I know, I know.
It has been a while.
But I have been writing. Honest!
How about an excerpt from Master of the Fleet? And maybe a snippet from a WIP?
MASTER OF THE FLEET
Anne-Marie was tired from the trip, but where was she to sleep? They’d brought Richard to the first
room they could reach when he’d collapsed. This was a single room, with one small bed
and a sofa.
Richard was stretched out on his back taking up the whole bed. There wouldn’t have been room
for her, anyway, in such a tiny bed. His feet were sticking out the end and his right arm was on the
verge of falling off the bed. Everything from his elbow down hung out in mid-air.
Rummaging in the wardrobe, she found a blanket she could use. Maybe she could get another
one from the desk. Carefully closing the door, she went to ask the clerk for more blankets,
which he generously provided her.
“I am sorry about the room, Madame. We had a different one reserved for you on the second
floor. The men who carried your husband from the coach didn’t know who he was, so we put
him in there. I’d no idea he’d still be sleeping. Is there anything else I can get you?”
Back in the room, she made up the sofa, changed into a nightgown, and went back to sit
with Richard. His arm over the edge of the bed couldn’t be comfortable. As she tucked it
back up under the covers, she remarked on how heavy an arm is when it’s totally limp.
She knew he’d have been more comfortable if he’d had time to change out of his travel clothes,
but doubted she could undress him. Instead, she unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt,
loosened his belt and trousers, and tucked the covers around him again.
Why was she so concerned? She wasn’t in love with the man. True, he had been
very kind to her, both before their marriage and since. Maybe she simply needed him
to get back home. Once there, they would have to sort out a lot of things,
but they had to get there first.
It couldn’t be love. That door had been closed for ages. She had given up all hope for love
a long time ago. When she fell asleep and nearly toppled off the chair, she crawled under
the blankets on the sofa. Richard still lay as one dead. What would he be like
when he finally woke up?
THE RUSSIAN–Book 3 from Gambler’s Folly
If it hadn’t been for her scent, he would have been fine. Lilacs with honeyed-
vanilla and white musk had wrapped around him softly. Hazel eyes under blonde curls had
drawn him in. He’d thought, after all this time, he had control over his urges.
What had possessed him to kiss her?
Her mouth now, there was a treat. Fresh raspberries and sweet white wine still teased
his palette. Between her scent and her taste,he was one messed up wolf. He wanted
to run through the forest, roll in the leaves, and howl to his pack mates
about this delicious female he’d met.
No, he wouldn’t see her again. He didn’t need a relationship.
Life around him was too uncertain.
Besides, he’d had a mate long ago and, when she’d died, she’d taken his heart to her grave.
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This is the question people always have. What was the inspiration?
