It's that time of the month again when we participants in the
WEP get together and share our thoughts on the monthly theme, set by
Denise Covey. This month's theme is simply ROMANCE.
This time I'm sharing an excerpt from my novel
SUNDOWN. As I mentioned last time, I'm happy to receive feedback. I know for sure that I tend to be one of those wordy writers, and I definitely welcome constructive criticism.
We move to the door and I turn to face him, realising with a jolt that he’s stepped really close. He towers over me with less than half a metre between us. He’s all darkness and shadow and on his face is a look of weariness so heavy it’s almost despair. I stare at him fixedly, unable to tear my gaze away.
“What?” he says, staring right back at me.
“You just…you look really tired.”
A slight twitch indicates something that was almost a smile. “Yeah. I am.”
“I hope you get a good sleep.”
“This is normal,” he says as if I haven’t spoken, gesturing to himself. “I mean, I’m always tired. I don’t get much sleep most nights.”
My face heats up at the thought of Jared Pearson trying to sleep. In bed. Or on couches, as the case may be. I’d really love to ask him about that—Why the couch? I bet there’s an awesome bed in the other room—but I’m too busy feeling for him. Sympathy, sadness, a fervent hope that tonight he sleeps soundly.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asks, his voice strangely husky. “Isn’t that meant to be rude or something?”
“God, I’m sorry. I’m going.”
And I’m just about to turn away when he steps fluidly toward me, reaches out his hands and takes mine. As he pulls me to him, excitement spikes inside me, and my purse drops to the floor. The closer he gets, the harder it is for me to breathe.
His hands trail upward, finding my face and framing it. He tilts it up toward him, his touch like fire on my skin. It draws a sharp, almost painful breath from me. My mouth falls open and I melt into him. He buries a hand in my hair, making my scalp tingle, gripping with his fingertips. The action sends sparks of pleasure all through me. His other hand trails down to rest against my neck, brushing my collarbone. I shiver almost violently and tilt my head back further.
Then he kisses me.
It starts out soft, a tentative brushing of his lips against mine. His mouth is warm, and then the kiss deepens and his mouth is hot. I’m still melting, but now I’m this hot puddle and I’m pretty sure he’s the one holding me upright. I lean against him and feel his heat, his hardness. My mouth opens further to let him in and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing but his hands are on my face and in my hair and his body is pressed against mine and it’s so warm and I can’t think any coherent thought anyway, so why bother trying?
His tongue flicks against mine and I twitch and make this weird soft sound. I try to remember being kissed like this ever. Steven is a good kisser, but this? Orestes was good, too, I remember. But even he wasn’t this.
Nobody’s ever been this.
I’m melded against him and my hands start to rise, they rest on his shoulders and squeeze. He pulls me even closer and I wonder if I’m feeling my own limbs or his. My hands trail down over his solid arms, drinking in his delicious warmth. It occurs to me that this is only the beginning; that there’s so much further to go.
With that thought, I wrap my arms around him, resting my palms against his back. I press hard to pull him closer into me.
~585 words
Blurb: Darcy Ryan is a woman on a mission. A mission to take down the corrupt cops who ensured her best friend, Matteo Torres, went to jail for a crime he didn’t commit – the murder of his wife, Rebecca.
