Paranormal Fragment Friday Hop

Fragment FridaysBelow is a fragment from a scene in Shrouded in Illusion. Right now you can get a couple free on Amazon.

Don’t forget this is a blog hop too so check out the other fragment on the linky list!

He walked over to her. Bending, he eased the partially filled glass gently from her fingers and placed it on the end table. She shifted but didn’t wake.

Jake noticed she’d downed far too much alcohol tonight. Could it be because of a guilty conscience? Or something more? Yet the reason might be simply because she’d just buried her brother.

None of the wine had spilled onto her robe, part of which had slipped from one creamy shoulder to reveal a red satin nightgown. Her skin looked as silken as the gown shimmering against the firelight.

His chest tightened.

Unable to stop the impulse, he reached down and curled a finger around a lock of her satiny hair. She stirred. The ebony strand slipped through his fingers to curve against her cheek, and her lips parted. They were wide and bow shaped. So damn kissable.

But was Margot really delicate? Was she like her brother, John, whom he’d trusted and Shrouded in Darknessrespected? Or did that face hide something hard and unfeeling? Something just as ruthless as Malcolm? After all, she’d married Malcolm. At some point she’d been attracted to him.

He sighed. Who was he to judge? He was far from anyone’s Prince Charming. And what did it matter? Either way, she was unattainable.

He pulled a crocheted blanket from a basket by the chair and draped her in its warm folds. For one long moment, he watched her as yearning and loneliness sank and pooled deep in his gut. Then he slipped silently from the room.

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Manday Hotties Hop – Start Your Monday Off Right

Manday Hotties

Thanks for stopping by my blog for Manday Hotties!

This week I found some great hotties for the holiday season. :)








Sexy Christmas Hottie

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Fragment Fridays – Book Fragments that Go Bump in the Night

Fragment FridaysIt’s Fragment Friday today! Below is a fragment of the opening chapter of Shrouded in Mystery where the hero wakes up from a car accident.

He came to with a jolt. Wind rushed through the broken windshield and slashed vicious tentacles against his face, while shattered glass and snow lay scattered across the dashboard and his lap. Pain cut into his skull and the back of his neck. With a tentative hand, he touched his brow and came away with damp fingers.


He blinked several times, unable to understand why he sat behind the wheel of a car.

Some type of car accident? He couldn’t remember.

The vehicle rested at an odd angle, its nose dipped downward, and the driver’s side tilted toward the pine tops. Waning light turned a cloudless sky to a dirty gray. Dawn or dusk? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. How had he gotten here?

Lifting his hands, he peered at them. They were large, long fingered, and free of calluses. Fine brown hairs dusted their backs. Stranger’s hands. His hands.

He wrestled for answers—a memory, an image, a clue to his identity—anything.

Nothing but a black, empty slate.

Panic welled in his throat and cut off the air to his lungs. He couldn’t remember anything about himself. He didn’t have a name, a past, a family. He didn’t exist.

Finally, he managed to drag in a lungful of air, but its frigid sting rushed passed his throat and into his lungs too fast. Oxygen flooded his head and white sparks danced across his peripheral vision.

No. He needed to stop. Now. And focus. Think.

He forced himself to relax, to calm the wild thump of his heart. After a moment he managed to breathe in a slow, steady rhythm, and the panic eased. He turned and noticed the passenger to his right. A man sat slumped, silent, his body thrown forward and held in place by his seatbelt.

“Hey, are you okay?”

No answer.

He nudged the man’s shoulder with a hand. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

Something wasn’t right.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and slapped a palm against the dashboard to stop from pitching forward. Awkwardly, he twisted in his seat, eased forward and ducked to get a better look at the person’s face. That’s when he noticed the hole above the passenger’s open and unblinking eye. For several long, heartrending seconds, he stared at how the blood pooled from the wound, and then dripped, again and again, slowly but steadily onto the person’s jean clad leg.

A gunshot wound. Had to be. “Jesus!”

Until now, he hadn’t noticed the pungent odor of death and how it clung to the interior of the car. At the stench, his stomach lurched but kept from heaving its contents.

The passenger wasn’t even a man but a kid in his late teens. A dead one at that. And the boy sure as hell didn’t die from a car accident with a bullet hole in his head.

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