Breaking News! Military Romantic Suspense coming!

 

Well now you all know I like to write the occasional military hero, right? :) That isn’t stopping anytime soon. I don’t have a lot of details I can give out this minute, but a trilogy I wrote some time ago which is military romantic suspense will be published this year or next (I’m hoping the first book will be out this year at least). These stories feature three brothers in three different branches of the military facing down a dangerous situation when they come home to a little town where they grew up. The situation puts them straight into the arms of three women. These are very “ripped from the headlines” stories. As soon as I have blurbs, titles, and all that good stuff to share I’ll do so here on my blog and book pages on my website. Look forward to sharing these hunky brothers with you! More details very soon!

 

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Excerpt: Hot Pursuit (Hot Zone Story 5)

Happy Monday morning. It’s a crazy day, so enjoy an excerpt to tickle your reading taste buds. Enjoy!

It’s make or break time…

Betrayal seems to follow Lucy Creed wherever she goes. With visions of her military-issue boyfriend kissing another woman dancing in her head, she stomps into a local bar, ready, willing and-hell, yeah–able to hook up for New Year’s Eve.

The first man who brings her inner wild thing to attention is one delicious hunk with “perfect one-night stand” stamped all over him. He also turns out to be the all-grown-up version of a young man she blew off in high school. And damn it, he’s the one thing she’s sworn off: military.

In Major Vic Moore’s mind, Lucy is the one that got away. Now that she’s popped up on his radar, the temptation to let their mutual desire burn is too intense to ignore. It also sends up red flags-he’s fresh from a relationship that almost ruined his career.

Yet their scorching chemistry is too strong to ignore, and Vic finds himself going all out to change her well-entrenched ideas about military men. But as their secrets spill out, the weight of the past may be too much for their fragile trust to bear.

* *

New Year’s Eve. Three hours to midnight. Clarksville, Wyoming.

Lucy Creed walked into Dixie’s Den with the full intention of finding a one-night stand.

In military terms, this would be a single engagement. A hot pursuit. She wouldn’t be denied satisfaction.

She stood at the entrance just inside the double doors, bombarded by music from the old-fashioned jukebox. A country singer wailed a pitiful melody of love lost and love found. The steel guitar twanged. The man’s voice throbbed low with sorrow and mimicked the pain in her chest. Her heart twinged along with him.

No. Don’t go there. You’re here to scratch an itch. To forget that scum bucket, low-down, dirty dog Mendoza.

Now that had all the makings of a song. Low-Down, Dirty Dog.

She’d move on to staid men in business suits, accountants or maybe men who worked in the high-tech industry. Just no more soldiers, sailors or marines.

God, that sounds so bad.

It made her sound and feel like a military hanger’s on. A groupie that liked military men for the alpha male mystique. Like the women who wanted to get laid by a Navy SEAL because they figured the men were all studs. Sure, she respected the military for what they represented, and she’d run into a lot of people in the military who didn’t fit the stereotype of alpha male. At the same time, she had to wonder at her rotten luck with military men. What was that all about anyway?

Lucy didn’t care if her closest friends, Freddie, Marisa and Neena were married to military or ex-military. She wasn’t doing the military again even if he looked like a god.

Chatter echoed all around her, the place packed and the room decorated with New Year’s Eve decorations from one end to the next. The large bar area smelled like peppermint, alcohol and the piney nuance of the real eight-foot Christmas tree in the corner. Old-fashioned decorations gave a Victorian air to the tree.

Christmas. The tree reminded Lucy of Christmas Eve and that scum sucking dirty…

Damn it. Forget it, will you?

She sighed and shoved that unfortunate night right out of her mind. Or at least to the back burner.

Low lights gave the bar and restaurant intimacy, and yellow and silver streamers hanging from the ceiling twirled and bounced shiny sparkles around the room.

Laugher broke out occasionally, especially at one big round booth in the back. Six women that could have been sextuplets giggled like girls at a birthday party in grade school. They wore party hats over their cascades of long blonde hair and she instantly was reminded of Felicia DeAnza. Blond. Buxom. Gorgeous Felicia.

The woman she didn’t want to hate, but had to.

“Good riddance, Mendoza. You and Felicia deserve each other,” she said out loud. She glanced at the women again. “Honestly. Six blonde women at one table?”

Surely one of those gigglers was a bottle blonde.

She glanced around to see if anyone had heard her mumblings. No one cared. The crowd seemed to have grown by twenty people since she’d walked inside. It was early but the place rocked. Good. She hoped there were a lot of men here. Eligible. Hot. Yeah, hot as hell would be a real bonus.

Determination motivated each step as she sauntered through the crowd that spilled over from the bar into the restaurant. Dixie’s Den had opened a month ago, a country-and-western theme predominate in the decorations that were sprinkled throughout the bar and restaurant areas. She’d been here once, with that D-bag of a boyfriend, and now she wanted to wash the memory right out of her hair by christening the place with a new man. Huh. Christening wasn’t exactly the right word for what she needed.

Mindless, wonderful, screaming sin sex.

Anything less…well, she’d had less. She wanted more for a change.

A man who’d treat her like a princess and make love to her like he never wanted to let her go.

As she gazed around, she didn’t expect to see what she did. A room full of cowboy hats, most of them on the heads of older men averaging age sixty and their going-grey wives. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best place on a New Year’s Eve to forget about a two-timing asshole. Then some of the cowboy-hat heads in the back turned, and several were young. Too young. Maybe barely legal. No. She didn’t want or need that complication.

She spotted a man sitting on a stool at the bar, a long-necked beer bottle in his right hand. And oh, my, my, my. He would photograph well. She could have used him in this year’s charity calendar arranged by her friend, Neena. A brunette with flowing long hair headed for him. She wore a tight white T-shirt, butt-skimming mini-skirt and teeter-totter screw-me shoes. She clasped his forearm and leaned close to whisper.

She saw his eyes go wide for a half second, then laughter burst over his face. A low, deep toe-curling laugh that sent sensual vibrations all through Lucy. Holy macoroni. The man shook his head and said something to the woman. The woman’s body language held regret as she pouted and sauntered away, looking stinking drunk and ready to fall of her too-tall shoes.

Lucy’s mouth went dry as she took a closer look at the guy. He seemed familiar somehow, but she didn’t know from where. The room seemed twice as loud and her vision twice as clear. Though he sat at a slight angle away from her, she could see the breadth of his wide shoulders stretching an emerald green sweater that looked soft and touchable. The sweater managed to enhance his muscles without appearing too tight. He cupped his hands behind his neck. Muscles rippled. His biceps and forearms bunched with sculpted muscles, but he wasn’t a body builder in an overdone way. No. He was perfectly symmetrical. Powerful. The man screamed of sex and that primitive, knee-buckling, unable-to-control attraction that hammered a female over the head and made everything inside her return to the cave. This was the kind of man a woman could get crazy with, loose inhibitions and forget her own name with.

Jeans curved over long legs consisting of hard thighs and calves and ending in sensible all-weather black boots. She’d bet on a stack of bibles he had a world-class butt. She’d love to photograph him with or without clothes.

Her active imagine went into overdrive. Without clothes. Oh, yeah. Would his chest have a hint of hair, or would it be smooth? She liked chests with hair and never understood the trend toward a man waxing his chest.

Instinct drew her forward one step. Two. Soon her boots moved across the room with confident strides. She sensed a couple of men at the bar checking her out, and she worked it, allowing their blatant appreciation to expand her confidence as she walked. She moved with major attitude. Tall, tough and with the slightest swagger.

The man she’d ogled swiveled the bar stool and looked straight at her. Her breath caught. Thick, dark lashes framed piercing brown eyes. Black hair cut short waved close against his head. His features were cut sharply, as if heaven had designed him with a rough hand. He had a long nose, broad but well-sculpted mouth and an almost cruel look that probably scared the hell out of the enemy. He was so—well, he was so not beautiful. Just all…man. Primal female response stood up and noticed. Her body flushed, heated with total awareness of him as a male. Her hormones screamed for attention.

His face lit up with recognition. The dark eyes softened with warmth, the mouth curved into a smile. “Lucy? Lucy Creed?”

His voice was deep, mellow, with an underlying edge of steel.

She blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t…”

He stood, and her five foot six inches had nothing on over six feet of hard muscle. The sweater stretched over his chest a little and his front looked as fantastic as his back had.

He sauntered toward her, beer bottle forgotten on the counter. When he stood near, his woodsy, leather scent caught her attention. A brown bomber jacket was slung over the back of the barstool. Mmmm. Leather.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” That damned voice had mellow qualities, a deceiving softness with an underlying rumble of pure passion.

There was a familiar something about him she couldn’t put her finger upon. “No. Should I?”

He grinned and her body responded with a flash of heat. “Last time you saw me I was at our senior party. At Jennifer Calvin’s house over on Ridgeway.”

“I still don’t remember.”

His grin widened. “I sat next to you in chemistry and we had English lit together.”

She frowned, embarrassed that she couldn’t remember him.

“I was short.” He tilted his head to the side. “Skinny. Ugly as sin. I hear I’m still ugly, but at least I took care of the short and skinny.”

Oh. Holy. God. Recognition slammed her at the same time as embarrassment. “You’re not Victor Moore? No way.”

 

 

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Excerpt: Close Quarters (Hot Zone story 4)

Happy Friday all! Here’s an excerpt from story 4 in the Hot Zone series! Enjoy!

When all hell breaks loose, sometimes you just need someone to cover you…

Neena Williamson struggles to keep her high-pressure job from overwhelming her, and she thinks the demons of her past have long since disappeared. One night, she sees a man wearing the most hideous Hawaiian shirt on earth and vows he’d never fit her image of a hot bod for a local charity’s new hot male calendar. Then the evening erupts in violence, and he proves that first impressions can be dead wrong.

Sometimes having a simple cup of coffee can turn into a complicated situation…

Mitch Gilroy hides in plain sight, enjoying his low-key handyman job.  His former life isn’t open for discussion, and Clarksville, Wyoming is the perfect place to find peace. Then a gunman forces his hand, and Mitch must remember everything he’s tried so hard to forget.  Thrown together, Neena and Mitch quickly discover how tangled their emotions can become, and only by working together can they banish the monsters that haunt them and heal a lifetime of regrets.

 

* *

She registered the heat and hardness of his body. Her breasts mashed to his chest, his hips and thighs pressed along hers. Close up, his face held the chiseled hardness of an old west movie hero, without anything fancy to pretty him up. A cut jaw, a nose slightly on the big side. Only his mouth was sculpted, lips just right on a man—not too big, not too thin. He felt so warm, so protective…

He released her and walked toward the door. He tried the knob. When it didn’t budge, he slammed one palm against it. He tried kicking it down, but the door wouldn’t budge. She realized the room was a huge pantry with shelves on three sides. No way out.

Handyman tried budging the door one more time to no avail. “Damn it!”

That’s when true fear slammed her. Like it or not, she was trapped in a locked room with a total stranger. Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled over her eyelids before she could stop them. Handyman turned toward her, striding across the room until he cupped her shoulders.

“Hey, it’s going to be all right.”

She nodded and buried her face in her hands. “I know. I just…”

Tears spilled, and a sob escaped her.

“Hey, hey. Easy.” He gathered her close once more, and she found her hands buried in his big shirt again. As tears spilled from her and she gulped and sobbed, she tried to regain control. Embarrassment sliced her with cruel fingers. His touch slipped through her hair, gently massaging her neck.

“It’s all right. He’s gone.” Velvet and husky, his voice held safety and comfort.

Poor fashion sense or not, his voice was to die for.

So was the body pressed along hers. She felt muscles. Lots and lots of glorious muscles. Or maybe the fear had destroyed her reasoning ability and she wanted the man holding her to play the hero. Right now, with a tenderness that put her off guard, he fit the lead part in her adventure movie down to a capital T.

Only difference is, he hadn’t whipped out a gun and gone Kung Fu on the bad guy’s ass. Which in reality made perfect sense. If Handyman had played knight on a white horse, they’d be dead. She shivered and then did another stupid thing. She slid her arms around his waist and held on. Yeah, he has a trim waist, too. Hmmm…

“When that jerk pointed his gun in your face, I thought he was going to kill you right in front of me,” she whispered through a sob.

“So did I.”

His voice rumbled deeply, so matter-of-fact she couldn’t believe how distant he sounded. His arms tightened around her in a gentle squeeze, the only sign that he felt anything about his near miss with death.

“You had a gun pointed at your head, and here I am babbling like an idiot.” She gulped back another sob.

“So did you, remember? You were looking right down the barrel for a long time.”

Right. She had. Her tears started to dry, and the fright calmed somewhat. She forced herself to pull back out of his arms. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go all girly like that.”

“It’s okay. What just happened scared the shit out of me, too.”

A man who’d admit his fear. Interesting. His expression might show no fear and his voice gave no indication of the trauma he’d faced. Yet he could speak the words.

Neena became aware of a shift in perception. Not a smidgen of change, but a whopping ugly belief that she’d altered in the last few minutes. That the world had undergone a drastic, nasty transformation. She’d never believed in a rosy world, but this one had sharp thorns. She held her hands in front of her. They shook. A heat wave and then a cold flash washed over her in relentless strokes. Her stomach curled. Shaking, she put her back against the one wall minus shelving and slid downward until she plopped on the floor. Cold and hard, the landing felt brutal against her ass. Incongruously she noticed a run in the right calf of her thigh-high stockings. A jagged, gaping slit that might have been there before the robber came into the coffee shop, or maybe happened sometime in between. Who knew? Who cared? For a second she gave a damn. A really big damn. Then she took a shaky breath. She was acting like an immature, shallow twit. She’d buy more. Ten pairs more if she survived her stay in this stupid pantry. Then she wanted to smack the robber across the face with her purse for the inconvenience.

“Damn it.” Handyman glared at the door. He peered through the half dozen bullet holes that had come through the doorway. “The bastard put something heavy in front of it. Can’t see a thing.”

“You think?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. Then she regretted her snarkiness. “I’m sorry. I’m just…pissed off.”

“You think?” he asked with a smile.

She cracked a reluctant half grin in response. “I’m sitting here getting twisty headed because I have one big-assed tear in my stockings. How messed up is that?”

Her hands still quivered, and she hated that even more.

“Hey.” He knelt down in front of her. He touched her forearm and gently squeezed. “You look like hell.”

“Thank you.”

His frown deepened. “You’re trembling.”

“I hate to admit it, but I feel sick.”

His big hand caressed her hair, pushing it back from her face. This surprised her so much she gazed into his concerned expression with curiosity.

“Probably adrenaline. You just came down from a big rush.”

“You know about adrenaline?”

“Yep. Take deep breaths if you feel dizzy.”

She put her hands to her head, in case she needed to hold her skull on her shoulders. “Good idea.”

He stayed kneeling in front of her while she sucked in one big breath and then another. It worked.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

His gaze, mysterious yet calm as a slow flowing river, captured and held hers. “You ever see a man shot?”

She put her hands down. “Are you kidding? I hate guns. It was so…loud.”

“Yeah. In a confined space. In any space.”

“Why did you ask me that?”

“Because it would explain your reaction. It’s not because that coffee cake is making you sick.”

“Never. Davina makes the best coffee cake there is. Hey, wait. You noticed what I was eating?”

“You noticed something about me. I saw you glaring at me a few times.”

Under the circumstances, she couldn’t dredge up the energy to feel embarrassed. Misdirection had worked for her often. No need to stop now. “Have you ever seen a guy shot?”

His eyes hardened, as if he’d not only seen a man shot, but perhaps witnessed far worse. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

He peered around the room. Handyman observed the corners, as if assessing any reasonable escape route. Determined not to be a girly girl anymore, she stood on wobbly knees. He followed. She rubbed her hands down over her hips, aware that her serviceable white blouse and blue gabardine skirt felt hot. The room probably didn’t have much ventilation.

Hands on hips, he turned to her. From here, his shirt was still ugly. But something about Handyman was different. Less…geeky. She sensed a hard core inside him, and her intuition told her she’d been wrong about him in more than one way. Neena’s earlier concern arose. She didn’t know him. And she was stuck in here for God knows how long.

Yet her priorities had changed, too. In one striking moment, she understood things about herself she’d stayed blind to for a long while. She’d start off the rest of her day with a fresh slate. She also had another revelation. Handyman probably wasn’t a rapist or mad murderer, thank God. That would have really capped her day. Instead she’d felt his strength of character, and a solidness that gave confidence.

 

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Excerpt: Private Maneuvers (Hot Zone series)

Howdy again! Today is a delicious excerpt from the third story in my Hot Zone series, Private Maneuvers. Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes a woman craves what she shouldn’t want…

Marisa Clyde wants nothing to do with the soldier who is acting as a temporary bouncer in her uncle’s tavern. Stoic and over six feet of smoldering masculinity, the hunk helped rescue her during a tour gone bad in Mexico. During those few short moments after she first met him, the tension between them screamed off the charts. A devastating hurt in the past blocks her willingness to surrender to him. If she can wait him out now, he’ll only be in town a month and then he’s out of her life.

Sometimes a man wants more than a woman is willing to share…

Jake Sullivan watches Marisa like a hawk, well aware his need to protect is messing with his mind and making him care for Marisa way more than he should. Priding himself on clinical detachment in the game between man and woman, he figures once he’s slept with her, she’ll be out of his system for good. But that’s before he experiences her on a deeper level and learns she just might be in danger again.

**

The second Marisa Clyde saw the soldier she knew he was trouble.

He took Marisa’s hand as she stepped off the old tour bus. Huge fingers and a big palm wrapped her much smaller hand. Her body shivered as warmth flickered in her stomach. In fact, her entire body quaked.

He looked like rescue.

He looked like safety wrapped up in one sexy, strong, powerful package.

She could blame it on the events of the last twenty-four hours. Danger and fear could rattle a person. Or just perhaps, it could be this man and the power he emanated.

Maybe the long, thick lashes framing the onyx eyes staring down into hers influenced her senses to scatter. She was nuts to go completely ga-ga over the man standing in front of her when she refused to find a military man attractive ever again. Maybe she could blame her reaction to him on the heat wavering upward from the washboard surface of the road and the relentless sun beating down. Or perhaps the humidity level coming from the Mexican jungle all around them had steamed her brains. Of course, the fact that her ribs had taken a bit of beating didn’t help. Every time she breathed, a dull ache radiated outward from her left side.

Not what she expected to experience on a vacation, but she’d made it through worse and lived to tell about it.

As her Uncle Dexter back in Clarksville, Wyoming would say, the pucker factor for the last day had escalated way off the charts. She had a right to feel disoriented, hungry, and exhausted. A smear on her glasses irritated her, but she didn’t bother to try and clean it. Face it, a smear was so not that important when she’d just survived what would amount in the news to an international incident.

Her ribs panged, and she winced.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” the soldier asked, his deep voice a husky sound that brushed along her senses like a feather tickling all her erogenous zones.

She couldn’t answer him. Through her tiredness, her hormones registered that he stood around six three or four, his muscular build apparent through the camo wear. He wore no rank or insignia that could identify him.

His military short obsidian hair gleamed with blue highlights under the fierce sun. He topped the charts into unbelievably gorgeous. No. Not exactly. Dark and dangerous, a huge cliché, didn’t explain the unique mix-and-match hardness in his features that added up to one handsome visage. Yet dangerous certainly described his aura, a kick-butt-and-don’t-bother-to-take-names presence. His angular face defied description—his jaw formed a solid frame around his hard mouth. His nose was a smidgen crooked. Those intriguing, mysterious eyes didn’t hide anything. Did he know how his feelings gleamed so starkly in his gaze? Probably not. Right now his eyes narrowed, as if he wanted to read her mind and excavate answers.

When she didn’t answer him, his gaze turned dark, serious and concerned. “Ma’am?”

“Poor dear is a bit shocky,” Ida Hambly said behind her. “She’s had quite an ordeal.”

“I’m fine,” Marisa said. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Right. Nothing wrong. You’ve just made it through a bombing, a robbery, and a broken down bus. All in a day’s work for an accountant?” Ida leaned heavily on her cane, and when the soldier saw Ida hesitating on the bottom step of the bus, he released Marisa’s hand and helped the elderly woman down and over to where Marisa stood. “And then the cavalry rides in on white horses and saves our butts. I’d say that’s enough to rattle your sweet young cage.”

Marisa smirked. “Ida, your sense of humor kept me sane.”

That, and maybe Freddie Bodine. Freddie stood clasped in the arms of her boyfriend, another one of the soldiers who’d come to the rescue. Apparently he’d traveled from the U.S. after putting together this team of army men to look for Freddie when the tour bus went missing and didn’t report back to the hotel.

Freddie’s head pressed against her boyfriend’s shoulder, and his hand cupped the back of her head. He touched his lips to the top of Freddie’s head in a tender gesture. He looked drained with relief. What would it feel like to have a man love me that much?

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Excerpt: Unconditional Surrender (Hot Zone series book 2)

Howdy all. Next up is an excerpt of the second novella in my Hot Zone series, Unconditional Surrender. I hope you enjoy it!

She’s archaeology, he’s Special Ops, and both of them teeter on the edge of stepping into the HOT ZONE.

She wants the adventure of a lifetime and isn’t willing to sacrifice it for any man…

Archaeologist Fredricka “Freddie” Bodine returns to her hometown for her twentieth high school reunion, unaware that her old crush, Keith Wallace, has blown back into town. A single memory is etched deeply on her brain—the high school prom where she shared an emotionally revealing dance with him. They’d both left town after graduation, feelings unresolved and teen angst firmly in place.

All he wants is to keep the girl he loved and lost safe, even if she hates him for it…

Keith doesn’t want her to travel to Los Diablos, an area near ancient ruins where his sister was killed years ago. As they grapple with family pressures and the exploding passion between them, their battle of wills may just lead them to the truth living in both their hearts.

*

“Ms. Agnew delivers a power punch of emotion… A strong voice and a well-plotted story line definitely make UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER a true pleasure to read. The interactions of the characters are realistic and the heat generated between Freddie and Keith is so hot I’m sure that had it been a paperback that it may have caught on fire. UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER is a refreshing blend of sweet romance and fiery passion sure to satisfy any reader and is proof that Ms. Agnew knows how to blend romance and suspense perfectly every single time.”
~ Jenn, Romance Junkies

 

“Freddie?”

She almost came out of her skin. She whirled to the left. Standing at the very end of the aisle, Keith Wallace stared at her with a furrowed brow.

“Oh—um, hi.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you were here. Or even in town.”

“I didn’t know you were in town.” His voice, deep and overlaid with a sexy huskiness, had always melted her insides like the most delicious combination of peanut butter and chocolate and stirred feelings she didn’t want to have.

As he sauntered toward her, she sighed. The gods could not be so cruel. Or maybe they could. The changes in him had only increased his attractiveness. Boy, oh boy, howdy, he’d matured like a fine Merlot, rich with nuances that made her mouth go dry and her heart do a silly two-step. At thirty-eight he defined disgustingly gorgeous man with a capital G.

When she’d left this town twenty years ago, she’d never considered that he’d still have this effect on her. She recalled his attractiveness at eighteen, mature for his age, brooding and intense. At eighteen she’d wanted to date happy-go-lucky guys with uncomplicated backgrounds. Sure couldn’t say that about Keith. Still, nature had matured his physique in all the right ways.

At six feet and probably two inches, he made her five feet five inches feel small. The navy blue T-shirt stretched over his broad chest and wide shoulders. Muscles rippled in his biceps and forearms. Jeans defined his hips and muscular thighs and made his legs look miles longer. His work boots looked well used and scuffed. Always rugged, his face had matured into angles and planes that screamed danger and forbidden sensuality. His mahogany hair wasn’t the tousled boy anymore, but clipped military short. Without strands flopping over his face, nothing hid the thoroughly masculine lines that screamed the proverbial dark and dangerous.

Her heart did a flop, a flip, and started thumping away so hard she felt the pulse in her ears. Okay. So that reaction hadn’t changed in twenty years either.

When Keith hovered over her, staring down with those dark chocolate eyes, his frown showed genuine concern.

“What brings you here?” she asked.

“Came to pick up a book for my mom. Ernestine said you were here.” He crossed his arms, and then nodded at her huge book. “I heard you cursing. What’s wrong?”

Embarrassment heated her face. “It’s nothing significant.”

He came closer. “Oh yeah?” His lips quirked, and rare humor danced in his eyes. He glanced at the book lying open on the desk. “Sure it’s nothing?”

Freddie frowned. “I never was good at lying to you. This is—was—my favorite book in the library.”

“Was?”

“I used to check it out every once in a while when I was a kid.”

He moved nearer yet, leaning his hand on the side panel of the desk to look at the book. “A ripped page?”

She closed the book cover so he could see the photo on the front. “Archaeological sites in Mexico. Tikal. Or what my archaeology professor at Western used to say, Chicken Itza.”

He laughed, the low, rumbling sound sending vibrations through her stomach. She clenched her legs together in reaction. Holy, holy crap. A hot pulsing gathered in her loins. Talk about a record time to get turned on. Her mouth watered as her gaze traveled quickly over his chest.

“I’m sorry some asshole wrecked your favorite book. Why don’t you buy a copy for yourself and keep it so you can look at it any time you want?” he asked.

She sighed and opened the book again. “You always were a practical kind of guy, Keith. But I liked the ritual of coming into this quiet library occasionally and flipping through the pages undisturbed. Besides, the book is now out of print.”

He nodded, that slow grin creeping over his mouth again. “I get it. With your brothers and sisters running around that old house, I can see why you used come here for peace.”

Memories of twenty years ago flooded her mind, some of them good, some of them not so good. She swallowed hard as the impact hit her. She looked down at his boots.

“What brings you to town?” he asked.

“For the twentieth class reunion. Twenty years. Can you believe it? How about you?”

“Visiting the ranch.”

She couldn’t help smiling at him again. “When I arrived the other day, I wondered if you ever came back to town.”

He shrugged. “I don’t very often. Been too busy.”

She’d heard rumors, but didn’t want to blurt out what. Small towns really were chock full of bullshit sometimes. “Doing what?”

“I’m in the military.”

She nodded. “I heard the Army.”

“Yep.”

Oh, yeah. There it was. He had that brooding, intense look she’d never forgotten. Now that he’d reached thirty-eight years old, the gloominess appeared far more serious than it had before. Gloomy, hard, and oh so sexy.

“So you had time off?” she asked.

“My unit was sent back from an overseas deployment two weeks ago. I had some leave coming and decided to get away. While overseas I managed to get hurt, and since I have thirty days I need to use or lose, Mom and Dad asked me to come out to Clarksville.”

Concern twisted her stomach, and her gaze cruised over him quickly. “What happened? I mean, how were you hurt?”

A disturbance flickered in his eyes. “A bullet. It hit me in the left thigh.”

“Oh God, Keith.” Worry braided through her midsection and made her stomach muscles clench. She stood automatically, and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks.” He winked, and his mouth turned up in a teasing grin. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

She returned his smile, not wanting to think about him more seriously hurt.

“Our unit will probably go back in six months.”

“Damn,” she said softly.

He didn’t react to her quiet statement, and when his eyes shuttered, she knew she’d lost the lightness of their earlier conversation. A heaviness wrapped around her she couldn’t deny.

“You’re still an archaeologist?” he asked.

“Yep. Got my Ph.D. and I’m working at Western College starting this fall.”

His eyebrows winged up. “You chose to come back to this town? When you left I thought you said you were never coming back permanently.”

She nodded. “Yeah, but what you say when you’re eighteen doesn’t always stick, does it?”

“No. No it doesn’t.”

Was he remembering that last dance they had? The one she’d cherished all these years? Her face heated with the memory. God, she didn’t know if she wanted Keith to remember. The evening hadn’t ended quite so well as that slow, sensual turn about the floor she replayed in her fantasies on lonely evenings when it rained. Rained just like it had at the town hall dance on prom night.

“Are you going to the class reunion?” She tried not to sound hopeful. “It should be fun.”

He snorted. “Right.”

She threw him a dirty look. “Come on. Here’s our chance to show off to those cheerleaders and football players that we made something of ourselves. And I hear cheerleaders and football players have a tendency to get fat and lose their hair after high school.”

His grin widened. “You don’t really care about that, do you? Half the time I can’t remember any those putzs’ names.”

“Of course I don’t care that much. But don’t tell me you aren’t like everybody else and don’t wonder occasionally what happened to those people. And it’s nice to relate to some of them on a mature level instead of teenage hormonal imbalance.”

“You’re assuming some of them don’t still have a hormone imbalance.”

“Hmm, well… It’s good to have the proof, even if it’s just for one selfish second, that you did make it in the world even though you weren’t the most popular guy on the block.”

His brow furrowed. “That’s for sure.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate…”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t popular. It’s no big deal.”

“Come on. You didn’t feel that natural twinge every teen does when they aren’t popular?”

He gazed at the floor, his eyes shuttered. “Not really.”

“Well, I was so glad to escape high school I couldn’t see straight,” she said. “I wasn’t popular either.”

Keith shook his head. “Can’t understand why not. You were so pretty.”

Her mouth did fall open then, and she wondered if the shock would kill her. She managed to find her voice…just barely. “Um…thank you. That’s sweet of you to say. I don’t know how braces, unruly as hell hair, and poor fashion sense made me pretty,
but—”

“I saw you.” His gaze cruised over her now, warm and searching and way too intimate. She felt his attention like a sensual caress. Admiration burned in his eyes. “Just because you couldn’t afford all the trendy crap the cheerleaders were wearing doesn’t mean you weren’t pretty.” Once more his attention glided from her hair, over her face, and then with unrepentant precision straight over her breasts and back up again. His voice, when he spoke, was low and husky. “And now you’re beautiful.”

 

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Hot Zone series: Male Call

Happy Sunday everyone! Starting this week I thought I’d  hit you with some excerpts from my military romance novella series. The first story is Male Call. I wrote Male Call one day when I thought of a “heroine writes the hero during war time idea.” This story uses the idea of old fashioned writing letters, something not everyone appreciates since these days we use email most of the time. But I hope you enjoy it anyway! Beware! These excerpts for each book sometimes have erotic content, so if that isn’t your cup of tea, you’ve been warned.

MALE CALL

(story one in the HOT ZONE series)

“The author has done a brilliant job of creating sparks between two people who aren’t even physically together throughout most of the story.  Don’t let that fool you though; there is enough heat between Sean and Eve to turn their letters into ashes!…Somewhat genius in this reviewer’s opinion!”

Love Romances Reviews

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Her sexy letters are his only lifeline in his dangerous world…

Successful computer software engineer Eve Carmichael melts under yet another hotter than hot letter written by Reserve army soldier Sean O’Callahan. Yet Eve can’t take the thought of his life in danger overseas, and she resolves to get a sex life—and a life period. That means forgetting Sean before anything bad can happen to him. To celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday, Eve plans a trip to Male Call, a male review club. Still, she worries about Sean. She hasn’t received a letter from him in too many weeks. And oh, how she longs for those flirtatious, hot letters. Sean finds Eve’s letters to be the only lifeline in his increasingly chaotic world. As their feelings grow hot and heavy, he can’t wait to return home and kindle that pure firepower. When Eve receives a letter from Sean saying he’s been wounded, her fears are realized. But fate and a little mischievous planning by her friends will serve up the greatest surprise of all.

 

Sean,

Glad I could float your boat. You’ve paid me a great compliment. I doubt any man before you has had that reaction to my photograph. What did you do with all that pent up sexual need after you saw my photo? I wish I had a photograph of you. Something in uniform and macho, if you please. Anyway, I had a dream last night, and I’m blushing right now as I recall it. I was lying on this silky white king-sized bed. Lying on it utterly naked. Okay, I wasn’t totally naked. All I had on was this skimpy red bra and tiny thong panties. A filmy purple and red gauze material draped over the four-poster bed. But the ceiling above the bed is mirrored. The beautiful room is Victorian, with dark wood and green velvet. There is soft flower scents, rose and maybe lavender. Some parts of the dream were beyond hazy, as all dreams are. This one felt special. Anyway, I’m off track. That black dress lay on the foot of the bed. I should have been cold, but the room felt comfortable on my bare skin. I was really excited and frankly, horny as hell. Okay, I’ll admit it. I knew you were coming to see me. How I knew that, I don’t know. Then the bedroom door opened, and you stood there. Naked. Honestly, since I don’t know what you look like naked…oh, wow, I can’t believe I’ve told you about this dream. I’d better quit now before I say something ultra incriminating and you decide to stop writing me.

Hugs,

Eve

She sighed, still somewhat embarrassed by the letter. Then she remembered she hadn’t phoned Male Call.

She’d promised to make reservations and something held her back. Maybe she should find it exciting to watch male strippers dance half naked for her, but the only thing her imagination could conjure was a half-clad Sean performing an erotic two-step. She slipped off her athletic shoes and stretched out on the bed so she could enjoy reading his letters. Suddenly, she felt way too warm. She unbuttoned her shirt slowly and unfastened and unzipped her low-rise jeans. Ah, that’s better.

 

Eve,

You’re killin’ me here. I’ve enclosed the picture you wanted, though I got the razzing of my life when two of the guys found out why I wanted them to take it.

 

His photo fell from the envelope onto her lap, and she quickly retrieved it. Oh, oh, man. When Eve had seen the photograph for the first time, it had floored her. Stunned her. Turned her on like no other picture of a man she’d seen before. She’d seen plenty of attractive men in her life, and she’d always thought Sean could be cute in a nerdy way. This picture blew away her conceptions about Sean belonging to geek city.

Decked out in desert battle dress uniform pants and boots, but without a shirt, he held an automatic weapon in front of his chest in a rough and ready pose. The grin on his face was cocky but charming. His espresso eyes held an intense, badass gaze. His military short, silvery blond hair defined his high cheekbones and made his perfectly cut jaw more prominent. And oh, his chest and arms. Sean owned well-muscled arms and a gorgeous chest sprinkled with dark blond hair that trailed down over his six-pack stomach and into his waistband. Oh, my, my. He was delicious, but in a rough, sharply angled way that shouldn’t have turned her on like this. Most women at the office talked behind his back about his tousled messy hair and too-big shirts. Maybe those too large shirts had been hiding this kick ass physique all this time.

He looked dangerous.

Seriously hot.

If the office ladies could see him now…if they even knew what fantastic shape he was in—that his body was this fabulous…

She groaned and jealousy flashed through her. Oh, man. She had it bad.

Even now this photo created a desire that filled her blood with instant sexual attraction. His letters had turned her low-grade intrigue into full-on heat. Her mouth watered. She tore her gaze from the photo with difficulty and returned to the letter.

 

Now that you’ve seen my ugly mug, I hope you’re satisfied. You asked me what else is happening. Hell, there’s a whole lot I can’t tell you and you don’t want to know. We reached Baghdad, and things are dicey. That’s about all I can say.

Let’s not talk about this crazy place, okay? You know that dream you told me about, the one where you’re lying on the bed naked? Sounds fantastic. Want me to add to the dream?

 

 

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Meet Reiki Master, Medium & Paranormal Investigator Teresa See

Hey everyone! Hope you had a wonderful weekend. Today I’m interviewing Teresa See, a wonderful lady with many talents. Please follow along as I chat with this talented lady. :)

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I met Teresa some years ago and was fortunate enough to receive Reiki treatments from her. Teresa, welcome to my blog. It’s fantastic to have you as a guest. Please tell everyone your background and about Starcrafts.

Hi, Denise! Thanks for hosting me! Wow—where do I start? I really wear a lot of different hats and have been doing what I do as far back into my childhood as I can remember.

I am a writer, a Reiki Master-Teacher, a working psychic medium, and a psychic reader. I specialize in tarot readings, past-life pendulum readings—and most recently—I have added personal and group mediumship sessions (called “Parlor Gatherings”) to my repertoire.

I have also been on several paranormal investigations & just officially formed a paranormal investigation group called “S.P.I.”—short for Starcrafts Paranormal Investigations.

(Yikes! Looking over this list, I understand why I have so little free-time. *Hee!*) For the past seven years—with my husband as a silent partner, I have also owned and operated a small metaphysical bookstore in La Mesa, CA called Starcrafts.  Starcrafts has actually existed for over 20 years, and we pride ourselves on being a place for people of various and varied spiritual paths to gather, learn, and grow. All are welcome at Starcrafts—without judgement—as long as they gather in peace and follow the idea of “harming none.”

We offer books on a variety of spiritual subjects; various magickal products (including crystals, candles, Jewelry, incense, etc.). Classes on subjects like “Working with Angels,” “Wicca 101,” “Chakra Work & Healing,” “Crystal Divination,” “Psychic Development” and much more.

At Starcrafts, we also offer Public Mediumship Gatherings in a gallery setting, Public Full Moon Celebrations, and monthly Psychic Faires—and we consider our store to be a safe place for all seekers to explore varied and unusual topics.

For more info on classes & events, please call Starcrafts at (619)337-2400 or see & “Like” our Starcrafts Facebook Page

Or see & “Like” my Facebook page for Teresa R. See-Psychic Medium

You’ve remembered a past life on the Titanic. Please tell us as much about that experience as you wish.

LOL! I could actually do pages about this topic! For now, I can tell you that having a past life that was so “provable” to me truly convinced me about the validity of past lives.

Many years ago, after some truly horrible nightmares and other symptoms of what I call “Past Life Intrusion” (like missing time, memories that were not mine, and icy-cold flashes in a very warm July), my life had become a bit of a living hell. I did not yet own Starcrafts—and the bits of spirituality I was exploring had nothing to do with the idea of past lives. I felt lost and as though I was losing my mind. In desperation, I sought out a hypnotist and found out (through hypnotic regression) that I had lived a lifetime as a woman named Bess Allison—who was one of the few First Class women to pass away during the Titanic Disaster. I’d never heard of this woman before—but the details that came up during my session were startling. As Bess, I saw (and experienced) places she lived, saw faces of family and friends she recognized, and just knew details of her Life that I had no way of knowing before the regression.

This was a lifetime I was able to verify and validate after the regression—and the process was amazing!  The facts I found afterward–including pictures of some of the people and places that I’d described so completely under Hypnosis—were life-changing! I was actually able to understand and release a few phobias—and really knew for the first time that we really never die. We learn, we shift, we change, and we grow—but we never cease to exist. If you ever want to know more, please let me know.

The Anniversary of the sinking always brings something new to my awareness. And this year, the 101st, was a real dilly! But would take way too long to type out here for you with so many other great questions to address.

Have you recalled other past lives, and if so, what are they?

I actually have worked on other significant lifetimes—we all have dozens, if not hundreds—and all teach us something about ourselves and about the human spirit.I have lived as a general’s giancée during the American Civil War; as an indentured servant aboard a sailing ship; and as a wise woman (read witch) who was murdered in France during the 18th century.

We have all been good guys and bad guys. The whole point is the experience. And boy do we ever experience.

Considering the wide variety of experiences you’ve had, what do you feel was the one thing you had the most difficulty accepting about the paranormal?

Maybe some of the ideas about aliens. Not saying I believe in them or that I don’t—the jury is still out for me. I just think some of the conspiracy theories out there get a little wild.

Would you consider yourself a skeptical believer?

Definitely! I think if you just blindly accept anything and everything as magickal or as having a metaphysical or paranormal origin, you actually miss the real miracles that the divine ones gift us with. It has been my understanding that most “real” metaphysical experiences lack what a friend of mine would call “cheesy Hollywood special effects.”

They may be profound but often are very subtle. No flames, or sparkles, or anything. Most are moments you might well miss—like whispered words you thought you heard while you were folding the laundry  or synchronicities you may not be able to explain away. You need to rule out all real-world” possibilities so the truth of the paranormal & metaphysical shine for what they are.

How do you handle total cynics who don’t believe in the paranormal at all?

I actually really love them! A dear friend of mine—Ken—refers to himself as a “hopeful skeptic.” I really think this is the truth for many of these folks. They may want to believe (on some level)—but feel it might be devastating if they begin to believe only to have that rug pulled from under them. I respect these people for using their minds and logic and I only ask that they open their minds enough to admit that their logic truly cannot explain all that is. I never try to force them to believe”anything or to convince them that my truth is the only truth. As a result of allowing them to ask, observe, and to simply analyze what they experience  and be who they are, I have been blessed to see many different types of skeptics actually begin to shift toward some belief of certain metaphysical & paranormal ideas. The acceptance of any of these ideas must be based on an Individual’s comfort levels & must fit into their personal understanding of things and I think that is just fine.

I always think that people of like mind are often drawn together through law of attraction. What are your feelings on the subject?

That may be part of it—but I think there may even be more to it than that. We do seem to resonate or feel drawn to people who believe as we do, but it may have as much to do with the soul-group(s) we choose to incarnate with. Soul groups are made up of other souls we know well—often from several lifetimes. We may have lessons to teach or to learn from one another—but I believe that sometimes, we simply choose to incarnate with a group of spirits we enjoy being with. Bet that explains some of your friends and relationships, doesn’t it?

You’re a medium. How long did it take you to accept those abilities and to reveal them to people around you?

I think I am still working on it!  Being a medium is sometimes—as fictional Detective Adrian Monk might say—“a gift and a curse.”  I can truly understand that it is difficult for some people to believe that I (or anyone) could connect with and “hear” people’s dear ones on the other side. It does sound crazy. I understand “the look” when I see it. And I have seen it often. The startled/skeptical/frightened  look many people give you when you admit that you can speak and connect directly with the departed can be a little hard to take at first. But when you repeat what their Dear one is saying—sometimes in a language you don’t speak or understand—and you see that look shift into shocked hope and acceptance, it is worth it.

I believe that when I was a child of about five, in addition to hearing spirits, I could actually “see” them—but I remember that one day, something I saw frightened me. My dear grandmother (now of blessed memory), told me that if I didn’t want to see, I should ask the angels to take away the sight. With their help, I shut the ability down for a very long while. Over the years, friends and colleagues suggested that I really was a psychic medium, but I did what I could to avoid the subject. When I bought Starcrafts, I began working with my primary spirit guide, Hudson, to help people find out about their past lives. We would do “past life profiles” to heal and release past issues so that these clients could make their current incarnations happier.   One day, a dear friend called to ask if I could try to find out from Hudson whether her very young relative who had passed from a sudden illness had made a peaceful transition to the other side. When I gently told her that I really didn’t do that kind of work, Hudson said clearly, “Yes, you do. You did before—as a child—and it is time to do so again. Starting now.” I didn’t really know what I was doing—but I trusted Hudson—and lots of information flowed into my head (in both English and Spanish).

Even though I don’t speak or understand Spanish, I repeated exactly what I heard and described what I saw in the pictures in my mind. My startled friend asked questions and new information flooded my thoughts to answer them. I wasn’t even aware of what I said. I just let the information all flow through. By the end of the session, my friend was crying tears of peace-filled Healing and I was stunned. Took a while to accept the enormity of what had just happened. I started offering mediumship sessions shortly thereafter.

What kind of medium are you?

I am an “Evidential” Clairaudient—meaning I actually hear the dear ones from the other side and/or spirit guides much more often than I see them (or interact in any other way). They may also put pictures or symbols in my mind’s eye or I will experience physical sensations to get messages across. For example, I once had the sensation of feeling as though my neck was being pinched by a pair of giant fingernails. It felt like an awful popping sensation followed the pinch & I had a sudden realization/awareness of what this meant. I gently asked if the departed had passed in a car accident and if he had been decapitated, and the stunned family member I was reading for confirmed that, yes, that was exactly how their loved one had passed. It was an amazing validation for that family and for me. Mediums all have different ways of connecting—some hear (like me); some feel the emotions; some actually see them, but all have some direct connection or interaction with the departed.

What advice can you give to people interested in developing their psychic abilities?

Work to your strengths! Everyone is a potential psychic, but not everyone works the same way. And, not everyone is a medium. And this is a good thing.  There are healers, and pre-cognitive psychics (seers), and psychics who read the energy of objects and many other types, too. Some people know things before they happen; some get psychic info in dreams or visions or flashes of Insight; some feel the emotions/energy of others. There are many gifts and not all of them work the same way. Some people have more than one gift, too.

The main thing is to try to find out what gifts you truly have (instead of trying to embrace a gift you only wish you had) and learn how those gifts work so you can embrace them and practice using them. I would suggest a lot of research and maybe try to find a group or class to help you. Most New Age or metaphysical bookstores hold classes or know of reputable teachers who can help you. I suggest you only work with teachers or groups that you feel comfortable with and who have been personally recommended to you by someone you trust and be sure to ask lots of questions about how long they have been doing this work. There are some great classes out there but don’t be afraid to walk away from a group or teacher you do not resonate with. Your development is the most important factor you should consider. Don’t settle.

Besides all your paranormal pursuits, what is your career path?

Well—considering all that is happening at the moment, I believe the paranormal may be my career path! And I couldn’t be more delighted.  I truly love to help people connect with their dear ones and feel honored and blessed to be able to help them experience and clear anything that still needs to be worked through. I am very excited as doors continue to open for me and I find myself doing more mediumship on a bigger and bigger scale. I’m doing individual mediumship and healing sessions on a regular basis, and find myself reading for gallery audiences and private parties (“Parlor Gatherings”) several times a month now, too. And I’m very excited to have a wonderful experience coming up in just a few short weeks that should only help all of this continue to grow and progress in wonderful and healing ways. I am one of fifty individuals worldwide to have been interviewed and selected to attend an “Advanced Mediumship Workshop” with world-renowned psychic medium, John Holland! In a few short weeks, I’ll be headed further away from home than I have ever been—going all the way to Maine—to learn even more about how to work with the Mediumship than I have ever learned. My dearest hope is that what I learn from John will enable me to reach and help even more people! Wish me luck, everyone!

Thank you so much for spending time with us today, Teresa. 

My pleasure! This was fun! Hope to have an opportunity to do so again sometime!

 

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Blog Hop Time! Win Prizes!

 

 

Wooohoooo! Yes, that is a big banner. But I wanted to make sure you don’t miss it. :)

Yes, it is blog hop time again. And because it is, I’m not dragging you into a big ole long blog about moi. I want you to have fun running around to all the websites of participating authors so you can not only see what awesome books they’ve written, but you have the chance to win prizes from them and chances to win the grand prizes.  By the way, you could win a copy of my erotic romance novella Major Pleasure featuring a seriously hot army dude. How cool is that? :)

So click on the banner above and cruise through all the great author sites!

Here’s the cover for my military romance story Major Pleasure. :) Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Oldie But Goodie Excerpts: Over The Line

Hey there everyone. For the next few weeks I hope to have a few guest authors as well as introduce you to some excerpts from my books that you may not have seen/read yet. Today is a favorite scene from one of my older Ellora’s Cave novella’s OVER THE LINE. I love this Scottish hero. Beware…erotic romance content ahead!

Over The Line

Available at Ellora’s Cave, Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other outlets.

(This scene is a favorite of mine because it feels particularly intense with sexual tension right away. That, and I just love Ben Darrock, the hero.)

Ben Darrock would bust a gasket when he saw the other note nestled among the items she needed to show him. Correction. The big Scotsman would come unglued and start demanding she take action.

When she arrived at his door, she stopped and stared at the nameplate. Ben Darrock, Director, Division Six. It always took nerve to step into this room. To talk with him. To be near him.

She knocked.

“Come,” a voice deep with a Scottish accent said through the closed door.

Come. She couldn’t hear that innocent word in his voice without wondering what it would feel like to climax with him deep inside her. Since the first day she’d walked into the agency as a new employee she’d felt this insatiable sexual reaction to him, unstoppable and fierce. Fantasies about having Glasgow-born Ben Darrock in her bed frequented her nighttime dreams more than she wanted to admit. But reality and castles-in-the-sky didn’t mix at work, and she understood that as well as the next person.

She strove for a year to convince herself she couldn’t break rules and code of conduct in the workplace. Drooling over the boss didn’t fall under the category of responsible, sensible, or any other ible she could recall. Now she didn’t care. As the cliché said, life was too damned short. Get on with it. He isn’t going to wait all day.

As she clasped the doorknob, a flush heated her face. Here goes.

Seconds later she stepped into his large but austere office. He kept it clean, organized, and modern to the point of dull. The whole place lacked warmth, and one of the secretaries in Division Six once suggested Ben must be like that in bed. Cold. Perfunctory. Boring.

Like hell.

While Ellie possessed no tangible evidence, she knew by instinct Ben owned a passionate nature that, once aroused, could consume a woman. Make her want, say and do things she’d never imagined before. Oh, yeah. A woman could find fire in his arms.

She had the evidence. Over the last year she’d encountered him in situations where they stood close together talking about work. She’d breathe in his crazy-making scent, a tantalizing combination of sandalwood and musk. She would look up and see the sparkle of amusement or a devouring gaze which said he appreciated her as a woman.

Less then a week after she’d met him she saw warmth in his gaze, an interesting mix of gentleness and pure male hunger that made her tingle from her long braided hair to her barely-there bikini panties. Heat stirred inside her remembering the bone-melting attraction and craving she experienced each time he looked at her that way.

Then Ellie’s gaze fell on the picture of his long dead wife sitting on his bookshelf and a little of her enthusiasm faded. Maureen Darrock, gone ten years, stared out from the picture, blonde, icy, and beautiful.

A memory with which Ellie couldn’t compete.

Some people said Ben couldn’t get over his wife’s murder.  Well, she didn’t really blame him. How many people could ever recover from knowing their loved one was slain so callously and cruelly.

Long moments drew out until the Scotsman looked up from his desk and the papers in front of him. “Ellie.” An almost tender smile touched his lips. “What have you got there?”

His one-hundred percent rich Scots accent held the right amount of sexy nuance to make her feel lustful and excited in less then a heartbeat. Whenever his melodious voice said her name, heat coasted across her body like a flash fire.

“I brought the latest messages. I could have emailed them, but I needed to see you.”

He captured her gaze and held it. Dark coffee eyes smoldered with instant, unmistakable admiration.  Whenever he looked at her, she received an instant boost from the caressing, intent look in his eyes.

He nodded. “All right. What’s this about?”

To her surprise, he left his desk and came towards her. Today he wore a dark green sweater that couldn’t hide the impressive width of his shoulders and neat dark slacks that fit as if tailored for him. He stopped in front of her, too close for comfort.

“The daily message traffic is heavy. There’s some disturbing data here on the situation in Ireland I thought you’d like to see,” she said.

When he reached for the file, his fingers brushed hers. Tingles raced through her hand at the innocent touch. He flipped through the file and perused the messages without a word.

While he read, she couldn’t stop looking at him. She loved his face. His chiseled nose and well-drawn mouth belonged on a movie star, but he was in no way a pretty boy. The close cut, attractive trim of his mustache and beard sculpted his face. Some women thought his just below collar length hair a bit too much. All she saw was drop-dead, outrageously sexy. The fact he could get away with the look in the SIA said much. The man proved himself professionally time and again and no one denied it.

And his body. Well, his body defined all a woman could want. At least, all she could want anyway. Over the time she’d worked with him she saw him in suits and ties, casual work clothes, and even once at a picnic wearing a tight T-shirt and shorts. The T-shirt had molded his wide shoulders, lovingly hugging muscled arms and chest to perfection. Her gaze had snagged on the hint of six-pack stomach under that white shirt. His shorts had also not hidden the fact his ass was world class. And his legs—oh, his legs. Long, hard with strength. All SIA agents had to be in tiptop shape, but he’d gone out of his way to hone an athletic frame to die for.

While she topped five six in stocking feet, his six foot two frame towered over her. His muscular body always made her feel safe and female in the most primal way.  As a fully trained agent for the SIA, she could take care of herself.  Despite this, she couldn’t help the tiny, primitive sensation of enjoying his protection.  No matter what the situation she couldn’t help feeling that no matter what went down, this man would protect her unto death.

Yeah, the man is categorically, undeniably fuckable.

 

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Guest Author: Lezli Polm–Paranormal Investigator, Author & Medium

 

A huge welcome to author Lezli Polm. I’ve had the fortune to get to know Lezli just in the last few months. Recently I read her autobiographical work Thin is the Veil: A Haunting Memoir. I highly recommend it for anyone who wants a fantastic peek into the world of the paranormal. Today I’m interviewing Lezli, so sit back and relax.

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Lezli, welcome to my blog. It’s fantastic to have you as a guest. Your book Thin Is The Veil: A Haunting Memoir gives the reader an in-depth look at your paranormal experiences from childhood to present. Considering the wide variety of experiences you’ve had, what do you feel was the one thing you had the most difficulty accepting about the paranormal?

I would say that the most challenging thing has been accepting the fact that I will probably never have solid answers. I would love to know the reasons behind the things I have seen and experienced.  I’ve looked to science and studied various religions, but at this time, at this point in our evolution as human beings, we cannot provide solid conclusions to explain what we call ‘paranormal’ occurrences.

Would you consider yourself a skeptical believer?

Yes, I tend to be very skeptical until I see evidence to the contrary. That being said, I am also obviously a believer because I have had so many personal experiences.

Tell us a bit about your paranormal investigation group and how many cases you’ve covered.

Our official group began two years ago.  We had been working together for several years as co-members of a Wiccan Coven. As Wiccans we were sometimes asked to do house blessings, clear negativity from a space and even convey messages to deceased loved ones. When a woman asked for our help, stating that she thought her house was haunted, we decided to check it out and SOS Paranormal was born. With two psychics on board and the addition of a tech guy, and an animal sensitive we are now helping anyone in our area who as a paranormal problem. We have a handful of cases under our belt even though we don’t live in a populated area of the state.

What do you feel makes a paranormal investigation team operate smoothly?

I think it helps if you know each other well and have a high level of trust between members. Everyone needs to be able to keep their head in stressful and frightening situations. We always have a plan and take things step by step. Of course there are times when a plan has to be changed or abandoned. Our motto is “Be ready for anything.”

Do you still run into many skeptics? How do you handle them?

Most people are skeptics. It’s human nature to question. I tell everyone that my book is merely a re-counting of my own personal experiences and my own quest for answers. I don’t try to prove anything. Many times people share their own paranormal experiences with me.

I always think that people of like mind are often drawn together through law of attraction. What are your feelings on the subject?

I truly believe in the law of attraction. Not only are like-minded people attracted to one another, but what you put out into the Universe is generally what you will receive in return.

You’re also a medium. How long did it take you to accept those abilities and to reveal them to people around you?

I think I am still in the process of accepting the abilities that I have. The thing about psychic ability is that it varies and at least in my case is sporadic. I haven’t had a lot of control over it in the past. It has only been in the last few years that I have felt comfortable talking about it to just anyone. Select family members and a few close friends were the only ones who knew about it up until then.

What kind of medium are you?

I would say that I am more of a sensitive. I can sense the energy of a Spirit and sometimes they choose to communicate with me. I rarely seek them out outside of our team investigations. I have held séances in the past but I prefer to let the Spirits come to me if they need to say something. Before learning more about energies and working with them, I found it hard to use my abilities at will. Now I have learned techniques that help me to tune in or dial down my access to the Spirit World.

What advice can you give to people interested in developing their psychic abilities?

Learn a mind clearing discipline such as yoga or meditation. Once you have the ability to turn off the busy outside world you can begin to focus on your awareness. Feel your surroundings, listen quietly, and experience your feelings. Record your dreams and re-connect with nature. Trust your instincts.

Besides all your paranormal pursuits, what is your career path?

I am a Licensed Holistic Nurse and worked in Pediatrics for many years, I then owned a consulting business “Alternative Solutions”. I left the health care field to pursue a degree in Religion from an Interfaith Seminary. I am a founding member and Ordained Minister of Gateway to the Sacred, which is an Interfaith Church and 501C3 organization. My day job for the past 18 years has been bookkeeper for our family owned retail business.

Thank you so much for spending time with us today Lezli. Everyone take a peek at this small excerpt from Thin Is The Veil: A Haunting Memoir.

It was just after nightfall. As we approached the bridge over a ravine known as Green Bush Draw, I saw a woman in a long white dress standing in the middle of the bridge. She was holding a small child in her arms. They didn’t move even though they must have seen the car heading toward them. Our headlights were shining directly on them. Dad wasn’t slowing down.

 

 

 

 

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