Fucking whore!
Fucking whore!
The dark clad man paced the small confines of his apartment. All around him were pictures of the cause of his pain. His agony.
Carmen.
Bitch.
Whore.
Most of the shots were candid. Indeed she had been unaware that he was there, photographing her. Keeping tabs on her.
How dare she talk to me like that? Her! A whore who screwed everything in her path. Like a dog. One word and she spread her legs from anyone who
asked. Like that Todd, guy. How dare she go home with him? Him? A man so unworthy of her.
Well, he’d taken care of that. He’d made sure that Todd was sorry that he’s even dared to touch her.
But it was an empty high. It wasn’t Todd’s fault. Not really. He was snared by her just like a fly was helpless to resist the lure of a black widow’s web. Still, he needed to pay for daring to put his hands on her. He could still remember the feeling of the knife in his hands, the slick feel of the blood on his skin as it sprayed over him. Like a baptism. He’d been renewed.
While Todd hadn’t been his first kill. It was the first time he’d attempted it with a knife. It had slid into Todd’s flesh as easily as a knife through warm butter. Or like sliding deep into the warm body of a willing woman.
He’d been there. The night she’d taken Todd home. It was the first time she’d done that in a long time. She’d been celebrating. Getting drunk and flaunting her body on the dance floor. A siren’s call that Todd had been unfortunate enough to answer.
He had followed them back to Todd’s place. He’d watched through the blinds from across the street as she and Todd made love. No. Not love. Fucked.
They had fucked like animals. Like animals in heat.
The thought was enough to cause his cock to twitch. He ignored it. That’s what she wanted. She wanted him to think about her and rub his cock. She wished that he would pleasure himself. In his mind’s eye, he imagined her across the room. Her curly ebony hair flared out on the pillow. Her caramel skin glowing against the red satin sheets.
“Come on, baby,” fantasy Carmen pleaded, running her hands down her naked body, stopping on her breasts to pinch her nipples. “Let me see that big, hard dick.”
“Whore,” he hissed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side.
Behind his zipper, his penis twitched and grew longer, more demanding. He would not give her the satisfaction.
Fantasy Carmen pouted. “You know what to do. You know what I like.”
“Fucking bitch,” he spat, his fingers coming up to the button at his fly.
Unconsciously, they made quick work of his zipper until he sprung free. “Evil slut. Is this what you want?” The man grabbed his cock in his hand and began to pull.
Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. She did this to him. She was Jezebel. She was Circes, leading mean to their doom. He was a good man. But that didn’t matter to her. She cared only to spread her wickedness to decent men. Men like him.
Tears fell harder as he sped up the motion of his hand.
“Yes, yes,” fantasy Carmen moaned. Her hands left her breasts running along her flat stomach.
He watched with hungry eyes as her thighs parted, revealing her mound. In his mind, she was completely shaved, just as he remembered. He watched as milky fluid
She was hot for it, for him. She was begging for her just like the dog that she was.
“Cunt.” His hands moved over the length of him, faster, pulling harder until the point of pain.
Fantasy Carmen laughed. “You’re pathetic. What kind of man are you? You couldn’t satisfy me. That’s why I left. You and your tiny pena.”
The man’s tears fell harder. “No, no,” he sobbed, never breaking the rhythm of his hand.
Fantasy Carmen sat up in bed, her normally languid brown eyes small and mean. “You wish you were man enough to handle me.”
Despite himself, Carmen’s words only added to his arousal. He knew he was sick. But she did this. She made him this way.
“Go on. Play with your puny, pena. I’m surprised that you could even find it. I know that I couldn’t.” Carmen’s eyes laughed at him.
“Shut up. Shut up,” he shouted hoarsely even as he reached the breaking point. He threw his head back as thick wave of desire and shame washed through him, a tidal force that almost brought him to his knees.
When he opened his eyes, she was gone. She was always gone. She and her taunting eyes. Fucking bitch.
Fucking cunt!
He pulled up his pants and ran over to the wall, began tearing down the pictures that hung there. He looked at the photos of Carmen. Carmen smiling. Carmen laughing.
Soon, he thought.
She wouldn’t be able to forget him. Not again. He would make sure about that.
“So, Dr. Santiago, I saw you talking to Dr. Mitchell.”
Carmen looked up from reading Dr. Gower’s preop orders for their next patient. Carmen was trying to figure out a way to wrangle her way assisting. She had spent the rest of her morning performing scut work, chasing down labs, finding x-rays, and generally doing those things that were delegated to med students but Gower had a sudden belief should be given to Carmen. Which she accepted with a smile on her face. It wasn’t the first time she’d been made to eat shit.
This time, however, she was relatively certain that she wasn’t going to run into
Yummy. After their encounter at lunch and the shitty way that she’d treated him, she would be surprised if he spoke to her again. Which was fine with her, she assured herself.
The mindless scut work had also enabled her to forget about the phone call she’d gotten. Even though it was twice in the space of two days, she was convinced that either someone was playing a stupid prank or that they had the wrong number.
Looking up, she saw the RN who was the day ward supervisor. Molly. She was a cute curly-haired redhead who gave Carmen a run for the money in the bust department. She was also happily married, had three kids, and was the biggest gossip in the entire hospital. After working here for almost 20 years,
she knew everything and everyone.
“Yeah?” Carmen hated her hostile tone.
Molly smiled mischievously. “So? He’s only the most eligible doctor in the hospital. Every single nurse under the age of forty, and some married ones too, have been trying to get his attention. No luck. It’s so sad about his wife, though.”
“His wife?” Acrid anger burned deep within Carmen’s stomach. The bastard was married.
“Oh, yeah,” Molly continued, unaware of the daggers that were flaring from
Carmen’s eyes. “She was so young when she died. Only twenty-nine. They’d only been married for a couple years. Although, I tell you what, if I were married to a doctor I would’ve given up my career like that.” She said with a snap of her fingers. “Especially if I did what she did. I can’t imagine having to go into people’s houses and removing kids. I don’t envy that job.”
That’s it! Carmen knew now why that name was niggling at the back of her mind like a persistent puppy. Dr. Mitchell. His wife Julie was a social worker who’d been killed during a home visit that had turned into a shootout. It happened almost ten years ago, during Carmen’s freshman year in college. She vaguely remembered the grainy pictures of a man torn apart by grief at the loss of his young wife.
Carmen felt shamed by her irrational jealousy. From what she remembered about Candace Mitchell, she was a beautiful woman. Very blonde. Very pretty in a wholesome kind of way. The pictures that she’d seen of them together had reminded Carmen of the typical cheerleader who married the captain of the football team.
“I don’t remember him when I was doing my rotations in med school,” she mused out loud.
“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” Molly answered. “He took a sabbatical a couple
years ago to start that clinic for victims of domestic violence and their families. He only came back a few months ago when they offered him Chief of Medicine.”
Carmen groaned inwardly. Great. Not only had she pissed off a senior staff member, but the Chief of Medicine no less. She was sure that he spoke with Dr. Crosby, the Chief of Surgery. One misplaced word could kill Carmen’s
career before it had really started.
Well, when you fuck up, you do it big, Santiago.
“Anyway, you two looked awfully cozy when I saw you. What were you talking about?”
Carmen knew Molly’s type. One word to her and she would have Carmen and Greg screwing in the bathroom. “Uh, we share a patient.” It was the truth.
Mostly.
Molly’s face fell. “Oh. That’s it?”
“That’s it. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run down to pick up some labs. See you later, Molly.”
Molly eyed her skeptically. “You, too, Dr. Santiago.”
Carmen turned and made her way down the hallway, her mind still on what Molly had said.
When Carmen left the hospital that night, she was exhausted. Like she’d been run over by a bus. Although she hadn’t been able to get in on a surgery, she’d done more than her share. Carmen’s steps as she made her way to her car dragged, as if she were walking through quicksand. She was so exhausted that it took a few minutes for the other steps to filter through her mind. She paused. The steps paused. Carmen quirked her head, her ears strained to detect any sound. There was none. Her heart jumped into her throat.
“Hello?” she called, her voice shaky. Nothing.
Trying to shake off the feeling of dread, Carmen continued walking. For several seconds, she heard nothing. Then there the subtle scrape of rubber on concrete.
Carmen whirled around. “Who is it?”
She expected no answer and wasn’t disappointed. “Listen, fuckface, I’ve got mace and steel-toed boots. You better back off if you want to keep your balls.”
True to her word, Carmen rummaged through her purse until her hands came upon a small, black plastic container. She pulled it out and deactivated the safety.
“Do you hear me?” she yelled.
More silence.
This time, Carmen wasn’t taking any chances. She booked it. By the time she reached her car, her breath came is raspy shudders so loud that she couldn’t hear anything over it.
It took her two times before she was able to find the lock with her key. Her hands were shaking so badly she was terrified that she was going to drop them on the ground.
When she felt the hand on her shoulder, she couldn’t help it. She screamed. She swiveled around so quickly that the man standing behind her had to take a step back.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s only me.”
It took a few seconds for Greg’s voice to register. When it did, Carmen felt her knees give out. She had to catch herself before she fell down. She stayed like that for a while, hands braced against her knees, face pointed down. She concentrated on bring her breathing under control. Calm again, the fear receded and was replaced by acrid anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Greg stared at her as though she had grown a second head. “With me?
You’re the one who’s screaming bloody murder.”
Carmen’s face flared with heat. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you decide to accost women in parking garages. Asshole.”
Greg has the decency to look sheepish. “You’re right. I apologize. I wasn’t thinking. I guess I assumed that you had heard me coming.”
“That’s what you get for thinking.” Suddenly, a nasty thought came into
Carmen’s mind. “How long were you following me?”
She watched him blink in shock. “What are you talking about? I didn’t follow you.”
Carmen wasn’t sure that she believed him. “So you just happened to be leaving? At the exact same time I was?”
“It does happen. What’s up with you?”
“You didn’t see anyone?”
“No one. Why? Was someone following you?”
Carmen saw the change come over him immediately. Like a switch had been flipped. His easygoing posture stiffened and his eyes took on a sharp focus as he scanned the area around them. “Where was he? What did he look like?”
Carmen cursed herself for saying anything. “It was nothing. Probably just my overactive imagination.”
She saw the speculation and disbelief enter is midnight eyes. “Are you sure? After that phone call today…”
Carmen stiffened. “That phone call was a wrong number. And probably the reason that my mind is playing tricks on me.”
* * *
Greg considered the pugnacious jut of her chin and knew that there was little that he could do now. Little that she would let him do. “Well, if you want, I can ask the security guard to walk you to your car.”
He knew right away that it was the wrong thing to say. Greg didn’t know that it was possible to become any more rigid, but she went straight as an aluminum bat.
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much, Dr. Mitchell.” His name was spat at him with enough force to push nails through redwood.
“I’m not saying you can’t. Don’t be an idiot. You said yourself that a woman alone at night needs to take some precautions.”
“Are you calling me stupid?”
Greg groaned. He wasn’t sure that if he wanted to kiss her or shake her. He did know that either choice was going to lead to her knee in his balls. He looked up to the long fluorescent light bulbs that ran the length of the ceiling and prayed for patience. None came.
Greg ran an impatient hand through his head, causing parts of it to stand on end. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m calling you. Stupid and so fucking hard headed that even if someone where to take a baseball bat to it, I have every confidence that the bat would break.”
Carmen’s lips twitched. She couldn’t help it. He looked too fucking adorable.
“What?” he demanded. “Why are you smiling? I just insulted you.”
Carmen snorted. “That’s not an insult. Do you think you’re the first person to call me hard headed?”
“No. And I probably won’t be the last.”
“You’re right about that. And you’re right about the escort. I usually do have one but with the sun setting so much earlier, I forgot.”
Greg shook his head in disgust. She was not short of a complete enigma. “I don’t get you. I’m nice to you, you treat me like dog shit. I insult you, and you laugh.”
“What can I say? I’m a complicated gal.”
It was Greg’s turn to smile. “That you are.”
“Um, I have to go.”
“Hot date?” Greg tried to ignore the irrational twist of jealousy that clenched his heart.
“Are you kidding? I’m a surgical intern. I have no life. Just a warm bed and a copy of Surgeon Today. I need to get some rest. I’m on night call tomorrow.”
Greg’s brows shot up. “That surprises me. I expected…”
“What? That I was some party girl out there shaking her culo every night?”
The words were harsh but softened by the smile that spread across her face.
Actually, that was exactly what he’s been thinking. “Sorry. I shouldn’t judge.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Carmen muttered beneath her breath. Greg couldn’t understand exactly what she said but he thought it sounded like pendejo. He wasn’t familiar with Spanish but he was sure that she’d just called him a bastard.
“You know, when you get angry, your accent really comes out.”
He knew instantly that that was the wrong thing to say. Carmen’s half-smile faded and her face once again settled into its normal severe lines.
“Thanks.”
“I know I risk a kick in the nuts but do you mind if I ask where you’re from?”
“Why? Looking for a Green Card?”
“No, just curious.”
At fist, he was sure that she wasn’t going to tell him. “Puerto Rico.”
“Really? I went there on my honeymoon.” Greg groaned. It was never sexy to mention your ex. Even less sexy to discuss your honeymoon with your dead wife.
“Really? Good for you. I hope you enjoyed El Yunque and were lulled to
sleep each night by the melodic sounds of the coqui.” Sarcasm coated dripped icily from her lips.
Huh. This was different. Most Puerto Ricans that he knew had an almost perfect devotion to their country. This woman sounded as though she would gladly let it fall back into the ocean.
“Okay, this has been fun. I mean it. Next time you want to scare the living shit out of someone, please find some other insane partner. Later, Mitchell.”
Carmen turned to get into her car. She was stopped once again by the hand on her arm. This time her accelerated heart rate had nothing to do with fear.
She ignored the shiver of desire that wiggled down her arm and straight to the place between her thighs.
“What?” she demanded, her voice harsh with suppressed lust.
“Well, seeing as how I almost made you crap your pants, don’t you think that you could at least tell me your first name?”
“Carmen. But you can still call me Dr. Santiago.”
Carmen ducked into the car and slammed the door so quickly that Greg had to jump out of the way or else break a few fingers.
Through the red haze of her tail lights, Carmen saw Greg still standing where she left him, watching her car as it disappeared from sight.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
You may not know this
But I expanded "On Business" to almost 30,000 words. When I did that, I renamed the story. It is now called "Lucky Number Four." You'll find out why later. I'll post the updated story soon. Or at least excerpts. I'm sending it to Kate Duffy at Kensington to be a Brava novella.
(How's that for thinking positive!)
Well, when I did that, I added the character of Maria Carmen Concepcion Flores y Santiago. Or Carmen Santiago for short. She is one of my absolute favorite characters that I've ever written. So much so that she is the subject of my NaNoWriMo. Which has the bones of being a pretty kick-ass romantic suspense. It's the first time I've attempted to write this genre but after struggling for almost three weeks, I have to say that I think that I'm getting the hang of it. I think that when it's done, I'll have over 100,000 words. My most ambitious yet!
So stay tuned. An excerpt to follow.
In a couple hours, actually.
Wish me luck. I have about 36,000 words now. Only 14,000 words and 7 days to go!
(How's that for thinking positive!)
Well, when I did that, I added the character of Maria Carmen Concepcion Flores y Santiago. Or Carmen Santiago for short. She is one of my absolute favorite characters that I've ever written. So much so that she is the subject of my NaNoWriMo. Which has the bones of being a pretty kick-ass romantic suspense. It's the first time I've attempted to write this genre but after struggling for almost three weeks, I have to say that I think that I'm getting the hang of it. I think that when it's done, I'll have over 100,000 words. My most ambitious yet!
So stay tuned. An excerpt to follow.
In a couple hours, actually.
Wish me luck. I have about 36,000 words now. Only 14,000 words and 7 days to go!
Racistvember
So I have officially decided that this has been the most racist November in my life and hopefully it is one that will not be repeated. I have therefore decided that this month will be officially christened, Racistvember. A horrible name for a dispicable month.
Why? You ask. What has happened to dull your child-like innocence? I'll tell you.
It all started about three weeks ago. I was going apartment hunting and I brought my friend with me. She's probably reading this blog and will be offended if I call her a white person, so I'll call her Caucasin-ish.
Anyhoo, we go to these apartments that I'd found online. And I'd made an appointment. So I go in and my friend is with me and there's a woman sitting behind the desk talking to whom I assume is another client. Now, at this time, I had no idea that she was Racist Bitch so I stand there, waiting to be acknowledged. My friend is admiring the walls, I don't remember. So I'm waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, the woman looks up, sees me, sees my friend, and proceeds to deny my existence. She's asking my friend if she's looking for an apartment. My friend ignores her. She asks again. My friend ignores her. Finally, she deigns to look at me.
"Hi, yeah, I'm looking for an apartment."
"Well, we don't have any available."
"I'm not looking to move until January."
"We require 60 days' notice and we haven't received any yet."
"I saw three apartment vacant on your website."
"Those have been rented."
Yeah, that's basically how it went. There's only a bit of artistic license that's been taken.
Needless to say that bitch can bite my ass. I wrote a letter to everyone and their mama at that company and I'm considering filing a complaint with the Fair Housing Commission.
Now, that was bad enough. At least I thought so until Monday. I was at a bookstore cafe, working on my NaNoWriMo. There's an old white couple at a table. I sit behind them. The man promptly tells his wife to get up, that they're moving to another table. Now, this isn't an easy move, seeing as how thay had like about a million things that needed to be relocated. (That's a bit of hyperbole.) All the while, he's muttering under his voice. The only word I can make out is 'she.' I ignore him. They move to a new table. He then says to his wife in a loud voice "If she tries anything, you just call out really loud and I'll take care of it." Then he glares at me. At me. And not an angry glare. A hateful glare. Like just my presence in the world was an abomination.
Now. Being a Black American, I know that racism exists. I've experienced it. Just look at the 'Jena 6.' But this has been the first time I've ever had it be so blatant. Nowadays, racists and racism are a bit more subversive They're happier with universally keeping us down. 'The Man' kind of thing.
And to top it off, at church, we had an Ode to the Pilgrims. That, I drew the line with. It was ridiculous. The Pilgrims were a buch of murdering religious freaks. 'Salem Witch Trials' anyone? After the Native befriended them, they repaid their kindness by killing them. God's work, apparently.
I have to say that I am glad that I live here in the U.S. despite my recent tribulations. Better here than Africa, IMHO. But I am not about to build a shrine to the slavers. I'm not going to thank them. I prefer to think of it as bitter seed bearing sweet fruit.
So, that's it. My Racistvember. Fuck it.
Why? You ask. What has happened to dull your child-like innocence? I'll tell you.
It all started about three weeks ago. I was going apartment hunting and I brought my friend with me. She's probably reading this blog and will be offended if I call her a white person, so I'll call her Caucasin-ish.
Anyhoo, we go to these apartments that I'd found online. And I'd made an appointment. So I go in and my friend is with me and there's a woman sitting behind the desk talking to whom I assume is another client. Now, at this time, I had no idea that she was Racist Bitch so I stand there, waiting to be acknowledged. My friend is admiring the walls, I don't remember. So I'm waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, the woman looks up, sees me, sees my friend, and proceeds to deny my existence. She's asking my friend if she's looking for an apartment. My friend ignores her. She asks again. My friend ignores her. Finally, she deigns to look at me.
"Hi, yeah, I'm looking for an apartment."
"Well, we don't have any available."
"I'm not looking to move until January."
"We require 60 days' notice and we haven't received any yet."
"I saw three apartment vacant on your website."
"Those have been rented."
Yeah, that's basically how it went. There's only a bit of artistic license that's been taken.
Needless to say that bitch can bite my ass. I wrote a letter to everyone and their mama at that company and I'm considering filing a complaint with the Fair Housing Commission.
Now, that was bad enough. At least I thought so until Monday. I was at a bookstore cafe, working on my NaNoWriMo. There's an old white couple at a table. I sit behind them. The man promptly tells his wife to get up, that they're moving to another table. Now, this isn't an easy move, seeing as how thay had like about a million things that needed to be relocated. (That's a bit of hyperbole.) All the while, he's muttering under his voice. The only word I can make out is 'she.' I ignore him. They move to a new table. He then says to his wife in a loud voice "If she tries anything, you just call out really loud and I'll take care of it." Then he glares at me. At me. And not an angry glare. A hateful glare. Like just my presence in the world was an abomination.
Now. Being a Black American, I know that racism exists. I've experienced it. Just look at the 'Jena 6.' But this has been the first time I've ever had it be so blatant. Nowadays, racists and racism are a bit more subversive They're happier with universally keeping us down. 'The Man' kind of thing.
And to top it off, at church, we had an Ode to the Pilgrims. That, I drew the line with. It was ridiculous. The Pilgrims were a buch of murdering religious freaks. 'Salem Witch Trials' anyone? After the Native befriended them, they repaid their kindness by killing them. God's work, apparently.
I have to say that I am glad that I live here in the U.S. despite my recent tribulations. Better here than Africa, IMHO. But I am not about to build a shrine to the slavers. I'm not going to thank them. I prefer to think of it as bitter seed bearing sweet fruit.
So, that's it. My Racistvember. Fuck it.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
OMG!!!
It's been over a month since I've blogged and even longer since I've wriiten anything or even had any thoughts of writing. In my mind, that Nora Roberts' quote "I can fix anything but a blank page," scrolls through my mind like those crazy electronic billboards in Times Square. I feel a lot like that only I still have the blank pages. I wish I could put something funny or witty here but I'm just too sad.
Monica
Monica
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Ch-ch-cha-changes
Not much of that happening now. I'm still mired in writer's block and laziness. The good news is that I joined a crit group. We have our first official meeting tomorrow (today). I'm hoping that they will spur me into writing again. Nothing that I'm doing is working. I'm attending my RWA meetings and that's not helping. Maybe I just don't want to be a writer as much as I say I do. MAybe it's just not the right time for me, Maybe I'm super lazy and I'm looking for an excuse for it.
Life sucks!
Life sucks!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
What I've been up to
I know, I know. I'm a bad blogger and an even worse author. Writer's block has been kicking my ass! The good news is that I'm reading a lot more. I discovered a new author. Well, new to me. Linda Castillo. She writes romantic suspense. VERY WELL. Her characters are so real and flawed and awesome. I immediately went out and got all of her books from the library. As with every author, there were a couple I didn't dig totally but that's only in comparison to her other books which were awesome.
I'm also reading the Harry Potter books. I never got into them before but I enjoyed the movies. So, I'm starting from the beginning. And I must admit, they are quite good. Easy reads and very interesting. And it doesn't even matter that I know how the final book ends.
What else? I'm in love with someone who doesn't love me but every time I hear his voice or think about him, my stomach quivers. Of course, he's all wrong for me. Four years younger and in general a typical 'guy.' But I can't help it. I think that maybe my lovesick state is contributing to my not writing. Who knows? But I'm going to make an effort to at least do something. I'm joining a critique group. I'm studying Donald Maas. I'm also starting a new job that's going to allow me more time to write. I firmly believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Later Gators
I'm also reading the Harry Potter books. I never got into them before but I enjoyed the movies. So, I'm starting from the beginning. And I must admit, they are quite good. Easy reads and very interesting. And it doesn't even matter that I know how the final book ends.
What else? I'm in love with someone who doesn't love me but every time I hear his voice or think about him, my stomach quivers. Of course, he's all wrong for me. Four years younger and in general a typical 'guy.' But I can't help it. I think that maybe my lovesick state is contributing to my not writing. Who knows? But I'm going to make an effort to at least do something. I'm joining a critique group. I'm studying Donald Maas. I'm also starting a new job that's going to allow me more time to write. I firmly believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Later Gators
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Am I Gay?
So, I was reading an article published in New York Magazine about the science of gaydar and scientists have found certain links to the physiology of gay people that lead them to believe that being gay is biological (DUH!). Well, one of those things is the relationship between a person's index and ring fingers. Lesbians and straight males tend to have an index finger that is shorter than their ring finger. Gay men and straight women tend to have their index and ring fingers be the same length.
And me? My index finger is a WAY shorter than my ring finger, thus indicating that I'm super gay. LIke Rosie O'Donnell or Ellen Degeneres gay. Am I gay? I'm pretty sure that I don't like to eat cooch, but biologically...
Now this is a slippery slope. I don't know if you remember a study a few years ago done on serial killers which found that serial killers tortured animals. Somehow it got into the American psyche that torturing animals=serial killer. But if you read the study, you'd know that while all serial killers tortured animals, not all people that tortured animals became serial killers. That's a BIG distiction.
Another thing is that if we study the biological basis of being gay, can a 'cure' be far behind? Can we genetically engineer straight children just like we can manufacture our children's genders or physical features? SCARY!!!
To read the full article, click here.
And me? My index finger is a WAY shorter than my ring finger, thus indicating that I'm super gay. LIke Rosie O'Donnell or Ellen Degeneres gay. Am I gay? I'm pretty sure that I don't like to eat cooch, but biologically...
Now this is a slippery slope. I don't know if you remember a study a few years ago done on serial killers which found that serial killers tortured animals. Somehow it got into the American psyche that torturing animals=serial killer. But if you read the study, you'd know that while all serial killers tortured animals, not all people that tortured animals became serial killers. That's a BIG distiction.
Another thing is that if we study the biological basis of being gay, can a 'cure' be far behind? Can we genetically engineer straight children just like we can manufacture our children's genders or physical features? SCARY!!!
To read the full article, click here.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Life And Romantic Times
Hello Again,
I figure that since I'm suffering from a complete and total nervous breakdown I can at least give y'all the lowdown on what's been happening in my life.
First (and most important) I went to the RT Convention a few weeks ago. I had a blast! I highly recommend that all you writers (and readers) go. I cannot remember a time when I had that much fun. I barely slept. I partied all night. I drank. I made some great friends. I met with editors and agents. I got a request for a full by Kate Duffy who I fully intend upon making my platonic life partner I love her so much.
I think what I liked most about it was the environment. There's nothing like being around people who are like you. They read what you read, write what you write. There's no need to justify your choice of reading material. I don't know about anyone else, but I sometimes get tired of the sideways looks I get when I'm in public reading a romance novel. And it's not as though they don't read them. Romance can't sell over 50% of the popular fiction market with just me buying them. (Besides, I rarely buy books.)
I was planning to go next year as well. Unfortunately, I'm about to start a new job and probably won't be able to make the trip. I will be at RWA next year. It's in San Francisco so I'm definitely going.
I've also decided to go to Italy next June for my birthday. I will be thisclose to leaving my twenties behind and I decided to do it up. I hear the nines are harder than the zeroes so that's why I'm treating myself to two weeks in a romantic country. Maybe I'll leave there with a Italian Count as a husband. Or maybe never leave at all. I've got a whole year to plan (and save) for the trip. Part of my plan is to lose weight. I think that now that I have a reason, it may be easier to keep motivated. I'm starting my diet on Wednesday. Why Wednesday, you ask? Well, statistics show that people who start diets on Wednesdays, typically have higher success rates than those who start on Monday.
What else...? I told you I'm starting a new job in August. I'm going to be working in a school. So you know what that means? I get SUMMERS OFF!!!!! Hell yeah! I only have to work 8 months out of the year (including spring break and Christmas vacation)! I'm super excited.
And that's it for now. I'm glad I got a little writing done. Even if it's only my blog.
TTYL
I figure that since I'm suffering from a complete and total nervous breakdown I can at least give y'all the lowdown on what's been happening in my life.
First (and most important) I went to the RT Convention a few weeks ago. I had a blast! I highly recommend that all you writers (and readers) go. I cannot remember a time when I had that much fun. I barely slept. I partied all night. I drank. I made some great friends. I met with editors and agents. I got a request for a full by Kate Duffy who I fully intend upon making my platonic life partner I love her so much.
I think what I liked most about it was the environment. There's nothing like being around people who are like you. They read what you read, write what you write. There's no need to justify your choice of reading material. I don't know about anyone else, but I sometimes get tired of the sideways looks I get when I'm in public reading a romance novel. And it's not as though they don't read them. Romance can't sell over 50% of the popular fiction market with just me buying them. (Besides, I rarely buy books.)
I was planning to go next year as well. Unfortunately, I'm about to start a new job and probably won't be able to make the trip. I will be at RWA next year. It's in San Francisco so I'm definitely going.
I've also decided to go to Italy next June for my birthday. I will be thisclose to leaving my twenties behind and I decided to do it up. I hear the nines are harder than the zeroes so that's why I'm treating myself to two weeks in a romantic country. Maybe I'll leave there with a Italian Count as a husband. Or maybe never leave at all. I've got a whole year to plan (and save) for the trip. Part of my plan is to lose weight. I think that now that I have a reason, it may be easier to keep motivated. I'm starting my diet on Wednesday. Why Wednesday, you ask? Well, statistics show that people who start diets on Wednesdays, typically have higher success rates than those who start on Monday.
What else...? I told you I'm starting a new job in August. I'm going to be working in a school. So you know what that means? I get SUMMERS OFF!!!!! Hell yeah! I only have to work 8 months out of the year (including spring break and Christmas vacation)! I'm super excited.
And that's it for now. I'm glad I got a little writing done. Even if it's only my blog.
TTYL
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Life(less)
Hi All,
Sorry that I haven't blogged in like forever but I'm having a few issues right now. I find myself totally devoid of creativity. I don't know what's going on with me. I'm not writing much of anything right now. I'm in a big slump and I don't know why. I'm really sorry for all of you who are waiting for updates on LOTI. I know writing is like a job and I need to treat it as such. But I'm having difficulty being creative, finding words, creating stories. I have lots of ideas but no motivation. I'm hoping this is a fad but it's been like a month and I still haven't shaken it.
Ah, well. Poor me, I guess. I'm going to try harder. I hope to have something accomplished by the end of the week.
Pray for me.
Sorry that I haven't blogged in like forever but I'm having a few issues right now. I find myself totally devoid of creativity. I don't know what's going on with me. I'm not writing much of anything right now. I'm in a big slump and I don't know why. I'm really sorry for all of you who are waiting for updates on LOTI. I know writing is like a job and I need to treat it as such. But I'm having difficulty being creative, finding words, creating stories. I have lots of ideas but no motivation. I'm hoping this is a fad but it's been like a month and I still haven't shaken it.
Ah, well. Poor me, I guess. I'm going to try harder. I hope to have something accomplished by the end of the week.
Pray for me.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
RT Brewhaha (sp?)
I don't have time to blog extensively right now but here are a few articles for discussion...
http://sensualwriter.blogspot.com/2007/05/rthyatt-author-targeted.html
http://karenknowsbest.blogspot.com/2007/05/kathryn-falk-romantic-times-book-review.html
http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com
I will say that I am behind Laura Baumbach 100%!!
http://sensualwriter.blogspot.com/2007/05/rthyatt-author-targeted.html
http://karenknowsbest.blogspot.com/2007/05/kathryn-falk-romantic-times-book-review.html
http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com
I will say that I am behind Laura Baumbach 100%!!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
I Think/I know
I think...Nina Bangs is an awesome name for a romance novelist.
I know...Carla Neggers is a great writer but an unfortunate name.
I think...life is too short to spend it miserable.
I know...you're supposed to wipe your ass from front to back.
I think...sex is fun and I need to have WAY more of it.
I know...a2+b2=c2
I think...romance novels are a valid form of artistic expression.
I know...that the sky is blue because it reflects off the ocean.
I think...chocolate is the greatest thing ever invented.
I know...Jesus loves me.
I think...I have a pretty face in spite of my fat ass.
I know...what the word hyperbole means.
I think...most vegetable are delicious.
I know...water's molecular structure is H2O.
I think...I don't know as much as I know I do.
I know...I'm done with this post for now.
What do you think/know?
I know...Carla Neggers is a great writer but an unfortunate name.
I think...life is too short to spend it miserable.
I know...you're supposed to wipe your ass from front to back.
I think...sex is fun and I need to have WAY more of it.
I know...a2+b2=c2
I think...romance novels are a valid form of artistic expression.
I know...that the sky is blue because it reflects off the ocean.
I think...chocolate is the greatest thing ever invented.
I know...Jesus loves me.
I think...I have a pretty face in spite of my fat ass.
I know...what the word hyperbole means.
I think...most vegetable are delicious.
I know...water's molecular structure is H2O.
I think...I don't know as much as I know I do.
I know...I'm done with this post for now.
What do you think/know?
Friday, April 06, 2007
Random Survey
1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Monica Quatermaine from General Hospital- No LIE!!
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I have no clue.
3. do you like your handwriting
I'm illerate.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Honey Ham
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Not anymore...
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I'd do me...wait, that wasn't the question
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No, I'm always spreading sunshine from my fucking ass
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS
Considering all that my throat's been through, surprisingly yes
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Only if I want to land on my fat ass
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Honeynut Cheerios
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
I wear velcro
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
I can kick your ass if that's what you're asking
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Mocha Almond Fudge or Ben and Jerry's Oatmeal Cookie Chunk
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Their teeth
15. RED OR PINK?
Red
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Why? Did you notice something? Are you trying to tell me I'm ugly?
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Why not?
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
No pants and red high heels
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Turkey burger
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Commercial
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Purple.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Coconut, vanilla, Maui musk, chocolate
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Todd
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
She's swell!
26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
FOOTBALL!!!!
27. HAIR COLOR?
Dark Brown
28. EYE COLOR?
Dark Brown
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No
30. FAVORITE FOOD?
Lasagna
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Scary movies wth happy endings
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Shopgirl
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Brown
34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
FUCK WINTER
35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Only if we're having sex.
36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Very moist chocolate cake
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Melissa
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND
George Clooney
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Some crappy romances from my RWA chapter
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Don't have one
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V . LAST NIGHT?
Shopgirl
42. FAVORITE SOUND?
A baby laughing
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles
44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Spain
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Is killing a special talent?
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
California
47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
You ask too many fucking questions!
Monica Quatermaine from General Hospital- No LIE!!
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I have no clue.
3. do you like your handwriting
I'm illerate.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Honey Ham
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Not anymore...
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I'd do me...wait, that wasn't the question
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No, I'm always spreading sunshine from my fucking ass
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS
Considering all that my throat's been through, surprisingly yes
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Only if I want to land on my fat ass
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Honeynut Cheerios
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
I wear velcro
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
I can kick your ass if that's what you're asking
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Mocha Almond Fudge or Ben and Jerry's Oatmeal Cookie Chunk
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Their teeth
15. RED OR PINK?
Red
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Why? Did you notice something? Are you trying to tell me I'm ugly?
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Why not?
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
No pants and red high heels
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Turkey burger
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Commercial
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Purple.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Coconut, vanilla, Maui musk, chocolate
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Todd
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
She's swell!
26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
FOOTBALL!!!!
27. HAIR COLOR?
Dark Brown
28. EYE COLOR?
Dark Brown
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No
30. FAVORITE FOOD?
Lasagna
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Scary movies wth happy endings
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Shopgirl
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Brown
34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
FUCK WINTER
35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Only if we're having sex.
36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Very moist chocolate cake
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Melissa
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND
George Clooney
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Some crappy romances from my RWA chapter
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Don't have one
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V . LAST NIGHT?
Shopgirl
42. FAVORITE SOUND?
A baby laughing
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles
44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Spain
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Is killing a special talent?
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
California
47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
You ask too many fucking questions!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
My Latest Obsession
GERARD BUTLER. I love this man. I want to do very bad, very sexual, probably half-way illegal things to him. I want to do things to him that would make a porn star blush. That's how much I love this man. I mean, c'mon! Did anyone SEE 300? As if there weren't enough half-naked hunks all sweaty and oiled and homoerotic, we had GERARD in the movie.
How can you not look at all this hotness and not want to rip his clothes off?
Now, I admit that there are women out there that may fight me for him, but I am fully prepared to shank a couple trifling hoes who are out to steal my man. I don't play. How can I when the prize is this?
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Luck Of the Irish Chapters 1-4
Chapter One
As Leila flopped down onto the soft feather mattress, she wondered yet again at the mad impulse that led her to come to Ireland. Maybe it was the bitterly cold weather back in Chicago. Maybe it was the fact that she’d recently taken a leave of absence from her job as a pediatrician at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
But it was more likely the fact that her mother had passed away almost six months ago and Leila still felt lost.
She turned onto her side and tucked her knees into her chest. She stared blankly at the lace curtain that covered the window. The town of Dublin lay just beyond the curtains. Normally, Leila would’ve been excited to explore a new place. Instead, the thought of going out into the world felt more like a crushing load than a grand adventure. Leila could feel the black wave of sorrow threaten to drown her as she turned her face into the flowery duvet and cried.
It was the light fluttering through the eyelets of the curtain that awakened Leila the next morning. Leila groaned as she rolled over. Her entire body ached from the odd position in which she’d been sleeping.
Even worse was the fact that she’d forgotten to brush her teeth, she thought with a grimace.
Leila lay on her back. She stared unseeingly at the ceiling. She supposed that she should get up and get showered. Leila took a deep breath.
Get a grip, Mason, she told herself sternly.
She knew that her mother would have been disappointed by Leila’s lack of enthusiasm. Audrey Mason would have already been out of bed and practically dancing around the room in her excitement. She loved visiting new places, exploring, learning.
Leila allowed a small smile at the thought even as she felt her heart clench. Even after all these months, she still couldn’t believe that her mother was gone. At times, she felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare. The cancer had come so quickly, no one had been prepared. Not even her mother, who until the time she was diagnosed had been extremely healthy.
That was the problem. By the times the doctors caught the cancer; it was too late. It had metastasized throughout her entire body until it was virtually eating at her from the inside. Audrey died three months later.
Throughout that time, Leila hardly left her mother’s side. She was there when her mother drew her last breath. She’d been holding her hand.
And now she was alone.
With a weary sigh, Leila hefted herself out of bed. She shuffled her way towards the bathroom, removing her clothes as she went until they left a trail behind her.
In the bathroom, she accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself.
Perversely, she thought, ‘Well, at least I finally lost those twenty pounds.’
And they were pounds that she could well afford to lose. Audrey had always affectionately referred to Leila as ‘Roly,’ as in roly poly. Leila had eventually come to accept that she would always be more than a bit pudgy.
She turned to study herself more fully in the mirror. The loss of weight had gone a long way to slimming her hips and buttocks. She looked more curvy and less like a pear. She decided that it was a good look.
It was anybody’s guess as to if she could actually keep it off.
Turning away, Leila turned on the taps and adjusted the temp before starting the shower. She stepped into the tub and under the warm, beating water. She allowed the water to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulders until the water began to cool.
She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. As she did, she became aware of a gnawing hunger in her stomach. She realized that she hadn’t eaten in almost 36 hours. She was famished.
Leila hurried through the rest of her morning ablutions. She set and dried her naturally curly hair until it fell in soft curls around her face. Leila’s smooth almond skin was a blessing as all she really needed was a quick swipe of lip gloss and some mascara. Back in the bedroom, she hastily donned a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. As she did, she heard the sounds of laughter and crowds outside her bedroom window.
Leila paused as she entered the lobby, unsure of her next move. When she’d arrived at the quaint B&B the night before, she’d been too tired to do anything but collect her room key. She shifted nervously from foot to foot. She could see no one behind the desk.
As she debated whether to go out to eat, she heard a movement from behind her. She turned to see who and entered the room.
And promptly swallowed her tongue.
Danger! her mind screamed.
The man’s stocky frame filled a tiny doorway to what Leila assumed was the storeroom. She estimated his height as maybe about an inch or so above six feet but his powerful frame made him appear more intimidating. He reminded her of a heavy-weight prizefighter, big and bulky.
However, it was his face that caught her attention. He wasn’t classically handsome. His age could have been anywhere from 30 to 50 but Leila guessed that he was probably closer to forty. His craggy, weatherworn face appeared stern and hard.
Until you looked into his eyes. They were the most startling blue she’d ever seen. Like a soft spring sky over a crystal clear lake. They could easily have been cold, but instead they twinkled with unknown merriment. There were deep lines around his eyes that stated that this was a man who loved to laugh.
The combination was baffling.
“Can I help you, lass?”
Leila allowed the smooth, rich sound of his voice wash over her. His voice managed to somehow be both comforting and dangerous.
Leila finally became aware that he was staring at her, waiting for an answer to his question.
Leila shook her head to clear it. “Sorry. Do you work here?”
She grimaced as she realized what a stupid question it was.
The man smiled, revealing dimples on either side of his firm, full mouth. Leila melted a little.
“That I do. At least for the day. Was there something that you were needing?”
At that moment, Leila’s stomach decided to make its demands known. Quite loudly. She could feel the heat begin to seep into her cheeks.
“Ah, so it’s a bit of the grub that you’re after.”
She smiled wryly. “How could you tell?”
The man winked at her. “I’m told that I have a bit of the fey in me. Come. Let’s go see what Old Bess has for you in the kitchen.”
“Oh, no,” she protested, “I don’t want to be any trouble. I can go out if I missed breakfast.”
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble. This is a B&B, is it not? What do we do but provide for bed and a breakfast? And I see you’ve had yourself a bit of one and now on to the other”
The man stepped away from the door and man is way toward her. For such a big man, he moved with surprising grace. His movements sleek and coordinated, much like that of a cat after its prey.
Suddenly, Leila’s heart began to race as though she were the one being stalked. She took an instinctive step back. The air in the room had suddenly gone thick. Leila found it hard to drag sufficient air into her lungs.
The man stilled. He cocked his head in askance. His eyes were gentle but…knowing.
Thankfully, she was saved from having to answer by the arrival of another person into the room. This one was blessedly female.
“Ah, lass, you’re awake then. And I see that my nephew Liam here is taking care of you well enough.”
Leila pulled her gaze away from Liam to see the person who was speaking. She was extremely grateful for the interruption.
It was the same woman that had checked her in last night. Now that she mentioned it, Leila could see the resemblance between the two. They had the same black hair and blue eyes, although Bess’ weren’t as brilliantly hued as Liam’s. Bess also had the same, tall, yet study body structure. They were definitely family.
Leila search frantically for her name. Shea? Shannon? Sheehan. That was it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sheehan.” Leila dredged up a small smile for the woman.
“Oh, call me Bess. Everyone does.”
This time, Leila’s smile was genuine. “Bess. I was just asking your nephew if he could recommend a good place for breakfast.”
Bess smiled. “You’ll find no finer breakfast than right here in this very house.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Bah.” Bess waved away her concerns. “What is this if not a place to fill your belly and find a good night’s rest?” Her words echoed that of her nephew.
Leila refused to look over at Liam. She had a feeling he would be smirking.
“Now come along, lass. I’m thinking that you’ll be needing a nice hearty Irish breakfast. Too skinny, you are.”
Leila opened her mouth to protest. Never in her life had anyone told her that she was ‘too skinny.’ She quickly shut it as she realized that she liked the feeling.
CHAPTER TWO
Liam stayed and watched as his aunt led the woman away. His eyes strayed to her hips as they swayed in time to her steps. Although he would’ve been embarrassed to be caught staring at the woman’s ass, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that the woman had a world-class arse.
Liam propped himself against the reception desk and considered the woman who’d just left the room.
Everything about her screamed woman and yet whispered fragile. There was something behind her dark chocolate eyes that bespoke pain, hurt. He wondered if she had recently broken up with a lover. It was one explanation as to why a single woman would travel all the way to Ireland by herself.
Maybe this was a lover’s trip, cut short by quarrel.
However, something deep inside him hoped that it wasn’t the case. There was something about the woman, with her soulful brown eyes and almond skin that spoke to him. Something that made him want to scoop her up and hold her until all the shadows disappeared from her eyes.
It was an uncomfortable feeling. One that he wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue.
Still, his curiosity led him to trail after her. He found them where he’d expected. Bess was buzzing around the kitchen. Her hands busy plating food. The woman, whose name he still didn’t know, sat quietly at the kitchen table as she quietly sipped coffee. She looked a bit bewildered, but then most people did when faced with his aunt.
Liam leaned against the doorway, simply watching. If he hadn’t been studying her so carefully, he would’ve missed the almost imperceptible stiffening of her back. She was aware of him even if she studiously avoided looking back at him.
“Here you are, love. You go right ahead and eat up.” Bess said as she placed the plate in front of Leila.
Liam’s smile widened as he watched the woman at the table took down at the items on the plate. He could practically see the wheels turning on her mind as she worked to decipher what exactly she was about to eat.
“Aunt Bess, I think I’ll have a bit of a bite as well.” Liam stated as he strode towards the table.
Bess looked startled. “Have you not eaten then, Liam?”
Liam straddled the chair next to Leila. As he did, his thigh brushed her. Leila stiffened even more and shifted to put some more distance between them.
“I have indeed, Aunt Bess. But there’s only so much temptation a man can take and your black pudding is one that I cannot resist.”
Bess looked pleased. “It’s a bit of the sweet tongue you’ve got, Liam O’Donnell.”
She hurried back to the stove to plate his food.
Liam turned his attention back to the woman sitting beside him. She stared down at the plate in consternation. Liam couldn’t resist the urge to tease her just a bit. He leaned over and whispered, “Don’t you worry, love. Aunt Bess makes the best bangers in all of Ireland.”
“Bangers?” she asked hesitantly.
“Sheep intestine,” Liam lied.
Leila recoiled.
Liam had to quickly bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the expression of sheer horror that crossed her face.
“Now, child, don’t be listening to Liam. He’s have a bit of fun on you. He has a liking for getting you Yanks all riled.”
Liam’s grin widened at the venomous glare Leila shot him.
“Now, eat up, girl. A good Irish breakfast will cure what ails you.”
Leila reluctantly picked up the fork. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all, love.”
“What exactly is that?” Leila’s for stabbed in the general direction of the fat, greasy black cylinder on her plate.
“It’s nothing but a bit of Black Pudding.”
“Black pudding.”
“I think you Yanks call it Blood Sausage.”
Liam watched the color drain from the woman’s face. Apparently, that wasn’t the
answer she was hoping for.
Still, he had to give her credit. She did take a tiny bite of the meat. And her
grimace was virtually undetectable.
“There’s a love,” Bess stated, pleased as punch. “There’s so wrong that a good breakfast can’t fix. So, how are you liking our fair Dublin.”
Liam watched the woman quickly swallow her food. “Well, the view out the window of the cab was lovely. I’m hoping to see some more today. The noise outside my window
reminded me of Chicago. I had no idea Dublin was so busy.”
“Well, it is and it isn’t. You caught us in the midst of our St. Patrick’s Day festival day,” Liam answered.
Leila looked surprised. “I totally spaced that it was St. Patrick’s Day on Saturday. But I thought it was only an Irish-American tradition. I didn’t think it was a big deal here in Ireland.”
“Yes, and you thought we’d let all you Yanks have the fun?” Liam winked.
He saw the uncomfortable look that crossed her face before she turned back to her food.
“So, miss, if it’s not a bit of old St. Pat that you’re after, what brings you to Ireland?” Bess asked.
Leila shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. My mother has always wanted to visit but she never got a chance to before…”
Light dawned on Liam. Her mam was gone.
Bess looked as though she wanted to reach out and hug the young woman. She paused as she thought better of it and settled for patting the woman’s shoulder. “Well, you picked a fine time to visit. Perfect time for you young ones.”
Leila offered a weak smile, her appetite gone. She picked at her food.
“So, what do you do there back in Chicago?”
“I’m a doctor. A pediatrician.”
Both Bess and Liam looked surprised. “Really? But you’re so young.” Bess protested.
Leila laughed at this. “Not so young.”
“When you get to be my age, there’s not many who aren’t so old.”
“Yes, Aunt Bess is positively in her druthers.” Liam added cheekily.
Bess swatted at him. “I swear if you weren’t my nephew, I’d cosh you.”
“Ah, Bess, gods be blessed for your gentle heart.”
Leila watched the pair as they teased one another and felt her heart squeeze. It was reminiscent of her own relationship with her mother. Unfortunately, her mother had had no family and only God knew where her father had disappeared. So when Miriam Mason had passed, she’d left Leila truly all alone.
“Excuse me,” Leila gasped, her eyes burning with tears. “I don’t think I can eat anymore. Thank you.” She pushed her chair back abruptly, the legs scraped the floor. Without looking back, she fled the room.
CHAPTER THREE
Bess and Liam stayed behind. They watched the distraught young woman hurry from the room as though the hounds of hell were at her heels.
“Poor, girl. So young to lose her mam.” Bess murmured.
Liam’s eyes were speculative. “Yes.”
Bess recognized the look of hunter in his eyes. “Now, Liam, don’t you be getting ideas. I won’t have you bothering Miss Leila while she’s staying here. She’s got enough on her heart right now without you adding extra burden.”
Leila. Liam rolled the room around in his mind. Sweet. Exotic. Much like the woman herself. “Aunt Bess, you know me.”
“Aye, I know you. And I know that you’ve got the silver tongue of the devil. That girls needs to heal. Not a tumble between your sheets.”
Liam looked offended. “I’m not that careless.”
Bess leaned over to pat his shoulder. “No, Liam. You’re a good man. But you’re hell on a woman’s heart.”
Liam wanted to argue but deep down he knew she was right. It wasn’t purposeful. He enjoyed the company of women, probably more than most. He found them the most fascinating of creature. He loved the way they smelled, the way they moved, the delicate line between the nape of their necks and their spines. The problem was, while he thought the woman fun, they had a tendency to want more. They wanted a relationship.
Liam shuddered at the word.
Bess nodded sagely. “I see that you take my meaning. Let the girl be. She needs to heal. And Ireland is a place of magic and miracles. I’m sure that she’ll find hers.”
Liam bowed his head in acquiescence. But his eyes strayed again to the door, his mind still on the woman with the strange, haunting eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Leila raced up the stairs, not stopping until she was back in her room. Breathless, she leaned back against the door.
Too soon. Too soon. The thought repeated over and over, a mantra in her head.
Coming was a bad idea, she thought. She was in no shape to be around people. It was part of the reason she’s decided to leave Chicago. She knew that she had alienated some of her friends. She felt raw and exposed and that made many people uncomfortable. Not that she could blame them for keeping their distance. Not many could tolerate being with a walking wound. For them, the death of a parent was a foreign idea. It had been the same for her…before.
Leila slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. She rested her forehead on her bent knees. She willed herself not to cry. She’d never been a big crier and that weakness made her all the more disappointed in herself.
“Mama,” she whispered, the sound rife with a shattered heart.
Sitting there, Leila felt a strange sensation, like that of a stroke of fingers across her cheek. For a brief moment, she could have sworn she could smell the scent of her mother’s perfume. She closed her eyes. It was probably her mind playing tricks on her. Like before.
Before she’d left Chicago, Leila began to have strange hallucinations. She would see her mother standing outside her bedroom window or have incredibly vivid dreams of talking to her mother. In them, her mother had talked about how she’s always wanted to visit Ireland. She’d said that Leila should go in her place.
In desperation, Leila had gone to see a therapist. The woman had told her that it was not unusual for people who were grieving to think that they could see the deceased or ‘feel’ them in a room. It had helped to know that she wasn’t going crazy. The therapist had encouraged Leila to take this trip. She felt that it may help Leila feel a sense of closure around her mother’s death.
Leila was beginning to suspect that she’d wasted her money.
It’s okay, baby. Leila’s mother’s voice floated through her mind. Leila felt the
impact of them as immediately the tightness in her chest began to ease. Her
breathing slowed as a sense of peace flowed through her.
Leila stood and as she did, she wiped away the tears she’d been unaware were running down her face. She allowed herself a small smile.
Well, if you’re going to go crazy, she thought, you may as well do it in Ireland.
The worst they could call you is a wee bit daft.
She walked to the bathroom. Once inside, she turned on the water, intent of washing her face. Instead of the round of rushing water, there was instead a horrible grinding noise and before Leila’s horrified eyes, the pipe beneath the lovely pedestal sink burst.
“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit fuck.” Leila frantically scrounged around for something to stem the rushing water. Finding no towels, she rushed from the room to the bedside phone.
“Um, I have a bit of an emergency here,” Leila began at Bess’s cheerful greeting. “Could you send someone with a wrench?”
Leila didn’t wait for Bess response before she hung up the phone and raced back to the bathroom.
After what seemed like several minutes, she heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called, frantically attempting to use a hand towel to contain the leak.
“If you really wanted to see me again, you needn’t have flooded the bathroom. A simple phone call would’ve sufficed.”
Leila’s head whipped around at the sound of the arrogantly amused voice coming from the doorway.
“What are you doing here?”
Liam held up the wrench. “You rang?”
Leila bit her lip in frustration. He was the last person she wanted to see. “Do you plan on standing there all day or can you actually do something productive?”
Liam leaned against the door jamb. “I don’t know. I’m thinking that I like the view from here.” He said as he stared at her chest.
Leila looked down to where the water had soaked through her thin shirt and was plastered against her body. She could clearly see the outline of her breast and thanks to the simple laws of nature, her nipples stood out, diamond hard against the lace of her bra.
Leila gasped and covered her chest. “Pervert.” She accused.
Liam feigned hurt. “You can’t blame a man for looking. Especially when the scenery
is so tempting.” His voice dropped until it was practically a purr.
Leila shivered with awareness. For the first time since her mother died, she could feel the sizzle of attraction race down her spine.
Leila shot up like a cannon. “Um, can get it to stop.”
“I can try. I may not be successful.” Liam’s meaning was clear.
Leila ignored the spark of desire his voice ignited. “Please just fix it.”
Liam bowed gallantly. “You wish, my lady.”
Leila was tempted to say that he wish was that he leave her alone. That he stop tempting her with his hooded eyes and thinly veiled innuendo. Especially now that her body decided to emerge from its deep freeze. Leila was certain that it had more to do with the passage of time and the close proximity to an incredibly virile, incredible appealing man.
Leila couldn’t help but notice how snugly his jeans fit over his ass. She almost shivered when he bent over, tightening the fabric even further.
Stop staring at his ass! she admonished herself. But her eyes refused to listen and instead began to follow the line of his spine to the nape of his neck. She stared intently at the spot. She wondered what it would taste like if she were to go over and take a nip at it. She imagined walking over and grabbing that tender flesh between her teeth.
Her breathing quickened as she felt her body begin to soften. Her pussy began to throb.
She pictured dotting sweet, suckling kisses up and down his neck until she reached his mouth. There, she would place a hard, hungry kiss. The taste of him in her tongue would be tantalizing, spicy and exotic, much like the man himself.
Leila swing away from the door. She fanned her face, embarrassed at the direction of her thoughts. Another few seconds and she would have acted on her wanton thoughts.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was not the type of woman who engaged in erotic fantasies and she certainly never acted on them. Why all of a sudden, was she a needy mess?
“That should take care of your pipes for now, but I’ll have to run out to the shops to buy the parts. I should have your pipes good as new by tomorrow,” came Liam’s muffled voice.
Leila almost laughed at the absurdity of talking about her ‘pipes.’ If he only knew.
“Thanks,” she croaked.
Liam emerged from the bathroom. He tilted his head to stare at her. “Are you alright, love? You’re looking a bit peaked.”
Leila didn’t return his stare, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep last night.”
It was a lie. He knew it. He moved closer. Leila’s breath hitched in her throat.
“Okay. Well, I’ll be letting Aunt Bess know that your bathroom needs to be dried.
You’ll be right as rain by tonight.”
Leila nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Are you sure that you don’t need anything else, love?”
Liam’s voice was pure temptation. Leila couldn’t help but respond. She backed up further into the wall in a desperate attempt to put distance between her and Liam.
“You don’t even know my name,” she whispered, all pretense gone.
“You’re right about that, love. That doesn’t seem to matter. Still, I am curious. What is your name?”
“Leila.”
Almost before the word left Leila’s lips, they were captured by Liam’s.
Instead of being hard and demanding, Liam’s lips were soft and firm. They sought to gently coax a response of Leila’s trembling lips. Tenderly, he used the tip of his tongue to trace the shape of her lips. He lapped softy at their seam. Leila let out a small, breathy sigh. Liam took full advantage and slipped his tongue into the dark, humid opening. He tasted sweet yet salty. Familiar yet exotic. Liam took his time with the kiss. His tongue hunted hers. He engaged it in a playful dual, sliding sensually between her mouth and his. It was the sweetest kiss she’d ever experienced.
Leila could feel herself slowly melting into him. Liam tightened his arms around her, bringing their fronts into tight contact. The motion caused Leila to shiver. Her nipples tightened into diamond-hard points. She arched gently into him, seeking more contact. She silently willed him to touch her. He didn’t. He kept his hands on her back, holding her securely.
Leila could feel the prick of tears in her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had held her. Even longer since she could remember feeling so safe.
Liam tasted the salt of her tears and pulled away. “What is it, love?” he asked as he brought his hands up to cup her face. He gently wiped away the tears from her cheeks.
Leila shook her head, too upset to speak. She kept her eyes closed she turned her
face into his touch.
“It’s okay. You’re not ready yet.”
Leila nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words. As much as her body was willing, more than willing, there was still something that held her back. She appreciated Liam’s patience even as she cursed it. Part of her wished that he would push a little harder, somehow take the choice away from her. The other half of her know that he was a good man, too good to coerce a fragile woman.
“Thank you for understanding.” Leila sighed as she moved out of his arms. She went to stand in front of the window. She looked out at the throngs of people that lined the street.
Liam stayed where he was and watched her. She had complication written all over her, this beautiful American. Normally that alone was enough to make him run away. But something about her vulnerability called out to him. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to take her in his arms and assure her that everything would be alright.
“I’m not normally a tease, you know.” She said wearily.
“Oh, are you a bit of a tramp, then?” he teased, eliciting the smile that he hoped for.
“Not that, either, smart ass.”
“Well, that’s good then. I can’t have you sullying my practically angelic existence with you base and debauched ways.”
Leila let out a small laugh before once again sighing. “I feel like I’m on a roller coaster. I can’t seem to find my footing. One minute I’m up and the next I’m walking on glass.”
“It’s to be expected, love. Losing your mother can’t be an easy thing. Give it some time.”
“That’s what everyone says. Me, I say I’m losing my mind. I still feel her, you know?”
Liam looked confused. “Beg pardon?”
“My mom. I still feel her in the room with me. Like she’s haunting me. Sometimes I hear her voice or smell her perfume.”
“That, too, is only to be expected.”
“It’s crazy is what it is.”
“Crazy? Not a’tall. Now, let me tell you about my great-aunt Brigid. A nastier woman you’d never want to meet. Made her husband Seamus’ life miserable. Over fifty years they were married before she was kicked in the head by a goat.” Liam heard Leila’s muffled laughter and was encouraged. “A happier man never did you see at a wake. Freedom was what he was thinking. At least until he went to bed that night and Brigid appeared. She nagged him about the wake. She complained about the food and the lack of sufficient mourners. Day and night she nagged at poor Uncle Seamus until one day he took to wearing earmuffs and singing bardies at the top of his lungs. Every time you saw old Seamus, he was singing, his voice never went hoarse by the grace of God. Now, did we put him away? Of course not. Everyone know that Brigid was too bad to get into heaven and too mean to get into hell.”
This time her laugh was genuine. “That’s what I love about you Irish. You have a high toleration for the eccentric.”
“Of course, lass. You’re in the land of fairies and leprechauns. Pah! What’s a ghost? A trifle really.”
“Thank you.” She whispered.
“Any time lass. I’d best be off, now. I’ll send someone up to clean the mess. Soon, you’ll be right as rain.” Liam gathered his tools and headed out the door.
It closed behind him with a soft snick.
Leila watched him go with a heavy heart. She wanted to call him back. Her body ached with the need to finish what they’d started. But she knew that she’d just be using him to help her to forget and once those brief moments of satisfaction passed, she’s be awash in guilt. It was fair to either one of them. Leila plopped down on the bed.
It was too bad, really. She had a feeling that it would’ve been better than good.
Damn!
As Leila flopped down onto the soft feather mattress, she wondered yet again at the mad impulse that led her to come to Ireland. Maybe it was the bitterly cold weather back in Chicago. Maybe it was the fact that she’d recently taken a leave of absence from her job as a pediatrician at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
But it was more likely the fact that her mother had passed away almost six months ago and Leila still felt lost.
She turned onto her side and tucked her knees into her chest. She stared blankly at the lace curtain that covered the window. The town of Dublin lay just beyond the curtains. Normally, Leila would’ve been excited to explore a new place. Instead, the thought of going out into the world felt more like a crushing load than a grand adventure. Leila could feel the black wave of sorrow threaten to drown her as she turned her face into the flowery duvet and cried.
It was the light fluttering through the eyelets of the curtain that awakened Leila the next morning. Leila groaned as she rolled over. Her entire body ached from the odd position in which she’d been sleeping.
Even worse was the fact that she’d forgotten to brush her teeth, she thought with a grimace.
Leila lay on her back. She stared unseeingly at the ceiling. She supposed that she should get up and get showered. Leila took a deep breath.
Get a grip, Mason, she told herself sternly.
She knew that her mother would have been disappointed by Leila’s lack of enthusiasm. Audrey Mason would have already been out of bed and practically dancing around the room in her excitement. She loved visiting new places, exploring, learning.
Leila allowed a small smile at the thought even as she felt her heart clench. Even after all these months, she still couldn’t believe that her mother was gone. At times, she felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare. The cancer had come so quickly, no one had been prepared. Not even her mother, who until the time she was diagnosed had been extremely healthy.
That was the problem. By the times the doctors caught the cancer; it was too late. It had metastasized throughout her entire body until it was virtually eating at her from the inside. Audrey died three months later.
Throughout that time, Leila hardly left her mother’s side. She was there when her mother drew her last breath. She’d been holding her hand.
And now she was alone.
With a weary sigh, Leila hefted herself out of bed. She shuffled her way towards the bathroom, removing her clothes as she went until they left a trail behind her.
In the bathroom, she accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself.
Perversely, she thought, ‘Well, at least I finally lost those twenty pounds.’
And they were pounds that she could well afford to lose. Audrey had always affectionately referred to Leila as ‘Roly,’ as in roly poly. Leila had eventually come to accept that she would always be more than a bit pudgy.
She turned to study herself more fully in the mirror. The loss of weight had gone a long way to slimming her hips and buttocks. She looked more curvy and less like a pear. She decided that it was a good look.
It was anybody’s guess as to if she could actually keep it off.
Turning away, Leila turned on the taps and adjusted the temp before starting the shower. She stepped into the tub and under the warm, beating water. She allowed the water to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulders until the water began to cool.
She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. As she did, she became aware of a gnawing hunger in her stomach. She realized that she hadn’t eaten in almost 36 hours. She was famished.
Leila hurried through the rest of her morning ablutions. She set and dried her naturally curly hair until it fell in soft curls around her face. Leila’s smooth almond skin was a blessing as all she really needed was a quick swipe of lip gloss and some mascara. Back in the bedroom, she hastily donned a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. As she did, she heard the sounds of laughter and crowds outside her bedroom window.
Leila paused as she entered the lobby, unsure of her next move. When she’d arrived at the quaint B&B the night before, she’d been too tired to do anything but collect her room key. She shifted nervously from foot to foot. She could see no one behind the desk.
As she debated whether to go out to eat, she heard a movement from behind her. She turned to see who and entered the room.
And promptly swallowed her tongue.
Danger! her mind screamed.
The man’s stocky frame filled a tiny doorway to what Leila assumed was the storeroom. She estimated his height as maybe about an inch or so above six feet but his powerful frame made him appear more intimidating. He reminded her of a heavy-weight prizefighter, big and bulky.
However, it was his face that caught her attention. He wasn’t classically handsome. His age could have been anywhere from 30 to 50 but Leila guessed that he was probably closer to forty. His craggy, weatherworn face appeared stern and hard.
Until you looked into his eyes. They were the most startling blue she’d ever seen. Like a soft spring sky over a crystal clear lake. They could easily have been cold, but instead they twinkled with unknown merriment. There were deep lines around his eyes that stated that this was a man who loved to laugh.
The combination was baffling.
“Can I help you, lass?”
Leila allowed the smooth, rich sound of his voice wash over her. His voice managed to somehow be both comforting and dangerous.
Leila finally became aware that he was staring at her, waiting for an answer to his question.
Leila shook her head to clear it. “Sorry. Do you work here?”
She grimaced as she realized what a stupid question it was.
The man smiled, revealing dimples on either side of his firm, full mouth. Leila melted a little.
“That I do. At least for the day. Was there something that you were needing?”
At that moment, Leila’s stomach decided to make its demands known. Quite loudly. She could feel the heat begin to seep into her cheeks.
“Ah, so it’s a bit of the grub that you’re after.”
She smiled wryly. “How could you tell?”
The man winked at her. “I’m told that I have a bit of the fey in me. Come. Let’s go see what Old Bess has for you in the kitchen.”
“Oh, no,” she protested, “I don’t want to be any trouble. I can go out if I missed breakfast.”
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble. This is a B&B, is it not? What do we do but provide for bed and a breakfast? And I see you’ve had yourself a bit of one and now on to the other”
The man stepped away from the door and man is way toward her. For such a big man, he moved with surprising grace. His movements sleek and coordinated, much like that of a cat after its prey.
Suddenly, Leila’s heart began to race as though she were the one being stalked. She took an instinctive step back. The air in the room had suddenly gone thick. Leila found it hard to drag sufficient air into her lungs.
The man stilled. He cocked his head in askance. His eyes were gentle but…knowing.
Thankfully, she was saved from having to answer by the arrival of another person into the room. This one was blessedly female.
“Ah, lass, you’re awake then. And I see that my nephew Liam here is taking care of you well enough.”
Leila pulled her gaze away from Liam to see the person who was speaking. She was extremely grateful for the interruption.
It was the same woman that had checked her in last night. Now that she mentioned it, Leila could see the resemblance between the two. They had the same black hair and blue eyes, although Bess’ weren’t as brilliantly hued as Liam’s. Bess also had the same, tall, yet study body structure. They were definitely family.
Leila search frantically for her name. Shea? Shannon? Sheehan. That was it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sheehan.” Leila dredged up a small smile for the woman.
“Oh, call me Bess. Everyone does.”
This time, Leila’s smile was genuine. “Bess. I was just asking your nephew if he could recommend a good place for breakfast.”
Bess smiled. “You’ll find no finer breakfast than right here in this very house.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Bah.” Bess waved away her concerns. “What is this if not a place to fill your belly and find a good night’s rest?” Her words echoed that of her nephew.
Leila refused to look over at Liam. She had a feeling he would be smirking.
“Now come along, lass. I’m thinking that you’ll be needing a nice hearty Irish breakfast. Too skinny, you are.”
Leila opened her mouth to protest. Never in her life had anyone told her that she was ‘too skinny.’ She quickly shut it as she realized that she liked the feeling.
CHAPTER TWO
Liam stayed and watched as his aunt led the woman away. His eyes strayed to her hips as they swayed in time to her steps. Although he would’ve been embarrassed to be caught staring at the woman’s ass, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that the woman had a world-class arse.
Liam propped himself against the reception desk and considered the woman who’d just left the room.
Everything about her screamed woman and yet whispered fragile. There was something behind her dark chocolate eyes that bespoke pain, hurt. He wondered if she had recently broken up with a lover. It was one explanation as to why a single woman would travel all the way to Ireland by herself.
Maybe this was a lover’s trip, cut short by quarrel.
However, something deep inside him hoped that it wasn’t the case. There was something about the woman, with her soulful brown eyes and almond skin that spoke to him. Something that made him want to scoop her up and hold her until all the shadows disappeared from her eyes.
It was an uncomfortable feeling. One that he wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue.
Still, his curiosity led him to trail after her. He found them where he’d expected. Bess was buzzing around the kitchen. Her hands busy plating food. The woman, whose name he still didn’t know, sat quietly at the kitchen table as she quietly sipped coffee. She looked a bit bewildered, but then most people did when faced with his aunt.
Liam leaned against the doorway, simply watching. If he hadn’t been studying her so carefully, he would’ve missed the almost imperceptible stiffening of her back. She was aware of him even if she studiously avoided looking back at him.
“Here you are, love. You go right ahead and eat up.” Bess said as she placed the plate in front of Leila.
Liam’s smile widened as he watched the woman at the table took down at the items on the plate. He could practically see the wheels turning on her mind as she worked to decipher what exactly she was about to eat.
“Aunt Bess, I think I’ll have a bit of a bite as well.” Liam stated as he strode towards the table.
Bess looked startled. “Have you not eaten then, Liam?”
Liam straddled the chair next to Leila. As he did, his thigh brushed her. Leila stiffened even more and shifted to put some more distance between them.
“I have indeed, Aunt Bess. But there’s only so much temptation a man can take and your black pudding is one that I cannot resist.”
Bess looked pleased. “It’s a bit of the sweet tongue you’ve got, Liam O’Donnell.”
She hurried back to the stove to plate his food.
Liam turned his attention back to the woman sitting beside him. She stared down at the plate in consternation. Liam couldn’t resist the urge to tease her just a bit. He leaned over and whispered, “Don’t you worry, love. Aunt Bess makes the best bangers in all of Ireland.”
“Bangers?” she asked hesitantly.
“Sheep intestine,” Liam lied.
Leila recoiled.
Liam had to quickly bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the expression of sheer horror that crossed her face.
“Now, child, don’t be listening to Liam. He’s have a bit of fun on you. He has a liking for getting you Yanks all riled.”
Liam’s grin widened at the venomous glare Leila shot him.
“Now, eat up, girl. A good Irish breakfast will cure what ails you.”
Leila reluctantly picked up the fork. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all, love.”
“What exactly is that?” Leila’s for stabbed in the general direction of the fat, greasy black cylinder on her plate.
“It’s nothing but a bit of Black Pudding.”
“Black pudding.”
“I think you Yanks call it Blood Sausage.”
Liam watched the color drain from the woman’s face. Apparently, that wasn’t the
answer she was hoping for.
Still, he had to give her credit. She did take a tiny bite of the meat. And her
grimace was virtually undetectable.
“There’s a love,” Bess stated, pleased as punch. “There’s so wrong that a good breakfast can’t fix. So, how are you liking our fair Dublin.”
Liam watched the woman quickly swallow her food. “Well, the view out the window of the cab was lovely. I’m hoping to see some more today. The noise outside my window
reminded me of Chicago. I had no idea Dublin was so busy.”
“Well, it is and it isn’t. You caught us in the midst of our St. Patrick’s Day festival day,” Liam answered.
Leila looked surprised. “I totally spaced that it was St. Patrick’s Day on Saturday. But I thought it was only an Irish-American tradition. I didn’t think it was a big deal here in Ireland.”
“Yes, and you thought we’d let all you Yanks have the fun?” Liam winked.
He saw the uncomfortable look that crossed her face before she turned back to her food.
“So, miss, if it’s not a bit of old St. Pat that you’re after, what brings you to Ireland?” Bess asked.
Leila shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. My mother has always wanted to visit but she never got a chance to before…”
Light dawned on Liam. Her mam was gone.
Bess looked as though she wanted to reach out and hug the young woman. She paused as she thought better of it and settled for patting the woman’s shoulder. “Well, you picked a fine time to visit. Perfect time for you young ones.”
Leila offered a weak smile, her appetite gone. She picked at her food.
“So, what do you do there back in Chicago?”
“I’m a doctor. A pediatrician.”
Both Bess and Liam looked surprised. “Really? But you’re so young.” Bess protested.
Leila laughed at this. “Not so young.”
“When you get to be my age, there’s not many who aren’t so old.”
“Yes, Aunt Bess is positively in her druthers.” Liam added cheekily.
Bess swatted at him. “I swear if you weren’t my nephew, I’d cosh you.”
“Ah, Bess, gods be blessed for your gentle heart.”
Leila watched the pair as they teased one another and felt her heart squeeze. It was reminiscent of her own relationship with her mother. Unfortunately, her mother had had no family and only God knew where her father had disappeared. So when Miriam Mason had passed, she’d left Leila truly all alone.
“Excuse me,” Leila gasped, her eyes burning with tears. “I don’t think I can eat anymore. Thank you.” She pushed her chair back abruptly, the legs scraped the floor. Without looking back, she fled the room.
CHAPTER THREE
Bess and Liam stayed behind. They watched the distraught young woman hurry from the room as though the hounds of hell were at her heels.
“Poor, girl. So young to lose her mam.” Bess murmured.
Liam’s eyes were speculative. “Yes.”
Bess recognized the look of hunter in his eyes. “Now, Liam, don’t you be getting ideas. I won’t have you bothering Miss Leila while she’s staying here. She’s got enough on her heart right now without you adding extra burden.”
Leila. Liam rolled the room around in his mind. Sweet. Exotic. Much like the woman herself. “Aunt Bess, you know me.”
“Aye, I know you. And I know that you’ve got the silver tongue of the devil. That girls needs to heal. Not a tumble between your sheets.”
Liam looked offended. “I’m not that careless.”
Bess leaned over to pat his shoulder. “No, Liam. You’re a good man. But you’re hell on a woman’s heart.”
Liam wanted to argue but deep down he knew she was right. It wasn’t purposeful. He enjoyed the company of women, probably more than most. He found them the most fascinating of creature. He loved the way they smelled, the way they moved, the delicate line between the nape of their necks and their spines. The problem was, while he thought the woman fun, they had a tendency to want more. They wanted a relationship.
Liam shuddered at the word.
Bess nodded sagely. “I see that you take my meaning. Let the girl be. She needs to heal. And Ireland is a place of magic and miracles. I’m sure that she’ll find hers.”
Liam bowed his head in acquiescence. But his eyes strayed again to the door, his mind still on the woman with the strange, haunting eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Leila raced up the stairs, not stopping until she was back in her room. Breathless, she leaned back against the door.
Too soon. Too soon. The thought repeated over and over, a mantra in her head.
Coming was a bad idea, she thought. She was in no shape to be around people. It was part of the reason she’s decided to leave Chicago. She knew that she had alienated some of her friends. She felt raw and exposed and that made many people uncomfortable. Not that she could blame them for keeping their distance. Not many could tolerate being with a walking wound. For them, the death of a parent was a foreign idea. It had been the same for her…before.
Leila slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. She rested her forehead on her bent knees. She willed herself not to cry. She’d never been a big crier and that weakness made her all the more disappointed in herself.
“Mama,” she whispered, the sound rife with a shattered heart.
Sitting there, Leila felt a strange sensation, like that of a stroke of fingers across her cheek. For a brief moment, she could have sworn she could smell the scent of her mother’s perfume. She closed her eyes. It was probably her mind playing tricks on her. Like before.
Before she’d left Chicago, Leila began to have strange hallucinations. She would see her mother standing outside her bedroom window or have incredibly vivid dreams of talking to her mother. In them, her mother had talked about how she’s always wanted to visit Ireland. She’d said that Leila should go in her place.
In desperation, Leila had gone to see a therapist. The woman had told her that it was not unusual for people who were grieving to think that they could see the deceased or ‘feel’ them in a room. It had helped to know that she wasn’t going crazy. The therapist had encouraged Leila to take this trip. She felt that it may help Leila feel a sense of closure around her mother’s death.
Leila was beginning to suspect that she’d wasted her money.
It’s okay, baby. Leila’s mother’s voice floated through her mind. Leila felt the
impact of them as immediately the tightness in her chest began to ease. Her
breathing slowed as a sense of peace flowed through her.
Leila stood and as she did, she wiped away the tears she’d been unaware were running down her face. She allowed herself a small smile.
Well, if you’re going to go crazy, she thought, you may as well do it in Ireland.
The worst they could call you is a wee bit daft.
She walked to the bathroom. Once inside, she turned on the water, intent of washing her face. Instead of the round of rushing water, there was instead a horrible grinding noise and before Leila’s horrified eyes, the pipe beneath the lovely pedestal sink burst.
“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit fuck.” Leila frantically scrounged around for something to stem the rushing water. Finding no towels, she rushed from the room to the bedside phone.
“Um, I have a bit of an emergency here,” Leila began at Bess’s cheerful greeting. “Could you send someone with a wrench?”
Leila didn’t wait for Bess response before she hung up the phone and raced back to the bathroom.
After what seemed like several minutes, she heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called, frantically attempting to use a hand towel to contain the leak.
“If you really wanted to see me again, you needn’t have flooded the bathroom. A simple phone call would’ve sufficed.”
Leila’s head whipped around at the sound of the arrogantly amused voice coming from the doorway.
“What are you doing here?”
Liam held up the wrench. “You rang?”
Leila bit her lip in frustration. He was the last person she wanted to see. “Do you plan on standing there all day or can you actually do something productive?”
Liam leaned against the door jamb. “I don’t know. I’m thinking that I like the view from here.” He said as he stared at her chest.
Leila looked down to where the water had soaked through her thin shirt and was plastered against her body. She could clearly see the outline of her breast and thanks to the simple laws of nature, her nipples stood out, diamond hard against the lace of her bra.
Leila gasped and covered her chest. “Pervert.” She accused.
Liam feigned hurt. “You can’t blame a man for looking. Especially when the scenery
is so tempting.” His voice dropped until it was practically a purr.
Leila shivered with awareness. For the first time since her mother died, she could feel the sizzle of attraction race down her spine.
Leila shot up like a cannon. “Um, can get it to stop.”
“I can try. I may not be successful.” Liam’s meaning was clear.
Leila ignored the spark of desire his voice ignited. “Please just fix it.”
Liam bowed gallantly. “You wish, my lady.”
Leila was tempted to say that he wish was that he leave her alone. That he stop tempting her with his hooded eyes and thinly veiled innuendo. Especially now that her body decided to emerge from its deep freeze. Leila was certain that it had more to do with the passage of time and the close proximity to an incredibly virile, incredible appealing man.
Leila couldn’t help but notice how snugly his jeans fit over his ass. She almost shivered when he bent over, tightening the fabric even further.
Stop staring at his ass! she admonished herself. But her eyes refused to listen and instead began to follow the line of his spine to the nape of his neck. She stared intently at the spot. She wondered what it would taste like if she were to go over and take a nip at it. She imagined walking over and grabbing that tender flesh between her teeth.
Her breathing quickened as she felt her body begin to soften. Her pussy began to throb.
She pictured dotting sweet, suckling kisses up and down his neck until she reached his mouth. There, she would place a hard, hungry kiss. The taste of him in her tongue would be tantalizing, spicy and exotic, much like the man himself.
Leila swing away from the door. She fanned her face, embarrassed at the direction of her thoughts. Another few seconds and she would have acted on her wanton thoughts.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was not the type of woman who engaged in erotic fantasies and she certainly never acted on them. Why all of a sudden, was she a needy mess?
“That should take care of your pipes for now, but I’ll have to run out to the shops to buy the parts. I should have your pipes good as new by tomorrow,” came Liam’s muffled voice.
Leila almost laughed at the absurdity of talking about her ‘pipes.’ If he only knew.
“Thanks,” she croaked.
Liam emerged from the bathroom. He tilted his head to stare at her. “Are you alright, love? You’re looking a bit peaked.”
Leila didn’t return his stare, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep last night.”
It was a lie. He knew it. He moved closer. Leila’s breath hitched in her throat.
“Okay. Well, I’ll be letting Aunt Bess know that your bathroom needs to be dried.
You’ll be right as rain by tonight.”
Leila nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Are you sure that you don’t need anything else, love?”
Liam’s voice was pure temptation. Leila couldn’t help but respond. She backed up further into the wall in a desperate attempt to put distance between her and Liam.
“You don’t even know my name,” she whispered, all pretense gone.
“You’re right about that, love. That doesn’t seem to matter. Still, I am curious. What is your name?”
“Leila.”
Almost before the word left Leila’s lips, they were captured by Liam’s.
Instead of being hard and demanding, Liam’s lips were soft and firm. They sought to gently coax a response of Leila’s trembling lips. Tenderly, he used the tip of his tongue to trace the shape of her lips. He lapped softy at their seam. Leila let out a small, breathy sigh. Liam took full advantage and slipped his tongue into the dark, humid opening. He tasted sweet yet salty. Familiar yet exotic. Liam took his time with the kiss. His tongue hunted hers. He engaged it in a playful dual, sliding sensually between her mouth and his. It was the sweetest kiss she’d ever experienced.
Leila could feel herself slowly melting into him. Liam tightened his arms around her, bringing their fronts into tight contact. The motion caused Leila to shiver. Her nipples tightened into diamond-hard points. She arched gently into him, seeking more contact. She silently willed him to touch her. He didn’t. He kept his hands on her back, holding her securely.
Leila could feel the prick of tears in her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had held her. Even longer since she could remember feeling so safe.
Liam tasted the salt of her tears and pulled away. “What is it, love?” he asked as he brought his hands up to cup her face. He gently wiped away the tears from her cheeks.
Leila shook her head, too upset to speak. She kept her eyes closed she turned her
face into his touch.
“It’s okay. You’re not ready yet.”
Leila nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words. As much as her body was willing, more than willing, there was still something that held her back. She appreciated Liam’s patience even as she cursed it. Part of her wished that he would push a little harder, somehow take the choice away from her. The other half of her know that he was a good man, too good to coerce a fragile woman.
“Thank you for understanding.” Leila sighed as she moved out of his arms. She went to stand in front of the window. She looked out at the throngs of people that lined the street.
Liam stayed where he was and watched her. She had complication written all over her, this beautiful American. Normally that alone was enough to make him run away. But something about her vulnerability called out to him. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to take her in his arms and assure her that everything would be alright.
“I’m not normally a tease, you know.” She said wearily.
“Oh, are you a bit of a tramp, then?” he teased, eliciting the smile that he hoped for.
“Not that, either, smart ass.”
“Well, that’s good then. I can’t have you sullying my practically angelic existence with you base and debauched ways.”
Leila let out a small laugh before once again sighing. “I feel like I’m on a roller coaster. I can’t seem to find my footing. One minute I’m up and the next I’m walking on glass.”
“It’s to be expected, love. Losing your mother can’t be an easy thing. Give it some time.”
“That’s what everyone says. Me, I say I’m losing my mind. I still feel her, you know?”
Liam looked confused. “Beg pardon?”
“My mom. I still feel her in the room with me. Like she’s haunting me. Sometimes I hear her voice or smell her perfume.”
“That, too, is only to be expected.”
“It’s crazy is what it is.”
“Crazy? Not a’tall. Now, let me tell you about my great-aunt Brigid. A nastier woman you’d never want to meet. Made her husband Seamus’ life miserable. Over fifty years they were married before she was kicked in the head by a goat.” Liam heard Leila’s muffled laughter and was encouraged. “A happier man never did you see at a wake. Freedom was what he was thinking. At least until he went to bed that night and Brigid appeared. She nagged him about the wake. She complained about the food and the lack of sufficient mourners. Day and night she nagged at poor Uncle Seamus until one day he took to wearing earmuffs and singing bardies at the top of his lungs. Every time you saw old Seamus, he was singing, his voice never went hoarse by the grace of God. Now, did we put him away? Of course not. Everyone know that Brigid was too bad to get into heaven and too mean to get into hell.”
This time her laugh was genuine. “That’s what I love about you Irish. You have a high toleration for the eccentric.”
“Of course, lass. You’re in the land of fairies and leprechauns. Pah! What’s a ghost? A trifle really.”
“Thank you.” She whispered.
“Any time lass. I’d best be off, now. I’ll send someone up to clean the mess. Soon, you’ll be right as rain.” Liam gathered his tools and headed out the door.
It closed behind him with a soft snick.
Leila watched him go with a heavy heart. She wanted to call him back. Her body ached with the need to finish what they’d started. But she knew that she’d just be using him to help her to forget and once those brief moments of satisfaction passed, she’s be awash in guilt. It was fair to either one of them. Leila plopped down on the bed.
It was too bad, really. She had a feeling that it would’ve been better than good.
Damn!
Monday, April 02, 2007
To Domain or Not to Domain
So, this whole being a finalist is really getting to my head. I have spent the last forever it seems like just wallowing in the inflated greatness. I think I'm the shit, which is a change from somedays when I feel like shit. I'm sure that this will all go away in a couple days. I mean, I'm only a finalist, not the winner. Yet. Just kidding. For all I know, I could get honorable mention.
One thing that this has done for me is made me realize that I need to take my writing a bit more seriously. To that end, I've started an online writing class. I've been reading books on publishing and editing. I'm joining a critique group. And more importantly, I'm thinking about starting my own website. I just went to Go Daddy and looked up my penname and it's available for the taking. It's only $9/yr. To buy the name. Let's not even talk about hosting. So, I'm in a quandry as to whether or not to buy it and think about hosting later. I'm torn.
What do you think?
And in other 'Business'
I've got good news and bad news.
The good news is that I'm thinking about expanding 'On Business' to at least 40,000 words for possible publication. I got some really cool ideas that bombarded my brain last night and kept me from sleeping.
The bad news is that I won't be posting the updates.
*hands covering head*
donthitmedonthitmedonthitmedonthitmedonthitme
I'm sorry! I just don't think a publisher would buy a story that people are getting for free.
But, just this minute, I've decided to make it up to you by posting 'Luck of the Irish.' It'll be up later tonight and it'll be good. Really good.
One thing that this has done for me is made me realize that I need to take my writing a bit more seriously. To that end, I've started an online writing class. I've been reading books on publishing and editing. I'm joining a critique group. And more importantly, I'm thinking about starting my own website. I just went to Go Daddy and looked up my penname and it's available for the taking. It's only $9/yr. To buy the name. Let's not even talk about hosting. So, I'm in a quandry as to whether or not to buy it and think about hosting later. I'm torn.
What do you think?
And in other 'Business'
I've got good news and bad news.
The good news is that I'm thinking about expanding 'On Business' to at least 40,000 words for possible publication. I got some really cool ideas that bombarded my brain last night and kept me from sleeping.
The bad news is that I won't be posting the updates.
*hands covering head*
donthitmedonthitmedonthitmedonthitmedonthitme
I'm sorry! I just don't think a publisher would buy a story that people are getting for free.
But, just this minute, I've decided to make it up to you by posting 'Luck of the Irish.' It'll be up later tonight and it'll be good. Really good.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Not an April Fool's Day Joke
Hello to all my loyal 'Random' fans,
A couple months ago I told y'all that I'd entered a couple of my stories into a writing contest. Well, after weeks of hearing nothing, I've finally decided to check the website. To my great disappointment, I discovered that I was not a finalist.
To that end, I've decided to pack it in. I'm quitting my writing 'career.' I'm already a successful social worker (if there's even any such thing.) I haven't decided if I'll pack up Random, yet. My heart's broken so I may be away for a few weeks. I don't know...
SIKE!!!
As if that would ever happen! I do want to share my extremely awesome great wonderful news. My very own blog story 'On Business' is a finalist in the Heart of the Rockies contest in the Erotica category!!!!!
Can you BELIEVE it?!??!?!
I just about shit my pants. I was with my family having breakfast when I heard got the call. (Unfortunately, I'll have to wait until the day when I get THE CALL.) My screams could be heard for several miles. I called my best friend and told her. She was surprised and very supportive. She asked for a copy. I may or may not give it. Who knows?
You may be asking yourself what exactly this means for me. Well, my story is going to get read by a real-life Agent. She may or may not offer representation but she will know my name when I query her later because she's on my 'list.' More importantly, it's a honest-to-GOD writing credit. It may just keep my query letter or partials out of the slush pile and in a publisher's or agent's hot little hand.
So I wanted to thank all of you who've enjoyed my writing and encouraged me and inspired me to pursue my writing.
Love,
Me
A couple months ago I told y'all that I'd entered a couple of my stories into a writing contest. Well, after weeks of hearing nothing, I've finally decided to check the website. To my great disappointment, I discovered that I was not a finalist.
To that end, I've decided to pack it in. I'm quitting my writing 'career.' I'm already a successful social worker (if there's even any such thing.) I haven't decided if I'll pack up Random, yet. My heart's broken so I may be away for a few weeks. I don't know...
SIKE!!!
As if that would ever happen! I do want to share my extremely awesome great wonderful news. My very own blog story 'On Business' is a finalist in the Heart of the Rockies contest in the Erotica category!!!!!
Can you BELIEVE it?!??!?!
I just about shit my pants. I was with my family having breakfast when I heard got the call. (Unfortunately, I'll have to wait until the day when I get THE CALL.) My screams could be heard for several miles. I called my best friend and told her. She was surprised and very supportive. She asked for a copy. I may or may not give it. Who knows?
You may be asking yourself what exactly this means for me. Well, my story is going to get read by a real-life Agent. She may or may not offer representation but she will know my name when I query her later because she's on my 'list.' More importantly, it's a honest-to-GOD writing credit. It may just keep my query letter or partials out of the slush pile and in a publisher's or agent's hot little hand.
So I wanted to thank all of you who've enjoyed my writing and encouraged me and inspired me to pursue my writing.
Love,
Me
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Check Me Out!
Ny author day is here! Thanks to Nicole who is a super fan of my work and she did me a big solid my posting me on her blog. Fan(s) of me will appreciate my humorous answers to the questions. I am nothing if not quirky.
So, run, don't walk over to Nicole's blog:
http://darkicegoddessmusings.blogspot.com/
Later gator
So, run, don't walk over to Nicole's blog:
http://darkicegoddessmusings.blogspot.com/
Later gator
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Monday, March 12, 2007
Apropos?
| Your Mind is NC-17 Rated |
 You're mind is so filthy... you should should be washing every part of you out with soap. If your thoughts can go dirty, they do. Almost everything is NC-17 to you! |
Friday, March 02, 2007
The Urge To Merge
So, I finally got around to watching 'March of the Penguins' which I found out is a play on the mating season which begins in March.
Anyhoo, if you haven't seen this movie, you should. It's amazing. It really is a love story about family. The fact that there are even Emperor penguins in this world. It's truly a miracle. I was awestruck.
But not too much that I didn't wonder first how penguins actually do the deed as it were and secondly what they might taste like. Not that I'd eat them. I won't even eat buffalo. But I wondered if there were actually people out there that may have killed and eaten penguin. And of they have, please don't say that it tasted like chicken.
In other news...
I have finally decided on a penname. When my books are published, the front cover will read 'Monica Kaye.' Catchy, huh? It's my first name and middle initial.
And in really good news...
Check out my pal Nicole's blog 'Dark Ice Goddess' Musings' on March 23rd when yours truly will be the guest author. She sent some really funny questions and I sent some what I thought were funny answers.
So, check it out!
Anyhoo, if you haven't seen this movie, you should. It's amazing. It really is a love story about family. The fact that there are even Emperor penguins in this world. It's truly a miracle. I was awestruck.
But not too much that I didn't wonder first how penguins actually do the deed as it were and secondly what they might taste like. Not that I'd eat them. I won't even eat buffalo. But I wondered if there were actually people out there that may have killed and eaten penguin. And of they have, please don't say that it tasted like chicken.
In other news...
I have finally decided on a penname. When my books are published, the front cover will read 'Monica Kaye.' Catchy, huh? It's my first name and middle initial.
And in really good news...
Check out my pal Nicole's blog 'Dark Ice Goddess' Musings' on March 23rd when yours truly will be the guest author. She sent some really funny questions and I sent some what I thought were funny answers.
So, check it out!
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
A Confession
I love romance novels. I read them voraciously. And although I've been superbusy in my life and haven't read as many as I would like lately, I'm still all about romance.
My confession? I don't buy books. Well, rarely. And only at used bookstores or K-mart which sells them for 25% off list. I never buy hardbacks. Ever.
Or I go really cheap and do the library thing.
Why? Because I think that they're just getting so fucking expensive. $26 for a book? Really? I don't think so! And paperbacks aren't all that much better. I remember when I could buy a Harlequin book for $2.50. Now, they're almost $5. And people outside of the industry may not know this, but word counts are going down, Blaze used to be 75,000 words. Now they're 65,000. That's a huge difference. People are paying more but getting less.
I cannot tell you how angry I was when JD Robb's 'In Death' books went hardback. I used to immediately buy them right off the shelves. Now not so much. And there was that brief stint that Christine Feehan made into the new 'reader friendly' format. They were those long columns books. I hated them. And they were like $3 more expensive than normal. For the same thing!
The problem is that I know that when I spend a Saturday at the bookstore and read 3 books that I won't buy, while I think I'm hurting the publisher (which I am), I'm doing more damage to the writer. Especially unpubs like myself. When I make it harder for established writers, I make it damned near impossible for myself.
I think that the publishing industry needs to address many of these concerns. The growing popularity of e-pubs and e-books are taking a chunk of their business. I would buy an e-book before a print. I know that may of the publishers are dipping their toes into the e-pub trade. I think it's a step in the right direction. I saw a book at the bookstore that I wanted to buy but it was too expensive. I went onto the website and I bought the e-book a few days later. That should tell publishers a lot.
I don't know exactly what the solution to this may be, but I know that my concerns are that of many others. It's the talk of the publishing industry. It's a problem that needs to be solved.
Now, I love books. I love the feel of them in my hand. I love the smell of them. I want to buy more books. I want whole rooms full of them. There is nothing wonderful than holding a book in your hands, feeling the pages, becoming intimate with the writer and the story.
I simply can't afford them. Not like I used to.
And that makes me sad.
My confession? I don't buy books. Well, rarely. And only at used bookstores or K-mart which sells them for 25% off list. I never buy hardbacks. Ever.
Or I go really cheap and do the library thing.
Why? Because I think that they're just getting so fucking expensive. $26 for a book? Really? I don't think so! And paperbacks aren't all that much better. I remember when I could buy a Harlequin book for $2.50. Now, they're almost $5. And people outside of the industry may not know this, but word counts are going down, Blaze used to be 75,000 words. Now they're 65,000. That's a huge difference. People are paying more but getting less.
And although I am an aspiring writer, I'm also a consumer. I think I'm the typical consumer who's outraged at the treatment that we're getting from publishers. I rarely buy even my most fave authors and never take the chance of new ones.
I cannot tell you how angry I was when JD Robb's 'In Death' books went hardback. I used to immediately buy them right off the shelves. Now not so much. And there was that brief stint that Christine Feehan made into the new 'reader friendly' format. They were those long columns books. I hated them. And they were like $3 more expensive than normal. For the same thing!
The problem is that I know that when I spend a Saturday at the bookstore and read 3 books that I won't buy, while I think I'm hurting the publisher (which I am), I'm doing more damage to the writer. Especially unpubs like myself. When I make it harder for established writers, I make it damned near impossible for myself.
I think that the publishing industry needs to address many of these concerns. The growing popularity of e-pubs and e-books are taking a chunk of their business. I would buy an e-book before a print. I know that may of the publishers are dipping their toes into the e-pub trade. I think it's a step in the right direction. I saw a book at the bookstore that I wanted to buy but it was too expensive. I went onto the website and I bought the e-book a few days later. That should tell publishers a lot.
I don't know exactly what the solution to this may be, but I know that my concerns are that of many others. It's the talk of the publishing industry. It's a problem that needs to be solved.
Now, I love books. I love the feel of them in my hand. I love the smell of them. I want to buy more books. I want whole rooms full of them. There is nothing wonderful than holding a book in your hands, feeling the pages, becoming intimate with the writer and the story.
I simply can't afford them. Not like I used to.
And that makes me sad.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Life
I wish I had more interesting things to report. My life is pretty much simple. And by simple, I mean boring. I wonder if that's why I live in my head so much of the time. I love reading and writing. I love creating and exploring. Unfortunately, I do most of this through reading. I say that I want to get out and have new adventures. However, if I really did want to do that, I would do it.
There's always an excuse not to do something. What's your?
There's always an excuse not to do something. What's your?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Writer's Life
I didn't think that I had one but I do. I've written nothing for the past few weeks. Literally nothing. I've either been surfing the net aimlessly or watching television. Yeah, my exciting life. I've heard writers talk about their working environment but it all sounded like a bunch of hooey to me.
Now I know better.
My environment? Sitting on my bed in a completely darkened room. No lights on, no televison, not even my beloved iPod. I have to write late at night or not at all. I'm a complete night owl. Now, why this works for me, I can't say. But I wrote like woman possessed last night.
Now I know better.
My environment? Sitting on my bed in a completely darkened room. No lights on, no televison, not even my beloved iPod. I have to write late at night or not at all. I'm a complete night owl. Now, why this works for me, I can't say. But I wrote like woman possessed last night.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Getting Serious
So, I submitted a probably shitty query letter to an agent. According to RWA when I receive my rejection letter, I will officially become an RWA Pro. Yeah, me!
Seriously, the query was just okay. It's not as though I am expecting anything to come from it. I just wanted to experience of actually going through the process. I fully expect a form rejection letter. If by some miracle a partial is actually requested, I may shit my pants.
I have already erected a bulletin board titled 'Wall of Rejection: or Publishing Industry Assholes on my Shitlist.' I expect it will be quite an impressive list.
I must be really serious about this writing thing if I'm willing to put myself through this torture.
Seriously, the query was just okay. It's not as though I am expecting anything to come from it. I just wanted to experience of actually going through the process. I fully expect a form rejection letter. If by some miracle a partial is actually requested, I may shit my pants.
I have already erected a bulletin board titled 'Wall of Rejection: or Publishing Industry Assholes on my Shitlist.' I expect it will be quite an impressive list.
I must be really serious about this writing thing if I'm willing to put myself through this torture.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
That's Racist?
So, I'm watching 'Top Design' and the first thing that I noticed (as always) is that there's no Black Folk.
What? Black Folk don't decorate? They don't like to paint walls or buy throw pillows? They have no sense of visual aesthetics?
I know I don't. I could care less about what's on my walls or on my couch. But I do like to see my peeps represented properly.
C'mon 'Top Design' give a brotha (or a sista) a break. Show us the love. It IS Black History Month after all.
And talk about stereotyping! Are all male interior decorators gay? Apparently so, according to this show!
Just an aside...What's the deal with Todd Oldham's teeth. You'd think the man'd have enough money to get his grill tight.
He's also a bad host. There was no finesse to the introduction of the players. It's definitely no 'Project Runway.'
I'll give it another looksie just to make sure I'm over it.
What? Black Folk don't decorate? They don't like to paint walls or buy throw pillows? They have no sense of visual aesthetics?
I know I don't. I could care less about what's on my walls or on my couch. But I do like to see my peeps represented properly.
C'mon 'Top Design' give a brotha (or a sista) a break. Show us the love. It IS Black History Month after all.
And talk about stereotyping! Are all male interior decorators gay? Apparently so, according to this show!
Just an aside...What's the deal with Todd Oldham's teeth. You'd think the man'd have enough money to get his grill tight.
He's also a bad host. There was no finesse to the introduction of the players. It's definitely no 'Project Runway.'
I'll give it another looksie just to make sure I'm over it.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
CONTESTS!
Cross your fingers everyone. I have entered The Heart of the Rockies contest for unpublished authors. I entered 'On Business' in the erotica category and my finished ms 'Chasing Riki' in the single title category. This is the first time I've entered my work in a contest but I've heard that a lot of authors got their start that way so I'm hopeful.
There are also more contest coming in the next few months. I'm really excited about The Molly. I'll be working on some new projects to submit to them.
Something that I've learned this week is that writing a synopsis is hard. Especially when you're doing it in three days, which was when I decided to enter the contest. But I'll blog more on that later.
In other news, I'm going to the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention. It was a choice between RT and RWA and while RWA is more staid and businesslike, I really don't relish spending July in Dallas. So. I'm saving up to go next year in San Francisco. I'll give me another excuse to go to California.
There are also more contest coming in the next few months. I'm really excited about The Molly. I'll be working on some new projects to submit to them.
Something that I've learned this week is that writing a synopsis is hard. Especially when you're doing it in three days, which was when I decided to enter the contest. But I'll blog more on that later.
In other news, I'm going to the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention. It was a choice between RT and RWA and while RWA is more staid and businesslike, I really don't relish spending July in Dallas. So. I'm saving up to go next year in San Francisco. I'll give me another excuse to go to California.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
California Rocks!
This of you who read my blog on a regular basis know that it's been snowing its snowy little ass off in Denver.
Luckily I'm in Sunny San Diego this week. At least until my plane leaves Sunday morning. I have to tell you all that I am seriously considering a climate change. I hate snow. I hate being cold. I hate driving in icy conditions. It's January and I was laying out by the pool today. Even saying that is enough to put a smile on my face.
The problem is that San Diego is expensive as hell. I can't afford to live here unless I marry a doctor or a lawyer. Or become one myself. But I figure it's easier the other way around.
So as I contemplate my last few days in paradise. Feel sorry for me.
It's snowing in Denver.
Luckily I'm in Sunny San Diego this week. At least until my plane leaves Sunday morning. I have to tell you all that I am seriously considering a climate change. I hate snow. I hate being cold. I hate driving in icy conditions. It's January and I was laying out by the pool today. Even saying that is enough to put a smile on my face.
The problem is that San Diego is expensive as hell. I can't afford to live here unless I marry a doctor or a lawyer. Or become one myself. But I figure it's easier the other way around.
So as I contemplate my last few days in paradise. Feel sorry for me.
It's snowing in Denver.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Waxing and Whining
This is one of those days when I'm grateful for the anonymity of the internet because I'm about to tell a story that I probably won't tell anyone else in my life.
So for the past few months I've noticed a rather conspicuous growth of hair on my upper lips. At least it was noticeable to me since I look at myself in a mirror at least once a day. So this week I was at my local K-Mart buying stuff to shave my legs when I noticed face waxing strips and I figured 'What the hell' and I bought them.
So that night, when all in the house had gone to bed, I waxed. HOLY SHIT! Not only did that shit hurt like hell, it was awfully effective. The dofference was blatantly obvious. I literally stared at myself in the mirror for almost 10 min. I could tell that something was different.
And now, my mind panics. Did people think I was growing a moustache? Were they staring at my Groucho Marx? How long have people been staring at the stache? Could I grow into the bearded lady?
But is there any polite way to tell a woman that she's grown a moustache? Even of she were your best friend? "Listen, girl, you need to do something about that caterpillar growing on your lip." Most women, including myself, would want to sink into the floor.
Yet, we have no qualms about telling our friends if they have broccoli in their teeth. We want to know those things. In fact, I was at work the other day and told a co-worker she had blueberry stuck in her teeth and she was positively grateful.
Zippers are another matter. It's hard to tell someone that their zipper is down. Do you want to let someone know that you were looking at their package or snatch as it were? No. But we all look. Something that catches our eye, something other a flaccid penis.
But then we're caught in a quandry. How do we inform a person that they're junk is in the wind?
So for the past few months I've noticed a rather conspicuous growth of hair on my upper lips. At least it was noticeable to me since I look at myself in a mirror at least once a day. So this week I was at my local K-Mart buying stuff to shave my legs when I noticed face waxing strips and I figured 'What the hell' and I bought them.
So that night, when all in the house had gone to bed, I waxed. HOLY SHIT! Not only did that shit hurt like hell, it was awfully effective. The dofference was blatantly obvious. I literally stared at myself in the mirror for almost 10 min. I could tell that something was different.
And now, my mind panics. Did people think I was growing a moustache? Were they staring at my Groucho Marx? How long have people been staring at the stache? Could I grow into the bearded lady?
But is there any polite way to tell a woman that she's grown a moustache? Even of she were your best friend? "Listen, girl, you need to do something about that caterpillar growing on your lip." Most women, including myself, would want to sink into the floor.
Yet, we have no qualms about telling our friends if they have broccoli in their teeth. We want to know those things. In fact, I was at work the other day and told a co-worker she had blueberry stuck in her teeth and she was positively grateful.
Zippers are another matter. It's hard to tell someone that their zipper is down. Do you want to let someone know that you were looking at their package or snatch as it were? No. But we all look. Something that catches our eye, something other a flaccid penis.
But then we're caught in a quandry. How do we inform a person that they're junk is in the wind?
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
New Year Randomness
Rediscovering Old Hotties:
So, last night I was watching Leno and George Clooney was the main guest. Suddenly, about 20 mins into the interview I think, 'Damn, George clooney is fucking hot!' This is weird because I've never really thought about him in that way. I've always thought he was handsome but never that I wanted to fuck him. Now I do.
Also on my rediscovered list: Leonardo DiCaprio. He's another one that came out of left field. I've never even found him remotely attractive. Not even in that God-awful 'Titanic' movie. (Which is, BTW, the WORST movie I've even seen.) But I went to go see 'The Departed' and halfway through the movie, I turn to my friend and say 'Is it just me or is Leonardo DiCaprio totally hot?' To which she reponds, 'Oh, my God yes!'
In other news, I LOVE Barack Obama. I would totally fuck him and have more of his children if it wouldn't ruin his marriage and political chances. He just does it for me. He is intelligent, good looking, and appears to be a vey genuine, socially minded person. He's AMAZING!
OBAMA 2008
Now, I have laid claim to several men, both real and fictional. I call them my 'Husbands.' They are men I's like to fuck, marry, or have their babies. Here is a small taste:
Colin Firth
Colin Farell- TOTALLY FUCKABLE!
Roarke- from Nora Roberts' 'In Death' series
Patrick Dempsey
Jesse L. Martin
People Who Don't Live In The Real World
I admit it. I love shows about rich people. My faves? The Fabulous Life, Cribs, and My Super Sweet Sixteen. It's interesting to see how the 'other half' (which is really the other 1% but why quibble?) lives.
But what I saw last night was crazy. It was The Fabulous Lives of Heiresses. These bitches were crazy! I won't even go into their spending habits. It's painful.
But the fact is that you can't really blame them. It's their parents who've indulged their every whim since birth. Now, being firmly ensconsed in the lower middle class or upper lower class, this sits wrong with me. I understand spoiling children...to a point. But to give in to anything and everything? That's where I draw a line. These people are raising children no only with no concept of the value of achievement or the worth of a dollar, but also with no possible framework to understand people who don't live in that bubble that isn' reality for the other 99% of the world. Things are just things, they have no meaning if they are easily replaced. And not only do they place too much value on things, they can't understand the plight of the poor or the quickly dimishing middle class. How could they? They don't live on a planet that I like to call earth.
HAPPY 2007!
So, last night I was watching Leno and George Clooney was the main guest. Suddenly, about 20 mins into the interview I think, 'Damn, George clooney is fucking hot!' This is weird because I've never really thought about him in that way. I've always thought he was handsome but never that I wanted to fuck him. Now I do.
Also on my rediscovered list: Leonardo DiCaprio. He's another one that came out of left field. I've never even found him remotely attractive. Not even in that God-awful 'Titanic' movie. (Which is, BTW, the WORST movie I've even seen.) But I went to go see 'The Departed' and halfway through the movie, I turn to my friend and say 'Is it just me or is Leonardo DiCaprio totally hot?' To which she reponds, 'Oh, my God yes!'
In other news, I LOVE Barack Obama. I would totally fuck him and have more of his children if it wouldn't ruin his marriage and political chances. He just does it for me. He is intelligent, good looking, and appears to be a vey genuine, socially minded person. He's AMAZING!
OBAMA 2008
Now, I have laid claim to several men, both real and fictional. I call them my 'Husbands.' They are men I's like to fuck, marry, or have their babies. Here is a small taste:
Colin Firth
Colin Farell- TOTALLY FUCKABLE!
Roarke- from Nora Roberts' 'In Death' series
Patrick Dempsey
Jesse L. Martin
People Who Don't Live In The Real World
I admit it. I love shows about rich people. My faves? The Fabulous Life, Cribs, and My Super Sweet Sixteen. It's interesting to see how the 'other half' (which is really the other 1% but why quibble?) lives.
But what I saw last night was crazy. It was The Fabulous Lives of Heiresses. These bitches were crazy! I won't even go into their spending habits. It's painful.
But the fact is that you can't really blame them. It's their parents who've indulged their every whim since birth. Now, being firmly ensconsed in the lower middle class or upper lower class, this sits wrong with me. I understand spoiling children...to a point. But to give in to anything and everything? That's where I draw a line. These people are raising children no only with no concept of the value of achievement or the worth of a dollar, but also with no possible framework to understand people who don't live in that bubble that isn' reality for the other 99% of the world. Things are just things, they have no meaning if they are easily replaced. And not only do they place too much value on things, they can't understand the plight of the poor or the quickly dimishing middle class. How could they? They don't live on a planet that I like to call earth.
HAPPY 2007!
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