WIP: When the dust cleared, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen held her hand.

Picking up where I left off last week, after Charlie met her hero…enjoy this unedited snippet!

RW

“Yeah.” She wanted to curse when she heard her shaky voice, but she straightened her shoulders, looking up with thanks on her lips, only to find herself struck dumb.

Perhaps it was the halo of sunlight around his head? Or maybe she was feeling especially thankful and grateful, but her unnamed hero was literally one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen. Continue reading “WIP: When the dust cleared, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen held her hand.”

WIP: There are heroes out there, ready and willing to beat that ass when you need it.

I’ve been…lifeing, and I have been writing, but my blogging has been, well you know. But I’m back on track. In this unedited scene from my next book our heroine Charlie meets her very own hero for the first time…

She sighed as she looked out into the street. Chicago looked sunny and warm, its usual city bustle muted by her location and the park across the street. If she squinted her eyes it almost looked like the field near her home in rural Kentucky. She released the squint. No it didn’t.

She needed to go to the store. She eyed the thugs hanging on the corner. The chances of her getting past them unscathed were slim to none. The one tall asshole seemed to wait for her, running to meet her just so he could talk shit and harass her.

The more she told him to fuck off the more he seemed to like it. Continue reading “WIP: There are heroes out there, ready and willing to beat that ass when you need it.”

Inspiration and the Original

So I just recently got into Ariana Grande. What can I say? If it’s popular I automatically turn away as if I would be turned to stone, LOL. But the girl can sing. She reminds me – and no doubt many others – so much of Christina Aguilera, after I watched a few of her videos, I migrated to Xtina. It made me think about creativity and art, written or vocal, and how few voices are truly, truly original. Each of these singers is undoubtedly special in their own way. There’s probably a Hispanic singer who came before Xtina that I don’t know who inspired her, just as she probably inspired Ariana.

In romance, there are so many wonderful writers, genre benders, record breakers, so many of whom I love for different reasons – Jaid Black, Sylvia Day, Nora Roberts, Betty Neels – and all of whom are also special in their own way. There aren’t many original ideas left, though. These days its about execution and consistency, the complete package if you will, and that is perhaps harder – and more valuable – than being that special voice of a generation.

I struggle with consistency, but I’m getting better. So give your girl a little encouragement, huh? Buy, read, like, review Hard Love. I’m no Christina Aguilera/Ariana Grande. But with your support I might be one day.

WIP: I’m an artist. And I’m sensitive about my shit.

WIP: I’m an artist. And I’m sensitive about my shit.

Don’t mess with Charlie! She may be small, but she is not a punk, as our hero finds out when he crosses her. This unedited scene picks up from the last snippet. Charlie had just told Hugh to get out…

Hugh stared at her, and he looked a bit shocked, by her language or her vehemence she didn’t know. But he obligingly rose. “I’m sorry, Charlie, I didn’t mean to –”

“I don’t give a fuck what you meant. I said get the fuck out.”

He stood there just long enough for her to think maybe she had another problem. Then he tipped an imaginary hat, and a few seconds later, he was gone.

Charlie immediately flipped all the locks and put her stick beneath the doorknob. Then she did like she did every night and went through the whole place, closing drapes and making sure the locks were locked tight. She set up her booby traps so she’d know if someone crawled in one of the windows. Then she set the alarm, stripped off her clothes and began to paint.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered. Continue reading “WIP: I’m an artist. And I’m sensitive about my shit.”

WIP: I may be from the country, but don’t mess with me.

WIP: I may be from the country, but don’t mess with me.

Don’t judge a book by its cover. Our heroine may be from the country, but she’s no rube, easy to pushover with legs in the air and undies dangling from one ankle. In this unedited snippet from my latest, hero Hugh finds that the sweet little blonde painter he’s taken a shine to has some teeth. Think you’re just gonna get in here, talk a little fast and the drawls will drop? Nuh uh, buddy. Not so fast. This ain’t that type of party, and our heroine Charlie is about to let your fine ass know…Lucky for us, our hero likes ’em a little fiesty…


Charlie was blazingly angry, but she knew he couldn’t tell. It was that cold survival anger, the kind she hadn’t felt in a long time that always did right by her, herld her down when she needed help. She just hummphed. “I don’t know,” she smirked. “Can you?” She supposed she couldn’t blame him. Man’s interested in a new piece of pussy, if he has the means why not check it out? It might be diseased or in debt and after his money. She wondered if he had access to her medical records. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Sure you could,” she said pleasantly. “Every motherfuckin’ body else does. So tell me.” She sat back down, stretched her legs out and crossed her ankles. “What did your little background check reveal about old Charlie?” Continue reading “WIP: I may be from the country, but don’t mess with me.”

WIP: Come on. Kiss me back.

WIP: Come on. Kiss me back.

Sometimes all it takes is a kiss to understand who someone is and what they might mean to you. If it’s a good kiss, that flash of knowing may seem like a flood rushing over you, making you think it might be okay to drown this way. If it’s a great kiss, well, it’s enough to wipe away even the most annoying male behavior in a flood of feel good tingles and hopeful wishes. 

“Come on, lil’ bit,” he urged, his deep rumble sending shivers down her back. “Kiss me back,” and he pulled her into his arms.

She did, and it was wonderful. Like riding a bike. Something else she hadn’t done in forever, but had once enjoyed immeasurably, and it felt just like that kiss. Kind of free. Weird. But wonderful all the same.

It was an oddly sweet kiss to be coming from such a big, imposing man. She could still feel his power, well leashed but still there, seething beneath the surface, sending little electric currents of excitement and warning shooting through her body wherever they touched. Continue reading “WIP: Come on. Kiss me back.”

WIP: She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding on while she still could. “Are you coming back?”

WIP: She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding on while she still could. “Are you coming back?”

When you fall in love for the first time it can be scary. But not for Charlie. When she realizes she loves Hugh it’s good. Like falling beneath the surface in a pool of warm water. The sensation of being enveloped, surrounded, completely in over your head, it’s just good when you’ve known the worst. She has. And how, she has. Enough to know to hold on with both hands when something good comes, and Hugh is good. In this unedited snippet, you can see that he’s better than good…

Charlie had learned a long time ago not to deny yourself things that felt good. She didn’t seek them out. She was too practical, too frugal for that. Too conscious that she didn’t have enough to waste things or behave unwisely. But when good things happened, when there was fun to be had, when Una came up with one of her good natured, hair brained ideas: Zumba after two margaritas, sledding on garbage can lids, going on a double date with two men they didn’t know and pretending their names were Priti and Johnnie from a remote part of Canada “where the accent is kind of southern in a way, she was down.

But unlike the guys who believed aboot sounded sexy in a West Virginia by way of faux Canada drawl, this guy, her very own hero Hugh, him she let in with nary a whimper. Judging by the way he posted up on her couch when they came back from walking, took several calls and worked on his phone for an hour, he wasn’t leaving any time soon. And that suited her just fine. Continue reading “WIP: She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding on while she still could. “Are you coming back?””