I hope you all like the new design of my blog. Barbara at Happily Ever After has such an amazing blog that I asked her to help me do something different with my darn Blogger account. I was suffering from a really bad case of Widget Envy and couldn't make my blog do a darned thing. It turns out that part of my problem was having the old Blogger template from just after the dinosaurs went extinct. Blogger 10,000 B.C. or something like that.
So thanks, Barbara!
Anyway, I thought I'd share something with you all, a little sneak peek at Naked Edge, which finally seems to be moving in the right direction after a rewrite or two...
In this scene from Chapter 10, Gabe is having a hard time, grappling with his ghosts and with the emotional turmoil Kat has brought to his life. Enjoy!
Not far from a certain butte outside Boulder...
Gabe turned onto his side, rearranged the pillow beneath his head, jerked the blanket up to his chin, willing himself to sleep. It didn’t work. The arm of the couch bent his neck at an unnatural angle. His feet hung off the other end. Worse, the seam of his boxer briefs cut into his nuts like piano wire.
He rolled onto his back, adjusted himself, his hand closing around his cock. And for a moment he considered jacking off. He could kill two birds with one stone — relieve the tension roiling inside him and make himself fall asleep. There was only one catch: what he wanted was in his bedroom, lying in his bed, wearing one of his T-shirts. Touching himself seemed pretty lame when compared to touching her.
What would she do if he went to her, if he stretched himself out beside her and started kissing her? Would she tell him to get out, or would she kiss him back? And what the hell was wrong with him that he was even considering it?
He closed his eyes again, his head crowded by thoughts, images, memories. Jill lying dead at the morgue. Two Crows lying dead at Mesa Butte. Kat crawling, dragging her broken leg behind her. Kat being dragged out of the sweat lodge by her hair. Her tears as she’d knelt at Two Crows’s side. Her whimpers as Gabe kissed and sucked her nipples. Falling at the rock gym. Almost falling outside his own damn door, drunk on his ass.
Somehow it all came down to one thing: he wanted Kat.
He shoved the blanket aside and stood, glancing down at the Glock and deciding to leave it by the couch. The alarm would give him plenty of time to retrieve it if he needed it. Before he could think too hard about what he was doing, he crossed the room, walked down the hallway, and silently opened his bedroom door.
She lay on her side facing the door, her hair a dark halo against the white pillowcases. He moved closer and saw that she was sound asleep, her face relaxed, her breathing deep and even, her lips slightly parted. Her arm rested on top the comforter, his T-shirt slipping to reveal the soft curve of her shoulder.
For a moment, he stood there, watching her sleep, feeling oddly like a trespasser in his own bedroom. Then he reached out, brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, rubbed the strands between his fingers, feeling their softness.
What was it about her that got to him? If only he knew, he’d get vaccinated, find a cure, look for some way to stop it. Hell, he’d wear a rope of garlic around his neck if he thought that would do the trick. He didn’t want to want her, didn’t want to get any more tangled up in her than he already was, didn’t want to feel.
As if to prove to him how impossible that would be, she sighed in her sleep and nuzzled deeper into her pillow, and the same feeling of protectiveness he always seemed to feel for her growing inside him.
Then something slipped from her hand onto the sheet.
Her cell phone.
The damned thing was still on.
He picked it up. Letting his gaze linger on her face for a second longer, he turned, walked out of his room, and closed the door behind him. When he was sure the sound wouldn’t wake her, he flipped the little device open and turned it off. He’d be damned if anyone was going to scare her again tonight. Then, setting the phone beside the Glock, he lay down, stared up at the ceiling, and waited for morning.
So thanks, Barbara!
Anyway, I thought I'd share something with you all, a little sneak peek at Naked Edge, which finally seems to be moving in the right direction after a rewrite or two...
In this scene from Chapter 10, Gabe is having a hard time, grappling with his ghosts and with the emotional turmoil Kat has brought to his life. Enjoy!
Not far from a certain butte outside Boulder...
Gabe turned onto his side, rearranged the pillow beneath his head, jerked the blanket up to his chin, willing himself to sleep. It didn’t work. The arm of the couch bent his neck at an unnatural angle. His feet hung off the other end. Worse, the seam of his boxer briefs cut into his nuts like piano wire.
He rolled onto his back, adjusted himself, his hand closing around his cock. And for a moment he considered jacking off. He could kill two birds with one stone — relieve the tension roiling inside him and make himself fall asleep. There was only one catch: what he wanted was in his bedroom, lying in his bed, wearing one of his T-shirts. Touching himself seemed pretty lame when compared to touching her.
What would she do if he went to her, if he stretched himself out beside her and started kissing her? Would she tell him to get out, or would she kiss him back? And what the hell was wrong with him that he was even considering it?
He closed his eyes again, his head crowded by thoughts, images, memories. Jill lying dead at the morgue. Two Crows lying dead at Mesa Butte. Kat crawling, dragging her broken leg behind her. Kat being dragged out of the sweat lodge by her hair. Her tears as she’d knelt at Two Crows’s side. Her whimpers as Gabe kissed and sucked her nipples. Falling at the rock gym. Almost falling outside his own damn door, drunk on his ass.
Somehow it all came down to one thing: he wanted Kat.
He shoved the blanket aside and stood, glancing down at the Glock and deciding to leave it by the couch. The alarm would give him plenty of time to retrieve it if he needed it. Before he could think too hard about what he was doing, he crossed the room, walked down the hallway, and silently opened his bedroom door.
She lay on her side facing the door, her hair a dark halo against the white pillowcases. He moved closer and saw that she was sound asleep, her face relaxed, her breathing deep and even, her lips slightly parted. Her arm rested on top the comforter, his T-shirt slipping to reveal the soft curve of her shoulder.
For a moment, he stood there, watching her sleep, feeling oddly like a trespasser in his own bedroom. Then he reached out, brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, rubbed the strands between his fingers, feeling their softness.
What was it about her that got to him? If only he knew, he’d get vaccinated, find a cure, look for some way to stop it. Hell, he’d wear a rope of garlic around his neck if he thought that would do the trick. He didn’t want to want her, didn’t want to get any more tangled up in her than he already was, didn’t want to feel.
As if to prove to him how impossible that would be, she sighed in her sleep and nuzzled deeper into her pillow, and the same feeling of protectiveness he always seemed to feel for her growing inside him.
Then something slipped from her hand onto the sheet.
Her cell phone.
The damned thing was still on.
He picked it up. Letting his gaze linger on her face for a second longer, he turned, walked out of his room, and closed the door behind him. When he was sure the sound wouldn’t wake her, he flipped the little device open and turned it off. He’d be damned if anyone was going to scare her again tonight. Then, setting the phone beside the Glock, he lay down, stared up at the ceiling, and waited for morning.