Category Archives: Romance

Hot Blacktop – Ch. 2 – Coffee Break to Girls’ Night Out

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lightsThe music was too loud and Sienna’s head was pounding. It was too soon to be wearing a dress so tight she actually had cleavage and spiked heels so tall she felt like she would fall on her face. But Megan said she looked killer when she helped pick it out. And if she happened to come across Layton while out, well, dammit, she wanted to look and feel like a goddess.

“Ugh!” Sienna lifted her hand and tried to block the flashing lights searching for Megan. Her friend would be pissed. But if she didn’t get out of this club this instant, she was going to have a total melt down, witnesses aplenty. When Megan appeared dancing between two very tall, very hot men, Sienna sighed and made her way over to the man sandwich.

Megan’s smoky done-up eyes lit with glee. Her brows dancing in a, look-at-these-hot-guys kind of way. She couldn’t help but smile, until she yelled to the guy behind her, “Dance with Sienna,” she said, “her ex-boyfriend is a total dick.” Megan snuggled her butt to his pelvis so close when she spoke, she could claim they knew each other more than just this one encounter. Why did that notion piss her off? Sienna frowned as a surge of jealousy straightened her spine. Never mind, she shook her head at the thought, and regretted it. Her groan washed out by the music. Grabbing her head to settle the spinning, her bed and dark room her only thoughts. She needed to get home.

The one Megan spoke to finally looked at Sienna. She barely could raise her head to see his stare. Appraising and heated his scan started at her toes, winding his way up and over every inch of her overheated skin making her tingle in all the right places, her pain momentarily forgotten. He tilted his head and his fiery gaze changed to a questioning glance that was surprisingly more open and approachable. She saw actual concern.

Sienna took him in, cataloging his attractiveness. Too perfect. She tried to clear her mind negating her interest she felt stirring. Thoughts of getting involved with another man, with perfect hair and perfect bone structure and well…perfect everything should be the last thing on her mind.

“I’m going home,” she yelled to Megan. Her friend stopped gyrating, turned and gave Sienna her full attention.

“You can’t leave yet!” Outrage rung in her tone, but Sienna knew Megan would let her do what she needed to, if she wasn’t feeling well.

“My head’s pounding,” which proved truer then she would have liked, when the song changed and the bass got even deeper, harder, and possibly even louder.

Sienna swayed as flashes of light in her vision made standing more precarious and the pounding in her head not even related a little bit to the music. The light turned to a vibrating rainbow of zigzags, the strobe lights on the dance floor nowhere near the plethora of color needling her eyes like fractured glass. She felt hands wrap around her shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

Sienna blinked and the man that went with the voice bent at his knees to look into her eyes. Her vision cleared in what she knew was only a short reprieve. Grabbing onto the man so she wouldn’t fall, she realized she was moving, bodies pushing and swaying into her, with each jostle her nausea grew.

“Megan?” She questioned, her voice floating away into the sea of bodies.

“I’m right here baby-cakes,” her best friend said, “Stuart’s got you.” She heard a masculine laugh behind her that was deeper than the man’s that was helping her. The other man must have been the one grinding on Megan earlier, she thought. Then she realized Megan had told her her rescuer’s name.

“You don’t look like a Stuart,” she mumbled, the pain in her head making speech her words slur.

He leaned in and touched his lips to her ear from behind. She would have shivered from delight, him being so close, but her head hurt too damn much. “Call me Saint.”

The next thing Sienna knew she was leaning against a very large, very tweaked out F-150 Ford Pickup.

“Sienna, Saint is going to drive you home.”

“What?” Her mind was reeling with all the things wrong about that statement. Her mind screamed the words, “I can’t go home with a complete stranger,” but the words came out on a whisper. The next thing she knew Saint buckled her into the seat. “Megan? Megan!” Both her hands held her head still as she struggled not to vomit.

“Right here, honey.”

Sienna turned her head and looked down. Megan stood at the open door.

“Stuart,” she said and then laughed as a growl came from the driver’s side. “I mean Saint, is driving you home and his friend and I are going to follow behind to make sure you’re all tucked in and comfy in bed. Her brows danced up and down again. She tended to do that when she was drunk. Okay, so her friend was useless right now as it related to driving. Great! She whined in her head. Then moaned again closing her eyes leaning back against the headrest, taking deep inhalations through her nose and out.

“I’ll be right behind you,” she said.

“Mmm.” That’s all she could utter. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

“You all set?” the low voice next to her said.

“Mmm hmm.”

Her door slammed and she flinched. Saint started his truck and they took off. Sienna wanted to look behind her and see if Megan was following in the car, truck, whatever, behind them, but she was afraid if she moved even a millimeter, that vomit that threatened earlier would decide to make an appearance.

When the truck stopped, she didn’t move, trying to concentrate on anything but the pain. When her door opened and arms went under her knees and behind her back, and Saint lifted her into his very strong arms, she let herself fall against an extremely hard and sculpted chest. Yeah, she thought. That would do it. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

“Baby, keys.”

“Huh?” she muttered.

“Baby, I can’t open your door if I don’t have keys.”

“Oh, right.” Opening her eyes slowly, as if superglued shut, she looked around for her key. “Where’s my purse,” she finally asked.

She felt a feather light touch across her cheek. That felt nice. “It’s in your hand sweetheart.”

“It is?”

She started to float down until her feet hit her porch. Not steady on her stilettos she didn’t let go of Saint. Lifting her hand, she stared at her purse hanging from her wrist as if she’d never seen it before. Saint laughed softly, took it from her and opened it, reached in and grabbed the key.

He unlocked the door and helped her inside. He went to turn on the lights and she said, “No! Leave them off.” Sienna swayed on her feet, her voice too loud in her head. Her belly sunk and flipped with acid, her knees started to shake and sweat started to bead on her face. She needed her bed. She took a step forward and, sure enough, started to go down. And then she wasn’t. Arms lifted her up and she was floating again.

“Saint?”

“I’m still here.”

“Okay.” She could feel the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile as he held her close, but she didn’t dare look. Any movement would bring on more nausea. She needed darkness, quiet, and if possible she needed to be completely still until she could sleep.

Sienna heard loud bangs and giggling. Megan had followed them home as she said she would. When she hit soft comforter she thanked God for the respite.  It wasn’t much, but she would take it.

“Do you need anything sweetheart?”

“Pill. Larger orange bottle. Bathroom cabinet,” she said, just audible.

She heard him moving around and didn’t care if he ran across her tampons or condoms. All she wanted was a migraine pill. Sienna felt the bed depress and a calloused hand wrap around her neck, lifting her head up. She cracked an eye open and saw what she needed. It wasn’t at all the man holding the pill.

“Open up, baby.” She pressed her lips tight. This man was a stranger. What was she doing? On a shaky inhale she opened up, he set the pill on her tongue, which was so intimate she didn’t know how to feel at the moment. Saint tipped the glass to her lips. She took a sip and swallowed. With the utmost care, he let her head come down onto her pillow and gently swept away the hair falling in her face.

“You going to be alright now?” He asked.

“Mm hmm.” His fingers caressed her cheek again. Why did that feel so nice? God! She didn’t need another man sneaking in behind her already shattered shields. Layton had done enough damage to them already. Her trust of any man should be non-existent. But somehow, this man taking the utmost care with her made her feel safe.

Giggling interrupted the contemplation of all her bad choices.

“Oh, sorry,” Megan whispered, snorted, as she fell into the room.

Saint got up and looked down at her.

“You coming, man?” she heard Hot Guy Number Two say.

“Yeah,” Saint replied. He started to walk toward the door, Megan and Saint’s friend exiting before him.

Saint had just walked under the doorframe about to leave when Sienna blurted one word she wanted take back—the concept so asinine–the instant it floated past her lips.

“Stay.”

Hot Blacktop – Ch. 1 – Coffee Break

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WendiCoffeeBreakphoto

Sienna Appleton brought her coffee mug to her lips on a strangled sigh and took her first sip. It didn’t help ease her broken heart but it cleared the fog that had settled in her brain since Monday. Memories of her ex rutting on some skank…

“Bastard!” She whispered.

The air draped the landscape in a cottony blanket as it hovered the grassy fields behind her house. Scents of soil and pine mingled and rain descended in an orchestra of chaos. She wiggled her toes perched on the white porch rail, and hugged the coffee mug to her chest. It was a morning ritual that she’d let slide over the past few years. Now she watched the rain run in rivulets that glistened across her new pedicure. The bright poppy-red enamel a burst of color in the dreary scene. She’d treated herself the previous day because Sienna deserved it after discovering her boyfriend, earlier in the week.

“Knock, knock!” A voice hollered from the front of the house. Sienna’s head turned and she saw her best friend Megan walk toward her through her new kitchen. “Hey, baby cakes.”

“Hey, Megs.” She took another sip, her eyes going back to the rain that matched her mood.

Megan plopped down on the seat next to her.

“So,” her friend said. “I see you’ve discarded all of the asshole’s belongings onto your front lawn. I think the sopping wet look is the next big thing from Assholes-r-Us. I’m sure Layton will appreciate it.”

Sienna didn’t reply, the silence was comfortable, but she knew Megan arrived because she wanted to help Sienna get out of the breakup muck that mired positive thoughts.

“So,” her friend said. “I see you’ve discarded all of the asshole’s belongings onto your front lawn. I think the sopping wet look is the next big thing from Assholes-r-Us. I’m sure Layton will appreciate it.”

Sienna didn’t say anything. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her friend’s lips pinch at the non-response. Sienna had been like this all week, hiding from pitying looks following her in town. She didn’t need that.

“Listen baby-cakes, it’s time to get out of your pajamas and re-enter the real world.” Megan turned to Sienna, grabbed her coffee and set it down on the railing with a thwack. The coffee jumped over the sides to escape.

“Hey! I was drinking that!” Sienna dropped her painted toes and reached to pick up her dripping mug before the rain made it a watered down mess.

“Nah ah, missy,” Megan barked. “You touch that coffee I’ll kick your be-hind.”

“Come on Megs. I haven’t even had a full cup yet.”

“Nope.” Megan grabbed the cup to keep it out of Sienna’s reach. “You don’t get it back ‘till you agree to go out with me tonight.”

Sienna drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I don’t feel like going out.” She pouted, looking at her friend.

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t feel like going out. You need to get out, show off that great mani-pedi you got yesterday.”

Sienna couldn’t help it when the tears started to come. She thought she’d run out of tears. “He hurt me bad, Megs. How could he do that to me? And for what? To enjoy some anonymous sex when he could have had me. What’s so bad about me?” Sienna sniffed madly, no tissue around to sop up her pathetic tears. Layton didn’t deserve her tears. “Bastard. Bastard.”

“That’s right honey. Get it out.”

“Bastard!” She screamed her heartache into the storm. After a few deep breaths Sienna got her crying under control and wiped her puffy, tear streaked face on her pajama shirt. She turned to her best friend. Sienna flashed back to the time when Megan literally fell into her life.

Skinny arms and legs twisted in a tangle of limbs when Sienna slammed into someone coming out of Hampshire’s Stop and Shop just as she took a drink of her pop. She screamed and groaned as she hit the ground. She flapped her arms like a bird that tried to right herself, the Rock & Rye Faygo running in rivulets down her arms and legs and splattered all over her head. The sticky mess patched together a puzzle of bar-b-que and sour cream and onion potato chips too.

“Gross,” the female voice said.

Sienna flapped her arms some more trying to flick off the chips and pop when she finally looked up to see who spoke. The explosion of pop had hit both girls like a geyser, red dye No. 40 their new skin color. They stared at each other, hair matted, wet and sticky, shorts and shirts stained. They looked so preposterous they burst into hysterical laughter, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

After the giggles settled down, the girl said, “I’m Megan.”

“Sienna. Nice to meet ya.”

After getting more chips and pop, Megan asked Sienna, “Want to come to my house?”

“Sure,” Sienna said. They’d been inseparable after that.

She smiled fondly of the memory. Nine and ten and gangly was not as complicated as twenty-four and twenty-five. A lot had changed.

Megs was now a curvy-all-in-the-right-places five foot eight woman. She was no longer the tomboy, but a strong, independent, successful woman with the best afro Sienna had ever seen. Her skin was clear and beautiful, the color of a latte. Sienna in looks was the polar opposite of Megs. She had straight blond hair verses Megs’ curls that would disappear on the black beaches of Hawaii. Sienna stood more like a sturdy tree at six foot two and 160 lbs. compared to Megs’ hourglass shape. And she didn’t even want to get into her pitiful cup size.

“What are you smiling about baby-cakes?”

“Do you remember when we first met?” Megan smiled.

“Yeah. Good times.” Megs’ eyes narrowed. “So you’re coming out with me tonight. No more sittin’ home feeling sorry for yourself. You’re coming out with your girl and livin’ it up.” She gave Sienna a quick hug and then pulled her up out of her seat.

“Thanks Megs,” Sienna whispered as she took hold of her friend and returned her hug. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Not much, considering we’re practically joined at the hip, socially and financially speaking.” Sienna laughed, and Megs laughed too, the quiet trill of it relaxing Sienna a bit.

She wasn’t kidding when she said they were joined at the hip. They’d started their own jewelry business right out of college. Sienna dove into an art major while Megan crunched numbers. Sienna had never had a good hold on numbers but Megs, on the other hand, could look at a set of digits and know the total in an instant. She was a beautiful brainiac. They were the perfect pair.

“So, you going to help me pick out an outfit or what?”

“Sure thing baby-cakes.” When her friend turned to open the door off the back porch, Sienna grabbed her coffee mug, when she thought she heard, “And I’ll be sure to find you a good man too.”

Sienna shook her head and followed Megan into the house. For the first time all week, she was truly smiling.

Idea Spring

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shower

I had a thought about a story I’m working on, it just happened to be while I was in the shower. Of course, it was gone before I could write it down, which is as frustrating as an itch I just can’t quite reach. It’s the one place not conducive to paper, pencil, a computer, or recording device.

What’s funny is most authors have these moments. Kimberly Kincaid, author of the upcoming book Reckless, A Rescue Squad Novel, which you can pre-order at Amazon.com, recently shared one of her own on Facebook. She was in line at a big-box convenience store and saw they had double sided bra tape by the register and a great way to deal with a sex scene popped into her head and she had to record her musings. Messaging back and forth with her this morning, she clarified, “…it made me think how funny it would be if a heroine was taped into a dress when she really wanted it off…” In the checkout line, she started furiously whispering the scene into her phone. If you want to read how the scene turned out you’ll have to keep your eyes peeled for the second book in A Rescue Squad Novel series, her current W.I.P.

Other places I’ve had ideas spark are in my car. I can use my phone to record the idea but only while at a red light, and I pray the idea doesn’t flit out of my head before that happens. The doctor’s office is another, which can be embarrassing, since it is usually pretty quiet and my ideas can be pretty steamy in the romance department. Most of my ideas spring open while I’m at the bookstore when I’m actually getting some quality ideas down.

Because I’ve been concentrating on my next W.I.P. I’ve not had time for anything else. Unfortunately, that means the piece, be it fiction or non-fiction, I would have written for this post is still up in my head. Therefore, I thought I’d ask a question instead:

What are the top five places, not including in front of your computer, where your writing ideas spring?

 

Undressed

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In the past few weeks, I’ve been taking an hour out of my day to develop several meet-cutes. A meet-cute is a term used in the movie industry illustrating how the main characters in a romance meet for the first time in a funny way. You can see the full definition on dictionary.com under the idiom for cute.

Generating story ideas for future projects can be daunting. A meet-cute is a fun way to jumpstart the creative process. What follows is one of the ideas that came out of this brainstorming.

 

"Die Geheimnisse Der Liebe", Harper’s Bazaar Germany, October 1996 Photographer : Pamela Hanson Models : Valeria Mazza & Jason lewis

“Die Geheimnisse Der Liebe”, Harper’s Bazaar Germany, October 1996
Photographer : Pamela Hanson
Models : Valeria Mazza & Jason lewis

“You’re not going to school dressed like that!” Sierra Pierson couldn’t quite understand what she was seeing. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the vision of her 15-year-old daughter baring more skin then a whore in a heat wave. Penelope, her sweet, innocent daughter, the daughter that still sleeps cuddling her Teddy, who still asks for a kiss good night, stood in the hallway wearing a skirt so high and tight that if she sat down the action would expose her to all of the free world. And the top…Sierra didn’t even want to think about the image burned on the back of her eyelids.

A curse upon her family was early onset Boobitis, and unfortunately, Penelope had grown into said curse in the last year.

“Penelope Olivia Pierson,” Sierra said, pointing to her daughter’s room. “Go change right now.”

Poppy stiffened. Her mouth just started to open as a knock sounded at the front door. They both looked down the stairs.

“Go!” Sierra said. She wondered who would come knocking so early in the morning.

“Mom!”

“No Poppy. I don’t have time for this.” Sierra shook her head and pointed to her daughter. She could tell Poppy was eager for a fight. “I’m late. Why did this have to happen on the first day at the new office? She thought. Dammit!  She huffed in exasperation. “Please go change.”

Sierra started to turn for the stairs. The knocking got louder.

“Just a minute!” she yelled. Poppy hadn’t budged.

“Can I at least wear the shirt?” she whined.

Sierra rubbed her temple where a headache started tap dancing, looked up at the cracked ceiling and sighed. The house needed a lot of work and so did Poppy’s sense of decency. Eyes back on Poppy, she gave her her best evil eye that would melt the paint off an icy flagpole. “Only if you keep on your hoody.”

Sierra watched Poppy smirk. Oh, she thought she could get away with something. Not this time.

“You better keep it zipped. I’ll know if you don’t. I have eyes and ears all over this town, even at your school.” She crossed her arms under her own ample breasts.

Her daughter squinted, gave her the lip-curl and looked like she was going to snarl her displeasure, but decided against it. Good thing otherwise Sierra would have to remind her, what a crazy mother could do to embarrass said daughter. In a swirl of thwarted slutdom, Poppy left Sierra to answer the persistent knocking. Sierra ran down the stairs and yanked the door open as her mind whirled with all she had yet to do to get ready for her new job. “What!”

****

Detective Lawrence (Low) Renicki rolled up to the two-story prairie style house in his pick-up truck and pulled to a stop.  Why his best friend, Burk, couldn’t deliver a package to his sister himself, he would never know. But he owed him, and this was the payoff.

Low reached over, grabbed the small brown box and winced.  He slowly sat back up and took a couple deep breaths controlling the pain that snuck up on him. It wasn’t as bad as a couple days ago; it was enough to dampen the line of his brow and upper lip though. He’d be dead if it hadn’t for his best friend and partner, Burk, tackling a suspect who’d pulled a weapon and got off a shot.

Low had been recovering for a few weeks now, but it would be a few more before he got back to work. He’d rather be sitting watching a ball game then out running errands, but he owed his friend big time. And this was easy compared to what Burk could have asked for. Walking with a shortened gate, he knocked on the front door.  There was no immediate answer but he did hear some yelling. He looked to the side through the narrow window but couldn’t see much through the thin curtain. It sounded like an argument. He lifted his fist and knocked again, his side throbbing with each bang. Low thought he should just go. He needed to get this done and get back home. Before he could knock again, the door opened in a flourish and he almost dropped the small package but his jaw dropped open instead.

“What!”

All Low could do was stare.

Burk’s sister leaned on the solid wood doorframe, one arm above her head, the other fisted on her hip, the fabric of her very tight, very sheer white camisole, stretched to within an inch of its life. Barely hiding her lace bra, also white, it left little to the imagination. And thank the fashion gods for that, he thought, because they had blessed this woman with the most luscious breasts he’d had ever seen.

“Uh, uh?” Low stammered.

“Well? What do you want?” Sierra questioned with an irritated snap.

Clomping of shoes snapped his eyes to the sound coming down from the second floor. What was her name? Poppy, that was it, Low thought, she was the exact duplicate of her mother, blond hair, blue eyes, a little less curve in the hips, still growing into herself. He guessed, just getting a good hold on her teenage years, maybe.

The girl smiled, looked to her mother and he couldn’t help but look back at Sierra, caught again by all her curves. His fingers twitched to smooth them under the hem of the slick pencil skirt that she had paired with the camisole. He would wrinkle it up as he peeled back the fabric that hugged her hips. Low licked his lips.

When the daughter started laughing, his head snapped up. The woman’s eyes glanced over her shoulder, and then quickly down at where Poppy pointed and laughed. Sierra’s eyes came back up to his and he smiled. He couldn’t help it.

“Oh, shit!” Faster than a cheetah, Sierra disappeared up the stairs. “Just a minute,” she yelled down.

Low chuckled.

As Poppy turned away and walked through an open doorway toward the back of the house, Low thought he heard her say, “Well, that was fun.” And for the life of him he couldn’t remember why he even stopped by. Oh right, he remembered, the package, and laughed again, waiting for the very sexy Sierra to come back down.

His morning just got a whole lot better.

Witchy Woman

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Crows circled the house as my footfalls cracked branches and dirt sank between my toes. The old house was my safe haven, the darkness my hiding place when the light seemed too oppressive. Weeds clung to the worn slats of siding, vines crept up the walls, their small fingerless leaves reaching for the light and overgrown trees and foliage blocked the sun like living gravestones. I looked up to the ominous birds again, and asked, “Why do you circle crows? You shouldn’t be here.”

I walked faster, my steps uncharacteristically thoughtless. My worries were my own here in the dense woods, as I wandered outside the walls of my secret world. Then a tinkle of laughter filled my ears. I turned my head to listen closer. The delightful but abrupt sound echoed inside the abandoned house off its walls as I drew closer. I stopped, my throat closing in anger. This was my place. Unsheathing my dagger, strapped to my chest, I prepared to defend what was mine.

I listened for the sound again. Not hearing anything, I moved up onto the back concrete porch where the backdoor was wide open, broken from its hinges long ago. This time, I entered without a sound, my eyes scanning for any disturbance in the familiar landscape. I wondered what the humans were like who had lived here. Did they eat their meals together and talk about their day, or did they find the nearest pub to paw up the skirt of a wench. My long hardened fingers clenched and released.

I heard the laughter again, and sucked in a painful breath. I would have to find another place to go to for solitude. My shoulders slumped low, my fists clenched and my chin fell nearly to my chest, my mood slowly moving onto rage. I didn’t get very far. My name seemed to come to me on the wind from the next room, making my skin prickle and shiver with need.

“Silas Anastad,” the voice said joined by her tinkling laugh. “Do not leave.” The feminine timber singed my body. I turned to the voice unwilling to leave but my feet carried me closer.

“I’ve waited too long to meet you.” I smiled again as she spoke. “Come to me, male of the Sidhe.” That got my attention even more. How did the female know I was of the Fae?

“Because silly, I’m special.” She continued to laugh, the wonderful sound finally dropping off as I walked through the grand archway into the core of the dilapidated home. I held my weapon firm.

What greeted me was nothing less than astounding, the most beautiful human woman I’d ever laid eyes on. She seemed to glow from the inside out, her warmth radiating onto my dark, flesh, like a soft caress from her lips. I closed my eyes and felt it sink into my soul, opening a part of me that had been stuck in an abyss of hate. My body swayed forward.

Blinking my eyes open, I couldn’t help but stare. Her cerulean colored eyes were luminous. They glowed as if they were jewels filled with laughter. Soft plump lips, painted a glossy crimson, curled up in a mischievous smile. Her dark chestnut hair lay in soft curls winding down and over her full pale breasts that a black lace and blood red satin corset hugged so lovingly. Her lush hips flared out draped with more red satin accentuating her full figure so well, I wanted to grip those curves bring her hips flush with mine. When I trained my eyes on her feet, they were bare, her small delicate toes adorned with black paint on her nails, just as she’d done to her fingernails.

I cleared my dry throat, but the word stuck. I tried again. “Hello.”

She waved and looked at me coyly from under her lashes, her skirt twirling back and forth.

“Hello, Silas.” She stopped moving, her stature growing as she straightened to her full height, which was still much shorter than my six foot four frame, but no less commanding. She seemed luminous in her confidence, her age somewhere in her twenties, belying the number. It was amazing to watch the transformation from the shy but excited female to this more regal woman who stood before me.

I cleared my throat again, “How do you know my name?”

“I’ve seen you,” she tapped her temple, “up here, since I was very young.”

She was so beautiful, I lost track of what I was going to say. I shook my head to clear the confusion of her appearance, and finally asked, “But how? You’re human. How do you know about my kind?”

Her lips twisted up at one corner and her head tilted to the side, as if to tell me I was an idiot. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I returned my dagger to my harness. She seemed so excited to see me, but I shook my head. “I don’t understand,” I said.

She started to twirl in a circle and hummed to a tune I couldn’t hear. I finally had had enough and quickly moved toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders, bringing her to a standstill, or so I thought. But she swept me up in her joy and my arms easily wrapped around her, one hand going to her little waist and the other gripping her nape at her hair, and we started to dance around the grand room. The music I hadn’t heard suddenly flit across the room as it transformed into something wild. The chandelier above us sparkled anew and the floor became a polished marble, the walls a rich tapestry of  fabric, as the magic emanating from her touched us both, carrying us in the dance. Her head went back, she smiled through her laughter, and all I could do was hold on.

“Finally,” she kept saying, “Finally.”

When the music dwindled and we came to a stop, she looked up at me and the world came to a sudden halt as our heads came closer together. She lifted a hand to my face and brushed her slight fingers against my cheek, up, over my pointed ear, and down my jaw, stopping on my lips. Her fingers touched me, where her eyes focused on my lips, in a lazy back and forth motion. Her tiny pink tongue swept across her own lips making them wet and I groaned. My head bent down to hers and…

I snapped my head up, but still held her close, my hand twining in her soft hair, tipping her head further back, not loosening my controlled grip. “You’re a witch.” It was a statement of fact and she gave another one of her tiny coy smiles. But there was nothing really coy about her. Her eyes flared with sexual heat and power that made my body stir as only a males could. I leaned in again, her lips parting, her breath hot, and my blood pumping hard as I leaned in once again. “What’s your name?” I whispered so close I could almost taste her.

“Analise,” she said, her voice a shiver across my skin, as her body started to tremble with a need as strong as mine, her scent sharpening as I breathed her in.

“Who are you?”

“I am yours.”