Sunday, July 15, 2018

Six on Sunday - WRYNTER, a Paranormal/Contemporary Fantasy Romance

Six paragraphs from Wrynter, a paranormal, contemporary fantasy, romantic suspense.

1. “I noticed you seemed to be comfortable inside my apartment. I saw you running your bare hands over the furniture. Since I’m here with you, I take it you either know everything about me and it doesn’t bother you, or you’ve been taken by my charming personality.” He threw her that boyish grin that made his blue eyes crinkle in the corners.

2. Hammond Blake was real. A decent man with scruples. And the lack of those dark emotions meant that every time she touched him, she wouldn’t be hit with the stomach-churning sickness that took days to scrub from her soul.

3. Grabbing his wrist, she shoved it to the side. The man fired, but the bullet went harmlessly into the ceiling, as she’d planned. At the same time, she threw an arm around his neck and jerked his head downward. His nose connected with her knee, and she heard the solid crunch as the cartilage gave way.

4. His mouth did indescribable things to her. His lips and tongue were driving her senses into overload. His hands massaged, kneaded, and lifted her hips from the bed to grasp her buttocks before reaching up again to find the roundness of her breasts. And when he pulled himself up along her length, sliding taut skin along skin, she unconsciously spread her legs, wishing and wanting him to fulfill her.

5. She remained silent all the way to the police station. He couldn’t imagine what she’d witnessed inside that dog’s head, and he didn’t ask, even though he was curious to know. He’d wait until she was ready to volunteer that information on her own. In the meantime, he’d keep a close eye on her in case there were any repercussions. After all, that was part of his job, his assignment. But mostly, it was because he’d come to realize how deep his feelings were growing for this incredible, beautiful woman. 

6. If there was anything positive to be said about her imprisonment, she now knew the truth about the Mays woman’s death. At least, she knew who the killer was. Who had pulled out that knife from the butcher block, then put it back when a bigger, better blade had presented itself. Who had left that bloody footprint near the body. Who had torn the opal necklace from the old woman’s neck, severely tearing and bruising the paper-thin skin. She’d gotten the information in bits and pieces, forcing herself to sift it like precious jewels from the sludge of ugliness that was poured into her every time this woman touched her. 

Excerpt and buy links.

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