls on the frames, dark chocolate eyes, and tattoos. He had tattoos up and down his back. She’d seen him once without his shirt and stared and drooled like a damn fool. He was gorgeous. At least to her. Most people in town gave him a wide berth until he smiled at them. Then they warmed up, shaking his hand, talking to him, making him feel welcome and at home in their little community. She didn’t want him feeling at home here. She wanted him to go home, back to wherever he came from.

And speaking of that damned smile of his. It was very disarming and melted every woman, even ones older than Betsy, into a puddle. He had eyes for only one woman though.

Why couldn’t he have been one of those overweight, beer-bellied, crack-showing blue-collar guys? It would have made life lately so much easier.

“I am the manager.”

Then there was the megawatt grin. His teeth were pearly white in his tan face, straight and beautiful. Could teeth be beautiful?

“Well, isn’t that fortunate for you? Not to mention, I never said I was anything close to a gentleman.”

He hadn’t, but she knew he was. He opened doors for little old ladies. He shook hands with little old men. He smiled, made small talk with people, and she knew he’d give his last dollar to anyone that might need it. He had that bad-boy look yes, but he was a gentleman through and through. It sucked. Why couldn’t he be a jerk? “Seriously, Decker, what can I get you? We are busy, and I just…I don’t like you.”

“So you were lying out at the truck?”

“No I wasn’t lying. I don’t lie.” At least not to anyone but herself. “I said I wanted you. I said nothing at all about liking you.”

end Snippet

Please enjoy sassy snippets from the following awesome authors:

Megan Hart:Read in bed!
Rhian Cahill
Jody Wallace
Eliza Gayle
Mandy M Roth
Mari Carr
McKenna Jeffries
Myla Jackson
Taige Crenshaw
Delilah Devlin
HelenKay Dimon
Lauren Dane
Leah Braemel
Shiloh Walker
TJ Michaels
Zoë Archer

Have a great weekend, y’all!

~lissa

Author Friday – A Little Thing We’re Not Supposed To Talk About…

Actually, there are a lot of things we’re not supposed to talk about. Bad reviews. Negativity. Failure. Money. Sales. Contracts. Publishers. Each other.

We also live in a society that believes in not speaking the truth to spare everyone’s feelings, being politically correct whether it’s right or not whether we agree or not, and where we don’t have to accept personal responsibility, especially for stupidity. We like to sue and we like to lay blame. We also teach our kids that there isn’t a winner or a loser because they’re all winners. Well, no they aren’t. There’s a winning team and a losing team. Just look at the scoreboard.

So what does this have to do with writing? Everything. Because most people will tell you that the most valuable lessons they’ve learned are from either losing, failing at something, hearing the bad along with the good, or being broken and having to pick themselves back up. I can’t disagree. If all you hear is praise, how do you handle the rejection when it comes, the loss when it happens, because I’m sorry, life isn’t all roses and eventually you’re going to experience some form of disappointment. It doesn’t always do it gently either. Most of the time, it kicks you in the ass or pulls a Gibbs and smacks you upside the head…

We all have expectations in this business, whether the writer, the editor, the publisher, the blogger, the reviewer, or the reader. And you know what? No one person can please all those different people. The pressure is daunting. We all make mistakes. We all have our own opinions. We all have our ideals and thoughts of how things should go, but they don’t often go the way we dreamed.

So, how does an author pick themselves up and dust themselves off when readers are vocal about disappointment, when reviewers say they like this book a little less than the last one, when editors send out that rejection, when publishers give you more WTF moments than you know what to do with, when everyone around you is succeeding and you seem to be floundering, or when you’re having a bad day because your characters won’t fucking get to the point and do what you want them to do?

I don’t know. I don’t know how others do it. The all-knowing ‘They’ say you’re supposed to have or develop a thick skin but if we shrug everything off, what have we learned? Nothing. At least I haven’t. And if there’s something I love, whether it’s painful or not, I love to learn. I can learn from my missteps and those unkind, hurtful words. I can learn from being heartbroken and cast aside. I can learn from tears. And I can change. Is it a change to please others? No. It’s a change to a different way of thought, a little more conscious effort. I can learn to get out of my own way. And that’s not a bad thing. Growth and change and learning. Sure, I’d like praise all the time, but I’m not going to get it. I’ve learned that lesson. But I keep trying. I keep trying and doing something different and learning and growing as an author. I may lose people along the way, but I may gain others. And those I lose, are probably not who I was aiming for in the first place. (this is something I am sort of learning in the book I’m currently reading ‘The Power of Unpopular‘)

Emotions are messy. Life is messy. I don’t write fluff and I don’t want to. I write wishy-washy characters because damn, that’s life and at some point we’re all going to be scared to take that chance. I write odd and aloof characters because damn, they exist. I have several friends who are odd and aloof and I adore them for it. I don’t want to write easy. I want to write what’s pulled from my gut and what’s painful. There will be people who don’t want to read that. That’s fine. It’s part of doing what we do. We can’t please everyone. It’s how we handle it that tells our strength, or so a friend of mine told me during a recent conversation about loss.(Thank you, Fallon.)

So maybe a thick, let it roll off the back skin works for most. It doesn’t work for me. It pisses me off, it hurts, it makes me growl and grump, and it makes me really think about what I’ve done and if I’d change it knowing what I know after… If I say no, I wouldn’t change it, then I know I’ve done something right, even if others don’t agree with me.

I read craft books. I read self-help books. I read happy books and books that come from people’s deepest, darkest souls. I learn and I grow and I change. I fix what I consider mistakes and I keep going on. I read blogs about how other authors deal with these same issues. I sometimes pour over them for hours. And in the end, we all have the same opinion. We’re all different and we’re all entitled to how we think, how we feel, how we deal… Will it make us better or make us worse?

At the same time, I’m also a reader. There are authors who write the same book day in and day out and only change the names of the characters, but are given the highest praise time and again. As a reader, that bores me and I have stopped reading some of my favorite authors because of that. Then, I have loved authors who left the initial genre they started in and I didn’t like the change in either voice or genre and stopped reading them (the new stuff at least. I always give it a try, though). Authors have had medical conditions which changed them and their writing was no longer the same and it saddened me that I could no longer read the books I loved from them because they weren’t going to be writing them anymore. It happens. Not only in writing but in acting. A favorite actor will no longer do drama or comedy or act at all. It happens in music and a favorite musician will go more country or more rock or go inspirational or just stop altogether.  Change happens and it’s not always what we as readers or watchers or listeners want.

I want books that make me feel something other than ‘that was a good book, but nothing I haven’t already read from her or him or them’.

Some things force change, force learning, force growth, and force us out of our comfort zones. Maybe most don’t think about this. Maybe most don’t want to because it’s sticky and messy…and not in the fun way. I do and eventually, I think it’ll make me a better writer. It’s part of how I do what I do…

~lissa

Guest Author: Shara Lanel – Read an eBook Week

So it’s Read an E-book Week, and, after all these years as a published e-book author, the average person actually knows what I’m talking about!

When my first novel, Enlightened Love, was released in 2004, I was by no means an e-publishing pioneer. Sony put out its first dedicated e-reader in 1992, but there were digital books before then (according to Wikipedia). This article on eHow cites the growing popularity of the Internet in the 90s as truly starting the spread of e-book popularity, but in 2004, 2005, 2006…I was still explaining to my hair dresser, dentist, doctors, and friends that an e-book was a digital version of a novel that you could read on your computer or certain electronic devices. The first device I had—a Palm Pilot—I bought just so I could show people what an e-book looked like. Got my mom to buy one also. But for half a decade the question I always got when I said I was a published author was: “Can I get your books in the bookstore?”

Now everyone has “Kindle” and “Nook” on the tips of their tongue. Amazon certainly took advantage of the growing use of the internet, so that now they’re capitalizing on it with the Kindle, with instant downloads of videos and music, and the gold standard online catalog for ordering paper books (and everything else now). And outside the dedicated e-reading devices, we now have Smartphones and tablets to read on, not to mention our lowly computer screens.

But every now and then I still hear a comment about loving the feel and smell of paper books. I do, too! It’s not a choose-one-or-the-other proposition. I’ve got an annotated Sherlock Holmes omnibus—it’s huge and heavy and hard to keep open to the right page. I’ve discovered that I like downloading the individual stories from Project Gutenberg for free and reading them on my Kobo. Many authors are now publishing their out-of-print books as e-books, but for the ones I can’t find, I’m hunting down the paper versions in used bookstores or at library sales. And I’m still rushing into Barnes & Noble searching for a brand new hardcover by an author I love and keeping the autographed copies that I have. I’m a bibliophile—you can’t keep me away from a good book in ANY format.

But a few months ago, for the first time, someone asked, “Are your books available for Kindle?” I was shocked. “Why, yes. Yes they are!” And many other e-formats, too. You can check out excerpts at www.SharaLanel.com.

Here’s a blurb and excerpt from my latest release…

BLAME IT ON THE NIGHT:

Human/werewolf relations were forbidden. Guy’s father had made that clear years ago, but Guy had come very close to disobeying with naïve, teenage Olivia. He’d barely kept his body under control, as he’d held her during her first shocking orgasm. Years later, on edge with anger, grief, and the pull of the moon, Guy knows she’s the last person he needs near him.

Olivia is overcome with humiliation at the mere thought of seeing Guy again, though he’s starred in all of her fantasies over the past several years, but she refuses to leave his doorstep until he answers her questions about her missing sister and the dead body found on his property. Problem is, he’s ordering her to leave while blocking the door, telling her to get lost while pinning her between his hard body and the table, saying he doesn’t know what he’s doing while his every touch takes Olivia closer to heaven.

Sometimes forbidden love is worth the risk, but sometimes it leads to revenge and murder.

Buy

Blame It on the Night Excerpt:

Olivia clapped her hands together. “So are you going to offer me coffee or a beer or something?”

Guy hopped up, but not to head to the kitchen. He pointed to the window. “Don’t you want to get back to town before this gets really bad?”

Olivia stood and, for a moment, thought he could be the murderer, but that made no sense. She knew Guy, or thought she did. He was a good man. “Jeez, not very hospitable, are you?”
“It’s just better if you leave.” His face had been hard when she’d arrived, like there was some unknown emotion scarring it, but it had loosened up as they talked. Now it had returned to granite.

Well, if she’d had any hope of a little fling with Guy while she was up here, that quelled the idea. Not that she’d had the idea. She’d been over her crush for years. She needed to find Amy, fix her problem, and catch the next plane south. No time for personal entanglements. It was just that since she’d seen Guy at the lumberyard, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. And her body…well, it seemed more alive than it had been in months. When she got back to Florida, she’d need to spend some time taking in the nightlife, put herself out there more so she could meet someone. It was her own fault that she spent so much time alone.

He’d opened the door and looked out, but now he was frowning. “Shit.”

“What?” She was still sock-footed, so he couldn’t push her out the door that fast. She followed his gaze and saw…gray, and she could only see that because of the powerful barn and house lights. “Shit.” It wasn’t that the snow had accumulated that much — probably an inch or two of fresh stuff — but the wind had picked up, blowing the devilish ice crystals everywhere.

“And you’re driving that low-to-the-ground rental car. Does it have winter tires on it, at least?” Normal New York conversation, but Guy’s eyes looked intense, like there was a more compelling reason for her to leave than the snow.

“Um, maybe?” she said to keep it light, but Guy’s knuckles were white from holding the door too tight, and his other hand shook as he brushed back his hair. A few stray flakes settled, then melted on his face, leaving tiny drops that Olivia wanted to lick off. Okay, where had that thought come from? She forced herself to look away. “Well, you’re right. I should head out. It’s not too deep yet, so I won’t have to worry about getting stuck in any drifts.”

Guy shut the heavy door against the cold and leaned back, shoving his hands in his pockets. His chest moved with his breath as if he’d just completed a long run. “I could drive you to town with the truck.” Not that he sounded happy with the idea.

Olivia shook her head. “No. Then I’ll be stuck without a car, and I want to keep looking for Amy.”

“I can pick you up in the morning to come get your car.”

“Once I get off your road, it won’t be that bad. Well plowed, I’m sure.” She reached for her still-damp sneakers and walked over to the half-log bench at the trestle table to put them on. She tried not to think about the deep ditches on either side of Guy’s unlit, narrow road.

“And you don’t even have boots.” His hand was out of his pocket and through his hair again, leaving odd little peaks that somehow made him look sexier.

“The car has a very nice heater.” She didn’t know why she was arguing with the truck idea. It was sensible. Maybe it was that he seemed so unwilling; she didn’t want to obligate him to come get her in the morning. Shoes on, she popped up, grabbed her coat, and walked to the door, which he still blocked with his large body. “Seriously, there’s not much on the ground if I leave now. No problem.”

He shook his head slowly, his jaw clamped, his eyes looking over her head instead of at her, his hands jammed in his pockets again. He certainly didn’t look like he was going to move.
Olivia took a step forward and reached for the door handle just below his elbow. She hoped ingrained manners would get him to move to the side. His hand flashed out and grabbed her forearm.

Jeez, maybe she should revisit the murderer idea.

“You have to leave.” His voice was like grinding stone.

She rolled her eyes as she looked down at his hand on her arm. “Then you have to move out of my way.”

“Leave, dammit.” But now he gripped her shoulders with both his hands to the point of pain, and something happened with his eyes.

Olivia blinked, and Guy’s eyes seemed normal again, but his thighs pressed against hers, making her stumble backward, toward the table. He didn’t loosen his grip, and Olivia abandoned her protest because of her sudden awareness of Guy’s muscular thighs, warm hands, and musky scent. Why was he saying one thing so passionately but doing the exact opposite, like his body was possessed? One minute his piercing gaze set her body on fire, the next he stared over her head as if he couldn’t look at her.

Find more of this excerpt HERE

~Shara

Feelin’ Lucky Giveaway Hop

Yes, yes, yes! We’re participating in another giveaway hop. Don’t y’all like how I always say ‘we’re’ most of the time instead of just ‘I’. I do. I like it to sound and be as though y’all are included because well, those of you who read this blog on a steady basis ARE included. All the time.

This hop is brought to us by I Smell Sheep (interesting name, huh?) and Fictional Candy! Please take some time and visit their sites…

So, for the next 7 days, hopefully some new readers and visitors are going to drop by, take a look around, give a comment or two, and maybe, just maybe a few of them will come back and join in regular like. 😉

In this hop, I am going to be giving away a cute tote bag that says “When I get a little money, I buy books; and if any is left over, I buy food and clothes.” The saying is by Erasmus and the sentiment is something all of us can probably relate to. Now, along with this tote bag, I’m going to be giving away a $20 gift card to Barnes and Noble or Amazon.com. Your choice, of course.

What do you have to do to enter? It’s simple really. Answer the following question by leaving a comment. I’d love it and it’d be really cool if you wanted ‘Like’ my Facebook page or sign up for my newsletter or follow my blog on Networked Blogs (all options are over on the side bar ——> ), but it’s not a requirement for this hop.

So, my question is… who was your teen idol? I started thinking about Davy Jones when he passed away last week and while the Monkees were already done by the time I knew who they were, I still loved them. I loved David Cassidy from the Partridge Family and loved Shawn Cassidy in the Hardy Boys. But those were when I was little. In my teens, my early teens I had a thing for Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran. I still have a thing for him, too. In my late teens, it was Richie Sambora and Nikki Sixx. I wasn’t much for the actors in my teens but the musicians… Who was yours?

I’ll pick the winner on March 14th…

Best of Luck to you all! And don’t forget to head off to the next blog…

~lissa

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