Tuesday, 26 August 2014

True Love's First Kiss

Welcome to this week's installment of Romance Writers Weekly. I hope you are stopping by from Leslie Hachtel's blog at http://lesliehachtelwriter.wordpress.com. If so fabulous. If not, welcome. Come in sit a spell and enjoy a story of love's first kiss.

Okay, I have to admit that my first kiss was a long time ago. A very very long time ago. It was with the creepy brother of the creepy guy my sister was dating and it was brutally awful. I shudder to think about it. And not in a good way! Therefore, I am not sharing that story, instead, I am using one from a work in progress.

I met him a long time ago. I knew from the first time I saw him that he was special and that he would become very important to me. We met through mutual friends and had hung out with the group a few times. Last week he took me to dinner and a movie. The food was delicious, and our conversation flowed like we had known each other for years. He's so easy to talk to. He didn't kiss me goodnight, and I was a little, no, a lot disappointed. I wanted him to kiss me, but I didn't have the guts to initiate it myself. I let him walk away and I hated myself for being too shy to kiss him. God, sometimes I'm useless like that.

But he called me when he got home. "Hey Kiddo," he greeted me. "I just wanted to say thanks for a great evening. I really enjoyed being with you. But,"

My heart fell, here it came, the big drop. He's going to dump me. Social skills and self-confidence had never been big items in my bag of tricks. "But," I whispered.

"But I have to warn you that next time you aren't going to get off so easily. There WILL be a goodnight kiss next time. It was all I could do to keep my hands and lips off you," he said huskily. The soft caress of his voice sent shivers down my spine. "I'm going to kiss you until your knees go weak and you grab my shoulders to keep from falling. I'm going to devour your soft, delicious lips until I have memorized your sweet taste and you never want to kiss another man."

"Oh," I whispered, stunned and aroused by his words.

"Let me buy you lunch tomorrow. Stop by the office around one. Good night, sweet lady. Sweet dreams," he said quietly and disconnected, without waiting to hear if I had other plans.

Part of me resisted his forcefulness, but most of me was thrilled that he wanted to see me again and so soon. I did a little happy dance, and I confess I went to see him the next day.

He met me with a warm smile. Pleasure filled his soft golden brown eyes. He seemed happy to see me, and his approval made be a bit giddy. He offered me a tour of the office and showed me around. He led me into his private office and closed the door. "This is my space," he said. "I spent most of the day here and some days it bores the hell out of me."

He took a small step towards me his hand raised slowly and he traced one finger down my cheek. "I'm glad you came," he said softly. "I didn't think you would."

I had no words. Something about him, his nearness, the scent of his aftershave, the hunger in his eyes left me speechless. I felt frozen, hot. I wanted to kiss him.

"I can't wait any longer," he said and his hand slid around and cupped the back of my neck. His long fingers spanned my neck and nudged into my hair. Slowly, he moved towards me, his hips bumping mine. His arousal pressed up against me.

Geez, he was hard already. Hard and long and I felt my insides melt and my arousal bloomed. His readiness moved me, but it scared me a bit too. He had a bit of a reputation as a ladies man. I took a small step backwards and bumped into the door.

"Don't be afraid," he said, looking me in the eye. "I won't hurt you. But I need to kiss you. Jesus, I've needed to kiss you from the first time I saw you. I've waited almost a year for this."

I searched his eyes. I found nothing but kindness, longing and arousal. My eyes drifted shut. Did I want this? So soon. We had only had one official date.

"I'm going to kiss you," he said. "Open your eyes. I want you to know who you're kissing."
"Shouldn't that be my line?" I quipped nervously.

He looked down at me, his gaze lingering on my mouth where I chewed my lip.

"So, my reputation precedes me," he chuckled. "Don't believe everything you hear. I don't date much. And I don't sleep around." He placed his hand on the curve of my hip, his fingers caressing me softly.

"That's not what I heard," I managed to blurt out. "Lots of women talk about you ..." I trailed off. I didn't want to talk about him and another woman. I hated the thought of him kissing anyone else.

"The truth is that a lot of women come onto me," he said with a shrug. "I don't take them up on it. I don't sleep around. I haven't been with another woman since I met you." He glanced away and then back at me, a hint of red coloring his cheeks.

"You want me to believe that? With your reputation?" I whispered, pushing the words past the lump in my throat.

“Sweetheart, I took one look at you and every other woman disappeared."

Deep inside I knew that his slick words were an integral part of him. He was a charmer. Women loved him, men liked him. He was warm, outgoing, friendly, and panty wettingly delicious. But I didn't believe for a minute that he was even remotely celibate. But I still wanted him. Not because he was attractive, but because of who he was inside. He was kind, generous, giving, and more. He spoke to something deep inside of me. That was why I showed up at his office, because I couldn’t stay away.
He edged forward another inch, his hard, hot body pressing up against mine, pinning me to the door, daring me to try and escape.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he warned. “I’m going to kiss you now. This is your last chance to stop me.” He trailed one finger along my hairline, traced the curve of my ear and slid down the length of my neck. Heat burned where he touched and he scalded his way to the top button of my blouse. I sucked in a breath and licked my suddenly dry lips
“Don’t do that,” he growled and brushed his lips lightly across mine.

I melted like a pat of butter in a pan. Heat rushed through me, my knees went weak and desire pooled between my thighs. No man had ever turned me on like this. Ever. And certainly not with just a kiss.
My hands crept up, wrapping around his neck, burrowing in his hair. I pulled his closer. God, he tasted divine, like mint and coffee. He smelled of citrus aftershave and masculinity. I breathed deeply, memorizing his scent. 

His tongue traced the line of my lips, asked for entry. I let him in, our tongues danced. My hands flew everywhere, following the lines of his muscles, feeling the iron of his biceps, clutching the curve of his ass and delving, just a little, under the waistband of his dress pants.

He explored my curves, cupping my breast and squeezing one nipple lightly. I groaned.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Someone will hear you.”

Suddenly, reality was back. I was in his office for Christ’s sake. Anyone could walk in and catch us. God, the idea thrilled me. I shouldn’t want to get caught, it could ruin him professionally, but the idea titillated me all the same.

I dropped my forehead to his chest. Heat bloomed in my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I kind of got carried away.”

A low rumbled of laugher passed through his chest and tickled my ear. “Never apologize for your passion. It is your zest for life and passion for living that drew me to you in the first place. He nuzzled the side of my neck. “Never ever apologize for your responses.”

His mouth crept lower, his lips leaving a hot damp trail down my neck towards the curve of my breasts; I sighed and pressed hungrily against him. Damn, I wanted, needed, more.


Hope that kiss wets your whistle. Swing by and visit  Xio Axelrod http://www.xioaxelrod.com  for another view of a kiss.

(Just as a note, this blog hop usually goes live at two eastern. So if the links don't get you where you want to go, please, please, please pop on back and try again. This group of authors has a lot of good things to share.)

Tuesday, 19 August 2014

Ever Been Flashed?

This was supposed to be part of Romance Weekly's blog hop.
But alas, I am an idiot and messed up when I signed up for this week's hop.
So, since I wrote this, I'll post it anyway. Operating on the 'let no good work go unappreciated' theme.

Welcome to yet another edition of Romance Weekly ... where old, new and upcoming romance writers get together for a blog hop and to share some fun and games.

Today's topic comes to us from Susan Peterson Wisnewski. It is a new concept – this week we’re going to write a piece of flash fiction using three words – candle, chocolate and scarf, let’s try to keep it to about 100 – 150 words. I topped out at 167 words. Not bad, typically I write longer than I should, and end up paring things down to the essentials.

Here is the un-edited version that I wrote: Which incidentally turned into a much longer piece of fiction. This one short scene developed into a short story and will probably become a novella.

“Stand here,” he whispered in her ear. Shivers danced down Amy’s spine. 

What was he doing? Why the sexy cloak and dagger routine? Sure, it was their anniversary, but a silk scarf blindfold? Complete and utter darkness wrapped her in its cocoon. Her hearing intensified, and she heard him take a few steps, his tread almost soundless. She heard a match flare and smelled burning sulphur and then a hint of wax. 

A candle? Her body quivered with a flare of desire.

Anticipation made her shift restlessly on her stilettos. Jewel encrusted, black leather sunk deeply into what felt like carpet. Where had he taken her? Their floor at home was hardwood. 

“One more minute, love,” he said softly, his words a caress.

Something rustled. Foil? She heard a soft thunk and after a moment the rich aroma of melting chocolate tickled across her nose. She licked her lips in anticipation. She adored it when he brought food into their games. God, he knew her so well.


Tuesday, 5 August 2014

Stalkeratzi: The Pitfalls of Being Famous

Being an authors has its perks ... or so I hear. You no, hoards of fans and millions of dollars.

So far:
I'm not famous.
I'm not rich.
I haven't been asked to share my writing secrets.
I don't have hoards of squeeling fans.

On the plus side:
I have been asked for an autograph.
I have gotten fan mail.
I do have followers on social media sites.

But most importantly .......................... I have acquired a stalker.

Yes it is true.

I have an amazing family. We’re quirky, weird, fun, and flaky. We are fabulous story-tellers and just a bit nuts. We fight like cats and dogs, but don’t say anything bad about one of us or we’ll kick your sorry ass. Nobody, but nobody has the right to say nasty things about my family (except me.)
Last month we had a small gathering. We got together to celebrate the life of our recently departed father. Dad died a couple months ago and didn’t want a memorial service of any kind, but we needed closure. So, being who we are, we modified his wishes.
In the middle of everything, we broke out a case of my most recent novel (at my Mother's request) and I had a grand time signing autographs. The first time someone asked for my autograph, I thought they were nuts. I’m just a nobody who likes to make up stories. Now, a couple years later, I kind of get a kick out of inventing funny things to write when I sign my alias on those front pages.

Keep in mind that most of the attendees were true family, but about half a dozen were hangers on. You know those people who come into your life, make their presence known and never leave. Somehow, they just end up being part of the family. Every family has them, and ours is no exception. Who knew that one of those add-in-family members would be a stalker?

Mostly, the gathering was all fun and games and good memories …. but there were moments when it got weird

I was headed outside to chase after my granddaughter when a familiar face appeared in the doorway. She walked right up to me, gave me a hug and said. “You’ve got a hair hanging there.” She waved towards my face. “In your eyes. Is it bugging you?” She asked.

I said, “No, is it bugging you?”Obviously it was, because she reached out and gently moved it aside and seemed relieved when it was back where it belonged.

I said “I didn’t expect to see you here.” As far as I knew she wasn’t on the guest list.

“I’m stalking you,” she said. “After all, you are famous now.” I nearly shit myself laughing at her.

“I’m serious,” she said. “I have all your books. I’ve been a fan since the first one.”

Now, I’m speechless, and if you know me well, you know that doesn’t happen often. I stood there staring at her, gaping like a fish out of water. I didn’t know if I should be thrilled or creeped out. Eventually, I broke away from her and visited with other people.

But wouldn’t you know it, she showed up at Mom’s house afterwards. She said she followed me there. And here I thought I had taken a circuitous enough route to throw her off. Fat lot I know. She hung around, drank our booze, ate our food, snapped some pictures of me, hugged me a couple times and generally made a nuisance of herself. At one point I actually had to threaten her with a restraining order!

Seriously creepy I tell ya. CREEEEEEPY! Damned stalkeratzi anyway! Pictures will likely end up on a porn sight. (Love you anyway, Tamara.)

Okay, so I don't really have a stalker, just a good friend and adopted sister who has an amazing sense of humor.