The internet takes a step back in time every Thursday as people around the world share old baby pictures, vintage prom and wedding photos, and other assorted oldies. Authors can share too! This Thursday meme highlights those books in your backlist.
In comments, tempt us with a snippet, 300 words or less, from your older works. Don't forget your buy link and website/blog link. Have fun!
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A SKELETON AT HER DOOR
http://amzn.com/B005MZ9X74
"I thought everything was fine. That's not exactly true. Actually, I thought marriage sucked. Every night it was the same drag, same complaints, and same criticism. I almost hated coming home. I was in hock to my ears and she kept spending. I wanted out of the marriage. Then we had Emily."
Angie looked over in the direction of the game room. "And she left with no explanation?"
"None. I was three weeks short of my twenty-fifth birthday and four months shy of my PhD. I knew nothing about raising children."
"Tough break. Did you ever finish your degree?"
"Yes. And on time. I had landed the job with Space Opticals when she was pregnant with Emily, and right before she left, we contracted the house." Tom shook his head. "Hadn't even moved into it. It wasn't exactly easy being alone with the kids, but it was a whole lot pleasanter."
"I know that feeling."
"What about you?"
"It's your story in reverse. I walked out on him. Actually, I had a police escort." She watched his face and saw him gulp. Then she smiled.
"He was left-handed. Can you tell?"
Tom's brow furrowed. "How would I know that?"
"The facial scars on the left side."
He cocked his head and leaned forward. "I don't see any scars. He beat you?"
"They're there. A little plastic surgery, a little makeup, and they're almost invisible. Makes a woman lose her confidence in men, especially when I see other women come through the ER who are in the same predicament as I was."
"I'll assure you that I'd never hit a woman. You can ask my kids, and they'll tell you that I won't tolerate yelling either. If they have a problem, it can be discussed civilly."
"Nice to know."
http://amzn.com/B005MZ9X74
Thanks for the opportunity to share! #:0)
He stopped in front of me and reached out, taking a strand of my waist-length, white gold hair between his fingers. “You don’t exactly look like you belong here.” He said the words without surprise, confirming for me that he was a transplant into the eighteen hundreds himself. His eyes slid down my body, taking in my soft, black sweater and skintight black leather pants. Where his eyes touched, my body hummed and warmed so that, by the time he’d assessed the soft leather of my boots, I felt as if it might be prudent to just pull him into the shadows with me and find out if he was as yummy beneath the rough clothing as he appeared from the outside.
Before I could push past my unrestrained lust and respond, the knife was at my throat and I was pressed tightly against him. I gasped, feeling the long, impossibly hard length of him pressed tightly against my chest, groin, and thighs.
He looked down into my face, mere inches away. His eyes were deep pools of emotion which I couldn’t quite decipher at that moment, with his yummy self all pressed against me. “Who…or should I ask…what the hell are you and why have you followed me here?”
http://www.samcheever.com/Guardian.html
Thanks for the opportunity to share a snippet from my romantic suspense SEEING THINGS. In this excerpt, David Logan is showing psychic Leah McKenna his nephew Jeremy's bedroom. Jeremy has disappeared, possibly kidnapped:
David closed his eyes in anguish, barely stifling a groan. They'd been in such a hurry that he hadn't even told Jeremy he loved him that morning.
Leah stooped to retrieve a couple of plastic toys left abandoned on the floor. She stared at the bright red brontosaurus and the purple stegosaurus as if waiting to hear them speak. David straightened the unmade bed to give himself something to do, his hand brushing against a lump under the blanket. He pulled Jeremy's well-worn Teddy bear from its hiding place.
"This is one of his favorites," he said. "Jeremy calls him Mr. Cuddles. He's had him since he was a baby. He never goes to sleep without him. He'll be missing him..."
David's hands clenched into fists. Rage poured through him. What kind of monster takes a child away from his mother, from everything that's familiar to him? When he got his hands on the bastard who did this, he'd make him pay.
His gaze collided with Leah's. He sensed she read the chaotic thoughts that tumbled through his brain. Her warm brown eyes were full of compassion and understanding, and for a moment he almost forgot his belief that she had something to do with Jeremy's disappearance. David stepped toward her, wanting to bury his face in her honey-colored hair and hold her until the fear and worry abated.
What the hell was he doing? He stopped abruptly, appalled by the direction of his thoughts. How could he even consider such a thing when he was sure she was involved in Jeremy's disappearance? Yet, she seemed so innocent, the look in her eyes sincere and caring. His thoughts whirled in confusion.
Thank you!
Jana Richards
www.janarichards.com
Amazon Author Page
This excerpt is from A KNIGHT'S VENGEANCE, the first book in my Knight's Series. The heroine, Lady Elizabeth Brackendale, has just been pulled out of the way of a runaway wagon by a handsome stranger (who happens to be the hero, Geoffrey de Lanceau).
“You fool. Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
Her coughing subsided. She recognized the deep, rich voice that had called out moments ago. Fool? Who would dare to chastise her so? She, the daughter of Lord Arthur Brackendale.
Equally annoying, she had sagged into the stranger’s arms like a swooning maiden. Her cheek pressed against his warm chest.
Elizabeth took a steadying breath, calmed by the rhythmic thud beneath her ear, the pulse of life. This man did not deserve her anger, but her gratitude. He had risked himself great harm to save her from a painful death.
“Kind sir, I owe you my thanks,” she said.
His arms, curved around her waist, relaxed. He must have sensed her strength returning. “A moment more, and you would have been crushed beneath the wagon’s wheels,” he said. “A pity, indeed, if such a fair damsel were broken like a child’s toy.”
His breath stirred the hair at her forehead. Goosebumps shot down her arms. She did not like the sensation, or the trace of humor warming his voice.
“I did not see the wagon,” Elizabeth said.
“Nor did you heed my warning.”
He spoke in the same tone as her father when he told her of her betrothal, but her sire had gentled his words by insisting the arrangement was for her safety, to ensure she and Wode never fell into de Lanceau’s clutches. She scowled. Her whole life it seemed of late was governed by this rogue de Lanceau.
She tipped up her chin. Her savior was a tall man. Shoulder muscles stretched his gray wool tunic. She steeled herself against his enticing, musky scent. “You are bold to speak to me in such a manner.”
“Not half as bold, milady, as you appear to be.”
http://www.amazon.com/Knights-Vengeance-Book-ebook/dp/B006NQQ464/
http://www.catherinekean.com
This short excerpt is from KILL SHOT.by JD Faver
Blurb: When she shoots the wrong subject, Micki, a free-spirited photographer runs to the arms of Oz, her ex-lover, an over protective alpha-male cop.
Oz came to stand behind her. “The shooter was up on something high, aiming down at you.”
Micki snorted. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“At least he wasn’t right next to you. The techs are trying to determine the angle of trajectory and the caliber of the weapon. It’s looking like an M-14.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a sniper’s weapon. With a scope it’s accurate at two thousand feet or better but, Micki, there were no other shots fired in the park yesterday.”
Puzzled, she turned to face him. “I don’t understand.”
“You were the only victim. Is there some reason someone would want you dead? Can you think of someone you’ve really pissed off?”
“Just you.”
A wry grin spread across Oz’ face. “It wasn’t me. I wanted to choke you.” He encircled the back of her neck with one hand and drew her to him. “Up close and personal.”
Micki laughed softly, melting against his chest. She sobered, considering her situation. “I’m really scared, Oz. Why would anyone want to kill me?”
Oz pressed his face into her hair, his words coming out warm against her scalp. “You’re asking the wrong guy. I can think of dozens of reasons. You’re pig-headed and you stick your nose into things that don’t concern you. You’re extremely naive, but you put on this big sophisticated front and you’ll argue about anything. You can make a guy crazy in nothing flat... Need I go on?”
Micki sighed. “No, that’s plenty.” Oz’ jacket felt good against her cheek. The lightweight wool material was rough, but solid, like Oz. His clean, soap and water scent wrapped around her, offered comfort.
Available at all Amazon stores
Amazon US http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005LDJVRE
Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B005LDJVRE
From DEEP GREEN by Trisha Haddad
Click here to Buy
"I tended to fall in love with characters in books. Most guys I went to school with were far too interested in sports or video games. How could they even hold a candle to Mister Darcy’s intensity, Tom Joad’s ethics, Martin Eden’s passion, Caleb Trask’s struggle for goodness, or Edmond Dantes’ cunning intellect? No real boy had ever sparked in me the passion that these fictional characters did.
Until now. Until this very moment."
Buy on Amazon
From 2009 Civil War romance, Confederate Rose.
Excerpt:
"What? Are you telling me you were kissing him?" His blood heated at the thought of her moving on to another man.
"I was tryin' to escape."
"By kissing him?"
"Aye." Anger flashed in her eyes. "And it was working until you came along and hit the poor lad."
He grasped her forearm and pulled her from the guardhouse. They couldn't stay here debating. "Come on, we've got to get out of camp. I fear I've compromised my cover."
"But what about Nate?" she protested. "You may have killed him."
Sighing, Alex knelt and felt for a pulse. The lad's breathing was regular, his pulse steady. "Reckon he'll be out for awhile, but aside from a nasty headache and some bruising, he should be all right." He rose and glanced into the guardhouse. "They’ll reckon you clobbered him when he came for your dinner plate." He caught her worried gaze. "Now, let's skedaddle."
She nodded, but eyed him again. "Why are you dressed as a priest?"
"It's a disguise. I'm ministering to the Rebel soldiers." His eyes roved to the white vee of her bosom. "Button your shirt before we go. We don't want to attract any more attention."
http://www.amazon.com/Confederate-Rose-Susan-Macatee/dp/1601545568/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_4
http://susanmacatee.com
Cooper's Redemption:
The porch light burned out while she’d been gone.
Elizabeth Adams’ hands shook as she tried to open the still-unfamiliar door. When she tried again, the key clattered to the ground. She bent to search, fumbling in the dark. “Get a grip on yourself, Liz.”
Easier said than done.
Who knew what, or who, might be lurking around every corner?
Forcing her hand still, she slid the key into the lock. Before she stepped inside, she reached in and flipped on the light. A cat meowed and she almost jumped out of her skin. Realizing it was only Fancy, her mother’s purebred blue Persian, she reached down and picked up the pampered feline.
Burying her nose in his soft gray fur, she entered the house, locking the door behind her. Weaving her way through stacks of open shipping boxes littering the still-alien room, she walked into the kitchen. Dropping the protesting cat on the scarred avocado-green counter, she rummaged through the cupboards until she found a can of the brand of food he preferred. She opened it, and. wrinkling her nose, spooned it in a dish. Placing his meal in front of him, she said, “I’m going to change. Don’t go anywhere.”
Feeling a bit foolish talking to a cat she’d never liked much, she went upstairs, flipping on every light as she went. Uneasiness plagued her. Telling herself it was her overactive imagination working overtime, nothing more, she slipped on jeans and pulled a flannel work shirt over her silk tee. She tugged on a pair of riding boots and wrapped a scarf around her head. Used to Los Angeles’ year-round warm weather, she found Colorado’s bone-chilling December a shock.
The lack of neighbors, the black night skies, but most of all, the complete and utter silence unnerved her. The nearest town was only about fifteen miles away, but to someone used to having a grocery, a dry cleaner, a gas station and a movie theater within a few blocks of her home, the tiny burg might’ve been a hundred miles away. Salt Lick sure wasn’t a Mecca.
Not a place she would ever visit.
http://tinyurl.com/o2rs7
THE BUTTERFLY GIRL by Christiane France
http://www.amberquill.com/store/p/564-The-Butterfly-Girl.aspx
“Oh, right. Sorry!” The woman turned away, and Tim made a dash for his towel.
After drying himself, he put on his jeans and running shoes, and went back to where she waited.
“You staying in one of those cottages over on the other side of the island?” Tim asked.
“No. I only came over for the day.” She smiled and tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, then she ran her hands slowly over her breasts and down her slim body in a gesture so blatantly sexual it left Tim breathless and completely mesmerized. He knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t help himself. And he definitely couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the ground.
“I wanted to spend some time with the monarchs,” the woman continued in a soft, lilting voice.
Tim didn’t have a clue who or what the woman was talking about. But from the sound of it, there were other people living here Steve had forgotten to mention. “The monarchs? Here on the island? Where do they live?”
“The monarch butterflies. You must’ve seen them. There’re usually hundreds of them here at this time of year.”
Tim recalled the red butterfly he’d seen earlier in the day. “Oh, right.” Up close like this, he could see the woman was no ghost. She was very real and absolutely gorgeous. High cheekbones, a wide mouth with full, pouty lips, dark hair down to her waist and luminous green eyes with the longest lashes he’d ever seen. There was also an inexplicable something about her that drew him like a magnet yet, at the same time, gave him the urge to run like hell.
www.chrisgrover.ca
From RANSOM, a romantic suspense, by Erica Sutherhome (my alternate pen name:
He advanced on her, drew a rope from behind him.
Her heart sprang into her throat. “Stay away from me.”
“Not into bondage, Sweetheart? That’s a pity.”
His sarcasm made her hiss. The last thing she wanted was to be tied up again. “You’re not touching me with that rope.”
He seemed to ignore her threat. He smiled a little, his eyes full of evil promise. He wrestled with her and, as he was stronger, he managed to tie her up. She cursed and his chuckle grated on her nerves. Then he threw her draped over his shoulder as he walked out of the room. Where in the world was he taking her? Triana could see nothing upside down.
When he set her down again, she stumbled and he held her with one arm. She looked around and saw they were in a fairly decent-sized bathroom. It was clean and modern. He reached into the shower stall and started the water.
When he turned to her with an appraising look, she shivered. She had put her blouse back on, but now instead of unbuttoning it, he tore the seam, tossing it aside. Outraged, she gasped, then watched almost hypnotically as he did the same to her bra. He tore her sweatpants and panties just as thoroughly. Jesus, he was acting like a caveman. “What are you doing?!” she cried.
“I can’t leave you untied just yet. Don’t worry. I’ll give you another change of clothing.”
His words were hardly reassuring. As she was naked before him and undeniably vulnerable, she trembled.
He picked her up and moved into the shower. He reached for a bar of soap.
Her hands and feet were tied and she could do nothing to fight him off as he held her in the circle of his arm.
http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00AM7CB2Q
http://marielavender.webs.com/
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