Finished my second book last week, so have a sample of RUINED (which is getting a new title, but it’s not quite official yet). In which the hero is helping the heroine out of her wet clothing. Rainstorms in England can be so inconvenient (or not, depending on your point of view), and sodden stay lacing is the worst: His breath feathered along her neck, rhythmic little wafts of warm air that increased in tempo as he worked. Something deep inside clenched at the realization. He was reacting. He wanted just as badly. Perhaps needed… Any moment now, he might give into the temptation and press his lips to the pulse that fluttered just beneath her ear.
Tag Archives: six sentence sunday
A couple of years ago, I made up a character who ended up playing the villain in my WIP. He was a 16-year-old boy and he was surly and lazy and irresponsible, and he blamed all his problems on his older sister. He was fine with playing the villain, but after I wrote that story he wouldn’t leave me alone. He nagged me until I gave in and wrote a story in which I redeemed him. In THE EXILE, he’s gone off into the Kentucky wilderness to live away from civilization, under the notion he’s unfit for human society. So when he gets himself in a situation where he’s obligated to marry his heroine at gunpoint, he does so. And then he spends a great deal of the story fighting his attraction to her. And she, of course, doesn’t put…
In honor of Mother’s Day, how about a little mothering from A MOST SCANDALOUS PROPOSAL? Although the mother in question may not be the best example. Julia sat on the bed, rubbed what would likely show in the morning as five oval bruises, and took the tongue-lashing as her due, but all the while, she waited for Mama to pause for air. In no time, she lost count how often Mama pronounced the words “scandal,” “ruined,” “shameful,” and “utter, arrant catastrophe.” At one point, she uttered something that sounded suspiciously like a question. “Do you realize how hard I’ve worked toward this end, only to have you throw it away?” Julia didn’t bother with a reply. No excuse was possible, and at any rate, Mama didn’t stop long enough to allow a response.
I asked my followers on Twitter if they wanted something steamy this week. One of them voted, so you’re getting steamy. This is from RUINED. Under the cut:
Scheduling this one far in advance, because I’m flying home from Chicago and the Spring Fling conference today. So if, by chance, there’s some kind of glitch, you’ll know what happened. This is a random six sentences my brain conjured while I was waking up the other morning. Somehow I managed to retain them and wrote them down. I don’t know if they’ll actually fit anywhere. As Isabelle Marshall, she had known dandies, men who spent hours deciding which topcoat went with which pantaloons, men who drove their valets to distraction until their cravats were tied just so. Narcissists. Men whose best friend was the mirror. Men who were just as shallow and flat as that best friend. Something about Upperton struck her as different. With him, the emphasis on appearance was mere façade.