Sneak Peek Sunday - Geriatric Rebel

“Who are you? Where do you think you’re taking me?” She glared at him with the lightest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that right now, he swore pierced into his.

 “You’re a burglar, aren’t you?” She tapped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you think for one minute, I’m going out that door with you, think again, buddy.”

Mike stifled a laugh, finding her amusing, obviously she didn’t trust him. Not that he blamed her, he did lie to her, and she didn’t know him from Adam. What did he expect?

“What were you doing in that room, buster, and if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m going to scream for help.”

“Okay, okay, quiet down.”  Hell, she meant business. “I was following you.” He tried to sound serious, but he couldn’t. He found the whole situation humorous. “My name is Mike Powell, room 110, but I don’t belong in this home.” He held out his hand toward her.

“Yeah, none of us belong here,” she scoffed. “Why were you following me?”

Available from: Amazon

A Few Lines From, Hazel Statham's His Shadowed Heart

I'd like to share a few lines from my Regency Romance, His Shadowed heart, with you all.  First of all, here is a brief blurb:

Can a shadowed heart be healed? Can love grow where least expected? The Earl of Waverly believes not. How wrong can he be! 

     After the death of his wife, the Earl of Waverly, believing his heart irreparably damaged, enters into a marriage of convenience. However, he is not prepared for the healing influence his new young bride has on his life. 

     Despite the couple’s new-found happiness, nefarious deeds abound and strange happenings are attributed to the ghost of his former wife. Will their love stand the test or will the perpetrator emerge the victor? 

Now a short excerpt

Leaving the club, a carriage was called to convey him to Waverly House, only the unnatural brilliance to his eye proclaiming his slight state of inebriation and leaning well back into the corner he closed his eyes until he felt the equipage halt at his door. Immediately the door opened, the light streamed across the pavement and he gained access to the brightly lit hallway, the porter bowing at his entrance.

Taking a branch of candles that had been prepared for his use from the small table set at the base of the staircase, he started up the stairs, finding it necessary to make light use of the rosewood banister to steady his progress.

Traversing the long corridor to his bedchamber, he paused momentarily outside his wife’s door, but as no light shone from beneath, he continued on to his own apartment. Closing the door quietly behind him he paused in the center of the room. All was in darkness except for the pool of light cast by the candles he held and for a moment, their flickering caught the handle to the connecting door. Yielding to an irresistible temptation, he pressed the handle, and finding no resistance there, entered the chamber.

As in his own room, all was in darkness, but turning to where he knew the bed to be he raised the candles higher so that their glow spread across the room, illuminating the sleeping figure there. Crossing to the bed, he knelt at her side and extinguishing all but one of the flames, placed the candelabra on a small table at the side of the bed

The shadows of the remaining light played across Caroline’s sleeping countenance and he smoothed a lock of hair that had strayed across her forehead. He knew the desire that his lips should follow his finger’s course, but even in his state of inebriation, he knew this would be foolish. 

For several minutes, he watched his wife sleep, eventually placing his head upon the pillow beside her. His lips curved into a loving smile as his eyes drank in her sleep-softened countenance and he felt her breath caress his cheek. The longing to hold her became an almost physical thing and his arms ached with the suppressed desire.

 Eventually she stirred, muttering incoherently in her sleep, and he raised himself up. What foolishness is this, he thought. I am acting like a callow youth,and immediately he was on his feet. Snatching up the light, he went quickly out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Available from: Amazon   or Amazon UK
Smashwords

Sneak Peak Sunday

Designed for Love

 “What the hell?” My carry-on bag slid across the floor and slammed into the wall. My feet slipped out from under me, I landed flat on my back, and someone fell on top of me, pinning me to the floor. The breath knocked out of me, I lay still a moment.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I finally caught my breath and pushed him off. “Everyone’s always in such a big hurry.”

“Why’d you slow down? You darned near stopped in front of me.” He stood up, brushed himself off and held out his hand to help me up. “Sorry.”

I knocked his hand away, got to my knees and stood. I didn't need his help. Not his or anyone else’s for that matter. What I needed was to find my bag and get on to my gate.

“Look, I’m sorry. It was entirely my fault. I shouldn't have been in such a hurry.” He held his hand out to me again, but I ignored it. “Here, let me get that for you.” He hurried to pick up my bag, but I grabbed it first.

“Look, Mister, I have a plane to catch, so excuse me if I don’t have time to chat.” I straightened up my bag, grabbed the handle and started toward my gate. Good looking in a rustic sort of way, I had to admit. Probably worked outdoors or at least spent a lot of time outside. Not that it made any difference. I didn't have time for him. Or any man for that matter. I had a career to build, and men didn't figure into it. 

Available from: Books We Love Publishing

A Few Lines from China Blue by Kat Attalla

He knocked on the door and waited. The air rumbled with a distant thunder. In the past decade, he had thought about her many times: The sad young girl with the magnificent eyes. So he wasn't prepared for the woman who opened the door. Her eyes were that same bright blue, but the rest of her bore little resemblance to the skinny teenager in that hospital bed. Her hair had grown back and fell below her shoulders in thick black waves. Denim jeans molded long legs and a fitted tee shirt revealed a hint of cleavage at the scoop neck. But her most striking feature was the rifle cradled in her arms.

At eight p.m., he drove to the camp. The dark skies overhead made it seem later than dusk. Just to make sure he covered his bases, he ran his Jeep off the road in a ravine deep enough to need a tow-truck to get out. By the time he reached her Craftsman house, he was soaked to the skin. Damn! He never thought a summer rain could be so freaking cold. A woman who fed the squirrels and birds would not turn her back on a stranded motorist. Would she? 

Please stop back next week for a few lines from Hazel Statham.

Sneak Peak From My Work In Progress All in the Family

      “What the hell are you doing on the floor to begin with?”

      “I fell. What does it look like?” Aunt Beatrice Lulu took the hand Gram offered.

      “I can see that. But what happened?”

      At that moment, Aunt Beatrice Lulu spotted Callie. Oh boy, here it came. Her nasally voice grated on Callie’s nerves. Okay, it wasn’t her fault, adenoids or something caused it, but it was still annoying. Sometimes Callie thought her aunt exaggerated it. Maybe she didn’t, but right now it sounded worse than usual, and Callie wasn’t in the mood to listen to her, even if she sounded normal.

Why couldn’t everyone just let her live her life? What made them think they could tell her what to do? Aunt Beatrice Lulu wasn’t the only one. Oh no, Callie’s mother, her sister, heck even Jim Landry weighed in on what she should do with her life or what man she should meet. Everyone was always setting her up with blind dates.

       Beatrice Lulu. What kind of name was that anyway? And don’t anyone dare shorten it to Aunt Bea or Aunt Beatrice. Oh, no. It had to be the whole name, or everyone would catch what for.

Callie remembered when she was little-she called her Aunt Bea once. Wasn’t that what Opie Taylor on Andy Griffith reruns called his aunt? Callie thought it was cute. Lord above, you’d of thought she’d put a curse on her aunt or something. She thought she’d never hear the end of it.

      That woman ranted and raved for almost an hour about how her name was Beatrice Lulu, not Bea, not Beatrice. It was the name she was born with, the name she was christened, and the name she’d die with. It’s the name she expected people to use. Obviously she was proud of her name, but did she have to go on so? Callie never made that mistake again. No, ma’am. From then on she used her whole name and so did everyone else. All except Uncle Ed, that is.

A Few Lines from Juliet Waldron's Nightengale

              "The day will come when I shall relinquish you to whatever fate devises," he replied evenly, as if this, too, was an outcome he would control.  "But, Klara, haven't your teachers explained that words should be chosen precisely?  You are not my slave.  A more perfect metaphor would be that of a little brown nightingale kept in a fine and luxurious cage for her own good."

  "By the Blessed Mother, I shall not be your slave forever.  I swear it!" 

              Max stopped at the door, one powerful hand resting on the high latch, gazing back at her.

              "Your pet!"

              "My sweet, sweet songbird." Tenderness, for the first time in this encounter, entered his voice.  "My beautiful and wonderfully talented Nightingale."

              As she began to weep, he'd said, "Now listen to me, Maria Klara and listen well!  I charge you to always remember, I am the one who holds the key to your cage."

http://julietwaldron.com/nightingale/index.htm

and/or

 http://bookswelove.net/julietwaldron.php

Coming next week, a few lines from author Kat Attalla.

Ring Around the Rosy

I'm excited to be a part of this weeks' Sneak Peek Sunday. Here are six paragraphs from my newest release,

Something new - Sneak Peak Sunday. Here's my six paragraphs from Ring Around the Rosy, available from: Amazon

Suddenly her hand came up and made contact with his face as if it had a mind of its own. Horrified, she pulled it back. Oh God, she just hit a cop. “I’m sorry. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She wanted to reach up and wipe the slap away, caress his cheek.

“I could arrest you for that, you know.”

“I really am sorry. I’ve never slapped anyone in my life, even when they deserved it.”

“So you think I deserved it?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” Shoot, she didn’t know what she meant. “Look, I’m sorry, honest. I don’t know what came over me. This whole thing has me crazy.”

Detective Morgan nodded. “Anything else you remember, you give me a call.” He ignored her apology and wrote something in his notebook. “Oh, and if he contacts you again, I want to know about it immediately. Understand?” He handed her his card. 

A Few Lines From: Shirley Martin's Wolf Magic

This scene takes place after the heroine has been jailed for stealing.

 

He reached her cell and–
Annwn?
Shock rendered him speechless, his throat dry. His heart pounded wildly.
Sitting on the floor, she held her shift in clawed hands, her arms and legs covered with fur. Her face red with shame, she turned away from him. He heard her sobs, saw her trembling.
This is Annwn?
He clenched his hands, fighting for control. Helpless to do anything, he could only stare. He discarded his shock; his heart turned over with love and pity for her.

 

http://bookswelove.net/martin.php

www.shirleymartinauthor.com

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Juliet Waldron is next on July 16