tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post4420369134143886782..comments2024-03-22T03:27:19.859-04:00Comments on Sourcebooks Casablanca Romance Authors: CONTEST! FIRST PAGE CRITIQUES!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914920560584429315noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-12621661006518053592012-12-16T10:24:54.026-05:002012-12-16T10:24:54.026-05:00DON'T COME BACK
Contemporary Single Title
85,0...DON'T COME BACK<br />Contemporary Single Title<br />85,000<br />Unpublished<br />*Please note that I can not italicize within this format. If something sounds like internal dialogue, it is.<br /><br /><br />"It's A Boy!"<br /><br /> Trey froze in the doorway of Sue's hospital room. The proclamation danced on a balloon floating above a bouquet of blue carnations.<br /><br /> Who in the hell would give her something like that? Hasn't she suffered enough?<br /><br /> The privacy curtain blocked the view of her bed. Maybe he'd find her asleep and could remove the monstrosity before she woke. He quietly headed for the painful reminder, and that's when he saw her.<br /><br /> Saw them.<br /><br /> Sue was sitting up in bed, a bundled baby in her arms. Trey's heart stopped. Why would she have him? Weren't they supposed to take him after the birth?<br /><br /> The baby nursed at her breast. Sue didn’t look tired or sore or sad. In fact, her face glowed as she cooed to the baby. With one hand, she stroked the infant’s dark hair.<br /><br /> Just like mine.<br /><br /> Trey's gut knotted. He didn’t want to see this. Didn’t want to notice details like hair color or the size of the tiny fingers that clung to Sue's breast. The miles that had separated him from Sue had helped him distance himself from the baby, even the idea of the baby. This was too real. He turned to leave, but Sue caught him.<br /><br /> "Trey, you’re here!" She smiled wide, her eyes full of joy. She looked younger than he remembered. So different from the last time he’d seen her, when he’d headed back to college, leaving her alone and scared.chris campillohttp://www.chriscampillo.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-59771345130774710982012-12-12T07:57:17.376-05:002012-12-12T07:57:17.376-05:00All right, I'm jumping on the clarification ba...All right, I'm jumping on the clarification bandwagon, just in case there's some confusion.<br /><br />I posted "As Long As There Is Chocolate"<br />My name is Tana Essary<br />My email is tanaessary@gmail.com<br />My website is http://tanaessary.com<br /><br />Thank you so much!Tana Lovetthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16702532151397041986noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-42169530425236107862012-12-07T09:26:33.490-05:002012-12-07T09:26:33.490-05:00I haven't seen or heard of any responses yet e...I haven't seen or heard of any responses yet either Lisa. But I also didn't put my email. If it is needed it is janetwrenn@yahoo.com, my entry was BOUND, By Janet Wrenn. Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15012928750146940740noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-81510449295247154532012-12-06T03:22:37.188-05:002012-12-06T03:22:37.188-05:00If you read Annie's World by Theresa and want ...If you read Annie's World by Theresa and want to comment, here is my email address.<br />Sorry: theresa_koenig@hotmail.comTheresanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-16721345906367424422012-12-04T12:18:40.471-05:002012-12-04T12:18:40.471-05:00Did anyone get a request or a response? There are ...Did anyone get a request or a response? There are several entries I enjoyed reading and would like to read more of some day. :)Lisa Wellshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01076477557354654894noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-77225901674086134332012-12-02T03:46:32.976-05:002012-12-02T03:46:32.976-05:00Sorry, I forgot to tell you all the information yo...Sorry, I forgot to tell you all the information you asked for:<br /><br />Annie's World<br />Paranormal Woman's book<br />84,000 words and counting<br />Not published.<br /><br />Here it is again:<br />Dr. Sedgewick told me to write down as much as I can remember about my life leading up to the events of the summer of 1984. He said I should make it my goal to remember what really happened. He doesn’t believe in ghosts - especially not animal ghosts. I told him I would ask Rose if I got stuck. At first he didn’t want me to, but after he thought about it he said it was ok. I wonder why he doesn’t like her. Anyway, I figure that anything is worth a try if it will stop the nightmares.<br />**************************************************************<br />My family, at least the women in it, comes from a long line of mediums and psychics. My grand-mother could remember her grand-mother holding séances in the early 1900’s in their parlour in the south of England; and Grand-ma’s grand-mother told her that her mother and grand-mother had, in turn, done the same. <br />Unfortunately, the gift of second sight seemed to have stopped with my mother. My grand-mother said it was because my father was a foreigner. She could trace our family tree right back to William Penn and there had never been anything but English blood in the family until my mother had decided to rebel. <br />According to Grand-ma, my mother had always been rebellious and when she was 28 years old, in the year 1954, she gave birth to me and died two days later without ever revealing my father’s identity. <br />Since Grand-ma was psychic, she took one look at me and just “knew” that my father was Canadian. So in 1956, my grandparents sold all of their possessions, bundled me up and immigrated to Canada aboard a Greek passenger ship. <br />Before we left England, Grand-ma concentrated on a lock of my mother’s hair and picked Toronto as the place my father had absconded to. <br />Theresanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-1352641876775434942012-12-02T03:34:54.573-05:002012-12-02T03:34:54.573-05:00Thank you for this opportunity:
Dr. Sedgewick tol...Thank you for this opportunity:<br /><br />Dr. Sedgewick told me to write down as much as I can remember about my life leading up to the events of the summer of 1984. He said I should make it my goal to remember what really happened. He doesn’t believe in ghosts - especially not animal ghosts. I told him I would ask Rose if I got stuck. At first he didn’t want me to, but after he thought about it he said it was ok. I wonder why he doesn’t like her. Anyway, I figure that anything is worth a try if it will stop the nightmares.<br />**************************************************************<br />My family, at least the women in it, comes from a long line of mediums and psychics. My grand-mother could remember her grand-mother holding séances in the early 1900’s in their parlour in the south of England; and Grand-ma’s grand-mother told her that her mother and grand-mother had, in turn, done the same. <br />Unfortunately, the gift of second sight seemed to have stopped with my mother. My grand-mother said it was because my father was a foreigner. She could trace our family tree right back to William Penn and there had never been anything but English blood in the family until my mother had decided to rebel. <br />According to Grand-ma, my mother had always been rebellious and when she was 28 years old, in the year 1954, she gave birth to me and died two days later without ever revealing my father’s identity. <br />Since Grand-ma was psychic, she took one look at me and just “knew” that my father was Canadian. So in 1956, my grandparents sold all of their possessions, bundled me up and immigrated to Canada aboard a Greek passenger ship. <br />Before we left England, Grand-ma concentrated on a lock of my mother’s hair and picked Toronto as the place my father had absconded to. Theresanoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-11165246212671406002012-11-30T18:30:27.217-05:002012-11-30T18:30:27.217-05:00Ranch Retreat
Romance - Contemporary
91,000 Words
...Ranch Retreat<br />Romance - Contemporary<br />91,000 Words<br /><br />The group went better than she could have hoped. A couple of the tighter-lipped teens had actually opened up. Finally. It was gut-wrenching to listen to at times, but no one knew better than she that they could become so much more than the circumstances they came from. She jotted down notes pausing only to replay portions of the conversation in her head. Abuse, drugs, alcohol, neglect, hunger, loneliness, anger, and violence all played a part in the stories. However, glimmers of hope and aspirations were starting to break through. These were the notes she really focused on. The small moments that could grow into passions that could inspire these kids to take a different path. One with a happier ending. It was those interests she hoped to draw on to move them forward out of the dark patterns. <br /><br />Addie checked her watch. “Shoot,” she exclaimed, “They are going to kill me!” Scrambling for her coat she threw it on, grabbed her bag, and bolted past the laughing teens. <br /><br />“Bye Miss Morrison”, they chorused. No one would ever believe the tough-looking group could be capable of such bright, lovely smiles— never mind the laughter that accompanied them. She grinned to herself as she ran out the door of Homeward Bound.<br /><br />As Addie made her way down the busy street she thought about the past few weeks. The hours had been long. She worked Monday through Friday from seven in the morning until five in the evening. Okay, well sometimes seven— like tonight. And if she was going to be honest with herself, when there was an emergency, it might even be ten. Plus if the need was great, she might add in a partial Saturday. It was hard to not be there for the teens. She felt an intense need to save them. If Lynda Morrison hadn’t been there for her, where would she be? <br /><br />Right now she was walking as fast as possible along the downtown Seattle street to meet her friends at the new tapas place. The wind and blowing rain was doing nothing for the mop on her head as she tried to hold her hood on. In her scramble to get out the door she had left her umbrella at her desk. It was probably best anyway since the mid-January weather would render it useless by whipping it inside out.<br /><br />For the first time in a long time things were going well at Homeward Bound, and her thoughts turned from work to the potential of some time off. She had been there for two years now with no real respite, except for an occasional sick day. With her hearty constitution those were few and far between. <br />Anne Hawkinshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12100544042304332570noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-56037719759396318942012-11-30T15:38:54.989-05:002012-11-30T15:38:54.989-05:00Heart of Stone
Romance - Historical Fantasy
123,72...Heart of Stone<br />Romance - Historical Fantasy<br />123,721 Words<br />Traditionally published<br /><br />The carriage ride down from London has been brutal, but we dare not shift in our seats as long as Mama is watching. I must do something though, because my left side has gone numb to my toes. Supposing highwaymen were to overtake us, stop the coach and have us all out on the road! I shouldn’t be able to climb down on my own, let alone run for my life, should the opportunity arise. <br /><br />Of course, it is highly unlikely that anything like that will happen. Nothing thrilling has ever happened to us in the entire course of our lives. Even this journey, this move to a respectable house in a quiet village in the south of England isn’t likely to provide much in the way of excitement. Life shall go on as it always has done, only now without Papa and—consequently—without a good bit of the money that made life, however boring, at least decorative and comfortable. <br /> <br />This is not to suggest that we did not love Papa and do not miss him, but he was always more of an abstract idea than an active principle. And just now—well, Papa’s troubles are all over and ours are just beginning, and as selfish as it might sound, we need to take care of ourselves first and think of Papa later.<br /> <br />At the moment, though, my most pressing problem is the pain in my left side. Mama or no Mama, I must move or go mad. <br />Melissa Wyatthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10274178029526737641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-32540715100252795212012-11-30T14:25:51.961-05:002012-11-30T14:25:51.961-05:00Thanks for your generosity!
STEEL BENDER
STEAMPUN...Thanks for your generosity!<br /><br />STEEL BENDER<br />STEAMPUNK<br />95,000 WORDS<br />UNPUBLISHED<br /><br /> Springs and wheels and other odds and ends scattered across Harry’s workbench. She lunged to contain them, sending a <i>hold still</i> at the metal bits and pieces. As the last wheel spun to a stop she shot a glare at her brother.<br /><br /> “You did not just say that.” She studied her brother warily from beneath lowered brows.<br /><br /> “What, that you have to wear a dress? You heard me right. And you do. You know you do,” Young Jos replied. He shifted his weight, leaning toward the workbench.<br /><br /> “Stop.” Harry glanced from the table top to her brother, relieved when he stepped back.<br /><br /> “When are you going to get the wobble taken out of this table?”<br /><br /> She laughed. “When it wants me to. And don’t change the subject. Why do I have to wear a dress?” <br /><br /> “Because he’s a duke.” Young Jos’s voice held that exasperated tone he’d used since she was a child, all sigh-y and drawn out. “And you’re twenty years old now. A young lady. And because you’re going to be the Apprentice. Face it. If you want the position you’re going to have to make them forget your unfortunate beginnings.”<br /><br /> “Jos, nobody is ever going to let me forget I had the plague. Nobody is ever going to let me forget you walled off Mewside rather than turn me out.”<br /><br /> “Someday they will. If they don’t? Then you take the position anyway. Rub their snooty Townside noses in the fact that the Professor would rather have you than any Townsider. Hell, Harry, you were a babe. A tiny squalling stinking infant. Maybe it was the way you smelled.” He grinned at her.Terrel Hoffmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09002821620652224301noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-89510436295408219002012-11-30T14:23:52.182-05:002012-11-30T14:23:52.182-05:00Working Title - Just Beachy
Romantic Suspense
65,0...Working Title - Just Beachy<br />Romantic Suspense<br />65,000+<br />Not Published yet...<br />www.bettydresserleonard.com<br /><br /> Emily stepped out through the dockside door of Ole Bob’s Fish Market and Restaurant. Fried oil and lobster pot aroma followed her into the open sea air. The seagulls swooped in and out of the boat masts docked at the marina, their cries echoing across the water. The large motors inside of the red brick cannery down the wharf rumbled and in the distance, large waves crashed against the seawall. The sun was shining in a blue cloudless sky and the boardwalk was empty of life other than a couple of splotchy gray-colored seagulls.<br /> She was headed to the bookstore, her favorite place in Ilwaco on the southwestern edge of Washington State. She strolled past the outside picnic tables and approached the alleyway that ran between the two buildings.<br /> A man burst from the opening, yelling at someone in the shadows. He pulled a gun from his back waistband and pointed it toward whoever was between the buildings.<br /> Emily recognized the gun as a semi-automatic and the way he held it suggested that he knew how to use it.<br /> “Hey, what do you think you’re doing,” Emily shouted as the man took aim. In that split second, he turned and fired at her. She felt a blast of air as she flew backward. The echo of several shots reverberated as her head connected with the concrete walkway. Then everything went black.<br /> Emily slowly came out of her fog enough to realize she was being cradled against a warm, hard chest. Her midsection burned like it was on fire. The light hurt as she slowly opened her eyes.<br /> “Lady, what the hell were you thinking?” a deep masculine voice asked.<br />Betty Dresser Leonardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06315328896352620197noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-73867032175626312152012-11-30T12:47:09.210-05:002012-11-30T12:47:09.210-05:00Loving the Enemy (working title)
Romance - Comedy/...Loving the Enemy (working title)<br />Romance - Comedy/Contemporary<br />55,000<br />Unpublished<br /><br />“Ivey, hand me that pencil. I’ve got an itch again.” Aunt Lucy squirmed and wriggled on her swanky Italian leather couch. <br /><br />Ivey handed her aunt the pencil that was no more than a foot’s length from her aunt and watched as she shoved it deep into her leg cast and thrust it back up and down. <br /><br />Aunt Lucy grimaced for several seconds and then sighed contently. “When I get this cast off next week, I might just kiss Dr. Stein.”<br /><br />“Please don’t.” Aunt Lucy had embarrassed her enough when she asked the doctor how a person was to have sex with a cast on her leg, and if he could recommend what position might work best.<br /><br />“I’m just kidding, dear. He’s not really my type.” <br /><br />Not at all. He was at least thirty years older than her type, which lately tended towards thirty-something year old unemployed men. That would not be a bad thing except for the fact that her aunt was fifty-four. <br /><br />“Here’s the remote control. Your pain pills are right next to you. Remember not to take more than two at a time. I’ll only be gone eight hours. You’ll be fine without me.” Ivey placed a full glass of ice water on the coaster next to the bottle of Tylenol with Codeine. <br /><br />“Only eight hours? I could get in trouble in two. Don’t forget to keep your cell phone on you at all times.” Aunt Lucy fanned herself with the latest issue of People magazine.<br /><br />“Right.” Ivey whipped it out of her backpack and checked the battery. Fully charged.<br /><br />“Are you sure you have to go back to work? I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d pay for all your expenses. And haven’t I done just that?” Aunt Lucy’s face reddened with irritation.<br /><br />Ivey sighed. Her Aunt would never understand that she didn’t have to go back to work, but she wanted to. She hadn’t spent the last two years obtaining her midwifery masters just so that she could fill in as her Aunt’s live in nurse indefinitely.<br /><br />Since Aunt Lucy had won ten million dollars in the California lottery, her work ethic had taken off for parts of unknown – just like her first husband. Since then Aunt Lucy had acquired three more husbands, each one wealthier than the previous, and finally informed Ivey that she was too much of a free spirit to be tied down to any one man.Maria Michaelshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15688040828490760788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-30004529507683125872012-11-30T12:38:12.096-05:002012-11-30T12:38:12.096-05:00Forgot to add my e-mail - tricia@triciaandersen.co...Forgot to add my e-mail - tricia@triciaandersen.com<br /><br />Thank you again for the opportunity!triciaandersenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07713197538156378975noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-33478903326271204402012-11-30T12:33:52.275-05:002012-11-30T12:33:52.275-05:00I forgot to say I'm published with The Wild Ro...I forgot to say I'm published with The Wild Rose Press. My email is lisawellsauthor@gmail.com<br /><br /><br />Lisa Wellshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01076477557354654894noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-44297951329006106672012-11-30T12:24:39.724-05:002012-11-30T12:24:39.724-05:00I forgot to add my email address: bnickerson1231@s...I forgot to add my email address: bnickerson1231@sbcglobal.netBrandie Nnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-42681099854277100402012-11-30T07:27:23.541-05:002012-11-30T07:27:23.541-05:00I'm not sure if I'm too late, but just in ...I'm not sure if I'm too late, but just in case...<br /><br />SHE'S GOING HOME<br />Contemporary Romance<br />77,000 words<br />Debut novel releasing November 2013<br /><br />Just perfect. Five minutes in Easton and sirens announced her homecoming. She could still see the official welcome sign in her rear view mirror. This was definitely not how she had planned her big arrival. Her chest constricted with the familiar worry. Money. A speeding ticket hadn’t been on her budget for the move or for the next few months.<br /><br />Moving back had not been a strategic decision. Going by instinct alone, she had made a plan and refused any thoughts to the contrary. She was determined to find a safe place to settle down and for some reason, Easton was still her only home.<br /><br />The figure in her side mirror reminded her exactly why she was pulled over on the side of Easton’s main road. The salty East Bay breeze greeted her as she slid the window down. She simply needed to convince the officer that there was no need to give her a ticket for speeding down the winding shore road. It had been a momentary lapse of judgment. It had felt so good to open up the cherry red sports car on the coastal road.<br /><br />She reached over for the tan Coach satchel and the matching wallet. If need be, she could always sell the set on eBay to pay off a ticket. It was one of the few things that remained from her old life. With the license in hand and a plan in mind, she turned around, only to find herself in line with a very male crotch. She couldn’t help but notice it before tearing her gaze away. The first step in talking her way out of this ticket was not sexually harassing the cop.<br /><br />Thank you for the opportunity, Isabelle Flynn<br />isabelle at isabelleflynn dot comIsabelle Flynnhttp://www.isabelleflynn.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-64168910112356579562012-11-29T21:41:24.567-05:002012-11-29T21:41:24.567-05:00AN EARL'S LADY
Historical Romance
80,000
Unpub...AN EARL'S LADY<br />Historical Romance<br />80,000<br />Unpublished<br /><br />Lockerbie, Scotland, 1815<br /><br />It was the single best and, simultaneously, the single worst moment of Eleanor Margaret Janice Severson nee Winston, Lady Kettering’s, life. <br /><br />It was the best moment because Ella knew the reason she felt so ill was because for the first time in over seven years, the toxins from alcohol were leaving her body and were not being replaced anew by another drink.<br /><br />It was worst moment because she was curled sideways, lying on the floor, vomit dripping from the corner of her mouth. A chamber pot filled with the previous upheaval of her stomach adjacent to her head. Her body was wracked with shivers and she had a splitting headache.<br /><br />Until this exact moment, she reflected, the previous moment that was both the best and worst had been when she lost her virginity nine years ago to her late husband, Lord Kettering. It had been the worst because she had lost something that she’d been taught all her life to value, taught that it brought her value. And it had been embarrassing and painful and messy and business-like.<br /><br />But it had also been the best moment because Ella knew incontrovertibly that there was no longer anyone or anything that could keep her from making love to Marcus.Christen Ghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04425085930536113508noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-72897324385579888972012-11-29T21:08:11.392-05:002012-11-29T21:08:11.392-05:00Sorry, forgot to say that it is Historical Romance...Sorry, forgot to say that it is Historical Romance Angela Reneehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11768802210267067847noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-61702027808795483382012-11-29T21:04:07.942-05:002012-11-29T21:04:07.942-05:00Thanks for the opportunity, Deb.
Title: A Soul Di...Thanks for the opportunity, Deb.<br /><br />Title: A Soul Divided<br />Word Count: a little over 90,000<br /><br />Greenwich, 1534<br /><br />Tristram Deverell, seventh Duke of Ancroft, sat in the Wailing Wench, deep in his cups, contemplating his life and came to the conclusion that he was a man cursed.<br /><br />Whether it was from a slighted gypsy, the misfortune of having been born under a misaligned star, or the simple fact that he was a Deverell he did not know. What he did know was that death and devastation followed him wherever he went, consuming those he held dear. <br /><br />Destruction ruled the Deverell family and his late father, the sixth Duke of Ancroft, had been the great destroyer. With his ill-thought schemes and ill-fated alliances David Deverell had reduced the once might dukes to nothing more than indebted traitors. Tristram often wondered how his father had managed to keep his head attached to his body.<br /><br />The Deverell family had never been on Fate’s good side and now it seemed that even God had turned His back on the Deverells. No, that was not right; it was he who had turned his back on his faith to ensure the survival of the dukedom of Ancroft.<br /><br />Tristram had inherited the sins of his father and they claimed their fee by taking the only woman he had ever loved. He took another swig of the bitter, watered-downed ale trying to erase the image of the emerald-eyed lass that plagued his thoughts. <br /><br />Her memory had roamed freely through his mind for nearly a year and he dare not speak her name aloud for fear it would conjure up the visions of her that haunted him. <br /><br />At first, they had been contained to his dreams but during the last few months, they had somehow managed to materialize during his waking hours. They had been so vivid—so real —it was almost as though he could reach out and wrap his arms around her. On one occasion he had done just that nearly frightening a poor servant girl to death. <br /> <br />He had apologized profusely, paid the lass generously, then made haste to the nearest taproom where he tried to erase all memory of the woman who had stolen his heart and soul in Cappoquin. Yet it seemed, no matter how much he drank, that the memory of her lived inside the part of him that strong drink could not reach.Angela Reneehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11768802210267067847noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-65884287292768802582012-11-29T20:56:28.588-05:002012-11-29T20:56:28.588-05:00Captive of Her Heart
Historical Romance--Regency P...Captive of Her Heart<br />Historical Romance--Regency Period<br />105,000 words<br /><br />1805 <br />Bristol, England <br /><br />If a child were guilty for the crimes of one’s father, then Georgina Patience Wilcox was going to burn in the eternal flames of hell. <br /><br />Piteous moans echoed from the other side of the wood panel door until Georgina wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and drown out the man’s pleas for help. The angry purple bruise on the inside of her wrist throbbed in pained remembrance as a subtle reminder of what happened when she questioned her father. <br /><br />A groan echoed from within the room. I cannot bear this.<br /><br />The floorboards creaked and<br />Georgina spun around, her heart climbing into her throat. <br /><br />Jamie Marshall stood staring at her through his thick, golden lashes. “What are you doing, Georgina?” the faintest hint of an Irish brogue leant his words a lyrical quality.<br />With his tall, lean physique and golden crop of curls he had the look of an angel. She knew only too well, however that he had a soul black enough to rival the devil. To those in his traitorous circle he was The Hunter, enemy to the Crown, but to Georgina who’d known him since his Irish parents had been killed by English soldiers and he’d been taken in by her father those fifteen years ago; he would always be simply Jamie. <br /><br />“I-I…” she gestured to the door. “Who is in there?” <br /><br />Jamie strode toward her. “I asked you a question.”Christi Caldwellhttp://christicaldwell.weebly.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-74317001429194072762012-11-29T20:44:32.194-05:002012-11-29T20:44:32.194-05:00Echo UnMarked
Paranormal Romance
80,000
Published ...Echo UnMarked<br />Paranormal Romance<br />80,000<br />Published and self-published<br /><br />Deb,<br />Thank you so much for this opportunity!<br /><br />Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness — Carl Jung<br /><br />“Drugging and hand-cuffing me won’t get you a date.” Echo’s words slurred while her head pounded.<br /><br />The man behind her didn’t say a word, hadn’t said a thing to her since she’d regained consciousness.<br />She was on the bed with her knees against her chest, ankles tied and wrists cuffed behind her back. <br /><br />Through a part in the curtains of the bedroom, rays of sunshine peeked in.<br /><br />She blinked several times, her eyes tearing from the sun’s brightness. <br /><br />“You didn’t have to attack me,” she said, her words becoming clearer as the drugs wore off. “Give me some chocolates and a bottle of red wine, and I might’ve considered getting to know you better.” <br /><br />A chair creaked as though her kidnapper shifted in his seat either from discomfort or . . . guilt?<br /><br />“I didn’t attack you.” His voice was deep and sultry, disguising the dangerous edge she detected beneath the word “attack.” <br /><br />“You shot me with a loaded dart then yanked me off my motorcycle. The last thing I saw was my ride careening into a wall before I woke up here, tied and cuffed. How is that not an attack?”<br /><br />A rustling noise then footsteps told her he made his way to her. She lay in a vulnerable position, her backside facing him while her arms were bare. He had taken off her leather jacket. <br /><br />He skimmed a finger over the back of her arm, bumps rising along her skin, every single nerve suddenly tingling with awareness. “I was given orders to bring you in and to do it without letting you touch me.”<br /><br />“But you have a right to touch me?”<br />“Cage said you would need it. That you go too long without physical contact.”<br /><br />Echo shook her head. “You’re lying. Cage would never tell a soul about my curse.”<br /><br />A slow ache churned in her chest. Cage was her boss, but most importantly, her friend. He couldn’t have betrayed her. “Once I get a hold of him, this misunderstanding will be dealt with, and you’ll have hell to pay —”<br /><br />“The devil wouldn’t want me, darling. I’ve sinned too much and have killed too many men and monsters. And Cage won’t come to your rescue. He’s in Europe.”Ashlynhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04413521712350044019noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-31852561363228357532012-11-29T20:36:22.019-05:002012-11-29T20:36:22.019-05:00StarWay to Freedom
Futuristic Romance
95,000 word
...StarWay to Freedom<br />Futuristic Romance<br />95,000 word<br />e-pubbed moving to self pub<br /><br />“Branded.”<br /><br />Rocc tensed at the shock and venom in the single word. The unappealing whore who had swept the hair from his neck to expose the red mark slipped drunkenly from his lap and backed away, hands lifted as if to ward herself from evil. Relieved the woman’s strong odor no longer surrounded him, Rocc took a deep breath and shifted the hair back to cover his neck.<br /><br />Chair legs scraped across the wooden floor. A wave of anger and anticipation flowed from the slavers and bounty hunters filling the crowded tavern. Despite a need to be around others, he’d made a mistake entering the settlement.<br /><br />“Branded. You’re mine.” A heavy hand came down on his shoulder.<br /><br />Before Rocc could shrug away the weight, the man was shoved back; his tall form replaced by a stockier, more drink-soaked man.<br /><br />“No, branded. Ya’s bounty is mine.”<br /><br />A scuffle broke out behind him as others struggled to claim a bounty worth more than the reward for a dozen escaped slaves. Rocc rose and turned toward the door. While the men argued over him, he could slip away.<br /><br />“Goin’ somewhere, branded?” A fist slammed against his jaw, snapping his head back. “Master slaver Archeros will want a word with you.”<br /><br />Rocc rubbed his jaw. Swirls of faint red curled at the edges of his vision, his breaths grew short and fast. Anger pushed at his senses. Keeping a wary eye on the slaver, he took a backward step. Rage would not overtake him, not here where many could be injured. He wouldn’t harm innocents--he snorted softly--as innocent as any of these could be. Rested from the journey to this planet, he could maintain limited control.<br /><br />Succumbing to his curse was not an option.<br />lizzie starrhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08375713739033553407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-12968420242796100372012-11-29T20:33:13.826-05:002012-11-29T20:33:13.826-05:00TROVE
Romantic Suspense
Word Count: 97,582
Not Yet...TROVE<br />Romantic Suspense<br />Word Count: 97,582<br />Not Yet Published<br /><br />Present Day<br />Katie Walsh, investigative mythologist at the Nordstrom Institute in Boston, arrived in London twelve hours after she’d checked in for her non-stop flight from Boston. What normally would’ve been a five-hour trip had turned into a half-day ordeal. They’d departed nearly three hours late due to crew problems. The rumor spreading through the gate much like the incoming tide surrounding Boston’s Logan Airport, had the co-pilot suffering the after effects of a liquid dinner and the airline was waiting for a substitute to arrive. The delay was compounded when they landed. It seemed as if Customs was carefully screening almost every passenger from every flight. She just wanted to grab a quick nap before the conference began, but it was already late afternoon by the time she checked into the hotel.<br /><br />After a quick shower and before she dressed, she turned and checked herself out in the full-length mirror. Definitely holding up well for thirty-five, she thought, as she slipped into her favorite red silk dress. She did a quick twirl, loving how the sensuous material flowed around her lower body and layered gentle, teasing folds against her legs. She smiled, satisfied with her appearance and left her room, ready for a drink at the meet-and-greet social. Once she downed a drink or two, she was sure she could smile warmly at her colleagues as they tried to regale each other with their daring exploits in the research stacks. She had to admit that every once in a while she’d hear an intriguing snippet of information that she’d tuck away for future reference. But that didn’t happen too often. <br /><br />Checking in at the reception table, she found herself raised off the floor in the vise-like grip of two linebacker-sized arms. A deep baritone laugh enveloped her, rumbling through the arms holding her then coursing through her body like the remnants of distant thunder. “Katie my Little One, when are you going to grow taller so I can look you in the eyes without lifting you high in the air?”<br /><br /> “Eric the Red,” she said between breathy giggles. “How I’ve missed you. Do you know how special you are? You’re the only one that I let call me Little One. Anyone else tries to call me that and I’ll—”<br /><br />“Aye.” He laughed as he set her back down. “I remember when Greg Wilson tried that. You slapped him so hard his face wore your hand imprint for two days.”<br /><br />“Can’t say he didn’t deserve that. He actually grabbed my butt as he said it, like he was playing with a toy. And that was after I gave him fair warning.”<br /><br /> “Katie,” he said, smiling, “you are many things, but you are not a toy, a plaything maybe, but not a toy.”<br /><br />Eric Murray, or Eric the Red, as Katie called him, was a beefy copper-haired Scotsman standing a shade under six feet and weighing about 230 pounds, almost all of it muscle. He was a formidable foe when it came to the caber toss and though he could speak the Queen’s English, he would revert to his Gaelic accent at any moment and particularly after a few drinks.<br /><br />She shot him a withering look which quickly morphed into a grin. “I need a drink. Join me?”<br /><br />“Aye, absolutely mae wee bairn.”KJhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16651960051603791851noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-70831083598234743182012-11-29T20:25:53.834-05:002012-11-29T20:25:53.834-05:00Exile
Women's Fiction/Historical
74,000
Petra...Exile<br />Women's Fiction/Historical<br />74,000<br /><br />Petra and Marina’s safety hinged on the old widow disguises they wore. If the disguises failed, their fate would be worse than Petra could imagine. She’d been warned. She crossed herself, praying that the approaching Turkish soldier wouldn’t realize she and Marina were young women. With a shudder, she reached for her niece’s cold, damp hand and pulled Marina even closer behind the single barrel. Her thighs cramped from sitting on her heels. She tucked their skirts tight about their bodies. They clung to each other. <br />She held her breath, in fear and against the stench in the alley. The pungent odor of rotting, abandoned food in looted homes made her eyes water. At least, she hoped it was food, and not bodies, in the homes. Petra bit her lower lip at the thought of dead Greek bodies in the empty houses.<br />Crack! His horse stomped a glossy hoof on the cobbled stones, ebony tail carried high like a banner. In the small alley surrounded by rows of two-story rock buildings, the sound reminded Petra of her brother-in-law’s rifle when he went hunting. Marina flinched against Petra’s body. She squeezed her niece’s hand, as if a squeeze could reassure the younger teen against her fear of the Turkish soldier.<br />Petra averted her gaze to the horse so the man wouldn’t feel her watching him. Deep breaths inflated the horse’s body beneath a chestnut coat that shimmered from fastidious grooming. What kind of people valued horses above humans? Sides heaving, it stood still, awaiting the soldier’s next command. Petra’s hatred for the soldier sent waves through her body.<br />Why did he stop so suddenly in the alley? She hazarded a glance at the soldier again. His attention was riveted on something in front of him, toward the left. Her breath caught in her throat. Could he sense their presence?<br />She recognized the uniform from the newspaper. He was one of the Lancers of the Imperial Guard. One of the feared Turkish soldiers she’d heard so much about. While his interest was elsewhere, she studied him. Gold buttons glittered on the scarlet chest piece of the Turkish soldier’s royal blue tunic, and his fez was a truncated felt cone of the same royal blue. <br />Almost imperceptibly, the rider tapped the horse’s side with a gleaming black boot. Petra’s gaze followed the boots upwards. A black and gold-trimmed scabbard rested on his leg. At the thought of what rested in the scabbard, she shivered. <br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2802601138878132017.post-5303121444751081102012-11-29T20:24:01.404-05:002012-11-29T20:24:01.404-05:00Thank you so much for this opportunity!
Timeless
...Thank you so much for this opportunity!<br /><br />Timeless<br />Romantic Suspense<br />Approx 60,000 words<br />Published a short story <br /><br />Daria Roberts died skydiving. <br /><br />She told herself this over and over as the plane coughed and sputtered its way to deadly heights. Some things should be wiped off a bucket list.<br /> <br />Her nails dug into the edge of the seat as the plane moved as if it was hopping clouds, moving up and kind of bouncing as it settled at 1000 feet, 2000 feet. <br /> <br />The grey haired pilot reassured her he’d been flying for years. In fact he was a military pilot and if she could have gotten to her computer she could have looked up his entire history, tax returns, etc. Just as she’d done Tai Coleman, the owner and dive instructor of this small skydiving business.<br /> <br />She knew computers. She knew how to plan highly dangerous and classified missions. She did not know planes.<br /> <br />The plane shook again and she jerked her gaze from the window and stared into the sexy blue eyes of Tai. <br /> <br />“Are you ready?” His deep voice washed over her making her shiver from an uncontrollable attraction as well as fear.<br /> <br />No. Her mind screamed. But as much as she wanted to empty her stomach right there, a strange tingling began in her limbs as her instructor began to strap himself to her rig. They toddled to the edge of the plane’s door. <br />She couldn't believe it. She actually wanted to do this. Years of being stuck in an enclosed space typing away at a computer, she wanted to feel reckless, free. <br /><br />Might as well, since she had only months to live.Brandie Nnoreply@blogger.com