Gypsy Witch by Suz deMello
Happy release day to me,
Happy release day to me,
Happy release day to me-eee,
Happy release day to me!
AND MANY MORE!!!!!
Yes, another story by Suz deMello hits the digital shelves at Ellora’s Cave.
Called Gypsy Witch, it’s a paranormal-menage tale set right here in River City!
Get the 4-1-1 here:
http://www.ellorascave.com/gypsy-witch.html
San Francisco is a place of pure excess and liberation, where every flavour of sexuality is there for the tasting. Robin wants to be part of it, and by embracing extreme erotic experiences to escape her father’s hypocrisy. Buddy is a rebel, a wild spirit. The moment they meet, sparks fly in a frenzy of desire unbound and darkness unleashed; and when Robin asks Buddy to kill her father, he knows he has found his destiny.
Dark Matter is a hypnotic tale of erotic cravings.
Available from:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dark-matter-michael-perkins/1017242589?ean=9781472105547
*****
Excerpt:
Dark Matter by Michael Perkins
The Spiral Dance
Gods, from your rocky home in the highest snow-capped Sierras of the imagination, swoop down now on San Francisco, the City of Perpetual Indulgence.
Blot out all other sounds from your hearing and attend to the dark passage of one in your indifferent keeping — one touched by you, and like you,possessed….
Yet another turn of the wheel, another rotation of the earth: darkness is cast like a spell. A night without fog.
Straddling her snorting, fire-breathing Harley, Robin Flood roars up the steep undulating streets that slant to the sky and then down them to the Bay. She cuts a loud eructative path through the Marina and rumbles into stern Fort Mason, a former military facility converted into a cultural centre with shops, museums and a famous restaurant.
A bleached full moon leers down at her, one roguish lunar eyebrow cocked; clouds of galaxies extend from it into forever. The dark matter that makes up the unseen universe holds the stars apart. The Gods pay casual attention.
It is the beginning of November, final year of the century, on the night of the Spiral Dance — a Saturday night that falls on Samhain, when the dead pierce the veil that hangs between breathing and not, children who will never die (at least not in the twentieth, accursed century) eat sugar skulls, and a thousand boisterous pagans gather to celebrate the disappeared.
Robin joins the crowd cloaked in the exclusionary circle she draws around herself with strangers. She does not know anyone in the laughing, gesticulating, highspirited gathering of animals with horns, birds of prey, devils of all designs, medieval jongleurs, Green Men, maenads and vampires. Here, New Agers rub shoulders with Dark Agers. Here, imagination expresses the divine with profligate abandon.
Robin regrets momentarily that she has not worn a costume, but her eyes attract more attention than a mask would: they are an unfathomable cerulean, like the sea. Her glance when unguarded can be frightening in what it reveals of the cold wildness inside. Her features are small and finely chiselled, her mouth wide and lush. Her hair is cropped like glossy black feathers. One seashell ear is studded with five expensive earrings, the kind ear-nibblers cut their lips on. She’s prettier than the Queen of Heaven tonight, but there is something indistinct, unformed, indefinable but dangerous about her, as if she might be willing to do anything.
Hidden behind their masks, people stare at her. Aware of the impression she makes, she tucks her ambient rage in a pocket of her black motorcycle jacket and grins like an ingenue on crack. She waits patiently in the line, examining everyone for signs of the roles they might play in the drama of her life. She has a hunger to find out who she is, and she can only learn this from others; she is unknown to herself. Tonight her whim is that she is a temple prostitute come to worship the Goddess, weep for her dead, and party down with the pagans. Her fantasies are usually realised.
The motley line snakes around the pier to Herbst Pavilion, a giant former troop embarkation shed surrounded by choppy Bay waters. The huge space is sombre and magnificent, a maritime cathedral filled with the anxious ghosts of the hundreds of thousands of apprehensive young men who passed through the building on their way to war, and the unhappy spirits of those who never sailed home. It is an appropriate place to celebrate Halloween.
*****
About the Author:
MICHAEL PERKINS is the author of six collections of poetry. The Secret Record, literary criticism, was published by William Morrow in 1976. The Good Parts, selected book reviews, appeared in 1994. Among his other works of fiction and non-fiction are the novels Evil Companions, Dark Matter and Burn. His poems and essays have appeared in The Village Voice, Younger Critics of North America, The Nation,Mother Jones, Paper, Notre Dame Review, Exquisite Corpse, Big Bridge, Talisman, Rain Taxi and American Book Review. He was the Leydig Trust’s Writer of the Year in Great Britain in 2002, the recipient of the 2007 Obelisk Award for Lifetime Achievement and the 1957 Dunbar Poetry Prize. Carpe Diem, New and Selected Poems, appeared in 2011.
*****
Your blog hostess:
Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written over sixteen romance novels in
Author Sue Swift/Suz deMello
several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Ai Press, and Liquid Silver Books. She also takes private clients.
Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, won a contest or two, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.
A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.
Find her books at http://www.suzdemello.com
For editing services, email her at suzswift@yahoo.com
Befriend her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sueswift
She tweets her book picks @ReadThis4fun
Today I’m premiering a new feature which will appear at this blog every once in a while. I’d love to be able to say that I’ll post a Monday Munch every week, but I’m sure I won’t! So I’ll get to it here and there 
Why a Monday Munch, you ask?
Preparing food for someone is a very loving act, and all the more so when such an act is contrary to character. Our concept of an alpha male excludes food preparation as a normal activity. We don’t think about big manly men cooking food anywhere except at a barbecue, so when one of my heroes fixes a meal for his lover, well–that makes my little heart go pitter-pat because he isn’t afraid to show her his softer side. He isn’t afraid to go out of his way, against his macho character to show her he loves her.
So a number of my heroes prepare meals for my heroines.
Here’s one of my faves, from Spy Game. The setup is that Ani Sharif, a low-level operative for a secret security agency, is trying to get to a laptop on millionaire software tycoon Richard Rexford’s boat; he’s suspected of selling secrets to the Chinese, and her handlers believe that proof might be on the laptop.
The menu:
Appetizers: lox, cucumber and sour cream on a cracker with chardonnay
Salad
Main course: Bouillabaise
Dessert: Strawberry shortcake
Here’s a snippet from the scene:
Ani followed Richard into the galley and watched him rummage in the refrigerator. She couldn’t figure him out. He’d arrived at her house looking like a vagrant, but kept an immaculate boat. He’d taunted her at the pizza parlor, but tonight, treated her as though she were a duchess. He’d opened doors, pulled out her chair, and served her a perfectly prepared meal.
He tried to act like a vicious T-Rex but had gone to the trouble of fixing the mess his father had made, not once but
Sue Swift: Spy Game
twice.
As hard as she tried, she couldn’t label the evening a disaster, especially since she now knew where he kept his computer. On top of that, she and Richard had a lot in common. A love of freedom, for one thing. Computers, for another. Maybe she’d see him after she’d completed her assignment. Maybe.
Richard straightened up and smiled at her, each hand holding a dessert plate filled with a pile of sliced strawberries atop shortcake. His laser-blue eyes glinted.
Their gleam hit her like an electric shock, zapping her back into reality. What was she thinking? He wasn’t a cute little guppy. This was Richard Rexford, one of the biggest, baddest great white sharks around.
No doubt his father had a completely different story of the start-up of Richard’s firm. Gossip said that Richard had ruthlessly stolen every talented programmer in the place, leaving CompLine reeling. Rumors still abounded; apparently Thomas and Sundeen plotted to destroy Richard for his alleged crimes against the family firm.
He was her target, maybe even a traitor. Get with the program, Ani, she reminded herself.
She swallowed, her mouth parched. She was definitely in over her head. Thinking that she could play games with Richard Rexford was crazy. She needed to get to his laptop computer and get out. She wasn’t sure how to do it, though, but hoped to figure that out before the end of the night. She had to minimize contact with Rexford. Another date would be insane.
She cleared her throat, which felt thick and dry. “I don’t want to like you too much.”
“You’re right.” He put the desserts onto a counter and crossed the galley to stand in front of her, mere inches away. ”So why don’t we stop this right now?”
His heat radiated, igniting every cell in her body. The raw sexual tension between them, thicker than the stew she’d eaten, unnerved her. That dangerous flutter started again, but this time it made her tingle from head to toes.
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away from his unfathomable blue eyes.
Taking her chin in his hand, he brushed her lips with his. He didn’t break eye contact, and neither did she. The intimacy created was unbearable, as though he’d reached inside her and caressed her soul with the gentlest of touches.
The brief kiss wasn’t nearly enough, but sharpened her appetite for him. She wanted more, and took it, digging her fingers into his shirt front to bring him closer so she could flick her tongue over his lips, deliberately enticing him.
He pulled her into his arms, drawing her to his male heat. He dipped his head again to kiss her and this time, he didn’t hold back. He slid his tongue between her lips, making love to her mouth with an insistent rhythm. Desire pounded at her in waves, intense and powerful as a high tide. Her body throbbed with passionate hunger.
“It’s going to be very good between us, you know that?” he whispered into her ear.
“Mmmm, yeah.” Too good, maybe. She’d never experienced anything like Richard’s kiss. Hot and deep and all-encompassing, like a desert whirlwind, he threatened to sweep her away.
But she couldn’t let herself be swept away. She couldn’t take what he offered, no matter how much she wanted it.
If you like what you read, you can find it here:
The bouillabaise recipe can be found here, in a FREE cookbook full of romance writers’ favorite recipes:
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-passionatecooks-944744-174.html
Enjoy!
Sue Swift/Suz deMello
Your blog hostess:
Best-selling, award-winning author Sue Swift, a.k.a Suz deMello, has written over fifteen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense. A freelance editor, she’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Ai Press, Liquid Silver Books and Etopia Press. She also takes private clients.
Her books have been favorably reviewed in PW, Kirkus and Booklist, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.
A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.
In time for your Halloween reading pleasure: a selection from Immortal Hunters,vampire erotica in FANGS, an anthology.
What’s it about?
Genre: Paranormal action-adventure.
vampire erotica
A century-old vampire, Rama is used to shadows and loneliness. She uses the name Hestia White and lives in a California coastal town working as a private investigator. If some bad guys disappear on her shift, no one cares…until John van Helsing shows up. Bearing the name of the vamps’ greatest foe, he interferes in her case and in her life.
Friend, lover or enemy?
And here’s the excerpt:
Being a vampire can suck…oops, sorry about the bad pun. Well, it’s true, it can bite….yikes, there I go again. What I mean to say is that it has its ups and downs. I’m virtually immortal, which is pretty cool. My hair and nails don’t grow, but when I awaken, they’ve been restored to the state they were in when I became undead. It’s inconvenient, since I grew up in a shithole with no running water. A mani-pedi was not merely unavailable, but unimaginable. I was an unkempt mess when I was changed, so every evening when I awaken, I devote an hour or two to personal grooming. My long, black hair is a no-brainer. Up it goes into a French twist or a braid. Nails are more difficult.
So there I was one night on surveillance, tucked into the comfy front seat of my undistinguished Camry in a dark corner of Santa Martina, contemplating the choices I faced: Mango Madness or Ruby Delite? Through my increasingly foggy windshield, I occasionally cast a glance at the crappy apartment a half-block away where I’d run my quarry to ground. Soon I’d take him, after the lights were doused and he’d fallen asleep.
I work for a private investigations firm, and my boss understands my rules. First of all, ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. Second, night jobs only.
And if a bad guy or two (or three or five or seven) disappears during my shifts, nobody really cares. Operating in Santa Martina is especially convenient due to its location, the northern California coast. Offshore lies a marine mammal sanctuary. Because of the plethora of seals and otter, lots of great whites come to call. The occasional surfer gets chomped. Bodies disappear, or they may wash up on shore, drained of blood.
Get the picture?
As I was saying, there I was one night, picking at a chipped edge of the Ruby Delite flaking off my left index fingernail when someone tapped on my window.
I could see a uniform, so I unrolled. “What’s up, officer?” I asked in a pleasant tone. No sense offending the local cops, you know.
“We’ll have to ask you to move along, ma’am,” he said, an officer at his most officious.
We? I looked beyond the uniform and there he was: a suit. An undercover dick on my turf.
In gray pinstripes, he would have been as inconspicuous as I, if it weren’t for his cornpone, white bread, wheat-fed wholesome handsomeness. Blue-eyed and blond, he would have screamed farm boy in TV Land, but in California most farm workers are Hispanic or Asian immigrants.
“Well, if it isn’t John-boy Walton,” I drawled.
He drew closer, no doubt taking in my black hair, black eyes, black leather, red slash of a mouth and white, white skin. ”Well, if it isn’t Ms. Goth Barbie,” he drawled. Back atcha, honey.
I couldn’t stifle my smile. I like a man with a quick tongue–they have more than one use. “It’s Hestia, actually. Hestia White.”
“Hestia? The Greek goddess of hearth and home? That’s incongruous.”
My smile broadened. I knew few men with “incongruous” in their vocabularies, and fewer still who knew the meaning of the name I cynically used. I liked him. Shame I had to run him off.
He leaned against my door panel, ignoring the condensation wetting his elegant gray pinstriped sleeve. “Well, Ms. Hestia White, you do need to move on out. Police business.”
I lounged back into my seat. “But I kind of like it here.”
“Why? This isn’t the nicest part of Santa Martina. Completely lacks the charm of the marina or the nightlife in downtown.”
I looked into his blue, blue eyes. “I prefer down and dirty.”
He met my gaze without falter. “I could arrest you for loitering.” He leaned closer, partway into my window. “Take you in. Lock you up.”
“Oooh, handcuffs.” I shivered theatrically.
“Actually, Ms. White, we’re on the job.” His voice had gone crisp and businesslike.
“Actually, Detective Whoever, so am I.” I flipped open my wallet to flash my P.I. license.
His eyes widened. “How come I’ve never heard of you?”
I shrugged. “I keep a low profile. Safer that way. Hey, I’ve shown you mine, so why don’t you show me yours?”
I’d teased out a reluctant smile, one that reached deep inside to heat me from my brain to my box. Yes, that box. I was surprised. Mortals don’t usually turn me on.
He reached for his wallet to show me his shield and I.D. John van Helsing. A tremor ran through me, ruffling the tiny hairs on my nape and my arms. Was it chance that this detective bore the name of the most famous enemy of my kind?
“John-boy,” I said with phony delight.
Reviewers liked this story, saying:
…a highly charged, sexually stimulating and all around pleasurable trip…
Robin, MyBookCravings.com
Rating: 4.5: … terrific…Suz deMello did another awesome job…
Tara Renee, Two Lips Reviews
…cool and interesting…
Tammie King, Night Owl Reviews
Sue Swift/Suz deMello
Buy it here!
Your blog hostess:
Best-selling, award-winning author Sue Swift, a.k.a Suz deMello, has written over fifteen novels, plus several short stories and non-fiction articles. She writes in numerous genres including romance, mystery, paranormal, historical, contemporary comedy and erotica. She’s a freelance editor who’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Ai Press, Liquid Silver Books and Etopia Press. She also takes on private clients.
Her books have been favorably reviewed in PW, Kirkus and Booklist, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.
A former trial attorney, she resides in northern California. Her passion is world travel, and she’s left the US over a dozen times, including stints working overseas for many months. Right now, she’s working on her next manuscript and planning her next trip.
Her blog is at http://www.fearlessfastpacedfiction.com. Find her reading picks @ReadThis4fun on Twitter, and befriend her on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/SueSwift ). Her sites are at http://www.sue-swift.com and http://www.suzdemello.com.
Passionate Cooks from All Romance Ebooks
I’m proud to participate in this FREE cookbook from ARE, All Romance Ebooks.
My recipe for Ridiculously Easy Bouillabaise is featured. I picked that recipe because the hero in one of my latest books, SPY GAME, prepares it for the heroine. Many if my books feature a man fixing food for a women–I think it shows that my heroes aren’t afraid to show their softer side. I also feel that food preparation can be a very loving act.
Here’s a little about the book:
Fledgling agent Ani Sharif has finally been assigned to her first undercover mission—to seduce software tycoon Richard Rexford, known as the fearsome T-Rex of Silicon Valley. He’s suspected of selling software secrets to the Chinese. Ani must succeed at her first assignment, but will handsome, clever Richard uncover her secrets and seize her heart?
And here’s an excerpt that sorta features the bouillabaise:
Ani swallowed, her mouth parched. She was definitely in over her head. Thinking that she could play games with Richard Rexford was crazy. She needed to get to his laptop computer and get out. She wasn’t sure how to do it, but hoped to figure that out before the end of the night. She had to minimize contact with Rexford. Another date would be insane.
She cleared her throat, which felt thick and dry. “I don’t want to like you too much.”
“You’re right.” He put the empty soup bowls onto a counter and crossed the galley to stand in front of her, mere inches away. “So why don’t we stop this right now?”
His heat radiated, igniting every cell in her body. The raw sexual tension between them, thicker than the stew she’d eaten, unnerved her. That dangerous flutter started again, but this time it made her tingle from head to toes.
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away from his unfathomable blue eyes.
Taking her chin in his hand, he brushed her lips with his. He didn’t break eye contact, and neither did she. The intimacy created was unbearable, as though he’d reached inside her and caressed her soul with the gentlest of touches.
The brief kiss wasn’t nearly enough, but sharpened her appetite for him. She wanted more and took it, grabbing his shirt front and dragging bring him closer so she could flick her tongue over his lips, deliberately enticing him.
He pulled her into his arms, drawing her to his male heat. He dipped his head again to kiss her and this time, he didn’t hold back. He slid his tongue between her lips, making love to her mouth with an insistent rhythm. Desire pounded at her in waves, intense and powerful as a high tide. Her body throbbed with passionate hunger.
“It’s going to be very good between us, you know that?” he whispered into her ear.
“Mmmm, yeah.” Too good, maybe. She’d never experienced anything like Richard’s kiss. Hot and deep and all-encompassing, like a desert whirlwind, he threatened to sweep her away.
But she couldn’t let herself be swept away. She couldn’t take what he offered, no matter how much she wanted it. Linda might be able to have sex with a target without hesitation or regrets, but Ani didn’t think she was built the same way as was her sister.
Allowing caution to assert itself, Ani sighed and pulled away from him.
As if reading her mind, Richard said, “Look, I’m in no rush. I just had to know how you’d feel and, umm, taste.” He looked at the floor. A lock of blond hair fell across his forehead.
Ani wanted to stroke it, play with it … and with the rest of him. Every inch. Instead, she somehow managed to lift her brows. “Like really good fish soup, I bet.”
“Yeah, really good.”
“Even if you do say so yourself.”
They both laughed.
“But now that the first kiss is over, we can relax and enjoy the night, okay?” Richard picked up the desserts and carried them outside.
Enjoy the night. Ri-ight.
*****
Who I am:
Best-selling, award-winning novelist Sue Swift, a.k.a. Suz deMello, has written fifteen books plus several
Sue Swift/Suz deMello
short stories and non-fiction articles. She writes in numerous genres including romance, mystery, paranormal, historical, contemporary comedy and erotica. She’s a freelance editor who’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Ai Press, Liquid Silver Books and Etopia Press. She also takes on private clients.
Her books have been favorably reviewed in PW, Kirkus and Booklist, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.
A former trial attorney, she resides in northern California. Her passion is world travel, and she’s left the US over a dozen times, including stints working overseas for many months. Right now, she’s working on her next manuscript and planning her next trip.
Her blog is at http://www.fearlessfastpacedfiction.com. Find her reading picks @ReadThis4fun on Twitter, and befriend her on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/SueSwift ). Her sites are at http://www.sue-swift.com and http://www.suzdemello.com.
https://www.amazon.com/author/sueswift
https://www.amazon.com/author/suzdemello
Happy Holidays, everyone!
The charming and generous Victoria Blisse has arranged another blog tour that celebrates Christmas because–who can get enough holiday merriment and joy! Certainly not me, and because the blog hop is holiday themed, of course there’s a gift–a $50 voucher to All Romance Ebooks, where you can pick up a few of the titles you enjoy. You’re automatically entered when you leave a comment at any of the hop’s sites.
I’ve picked a scene from one of my best selling novels to share with you. Walk Like A Man was originally published by Five Star in an expensive but lovely $25 hardcover edition. Now it’s available from Etopia Press at a price that’s much more wallet-friendly–the ebook retails at all the usual places for $5.99.
Here’s the blurb:
But Jim, involved with his legal case against his team, blurted out to her that his attorney didn’t want them to see each other while his case was active. Marti took this as rejection–who wouldn’t?–and ran.Neither Jim’s nor Marti’s Christmas was especially merry. Here’s a bit about what Jim was doing and feeling over the holiday:
If you enjoyed what you read, please check out the book at any online outlet, including:
http://www.amazon.com/Walk-Like-a-Man-ebook/dp/B0087IOG0W/
http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-walklikeaman-814090-149.html
Remember to leave a comment in order to be entered into the drawing
Happy reading!
Sue Swift/Suz deMello
Spy Game from Five Star. New version SOON from Etopia Press!
Sue Swift/Suz deMello
The fine folks at three related sites, CataRomance.com, SensualReads.com and SingleTitles.com are sponsoring a blog hop from now until June 10. They’re giving boxes of books away, and every participating author is giving something, whether swag, a print book or an ebook. I’m giving away an ebook to a randomly chosen, lucky commenter–and this giveaway opportunity is open to anyone, regardless of where you may live.
The people at this site have always supported my books, even back when I was writing traditional romance for Silhouette– a looooong time ago. So I’m happy to support them.
So here’s a little about my other June book release–this isn’t fiercely erotic, like Temptation in Tartan. Walk Like A Man was my first manuscript and, as such, is a simple boy-meets-girl, boy-gets-girl, boy-loses-girl, boy-gets-girl back story. It’s been quite successful, but I don’t know why. Maybe readers prefer simple to entangled, but these so called “simple” books are very hard to write. The more that happens to my characters, the more I have to write about. So simpler is harder. In general, I like my characters to have a mystery to solve or a danger to confront while falling in love. It’s easier.
So here you are, for your reading pleasure: Walk Like A Man.
Macho quarterback Jim Wellman meets his match in bright and sassy physical therapist Marti Solis, who goads him out of his wheelchair, pushing him to walk again. Unlike every other woman Jim has wanted, she refuses to jump into the sack with the celebrity athlete. Though attracted to his bedroom smile and rugged good looks, she’s intimidated by his fame and turned off by his arrogance.
Can Jim become the lover Marti needs? Can he learn to walk like a man?
Set in California’s beautiful Napa Valley, this multicultural romance delivers humor and pathos, sparkling dialogue, layered characters, a heroine to root for and a hero who’s pure fantasy.
“Mr. Wellman, you’re not concentrating.”
Jim glared at his physical therapist. He was concentrating so hard the top of his head was gonna blow off. Didn’t she get it?
His life was on the line. He had to walk again, because he’d lose everything if he couldn’t. His legs had shattered eight months ago at the Pro Bowl in front of a TV audience of millions. His career as an N.F.L. quarterback had shattered with them.
Jim searched for her nametag, but couldn’t see it through the sweat dripping into his eyes during this first painful therapy session at the rehab center. He leaned against the parallel metal bars and rubbed his forehead dry with his wrist, then peered down at his therapist.
A small woman, his brunette taskmaster had a cute pointy chin and greenish eyes. Her nametag, pinned over her left breast, drew his glance; the breast, small but perky, spiked his hormones. “Miss, er, Marti, I’m trying very hard.” His glance shifted to her ringless left hand.
“Staring at my hand won’t help.”
She’d caught him. Embarrassment made him hotter and sweatier. He couldn’t help his habit. Whenever he met a pretty woman, he automatically looked at her left hand to find out if she was free. “Just checking for a ring.” Concluding that Marti was available, he grinned at her and waited for her to smile back.
“I’m not available,” she snapped. “Mr. Wellman, if you don’t want to focus on your recovery, it’s nothing to me.”
Jim gaped.
She turned and pointed at his wheelchair. “You can sit there like a fat, useless blob for the rest of your days for all I care. In the meantime, I have other patients. Patients who care.” Pivoting, she walked to the door, her steps decisive.
He recovered, managing a laugh. “Good try, but you’re as transparent as glass. What happens now? Does Katrin pat me on the back and play the good cop?” He glanced at the other therapist, a pretty blonde with a big, square rock on her ring finger.
Marti returned and gave a little shrug. “Well, it was worth trying.”
Walk Like A Man
http://tinyurl.com/6mn6hr9
“Yes,” Jim said. “Very entertaining.”
“Now that the banter is over, can we get back to work? I want you to focus, Mr. Wellman. Focus on the muscles of your legs, how your feet feel on the floor.”
Jim glowered at his sarcastic little slave driver, who glared back, not giving an inch. He swallowed his annoyance and focused, tensing then relaxing his leg muscles. Damn, it hurt! But it was a good hurt, the hurt of muscles on the mend. Jim knew and welcomed that ache. After eight months, it felt great to finally get out of the wheelchair. He looked at his therapist for guidance.
“Now, push your feet into the floor and stand up straight.” Marti’s voice rose. “Come on, I know you can do it!”
Jim hitched his pants and pushed, stubbornly willing his legs to hold his weight. Clutching the parallel bars, he hauled up his body, using the strength in his shoulders and arms. The championship ring on his right hand clattered against the metal bars. The clank cut through his harsh, raspy breaths.
He placed his feet onto the floor beneath his body. For two exhilarating seconds his legs held firm. Joy shot through him. He pictured himself running down the field, escaping a horde of linebackers and passing for a touchdown. Then his ankles buckled. His sweaty hands slipped off the bars, and he collapsed toward the floor.
Marti and Katrin grabbed Jim on his way down, breaking his fall. “Be careful,” Katrin said, as the two therapists guided him down to the mat. “Let’s not get hurt.”
Jim sat limply, shoulders bowed, letting his head drop into his palms. Thirty years old, and my life’s in the toilet. He rubbed his damp face as he bit back a string of pungent curses.
“Let’s try just the one leg,” Marti said. “Mr. Wellman, there’s nothing wrong with your left leg that a little exercise won’t cure. Your file says that ankle healed months ago. It’s the right that’s giving us problems. Katrin, let’s get him up again. Tommy, help us out.”
A male attendant came forward to assist. Jim gritted his teeth against the ache as the trio helped him get onto his feet. Sweating, he leaned against one end of the therapy bars.
“Katrin, let him go. Hold on now, Mr. Wellman.” Marti backed away to the other end of the bars. Her hazel-green eyes narrowed, and her little chin reminded him of a feral cat. She was as focused as any feline on the hunt.
“Come on, come to me, Mr. Wellman.” Marti raised a clenched fist. “Come on, I know you can do it!”
Held by her compelling gaze, Jim found himself responding to her intensity. A sudden superstition came over him: this was the moment where it all had to happen. He’d walk now . . . or never.
Tension thickened the air. Sucking in a deep breath, he went for it.
Miraculously, his left leg held when he pushed down hard, grabbing onto the parallel therapy bars with both hands. He clenched his jaw and took a couple of quivery, hesitant hops toward Marti.
Katrin and Tommy burst into applause. Sighing with relief, Jim leaned against the parallel bars as Marti slipped a supporting arm around him.
“Yes! Excellent! Excellent job!” she cried. “Okay, that’s all for right now. Good work.” She smiled up at him. Again he noticed the sharp little chin, but ignored her catlike aura as Tommy pushed out Jim’s wheelchair. “Not that,” his therapist said. “Get a walker. No more chair.”
Katrin turned, raising her eyebrows.
“He’s too dependent,” Marti said. “The wheelchair is the reason he can’t bear his own weight anymore. He should have been out of that chair as soon as the left ankle healed. Someone with Mr. Wellman’s excellent physique should have made far more progress by now.” She loosened her right arm from around his waist to give him an impersonal pat on the shoulder.
Jim slid his left arm around her so he wouldn’t fall, keeping a steadying grip on the parallel bars with his right. He managed to keep a grip on his resentment as well, though he didn’t like her condescending little pat. He wouldn’t let this woman treat him like a child.
“That’s not his doctor’s orders,” Katrin pointed out.
Marti folded her arms across her chest. The frown that creased her mouth didn’t look good with the chin. “I’ll talk to the doctor, but in my professional opinion, the wheelchair is contraindicated.”
Jim turned and lifted her chin so she’d have to look him full in the face. He jutted his head down toward her. “I’m sorry, but I won’t use a walker.”
“Excuse me?” Marti’s face was less than four inches from his.
Keeping his arm around her shoulders, he fingered her chin with a practiced hand. A slight tremor ran through his therapist’s slim body.
****
If you like what you read, check it out at http://tinyurl.com/6mn6hr9 or at my site, http://www.sue-swift.com
Not one but TWO books are released today.
Available June 1 from Ellora’s Cave
Here’s the 4-1-1:
Re: Temptation in Tartan:
She had to marry a monster…
Rumors had followed the chieftains of Clan Kilborn for centuries. Said to be descended from the Viking Berserkers, they were ferocious in battle, known for tearing off the heads of their enemies and drinking their blood.
But English noblewoman Lydia Swann Williston would marry Kieran, Laird Kilborn, to bring peace to the Kilborn lands after the horror of Culloden and the brutal pacification. A widow, she also brought needed wealth to Clan Kilborn. For her part, eighteen-year-old Lydia wanted children. With her husband killed at Culloden, she would make a new life in the Highlands.
The old chieftain of Clan Kilborn also died in battle, and she hoped that the new young Laird would lack his ancestors’ ferocity.
She was wrong.
Buy the book at http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10121-temptation-in-tartan.aspx
Walk Like A Man
And there’s also Walk Like A Man:
Macho quarterback Jim Wellman meets his match in bright and sassy physical therapist Marti Solis, who goads him out of his wheelchair, pushing him to walk again. Unlike every other woman Jim has wanted, she refuses to jump into the sack with the celebrity athlete. Though attracted to his bedroom smile and rugged good looks, she’s intimidated by his fame and turned off by his arrogance.
Can Jim become the lover Marti needs? Can he learn to walk like a man?
Set in California’s beautiful Napa Valley, this multicultural romance delivers humor and pathos, sparkling dialogue, layered characters, a heroine to root for and a hero who’s pure fantasy.
Buy the book at http://tinyurl.com/6mn6hr9
I hope you love my books!
I met the very talented and witty Jeff at the meetings of a local book group, where he keeps us in stitches every month with his clever, funny comments. He published his first novel, The Second Life, in 2006, and was writer/actor in a comedy sketch show that ran for three seasons on cable markets in the eastern and midwestern USA. He’s also worked as a graphic designer and a teacher.
His latest book is Out of Dark Places. Here’s what it’s about:
Writer Jeff Gephart
For Lukas Willow, the only fate worse than death… is life.
Lukas was once a musical prodigy, but his life took a vastly different turn when he discovered that he possessed unexplainable clairvoyant powers. Haunted by troubling visions, he has become an alcoholic recluse, his life suspended in a stagnant state of paranoia and self pity. When the mysterious Katie Reiker, a beautiful but emotionally scarred young woman, shows up on his doorstep, an unconventional relationship begins to develop that might just save them both. Time is running out, however. An impending natural disaster that only Lukas knows about forces him to make a difficult decision that will affect the lives and futures of everyone in his town.
This poignant and captivating novel about the importance of making connections explores the paradoxes of finding hope, forgiveness, and redemption, even when faced with the fatal condition of being human.
And here’s an excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
It’s 4:56 in the rain.
Any other day, any other kind of weather, and it’s just a few minutes before five. Almost happy hour. But 4:56 in the rain is different. Nothing good happens in the rain.
Perhaps she’s not coming, Lukas thinks to himself. Staring through the thick windowpane as the rain cascades over it in billowy sheets is like watching the world from behind a waterfall. Not as magical, but just as isolating.
Lukas’s eyes drift toward a particular patch of soggy grass close to the house in the backyard. The waterfall effect makes it difficult to judge distance, but Lukas knows the spot well. He wonders if archaeologists a few generations from now will dig up that spot and unearth tiny pieces of antiquated stereo components, put them on display in a museum somewhere, and marvel at the primitive way in which twentieth century humans lived their trifling lives.
Lukas Willow’s footsteps, ordinarily loud against the ancient oak hardwood floor, have trouble competing against the nearby sound of water raging through the tin gutters as he makes his way across the unlit parlor. The furnishings are sparse. A coffee table with a deep brown finish centers the symmetrical layout of the room, and it matches the end tables on either side of a dilapidated maroon sofa. All three surfaces are barren, covered only by faint stains which have alternately darkened and lightened scores of small circles and half-circles onto the wooden surfaces. The room smells as quiet as it looks. Cold, like the rest of the house. Lukas sets a wet glass down on the left end table and creates another dark circle. He grabs the Glenfiddich and drains the last drops of liquid from the bottle into his glass. Placing the empty bottle gingerly into a wastebasket near his feet, he stoops to look for ice cubes in the adjacent mini freezer. This freezer should sit higher, on top of something, he thinks. Knees don’t bend like they used to.
A sudden tapping rattles the glass part of the front door. Lukas is undeterred by the interruption; his ice cubes are frozen together into one misshapen conglomeration. Scanning his dusty surroundings, he retrieves a brass letter opener from a nearby countertop and chips off a few chunks of ice.
Again the knocking, louder this time, almost urgent. He scoops the ice gently into his glass, making sure not to spill, and uses the letter opener to stir. Wearily, he straightens his legs and ambles toward the front door.
Katherine Reiker looks older than twenty-one. Her hair, when not soaked and matted to her head, is probably the same dark brown color as her upturned eyebrows. Her narrow, wiry shoulders are shivering. “Mr. Willow?” she asks, but Lukas has already turned and started walking back inside. She follows. “I’m Katie,” she says, pausing just inside the door to shake off some of the excess wetness. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
Even drenched, she’s pretty. It’s so easy for twenty-one-year-old girls to be pretty. Late Katie. “I have a doorbell,” Lukas says.
Out of Dark Places
“I’m sorry,” she says. And it sounds like she really is. Lukas feels a stab of uneasiness. That didn’t come out right.
“I have somewhere to be, but you can take a quick look to get an idea of the place if you’d like,” Lukas says, still listening to the rain. This isn’t the sort of rain that just happens to fall; it is hurtling toward the earth, determined, as if each drop has its own vital mission to accomplish upon landing. If nothing else, he likes the sound of serious rain; it goes well with Scotch.
“That’d be great,” Katie says, and a lopsided smile stretches across her face that almost mutes the rain.
Lukas turns and crosses the stone floor of the alcove toward the staircase, passing by a two-level bookshelf built into the wall that displays only two identical layers of dust. Although the uneven wooden stairs look like relics, they register barely an audible creak as Katie follows him up. The clacking of her clogs against the rigid wood, however, is deafening. At the top of the stairs, Lukas pauses outside the door, motioning for Katie to go inside. The walk up the stairs has left him lightheaded. Too many drinks, possibly. Too few trips to this part of the house, probably. Not enough drinks…definitely.
The girl steps lightly into the old apartment-style room and looks around, as if silently assessing its livability. The doorframe is low, and Lukas would have to slouch his lanky frame to pass under it, but he stays just outside, on the landing. He has no interest in the old room; he knows it well. It hasn’t changed much since he’d rented it as a student, long before he bought the house. Not much has been added. A few items have been removed. But everything has changed.
“I was excited to see your ad,” Katie says, her slender fingers delicately examining a discolored pine desk in the corner. The room is a humble space, with a slanted ceiling and a lone window shrouded by a dusty film that suggests it hasn’t been disturbed in years. A twin-sized bed, lumpy and thin, sits on cinderblock supports across from the desk, and has been covered by boxes and warped stacks of papers, bundled with roughly tied twine. Lukas had mentioned over the phone that he had been using the room primarily for storage, and had promised to clean it out, but he hadn’t yet gotten around to it. Standing in the doorway, Katie shrugs awkwardly, and Lukas has no idea how to interpret the gesture. She scans the room again, smiles, and says, “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find a place this close to the start of the semester.”
“You got good and soaked out there,” Lukas notes. He feels old. Particularly in a college town, particularly beside Katie. So young, soaked and she doesn’t even care; she’ll bounce back. “Umbrellas aren’t as popular as they used to be, I s’pose.”
“Actually, I have one, but I was running late and forgot it.” Katie turns to meet his gaze, then quickly turns away. She stares pointedly at the old piano bench, inconspicuous upon first glance from its neglected spot beneath three boxes of yellowed paperback books. “Then I forgot to bring the address with me and went to the wrong house at first.” Forgetful Katie. Free-spirited maybe. Still young enough to get away with it. She runs her fingers through the wet, shoulder-length strands of her hair, and paces around the room, scanning each direction as if looking for something in particular. “God, I must look ridiculous,” she says with a sheepish grin. Lukas catches himself on the verge of smiling. Somehow, her remark didn’t sound as phony as it should have. Funny how a pretty girl’s self-consciousness somehow makes her even prettier. She stops and faces him. “Aren’t there any mirrors in this place?”
The question catches Lukas off guard. He gulps down the last watered-down sip of Scotch and shakes his head. He doesn’t need to run a mental inventory of the house’s supplies. “No,” is all he replies.
Catch up with Jeff and find his books at:
