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Sunday, August 21, 2016

Sunday Peek

The Sunday Peek is an opportunity to get a buzz going for your soon-to-be released or re-released novel.  

Post a tempting 300-word snippet from your most recent endeavor. Be sure to add your website/blog link, a release date if you have one, and one link to where your other books can be found. Example: Your Amazon Author's Page.

Have fun!

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Discover NEW favorite authors on Exquisite Quills  


Nightingale said...

Morgan D'Arcy: A Vampyre Rhapsody:

“Lord D’Arcy, I’d appreciate an opportunity to speak with you. I tried to catch you after your Royal Albert concert, but they wouldn’t let…” He blushed, shifting back on his heels. “My name is Gordon Thomas. I’m a reporter for The Sun.”

“The Sun?” I ran a quick inventory of any peccadillo that might have won me a headline on a notoriety rag.

A striking blonde drifted to the reporter’s side and squeezed his arm. “Introduce me, Gordon.”

The party was looking up. An elegant black cocktail dress dipped low between perfect size C’s. My keen sense of smell didn’t detect saline or silicone. Those perky puppies were real. I pushed back from the keyboard and, in one svelte move, stood smiling at the tempting new arrival. She wore no perfume, only the clean, wholesome scent of her blood.

“Lord D’Arcy.” Gordon appeared enamored with titles. “My cousin, Ellen Amesworth.”

“I admire your taste in relatives, Mr. Thomas.” I extended my hand.

Her handshake was strong, firm. The blonde had a mind of her own and the courage to use it. Nowadays, many women were handsome, all lean lines and angles. Ellen Amesworth was pretty, her curvy figure lush. Reddish-gold hair caressed her chin. Crystal blue eyes, tipped up at the corners, met mine in frank appraisal. Gads, I loved independent, intelligent women, but I always lived to regret this preference.

She held my gaze and my hand a second after the buzzer. Reading mortal thoughts rarely offered a surprise. Ellen was different. She intrigued me. Behind her cool exterior, I sensed passion and intensity. She liked the bohemian contrast of my long blond hair with the black tie and tails and thought I was quite handsome. Regrettably, I was unable thank her for the silent compliment.

<a href=">Amazon Author Page</a>

Babette James said...

Conall's Huntress, a fantasy romance short story
Hunted Hearts 1

Mad he was.
Etaine Sabha drank in the sight of the warrior bathing naked in the ice-skimmed river as if it were Midsummer Day rather than a darkening eve in deepest winter. Aye, utterly mad, but his wicked, battle-hardened body was the fairest form of male she'd seen in all her days, human or faerie. As yet, he remained unaware of her presence, and after a year of hunting him, surely stealing another moment or two to appreciate such a beautiful creature before completing her quest could be forgiven.
He submerged and rose again, his golden hair pouring in glossy, dripping crystal and shadow above broad shoulders, while the moonlight painted wet silver over every lean, carved muscle, his strong spine, perfect buttocks, and powerful thighs. When he’d destroyed that goblin in battle at sunset, he’d captivated her with his pure power and fierce grace.
Turn around. Turn around.
Her breath hitched, caught on thorns of anticipation, her tense body lifting.
Let me see your face once more.
He languidly scrubbed a double handful of water over his face, and then scraped the water from his hair, sending droplets sparkling and splashing. Giving a last sensual shake of his body, he turned for the shore —
Yes! Etaine smiled and let fly her arrow straight for the black heart of Conall mac Guaire.

Available Now

LindaRae said...

The Epiphany of an Explorer" by Linda Rae Sande

“Do you always gawk like that?”

The voice was definitely feminine. Definitely alluring. And quite possibly that of a siren.

Having read Homer’s epic poems, Harry was well aware of what a siren was capable of doing. Luring a man first to her and then to his death beneath the ocean’s waves.

He realized he might actually be willing to drown should this one call him into the water.

Harry shook his head. Sirens were merely mythological characters, he reasoned. This particular sea nymph couldn’t be a siren. And the fact that she was standing implied she had two feet—he rather doubted a flipper tail could support her, which meant she had to be a human woman.

Still tamping down his sudden arousal, Harry took a good deal of satisfaction in his reasoning ability. I am a scientist, he reminded himself. And she is not what she seems. Nor could she be one of the young ladies he had danced with a Season or two ago. He almost shook his head. He wasn’t in London, nor anywhere near it. Of course she wasn’t one of the young chits with whom he had danced. None of them would dare be seen in so little in the way of attire unless they were bathing at Brighton, and even then, they would be far away from prying eyes or inside a bathing machine.

The damned things took all the fun out of watching women intent on swimming in the Channel.

Linda O'Connor said...

Perfectly Unpredictable by Linda O'Connor

Kalia pounded on her neighbor’s front door with her free hand. The other cradled a screaming Mani. In the last fifteen days, except for the past three, the neighbor had played his guitar from six until eight every night. And soothed Mani. It was the only thing that worked to calm the colic. No amount of rocking, walking, or singing worked to soothe the baby like fifteen minutes of guitar music. It was faintly amazing and fairly irritating that Kalia had to depend on the neighbor’s guitar playing.
He was home. She knew he was home. There was a new car in the driveway, and she could hear voices. So why wasn’t he answering the door? She pounded again.
The door swung open, and Kalia yelped at the suddenness of it. Mani screamed louder.
Mack frowned at them. “What?” he asked tersely.
Kalia groaned inwardly. It was the first time she had seen the neighbor close up. Six foot two, short dark hair with a sexy scruff, broad shoulders in a dark T-shirt, slim hips covered in worn sexy jeans, bare feet, and angry green eyes. Great. Just what she needed. A pissed-off lifeline. “Hi. I live next door. I need you to play guitar,” she said in a rush above Mani’s wailing.
“What?” His eyebrows winged up, and he put his hands on his hips.
“Why aren’t you playing guitar? You play guitar every night at this time.”
He shook his head. “I have company.”
“Well, you’re very good at guitar. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind listening to it for a few minutes.” Mani screamed louder. Desperate, Kalia strode in, noting that the layout to his home was the same as hers. Getting a fleeting impression of dark colors and sparse furniture, she moved past him into the living room. “Hello,” she said to the gorgeous brunette curled up on the dark leather sofa. “Would you mind very much if . . . he,” she gestured vaguely, realizing that she wasn’t sure of his name, “played guitar for a few minutes? Just a few minutes. It won’t take long.”
Mack followed her in. “Renee, this is my neighbor, half of the gay couple that lives next door, and her screaming baby,” he said wryly.
Kalia’s eyebrows shot up. “Yup, that’s me. The lesbian from next door,” she said with some chagrin. Is that what the neighborhood thought? She was living under a rock. “And we just need a little guitar music if you don’t mind.” She spied two guitars leaning on stands across the room and waved in their direction. “Whichever works.” Time’s a wastin’.

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Helen Henderson said...

Since summer is ending, I thought I'd share a scene from Windmaster of my favorite way to cool-off after a hard days work.

An old wagon with a plume of dust in its wake, rattled up the road to the mill. Olier moved to the doorway while Dal stood in the shadow alongside the door. His grip tightened on Ellspeth’s shoulder.

“It’s old man Steryl,” Olier hissed. “He snarls a lot but has no love for the Oracle. Dal, can you mill his grain? If I leave now, we’ll lose the entire batch of syrup. Just to be safe, Ellspeth stay out of sight. I can explain Dal’s presence, but not yours.”

Dal gave Ellspeth’s shoulder a quick squeeze and stepped out to Olier’s side. The men raised a hand in greeting to the wagon driver. Before the newcomer could say a word, Olier pointed to the mill wheel. “You know where to take it, Steryl. The marka’s at a critical stage. Darmen here will grind it for you.”

The wagon driver grumbled in response.

Dal gave a pointed stare at the doorway behind Olier. But, there was no sign of Ellspeth. Good, Ellspeth is doing what she’s told. Although he mused, I wonder how long that will continue. An inadvertent sigh of relief escaped him. The wagon creaked as he swung up beside the driver.

Steryl glared at the man beside him. The whip crack was accompanied by more mumbled comments.

Dal hid a smile. He knew how to handle this one. And with a little luck, he’d get the latest news.

One big heave and the bag of meal thumped onto the wagon bed. Dal’s hearty, “All done,” was answered by Steryl’s grumble. Glad to see the grouchy old man leave, Dal snatched a cloth from atop the grain chute. He wiped his face to see the rough material turn brown with dust and sweat. The millstream looked so inviting he dropped the makeshift towel and stripped off his shirt and breeches. Three steps took him into the cool water. Several quick splashes cooled his sweat-drenched skin and ran in rivulets down the muscles of his chest.

Windmaster on sale this week for 99 cents at Amazon UK and

Jenny Twist said...

The Owl Goddess, a novel based on the von Däniken theory that the gods were spacemen.
Set in the prehistoric Mesolithic age with the goddess Athena as a young girl and Prometheus, a young cave-dweller, as the main protagonists.

Prometheus was walking along the seashore following the tracks of the Tribe. They were not far ahead now - maybe half a day.
Suddenly, the whole sky lit up with a flash of fire and almost immediately a low growl of thunder rolled out from the sea. It had a curious, flat sound and it ended abruptly as if a huge foot had stamped it out. It was like no lightning he had ever seen before. Something unspeakable was happening out at sea where the star had fallen.
Gripped with panic, he ran into a cave. Some other animal had been there before him. He could smell the musk of its fur. Something dangerous - bear or wolf. His hair rose in atavistic fear, but he was more afraid of the dreadful things happening outside and so he went on into the cave until he came to a solid wall of rock. Here he sat down amongst the bones of small animals and trembled in the dark. . .
He could hear nothing and at first wondered whether the dreadful explosion of sound had made him deaf, but when he scrabbled his fingers among the bones he quite clearly heard the small scratching noises. Not deaf then. Just silence.
He wondered how far he had come into the mountain. Far enough to be unable to hear sounds from outside? He didn’t think so, but maybe it was. He sat and shivered, trying to imagine what dreadful beings were walking abroad in the world out there.
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