As promised, an excerpt...

...from my soon to be released story, Body of Art from Resplendence Publishing.



“Actually, I don’t think you were avoiding the conversation as much as you were avoiding what I was about to do.”

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and she kicked the wheel faster. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Seth.”

“I like the way you say my name,” he murmured as he stepped closer to her.

Her eyes widened in alarm, but she didn’t say anything.

Sliding his hands into her hair, he angled her face upward. “And I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She shook her head, frantic little movements between his hands. Leaning closer, his lips skimmed her cheek as they coasted toward her ear. A shiver worked through her body and her foot slipped from the pedal.

“You knew I was about to kiss you earlier…and you wanted me to.”

A squeak that might have been the word ‘no’ escaped her lips. Her breathing quickened and she held herself so tightly she trembled. “I think you’re mistaken,” she choked out.

“If I’m mistaken about that, am I also mistaken about the way your nipples tightened when you were posing for me?”

“It was cold in there.”

“I didn’t know being chilly was a turn on,” he whispered against her ear.

“What are you on about now?” she demanded, her voice breathy, nervous.

“I’m sure no one else noticed, but I could smell your arousal. That leads me to believe you either have an exhibitionist streak, or…you want me as badly as I want you.”

She gasped, the sound sharp against his ear. The clay she’d been spinning slid off the wheel to thump loudly against the side of the tub that housed the wheel.

Still holding her head between his palms, he pulled back and glanced down at her. “Judging from the way your nipples are knotting against your shirt right now, I think it’s the latter.”

“No,” she mouthed, shaking her head, but no sound came out.

Holding her gaze, he lowered his head until his lips hovered just above hers.

“Seth, I don’t think—”

“Good. Don’t think.” He captured the velvet sweetness of her mouth as she stiffened in his embrace. Gently, he nipped and suckled until she opened beneath the pressure of his lips and he deepened the kiss, tasting her fully. Mixed with the tanginess of the pizza and the sweetness of the Coke, he tasted something uniquely Callie—delicious and addicting.

As if she was moving in slow motion, she began to respond, her lips sliding against his, parting further to accommodate the gentle probing of his tongue. The last thing he wanted with her was gentleness, but he also didn’t want to scare her away. As it was, she still held herself rigidly in his embrace. She was strung so taut, it seemed like she might shatter at any moment.

Keeping one hand anchored in the silk of her hair, and sliding the other down her back to rest at her waist, he urged her closer. It wasn’t close enough. He pulled her flush against his body, flush against his aching cock. Her body jerked against his in response and she released a shuddering sigh into his mouth, suddenly melting against him. Her hands grasped his forearms, splotching his skin with cold, wet clay as she dug her fingers into his flesh.

“Doctor Sulli—Um…yeah…I’ll just come back later.”

The words registered in the back of Seth’s brain, as Callie flew from his arms, stumbling backward into the base of the standing wheel.

He glanced toward the door, but whoever had been there was long gone. So was Callie. She’d already darted across the room and busied herself scrubbing the clay from her hands. Returning to his side with a wet washcloth, she studiously avoided his gaze she handed it to him.

“Sorry about getting you dirty,” she muttered before attempting to retreat to the far side of the room again.”

He grabbed her arm, forcing her to stay. “S’okay. I don’t mind.”

She did meet his eyes then.

He shrugged. “I’m not proud, Callie. I’ll take your touch any way I can get it.” He’d meant to comfort her, but as he spoke, he realized the words were true. He had it bad for this woman, and every moment spent in her company made it worse. She pushed her glasses up on her nose, watching silently as he wiped the clay residue from his skin.

“Students will be here any minute. Why don’t I show you where to change?” Her withdrawal was tangible. She might as well have slammed a door in his face…and dragged heavy furniture in front of it to barricade his way.

“Don’t you think we should maybe talk?” he asked.

“Nope.” Skirting five large kilns and two smaller ones, she unlocked a heavy wood door and propped it open with a cinder block doorstop. “We don’t have a proper dressing room in here, but the storage room locks and there are several robes hanging on a hook on the back of the door.”

She didn’t want to talk? That was fine, but before the night was over she was damn well going to feel. Placing the wet rag in her hand as he crossed the room to enter the storage room, he looked her in the eye. “Start thinking about how you want me.”

Mystic Circle - Exercpt and Picture Pages

I'm pretty geeked. I just found out that my upcoming

release is FLE free. No final line edits except for a couple

commas that needed to be extracted as I like commas far more than the publishing industry. I also got my author copies this morning too - woohoo.

In celebration of lack 'o fles, I'm posting the picture pages for Mystic Circle and an excerpt. These are some of my earlier pages and I'm less fond of them than I am some of the later ones...particlarly Jack's page, but oh well. I'm not about to re-do them.

~Excerpt from Mystic Circle ~

“Look,” she cut him off. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Then, I imagine you’ll invite me downtown.” She held his gaze, her voice steady. “Let’s just skip the part where you’re a jerk.”

“Okay, witchypoo. Do your thing. Cast your spell and tell me what I need to know.” God, he was a bastard today. Who was he kidding? Today wasn’t any different.

She narrowed her eyes. “Antagonistic. Let’s skip that part too.”

"Sorry,” he murmured, almost contrite.

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.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” she began. “So I ran a bath.”

He tried to force the image of her lying back in a tub, droplets of water beaded on her breasts from his mind.

Absently fiddling with a silver locket that dangled between her breasts, she glanced at him quizzically—as if she knew his thoughts. Yeah, right.

“I know you’re going to think I’m crazy,” she blurted. “But I’m telling you the truth.”
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.

He waited for her to continue. Unless she said she saw the abduction of Sharon Delong through her bathroom window, she was lying.

“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.”

The coroner had pulled tiny shards of glass from the victim’s right hand. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, warding off the tickle of unease that crept over his skin.

“He tied her hands and put a black cloth over her head. Then he shoved her in a van.”

Jack glanced at Becca. Her eyes were closed and tears seeped down her cheeks. A pang of regret prodded him but he fought the stupid urge to comfort her.

“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.”

“That's your story?”

Her eyes flew open and she pinned him with her shiny gaze. “It's the truth.”

He shook his head. “The only way you could possibly have these details is if you participated.”

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 saw it while I was waiting for someone to pick up the phone. I saw her tied to a table and…and then he cut her.”

“Who is he?” Jack asked.

“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.”

“Warded.”

“It's the metaphysical equivalent of being in disguise. I think he shielded himself somehow.”

“With a magic spell?” Jack couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice.

Becca looked away, her lips compressed as if she refused to say anything else. She slung a huge patchwork bag over her shoulder and pushed her feet into a pair of sandals near the desk.
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.”

No question about that. He just needed to figure out how he wanted to play this. Be her friend, stop and get her some coffee, coax her into confiding in him? Or scare it out of her?

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, in an attempt to stave off the throbbing behind his eyes. He didn't have the patience to play nice. The scent of spilled blood still lingered in his nostrils, and the victim's expression of unmitigated terror was seared onto his brain.

Becca stared at him expectantly, then turned around. She placed her wrists together behind her back, offering herself to him. Her shoulders straightened as she awaited her fate. She looked like Goddamn Joan of Arc headed for the stake.

Guilt sucker-punched him for the second time that morning. “You’ll need to leave your purse.”

She let it slip to the floor and resumed her position. Cursing inwardly, he circled a slender wrist with his fingers. Her skin slid softly beneath his roughened hand and he paused. She met his gaze. Hope flared in those dove gray eyes. Even when the cold clank of the handcuffs crushed it, she refused to look away from him.

Excerpt and Contesty Goodness

Have you started collecting answers for the contest, yet? Well, on that off chance that you haven't heard about the 12 Days of Romance contest, let me sum up:

Do you want to win some fantastic holiday reading? If so come celebrate the Twelve days of Romance with 12 authors from Ellora's Cave, Wild Rose Press, Total-E-Bound and Cerridwen Press. Each day beginning December 8th and running through December 19th one of the twelve authors will tell what their "True love gave to them" on either their blog or website.Collect all twelve answers and e-mail them to mailto:anny@annycook.com with 12 days of Romance in the subject line to win some great books.

Deadlinefor answers is December 21st at midnight EST.There will be three lucky winners. The prizes –1st prize--6 books 2nd prize--4 books 3rd prize--2 books. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.

Anny Cook Winter Hearts

Sandra Cox Boji Stones

Bronwyn Green Ronan’s Grail

Heather Hiestand Cards Never Lie

Barbara Huffert Deal of a Lifetime

Amarinda Jones Mad About Mirabelle

Kelly Kirch Time for Love

Cindy Spencer Pape Cowboy’s Christmas Bride

Brynn Paulin Fallen

Jacquéline Roth Access Denied

KZ Snow Mrs. Claws

Lacey Thorn Earth Moves

In an attempt to hopefully entice you enter, here's an excerpt from my latest Ellora's Cave release Ronan's Grail (one of the nifty prizes in the contest.)

Despite the fact that it looks like my hero was unicorn hunting, no unicorns were harmed in the writing of this story.

EXCERPT:

Without warning, Morgan was pinned flat against the institutional green wall next to the shower, Ronan's huge wet hand splayed across her upper back, holding her motionless. She struggled against the unfamiliar weight.

“What the hell is the matter with you? Let me go!”

“Cease your movement,” Ronan commanded. His warm, damp fingers lifted the back of her shirt and she fought harder. “I will not hurt you. Remain still.”

Pulling downward, he tugged at the waistband of her jeans, stroking the skin at the small of her back. “You bear the mark,” he breathed.

Mark? What mark? Realization quickly dawned.

“It's just a tattoo.” Morgan's mother had warned her but she hadn't listened. She could hear her mother's voice now. Tattoos make you look easy.

Ronan traced the outline with his fingertip, following the path of interconnected circles and sending shivers through Morgan's body.“You are the keeper of the grail.”

“What?” She struggled to turn her head. “No! That's just the vesica pisces—the symbol of the Chalice Well in Glastonbury, England.” Great…if she remembered her mythology correctly, the Chalice Well was one of the rumored resting places for the grail. After college she'd backpacked around Europe and had fallen in love with the town of Glastonbury. She'd felt a soul deep connection to the place and had the vesica pisces tattooed while she'd been there. Though her mother had complained, Morgan had never regretted it—until now.

Ronan continued to trace the mark, seemingly oblivious to the tremors of desire he sent through her. “I knew Merlin sent me to you for a reason,” he whispered.

Pulling harder on her pants, he bent to more closely inspect the design. His hot breath skated across her sensitized skin and a fresh rush of moisture dampened her core.

“Where is the grail, Morgan?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“You are its keeper,” he murmured as he brushed his calloused thumb back and forth over the design.

“No I'm not.”

He grunted his displeasure.

“Look,” she began. “I'm sorry that some crackpot guy told you that I had the answer to your problem, but he was wrong.”

“Remove your braes so I can better see the sigil.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “No.”

His jaw tightened and his eyes glittered with irritation. “I said, remove your braes.”

“And I said, no. It's not gonna happen.”

“Take them off or I will remove them myself.”

She craned her neck to get a better look at him. Fierce intent hardened his gaze and she shivered under his stare. Call her an idiot, but she wasn't frightened of him. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. She wasn't sure, however, about her jeans. He might just shred them to get what he wanted. And why did that perverse thought send bolts of tingling awareness to her cleft?

“I am waiting, Morgan.”

“Get used to it.”

He leaned to the side and reached for something. She followed his gaze. His sword? Panic beat like thunder in her chest and she struggled violently. Insinuating his knee between her thighs, he pressed his groin against her ass and held her more securely against the wall. His granite hard cock was trapped between them and she fought the ridiculous urge to turn around.

“Cease woman! I will not hurt you!”

“Said the man with the bloodstained sword.” She drove her elbow into his stomach, feeling almost satisfied when he grunted.

Hearing the sound of metal against leather, she froze. She'd taught stage sword fighting long enough to recognize the sound of a blade leaving its sheath. She glanced at Ronan and the dagger he held. She hadn't noticed it on his belt earlier, but clearly it had been there.

“This is your last chance, lady. Will you show me or shall I use this?”

Morgan swallowed thickly and her fingers dropped to the waistband of her jeans and released the button and zipper. With shaking hands she slid her pants down—not quite over her ass but far enough for him to see the entire image.

The dagger clattered to the floor as he sank to his knees behind her. He skimmed his hands up the outsides of her thighs until he reached her waist and pulled fabric further from her body.

“Sweet Mother of God,” he whispered, his breath warm against her lower back and ass.