Jill Hughey

Angel’s Assassin on First Sight Saturday

Jill Hughey — Sat, 13 Apr 2013 11:00:00 +0000

This week I’m happy to welcome award-winning writer Laurel O’Donnell who is going to share a first meeting from her medieval romance Angel’s Assassin. I gotta tell you, this hero has grabbed my attention already. Read on to see what I mean….

SETUP OF THE SCENE: Just prior to this excerpt, Lady of Aurora of Acquitaine has been rescued from an attacker by a mysterious stranger. Who, pray tell, could he be? (A real hottie, that’s who!)

EXCERPT

Shivers peppered her arms and hysteria threatened to pull her into darkness. Aurora lifted panicked eyes to the tall, dark stranger. He was dressed in black from the leather boots clinging to his muscled calves, to the breeches hugging his powerful thighs, and up to the tunic opening at his neck to give a glimpse of his strong chest. His thick black hair hung to his shoulders in effortless waves. His dark eyes were like onyx. At first glance, they were soulless, as cold and as eerie as the dead man’s lying within an arm’s reach of her. A fleeting niggling of familiarity tugged at the back of her memory. Before her shocked mind could place him, he lifted his hand and held it out to her, palm up.

She shifted her stare from his strong hand back to his eyes and saw something else in his mysterious orbs, something deep inside calling to her, beckoning. For a moment, she felt as though he was asking for something from her, as though he needed her. Her soul answered with calm assurance, pushing aside her own fear. She could never resist the urge to assist another. She raised her trembling fingers toward his, drawn inexplicably to his offered hand.

“Stand back!” Captain Trane shouted. He appeared in front of her, a large stick in hand. He knocked her outstretched hand aside with his hip, blocking her view of her rescuer.

Aurora angled her head so she could see the dark stranger beyond Captain Trane.

The stranger’s lip curled in a feral snarl and he lifted his weapon.

Captain Trane half turned to Aurora. “My lady,” he said, offering her a hand. “Are you hurt?”

Aurora accepted his help to her feet. “He saved my life,” she said in wonder.

Captain Trane turned back to the stranger.

As the stranger shifted his gaze from Captain Trane to her, the contempt burning deep in his eyes seemed to fade and then vanish completely. He lowered his weapon, straightening to his full height. He was a good head taller than Aurora, his shoulders broad and strong. He watched her speculatively.

Some might consider his black eyes evil and demonic, but Aurora thought they were beautifully unique. They mesmerized her, intrigued her. He also managed to instill peace in her.

Captain Trane knelt beside the dead man. “Do you know him, m’lady?”

As Aurora looked at her would-be assassin, her heart began to pound and her entire body trembled with fear. He tried to kill her. But why? She had done nothing! She was nothing like her mother. “No,” she whispered.

The stranger stepped before her, blocking her view of the dead man. He bent down beside Captain Trane and quickly searched the corpse, removing a pouch from beneath the dead man’s green tunic and a long, thin blade from his boot. He tied the pouch at his waist and slid the dagger beneath his leather belt. The stranger used the dead assassin’s green tunic to wipe the blood from his sword. He rose and scanned the area.

Aurora followed his gaze. Around them, the crowd of villagers grew, whisperings rustling through them. “What is it?” she asked nervously.

“You should leave now,” he said softly.

His words, issued with a commanding tone of warning, sent shivers of concern racing down Aurora’s spine. She looked at Captain Trane in confusion.

Trane, a squat, stocky man with a dour face, stared at the stranger with knit brows. His brown eyes burned with a desire to do the best he could, to protect her. “Here now,” Trane objected to the stranger. “The danger is over. Lady Aurora is safe.”

“I’ve dealt with his kind before. These assassins sometimes travel in pairs or groups of three, maybe more.” He shook the pouch he took from the dead man and it jangled loudly, clearly full of coin. “If this was just the down payment on Lady Aurora’s head, the full price is likely enough to feed a dozen men for a month.”

Aurora paled.

A young man bearing the Acquitaine heraldry on his tunic raced up the street toward Aurora, pushing his way through the gathered crowd, his sword drawn. Sir Rupert’s young face turned as bright red as his tunic as he faced his commander. “I’m sorry, Captain.” His breath came in quick gasps. “I was looking to buy Lord Gabriel some fresh cider—”

Captain Trane continued to scan the square. “Lady Aurora will be returning to the castle.”

More assassins? Aurora clenched her hands in a tight knot before her. Farmers and peasants gathered nearby, lifting speculative glances in her direction. She recognized many faces. But some she did not. A shiver coursed through her body. She looked at the dead man again. Am I to end up like mother? Fear spiraled through her, coiling around her, threatening to steal her calm disposition and leave her the weeping, frightened child of seven years ago. But when she met the stranger’s gaze once again, his dark eyes infused her with a calming peace, banishing any terror. “I thank you for the great deed of bravery you performed here,” she said to him.

The man gazed at her with dark intensity. It was as if he could not stop staring at her. As if…he were confused by something.

“I would like to reward you.”

“You should be more concerned with your own safety,” the stranger advised.

His voice, deep and powerful, resonated through Aurora. “You saved my life,” she stated simply.

Rupert began to disperse the villagers around them, waving his hands in the air and commanding them to, “Move along.”

Captain Trane took hold of her arm. “My lady,” he whispered. “We need to return to the castle.” He guided her down the road.

As the distance between her and the stranger grew, something akin to panic stirred inside Aurora. She broke free of Captain Trane’s hold and returned to the stranger. “You will accompany us?”

The stranger hesitated. He lifted his head to stare thoughtfully at the horizon. His dark hair shifted slightly in a gentle breeze, brushing his strong jaw. When he again looked at Aurora, his eyes shone hard and distant. He opened his mouth as if to answer, but then remained silent as his gaze swept from her eyes to her lips with a languid stroke. When his stare reached her lips, his brow furrowed and he closed his mouth. He nodded his head.

Aurora realized she had been holding her breath, worried he would decline. Upon his acceptance, she smiled brightly. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Damien.”

END OF EXCERPT

I have such a soft spot for calm, deadly heroes. Sigh. To find your own copy of Angel’s Assassin, choose from the links below.

Amazon Barnes and Noble Smashwords

Keep in touch with Laurel O’Donnell at her website or Facebook page.

Thank you for sharing with us today, Laurel!

Vain – third week – on First Sight Saturday

Jill Hughey — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 11:00:00 +0000

Last week I posted the second portion of a scene of from my new release, Vain, and here is the rest of it. Lily, the abandoned daughter of a tailor, has just sworn to Theophilus, Lord of Ribeauville, that she indeed knows how to sew. As she made her promise she placed her hand on some beautiful cloth he has brought. Theo found this amusing, so the excerpt starts with a laugh.

BEGINNING OF EXCERPT

Her lord threw his head back. In Willis the weaver’s tiny abode, unexpected masculine laughter rang off the walls. Lily smiled, surprised the skin on her face remembered how to accommodate the action. “I am satisfied, Lily,” he chuckled. “Do you need my measurements?”

“Has anything changed?” she asked, recklessly playful after his mirth, and nearly drunk at having conversation and joy in the home that had become more like a jail. “Did you indulge in too many rich meals over the winter?”

His hand went to his flat stomach, then he laughed again. “Nothing has changed.”

“We will use what we already have then. Would you mind if I just drape the fabric on you for a moment to help me finish the tunic in my mind’s eye?”

“Not at all.” He held his arms out to his sides.

She unwound three more rounds of the wool, handed him the bolt, and lifted the end over his shoulder. Even doubled as it was, the material cascaded weightless down his chest. “You always bring such wonderful things to work with,” she repeated with honest pleasure. She adjusted the wool around his neckline below the heavy gold clasp holding his cloak. “Squarish, you said,” she confirmed as she backed away.

“Yes.”

“I do not think a true square will be right for you. Might I angle it a bit for your inspection when the top is pieced together?” she asked, warming to the welcome task. “I can always change the cut to square.”

“As long as you do nothing permanent, I will agree,” he replied.

“The color is very good for you,” she added, returning to him to move the fabric again. She placed her hands on the outsides of his shoulders, testing their shape and reminding herself of his proportions. “Gold embroidery, I think, at the neck and wrists, but only enough to set off the burgundy. The cloth itself is what should impress about the tunic.” She looked up to test his reaction. His brow furrowed. She could not tell what he thought of her ideas and feared her creative rambling might be bad for business. She backed away cautiously.

Her lord pulled the Blood of Christ from his shoulders to wind back on the bolt. She retrieved the burgundy mass and clutched it to her, afraid he might change his mind.

He untied a small leather bag from his belt and tossed it on the table with the blessed clink of silver. “We are of one mind on this tunic. In the sack you will find gold thread for the embroidery, burgundy thread for the sewing, and my usual deposit.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she gushed in giddy gratitude. “I will inform you when enough is done for you to inspect.”

“You will also inform me when Willis returns from Strazburg,” he ordered, giving her a stern look as he pulled his cloak back over his shoulders.

Reality crashed down on Lily. The Lord of Ribeauville would be watching more than her sewing this spring.

END OF EXCERPT

Buy Vain at the following sites:

Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo AmazonUK AmazonCA

Vain – second take – on First Sight Saturday

Jill Hughey — Sat, 23 Mar 2013 11:00:00 +0000

Here is the second portion of the first scene in Vain. Last week we saw Theophilus, Lord of Ribeauville, stop by a shop searching for a tailor reported as having been scarce for the last few months, leaving his daughter alone. He has just asked Lily when her father left, and she tries to distract him by asking to see some cloth he brought.

BEGINNING OF EXCERPT

“In the morning,” she answered. He arched one thick brow, hearing the vagueness in her response. She rushed to fill the questioning silence. “Please, my lord, may I see what you have brought? You always choose such beautiful cloth for us to work.” His lips pursed within the circle of the beard he kept neatly trimmed beside clean-shaven cheeks. She knew that he knew she was playing on his vanity. “Is it linen or wool?” she prodded, desperate to avoid questions about her father.

“Wool,” he relented as he placed the bundle reverently on her father’s worktable. “I have never seen so deep a burgundy before.” He untied the twine and unfolded the flax to reveal a bolt of cloth that burned almost black in the shadows of the shop.

“Oh, my lord,” Lily breathed as she approached.

He flipped the mass to find an end then held out the corner for her inspection. The yarn had been spun impossibly fine, then woven tightly to produce a thin fabric that flowed over her fingers like a sheet of burgundy water. She lifted the material toward the window to admire the rich red in the fading dusky light.

“Not really a spring color,” her lord noted doubtfully. “I wanted a tunic for Easter, but perhaps this cloth will not do.”

“Blood of Christ,” Lily whispered without thought, then turned to see if she had offended him. He entered Ribeauville’s beautiful church on the hill as often as he should, though was not known to be a particularly pious man. Perhaps he would not like the idea of wearing holy blood.

Theophilus cocked his head to one side. The corners of his eyes crinkled with the suggestion of a smile. She’d always liked how his eyes drooped down on the outsides, implying there might be a softness to him, a sympathetic nature that only showed in the soulfulness of the shape of his eyes.

“A tunic, then,” Lily plunged on. “What did you have in mind for its structure?”

He threw his cloak back over his shoulders eagerly, keen as always to plan a new garment. “I saw a man in Thionville last autumn wearing a tunic with a squarish neckline and short sleeves, but it just flowedto his knees. Not in a feminine way,” he corrected quickly. “Even belted, it moved with him like the skin on a stallion. The weight of the fabric was similar to this, so I hoped your father could make one for me.”

Excitement pulsed in the room. Lily needed this job, yes, but the creativity, the possibility of fashioning the garment that Theophilus described immersed her in an energy she had not experienced for months. She unwound a length of redness, let it drape over her arm. “I see it,” she said simply, because she did.

He scratched his ear. “Will Willis have time to complete the garment? He appears to have much business outside the shop.” The pulse diminished. He knew. He knew her father had not been home for days and days. He wanted his burgundy fabric to be worked by the man he thought had crafted his tunics for decades. He also wanted to know where that man had gone.

So did Lily. She could not indulge in that curiosity right now. She needed this job because she needed her lord’s coin. Supplies for the shop were one thing. Food was another. This week, for the first time in her life, she’d gone to bed hungry, with nothing in the larder, no money to spend, and no goods to barter. “We have over a month until Easter, my lord,” she reassured. “I can start on the tunic in anticipation of my father’s return.”

Theophilus frowned. He did not care for that idea. Starting meant cutting and she could see he did not trust her to cut his fine wool. She did not blame him. The price on such a piece in such a color must have been extravagant.

“Did you know I helped to make the cloak you are wearing today?” she inquired. “We sewed it three years ago. I remember because we all liked how the blue brightened the worktable that January. And you brought it in last spring to mend a tiny hole on the inside,” she added. “I have worked fabric with my parents since I was a young girl. Father has allowed me to cut for nigh on ten years now.” In reality, Father had demanded she do all the cutting, which suited her just fine. She did not make mistakes, but more importantly, she had a good eye. She could see things in the fabric and the person who would wear it like no one else. Or so Mother had said before their lives unraveled.

The Lord of Ribeauville studied her. He searched her face and she imagined she saw his soulful sympathy extend to her in a softening of his handsome eyes. He examined the length of her body analytically. “Did you make that tunic?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. Did he think that merchants hired out their own work?

He critically appraised the neckline. “You have done something different over the shoulders.”

She ducked her head in pleased embarrassment. “Yes, my lord.” She had been taught by her mother to always regard the man before her as her better, careful to speak and think of him as the Lord of Ribeauville, though with that being such a mouthful she often shortened the title to thelord, or her lord, or my lord. She shied away from even thinking his given name, although her friends bandied it about as if he were one of them. Or, at least, they did when they knew he was not in residence.

Her lord scowled. “Well, what did you do?” he demanded impatiently, his eyes not so soulful any more.

“Oh,” she breathed as she lifted her fingers to the subtle pleats of the cloth. “I shaped the top to make my shoulders appear broader.” What a humiliating admission!

“Thought only noblemen padded their shoulders,” he joked. “Is it common practice among women too?”

“I do not think so, my lord. But I did not pad my tunic. I added pleats and liked the balance they gave shoulders to hips,” she explained, blushing furiously. Imagine, talking about her body parts with her lord.

He nodded, the little silk tassel rubbing across his dark hair as he reviewed her homespun gray tunic from neck to toe again. “Clever. You say you cut and sewed this very tunic with your two hands? Your father had no part in it?”

“Yes, my lord. I swear it on…on the Blood of Christ!” she finished, laying her hand on his bolt of fabric possessively.

END OF EXCERPT

Buy Vain at the following sites:

Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo AmazonUK AmazonCA

Vain on First Sight Saturday

Jill Hughey — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 11:00:00 +0000

Vain, the third book in my Evolution Series, has just been released!

Here is the short blurb: A tailor’s abandoned daughter fashions a vain nobleman’s tunic, finding passion between the neckline and hem as misfortune forces her into his precarious aristocratic world.

This series is set in Charlemagne’s empire in the 830s. Here is an excerpt of the first meeting between my hero and heroine. The scene doesn’t need a setup since this is the very beginning of the book.

BEGINNING OF EXCERPT

When the door opened, a surge of hope pressed up in Lily’s chest. Perhaps a neighbor had spun some wool and needed the yarn woven into cloth. Or maybe a clever wife had convinced her husband she required a new tunic for Easter and the accompanying celebration of spring. Lily smoothed the scrap of linen she’d held balled in her sweaty hands and pretended to inspect the new embroidery pattern she’d half-heartedly sewn hours ago, hoping to appear serene, as if everything in her father’s shop was absolutely normal.

The commanding figure who filled the narrow doorway reinforced her hope and spurred foreboding at the same time. He was a consistent customer, and their wealthiest. He spent his money freely with all his merchants, as he should. Only the Lord of Ribeauville could wear such an outrageous fur cap without eliciting howls of laughter all through the town. His citizens did not even snicker, firstly because he was the lord of the townfolk and all who lived on a wide swath of countryside surrounding Ribeauville, and secondly, because the spata hanging from his well-crafted belt expressed more about the man than the tassel of silk dangling from his hat.

Lily sized up the parcel tucked under his arm as she rose respectfully from her chair. The lord of the town only visited the shop to conduct business. Yet today his sharp eyes darted around, noting the bare shelves that once held bolts of cloth and the small loom, empty of warp or weft. He peered at the door to the living quarters before settling his penetrating hazel gaze on her.

Lily fingered the leather needle case hanging at her waist. “Good day, my lord,” she said, greeting him as if she were the proprietor of the shop. What choice did she have?

“And to you,” he replied with a slight nod of his head. He glanced around the shop again. “May I speak with your father? Have a commission for him.” He lifted the bundle wrapped in rough flax cloth as proof.

A commission. Work. Lily’s nails cut into her palms as she resisted yanking the promising parcel from his hands. “I am sorry, my lord. Father has gone to Strazburg for supplies.” She indicated the desolate shelves with an apologetic smile. “You may give your order to me. I will see that your garment is made to your liking.” Her words were confident, though her knees quivered. She pressed them together so he would not see her trembling.

The Lord of Ribeauville studied her. “When did Willis leave?”

Ah. As she feared, the townspeople were talking. The same people who had known her all her life and danced alongside her at the festivals now gave reports behind her back. She’d seen them spying, at first curious, then concerned, now openly suspicious of Willis’s scarcity of late. No one had blatantly asked about him. Until now, when Theophilus, the Lord of Ribeauville, had returned from whatever he did for the empire to attend to problems at home.

END OF EXCERPT – but I’ll add more next week.

Buy Vain at the following sites:

Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo AmazonUK AmazonCA

Seducing Sigefroi on First Sight Saturday

Jill Hughey — Sat, 02 Mar 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Today I welcome Vijaya Schartz with book three of her Curse of the Lost Isle series. The book is called Seducing Sigefroi. (That is pronounced See-jeu-froa.) Vijaya recommends that you read books one and two (Princess of Bretagne and Pagan Queen) before you begin Seducing Sigefroi. After reading and enjoying book one, I concur.
Amazon link to Seducing Sigefroi
Amazon link to Vijaya Schartz
Barnes and Noble link for Vijaya Schartz

SCENE SETUP:

Melusine previously spied on the ruthless Sigefroi of Ardennes, the knight the Goddess ordered her to marry, and she knows him to be ruthless. She decides to teach him a lesson. This is the first time they meet face to face. Dressed as a knight, Melusine blocks his way on the road, and provokes him in single combat… of course, she is an immortal Celtic lady and she has magic on her side.

BEGINNING OF EXCERPT:

Sigefroi’s murderous glare drilled into her through the helmet slits. Melusine realized he didn’t see her as a person anymore, but as an enemy, a vile thing to crush like a viper on the road. Such barbarism burned in his amber gaze, such determination.

The close proximity of this ferocious man frightened and thrilled her at the same time.

Parrying high, Melusine caught a glance of the squire who held the horses at a safe

distance. The lad watched with open curiosity, obviously enjoying his master’s skillful

demonstration. But Sigefroi’s well honed skills wouldn’t bring him victory this day. To keep a semblance of fairness, Melusine kept fighting, making the combat look evenly matched.

When Sigefroi dealt a particularly fierce blow, Melusine sent through her parrying arm a

wave of energy like a lightning bolt. Sigefroi was thrown back, flying through the air. His sword and shield clattered on the dusty stone of the road. His helmet flew off. He hit the ground in a pounding of metal. Flat on his back, the knight didn’t move.

In two steps, Melusine had Caliburn’s point at his throat. “Do you yield?”

Sigefroi blinked, and the slow realization of his desperate situation showed in the

widening of his eyes, along with a spark of rage, and something else… Surprise!

When he did not respond, Melusine repeated louder, “Do you yield?”

The words came with difficulty. Sigefroi, no doubt, had to swallow a great deal of pride.

“I… do… yield,” he croaked.

“In exchange for your life, I shall exact an oath.” Melusine made her voice carry so that

the young squire could also hear and understand. “Within a week, a royal princess by the name of Melusine will ask for your hospitality. Not only will you treat her according to her noble rank, you will betroth her and take her for wife.”

“What?” Sigefroi, in his surprise, had started to rise, but Melusine pressed Caliburn’s

point harder against the mail at his throat, forcing him to lie still.

“Swear on your knight’s honor, or I kill you right now!”

In no position to bargain, Sigefroi finally said in a strangled voice, “I swear it.”

“Louder!” Melusine insisted, applying more pressure.

The mail shifted as Sigefroi swallowed, and blood trickled at his throat under the sword’s sharp tip. “I swear it on my knight’s honor!”

Drawing back the weapon, Melusine returned the great sword to the scabbard. Sigefroi

sat up slowly, coughing, shaking his red mane, and rubbing a grazed throat. Melusine didn’t wait for him to get up or retrieve his broadsword.

When she whistled, the white mare came at a trot. She mounted swiftly and turned the

horse around.

“Wait!” Sigefroi shouted in a broken voice.

Melusine halted the mare and turned in the saddle, a wide grin on her face. She’d been

waiting for this moment to deliver the coup de grâce.

The knight rose on unsteady feet. “If you won’t give me your name, at least let me behold the face of my victor!”

The humiliation in Sigefroi’s eyes and voice delighted Melusine. Slowly, she lifted her

silver helmet and pushed back the head mail, letting her long hair cascade over slender

shoulders. Staring at him with glee, she however measured her deliberate reply.

“You were bested by a maiden, my lord.”

Sigefroi’s thunderstruck expression made her laugh.

“But have no fear, your honor is safe with me. I shall keep your defeat a secret.” After a

mock bow to Sigefroi and his dumfounded squire, she spurred the mare away and didn’t look back.

END OF EXCERPT

I have to say, Vijaya is the first author to include a warning in her blog post, and she even used the bold type. So here what she wants you to know to prepare you for her books. “This romantic medieval fantasy series is based on authentic European legends, and the historical facts have been preserved in the raw, rather than sugar-coated. The life of the early middle ages is portrayed with gritty realism. Professional reviewers called it bloody and even bloodthirsty but gave it five stars. Not for the faint of heart, but plenty of drama.”

Coming soon is book four in the Curst of the Lost Isle Series, Lady of Luxembourg. Visit Vijaya’s website.

Find Vijaya’s books on Amazon

Find Vijaya’s books on Barnes and Noble

Battle-Tested Love on First Sight Saturday

Jill Hughey — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

I welcome Lynda Bailey today on First Sight Saturday, with her work-in-progress called Battle-Tested Love, book two in her contemporary romance series. I owe Lynda some extra thanks because I sort of hijacked her into visiting here! Anyway, take it away, Lynda….

Thanks so much to Jill for hosting me today!

As the blog title says, it’s “First Sight Saturday!” This means I’m supposed to talk about the first time my H/h meet. Well, funny thing there – in every one of my stories, save for two, my H/h already know each other.

One non-first sighting is BATTLE-BORN LOVE available here http://amzn.com/B00A51NP42. BBL is the first story I ever independently published (almost a year ago – gads!) and one I’ve blogged about repeatedly. The second is BATTLE-TESTED LOVE which is, you guessed it, the sequel to BBL.

Now if you’ve read BBL, let me first say thank you, then let me tell you that BTL is Darcy’s story. The first meeting between her and Ben is…unconventional, to say the least. Okay. It’s pretty much outta the mainstream “cute meet” box. I’ve had non-romance critique partners who hated this scene. But, my romance CPs are fine with it. You be the judge. So, without further a-do, here’s the opening scene to BATTLE-TESTED LOVE:

BEGINNING OF EXCERPT

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The word galloped through Darcy Williams’ head.

Idiot stupid. Moronic stupid.

EFFING STUPID!

How many hours had she spent in self-defense classes, kicking and punching the over-sized mannequins? She never would have dreamed all her knowledge and training would vacate her brain faster than high school algebra. No heel strike to the throat, no knee to the groin, not even a piddling stomp to the instep. She’d forgotten the cardinal rule, the Holy Grail of martial arts: Be aware of your surroundings.

Consumed with running late, she’d barely seen the man crouching by a dumpster with this back to her, under the light of a single incandescent light bulb. But once she did see him, she liked what she saw. A lot.

Since he wore a Magic Men t-shirt, she assumed it was Spencer Watt, the male stripper she was thinking of hiring for Jen’s bachelorette party. Her pulse skittered at how his shirt pulled snug across his broad shoulders. Even in the dim light, she could make out the bulging muscles of his upper back. Scooting down the badly lit alley toward him, she wondered if the classic rumor was true, that male strippers were gay. Too bad if it was.

Besides the t-shirt, he wore firefighter’s turnout pants and a large, yellow helmet sat on the ground beside him. Tacky costume, considering the rash of recent wildfires around Carson City. The taste of soot and ash hung heavy in the twilight Nevada air.

The hottie-hot fighter knelt beside someone on the ground, partially concealed by the dumpster. And he was rifling through a wallet. Before confusion knitted her brow, Hottie had Darcy pressed tighter to his body than the scent of smoke which clung to his tall frame.

Realization dawned like sunlight through a clean window. Spencer wasn’t the guy kneeling, but the guy on the ground.

What the hell?

Pinned by one of Hottie’s arms, her breasts squished against his cast iron chest, his other hand preventing her from screaming bloody murder, she knew struggling was futile. But struggle she did.

What had she been thinking to insist Jen’s party to be at a strip club? Not to mention a dive like the Quarry Pit located in a seediest part of town? Adventure, that’s what. Darcy inwardly cringed. What did is say about her life if going to a male strip show was the sum-all, be-all of adventure?

If she hadn’t been rushing toward the rear entrance, she might have taken better notice of the vicinity which now included a person, lying motionless on the litter-strewed asphalt. Darcy redoubled her efforts to break free. Breaking a steel band would have been easier.

“Settle down,” Hottie grumbled, his arm squeezing the air from her lungs, effectively ending her fight.

A twinge, an actual twinge, of excitement quivered in her gut at his deep, voice. It brought to mind chocolate. Dark, rich chocolate.

Okay. She wasn’t just stupid. She was dumb.

She couldn’t be drawn to this guy who just cold-cocked an unsuspecting stripper and might do who-knew-what to her. It must be the adrenaline of the situation. That, and the reality she’d never before been this up close and personal to such a muscled chest. Ever.

She glared at him. She had a good mad on, as her grandmother would say, and didn’t want to lose it. Fear had the power to paralyze her while anger just made her, well, angry.

The faint lighting prevented her from getting a good look at his face. His eyes, though, were two hot coals burning into her. Panic stole her breath, but she refused to be cowed. She stiffened and continued to glower, when drunken voices filtered over from the street.

Darcy felt her eyes widen and she strained to look past his shoulder. Hottie cast a quick glance to the approaching voices as well before lifting his hand from her mouth.

And replaced it with his lips.

It wasn’t a kiss. Far from it. While it was neither angry nor punishing, the contact had zero passion. Just a meeting of lips.

The voices grew louder, now catcall whistles and lewd remarks. The group stopped several feet from them. From the angle of their approach, the Dumpster hid Spencer’s body. Plus they were too busy eying what Hottie was doing to her to care about anything else.

“Yo, dude. Wanna share?”

“Yeah, man. We could help you plug all her holes.”

Raucous laughter broke out. Hottie’s hold changed. His grip became less domineering and more protective. He turned Darcy so his back was completely to the alley and raised his head a half a millimeter from hers, his body tense, like he was preparing for a fight.

Logic dictated that she scream her bloody head off. Instinct told her to keep her mouth shut. The guy holding her might be bad, but those others would be worse.

The revelers soon tired of the game and continued on their way. She waited for Hottie to back away. He didn’t. Rather, his large hands cradled her face, tilting her head, and he kissed her again. Really kissed her.

For the second time, Darcy did nothing. She didn’t turn her head. Didn’t ram her knee into his groin. Didn’t do anything except allow him to caress his lips against hers. In the stupid section of her brain, she wondered if the police would be interested in her description of Hottie’s lips. Firm and sensual. Slightly moist, tasting a bit like a s’more…

END OF EXCERPT

So, what’d you think? I’d love to hear your opinion. Thanks again to Jill for letting me hang out today!

Thanks, Lynda, for being here today. I am wondering why Hottie tastes like a s’more? Readers, if you want to find out more about Lynda, go to www.lyndabailey.net. While we wait for Battle-Tested Love to come out, have a look at Battle-Born Love.

Promiscuous Heroes. Yes or no?

Jill Hughey — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Back in the early days of historical romance, most heroes were what I would consider promiscuous or, at the very least, constantly sexually active. The hero’s pattern is interrupted when the oh-so-virginal heroine arrives on the scene and in his heart. He is suddenly repelled by the offerings of the barmaid he has tumbled regularly since he was sixteen. Or he must dismiss his mistress – one in a long line of mistresses – by giving her a splendid diamond necklace.

Even though I enjoyed those books in their day and still revisit some of them, I do not particularly care for a slutty hero, first because he does not represent an ideal man to me, and second, I do not think a zebra can change his stripes that much. Men who feel entitled to sex continue to feel entitled to it, marriage certificate or no.

Since I’ve started writing my own historical romances, I tend toward the opposite direction. In fact, my heroes’ sexual restraint is actually helpful to developing motivation and sometimes plot in all three books in my Evolution Series.

My hero in Unbidden is sexually experienced but with few partners and none involving long-term relationships. He finds the idea of regular sexual relations with the woman with whom he is falling in love a wonderful, increasingly frustrating enticement.

In Redeemed, I go out on a bit of a limb with a hero who is not only the villain in the first book but who has never had intercourse – not for lack of interest – but because of a physical disability that tripped him up the one time he tried during his adolescence. His wife has to initiate him and luckily she is a widow who knows enough about the business to get them started down the road to discovering the pleasures of marriage together.

The hero in the third book in this series, Vain, to be released March 2013, is experienced but strictly avoids dallying with the women in his town and does not maintain a mistress. He starts to realize that having a satisfying sexual relationship might be an important consideration to him in choosing a wife.

What do you think, readers? Is a virgin hero hot or odd? Do you demand a hero who is a walking Kama Sutra or do you like your fictional couples to discover a few moves together?