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Monday, February 2, 2015

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!    


E. Ayers said...

I THEE WED (Wedding Vow Book 2)
by E. Ayers

Julia watched as the twenty-something man with bright red hair and a face full of freckles returned to his big burgundy and tan truck and brought in another four boxes, then two more large boxes. Wearing burgundy shorts and a tan, short-sleeved shirt revealed his muscular body that had been dusted in more freckles.

"These aren't heavy, just big." Dangling from his waistband was his company ID Badge. But the name Aaron was clearly visible on his shirt.

"That's only twelve."

"There are two more coming."

She waited while he wheeled in the last two large boxes on his hand truck.

“Would you like to recount?”

She held her finger up as she checked each packing slip. Once certain she had everything, she smiled. “All here.” She looked at Aaron's freckled face and saw sweat trickling from his forehead, down his neck, soaking his shirt collar and leaving a big sweat-stained vee on the front of the shirt. “Follow me. You look like you really need a drink of water.”

Amazon International Buy Links
Available as a Kindle Unlimited

TO HAVE & TO HOLD (Wedding Vow Book 3 )
coming March 1, 2015

Kim McMahill said...

BIG HORN STORM: Niki couldn’t see Robert Mitchell Blackburn II, known to friends and family as Deuce, but his deep voice gave away his location. No doubt his tall muscular frame stood just inside the barn door, concealed in the shadows. Even though he was hidden from view, she could describe every detail of his unruly hair peeking out from under his beat-up and sweat-stained straw cowboy hat, the scrutinizing look in his hazel eyes, his tanned complexion, and the scuffs on the heels of his boots where his spurs had worn on the leather. Dark stubble would shadow his chin and above his lip, and his sleeves would be rolled up on his denim shirt. She hated the fact that not only could she see him clearly in her mind now, but she could picture him just as clearly nearly every day of her life no matter how hard she tried to keep him out of her head.

Buy on Amazon at
For more info, please follow my blog at or on twitter at

Allie said...

by Allie Kincheloe

Moving into the Downward Dog position, Talia’s gaze drifted out toward the main area of the gym. She tuned out the yoga instructor and missed moving into the next pose when her eyes landed on a familiar face in the weight area. Her first glimpse of Sean since that incident with her dad had to be when sweat poured down her face and pink yoga pants clung to her damp thighs. Of course.

A sheen of sweat glistened off him. The muscles in his chest and arms bulged as he lifted the weights. Talia couldn’t take her eyes off him. She licked her lips and watched him, completely ignoring her instructor and class moving on without her. Her class wasn’t hot yoga, but Sean sure turned up her heat.

Erin OQuinn said...

From Thin as Smoke, which debuted yesterday. Here, PI Simon is taking off instead of putting on, changing out of his wet clothing to investigate a theft:

Simon removed his jacket first and draped it on a wooden hanger. Over that he laced the ascot. Next the vest on another hanger. The yellow silk shirt, ruined by the rain, clung to the hair on his arms and chest as he quickly pulled it off and tossed it to the wooden planking. He loosened the wool suit pants, sopping wet, and let them fall heavily at his feet.

In mere moments, Simon stood wearing only his jock strap and a frown. The underwear, too, was damp and goddamn uncomfortable. With only a brief twinge of regret, he stepped out of the scrap of cotton and faced the wardrobe butt-naked and freezing cold.

Intro 35% discount here:
Blog devoted to the m/mysteries here:

Suzana Wylie said...

From the current WiP, Fallow Moon, book 3 in the Fallow Moon series. First person, from the point of view of Leo Ruggeri, Vampyr, with Brindle Demon, Varulv (werewolf).

Brin didn’t make remarks, being busy with getting the champagne ready to open.

“Wait,” I told him. “Aren’t you going to drink that out of my slipper?”

“You have slippers? Fishnets and a garter belt? A black corset, in answered-prayer leather?”

“Gods, you’re perfect. No, but there are some places online you could order me some. With your credit card this time.”

“Would you wear them for me?” He looked at me with both brows raised.

“Oh hells yes, babe. I’ll wear anything for you.”

“I like what you’re wearing now.”

“I’m naked.”


I pointed to the larger suitcase. “For your drinking pleasure, my boots are in that one.”

He turned away and opened the thing. Was he really going to drink out of my boot? It was a joke. Sort of. After a second’s rummaging, he turned. “This is more what I had in mind.” He twirled my black leather jockstrap around his index finger.

I grinned at him, and damn, if he didn’t pop the cork, use a management-provided flute to catch champagne for me, and then fill the jockstrap.

Catch up with the series and be ready for Fallow Moon's release:
Bittermoon- Book one of the Fallow Moon series
18+ Eternity, like love, may not be so eternal after all. (currently on sale)
Stygian Moon - Book 2 of the Fallow Moon series
18+ Sometimes you have to go through Hell to get to Heaven

Erin OQuinn said...

Oh, this is as sparkling as the champagne in that boot! Must.Read.All.

Suzana Wylie said...

I can feel the tug of the shirt against each hair on his arms! Great description! Buy link noted!

Susan Macatee said...

From Civil War holiday romance, The Christmas Ball.


Footsteps outside the parlor door drew his attention away from the conversation. Ted's eyes widened and he turned to see what his brother-in-law was staring at.

Mary ushered Sara into the room. He could only gape. He'd never seen her clothed as a woman. The gown she wore was a simple plaid day dress, but it accentuated her slightly rounded bosom and small waist. Her hair had been pulled back into a hairnet, obviously to disguise her cropped curls.

He rose and faced the doorway. Ted moved to his side.

"Ted," Mary said. "May I present Miss Brewster. This is my husband, Mr. Ted Cunningham."

"Pleased to meet you, sir."

Ted moved forward taking Sara's hand. "A pleasure, Miss Brewster." He formally bowed.
Her face turned bright pink as she gazed at Kirk.

Smiling, he strode forward to join the small group. "Why, I barely recognize you."

She smirked. "Mary's been a real help."

"Come, let's all sit down and get acquainted." Mary spread out her arm to indicate they resume their seats. "Greta will announce when dinner's ready."

"Where's Mother?" Kirk asked.

"She's taking her toilette before dinner. She should be down soon."

He caught Sara's grimace. "Don't worry, dear. Mother will love you."

Although she nodded, he noticed her throat working. She obviously feared meeting the matriarch of the family.

Mary and Ted took seats on either side of the fireplace, forcing Kirk and Sara to settle on the settee.

"Would you care for a brandy, ladies?" Ted asked. Without waiting for an answer, he poured from the decanter into the extra glasses Greta had left.

He was very aware of Miss Brewster sitting stiffly beside him. After staring at her glass for a few moments, she finally lifted it to her lips.

Mari Christie said...

From Royal Regard:

Alexander didn’t disagree, only turned to his wife, saying, “I wish you wouldn’t force me to Almack’s, Charlotte. Knee breeches are as bad as a ball gown.” He shifted in his clothes, pulling at his cravat until it was drawn askew. With his hair tied and powdered in the manner of several older, more influential members of Parliament, and attired in formal black breeches, clocked cream stockings and a coat of black superfine, he appeared closer to Myron’s age, a quarter-century beyond his one-and-forty. He had not yet matured, however, into the same sense of quiet dignity.

First three chapters:

To buy:

Fiona McGier said...

I'm posting on CoffeeTimeRomance today, giving excerpts from my Minnesota Romances, and hosting give-aways of the 2 published books. In "For the Love of His Life", a bad boy action movie star is sent up to "dry out" and stay out of trouble in upper Minnesota. The indie director who wants him to star in his next movie, bails him out of jail and sends him up to stay in a cabin at a resort owned by the director's grandmother. His cousin, who taught him how to fish, hunt and camp when he was younger, is assigned to keep the bad boy out of trouble until the rest of the movie crew gets up there. This is the first time the movie star meets his director's cousin.

Veronica pushed open the swinging door and went out into the restaurant, trying to compose her face so that the anticipation she felt at watching Gram-Marie put someone in his place wouldn't be too noticeable.
To Raul, the look of anticipation was what he was used to seeing on the face of his fans, so his ego being stroked like that made him somewhat more polite than he had intended to be. Besides, the woman really was good-looking, in a Nordic, blond-princess kind of way. She looked tall enough to be an Amazon, but light-skinned enough for her light-blond hair to be her natural color. She wore jeans tight enough to show off her ample curves, but too baggy to have been chosen to entice him. She had a sleeveless tee shirt on that said, SLR in big letters, with an asterisk to indicate that the smaller writing underneath it explained, "Sorrenson's Lake Resort--you've stayed at the rest, now try the best!"
He became aware that he was staring at her breasts and cleared his throat before he spoke.
"Do you work here?"
She nodded slowly.
"Is there any coffee?"
"Sure. There's some old stuff left in the pot, but I can get a new one going if you like. Not many folks come in for coffee in the middle of the afternoon...but then most of us have been awake for a long time."
Sensing he was being criticized by the blond, pony-tailed waitress, he went on the offensive.
"I need some coffee and lots of it. Give me what's left and make more. And I need a phone. What the hell is wrong with my cell phone? I can't get a signal at all." He glared at her as if this was her personal fault.

Find out more at:

Joan Reeves said...

Nobody's Cinderella, a Romantic Comedy by Joan Reeves

When Darcy looked at Chase Whittaker, she felt so peculiar, like the time her three brothers had dared her to climb the giant pine tree in the back yard, and she'd fallen, knocking the breath out of her.

Belatedly, she realized he was talking. She focused and caught the end of his sentence. "--give you a chance. We'd wanted someone with experience, but we're willing to take you on. Your class standing was excellent, and you seem like a mature, sober young woman."

His eyes swept her, from the tight knot of hair forced into submission by half a tube of gel, to the black, square-framed glasses. Those sexy eyes of his took in the severe navy suit, pristine white blouse, and floppy navy bow tie.

The book she'd read on dressing for success had said this was the outfit professional women wore. She'd hoped the severe clothing would change her image from a basketball-playing tomboy to a stunning corporate diva. Maybe she should have checked the copyright date in the book.

His sexy eyes reached her size ten feet clad in sensible, low-heeled shoes. Ugly black patent leather flats that, Darcy knew, no fashionable woman would be caught dead wearing. But she'd thought they'd be perfect in case the owner of Sunbelt Oil turned out to be on the short side.

Chase cleared his throat. "And you are obviously sensible and practical." He smiled.

Mature? Sober? Sensible? Practical? Why didn't he just say she was so undesirable man ship-wrecked on a desert island for twenty years wouldn't put the moves on her? The rest of what he said faded into the background. Just once, why couldn't she be seen as incredibly sexy and completely irresistible? Why couldn't he be as attracted to her as she was to him?

Nobody's Cinderella is available in audio at Audible and iTunes and in ebook at most ebook sellers including Amazon Kindle: (for International Kindle Shops, that's:

See Joan Sling Words: | Joan's email list sign up: http

Theda Hudson said...

From The Pearl Witch by Theda Hudson

Kathy fit in wearing the crimson brocade corset over a leather skirt and a vest topped with a jean jacket. The corset was professionally made, steel-boned with heavy eyelets that allowed her to cinch in tight enough to create a true hourglass shape out of her voluptuous body. The tulip bodice just covered her nipples. In the bar the vest had covered her, but she’d kept flashing him little glimpses to tantalize him.
Now that they were in the club, she removed her coat and vest, she turned for his approval.
He smiled at her and nodded.
Merrill handed her the bag and the key, made the plate, and took four bottles of water. Gesturing her to precede him they made their way up the wide stairway to the second floor.
She led him to the right off the main hallway. Fifteen was at the end of the narrow corridor on the right. She unlocked the door, opened it, and stood back so that he could enter first.
The room was mirrored and lit by more of the Christmas and rope lights. There was a small lamp on the table next to the couch and chair. The rest of the room contained a Saint Andrew’s Cross, another small table, and an examination table.
Kathy stood to the side, legs spread, head down, hands clasped behind her while he settled everything. He took the bag to the small table and opened, pawing through it, pretending to decide what toys he wanted to play with tonight.
He had two goals: work off some tension and put Kathy in subspace so he could attempt to contact his lover, Riyanya, using Kathy as a psychic conduit.

Ellen Gragg said...

From What Was I Thinking?
By Ellen Gragg

My future mother-in-law had looked like a stern dowager from across the room, but as Bert had promised, there was more to her. She was stout, with white hair pinned up in an elaborate pile, and strong features. When she had been reading, she had looked very serious, with tiny, gold-rimmed spectacles balanced on her prominent nose.
In conversation, though, she had that quicksilver smile of Bert’s and the mobility of her face softened the features as any illusion of sternness disappeared. She was wearing a dress that was like mine, and yet not. It wasn’t as ridiculously tight as mine, I thought with some embarrassment, and the fabric was much finer stuff. It was dark grey to match her eyes and had a tidy, white collar trimmed with blue velvet. Though she hadn’t made any attempt to look young, as she might have in my day, she looked vibrant and strong. Above the blue velvet, her thick hair gleamed so healthily that the color seemed more like a style choice than an indicator of old age.
She must be fiftyish, I judged, going from Bert’s age, but what fifty looked like—thank you, Gloria Steinem, though I think you said it about thirty—had changed so much in our hundred-plus years that I couldn’t really tell.
Turning to Bert, she said, “Do ring for Betsy, won’t you?” and back to me, “I’ll just have Betsy show you where you can freshen up, and there will be tea and sandwiches when you return.”
Bert forestalled her. “The, um, bathroom, is in the same place, Addie, though you’ll likely find the fixtures different. I trust there are towels and soap, Mother?”
She nodded. “Perhaps you would like a change of clothing?” she asked delicately. “Perhaps your elegant frock feels a bit soiled from travel?”
Not to mention inappropriately tight and low-cut, I though grimly. But it was a welcome offer, and made with tact.

Available on Amazon at
Follow me on Twitter @EllenGragg

Jude Knight said...

My current work in progress, Encouraging Prudence, and three thugs.

The leader wore the tightest of dark blue coats over a richly embroidered ice blue waistcoats. His high collar and froth of cravat in snowy white, and his tight beige pantaloons and well-polished black boots proclaimed him a disciple of the renowned Brummell, apostle of the dandies, though perhaps an apostate disciple, since Brummell declared that black was the only colour for a gentleman.
One of the other gentleman wore the uniform of a hussar, though Prue didn't know which light horse regiment wore buff breeches with their red jackets. And the other, a tall thin man whose sly sideways look at her made her skin crawl, was also dressed in the dandy style, though the cheaper material of his coat had shiny patches on the elbows, and, her expert eyes noted, his lace on his cuffs had been carefully mended.