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Miren Lynch dropped her foot into the murky bayou water, deep enough that the leather cord she wore around her ankle, decorated with alligator and snakes’ teeth, dipped below the surface. Then she circled her fingers above the water.

“Water demons, lurkers from the deep,

Keep venom and teeth on your banks.

Have no fear we will disturb.

For your mercy, we’ll give the Goddess thanks,

In your name.

As I will it, so mote it be.”

She ended the spell with a splash of her foot, smiling as her sisters leaned back on their arms and churned the water with their feet like children.

“You know Ethan would have a cow if he knew what we were doing,” Miren said, glancing sideways at Bryn.

Bryn wrinkled her nose but otherwise showed no concern. She wasn’t afraid of her husband. He might be a big bad troll, but with Bryn, who was now four months pregnant with a lovely baby bump, Ethan was doting. She shrugged and winked a silvery-gray eye. “What’s he gonna do? Spank me?”

The rest of the sister witches giggled at the thought. When Ethan was around, Bryn rarely even walked. He’d made it a habit of scooping her up into his arms to deposit her in a chair or a bed, whichever best served his immediate purpose.

But the women’s enforced seclusion at Beaux Rêve Inn, however well-intended, was beginning to wear. Although it was October and the mornings were becoming nippy, the afternoons were still quite sultry in their little bayou town. Today, they’d snuck away from Bryn’s bed and breakfast and Ethan’s overdeveloped protective streak to enjoy the last of the warm weather. They sat on a concrete barge tethered to the end of the boat dock, bare feet dangling in the bayou.

Miren suppressed a twinge of jealousy at her sister’s good fortune—a devoted husband, a baby on the way. And she wasn’t alone in her envy. All the witches were growing restless. Surrounded by the most handsome specimens of otherworld masculinity, they had their choice of mates. But none of them had committed. The problem, they all agreed, was that there were too many juicy choices. And there was the lingering fear, one not misplaced, that once the women made their choices and were claimed, everything they’d worked so hard to build would be gone. Demons would be demons, no matter how playful or polite. In the natural order of things, demons ruled their witch mates and syphoned off power for their own gain.

Thus far, Ethan had proved himself a man of his word. But he was a troll, and likely grateful Bryn had overlooked his low status to marry him. Already the most physically powerful among demon kind, he had less need of Bryn’s gifts.

Darcy tossed her red mane of thick curly hair and cast a sideways glance around the small coven. “It’s silly the way they keep us penned up. We won the battle. The council has backed away. Hell, they banished us, giving us our freedom from their rule. Don’t you think it’s time for us all to move back to our own homes?”

“Ethan’s still worried that so many unclaimed witches will draw the wrong element here. Or that your many beaus will fight.” Bryn kicked her feet in the water, the corners of her mouth pulling downward. “Besides, I’ve enjoyed having everyone under foot.”

“That’s because you’re in nesting mode,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. “It’s understandable, and it has been nice to share this time with you. But we all have businesses to run. I think it’s time. Besides, you’ll never be able to rent out your rooms while we’re occupying them.”

“Ethan and his men pitch in with expenses. They’ve more than covered the rent and the groceries.”

“I, for one,” Aoife said with a sly glance at Bryn, “would love a good night’s sleep without wondering if the walls are going to crash around us.”

“Aoife!” Bryn said, a blush spilling across her cheeks. “The earth moved just the once when he claimed me.” Her gaze swept the group, and then she bit her lower lip. “Have we really been that noisy?”

Radha sniffed, her dark brows arching over twinkling brown eyes. “There’s not a man or woman in the house who can’t count the number of nightly orgasms he gives you.”

The women shared another look and then erupted in laughter.

“Gone for an hour and look at the mischief you’ve gotten yourselves into.”

The deep rumbling voice behind them made them all jump guiltily.

Bryn glanced over her shoulder and gave her husband a dazzling smile.

Miren looked back as well, wincing at Ethan’s dark frown and the fists settled on his narrow hips. Behind him stood Renner, his smile tight, no doubt waiting for the fireworks to explode.

A muscle jumped along Ethan’s square jaw. “My men have been scouring the house and garden for all of you. How did you sneak past them?” His gaze went to Bryn, who shrugged and looked away. Then he scanned the rest of the sisters.

Miren lifted her hand and glanced down at it, pretending to inspect her nails as though her heart wasn’t thudding hard against her chest. They’d broken the rules meant for their protection. Something Ethan took very seriously. “I may have conjured a little cloaking spell. We walked right past Kahn and Sigurd.”

“Feet out of the water,” he said, his voice pitched lower.

Goddess, if she didn’t know the man was a gooey marshmallow inside, she’d be trembling. But they all knew he’d do nothing to upset Bryn in her delicate state.

“Ethan, we were bored. And Miren cast a warding spell to protect us from snakes and gators. We were never in any danger,” Bryn said, her voice soft, the tone meant to soothe his savage beast.

“Snakes and gators are the least of your worries,” Ethan gritted out, his nostrils flaring and his dark gaze raking Bryn’s curvy frame.

Miren crimped her lips together. She caught sight of Darcy’s bold grin and shook her head. They both knew where this was leading, and none of them was in any danger. But their little dip was over. Their guardians were gathering behind Ethan and Renner, ready to swoop in and escort them back to the house. The last thing she and her sisters should do was incite any of the other males. The testosterone and pheromones already wafting in the air was making her entire body tighten with want.

Resistance on their part would be its own form of flirting, intended or not. And the consequences…

“All right,” Miren grumbled, giving the water one last splash before rising. She took her time shaking out her long skirt and smoothing the sides, gathering her pride before raising her gaze. But Renner had moved in front of her, and his expression drew her up short, made her breath hitch.

His eyes blazed with heat—out of character and contrary to his water aspect. Like her, his ruling element was water, his moods ruled by the moon and sea. Usually easygoing, the angry passion he displayed now stirred an answering heat inside her.

Ruthlessly, she tamped it down. He was a sea-draugr—a creature as unsuited for marriage to a witch as…well…as a troll. The thought lapped like a warm wave over her, and she swayed.

Renner stepped forward and reached out, clamping his large hand around her wrist and tugging her toward him. “I’ll assume you were the instigator.”

She raised her chin and pouted her lips. “And if I was? Are you going to make me do a perp walk back to the house?”

His sea-blue eyes narrowed, growing cold as Arctic ice. A look she’d only seen once, when the men had prepared for battle against the creatures the council had gathered to defeat them. She remembered how he’d looked then, his naked body gleaming with the pearl-like luster of the witches’ shared magic. Although she’d been afraid they’d all die on that field, she hadn’t been able to deny her attraction. Renner wasn’t burly like Bryn’s troll. The tall draugr was broad-shouldered, his arms knotted with lovely muscles, his belly a study in swells and hollows that left her mouth dry.

She shook her head to rid herself of the vision of his naked perfection. The fact they’d all gathered nude in the field had been necessary as the witches had drawn down the power of the blue moon to cloak them all in magical armor, infusing the men’s already powerful frames with a little added advantage.

She recalled how she’d brushed her hands over his chest and abdomen, letting the magic flow from her fingertips to his skin, how his arousal, a natural byproduct of the infusion, had caused his cock to thicken and rise. All the men had been left in similar states, but only his cock had given her pause, because, in that moment, she’d wanted him.

A resurgence of that need made her body soften, her nipples tingle. It was a damn good thing Renner wasn’t even looking at her.

He pulled her behind him, stalking down the dock, but she dug in her heels. A mistake, she realized, the moment a splinter from the rough planks stabbed the sole of one foot. “Stop, Renner,” she said, tugging on his hand.

He aimed a glare over his shoulder and then raked her with a glance, his gaze stopping on the foot she held up from the dock.

With an irritated huff, he bent and swept her into his arms.

She grabbed for his shoulders, a thrill sending her blood hammering. She glanced behind her as her sisters watched, their mouths hanging open. Miren was the most resistant to male attention, the least romantic. She could almost read their minds.

And then they all began to grin and Miren lifted a hand, giving them the finger behind Renner’s back. Laughter rang out but was quickly subdued as more of Ethan’s and Renner’s men descended upon the women.

Renner jostled her in his arms and then squeezed her. “There are alligators all along the bank. They could have mistaken all that splashing for fish in distress.”

“I cast a warding spell.”

“You think you have a spell for everything, don’t you?”

He sounded so surly she grew worried. Renner rarely displayed irritation, and never anger. Most often, his sly humor was all that was evident. Something that irked the living hell out of her because she suspected his humor was a deflection to keep hidden what was really there inside him.

She should have known that with a troll for a best friend, he’d be an ogre under his blond good looks. “We didn’t escape just to piss you off. We’re restless. Freaking bored.”

“And you think we aren’t restless, aren’t fucking frustrated as hell?” His footsteps were getting heavier. Hell, he was stomping toward the porch now. “There are twenty of us and four of you, as yet, unclaimed. Choose already.”

“And who do you think I should choose?”

Renner halted at the bottom of the inn’s steps to stare down at her. A muscle rippled in his cheeks. His aqua eyes gleamed. “Choose me, Miren.”

About the time I started writing a short story about a guy who gets set up on a blind date by his busy-body co-worker, my partner and I took a trip through Central Europe. It was mid-July, warm (but not too hot) and sunny, with lots of tourists. While not our usual time of year to travel, it gave me plenty of material to expand my story.

We flew to Zurich, Switzerland, then traveled by train the rest of the vacation, going to Salzburg, Klagenfurt, and Vienna, Austria; Prague, Czech Republic; and Berlin, Germany. Reaching Vienna, we toured through Hapsburg history throughout the city, and the premise for The Bastard’s Key was born. I imagined the tourists around me as characters in the story, from the hunky German train conductor to the dark-haired young man leading a tour through one of the museums.

As we continued through our trip, the story unfolded, ideas rushing to my mind incorporating the local scenery and people. I imagined the bomb on the train and having to detach the last couple cars. Several of the meals I described in the story we actually had. We’d hiked up Kapuzinerberg in Salzburg after disembarking from the train and found a beautiful overlook of the city. I found myself thinking about the main character, Heath, and what his reactions would be to the beautiful city with the excitement of adventure and romance layered on top.

The Bastard’s Key incorporates the Swiss and Austrian legs of our journey, as well as another two-day trip I had in Paris. The vacation we took became fodder for the suspenseful erotic romance published a couple days ago. As I continue to travel the world, I look forward to inspiration taking hold and pulling me willingly along through not only my own vacation, but the experiences of my potential characters.

****

You can read about Heath and Anton’s first adventure The Bastard’s Key here. The second story in the series, Pennington’s Conquest, will release in the Spring of 2016 with MuseItHOT Publishing.

Excerpt:

He strode into the lavish bathroom and locked the door. The knocking started as he stepped into the shower, but Heath, ignoring it, closed the glass door and turned on the warm water to mask the sound.

“Heath, please let me in.” Anton’s muffled voice through the door was barely audible over the spray of the shower. Water cascaded down Heath’s body. It was his first shower in almost two days. He moved under the spray, drowning out Anton’s knocking and pleas as he tried to rinse away the horror of his recent experiences. The water brought a measure of peace to his tired body.

The scent of lavender surrounded him, and he discovered a bar of soap. Small flecks of purple revealed the source of the soothing fragrance, and he ran the bar over his torso.

He attempted to think about his situation rationally. Everything he owned was burned and under the ruins of his apartment building except for the contents of his backpack and that damned key around his neck. He couldn’t go back to work because at least one person was trying to kill him. It would rip him apart if any more innocent people were hurt because someone was after him. Although two of the would-be assassins were in a mangled car at the bottom of a steep cliff, there may be more than one other out there wanting him dead.

Anton. What about Anton? He could’ve snatched the key several times, not even telling him what it meant. He could’ve let Heath die three times, but saved his life. Not only did he give Heath a place to stay, he made love to him like he meant it. Not just steamy sex, but sultry, sensual lovemaking. There was a spark of something strong inside Heath. It wasn’t lust or desire, but a deeper rush of emotion. A new feeling, stronger than any he’d experienced in any past relationship.

Heath lost track of how long he stood under the hot water. Steam swirled around him, and he noticed that his smooth skin began to prune. With a sigh, he turned off the water. A plush white towel waited for him on a heated rack, and he pressed it close to his body as he dried off.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he released the lock on the door and peered into the bedroom. The ornate bed was now made up, and the change of clothes from his backpack was laid out and ready for him. A small piece of paper along with a freshly cut red rose lay on top of his jockey shorts.

I’m sorry. –A

The note was short and to the point. Heath inhaled the strong fragrance of the rose and put it in the glass of water by the bed. A knock at the door hurried his dressing. He pulled on the jockey shorts and jeans and went to answer the door.

It was Violet. She stood there with a tray holding two teacups and a silver tea service.

“Good morning, my dear.” Her gaze raked up and down his torso, and she sighed. “All the hot ones are gay.”

“You’ve been saying that since I met you.”

“Well, it’s true. This is the first time I’ve seen that luscious slim chest of yours. I love dark-haired men.”

“I’m a bit scrawny.”

“Nonsense, Heath. You’re a hottie. Tea?”

“Uh, sure.” He wasn’t really sure, but Violet was a force of nature not to be questioned. She poured out two cups of tea and plopped herself down, handing one to him.

He held his nose over the teacup. Citrus and mint. “Where did you get this? It’s my favorite.”

“Your desk at work, and I told your boss that you had a family emergency and wouldn’t be back for a few days.”

“Hmmm.” He sipped his tea. The taste was familiar and comforting.

“Anton really enjoyed your date. The hike and picnic wasn’t a ruse to get close to you.”

“Did you know what was going on?”

“My dear, you are hot, young, gay, and single. You were the perfect match for my Anton and damned lucky he noticed that key. I never saw it.”

Heath raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you set me up with those three losers before you introduced me to him?”

Violet laughed. “Well, it took me a bit to realize you were perfect for him.”

“He said he worked in the medical industry.”

“Yes, well. He couldn’t exactly tell you that he fought international criminals, could he?”

“I suppose not. So what happens next? Where do I go? That guy is still out there, and I’m worried that he’ll find me here and hurt you two.”

Violet chuckled again. “Don’t you worry one bit about us. Those idiots will never get in here, and what happens next is up to you.”

“What do you mean?” His confusion clouded his thoughts.

“Life’s thrown you a curveball. Are you swinging at it or hiding in the dugout?”

Heath sat back in the chair and sipped at his tea. He looked out the open window, taking in the blue sky and the sparkling ocean on this crisp autumn morning.

There really wasn’t an option. He couldn’t hide for the rest of his life. He’d be in danger either way.

He looked back at Violet and grinned. “Batter up.”

****

Brent Archer began writing in 2011 at the nudging of his cousins. His first story sold, and he was hooked! Stay tuned for the May 14^th release of his short story A Ride Home as part of Neil Plakcy’s Take This Man anthology. Preorder it here.

Visit his website to keep up on upcoming releases, and follow him on Twitter: @brentarcherwrit.

I love those articles in  magazines that have numbers in the titles—doesn’t matter the topic; the number will make me pause and read the title. So I thought, surely there’s five things about UBM that I could list. They’ll just roll off the tips of my fingers as I type…

Hmmm… It’s nearly 8 AM, so lack of sleep is a poor excuse. Maybe if I just type the number something will come…

1)

Seriously? I’m stumped at 1? Maybe it’s because it’s a number and the other side of my brain that I don’t use very much any more is having spasms. Okay, so with some distance from that nasty number, I should be able to simply tell you the things I love about my witchy series.

Well, there are witches. 

And witches are fun. I get to write spells and things. And each of my witches has a certain element (Water, Earth, Fire, Air, Spirit) they are more connected to. In Under a Blood Moon, my heroine Merin is connected to Water. She loves her job as a shrimp boat captain, loves the open water. Her powers feel stronger, her mind more centered when she’s there. In the first book of the series, Bryn’s element was Earth.

2) Okay, the fingers are moving. I can do this. Witches are the preferred mates of demons. In a traditional demon marriage, the witch lives to serve the demon, giving him influxes of power he can siphon off as he needs. And since witches are delicate little creatures, demons think witches should be grateful for their protection. In my series, my witches fled that environment, wanting to live their own authentic lives without power-mad demons enslaving them. They hid themselves in the bayou, hoping they’d never be found, but witches are fair game to any rogue demon. Discovery was inevitable…

3) My demon kingdom is filled with every luscious otherworld creature you can imagine—or I can anyway. Since I didn’t want to choose, I packed it with my favorites. (Okay, so now you know I’m writing this series for my own entertainment!) In Once in a Blue Moon, the hero was a troll! Doesn’t sound sexy? WRONG! In UBM, my main hero is a sea draugr? Don’t know what that is? Sorry, you have to read the story—but I will say he’s based on Norse lore. Plus, there are two mermen, twins in fact, who fill up the story and parts of Miren’s anatomy quite well. And what’s coming? A wolf for sure, because I do love furry heroes. Maybe a gargoyle or a djinn. I’m having fun with the variety. I hope you will too!

4) My story’s set in the bayous of Louisiana. I know. I’ve used it before, but hey, it’s just south of me, and I visit there often, and even I in my prosaic little human world I can feel the spooky vibes coming from the murky, gator-filled waters. The vegetation is lush, the air humid and thick. I’m drawn to it because of its isolation and beauty. If you’ve never made a trip, you have to add it to your bucket list!

5) I don’t know what’s going to happen next. Well, I do know there’s always going to be plenty of sex, but I don’t know where the characters are leading me. Not yet. And that’s very, very enticing for me as a writer. I purposely didn’t plan this series because I wanted to it come from the fertile side of my brain. The one unencumbered by logic and numbers. But see? I made it 5!

Under a Blood Moon is releasing Tuesday! You may as well read Once in a Blue Moon to get ready!

So, leave a comment, and maybe you’ll win a copy of Once in a Blue Moon! I’m giving one away!

I am often asked what drew me to write paranormal romance. Sometimes I am even asked by the uninitiated what paranormal romance is. To the latter, I typically answer that it’s Twilight without the fade to black (not entirely accurate, but it helps people understand). As to the former—as a kid, I loved fairy tales. Dragons, wizards, magical objects and enchantments tickled my imagination. As I grew older, the fairy tales evolved into fantasy novels with higher stakes, lengthier quests, and more mature themes. I love the escapism offered by these foreign, imaginary worlds.

Paranormal romance is an adult twist on my beloved fairy tales. The elements are the same; oftentimes you see magic, otherworldly creatures, quests, and imprisonments. But the genre also offers the exploration of feelings and satisfaction of a romance novel. You root for the main characters. You are pulled along as they fight to come to terms with their internal struggles and outward battles and finally achieve their happily ever after together.

I love and appreciate all the subgenres that Romance has to offer. I’ve loved reading about different time periods and have a weakness for books with hunky cowboys or swashbucklers on the cover. But for me, it’s the element of the fantastical, the foreign and magical, that sells me on paranormal. My books offer mythological creatures, other worlds, and plenty of sexy spice.

When I set out to write my Phoenix Warrior series, I chose a different mythological creature—the phoenix—as my inspiration because it was relatively uncharted territory. The Phoenix Warriors are hunky immortals guarding the human realm and I’m told my books have lead to some “inspired” time in readers’ bedrooms. Whether you are new to paranormal or have read dozens of authors, I hope you’ll give my sizzling series a try.

You can learn more about the Phoenix Warrior series at my website, www.karidaclarke.com, or at my Amazon author page, http://www.amazon.com/Karida-Clarke/e/B00INJ1T14.

I am grateful to Delilah for inviting me to share my thoughts and my books on her blog. I would love to hear from readers. Have you explored all the subgenres that Romance has to offer? What draws you to a particular subgenre?

About the Author: Karida Clarke is a romance writer with a penchant for anything otherworldly. If it has scales, fur, poisoned talons, throws fire or casts magic spells, it might find its way into her stories. Karida likes her heroines multifaceted and her males swoon-worthy, Alpha-style. She believes that relationships matter more than things and places. In her free time, Karida enjoys lacing up for long runs and cooking ethnic cuisine. Pet peeves include Saran Wrap and people who don’t put their shopping carts away. Karida has an M.A. in English Literature, is a former college English instructor, and currently writes for a small newspaper. She lives with her nerd-tastic husband and two spunky kids in Ohio.

Website: www.karidaclarke.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/karidaclarke
Twitter: www.twitter.com/karidaclarke
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7891344.Karida_Clarke

There’s something to be said for starting over. Every once in awhile, life gives you the change to just wipe everything away and start fresh. Three and a half years ago life handed my family and myself just such an opportunity. My husband was offered a job in Austin, Tx. He had a great job in Illinois, where we were at the time. Both our families were there with us. We were established. But who can turn down the chance to start all over again? It’s an adventure. It’s a defining moment in life. The chance to stake a new claim and prove you can do it. So we did.

When a group of my Austin writer friends asked me about writing a story for their anthology, Romancing Austin, I wanted to tell a similar story. I wanted to tell the story about somebody getting a fresh start. And Juliana was born!

Do Over

Bad things happen—even to good girls.

Juliana was angry and heartsick when her fiancé left her at the altar. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her from going on her honeymoon to Austin, Tx. She needed a vacation—an adventure to shake things up. And the tattooed man she meets at a bar would make an excellent holiday fling. But Luke knows a good thing when he sees it. His job it to discover extraordinary people. He’s not going to let Juliana slip through his fingers.

But Do Over isn’t the only story in the anthology! There’s a little bit of something for everybody in Romancing Austin:

On sale for .99!
Former rock star Dex Reed throws a wild comeback party in his Austin penthouse, and seven romances heat up the night.

No Quitting Allowed, Rebecca Royce
One last assignment and then Lana is quitting her job, quitting Austin, and moving on with her life. Until Jake stumbles into her and changes the direction of her whole world.

Twisted, Cara Carnes
Caleb “Colt” Douglas agreed to close out Twisted Delirium’s sold out world tour with a gig at SXSW for one reason–win back the woman he left behind.

Do Over, Chandra Ryan
When life offers Juliana a fresh start, will she follow her heart or play it safe?

Consortium, Riley Bancroft
Record exec Holt Michaelson married the enigmatic Chloe to keep his assets safe from a vindictive competitor, but after a fiery encounter with his new wife, he’s determined to claim her as his own, body and soul.

Tall Order, Irene Preston
Dylan made the worst mistake of his life when he chose his career over Aston, but tonight he’ll take a risk on Aston even if it’s too late.

Enchanted, Evelyn Berry
Stripped of her magic, fairy princess Aurora is torn between her duty to her imperiled family and to a brilliant musician who holds the key to their freedom…and her heart.

One Night with the Vampire, Jax Garren
Tonight Alex will finally possess the woman he’s craved, but Sofia’s dangerous family secrets threaten to tear them apart.

You can find out more about the anthology and pick up your copy while it’s still on sale here:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1JnSSm3
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1buwrjA
ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-romancingaustin-1767618-166.html
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/romancing-austin-jax-garren/1121862573?ean=2940151241359

Which is better, contact or the seconds before?

You’ve been thinking about those lips, that smile, that accent for days, weeks, months, years. Now, the universe has aligned and here you are. Anticipation, a.k.a. foreplay, whether verbal, body language, or physical adds a whole new level of HOT to any encounter. It’s the major premise behind my joint adventure with Author Lindsay Cross. Take a peek and answer the question at the bottom of the post for a chance to win a copy of Enemy Mine or Versions.

Excerpt

“Why’d you insist on coming with me? This isn’t exactly your thing.” Lindley held up a gloved hand and fanned her fingers at him.

Fox’s broad back faced her. He typed furiously on his cell with the thick collar of his overcoat up on both sides. “What? Oh.” He turned his dark gaze on her. The ruddiness in his cheeks from the spring wind outside faded to sheet-white. “Damnit, Lin.” He looked away so quickly he almost snapped his neck. “I still don’t understand how it’s your thing.” He shoved the phone inside his pocket and gripped the table he leaned against with both hands. “When we met you seemed so normal.”

“I am normal.” She grinned, pleased with herself for shaking him up enough to get him talking. He’d been so quiet on the car ride over, stuck in the mire of his thoughts. And now that she’d seen the tip of the proverbial iceberg that had wrecked their sex life she wanted to know more.

“You have brains all over your gloves and you’re not about to hurl. That’s not normal.” His shaggier-than-usual locks moved in time with his shaking head.

“Sure it is. You like to solve puzzles. It’s part of the reason you became a police officer. Every case for you is an intricate weave of timelines, witnesses, evidence, leads, and documentation. Well, I like to tell people’s stories when they can’t.”

“So, what’s White’s story?”

“This bastard got shot in the head.”

Fox’s shoulders shook. He doubled over and the most glorious sound filled her morgue. She hadn’t heard his laugh in so very long. Sure he’d laughed with the kids, but not with her, not that real belly-rolling laugh, in too long. He buried his face in his arm. “Oh God, it smells awful in here.” The coat and thickly-corded muscles muffled the words.

Lindley let the sound wash over her, soothing the ache in her heart. “It’s good to hear you laugh,” she breathed through the thin face mask.

“It’s good to laugh. It’s been a long time.” With that, the last of his mirth dried up.

“So why’d you come with me?”

“The logical thing for James to do is run, but why’d he kill White in my office, in my chair? Nothing was stolen. Nothing was out of place.”

He resumed his grip on the table.

“A final FU?”

“Or it’s a threat.”

A tiny tendril of fear threaded itself around her heart. She strived to make light of the situation. But really, a man who’d eaten barbeque in her back yard had murdered the buddy he’d picked up on his way to their house. She could only blow off so much.

Lindley secured the metal spreader inside White’s entry wound and wiggled her fingers into his brain matter. “Why would he threaten you?”

“I pushed for the bust on Chino and his gang based on things we learned from following White and James.”

“Chino!” The tendril coiled tight and her fingers slipped off the tip of the metal slug.

“He’s not a problem for us. He knows how the system works. He’s a bad guy, but not The Godfather make-a-big-statement type. He’ll post bail within the hour. Whether he goes to jail or not, James is the one with the issue. He won’t have a prayer of showing his face in this town again. No matter what he says, Chino will believe he informed for us, and he’ll end up fish food.”

“And that’s not a statement?”

“It’s a little one.”

“Okay.”

“James stealing the money was an FU to the force. White in my office was personal.”

Lindley pushed everything aside, concentrated, and steeled her grip. “I found the slug.”

“Great. Can we go now?”

“Can you grab me a small evidence bag and open it?”

He sighed and moved to the wall of metal cabinets and drawers behind her. “Can you bring it over here. If I don’t see the body, I’ll do better.”

“I still don’t understand how you made it through seven years as a detective.” Lindley sidled up next to him and dropped the hunk of compressed metal into the open bag.

“I could look at that as evidence. This is like finger painting or sculpting with brains, and guts, and… Okay, I’m about to gross myself out.”

It was her turn to laugh. Finally. Fox’s wide eyes and reciprocating smile said he enjoyed the sound as much as she did. They shared a moment together. He moved in, but his gaze dropped to her hands. He hit the brakes.

“So, can we go now?”

“I have to clean him up, and then me. It’ll take another hour, maybe.”

Fox looked at her extra-large clock on the wall. “One o’clock. I’ve officially been awake for thirty hours.”

“Sissy. It doesn’t get good until you’ve hit the fiftieth. Mental function shuts down and you find you can sleep standing up with a candy-bar hanging out of your mouth.”

“If this place didn’t freak me out so much, I’d already be asleep. You know I like my eight hours.”

“I know you haven’t gotten that many in a row in a while.”

“I haven’t gotten a lot of things in a while.” His shaky finger brushed a group of stray hairs from her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” She leaned into his hand. The tiny bit of skin-on-skin contact bolstered her resolve.

Let me know what you think in the comments and remember to leave your email address so I can alert the winner!!! Which does it for you contact all the way or anticipation?

*~*~*~*

Megan was born and raised among the live oaks and shrimp boats of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where her enormous family still calls home. She attended college at the University of Southern Mississippi where she received a bachelor’s degree in curriculum, instruction, and special education. For several years Megan worked as a teacher in Mississippi. She married and moved to South Carolina and began working for an international non-profit organization as an instructor and co-director.

In 2009 Megan fell in love with books. Until then, books had been a source for research or the topic of tests. But one day she read Mercy by Julie Garwood. And Oh Mercy, she was hooked!

Megan lives in Southern Arkansas where she pens heart pounding romantic thriller novels and window steaming erotic romance. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest & Goodreads!

Night before last, I had to take some pictures of paintings/drawings I’ve done this past year for my local art guild’s brochure. We’re doing a studio tour this fall. I’ll sell my paintings (I hope) and my jewelry. I hope to have some mosaic and altered art jewelry boxes by then, too. I thought I’d share some of my photos. They suck—the pictures. So does the art work, but I’m learning. As you can tell, I’m not a photographer, and I didn’t have a lot of time to set things up. Every one of them has the flash from the camera in the glass. *sigh*

But I’m sharing because we all need creative outlets—something that feeds our souls or calms us—whether it’s creating a garden or a lovely meal. And since I have a black thumb and burn Campbell’s soup, I choose these things. What things feed your soul?

These are supposed to be poppies…

I like apples, but it was boring when I finished it, so I flicked my brush at it…

I zentangled a pear then used watercolor pencils to paint it…

More poppies. I like them. I might paint more. And no, I’m not bored of them yet…

Hey, I framed this one myself, too! I call it, “Feed Me, Seymour!” Get it? Little Shop of Horrors...