Saturday, January 25, 2014

Cover reveal!

The new covers for the Love Under Construction series are just days away from being live. Want to see? Here they are!

They were done by Novel Graphic Designs, and I think they're beautiful. The covers for the last two novels are already done, just waiting for them to be written!

And would you like an excerpt? I bet you would! Can I come up with something . . .

This is from The Celtic Fan, due out on Valentine's Day. It's one of my favorite passages. Enjoy!

     After about five or six pages, I noticed she wasn’t making a sound and hadn’t moved in several minutes. I stopped abruptly and turned to look at her. The light from the table lamp threw a golden glow on her skin, and her hair cascaded around her face in tiny wispy strands, casting pale, wavy shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were trained on me, waiting expectantly, begging me to go on. She was hungry for the sound of a human voice, to know she wasn’t alone, to feel connected. I knew that feeling well. It clung to me at times too, gnawing and cold.

     Unplanned, unthinking, I reached toward her and stroked her cheek. She bent her head downward, her eyes gazing up at me from under their lashes. With no hesitation, I leaned forward and kissed her. I expected her to gasp and pull away, or at least react in some fashion, but instead she seemed to have anticipated it. I felt her lean in too and begin to move toward me. She rested her hands on my shoulders, on either side of my neck, and her fingers traveled upward underneath my hair, around to the back of my head, pulling me closer. Any anxiety, any apprehension or uncertainty I felt began to melt away as she moved up against me. She pulled her legs up and across mine, and I wrapped my left arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against me. Her soft, warm lips opened as I pressed mine against them, and I kissed her long and deep, trying to draw her into me, begging her not to turn me loose or turn me away. Running a finger down the left side of my neck, she continued around my collarbone and down the center of my chest, across my ribs, and rested her hand lightly on the top of the waistband of my jeans. I found my hands pulling on the tail of her shirt, pulling it up, wandering underneath it, up her back. Her skin was warm and soft, and she trembled slightly as I stroked her. The sound of my heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I pulled back long enough to look into her eyes. There was no sign of fear in the crystal blue depths, just warmth mixed with a little playfulness. I smiled and, placing a palm on either side of her face, I bent her head down, kissing her on the forehead, and she instinctively rested her cheek on my shoulder. With both arms wrapped tightly around her waist, I held her close, feeling her breathe into my neck. Her left hand lay gently on my chest, and I could feel her heart beating against my ribcage. I knew she was strong, that she could take care of herself, and yet I wanted to protect her, shield her from the rain, from the world, even from me.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Excerpt, anyone?

Would you like one? Here's one from The Celtic Fan.


     I pulled the top box out and carefully removed the lid. Yellowed tissue paper concealed the contents, and I placed the box on the dining room table, pulling back the paper from each side to examine the treasures.
     It was a tiny outfit, a white dress with the tiniest pink rosebuds, and a narrow pink bow at the neck between the sides of the rounded, lace-trimmed collar. The little ruffled panties underneath it were lined with rubbery plastic and carried the same rosebud design as the dress. With them was a pair of tiny socks, white nylon cuffed socks with pink lace sewn delicately around the edge of the cuff. In the bottom of the box was a tiny gold ring with a long length of the same narrow pink ribbon tied to it, just like the neckline bow. I pulled out another box, and found it held a pair of miniature blue jeans, a little elastic belt, and a tiny crewneck tee-shirt on which was emblazoned “Daddy’s Boy.” Lying flat inside the same box were a pair of size one high-topped tennis shoes, Nikes, their little shoelaces tied neatly, and a pair of baby-sized athletic socks, complete with red stripes around the calves. Her babies’ clothes. There had to be a dozen boxes, but I didn’t pull out another one. I wrapped the little garments as I’d found them and placed them back in the boxes, taking care to make everything look exactly as it was before, with the card on top of the boxes.
     There was a sudden, sharp pain in my gut, the pain of a woman who’d never held two of her children, and had only been able to cuddle and love a third for less than six months. It was a horror I couldn’t even imagine. Guilt swept over me, and my chest ached. I couldn’t snoop anymore. I decided if I needed to know anything else, I’d just ask. Knowing what had happened to her family made the sacredness of her belongings too intense, too personal. I dropped onto the sofa and picked up a couple of the pictorial books, thumbing through and reading the captions. That kept me busy for a while.