Thursday, January 31, 2008
My car wouldn't start this morning because it was so bloody cold out. I dinked around with it for twenty-five minutes, finally got it started and drove the boys to school on crappy roads. They weren't nearly as bad as yesterday, but they were still icy and yucky. It took me 50 minutes to make a 10 minute drive and the way home was worse.
I want sunshine...and new grass. Grape hyacinths and lilacs. Thunderstorms instead of blizzards. Sigh...today, we're under another winter weather advisory...translation - 6-12 inches of fresh snow. Grr Argh.
In other news...we have a winner from yesterday's contest at the Ellora's Cave chat loop. lrwirum wins a copy of one of my EC books - her choice. So lrwirum, please email me at email@example.com and let me know which book you'd like and in what format. Congratulations! And thank you to all of you who entered!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
“Gee, since you asked so nicely… No.”
“Becca…” The warning in his voice was unmistakable.
“I’m not getting in.” She looked over the vehicle in disgust. “Besides the fact that it’s got to be one of the least environmentally friendly vehicles on the road—”
He rolled his eyes but she continued.
“It’s also yours and you’ve got to be a complete fuck-wit if you think I’m going anywhere else with you. The field trip to the interrogation room was plenty, thanks.”
“Get in the damn truck.”
The commanding tone of his voice dampened her pussy in record time. How she was still able to get the hots for him after all he’d put her through today was mind-boggling. Maybe it was a stress response. Whatever it was, she needed to get home before she did something stupid and invite him back to finish what they’d started at Patrick’s wedding.
“Good night, detective,” she said as she turned away.
Grasping her wrist as she started to walk away, he tugged her back. “We’re not done.”
“If you’re not arresting me, then we’re done.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. This started two years ago and it’s nowhere near finished.” This was the first time he’d actually mentioned their dance floor indiscretion.
She stepped back as far as she could with him still holding on to her and another thought occurred to her. “At the wedding, were you using me to try to get information about the Donallys? Is that what this is about? You think maybe I’ll tell you something new about this case if you seduce it out of me?”
Her heart sank. She’d thought he’d actually been attracted to her. And like a moron, she’d thought maybe he still was. The truth really did hurt.
He shook his head. “This is about you and me, granola—not the case.”
She blinked at him. “Did you just call me granola?”
“Yep.” The smile she hadn’t seen for two years appeared briefly and she melted a little inside.
“There is no you and me,” she murmured. No matter how much she might wish for the opposite. Why did she still have to want him after all of this? How could she still want him?
He yanked her flush against his body and locked his arm around her waist. She took a breath only to feel her pebbled nipples rasp against his chest. He lowered his head to hers and she couldn’t convince herself to pull away. Would it be so bad to give in to the desire simmering between them?
“Granola?” she asked, staring at him.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re just like granola,” he murmured as he moved his lips along the line of her jaw. “A little salty.” He gently bit her earlobe and her hands convulsed on his shoulders. He took her mouth in a sweeping kiss, tasting every inch of her, his tongue toying with her piercing, before lifting his head. “And so sweet.”
Turning, he pinned her against the side of his SUV. The cool metal was a sharp contrast to the hot flesh of the man pressed against her body. She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her again. What a pushover she was, softening against him as soon as he kissed her. Her anger had evaporated or had at least turned to lust. Running her fingers through his dark, wet hair, she pulled him closer.
His big, rough hands stroked the bare skin of her back sending need rocketing through her. Rain soaked them making their skin slick and she fought the urge to strip his shirt from him right here on the street where anyone could see. Of course, it was pouring rain and they were mostly hidden by his vehicle and the buildings on either side of the alley but did she dare? She settled for sliding her hands up and under the wet fabric and exploring the taut muscles of his chest and back.
He groaned at her touch. “I’d forgotten how good you taste.”
He tugged at the strings of her halter top where it was secured around her neck.
“Jack…” She tried unsuccessfully to slap his hand away.
He held her motionless with those chocolate brown eyes—eyes that were no longer cold and distant. “I need more, Becca. I need to taste more of you.”
A fresh rush of moisture flooded her core at his words. When he looked at her like that, she needed him to taste more too. Lowering her hand she let him finish untying her top. Almost reverently, he bared her breasts to his eyes and the elements. Rain spattered her pebbled nipples as his heated gaze enveloped her.
He licked the moisture from her skin purposely avoiding her aching nipples. “Damn it, Jack! Don’t tease.”
Before she’d finished speaking he engulfed an aching peak in the scalding heat of his mouth, sucking hard. Clasping his head, she arched away from the truck keeping his mouth right where she wanted it. His lips tugged rhythmically at her breast and her womb pulsed needily in time with every glorious pull. Want cascaded through her body as she shuddered in his arms.
He groaned as he moved from one breast to the other. The sound was barely audible in the falling rain but the vibrations coursed through her body. At this rate, he’d have her coming with nothing more than his mouth on her nipples. He dragged his lips over her collarbone and nipped at it before continuing the climb along the column of her throat, back to her lips. The stubble on his face abraded her skin but she didn’t care. She wanted more.
As he kissed her, he bunched her skirt in his hands, dragging the fabric upward to bare her legs. This was no careful seduction, this was desperation pure and simple and Goddess did she understand that need. She fumbled with his belt, loosening it and yanking his zipper down and freeing the button at the waistband.
“You’d better have a condom, Jack.” She slid her hand inside his pants and wrapped her fingers around the thick, hot length of his cock.
He shuddered at her touch. “Jesus, Becca,” he breathed. He pulled her hand from his jeans and secured both of her wrists in his hand above her head. “Don’t,” he growled against her neck. “I’m too damn close.”
His rough voice scraped over her nerve endings and she took a shaky breath, inhaling the scent of warm male and cool rain.
“I don’t think you’re close enough,” she said, nipping at his lower lip before soothing it with her tongue.”
The rain fell faster running in rivulets over her bare skin as he ground his rock-hard cock against her mound. He took her mouth again as he slipped his free hand under her ass and lifted her, pulling her closer.
What was she doing? This was the man who refused to believe her. The one who’d hauled her down to the police station and questioned her for hours. He was also the man who’d haunted her dreams for the past two years. She couldn’t make herself push him away. Maybe this encounter with Jack was what she needed to move on with her life.
“More,” she demanded freeing her hands and shoving his shirt up.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
I got quite a bit of reader mail about this guy. I hope his story lives up to reader expectation.
Well, I'm off to help out in my youngest son's art class...so much to do...such poor use of time management skills.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
The mom of one of my son's friends committed suicide. I'm having trouble making sense of this myself, let alone trying to help Killian make sense of it. In the last five years, three people I know have made this particular choice, and all were parents with young kids.
As horrible as the first two deaths were, this woman's death seems worse. Maybe it's because she was around my age and we both have two boys. Maybe it's because the other two were men and not always around as far as parenting went. It might just be because I can't imagine doing something that would take me away from my kids like that.
This particular mom was very active in the school. She was funny, energetic, loved the kids and they all loved her, too. The funeral was yesterday. Most of my son's eighth grade class attended. I spend quite a bit of time at the school and know most of these kids pretty well. I can't tell you how hard it is to watch this group of 13 and 14 year olds dealing with this kind of grief and confusion. Most of the girls wept openly, but it was the boys that really got to me as they tried to be tough and keep from crying. It literally hurt my chest to watch the way they stood with hunched shoulders and hands shoved in their pockets, occasionally pulling them out to dash at their eyes with closed fists. The way they awkwardly hugged the boy who'd lost his mom was just as painful to watch.
I know it's impossible to protect kids from pain...and it's not even a good idea. God knows it's something that we all have to learn to deal with during the course of our lives, but sometimes I'd really like to shelter them. Hell, sometimes I'd like to shelter me...or the mom who felt like she had no other options.
In other slightly less depressing news, my kidneys...they still hate me. The infection is back. I get to go to the doctor's next week for an ultra sound of the rotten little buggers. yippee. On the plus side, I have an excuse for more of season six of Buffy. However, it seems kinda lame in spite of everything else.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The sculpted muscles of her arms and shoulders tightened with tension. She dropped her gaze, seeming unnerved by his apology. Defeat tugged at the corners of her mouth.
He cleared his throat. “Go ahead and tell me what happened.”
His pen hovered above the notepad. “Go ahead.”
She took a breath as if sucking in courage. “I lit some candles.”
He closed his eyes, haunted by the thought candle light shimmering on her damp breasts.
“Anyway, I kind of zoned out, just staring at the flames reflected in the water. And I saw it.” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard.
“I saw a man dragging a tall, blonde woman out of her house. She broke a glass pane in her front door as she was trying to hang on and cut herself.”
“I saw street signs as they traveled but then they got blurry. The van stopped in front of a white two story house. I got out of the tub and tried to call the police but my phone was dead.” She winced apologetically. “I always forget to put it on the charger. I threw on some clothes and ran down to the payphone outside of Sid’s Market.”
She shot to her feet. “I would never harm anyone. I certainly wouldn't torture a person and carve into her flesh.”
Bingo . He had her. “You didn't mention that little detail earlier.”
“I have no idea.”
He tried a different tack. “What did he look like?”
She shook her head helplessly. “I don't know. His features were blurred out like the street signs. It was as if he'd warded himself.”
Studying her, he rose. The corners of her mouth turned downward, and resignation dulled her eyes. Remorse pummeled him. What the hell was he feeling guilty about?
It didn't matter that this woman seemed fragile and lost. Defeated. He wasn't about to feel sorry for her. She'd just sat here and lied to him about one of the more brutal murders he'd ever seen.
She cleared her throat. “I'm guessing this is the part where you take me downtown.”
Monday, January 21, 2008
Six Random Things About Me
1. I have a large collection of Fairy Tales - well over 150 volumes.
2. I used to make a living making wedding dresses and veils and bridesmaid dresses. I'd also charged a "Bitch Fee" to the super haggy clients.
3. I loathe most board games.
4. I have five piercings in each ear.
5. I'm scared of clowns...and ventriloquist dummies. They're just disturbing and wrong, wrong wrong!
6. I'm addicted to vanilla flavored lip balm.
Here are the people I've tagged:
a) Anny Cook
b) Lora Darling
c) Amarinda Jones
d) Sandra Cox
e) Molly Daniels
f) Jacqueline Roth
The Rules: Link to the person who tagged you. Post the rules on your blog. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
Friday, January 18, 2008
It involves an Angel named Aziraphale, a Demon named Crowley, the Apocalypse, the misplaced Anti-Christ and the four Horsemen. The end of the world is coming and it’s freaking hilarious. This particular story not only made me laugh out loud in public places, but laugh uncontrollably.
Unfortunately, I don’t possess one of those delicate laughs – you know the kind – the one that always causes the hero in romances to smile in appreciation. Nope, I’ve got a full-on cackle that can be heard from a good half mile away. The kind that makes friends and family cringe. The kind that causes my son’s friends to say, “Dude…I can totally hear your mom from here.”
I also have the added bonus of crying if I’m laughing hard enough. I can’t tell you how many critique group nights have involved me flapping my hands, gasping for breath while laughing hysterically with tears streaming down my face.
This is the kind of laughter this book induced. I was nearing the end while in the reception area of a loan office waiting to refinance our mortgage a few years ago. I tried to be quiet – I really did, but it was just too funny. Especially the footnotes ala Douglas Adams.
I got a lot of dirty looks (most of them from my husband), but more questions about what I was reading. I like to think I sold a few more books for the authors. So Neil and Terry, you’re welcome.
I had the polar opposite experience while reading Elizabeth Berg’s Talk Before Sleep in a doctor’s office. Again, I was near the end and sobbing like a lunatic. I don’t what I expected – I mean, it’s Elizabeth Berg – of course it’s gonna be sad.
So I’m reading, trying to be all discrete while wiping away my tears and blowing my nose and I hear this little girl say:
“Daddy? Why dat yady cryin’?”
He glances up from his magazine and looks at me like I’m a freak and says, “I don’t know honey.”
So the little girl stares at me for a while and walks over and says, “Hey yady, why you cryin’?”
So I shut my book and say, “I’m reading this book and it’s very sad.”
She wrinkled up her nose and said, “Then why you reading it?”
Good question, kid. I said, “Well, my friend read it and really liked and told me I needed to read it, too.”
She stared at me for a minute, put her hands on her hips and said, “Your friend is mean!”
It should be noted that no one else in the waiting room wrote down the title or seemed to have any desire to read this one.
What about you guys? Have any works of fiction embarrassed you in public?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
In other news, I just received a review from Night Owl. I got 5/5 hearts for Solstice Seduction and was a reviewer Top Pick! The reviewer said:
Bronwyn Green is an exceptional writer she never ceases to amaze with her books. Bronwyn also teaches you little morals with her books sometimes they are hidden and sometimes they are right out in the open. She is a wonderful writer and this book is truly one for the keeper shelves.
The morals bit surprised me a little, but hey - I'm not complaining! Here's the link if you'd like to read the whole review. http://www.nightowlromance.com/nightowlromance/reviews/Review.asp?ReviewId=1136
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Here's the blurb from Mystic Circle...
When Becca stood up Jack for what promised to be the hottest one night stand of her life, she never expected to see him again. As the years have passed, he’s haunted her dreams and occasionally her psychic visions. After another vision reveals a kidnapping, she must go to the police. Instead of saving a life, she becomes the prime suspect.
Detective Jack Duritz, is investigating in a series of ritualistic murders. He never expected his investigation to lead him to the woman who’s starred in too many of his fantasies. Becca claims to be psychic, but he doesn’t believe a word of it. Soon, however, it becomes clear that Becca is the next victim and Jack is the only person who can protect her. He must keep her close, but he finds himself keeping her far closer than any investigation would require.
...and the excerpt
He breathed deeply, luxuriating in his increased power. The heady scent of death clung to his skin and clothes. He could still taste the life of the third offering on his lips. He retrieved the woman’s necklace from the shelf. Wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, he anointed her crucifix with her blood.
He’d chosen it because she’d worn it nearly all the time. It was filled with her energy. Ironic that the pendent symbolized new life from death. In the same way, his life, his abilities, had been augmented by spilling her blood. Her death brought him closer to perfection. Closer to that which he’d been denied.
It was a shame, really, that the other sacrifices he’d attempted while learning the method to soul absorption had been in vain. He hadn’t fully understood the key. Until now. This time around he’d had no trouble collecting the souls of his sacrifices. Reverently, he replaced the necklace around his neck with a bloodstained pentacle and crystal. Only two more to go.
In the meanwhile, he needed to revitalize the shields around his home. It wouldn’t do to be discovered before he’d made use of the fifth and final offering. A wry smile curved his lips. After that, it wouldn’t matter if he were exposed. There would be no one strong enough to stop him.
Dipping his finger in the wounds of his latest sacrifice, he retraced the protective symbols over his doors and windows with painstaking accuracy. Only one thing remained. Returning the body. Mother always said he should put things back where he found them.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
I expect my kids to do their chores.
I expect them to do their homework.
I expect them to throw their dirty clothes down the laundry chute.
I expect them to throw the food containers that they've emptied into the recycling bin so that come Monday morning, when I attempt to make lunches, I don't discover that there's NO LUNCH FOOD.
This is what happened this morning. Needless to say, I was pissed. Not surprised...just pissed. This discovery required a trip to 7-11 where I had the high point of my morning.
Cashier One: "That'll be $7.11."
Cashier Two: "Oohh...that's not a good sign."
Me: "It just means the apocalypse is coming today."
Cashier One: "We'll still be open."
I heart Cashier One...he makes me laugh.
In other news, I finally got my first review for Ronan's Grail!!!! I got four and a half lips from Two Lips reviews - here's what the reviewer had to say.
Torrid Tarot: Ronan’s Grail is a gripping and tender love story. Bronwyn Green does a magnificent job in creating this time travel quest. I loved Ronan; he was strong and confident but didn’t miss a beat when he was thrown into an unknown time. Morgan was a little headstrong but eventually allowed herself to feel. The passion between the two was heated and intense. This is a fantastic book.
Here's the rest of the review if you feel like checking it out.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
After a brutal Anti-Cleaver morning in which my youngest child gave me The Rage, I dragged my sorry ass to the doctor only to sit for an hour and forty-five minutes while they tried to reach my new insurance company to verify that I was indeed covered.
I'm taking solace in ginormous antibiotic pills, cranberry-pomegranate juice and season six of Buffy.
To answer Fred's question from yesterday, the urn-y thing with the figure bent over it is a sculpture of Cerridwen stirring her cauldron of inspiration - hubby got it for me for Mother's Day one year. I think it's pretty nifty too. Here's a closer view of the coolness.
Sorry for being a whiny hag. I'm hoping for an infinately better day tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
cleaned the Pit of Despair that is...nay...was my
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Oh, the children inside are frightful
And not a bit delightful
They're making me insane, oh
Make them go
Make them go
Make them go
Needless to say, they just laugh when I sing it. I've always made up little songs for them - particularly during tantrums. There was the ever popular "It Sucks to be You - Neener Neener Nu" and my personal favorite "Little Abby Get a Grip."
As some of you know, Abby is one of my daycare kids. She started here when she was two weeks old - she's nine now, and pretty darn fabulous but as an infant and toddler, she was a bloody screaming nightmare. This is the song that kept me from wanting to drop kick her down the stairs (too much anyway.) Her mom loved it so much she started singing it to her at home. The funniest thing was to listen to the other kids singing it to her while she was throwing a fit. It's sung to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Little Abby get a grip
Or I will put you on a ship
It will sail away very far
All the way to Zanzibar
Little Abby get a grip
Or you will take a very long trip
Ugh, I hear someone hollering my name...I'm feeling another song coming on.