Bestselling Author Delilah Devlin
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A Mind Map for 2015
Saturday, November 29th, 2014

Yes, I’m already looking past December to the New Year. I have the whole month of December to review my 2014 plan and figure out what the heck happened. There were projects I was forced to drop for personal reasons—illness being the main reason, lack of scheduled downtime the other. I don’t want a repeat of 2014. I want 2015 to be completely positive, maybe even a change of direction.

December 7-13, I’ll be running a planning workshop entitled “How to Write 50 Books a Year” through Roses Colored Glasses (ignore the dates listed on the page. Sis hasn’t updated and she’s on vacation at the moment. Use the link anyway to join the yahoo group!), and I want to be ready to work on my own plan while I lead other writers through the process. (BTW, the workshop is completely free, so if you’d like to plan your year along with a group of like-minded writers, please join us!)

Anyway, I am doing some pre-planning brainstorming. Not so much targeted toward specific projects (although that will be the next step), but a more generalized view of the year. I’ve been collecting Mind-Mapping and Vision Board tools on Pinterest and think I’d like to create a visual to list my goals/priorities for 2015. Something that might look like this (I found this on Pinterest, which led me to a website called Jenny’s Sketchbook where she talks about building this mind-map)…

mindmap

Maybe on mine, I’ll add things like:

Revamp my writing process

  • Plot
  • Write
  • Edit
  • RECOVER

See that last step? I think that’s what’s missing from my process. Oh, and the plotting part, because I’m such a pantser, but I think the lack of plotting really took a bite out of the time I scheduled to actually write the books. So it needs to be there, and I need to get serious about doing it!

I’ll add some personal goals like “family time” activities or trips and adding exercise to my plan. I won’t plan on adding the “D” word (diet) to the map because I’ve had diet on my New Years Resolution list for years and it’s the first thing I always fail. So the D word does not make it to the map!

What else should I add? Some financial goal? Some organizational goal? Something targeted to my Etsy store, The Emerald Casket? I would like an offshoot circle for possible writing projects, maybe a brainstormed series list. Any suggestions for what I should jot down as possibilities? Any old favorites or new ideas?

Also, if you’d like to do something like this for yourself, whether you’re a writer prepping for “Write 50 Books a Year” planning or just a goal-minded person who loves the bright shiny possibilities of starting over in the New Year, be sure to share your map. Send me a pic, or a link to your map on Pinterest. If enough folks share, I’ll devote blog space or a Pinterest board to your efforts. 🙂

Sam Cheever: Are you Headed for a Lump of Coal This Christmas?
Friday, November 28th, 2014

I’m definitely getting coal in my stocking this year. Yeah, it’s true. I try so hard to be good. I really do! But I have a demon sitting on one shoulder and she’s so much more fun than the angel on my other shoulder. What’s that? You don’t believe me? (Apparently you’ve never read one of my books!)

For you doubters, here’s a laundry list of my sins:

  1. I torture my characters. Yeah, I really do. It’s part of my job. And to make things even worse, I enjoy it! LOL
  2. I write dirty books. Yup, my characters are nice people but they’re always doing dirty (yummy) things. I don’t know how that happens. I really don’t.
  3. When I’m in thrall to one of my stories, I sometimes go weeks without cleaning my house. I usually give in about the time fist-sized fur tumbleweeds skim across my floors when I walk through. (That doesn’t take as long as you might think, since I have 13 dogs!)
  4. I corrupt others. I not only write dirty books, I entice others to read them. (cue evil grin and waggling eyebrows). In fact, I work really hard at enticing others into debauchery with me. You should try it, it’s fun and burns calories!
  5. I’m totally, completely unrepentant. I’ll do it all over again next year. In fact I might double down on it. Because it’s how I roll. #:0)

Yeah, there’s a lump of coal in my future. Probably lots of them. But I look at it this way, diamonds come from carbon (as does coal). My lump isn’t really coal at all. It’s just a 10 karat diamond in its nascent form. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!

Merry Christmas everybody!

schohohoneybun-510

He just wants her to take life a little more seriously. She’s decided he could have a point. Especially now that somebody wants her dead.

Dolfe Honeybun broke up with Blaise Runa because her party girl ways were driving him to distraction. Unfortunately, out of sight does NOT mean out of mind. And when his favorite party girl sees something she shouldn’t and finds herself being chased by a cold blooded killer… reason shuts down and Dolfe’s heart takes over. If only he can get to her in time!

Book page

* * *

I like big butts and I cannot lie…

Dolfe’s head jerked off the pillow, groggy from an unusually deep sleep. His heart pounded as he reached over and shut off the phone. Cursing Blaise. The ringtone had been her idea. She’d told him, grinning, that it would remind him of her every time it rang. Dolfe silently berated himself for not changing it to something mature and soothing.

She’d been right. The tone did remind him of her…of the lush firmness of her perfect backside…the velvet feel of her skin…the sensual tang of her delicious scent.

God knew he didn’t need any more reminders of Blaise. Her essence was infused in every fabric in his home. Her presence saturated every cell of his existence. A battered paperback behind the sofa cushions…a bottle of siren red nail polish shoved to the back of his medicine cabinet.

She was everywhere.

Dolfe had thought breaking up with her would be enough to exorcise her from his life.

What an idiot he’d been.

He opened his eyes and squinted at the clock. Three flippin’ AM. He groaned, flopping back to the pillow and closed his eyes, determined to ignore whoever the asswipe was who thought it was a good idea to call him in the middle of the night.

For a brief, enticing moment he thought he might be able to do it. Go back to sleep. His muscles softened…his thoughts clouded… He took a deep breath, expelling it softly…

I like big butts and I cannot lie…

Dolfe growled his frustration and grabbed the cell, stabbing at the button to answer it. “This better be fucking good.”

Silence met his growled, less than friendly greeting. No. That wasn’t completely right. If he listened carefully he could hear breathing, soft and staccato. “Who’s there?”

A tiny squeak. Panic swirled through Dolfe. “Blaise? Is that you? I’m sorry, honey. You woke me up. What’s wrong?” He didn’t know how he knew it was her. He just did, in that instinctive, age-old way of lovers who’d been, even for a short time, totally in tune with each other.

“He killed her.”

The simple statement, thick with tears, ripped through whatever grogginess Dolfe might still be feeling and tore him from the bed. He was reaching for his jeans even as he spoke again. “Who killed who, honey. Tell me you’re all right. Let’s start with that. I need to know right now that you’re okay.”

She pulled air into her lungs in a shaky breath. “I’m okay. But…” Another squeak, “He saw me, Dolfe. He’s coming after me.”

Dolfe scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. Okay, honey, listen to me. Get someplace public. A busy restaurant or something. Sit down at a table facing the door and wait for me. Watch for me. I can be there in minutes. Just tell me where you are.”

A soft sob, the sound of the phone dropping, crashing against something.

Dolfe’s guts heaved into his throat. “Blaise!”

Nothing.

Book page

 

Author Bio:

scIMG_7837USA Today Bestselling Author Sam Cheever writes romantic paranormal/fantasy and mystery/suspense, creating stories that celebrate the joy of love in all its forms. Known for writing great characters, snappy dialogue, and unique and exhilarating stories, Sam is the award-winning author of 50+ books and has been writing for over a decade under several noms de plume.

If you haven’t already connected, Sam would love it if you Liked/Followed her wherever you enjoy hanging out online. Here are her online haunts:

Newsletter: https://www.samcheever.com/newsletter.html
Website: www.SamCheever.com
Amazon Author Page:
https://www.amazon.com/author/samcheever  
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SamCheeverAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/samcheever
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/samcheever1/

Eva Siedler: 3 Reasons to Let an Aircraft Mechanic Turn Your Wrench
Thursday, November 27th, 2014

A quick note…

thanksgivingFor you Americans out there, Happy Thanksgiving! I hope you’re spending the day with family and aren’t stuck in some airport. I’ll be sitting down to the table with mine and giving thanks for all my blessings. Now, on to our regularly scheduled program… 🙂

* * * * *

3 Reasons to Let an Aircraft Mechanic Turn Your Wrench

Nothing is sexier than a book boyfriend who lives to keep others safe. Firefighters, military men, and police officers fill the romance genre—and for good reason. Aircraft mechanics don’t garner a lot of page time. Maybe it’s because the job isn’t glamorous or even one people care to think about. Mechanics are the grease-smudged faces behind the curtain, the unseen force keeping you in the air. Being married to one myself, I’ve seen every side of these mysterious men. Here are a few of the perks of the breed.

#3 Cocky calm.

Aircraft mechanics are a little like cardiologists. I’ve yet to meet one who wasn’t cocky as all get out, at least when it came to his job. On any given day these mechanics are responsible for the safety of hundreds or even thousands of people. No room for the wishy-washy in a field like that. And no matter how comfortable you are with the miracle of flight, when you’re cruising along at four hundred miles per hour and the airplane makes one of those godawful metal-grinding noises, it’s nice to have your man squeeze your hand and assure you that there will be no fiery death today. The phalange needs oiled, that’s all. On more than one occasion my husband even fixed the plane we were flying on before departure, saving us from a lengthy delay. If that’s not sexy, I don’t know what is.

es1Capture

#2 Joining the Mile High Club doesn’t necessarily involve a cramped lavatory.

Making love at 32,000 feet can be a beautiful thing. Yet every time I’m forced to step foot in one of those germ-ridden closets being passed off as a bathroom, I’m amazed anew that there even is a Mile High Club.

But fear not, amorous adventurers, I have two words for you: ferry flight. This is usually a short flight used to relocate an airplane. Say a plane lands in Cincinnati, Ohio, but needs to go to the airline’s base in Columbus for more extensive maintenance. A barebones crew then flies the jet to Columbus without paying passengers. The captain may permit certain people, such as a mechanic and his guest who are trying to get to Columbus to remain onboard.

The atmosphere on a ferry flight is completely different. No passengers to appease, fewer regulations to follow. The crew is at the end of a long day, most likely in the mood to either joke around or simply fly in peaceful silence. With the latter you and your mechanic are left to entertain yourselves. Hmm . . . All those empty seats and a flight attendant who’s only too happy to leave you alone. What’s a girl to do?

es2Capture

Which leads us to . . .

#1 He knows how to use his equipment.

There is no engine too complex, no G-spot too elusive for a man who knows how to use his quick mind and strong, calloused hands—and all other tools at his disposal. Le sigh.

es3Capture

Eva Siedler was born in Columbus, Ohio to parents who enjoy the kind of epic love most people only read about. She didn’t inhale books or scribble stories in a notebook during study hall. Because writing necessitated reading. And she HATED reading. Every paragraph was a battle, and she couldn’t seem to stay awake through the first ten pages. It wasn’t until her own love story unfolded and a colicky baby started keeping her up at night that Eva discovered what good fiction can do for the soul. Writing wasn’t the path she imagined. It’s the path she was born for, and so much better than she could have dreamed.

www.evasiedler.com

* * * * *

Las Vegas Layover

es4las-vegas-layover 

Coastal Airlines mechanic Sebastian Brisbane is on his way to Las Vegas to fix a broken jet. But after one look at his sexy, travel-sized seatmate, he’s more concerned with revving her engine than fixing the plane’s.

Clara Howe will do anything to fulfill her aunt’s last wishes to have her ashes spread in Vegas. A one-night stand isn’t on the itinerary, but when Clara accidentally pricks Sebastian’s temper, along with his passion, only one thing is certain: It’s bound to be a bumpy ride.

SamhainAmazonBarnes and noble

Homespun Projects, and a Question…
Tuesday, November 25th, 2014
Crocheted Scarf with refurbished pin

Something I made forever ago, including the refurbished pin.

My daughter decided she wanted to make scarves for her girls. Something handmade. Problem was, she didn’t know how to crochet or knit. I used to crochet way back in the dark ages, but I’ll be the first to admit I was never really any good at it. Didn’t matter. She wanted to learn, we had a space of time where we were alone (pre-holiday sale at her frame shop=tons of dead time), so we bought needles, yarn and settled in.

So after about 4 false starts (she made a crescent rather than a neat straight-across row; I had a section that was knotty or skinny at the end of each row), two customers took pity on us and gave us impromptu lessons. Yeah, we depend on the kindness of strangers—love ’em!

Now we are busily making our first scarves, and she’s much more inspired than I am, but it’s a chance for us to do something together, and now her two girls want to learn. Oy!

I feel very domesticated today. Like I’ve passed on homespun knowledge, inspiring another generation to make handmade things. The girls thought they only wanted to be beaders when they grew up, now they want to “make stuff.” I’ll be sure to post pics of our first efforts on Facebook and Pinterest.

So what about you?

What homespun craft/knowledge do you plan to pass on to the next generation?
Or is there a craft you’re dying to learn but haven’t had the time to begin?

 

Jan Scarbrough: Intimacy makes the love scene work—it’s a “romance” novel, after all
Monday, November 24th, 2014

Long before romance novelists wrote explicit sex in their novels, women were reading romance. After all, it was the romance stupid. Women wanted to read about the developing relationship and falling in love.

Tiffany Tyer describes four powerful romance novel love scenes in Beyond the Bedroom Door: Most Romantic Love Scenes. She puts it very well when she says, “Romantic love scenes aren’t really about flowery words, soft lighting, or a specific setting. They don’t have to be slow or lengthy. It’s about the connection between the hero and heroine, a relationship that has been carefully crafted to bring the romance to a certain point, where the love scenes become truly memorable.”

In thinking about this blog post, I searched the Internet and found a lengthy, but interesting article in Psychology Today (online). The article, Intimacy: The Art of Relationships by Lori H. Gordon, was published December 31, 1969 – last reviewed on August 30, 2004. The author talks about how our modern culture does not provide our biological need for intimacy.

Ms. Gordon explains, “… our cultural talent for commercialization has separated out sex from intimacy. In fact, intimacy involves both emotional and physical closeness and openness. But we wind up confusing the two and end up feeling betrayed or used when, as often happens, we fail to satisfy our need for closeness in sex.”

That’s why a love scene in a “sweet” romance where the bedroom door closes on the couple can be as emotionally satisfying as the most popular erotic novel. It’s the presence of emotional intimacy that we enjoy reading.

To me, the new standard for a love scene comes from Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander, a Starz original series. The wedding night between Jamie and Claire was a mixture of sensuality and humor, a sweet and sexy unfolding of their relationship together. If you haven’t seen the Starz version of the book, it’s worth finding a way to view it.

Love scenes work in romance novels when they combine the two types of intimacy—the emotional and the physical. The physical can be explicit or implied, but without emotional intimacy, the love scene will fall flat and fail to satisfy.

Bio

jsJan ScarbroughJan Scarbrough is the author of the popular Bluegrass Reunion series, writing heartwarming contemporary romances about family and second chances, and if the plot allows—horses. Living in the horse country of Kentucky makes it easy for Jan to add small town, Southern charm to her books, and the excitement of a horse race or a competitive horse show. A member of Novelist, Inc., Jan has published with Kensington, Five Star, ImaJinn Books, Resplendence Publishing and Turquoise Morning Press.

WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | AMAZON

* * * * *

jsKentucky Blue Bloods 200-300

No one crosses Parker Stuart, caretaker to his family’s thoroughbred racing empire. Parker retaliates against anyone who dares slight him or his blue-blooded British family, especially Regina Ward and her poker-playing father. The previous spring, Reggie had had the nerve to walk out on him after a torrid, three-week affair. Now, when Parker arrives in Kentucky to collect his family’s winnings, he’s determined to settle the score with the lovely Ms. Ward.

Regina Ward doesn’t consider herself a damsel in distress. After all, this is America, and she’s accustomed to depending upon herself. However, when her father loses four of the yearlings from their central Kentucky horse farm in a poker game, Reggie knows it’s up to her to save what’s left of her family’s homestead and her proud Kentucky heritage. Can she do it when Parker Stuart, the most arrogant and infuriating Brit she’s ever met, shows up in the Bluegrass?

AMAZON | ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS

LINKS:
Visit Jan at https://www.janscarbrough.com
You can also follow Jan on Twitter @romancerider
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/author/janscarbrough

Links for Kentucky Blue Bloods:
https://amzn.to/1yZbRP5
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-kentuckybluebloodsbluegrassreunionseriesbookseven-1664110-149.html

Augustina Van Hoven: Ghosts
Sunday, November 23rd, 2014

Have you ever walked into a room and known you were not alone?  Have you ever thought you were by yourself only to catch a movement in the corner of your eye?

Throughout history there have been sightings of the spirits people and animals that have long ago passed away.  Every language spoken on earth has a word for ghost and every culture has ghost stories.  It is part of the human psyche to both fear and be fascinated by thoughts of the afterlife and those who have gone there before us.  There have been opinion polls taken that show approximately one third of the population believe in the existence of ghosts.

People have reported seeing spirits in graveyards, old buildings or any number of outdoor locations.  Sightings have been reported ranging from the mere sense of a presence to seeing apparitions of people or animals, sitting, standing or walking about.  There are often reports of a mist surrounding these figures and a notable drop in temperature when they are present.

There are many people who actually hunt for ghosts.  They call themselves paranormal investigators.  These ghost hunters often use electronic equipment to help them find and record spirits.   The equipment can range from audio or video recorders to digital thermometers, night vision scopes and EMF meters.  The SyFy channel has had a television show for many years called ‘Ghost Hunters’ that follows a team of paranormal investigators to various sights in hopes of finding ghosts.

My debut novel, THE KISS OF A ROSE, is at its heart a ghost story.  The chorus of the song, “Kissed by a Rose” sung by Seal was my inspiration to write it.  I heard the lyrics of the chorus one day and had a flash of a grave stone partially buried in snow and a blood red rose lying at its base.  The rest of the story developed from that point.

Belief in ghosts is a very personal and emotional matter.  How among us hasn’t lost a loved one for whom we would give almost anything to see and speak to just one more time.

I believe there are spirits who walk the earth among the living.  I have had the experience of being alone in a room and feeling a hand brush my arm.  So I ask you, have you ever seen a ghost?

Augustina Van Hoven
Proving Love is Strange
THE KISS OF A ROSE – Now available
www.augustinavanhoven.com

Kiss-of-a-Rose-cover

A DISTANT PAST

In 1882, Rose Van Buren loved the wrong man and paid for it with her life. Now, more than a century later, the angel Gabriel has granted her another shot at living. In exchange, she must convince a smart, handsome, up-and-coming lawyer to set aside his lofty ambitions.

A FUTURE PRESENT

Stephen Winship is headed straight for the governor’s chair. He has a brilliant career, solid allies, and a seemingly perfect girlfriend. But night after night he finds himself dreaming of a heavenly beauty, a luminous but long-dead girl. Like some altered Ghost of Christmas Past, she shows him her own tragic tale in order to “save him.” And he’s beginning to see Rose is risking her heart as much as baring her soul. Yet falling for her will cost him everything—and open him up to a happiness he never imagined.

 

Flashback: Breaking Leather (Contest)
Saturday, November 22nd, 2014

Hey there! I just looked at the calendar. Where has this year gone? I don’t know how 2014’s been for you, but it’s blown by me. And next week’s Thanksgiving, which means if I blink it will be Christmas. Another blink and it will be 2015! It’s time to start thinking about my New Year’s rez list. Do you do one? Do you always have “Lose weight” at the top like I do? Maybe I won’t even bother putting it on the list this year because I don’t want to bomb the first item on the first day. 🙁

So, it’s Saturday, which for some means a day off and time to kick up the feet and spend some quality “me” time. Maybe read a book…? Is that what you do? Tell me about your Saturday!

If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered
to win a free copy of the story below!

Oh, and one last thing before I share a fun excerpt from one of my favorite Lone Star Lovers novellas—I’ll be sending out a newsletter soon, filled with goodies you won’t want to miss. So, if you’re not already signed up, here’s the link: Newsletter Signup.

Breaking Leather

Breaking Leather

One for remembrance…one for healing…and one to seal her heart forever.

Lone Star Lovers, Book 4

Chrissi Page has tried to find one man who heats her bed the way the Kinzie brothers did one shameful night years ago. She’s failed miserably, leaving her with no choice but to bank that inner fire—and keep a lid on her inner bad girl.

She’d been weak, unable to choose between three men who appealed to her in different ways. And when they’d confronted her as a tease, anger had boiled over into a passion so wild, she’s still trying to live it down.

Since that night, Ezra, Cade and Joshua have individually sown their wild oats with pretty much the entire available female population of Two Mule, Texas. Yet nothing erases the attraction they still feel for Chrissi. And when she ends up stranded on the road near their ranch, it’s their last chance to turn their mutual obsession into an unusual proposition.

One weekend, three on one. If she can’t stand the heat, they’ll let her go on with her life. And try to find a way to live with the hole she’ll leave behind in theirs.

Warning: A girl who thinks she can’t have it all, and three brothers who set out to prove otherwise. One on one, two on one, and three on one; bondage in the wild; a bit of riding crop action. And a pickup truck load of emotion.

Chrissi Page raised her cell phone in the air, staring at the screen. No bars. Not even a hint of one skinny, green nub. “Oh, come on,” she moaned as her radiator hissed behind her. “Damn, damn, damn.”

She’d been tempted to ignore the CHECK ENGINE light when it first appeared, wanting to take the chance she could limp back into Two Mule. However, the steam seeping from under the hood had pretty much killed that hope.

Today was not the day for her car to break down. Not so far from town. Not so close to their ranch. Any minute now one of the Kinzie brothers might happen by.

They’d stop because they’d never leave a woman stranded.

They might not let her go because of their shared past.

And she didn’t know if she had the strength anymore to fight fate or her own inexplicable needs.

Macy Pettigrew, her best friend and boss, had sent her to the Dunstan house to make sure the owners had followed her suggestions to increase the house’s curb appeal. Never mind that there wasn’t a curb. Not really even a road—more of a caliche-covered goat trail that meandered up a steep hillside, rutted from runoff during recent summer storms.

Something must have happened to her car on the run up that hill. She’d heard the rocks pinging against her undercarriage but had been too busy thinking about Ms. Dunstan’s handsome neighbors. She’d been afraid she’d pass them or that they might stop in to see old Lettie Dunstan, the widow selling off her roughhewn, century-old home.

Chrissi had forced a smile on her face, looked at the potted plants the old woman had placed in pretty window boxes and admired the paint she’d used to spruce up the weathered door and window frames. The junk the old woman’s husband had accumulated, and that she hadn’t had the heart to part with after his passing, was gone from the front lawn. And lo and behold, grass was beginning to grow to fill in the brown patches where engines and tires had lain.

Macy would be pleased. They had a potential buyer. One who’d relayed an offer via email, which had checked out with the mortgage lender. Details Macy had been eager to handle herself, leaving the showings to Chrissi.

Chrissi heard a powerful engine rev. She slowly lowered her arm and glanced nervously over her shoulder. A metallic sage pickup truck pulled off the road behind her, and her stomach dropped to her toes. She’d known the moment her CHECK ENGINE light had shone that this was going to happen.

And good Lord, it had to be Ezra Kinzie. His dark gaze narrowed on her through the windshield, the intensity of it feeling like the hissing heat of a brand against her skin.

He opened his door and stepped down, slamming it with a decisive shove. Everything Ezra did was deliberate. He never wavered once a decision was made.

Long ago, he’d decided he wasn’t going to fight his brothers for her. If she wasn’t going to decide among them, then she’d have to take them all.

And, Lord help her, she had.

She’d never gotten over that night, had never been able to push it to the farthest corner of her mind when she lay down to sleep. Just the memory of it made her hot, cold, wet

And horribly ashamed. Anyone could have seen them beneath the bleachers at the homecoming game. Gossip hadn’t followed, but that didn’t make her any less self-conscious when she strode down the sidewalk on Main Street.

Someone might know. Someone might tell. The thought of that sordid night being revealed left her feeling nauseated. Her life had been circumspect ever since, her love life nonexistent.

They’d left her scarred. Unable to move on.

Not because they’d harmed her physically, but because she hadn’t been able to shake off the terrible attraction that tempted her every single day since that fateful night.

Boots crunched on the gravel at the side of the road. The brim of Ezra’s straw cowboy hat left his ice-blue eyes in shadow.

She straightened away from her car and squared her shoulders.

“Havin’ trouble, Chrissi?”

“It just showed up,” she said under her breath, determined not to let him see how flustered she felt.

One side of his mouth quirked up. He glanced up at the sky, squinting against the bright Texas sun before leveling that devastating stare on her again.

Her belly clenched, and she fought hard not to give him any clues about how he still affected her. Just the rumble of his deep voice always made her think of crisp, cool sheets and hot, slick skin.

Her glance flicked over his body-hugging dark tee, noted his well-developed chest, the bulge of his biceps, his taut abdomen. She started to sweat. “Will you call a tow truck for me when you get home?”

A frown dug a deep crease between his dark brows. “Get in my truck, Chrissi. I’m not leavin’ you on the side of the road.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere with you, Ezra Kinzie,” she said tightly.

A muscle rippled alongside his jaw. “I’m just offerin’ you a place to wait out of the sun. And a cool drink. Nothin’ more.”

His features were stern, his jaw rigid, but the heat blazing from his eyes mesmerized her, made her want to sway toward him. The intensity of that unblinking stare made her wish he’d take the decision right out of her hands. She’d never willingly take that first step. Her days of following his commands were over.

Chrissi swallowed hard and broke from his glance, looking down the road and praying someone else would appear over the crest of the hill. She needed rescuing from the deep emotions roiling inside her—from the temptation his large, hard frame embodied. However, only the shimmer of heat waves rose off the black tar.

A trickle of moisture dripped between her breasts, gliding along one curve—and just like that, her imagination replaced the slide of that hot little bead with the tip of his tongue. She turned away from him and dragged in a couple of deep breaths, trying to stiffen her resolve, but the only things hardening were the tips of her breasts. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, then turned to aim a glare at the one man who had the power to make her knees quiver.

So many memories swamped her as she stared into his handsome, rugged face. So many regrets sat like soured milk in her gut. He’d been “the one” until she’d succumbed to a dark sensual greed.

Too bad she couldn’t turn back the clock about seven years. She’d make damn sure she’d never let him take her hand and pull her into the shadows.