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Monday, January 19, 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...

A River City Novel
by E. Ayers

Amanda arrived at three-forty wearing a pair of blue jeans and a loose fitting, long-sleeved, knit top. Her hair was pulled up into a big clip and she had on a minimal amount of makeup. His heart leapt. He slipped off the stool and dropped a tip on the bar with his business card.

Now he was glad he'd had the forethought to wear more casual clothes than he normally wore on a Saturday since she was dressed informally. She had stepped into the corner and was looking towards the dining room, oblivious to his advance.
His smile broadened when he approached her. ''Hi, looking for anyone in particular?''

She gazed up at him and nodded with the tiniest smile.

Normally, he would have greeted a woman with a polite hug and kiss. But the way her hands clung to the strap of the purse that hung from her shoulder and her averted gaze as she bit her lower lip told him any display of affection wouldn't be appreciated. He remained controlled, deliberately giving her space.

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Available as a Kindle Unlimited

Kayelle Allen said...

This is from Human Perfect (by Kayelle Allen), out today!
Terran Crescent, Earth
Lunar Spaceport Earthside Shuttle Concourse D

Having introduced themselves, the two had fallen naturally into conversation as they walked. Tom suggested they eat at AquaCulture, a water-themed restaurant overlooking the hydroponics section of the station. On the barren moon, a waterfall cascading down the windows lent a decadent feel. Synthetic jazz tinkled in the background.

An android waitress rolled up to their table, her lapel sign flashing the soup of the day. Hot pink skin and green hair matched the color of the flowers in the wallpaper and her uniform. "May I take your cocktail order?"

Tom set down the menu. "Water for me, please."

"Live a little." Christa perused the list. "They have an excellent white wine."

"I don't drink. But feel free. I don't mind."

"I'll have an Ylyptyan Cassis."

After the waitress rolled away, Tom picked up a bottle of red sauce, squinted at the label, and put it down, then picked up a green bottle. He set that down, slid the red bottle into the green bottle's place -- and then switched them back. After a moment, he lined up all the condiment bottles, peered at them, and then began reordering them.

"Tom, what are you doing?"

"Sorry." He yanked his hands back and put them on his lap. "Bad habit. I was trying to decide it I should line them up by color or size, or if the name of the product should be--" He shook his head. "Never mind. Order is a flaw, but I will overcome it."

Raising one eyebrow, Christa took in the neat row of bottles. "Order is a flaw?"

"Perfection is godlike. No real person is perfect. No real person is a slave to order. I embrace chaos."
Human Perfect on Amazon

Catherine Kean said...

Here's an excerpt from my award-winning medieval romance MLY LADY'S TREASURE. In this scene, the hero Brant cares for the heroine who has slipped and hit her head, rendering her unconscious.

Val trotted at his heels as Brant returned to the bed. He crouched beside the lady. Her face looked very pale against the dun woolen blanket covering the pallet, her lips almost blue. Leaning over, he carefully removed her soaked leather shoes. Water trickled from her mantle onto the floorboards, so he carefully lifted her to slide the outer garment from her shoulders. The bedding beneath her was damp. He must remember to ask the tavern owner for more blankets when the man brought the meal.
Pressing her torso against him for support, Brant shifted her lower body to work the mantle free. With a little sigh, she tucked her head into the crook between his jaw and shoulder. Her breath warmed his neck, coaxing him to wrap his arms around her, to savor her enticing scent. Frowning, he ignored the temptation and pushed the mantle to the floor.
Val nuzzled the wet garment. He sneezed.
Brant gently laid the lady down again. She wore a grass green gown belted at the waist. A simple garment. However, the lines of the soaked wool hugged her curves and valleys, confirming all that had been suggested by his clumsy, earlier exploration—firm breasts, a narrow waist, tapered hips, and long legs.
Dryness parched his mouth. He unfastened the leather belt around her waist, slid it out from under her, then dropped it on the floor. That simple task, in which his fingers brushed against her garments, confirmed the thought teasing the back of his mind. He must remove her gown and shift. Not only were they soaked, but he must be sure she did not have other wounds.
He reached for the ties at the side of her gown and hesitated.

Rosemary Gemmell said...

From Midwinter Masquerade by Romy Gemmell

Annabelle dared to put her whole weight on the ankle while getting dressed and was delighted to feel very little pain. The swelling had decreased to leave her ankle its normal size and she had great hopes of managing more than one dance since both Freddy and Mr. Ellingham had promised to stand up with her.
She chose a gown in the latest fashion brought from one of the most exclusive London dressmakers. Since the war with France had come to an end the previous year, their own styles had become even more influenced by the latest designs from Paris. A pale rose colour rather than white, the low neckline gathered beneath her bosom to show a greater expanse of flesh than usual. She particularly liked the two layers of tiny embroidered roses around the hemline and the rose satin ribbon that clever Mrs. Leighton had entwined in her hair.


Robin Glasser said...

♥My Life as a Concubine♥ Robin Glasser

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."

D'Ann said...

Thank you!

From The Cowboy's Baby

Peering through the glass door, Cat gasped.
Tanner Burke.
Not the boy she remembered but a full-grown man—a very sexy man. Wearing a black Stetson, a cardinal red Carhartt coat and Wranglers that made her swallow hard. Why was he here? And why was she wearing sweats and no makeup? She smoothed her hand over her short hair and opened the door with shaking hands.

Erin OQuinn said...

From Nevada HIghlander, wherein a Scot decides to adopt the Nevada style of cowboy hat and very ugly cowboy boots.

The sales clerk at Warren’s, Alex saw, was trying to hide a shit-eating grin as his companion tried on one badly-sized hat after another.

“What think you, lad? Is it me?”

“Um ... hold on.” He fingered the selection of hats on a nearby shelf and handed his companion a soft Stetson of brown-red leather, almost the color of his luminous hair. “Try this one.” Rory settled it down over his head and looked at him, making his prick jump six inches. It was freaking perfect. The combination of the color and the brim tipped over his sexy eyes made the man look like someone’s wet dream of a cowboy.

“Will you believe me if I say ‘perfect,’ my friend? Because it is. Made for you.”

Rory grinned. “And I believe you, lad. If you like it, that’s the final word.” He leveled his eyes at the clerk. “Don’t bother to bag it, my fine man. I’ll wear it out of the store. How much?”

Alex saw the clerk’s eyes reach somewhere beyond Rory’s large smile, down to his crotch then back up to the handsome face. Unaccountably, he felt a little jealous.

“For you … Let’s say two hundred dollars. Not a dime more.”

As they were getting back in the van, Alex couldn’t help pausing at the door, looking across at Rory. “Now I’ll have to start wearing my gun, goddamn it, Drummond, to fight off the admirers. You’re a natural.”

Rory winked at him, then slid onto the seat and slammed the door. Before they took off for the grocery store, he rested his large hand for a moment on his thigh. “Whatever I have, it’s yours. You know that.”

“Then I’d like your cowboy boots.”


“Yes, really.” He was convinced the boots were an abomination before the Lord, and someone needed to gently pry them from the Scotsman’s death grip.

Nevada Highlander: Who’s on Whose Tail?

Jane Leopold Quinn said...

From the menage short His, Hers & His -

Brede joined them, striding their way looking exactly like a panther stalking prey, and she was the nimble doe, except that she had no intention of escaping her fate. When they were seated in the banquette, Brede ordered champagne, the waiter iced it in the bucket at the side of the table, and they toasted each other. They were in a very private location, the banquette curving around them like a womb, all smooth, cushy leather, a handsome man nestled in on either side of her.

"To you." Brede tipped his glass in her direction. "You look lovely, Gwen. The dress is very attractive on you."

"Thank you," she responded. She hadn't worn it for warmth, that's for sure. A low cut, tank style neckline, cummerbund sash around her midriff, and a short, kicky, filmy skirt topped very high, very narrow spike heeled sandals. The tank top had its own built in bra and her only other clothing was bright, sunshine yellow thong panties. She may have been slow on the uptake, but once she made the decision--and it stuck--she knew what to wear. Or not to wear.

Jane Leopold Quinn -

Marie Lavender said...

From Second Nature, book one of the Blood at First Sight Series:

Oh, yes, she was very close. He turned his head to the right, scanning.
“Desiree! Desiree, look at this!” a woman exclaimed.
He spied two women in a booth. The vendor was selling Native American pottery. It was quality stuff, he realized. The nearest Native American tribe to Baltimore was the Piscataway tribe, but he suspected the vendor at the festival was Navajo because he recognized the dialect when the old woman spoke to her business partner. He had been to Arizona many years back and he assumed they were probably traveling to different states. If he wasn’t so obsessed with his bloodlust at the moment, he might have bought something.
The first woman had short, reddish-brown hair. She was slender and fairly tall, dressed in a brown suede skirt with a white blouse. She lifted up an oddly-shaped white and turquoise vase, which had intricate designs on its contours.
The second woman ambled over to her companion. She was so breathtakingly beautiful that his chest ached. She had very dark hair, long and almost black, but he couldn’t tell for sure in the booth lighting. Her eyes were almond-shaped and her skin was golden, which he suspected was her natural coloration, not from the sun, lending an almost exotic appearance to her features. She wore a simple blue sundress with brown cowgirl boots, providing an ample view of her shapely legs. He could see from the outline of the dress that she had enough curves to make a man want to inspect her further.
The surprised look on her face pleased him for some reason. He knew it was her blood he had sensed; he could smell it very well now. His hearing was sensitive enough that he could pick up the rest of their conversation as well.

Ute Carbone said...

A very short excerpt from the start of All Things Returned, the third novella of the Sweet Lenora historical series--

Anton pulled off his cravat for the second time. “Foolish speck of clothing—like to choke the life out of a man.”
He fumbled with it until I took the scrap of silk and tied it around his neck, sealing my action with a kiss. “You should try
wearing a corset.”
“I think we should pull off all of these confounded garments and run about like babes in Eden,” he said, nuzzling my neck.

Theda Hudson said...

From Lord of the Broken Tower--
The maid, Lydia, came back a little later with a dress. "For dinner," she explained. "With your bag so small, I thought you must not have proper clothing. Am I wrong?"
Della sighed. Everything but what she had in her bag had been lost in her village.
"Thank you, Lydia. I appreciate your thoughtfulness."
The maid smiled shyly and handed Della a few wisps of satin--tiny cream panties and a bra that gave her a beautiful décolletage to make the most out of the silky red dress. Oh, my. This Lord Carlizo was very thoughtful. She wanted to meet him. Then the dress, a
"Have you shoes?"
Della smiled. "Only those I came with."
"No matter." Lydia pulled out a pair of red patent leather shoes. More like sandals actually, nothing but a slip of leather for a sole, a few thin leather straps that fit over her insteps, her toes, and her ankle, poised on a tall, thin heel.
Della stared at Lydia for a long moment. The lord's tastes were...interesting. "I'm not sure I can walk in those."
Lydia opened the closet door to reveal a full-length mirror.
She took a quick intake of breath. The apparition before her was a nymph—lithe, and ethereal. She'd never worn anything like this, had never seen anyone wear anything like this in her life.
She looked like some kind of sex fairy in this vividly red fantasy dress. Is this what Carlizo thought of her? The idea made her warm and she shivered a little, even as she remembered she was there to manage the manufactory, not satisy the sexual urges of some Lord of the keep.

Lyndi Lamont said...

This is from HOW TO WOO... A RELUCTANT BRIDE, steamy Victorian romance.

London, June 1885

She wasn’t quite the perfect English rose but she’d do.

Evan Channing stood next to the fireplace in Lord Blatchford’s parlor and studied his fiancée as she sat on the settee talking to his mother. Lydia Blatchford wore blue tonight, bringing out the color of her pale eyes. She looked beautiful, yet untouchable, in her fashionable silk gown. The low-cut bodice revealed the smooth white skin of her shoulders and a hint of cleavage. The lines of the gown showed off her firm breasts and small waist, and the bustle emphasized her rounded hips.

When she looked up, he smiled at his intended across the room. Her lips curved slightly in answer and a blush stole up her face, adding color to her porcelain complexion before she turned away. Tonight her dark blonde hair had been curled into a fashionable upswept hairstyle, softening her appearance. When he’d met her before, her long mane had been pulled back into a bun. He wasn’t sure the curls suited her, but of course, he’d prefer to see her hair down, spread around her on his bed. His pulse raced at the thought she’d soon be his.

He could hardly wait to peel off her layers of clothing, revealing the woman underneath, her smooth skin and generous curves. Taller and larger boned than most women, she’d fit perfectly against his own lanky frame. Perhaps he’d find an opportunity to steal a kiss tonight. Surely that was allowed to an engaged couple.

“Stop staring.”

Evan started and turned to see Lydia’s brother Harry standing beside him. “Sorry.”

Harry raised a blond eyebrow. “You should be. If you weren’t already betrothed to my sister I’d have to call you out for the way you were undressing her with your eyes.”

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Mari Christie said...

From La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess, coming out this spring:

She had chosen a Persian-blue, gossamer-silk sari shot with gold threads for their first night together, which brought out the blue-black of candlelight in her upswept hair and the sparks of escalating need in her eyes. The shift and choli beneath the sari were also sheer, offering hints of her hidden treasures, but not detracting from his never-quite-fulfilled view of her succulent skin. The tiny bells tinkling along the edges of the yards of fabric wrapping her body, the music of the bangles she wore on her ankles and wrists, were as fairy dust clouding his senses. He couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking hers, even in the face of the rest of her glorious body.

Jude Knight said...

From Farewell to Kindness, coming in April. The heroine has just tried on a red dress.

"That dress is too strong a colour for you. With a different bodice colour it might work, but against your skin, it would just make you fade away into the wall.”

Mia spoke up. “I bought that dress at the start of the season, and the first time I wore it, one of my friends told me all about the dress the next day. She never noticed that I was the one inside it.”

“Ruth could wear that colour, but she is the only one of us that could," Susan said. "What a pity unmarried ladies cannot wear red, Ruth.”

“I keep it to remind me to take Susan’s fashion advice,” Mia said.
“So what colour for Anne, Susan?”

“The colours that suit you should work for her, Mia. Carmine? Peach? Nankeen would work quite well, and Straw. I know; my Calamine Blue, Markham. The green tones in it would be lovely.”

“I thought perhaps the Sage, my lady.”

Susan clapped her hands. “The Sage! That is perfect, Markham.”

She disappeared into the small dressing room and came back with a gown in a cloudy soft green that split at the front over a cream underskirt, tightly embroidered in green and gold. More embroidery highlighted the sides of the split and curved around the hem, which dipped into a short train at the back.

Though not as spectacular as the red gown, it was certainly pretty.

Then Susan held it up before Anne at the mirror, and Anne saw herself transformed. The colour made her hair look richer, her eyes brighter, and it brought a glow to her skin.

“Yes,” said Ruth, decidedly, and Mia and KItty echoed her. “Yes.”

Susan smiled her delight. “Markham, whatever I am paying you, it is not enough.”

Erin McRae said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Erin McRae said...

From Doves, Love in Los Angeles Book 2:

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Alex had gone as casual as he possibly could, which means a suit. He absolutely cannot cope with wearing a tux to Liam’s wedding. Paul’s doing the suit thing too, and the conversation they’d had about coordinating outfits to avoid clashing—Alex is in gray, Paul in midnight blue—had been very funny. Alex has been doing Hollywood too long to feel out of place now they’re here, but it definitely feels particularly foreign to him today. He wonders what his mother would think about it all.

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