Simmering Saturdays

I recently read a romance that the author's view of making a romance simmer was the romantic lead's constant whispering in the protagonists ear and his fingers always wrapping a lock of her hair around his fingers. In my opinion that is not simmering, that borders on letting the romance go stale!
And yet not every scene can hold a sizzling kiss so where does that leave us? My answer? Letting the relationship simmer to a boiling point.
Okay, granted -- I am far froma amaster on this one, but here is what I propose in the novel I am currently working on, Book One in The Talisman Series. Mind you, this excerpt is still in the writing stages...

A breeze stirred Trish's hair about her face, tickling her nose and eyes. Echoes of a sharp headache reminded her of her collision with the livery door. She slowly opened her eyes. A man stood at her window. She squinted, forcing bleary eyes to focus. "Quinn?"


He turned slowly and she noticed he held something. Fabric. Her clothes? "My bet is that this ain't your blood. No woman bleeds like this."

Trish tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness making her head spin pulled her back down. Swallowing hard and refocusing, she pushed herself upright. "Blood? What blood?"

"Found these bloody clothes. Ya had 'em tucked under your mattress. Whose blood is this?"

Trish stared at him wishing his back wasn't to the light. She couldn't make out his expression. His tone was as level as it had been at the poker table with Ace. Usually his tone held a vibrant quality, even when training a young horse. Not now.

"You rifled through my things?"

"No. Answer the question, Trish. Whose blood?" his tone, though still quiet had an edge to it.

Trish struggled with how to answer, her words rushing out without the usual care of an attorney. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I couldn't save him. He died in my arms. I didn't kill him. You've got to believe me."

Quinn's chest expanded with his deep intake of air, yet his words remained calm. "Whose blood?"

Trish shook her head, the pain rolling from side to side as the tears she'd held back burst to the surface. "Albert," her voice cracked. "I didn't--"

"Why didn't you stay with him?"

"I did," she swallowed trying to regain her composure.

"No. You weren't there when I found him," he said, his words accusing her.

"I did. I just-- I heard someone coming and realized how it would look if they found me with him. You have to believe me, I didn't kill him."

He stepped closer and she shrank back. "And the blood? Why?"

Trish kept her hands close to her body, but raised them defensively.

"I found him there, bleeding when I arrived. I held him in my arms and tried to comfort him. I lost it. I didn't know what to do. The horse was stamping. The scent of blood-- oh." Her hands flew to her face, covering her tears. "So much blood-- I tried to stop the bleeding and it just kept coming."

Sobs drowned out her words; she shuddered wishing she had done more. Wishing she'd never been there. Wishing she had never come here. Wishing he believed her.

Quinn stepped to the bed, dropping the stained clothing between them. "Ya should have stayed."

"I didn't know it was you. I thought the murderer…"

Quinn sank to the bed. The bedsprings groaned under his added weight, but he didn't touch her. "Ya should have stayed and told me who murdered him."

"But I don't know who did it."

Quinn glowered at her. "Tell me. No more lies. No more tears."

Trish stared at him in silence. She couldn't tell him.

"Damn it, Trish," his words sounded tortured. He pushed her back on the bed, seizing a handful of hair, constraining her. His kiss demanded she yield herself to him. At first she fought him, but when the weight of his chest came down on her, she surrendered.

For most of a week she had dreamed of his kissing her here. Her dreams had warmed her with excited anticipation. This was not as she had hoped. Tears of abject horror replaced tears of sorrow. The pressure of his lips bruised hers and yet his hands remained in her hair and against her cheek. The moment was brief, feeling torturously long.

He moved away, turning his back to her and breathing hard. "No more lies, Trish. The truth. All of it."

She remained prone on her bed where he had left her. "I told you," she whispered.

"Start at the beginning." He pulled the sheet up to cover her. "Why did Curly have you tethered?"

"I guess because he was sick. I certainly didn't deserve it."

"He isn't your papa?"

Trish gasped. "No!"

"Where you giving your--your body to Albert?" He sounded like he might choke on his words.

"No!" Trish rolled away from him, coming to a sitting position. "Never, how could you think that?"

Strong hands reached for her pushing her back to the mattress. "Woman, I am through playing games with you. Tell me the truth, all of it."

She stared up at him, willing him to believe her. She shook her head, fresh tears spilling form her eyes, marking fresh trails to her ears. "I can't."

He let go of her only to flick his bowie knife free, placing it at her neck. "Tell me the truth."

"I would never offer myself to Albert," she whispered. "I couldn't."

"Why?"

She swallowed and answered, "Because I'm --."

"He didn't want your body so you swung the hammer at his head in jealous anger. Is that it?" Twisted distaste wrinkled his handsome features.

"No," she gasped. "I'm not a murderer."

"But you killed Old Curly." Quinn's eyes glared at her, daring her to lie.

"That depends on how you plea and your defense attorney. Technically, I could plea self defense and get off while you would be found guilty. I'm only an accessory."

"How do you know that?"

"You wouldn't believe me." He applied pressure to her skin with the knife.

"Try me."

"Put your knife away and pull up a chair."

He looked around her scantily furnished room. "You don't have a chair."

She forced a weak smile, "Details… the knife, put it away?"

With a flick of his wrist the knife disappeared. "It is where I can get to it if you don't tell me the truth."

"Then you better find yourself a really comfortable place to sit and have an open mind."

+++++
Tension? You decide.

Feisty Fridays

Introducing Feisty Fridays.
Trying something new as usual.
I'm not sure if I should focus on fist fights within a manuscript, feisty heroines, frisky romances, or energetic dialogue.
Maybe all three, but not necessarily all at the same time.
If you have a preferance, please feel free to leave a comment.

For now, I'm thinking a fist fight. Granted, I'm not real good at writing a fight scene so I'm willing to accept a few helpful comments.

(Dark Days of Promise excerpt is unpublished and unedited.)

“Do you want me to stick around?” Trevor asked before turning off the engine.

“Maybe a little while. I thought I’d fix us some spaghetti or something. It might not be very good. I haven’t cooked since I moved here. Ben’s a gentleman, I’m sure he’ll leave if I ask him to. You didn’t leave him much room to move his car,” she observed.

“Mind sliding over?” Trevor smirked. Kimmy moved across the bench seat recognizing his negative vibes for Ben. He helped her to her chair, with showy concern, while a stormy-eyed Ben watched from the top of the cabin’s ramp. Trevor pushed the chair around the truck only to find Ben blocking his path.

“I’ll take her in,” Ben stated flatly.

“I don’t think so. I’ve been invited to stay.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Ben retorted.

“I don’t care what you like, she asked you to leave earlier,” Trevor countered.

Ben sidestepped slightly as though to move out of the way, only to throw a roundhouse punch above Kimmy’s head at Trevor’s jaw. Trevor blocked most of Ben’s punch with his cane. The cane clattered to the gravel. Trevor stepped back to regain his balance. He recovered quickly sending a straight right to Ben’s chin. Ben hit the ground. He found his hand on Trevor’s cane. He picked it up and swept Trevor’s feet. Trevor went down landing on his backside. He took a moment to recover his wind. Ben didn’t wait. He struck Trevor with the cane. The balled end sliced across Trevor’s cheek. Ben swung again bloodying Trevor’s nose.

Kimmy found it hard to believe what she witnessed. Other than this morning, she’d never seen either man raise his hand in anger, yet here they fought at her feet.

“Stop it! Stop it! That’s enough!” She reached for the cane stopping Ben’s third blow with her arm, receiving a nasty bruise.

None of the three noticed the group that gathered. Randall stepped in, ripping the cane from Ben’s hand.

“Ben, I never expected you, of all people to strike a disabled man,” Randall intervened, offering Ben his hand. “I think you should leave.”

Ben looked at Kimmy, anger clearly written in his expression as he accepted Randall’s hand.

“If this broke down wanna be pimp’s what you want, get out. Leave.”

Kimmy dropped her jaw, retorting, “You can’t fire me Ben. I don’t work for you.”

“You may not think so,” Ben hissed.

Kimmy looked at Randall, her eyes begging him to refute Ben’s words.

“Kimmy, get him cleaned up.” Randall said, pointing at Trevor. “We’ll talk about this later.”

He handed Trevor’s cane to a boy who stood nearby, his other hand heavy on Ben’s shoulder.

“Give the man his cane after Ben leaves,” he said to the boy, steering Ben toward his car.

Trevor wiped at the blood on his face before taking Kimmy’s proffered hand.
 
++++
Humm...what do you think? Needs more action, but how?

Thoughtful Thursday

Happiness is not what something makes you feel. Happiness is a state of mind, a choice one makes - before, during and after each moment one experiences. We choose how we will think or feel at any given time. One may choose to be angry, excited, sad, overjoyed and a host of other emotions about any given situation.

Today, I met with a group of my peers discussing this. We come from different walks of life. Some of us are single, some married. Some have young children at home and yet we even had a few women present that are grandmothers and great-grandmothers.
The question was asked "What makes you happy?" One woman immediately asked that we rephrase the question to "What causes you to feel happiness?" Over fifty women present and not two answered the same thing. Some said their children, when their children were asleep, the laughter of a baby, helping a friend, and so many more that I don't recall them all.
For me? The hug of one of my children, sunshine through the trees, watching a humming bird, riding a horse at a gallop across the meadow.
What causes you to feel happiness? (One of the lady's said sex -- but let's keep this rated PG.)

Sizzling Kiss from Dark Days of Promise

The first Sizzling Kiss is coming June 26th.

(Excerpt is unpublished.)
Kelly opened the door to a bedroom, turning back toward me.


“Your turn. Do you trust me enough to join me in my room?” His eyes danced between teasing and seriousness.

I set the fork on the counter where I’d found it, taking a deep breath before joining him.

Kelly crossed the floor to the closet and produced a medium sized lock box. Setting it on the bed, he unlocked it, withdrawing the handgun. The fragrance of cleaned guns tickled my nose and yet I relished it.

“Recognize this?”

Unsure of the promise I had asked him to make concerning the boys and gun safety, I nodded.

“Come here.”

I did as he asked; stepping in front of him, facing him, quivering like the leaves of a bush in a gentle breeze. A hint of sunlight stole through the curtains, leaving a trail across the bed. My fear of guns rushed to the surface. I fought to retain my calm exterior.

“You know, despite the faint odors of Jacob’s shop, you smell . . .” He mused, closing the distance between us. “Do you always wear perfume to work?”

“No, I put that on just before I came up here.” I couldn’t smell my perfume, only the oil or whatever it was he’d cleaned the gun with. An involuntary shudder of excitement raced up my spine. His nose brushed across my jawbone, my knees went weak. Cautious, I placed my open palm on his chest, looking down at my hand, feeling the solid mass of him.

He touched my ear with his nose. His warm breath sent delightful shivers of pleasure across my senses making my breaths come faster. He dropped the unloaded weapon on the bed to free his hands. With gentle strength, he took hold of my shoulders bringing me closer to him. He locked my gaze with his own, searching for signs of fear. His hands moved from my shoulders to my cheeks.

I didn’t flinch. I watched him approaching my lips, forgetting everything around us. The fragrance of freshly cleaned guns faded into the background, replace by his musky scent. I watched his eyes as his gaze dropped to my lips, and I closed my eyes. Taking a moment to pull back, he approached again allowing the soft pressure of his lips to touch mine. The deliciousness of his clean sweet taste overwhelmed me, inviting me, drawing me into his space. I yielded to him, stepping closer, willing to give him more. He allowed me to lean into him, pressing against his body. His kiss remained gentle while my responding kiss became passionate. My eyes flew open in sweet ecstasy. I closed them again, drinking in the moment.

He broke the kiss, stepping back. “Weapon safety first.”

“Yes sir.” I murmured. Really? It required determination to turn my back to him without increasing the distance between us. Not because I didn’t trust him but because I wanted a few more kisses. “What’s first?”

“For you to learn what your weapon feels like in your hands.”

I closed my eyes to steel my nerves. My first lesson in gun safety began.

(Excerpts from Dark Days of Promise. With a special thanks to my daughter.)

Tickle Tease Tuesday

Dave bond is Tickling us with this excerpt from The Attache.

Zach pushed away from the table. She figured he was getting the phone, but he trailed his hand along the edge of the table until he arrived where she sat. He reached out tentatively then pulled his hand back. "Can you... um, stand up?"


He wore an odd look. She placed the last of the granola bar on the table and pushed her chair out. "Okay. What's this about?"

He reached again, and she realized he wanted to hold her hand. Slivers of sunlight filtered in through the kitchen window, and a shiver traveled up her spine.

"I might have waited for a better time, whatever that is, but I'm not going to. Jessie? I want to tell you something... I need to tell you something, and I'm not sure how you'll take this. I'm not sure how to say it either."

His grip was firm, his hands slightly damp. Zach hid his nervousness well. His eyes were wide though, so wide she wondered how it was possible they were sightless. Whatever he wanted to tell her, Zach was paying a price. She instinctively gave his hands a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll be all right. You don't need to worry. I'll be with Suzy for a couple days, and then I think I'll go back to Lancaster for a little while. So, Zach..."

"Lancaster? Home?"

"Well, yeah. What else?"

He shook his head, trying to smile. "You can't think of any other options?"

"Not at the moment. No."

"Is this because you think there's no job?"

"I don't have a job. How could I?"

"I don't know. No one's fired you, as far as I know."

"There's nothing for me to do. No business. You don't have to fire me, I'll just quit."

Jessie tugged her hands away. She heard the words, flying out of her mouth laced with poison. She was under attack, emotions and logic warring for dominance, something inside her clinging to a desperate memory. For the past three years, one thing, one man, had given her a reason to dream. Joel understood life, knew the meaning of love between a man and a woman. He was slipping away, his memory a gray mist in the awakening dawn.

If she stayed here, instead of seeing Joel, she would precipitate his demise. Joel would be gone forever. It was ludicrous to hope he would show up. How often did he come here? Almost never. She had to leave, had to flee for her sake, and Joel's sake. If not, Zach would block the way forever.

Zach's hands reached for her, but she was out of reach. "Jessie. Listen. What I need to tell you is this. I love you. I. Love. You. But the thing is, I know how you might take that, and I understand. But I couldn't have gone much longer without saying how I feel."

"Don't say that. Just don't say that. Zach, you remember the time I talked about Joel? Remember? There was this connection thing? I didn't tell you the whole story." She clasped and unclasped her fingers. "You see, he left his attaché, I told you that, but inside it, there was this... this manuscript. A romance story he was writing. Over the years, I've read it and re-read it. It isn't finished, but there was something in his writing, something that reached out to me and held on. You're laughing. Stop. Stop laughing..."

Jessie was finished with this. Joel had gotten more defense than he deserved at the moment. She needed him in the flesh, not in her dreams. Even a few more minutes in this house would threaten his emergence into her reality, bringing about her own betrayal.

Great Sizzling Kiss from Changes

By: Debra Erfert

Debra delivers with this one!

This is unedited and will soon be published by Walnut Springs Press.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” His brows scrunched together at my question. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”


“No, I didn’t.” Micah ran his hand along the back of my calf, nearly driving me crazy. “I couldn’t think of kissing another woman—after you.”

“Micah?” I leaned closer again, close enough I breathed in his woodsy aftershave scent. “Why . . . why haven’t you . . .” How could I ask him why he never asked me out before? I felt like such a jealous woman—not after what he told me. He placed the bandage on my snakebite, and I got up. Maybe, if I didn’t look at him, I might be able to find out why we haven’t dated. My new fridge became very interesting. The top part was double-sided, and the bottom part was a freezer drawer.

“My brother is a plumber, and he’ll hook up the line you need so you can have water and ice coming out the front—if you’d like.” Micah stood behind me. I felt the warmth of his body, or it could be my nerves reacting to his close presence. “Did I tell you that my mom ordered a new range?” I shook my head. “It won’t be in for another week, but she’s happy you wanted the fridge, and she wants you to have the range too. Mom’s even going to switch out her dishwasher with a stainless steel version.” I turned my head a little, enough for me to see how far away Micah stood. “Do you want a dishwasher?” he asked.

I nodded, and realized not looking at him wasn’t any easier than staring at him.

“Why haven’t . . . haven’t you asked me—” I took in a quick breath, “out on a date?”

Micah turned me around by my shoulders. I kept my eyes on a single, totally fascinating button of his shirt, afraid of what I’d see if I looked into his eyes. But then all I had to do is remember how they matched the bright desert sky on a warm afternoon and my heart flipped against my lungs.

“We’ve never officially been out on a date, but . . .” he slowly slid his fingers down the back of my arms, creating a wave of gooseflesh in their wake, “I know so much about you. I know you’re deathly afraid of spiders.” He moved closer, and it was harder to take in a breath. “You have the cutest dance when you’re happy, and your best friend sets her own style trends every time she steps out the door.”

He lifted my hands and studied the scratches on my knuckles. “You have a solid right hook. You’re not afraid of snakes, and you’re smart—you know when to wear your boots. You can feel a touch as light as a web against your neck,” he said, brushing his fingers against my skin below my ear, making me dizzy. “You love your dog so much you let him sleep with you. And I know I don’t want to spend time with any other women since I met you.”

“Then . . . why haven’t . . . you ever . . . asked . . . me out?” I gasped a breath when Micah ran his fingers under my jaw and lifted my chin upward.

Micah lowered his head and whispered, “I’m asking you now,” and pressed his mouth on my trembling lips.

I’d waited for his kiss, wanted it as much as it seemed he did. I slid my hands up his chest, feeling the strong muscles in his shoulders before looping my arms around his neck. I didn’t want him to end the kiss as he did the last time—too quickly and abruptly. Every second that passed sent me tumbling deeper in love, as passion roiled in my stomach. Micah’s arms tightened around my waist like an amorous boa constrictor about ready to devour its prey, and I was in his unbreakable grip.

Sunday Sizzle

First Response

Sunday is becoming a habit for Michelle Sutton and I. She shares yet another of her Sizzling Kisses.
(Excerpt used by permision.)

"It's okay. Shh..." he whispered into her hair.

How could it be okay? Glancing up, she captured his gaze. "Why do I always cry like a baby when I'm with you? It's embarrassing."

He smiled tenderly. "Maybe you feel safe with me."

She couldn't help responding with a grin as she wiped her wet face with her palm. "I do."

"That's good." He sighed and kissed the top of her head. "So what do we do now?"

Muttering into his shirt she snorted, "You're asking me?"

He nudged her shoulder and chuckled softly as he reached for her chin. "Yeah, I am."

With heavy lids she peered at him and said, "Kiss me."

He scanned her face and rested his gaze on her lips. The inner struggle she witnessed in Chet's eyes made her stomach tumble. She could sense the tension building between them as his breathing grew shallow.

"I don't think I can court you, either." His thumb stroked her cheek.

A sensation, like a heavy weight had fallen on her chest, made it difficult to breathe. It was already over between them and their relationship had barely started to develop.

"You don't want to kiss me?" Nibbling on her lower lip, she fought more tears.

"Oh, I want to." He dipped his head and captured her mouth before she could respond.

His lips were gentle, yet insistent as they caressed hers. He plunged his fingers into her hair and drew her closer. She wrapped her arms around him.

Wow, this man sure knew how to melt her heart.

She tasted the salt from her tears as he kissed her again. Was she crying? She thought she'd stopped. Resting her hand on Chet's face, she sensed dampness and knew that he was getting emotional. But why would kissing her make him cry, unless he was saying goodbye? A chord of fear struck in her heart, so she broke the kiss to study him.

The passion filling his eyes left no doubt of his intentions. He wasn't planning to break up with her. Something deeper was happening between them. Something she couldn't describe, but wanted to feel more of. Leaning in closer, she kissed him again.

They still hadn't gone beyond gentle kisses. They were so tender and innocent, and breathtakingly sweet. After several more kisses she sensed his mouth opening and his tongue gently exploring, tasting hers. Hot and exciting, she couldn't contain her moan.


You can buy First Response HERE