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Monday, February 17, 2014

Wash Line Monday

Our Monday meme shines a light on apparel. From Regency to Steampunk, and everything in between, we dress our characters to reflect the story we want to tell.

In comments, and in 300 words or less, give us a snippet from your novel that describes what your heroes, heroines, or bit players are wearing. Don't forget your buy link and website/blog link. Have fun!

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Come see my snippet on Exquisite Quills' Wash Line Monday!    


Anonymous said...

Here’s Leonidas, King of the Fae, when he makes his first appearance in Curse of the Fae King
On reading though, he wears more weapons than clothes.

My “That’s my bloody dragon!” The Fae stalked across the cliff top, his emerald shirt billowing beneath his black leather waistcoat. “And I will be having him back.”
Despite his bad temper, the Fae’s sculptured cheekbones and kissable lips made a dangerous combination—one she struggled to resist. His voice flowed over her like melted chocolate. She loved how he’d braided his hair back in a neat queue at the nape of his neck, and now he stood like a Spanish hidalgo—all uptilted chin, disdainful pride, and gleaming white fangs. Only how dare he look down his nose at her? Carved of granite and steel, he radiated menace. Definitely not as cute as his dragon. More mouthwateringly masculine, but otherworld creatures usually dissed a reject like her.
She stared at the bullwhip coiled Indiana Jones-style at his narrow waist, then at the black-handled dagger sheathed on his right hip. An obsidian rapier—Fae-forged and unbreakable—almost merged with one of the taped seams that ran down the sides of his pants. He even wore a dagger gunslinger-style at his hip. Dear Goddess, the man was a walking arsenal, but he was sexy as hell.

Gabrielle Holly said...

Toni Bianchi, the heroine of the Ghost Encounters series meets the ghost of 1950s greaser, Kip Monroe in the movie theater he haunts in this scene from book 3 in the series, "Stage Fright."
The closet was stuffed with cardboard boxes and rolled up posters. Empty wire hangers clanged against one another. An old garment bag hung at the end of the metal closet rod. Toni reached out and pulled down the zipper. She pushed back the bag and swept the back of her hand over the pale blue chiffon. She pulled the gown from the hanger and draped it on the sofa. She arranged the dress, trying to understand the construction of the yards of diaphanous fabric.

A puff of warm air stirred the curls at the side of her neck. Toni’s muscles tensed. “Try it on,” a voice whispered in her ear. An invisible touch swept across her collarbones then trailed downwards until a ghostly hand cupped her breast and squeezed.

An electric tingle spiralled over her flesh before concentrating at her nipple. The excited skin puckered and hardened. “Ah,” Toni breathed. Her eyelids felt heavy and she let them slide halfway closed.

“Try it on,” the voice urged.

The sensation of being touched faded and Toni mewled in protest at the loss of it. A delicious warmth spread outwards from the pit of her stomach. Her limbs felt loose and heavy, as if she’d been drugged. She lifted her arms to the front of her blouse and slowly undid the buttons, then tossed the shirt behind the sofa. Her boots and the rest of her clothes followed. Toni’s bare skin seemed hypersensitive. She stood motionless for a moment, waiting—hoping—for the phantom touch to return.

“Try it on!” the voice demanded. This time it was not in her ear, it filled the entire suite and the tone was impatient.

Toni snatched up the gown and reflexively held it against her naked body then looked nervously around the room. It was empty.

With shaking hands, she pulled the covered buttons from their loops then stepped into the confusing layers of fabric. Once she’d slipped it on, she could see that it was a plunging halter-topped gown with a tightly fitted midriff and full skirt. She contorted to fasten the buttons at the small of her back then secured the straps behind her neck with hidden pairs of hook-and-eye closures. Her full breasts fit into the tailored top as if it had been custom made for her. The gathered bodice looked effortless, but the foundation was constructed for support. It was a marvel of fashion engineering.

At the bottom of the garment bag she found a black velvet pouch. She loosened the drawstring and pulled out a pair of beaded sling back sandals. They too were a perfect fit. Toni turned and admired her reflection in the viewing window. She closed her eyes, swiveled her hips and smiled at the rustle of the tulle and the brush of the luxurious fabric against her bare legs.

Like what you've read so far? Find out what happens next. Buy "Stage Fright" today and find out about all my books at

Rosemary Gemmell said...

This is from my first novella in The Aphrodite and Adonis series, The Aphrodite Touch, where the two mythical characters give struggling lovers a helping hand!

It wasn’t a hallucination. But the figure now standing in the shallow water was certainly a mesmerizing vision. Tall, with lithe curves outlined in a flesh-coloured, one-piece swimsuit, wet, golden hair dripping over one shoulder, long, graceful, tanned limbs. Jamie and Carla watched in awe as the apparition reached the edge of the beach and squeezed the water from the tips of her hair.

“Wow! If anyone ever looked more like the mythical Aphrodite, then we’ve still to see it,” Jamie said.

Carla was glad he’d uttered the words, since she already had way too much imagination to be taken seriously.

Available from

Romy Gemmell

Tina Donahue said...

This is from Chapter One of Stolen Desire - Book Four - Outlawed Realm, releasing March 11 from Samhain. Available for preorder:

From a back pocket, he pulled out a square of silvery-blue material, then touched the front of his shirt.

Paige gawked as his mottled brown-and-gold clothing turned the color of the fabric he held, tightening against his powerful body, fitting him as snugly as a wet suit. Even his combat boots morphed until she could see the outline of his large feet and long toes.

She blurted, “How did you do that?”

It had to be a trick. This couldn’t be real.

He released the square of material. It drifted down in front of her, coming to rest near her feet. “Remove your clothing and step on it,” he ordered.

Huh? Hell no. She pressed her fists to her chest and edged back.

His expression didn’t change, though frustration flared in his eyes. He swung his hand to the metal door. “Do as I say, or you’ll die out there.

She wanted to throw up. “What’s out there? Where in the hell are we?”

“If I explain now, the other guards may return. If I can’t neutralize them as I have these three, you’ll end up like the pleasure slaves you saw in the hologram or worse. Is that what you want?”

A tear slipped down her cheek. When she’d gone to Rozie’s, she’d only wanted to forget her humiliation and hurt, not end up in this nightmare world. Where could it possibly be? He spoke fluent English, so that meant he was at least familiar with her culture.

Maybe he even lived in Seattle after having emigrated from overseas. What he wore must have come from a top-secret government experiment, something right out of the X-Files. Clearly, he wasn’t SWAT as she’d first thought, but probably a federal agent. Maybe the CIA.

That kept Paige from losing it, for the moment. She still had a bad case of the shakes as she removed her jacket.


Tina Donahue
“Heat with Heart”


FB Fanpage:
Amazon author page:

J.D. Faver said...

This is from the beginning of my romantic suspense, KILL SHOT.

Facts of life...Not all babies are cute. Not all elderly people are sweet. And not all brides are beautiful.

Micki Vermillion winced as the bride-to-be and her mother climbed out of their car.

This bride was a big girl with a big attitude. The crystal and pearl encrusted bodice of her white satin Vera Wang gown struggled to contain her proud bosom. The white illusion veil floated behind her like a ten foot vapor trail as she stomped angrily across the manicured grass while simultaneously demonstrating her impressive knowledge of profanities.

Train wreck! This is going to be a train wreck. Micki envisioned her carefully choreographed event dissolving before her eyes. A state of paralysis crept over her but she shook it off, sucked in a deep breath and plastered a determinedly cheery smile in place. “Zondra! Mrs. Sebastian! Over here. This is the first spot I wanted to use.”

A large oak in Central Park had leaned so far over as to form a seat with sufficient strength to hold more than one member of the bridal party. The lighting under the canopy of trees was perfect on a sunny day, providing just the right amount of indirect light to flatter most any subject. Micki spread a piece of white fleece over the branch to protect the fragile satin dress and seated Zondra as on a horse, sidesaddle. Keeping up a barrage of bright chatter, she arranged the dress and train to best advantage.

A cardinal lit in a branch over Zondra’s head, chirping like a squeaky toy. She glowered at it. “If that frickin’ bird craps on my dress, I’m gonna’ climb this tree and rip its little heart out.”

Micki did a mental eye-roll, hoping Zondra’s irritable mood didn’t show up in the photographs. “All righty then.” She gave an encouraging smile. “Let’s try a profile first. Now, look over your shoulder at me.” Micki cooed at her as though she was a supermodel on a photo shoot for Elle.

Zondra heaved a sigh. “Sorry. This day has been so stressful.” She shrugged, her bodice straining with the effort. “I’ll be glad when it’s all over.” Her pout disappeared, replaced by her wide infectious grin and a flash of dimples.

Micki relaxed, glad Zondra was making an effort; glad she had been selected to photograph the elaborate wedding and determined to please her subject. With every satisfied customer, referrals would be forthcoming. Micki Vermillion was building a name for herself.

Her father would have been proud...if he had lived to see her revive the business he had poured his heart into.

KILL SHOT is available on Amazon and other fine distributors

ML Skye said...


I'm showing a glimpse from Busted in Bubbles, a sexy short story from Silver Publishing by my Skylin O'Thomas moniker.


Emsley flicked her tongue over her bottom lip, her eyes tracking a rivulet of water making its way down his chest. She really wanted to follow the same path with her tongue.

Rayne cleared his throat and her gaze lifted to meet his.
"Like the view?"

She slowly moved her head back and forth. "Uh uh. Too many bubbles hiding the good stuff." She waggled her eyebrows.

Rayne snorted. "I can solve that problem." He reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, dragging her into the tub with him.

Emsley barked out a laugh and water sloshed all over the place. She sobered, a shiver of hot need tearing through her. She had way too many clothes on to accomplish what she wanted to do.

Easing back, she angled her head, gauging the mood. Rayne schooled his features, clearly making whatever happened next her choice. Reaching down, she lifted the soggy hem of her T-shirt, dragging the wet fabric up and over her head. Giving it a hard toss, she flung it toward the sink. Her bra followed, landing with a squishy plop on top of the shirt. Slowly rising, Emsley worked her knit skirt off, wringing it out a little before adding it to the pile. She removed the last article of clothing, a racy, hot pink thong, then sank back into the water. Keeping some distance, she fished her flip flops out of the tub and dropped them on the floor.

She didn't want anything to become a distraction. Staying crouched under the bubbles, she tilted her head to the side, letting her gaze settle on Rayne. Good God, the man should come with a warning label… and only his head and broad shoulders showed above the water.

Emsley couldn't wait to see the rest.

His lips curved in a smile. "You're much more appropriately dressed… or undressed."


For X-files fans, the episode Hollywood AD, where Walter Skinner completely owns a tub full of bubbles, inspired this story.

I hope you enjoyed the preview.

Buy Links:
Silver Publishing


All Romance




Please stop by my blog for more snippets
Visit my website

Robin Glasser said...

From My Life as a Concubine ~ contemporary rom/com

Saturday night I arrived promptly, dressed to resurrect roadkill. Jean-Loup ushered me into his apartment as if I'd been spun from platinum and took me on le grand tour. He had spent ten years of his life in Africa and Indonesia and had the artifacts to prove it. I "ooooohed" and "aaaahhhhed" enthusiastically. He offered me a cocktail, then another one. The liquor was flowing, along with my libido. Jean-Loup swept me up in his arms, carried me to the bedroom, and that was it.
And "it" was fan-fucking-tastic! The Frenchman didn't bother to unbutton his shirt. He just pulled the tail ends from his trousers, grabbed them with both hands and ripped the cloth in half. Buttons scattered in a bright sprinkle. Jean-Loup literally jumped out of
his pants and underwear. Although slender, his body was hard-muscled and beautifully formed. Pulling me into his arms, the Frenchman kissed me deeply, expertly. When his hand reached for my zipper, I gently pushed him away.

"Go lie down. I want you to watch me."

As he walked toward the bed, I kept my eyes on his smooth, tight buns. The play of muscles beneath that creamy patch of skin was a real turn-on. Jean-Loup reclined on the quilt. Sinuously, I moved toward him, stopping just out of his reach and his erection.

"Let me tell you what I'm going to do to you, Jean-Loup."

My voice was soft—husky with sex. Slow as an escargot, I began to lower the zipper of my snug, silk dress. With a little bump and grind, I shimmied out of its black bonds. I hadn't bothered with a bra. Clad only in garter belt, stockings and stilettos, I removed the combs from my hair, tossed my head, and let the raven cloud settle about my shoulders. I stared into his eyes—their intensity scorched my body like a firebrand. It took all I had to restrain myself from jumping his bones. Instead, I released a stocking from its garters, then stepped out of my heels. Placing a foot atop his nightstand, I slowed peeled the black mesh down my leg.
Skimming the whispery strip over his body, I asked, "Like the feel of it, Jean-Loup? Imagine my lips following the same course."

(also available in paperback)

More Links:

Guaranteed to put a twinkle in your eyes & sparkles in your pants (The Brain Exchange) (to watch video The Plumber banned from youtube)

Danita Cahill said...

Excerpt from Love at First Click, Book One in the Bellham Romance Series. New Release! Available eBook or paperback:

“Excellent,” Joel said. “Want to try the white scarf now?”

She trudged over to the scarf lying on the sand, snatched it up and wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl. She moved, swayed, and twirled before untying the scarf and holding it in front of her face. She peered through the see-through fabric. She blew on the scarf, making it lift and reveal only the creamy, ivory skin of her neck and chin, and the luscious pink fullness of her lips.

Those extraordinary lips…

Joel’s thoughts drifted to the kiss he and Heather shared last night. It sent blood rushing into his jeans just remembering her soft, warm body pressed against his, and the taste of her lips.

He didn’t let his thoughts keep him from the job at hand. Joel never stopped snapping. Heather was an incredible model – a natural, whether she realized it or not. He was having a creative heyday, although if Heather were in a warmer, friendlier mood it would definitely be better. Regardless, it was fun taking shots with the white scarf – like trying experimental shots at a wedding using the bride’s veil.

Heather did some ballet moves, leaping in the sand and pirouetting in place. The scarf followed her movements. She wrapped the filmy fabric around one wrist and held her hand high overhead. The scarf flapped in the wind.

It reminded Joel of yesterday when he’d won at tennis and she’d twirled her towel as a white flag. He grinned at the memory, missing that cheerful, fun-loving version of Heather.

She double wrapped the scarf around her narrow waist and knotted it. The breeze blew the piece of gauzy fabric, separating it from the skirt of her dress, making it billow and flow.

“These shots are amazing. You’re amazing,” Joel said.

Danita Cahill said...

Bridezilla -- love it!

Susan Macatee said...

From my American-Victorian romance, The Physician's Irish Lady.


He scowled but waved her onto the steps. “Get aboard. We’re about to pull out.”

She stepped up and gasped as her bread slipped from her hand and onto the tracks below. Pulse racing, she glanced down. “I dropped me bread.”

“Sorry, Miss, you can’t get it now. They have food on board.” Her eyes stung as she realized she’d not be eating on this trip. She eyed the car where she’d be seated. The enclosed car had plush seats, and the women passengers wore stylish gowns and bonnets, while the men sported gentleman’s frock coats. Such fine, sophisticated men they seemed. She’d never seen the like.

She hesitated at the door as she considered how she looked in her threadbare gown, tattered shawl, and straw hat.

Fiona McGier said...

My most recent book, Only One Man Will Do, is my most erotic romance ever. Dmitri, an ex-KGB agent, was sent to convince Alexandra not to ever bother a famous actor again. She's a businesswoman during the week, and relaxes by being a biker queen on weekends. Dmitri has already proved he can fit in with her gang in biker bars, but she told him she was going solo to an event at her father's country club because he "wouldn't fit in" with the people there.

Alexandra was so busy with her thoughts that she didn't hear her Father approaching her from behind. When he cleared his throat she turned and almost swallowed her tongue.
"Alex, I've been looking for you all over! I know you don't like when I introduce you to men not directly in our business, but this man here represents a conglomerate of interests from Russia. They aren't big in the US market yet, but if they ever get to the point where they need our expertise, it would be nice if we knew we would be in the running at least for an interview. Isn't that right, Dmitri?"
Dmitri was wearing a European-styled power suit so tailored to him that it had to have been hand-made. It was flawless and hugged every part of his body, accentuating his broad shoulders and tapered waist. The trousers had generous pleats in the front for a smoother line, amply covering up what Alexandra knew was under them, making her mouth go dry as she forced herself to not stare. His shoes looked to be hand-tooled Italian leather oxfords, and his conservative tie was held in place by a tack that had a diamond encrusted on it. As he held out his hand to shake hers, Alexandra idly noticed that the cufflinks on his sleeves had the same diamonds on them as his tie tack. The overall impression she got from looking at him was that this was a man born to wealth, who only walked among the plebeians when he had to; otherwise he stayed on Mt. Olympus, within his own social group.
She tried to speak, but had no voice. She cleared her throat and tried again, her hand still held in Dmitri's massive paw as both men waited patiently for her to acknowledge him.
"I'm please to meet you, mister..." she began then turned to her Dad, her hand still being held. "What did you say his name was?"
On sale now at:

Rosemary Morris said...

Snippet from Tangled Love an e-book set in England in Queen Anne Stuart's reign 1702 - 1714. Published by MuseItUp Publishing.

Unaccustomed to the painful constriction of rows of thin whalebones slotted into narrowly stitched channels, Richelda breathed shallowly due to her sky blue silk bodice laced so tightly that the strings had nearly snapped. She stared in the mirror with blue eyes glistening like jewels in her powdered, rouged face. Satisfied, she sighed at the sight of her gown, ruffled sleeves edged with gold lace and gold satin, quilted petticoat.

Laura Wight said...

Laura Wight
From my turn of the twentieth century book Rocky Nook Tea Room: London 1895

Idell, with a huge surprise, had somehow been able to procure three highly sought after tickets for the opening night of Oscar Wilde's new play, The Importance of Being Ernest. It had been performed at the St. James Theatre in mid-February, on a frigidly cold night in London, but the crowd that attended would have braved a full-on winter blizzard to have their names connected to such a prestigious opening night. Gertrude and Idell had, weeks before, poured through the pages of the latest edition of the Delineator, and then gone forth into London to procure gowns in the newest style of nipped waist and exaggerated, broad shoulders. Luckily, both were built with slender middles and ample bosoms that showed the new couture off to perfection, and were fitted for stunning gowns, not actual House of Worth fashions, but close replicas that allowed them to blend with the fine, well-heeled women of London who were attending.

Jean Joachim said...

From RESCUE MY HEART, new release and first in a new series about contemporary romance and pug rescue. This is the hero.
“That’s none of your business!” I can’t believe she said that. How does she know? He sneaked a peek at her cleavage amply displayed in a low-cut T-shirt. She’s wearing this to tease and torment me. And it’s working! God, if I could only touch her, just for five minutes. But he knew that would never be enough. He’d want more from her and was surprised she stayed top-of-mind with him, even when he wasn’t with her.
“She’s missing something, you might say?”
Hack drew his gaze back to the plate of Rory’s cookies and took another. “These are great.” Not gonna bash Felicia.
“You’ll never get those…or much else in the way of cookies, when you marry Miss Skeleton.”

Donna June Cooper said...

From my WIP, Mostly Magic. The Second Book of the Kindling - Daniel Woodruff's story.

Based on looks alone, Mel would have suspected the man was a mild-mannered, absent-minded professor. But he pulled off the tweed jacket without looking too academic or disheveled. He seemed to be the kind of guy who would be more comfortable in well-worn jeans than neatly pressed chinos, but she suspected he was dressed up for his speech today. He had yanked off his tie as soon as he walked away from the podium. At least it wasn’t a bowtie. That would have been over the top.

But from the presentation he’d given, it was clear the man was a brilliant scientist. His passion was real and very contagious when he spoke about the honeybees and their current plight. It was evident that he was in love with bees, and had been since he was a child. His significant other couldn’t be the jealous sort, or that flare of emotion whenever he talked about his “girls” would give her fits. And someone who looked like Dr. Woodruff must have a girlfriend tucked away somewhere.

More Than Magic - First Book of the Kindling
Amazon Buy Link

Tony-Paul said...

In ABSINTHE, the Marquis Delafee goes to a soiree given by Gouverneur Cadillac:

Le Marquis Delafée completed his toilette and stepped back from the cheval glass, eying his image with satisfaction.
Nothing wrong with what he saw…a still-slim man with dark hair untouched by gray, face barely lined but now pink from his recent shave. Flaubert had chosen his clothing with care, a satin frock coat of an unusual green with just a hint of yellow, almost matching his eyes. Gold braid interwoven with a strand of seed pearls trimmed the edge of coat, cuffs, and collar, with a single walnut-sized peridot resting alongside every fiftieth pearl. The same trim decorated the bands of his knee breeches. The valet also added a bit of daring. His stockings weren’t white but pale green, repeating the color in coat and gems.
Originally, Étienne questioned that. “You don’t think it’s too much? My being such a monochrome, I mean?” Usually, Flaubert’s ensembles were impeccably put together and he trusted the valet’s judgment. Still, this was such a departure…
“Do you think any other man there will be wearing tinted stockings, sir?” Flaubert asked with confidence.
“True, but I want to be subtle. Not look like a gigantic stalk of asparagus.”


Toni V.S. said...

From THREE MOON STATION, the heroine's first glimpse of the hero:

The brim of his hat was resting
low on his forehead, only part of his nose and his mouth
There was a little crease, not quite a dimple, in one cheek
that became deeper when he smiled as he was doing now,
breaking into outright laughter at something the blond man
said. He was dressed like the others, in shirt, jeans, and
boots covered by gaiters to protect them while riding in the
brush. A long black trail coat covered everything. His right
hand rested negligently against his belt buckle. From a
leather thong wrapped around his wrist hung a foot-long
braided quirt with a small shock bar embedded in the end of
the shaft.
As he shifted his weight slightly, the coat parted,
revealing a short-barreled Winchester DT3 laser pistol
strapped to his right leg.
Someone coming down the street called out and he
turned and looked toward the speaker. His hair hung down
his back in a loose braid which swung against the black
duster as he spun around. It was a fiery copper, even
brighter than Katy’s own.
She saw something else. Two tiny turquoises set into the
lobe of his left ear.

Anonymous said...

Ballbreaker I have three stand alone "Breaker" books (MFM BDSM) this is the second and third (Heartbreaker) out next month!
Samantha had only ever seen a platypus on TV. The time she’d been to the sanctuary with her primary school, the platypus enclosure was being cleaned. She really didn’t know anything about them apart from a vague recollection that they had a poisonous spur on their back legs and were very shy and not aggressive. This one, sliding into the river off a clump of branches looked, above all else, cute.
She hadn’t however planned on joining it. As she hit the water she was surprised at how cold it was, probably in contrast to the outside temperature. It was also remarkably deep. Her head hurt from the bang but not enough to cause hallucinations. But this was the first thing she considered when she surfaced, and there was a seemingly fully clothed but very wet Jeremy Sandford treading water opposite her.
“I saw you fall,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yes, fine, thank you,” Samantha replied between gulps of water. They both swam to the edge and she hauled herself out, Jeremy following. She looked at him in what had once been a probably very expensive outfit and wondered how Italian labels did in river water. “Sorry if you ruined your clothes,” she added a little defensively. It wasn’t as if she had asked him to rescue her.
Jeremy took a moment to look at himself, then her, and smiled. “It was worth it.”
Samantha wasn’t at all sure what he meant until the lust in his smile moved rapidly south. As she realized his wet clothes were clinging and leaving in no doubt his attraction to her, she looked down at herself. The white top and shorts were completely transparent and underneath all she had on was a very tiny G-string.

Mardi Maxwell said...

This is from JACKSON'S SUB (The Doms of Club Mystique 2) which released at on February 25, 2014. Jenna Parnelle and her BFF Addison Matthews are on their way to Club Mystique to get into trouble. Girls having fun!

Jenna paced the long hall of Addison’s shop as they waited for Jacob to pick them up. Dressed in a sheer turquoise halter type camisole with a shelf bra that left the top half of her breasts uncovered and a shear thong with a lacy applique over her mound she glanced into the back parking lot as she reached the door then collapsed against the wall across from Addison. “What are you thinking about?”
Addison released the lip she had been biting then looked up. “Cade’s reaction,” she told her, wondering if she should have spoken to him about Jackson and Jenna on Thursday evening when she had been given the opportunity to come clean.
“It’s not too late to back out.”
Wishing she could, Addison shook her head, her hair catching and trapping the lights in the hallway. “No, this is something that has to be done.”
Shrugging, Jenna grinned. “Okay, but it’s your butt on the line. Literally.”
“Yeah, but he and Jackson shouldn't have tricked me or involved Maggie.”
“Do you really think they wrote that brochure?”
“They’ll never admit to it but the more I look at it the more I believe it’s a possibility. You were right, you know? It definitely wasn’t written from a sub’s point of view.”
“That’s for sure but you know it looked like it was a copy of an older paper. Like it had been around for a while.”
“It’s easy to fake things these days. With computers and things like that.”
“That’s true,” Jenna swept her eyes over Addison’s outfit, admiring the sheer yellow lace babydoll nightie and high cut sheer lace boy shorts that left the bottom curve of her butt bare. Matching open toe heels with a little feather puff balls on top completed the outfit. “I’ve never seen you wear yellow before. You look like a marigold.”

Rose Anderson said...

From Loving Leonardo ~ An usual Victorian love story
Here, the story opens with the purchase of a rare book written by Leonardo da Vinci
Carlo Posateri shrugged his cloak back on his shoulders, the thin wool gone heavy from absorbing the September fog. He peered into the night then checked his pocket watch under the misty gaslight. Few people would be out in an evening fog like this and there was a word to describe many who were — Ladro. It was a perfect night to make deals with a thief.
Read chapter samplings of this story and more for FREE
Visit my main blog for updates and more. All this week - a symbol series

Tony-Paul said...

Another excerpt from ABSINTHE, Rouge sees Absinthe for the first time, in Le Cimetière de la Sainte Croix on Halloween night:

Mist was rising rapidly from the damp earth, thickening and transmuting into heavy gray fog. The moon, full and bright, hid itself behind a cloud, giving the scene a faint blue glow. Something moved in the shadows. The clouds cleared the moon and the fog disappeared, and…

…there he was.

If this is a demon, I never wish to see an angel. It was all Rouge could think.

He was tall but slender, neither winged nor tailed, but as far as Rouge could tell, dressed much as he, though simpler. Knee breeches of serge de Nimes with drawstrings tied at waist and knees in neat bows, white cotton stockings, buckled shoes, a white muslin shirt with no ruffling or embroidery.

The shirt was open at the throat, revealing skin the color of coffee over-diluted with cream, and above it…a face so handsome it didn’t seem real. High cheekbones, a nose that could only be described as classique, mouth with a full, sensual lower lip. Dark hair cascaded in thick, crisp ringlets onto broad shoulders, black brows over eyes a pale ice-green and ringed by the thickest lashes he’d ever seen.

Rouge stared. Is this an apparition? Is this being the harbinger of others about to escape their graves? Mon Dieu, he’s too beautiful to be mortal!

The clock struck its last note. Midnight passed.

Link: Amazon:

Paula R. Stiles said...

I co-wrote urban fantasy, “Fraterfamilias,” with my late friend, Judith Doloughan. The sequel, “Confraternitas,” is due out this year.

In this scene, Detective Ballard meets the man he seeks for a triple murder, Alan Kedward, for the first time in New York, while investigating the mysterious death of Kedward's brother. Unbeknownst to Ballard, Kedward is a shaman who sees and controls ghosts, partly via the use of his shaman's coat, an old fatigue jacket with ritualistic things secretly sewn into the pockets and folds:

Kedward took his sweet time. When the door opened, Ballard was a little surprised. It was certainly Kedward but not quite the way Ballard had expected him to look. Of course, Ballard only had a black-and-white mug shot to go on and a notation that described Kedward as having been drunk at the time it was taken. It hadn't given the real picture. This man was certainly not drunk, at least. Ballard's first impression was of someone who hadn't slept for a month right after a year of hard labour. He was tall, very thin and slouched, wearing an old army fatigue jacket over a sweatshirt and jeans. The short, dark-brown hair was shot with grey. The best word Ballard could find to describe the face was "worn": it was lined, with bags under the green eyes and a long, lateral scar across the left cheekbone. Kedward was rubbing the bridge of his nose. Had he just woken up?

"M. Kedward?" Ballard said.

Kedward glanced furtively behind Ballard to the stairs then back. Ballard felt distinctly uncomfortable under the gaze, as though he were being sized up for dissection. "It's Dr. Kedward."

Doctor? Ah, c'est exact. The man had a PhD! "Of course. My apologies, Doctor. I am Inspector Thiérry Ballard, Interpol. I wish to speak to you about your...cousin, I believe - Paul Farrell?"

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