This story is for a free anthology put out by my crit group. ERAuthors. But here's a little snippet. The story is the beginning/ teaser for a new series I'll be self-publishing. PNR in a post-apocalyptic time. Series title - "Cataclysm Blues" This one has an American West background but with added sexy paranormal! Expected Release Date - Winter (US) 2012 The move was fast and unexpected. Rose couldn’t counter it and barely knew what he’d done after it was over. Her pistol was gone, she’d been shoved into the brick wall hard enough to sting her back, and Talon held both her hands above her head. Each of his hands pinned one of her wrists. They were both breathing hard. “Don’t scream. I’ll let you go. I just wanted you out here to talk, like I said.” She blinked. How had he done that? No one, ever, bested her. “You’re a freak.” She wriggled her wrists but all that did was chafe her skin on the brick. Could kick him. But he crowded her—his body pressing close. Groin to groin, his chest to her breasts, and his mouth inches away from hers. And there it was—that kerthump sinking feeling again. The temperature between her legs went up several degrees, and wet…she was much wetter down there. “Freak? Am I?” Rose heard that dead smile in his words again. “What about you?” “Me? I’m the sheriff.” He still held her. “The letting go bit? Remember? My deputy is coming.” “Not yet he isn’t. I can’t hear him.” The pause stretched to breaking point. “You’ve been stupid, Sheriff.” Yeah, she guessed she had. She’d thought she could take him. Killing someone took seconds, if you knew how. Looking into Talon’s night-darkened eyes only reinforced her gut instinct—this man could kill. But he hadn’t. And now, though she could try screaming, that meant sucking in a heap of air, and he’d know. On the flip side… “If you’d wanted to kill me, you’d have done it by now.” “True.” So close, she felt the waft of warm air from his mouth as he spoke. She smelled him every time she inhaled. As if he read her mind, he leaned in and put his nose to her neck where it was bared by her collar. His warm skin on hers. The fine bristles on his chin rasped at her. She tensed. Why am I not protesting? I’m not some floozy. No? Then why haven’t I screamed for Deputy Yale? And sod it, that man is slow. “Kill you? You smell too good, beautiful. I think I have other plans.” Beautiful? Other plans? She stopped breathing. No one called her that. Especially not a six foot plus hunk of man who could, for once, eat her all up without half trying. His thigh moved in, denim to denim, pressing upward to where her clit resided. God damn, that’s… The wall seemed to slide a half inch upward, because her knees had caved. She’d melted—bone, muscle, everything. The only thing stopping her slide was his knee between her legs, and her arms fastened above. Around her wrists his grip rhythmically relaxed then tightened as if he was thinking. She thought about swallowing again, but that would be a dead giveaway to her arousal. “You’ve never been kissed, have you, Rose?” “Of course I have.” The huskiness in her voice bothered her. He’d know. Got to get back on the job. Get out of this hold for starters. “No. You’ve never had a man kiss you, though you might have kissed them. There’s a difference. I doubt anyone else could handle you. I can.” Stunned, she gaped at him.
1 Comment
Paula Tufto
29/6/2012 03:51:02 pm
Reluctant hero. . .or bad boy? I LIKE Talon already!
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Copyright Cari Silverwood 2011. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
Cari Silverwood is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com. AuthorCari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night. Follow Cari Silverwood on...
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