2011-08-27
More Fun, Even With Summer on the Wane...
I'll be chatting this morning...or noon, if you happen to be on the East Coast, at Long and Short Reviews: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LongAndShortRomanceReviews/ Come and join me while I talk about my Oberon series. Comment for a chance to win some great prizes--books or your choice of a nook, Kindle or $150. gift card.
2011-08-11
Paranormal Week...er, Week and a Half Comes to PME
Yes, it's Paranormal Week at the Perfect Man Event! My favorite week of all. Anyone wondering why that is? No, I didn't think so. And because paranormal is so very extra special, our week is extra specially long.
Here's the calendar. And don't forget to stop by often to meet those hot, hot men and maybe score some awesome prizes as well.
And, once again: check it out HERE and HERE!
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Here's the calendar. And don't forget to stop by often to meet those hot, hot men and maybe score some awesome prizes as well.
And, once again: check it out HERE and HERE!
2011-08-07
Who's YOUR Perfect Man?
Ack!! I should have posted this LAST week! Mea Culpa, ladies. Or, as Damian might say...I' ¡m tan muy apesadumbrado, me perdona por favor! Or something like that (I don't speak Spanish, myself).
Check it out HERE and HERE! And don't forget to stop by often, because there's a new post up every day with fun stuff to read, hot men to drool over, yummy pictures (I don't know where they find these things!) and lots of prizes!
And, once again: check it out HERE and HERE!
Check it out HERE and HERE! And don't forget to stop by often, because there's a new post up every day with fun stuff to read, hot men to drool over, yummy pictures (I don't know where they find these things!) and lots of prizes!
And, once again: check it out HERE and HERE!
2011-07-14
Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Thursday Spotlight: PG Forte
Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Thursday Spotlight: PG Forte: "Serenading the Muse Let’s discuss muses. Mine has the attention span of a gnat. Luckily, she likes music. Even more luckily, I figured tha..."
2011-07-13
Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Wednesday Spotlight: PG Forte
Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Wednesday Spotlight: PG Forte: "Summer Reading I’ve always loved books and series that I could get lost in. The longer, the better. And summer was always the perfect time..."
2011-07-12
Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Tuesday Spotlight: PG Forte
Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Tuesday Spotlight: PG Forte: "Food Snobs Anonymous Among the Nine Naughty Novelists I’m known as the wine snob. Oh, but they don’t know the half of it! Really, it’s no..."
2011-07-11
Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Monday Spotlight: PG Forte
Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Monday Spotlight: PG Forte: "A More Congenial Spot “In short, there's simply not A more congenial spot For happily-ever-aftering than here In Camelot.” Alan Jay Le..."
2011-06-20
Summer Solstice
Being as it's summer and I'm feeling lazy, I decided to post a short excerpt from my book Scent of the Roses here today.
Scent of the Roses is the first book in my Oberon series. All of the Oberon books are set around Wiccan holidays and Scent is set at Midsummer. That's Scout and Nick in the picture at left...aren't they yummy?
Here's the blurb, just to set the scene for you:
For twenty years, Scout Patterson has tried to run—from Oberon and from the mistakes and mysteries in her past. Now, she’s back and about to come face to face with the ghosts she’s never laid to rest and the love she thought she’d lost forever.
Memories of the girl he used to love have haunted Nick Greco for years, as have his dreams of what his life could be like if he ever found her. When Scout’s homecoming is followed by a reoccurrence of deadly attacks, Nick must rush to solve an all-but-forgotten crime. Or risk losing her again—this time for good.
As Scout and Nick are about to find out, some mistakes aren’t all that easy to mend and some mysteries can be murder.
Excerpt:
When Scout opened the door of her car she was immediately engulfed by the pungent odors of wood smoke and roasting meat, of sweetgrass and evergreens and incense. Gentle strains of music wafted along on the breeze – flute and fiddle, harp and drum. She felt her heart quicken. Down in the valley, Oberon’s Midsummer Festival was well underway.
Scout followed the music and the scents through the sun dappled woods, eagerly winding her way around the hastily set up campsites that would later house the all-night revelers. Passing stands of madrone and manzanita with their peeling red bark and gray-green leaves, slipping through groves of scrub oak and cedar and fragrant bay laurels.
Like most of the solar festivals, Midsummer was a two-day celebration. A balefire would be lit as darkness approached and people would dance and party in its glow throughout this, the year’s shortest night. Scout smiled as she remembered a time when her greatest ambition had been to stay and party the night away with them. Well, maybe that’s what she’d do tonight. Since she had to be in Oberon anyway, she could think of worse ways to spend her time than in fulfilling a few of her teenage fantasies. Besides, she had to have some stories to take back to Larry.
She glanced down at the dog. The poor thing was already panting. “Not too much farther now, girl. Then we’ll see about getting you some water, hmm? Would you like that?”
The dog rewarded her with another hopeful wag of her tail.
“You’re such a good dog,” she murmured, surprising both of them.
They passed out of the trees and found themselves at the crest of a hill looking over a large flat bowl of a valley. The grassy plain below them was dotted with brightly colored booths arranged in a loose circle around the bare patch of ground where, just after sunset, the balefire would be set ablaze. Off to one side, several carnival-style rides and amusements had been set up. And tucked discreetly away in what the organizers hoped would be a more or less downwind direction, an army of port-a-potties stood at attention.
A shrill cry above her head interrupted Scout’s thoughts. Looking up she caught a glimpse of a red tailed hawk, sailing the wind currents to its home on Mount Totawka. She smiled at the pleasant tug of nostalgia it evoked, and started along the path that would lead her down to the festival; the dog, as ever, following close on her heels.
The fairgrounds were awash with colorful signs and banners. Scout let the seductive pull of the music draw her through the crowd. She was at the foot of the stage before she recognized the insidious longing that had brought her there. The dream of being close to home, at long last, was flooding through her, again. She steeled herself against it.
She was here to observe, she reminded herself, sternly. To keep an eye on her dear, old friends, whose motives she had every reason to mistrust. To learn anything they might know that would help her in her quest.
But that was all she was here for. And although she might be willing to indulge herself with a few half-forgotten dreams during her stay, there was no way was she going to let any of them seduce her. Squaring her shoulders, she turned away from the music and headed off in search of answers.
Just in time for summer, all the Oberon books are on sale at Amazon. Buy Scent of the Roses here:
To learn more about the Oberon series, visit the website at: OberonCalifornia.US
There’s something magical about the tiny California coast town of Oberon, something that transcends explanation and defies description. Things happen there that could happen nowhere else. Clinging to sheer, corrugated green cliffs above a windswept strand of pale, golden sand, and virtually isolated amid a tangled network of canyons and creeks, Oberon is a hard place to get to. But it can be an even harder place to leave behind.
And just in case you lose the trail and need to get back on the hop, here's the link again: http://justromance.me
Be sure and follow the trail to the end to read more great stories, and for a chance to win cool prizes.
Random Adult Excerpt
This is the beer and pizza scene from Love, From A to Z. It's a little bit spicy (and I'm not just talking about the pizza--haha) and I'm posting it for Erin Nicholas, Queen of...too many things to list right now. lol!
Heiress April Valenzuela has everything a girl could ask for--except love. But when her memory goes missing, she learns that all the money in her bank account won’t buy it back. Good thing she has hunky guitarist Zach Harris on hand to teach her everything she needs to know about love, from A to Z.
Buy the book here:
http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/lovefromatoz.htm
Buy the book here:
http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/lovefromatoz.htm
The spicy aroma of pizza tickled my nose when Zach flipped the box open to hand me a second slice.
“Mmm.” I reached for it greedily. “Thank you.” Pizza was delicious, I decided, as I took a big bite.
The late afternoon sun moved slowly across Zach’s living room, gilding everything in its path with its warm, golden light. We lay on the couch; each of us propped up against one of the sofa’s arms; our legs entwined with one another along the seat. I took another bite and considered my situation. I felt a mass of contradictions at the moment; exhausted yet animated, happy and scared. I was lost. I was found. I was sated and spent. I was starving for more. What I should have been was sleepy--but I was too wound up to sleep.
After we’d finished in the bathroom, Zach had carried me into his bedroom, where he’d laid me on his bed and proceeded to make me scream several more times. By rights, I should have been depressed about that. At this rate, I was never going to make him my love slave.
You were never going to anyway, a tiny voice, way in the back of my mind, sneered at the very thought.
But, I didn’t know that. And, right now. I hoped the voice was wrong. I really hoped that, when I found out who I was, I would learn that I did belong in Zach’s strange world. That I was ‘his kind of woman’. And that I would find a way to make him my slave... at least part of the time.
Because, despite all the weirdness and uncertainty, despite having a lifetime memory that stretched back for all of about ten hours, at this precise instant, what I felt most of all was an underlying contentment. Some inner sense was telling me I hadn’t known too many moments like that in my life.
But I didn’t want to think about that. There was nothing I could do about it right now, anyhow. And, since that same inner sense was also saying this golden moment was not likely to last very long, I was determined to make the most of it while it was here. I took another bite of pizza and let everything else fall away.
Pizza, I thought, had to be the most perfect food ever invented, although, admittedly, my experience, at present, wasn’t all that wide. And pizza and beer together--now that was surely an unbeatable combination.
“What do you call this stuff again?” I asked, picking a small, white blob off the top of my slice and popping it in my mouth. Creamy and warm with a distinct salt tang, I loved the way it melted on my tongue.
Zach smiled. “That’s Feta cheese. You like it?”
“Mmm.” It reminded me of sex. “And the green stuff underneath?”
“Pesto. Basil, garlic, olive oil...I don’t know what else.”
“It’s good.” Pesto tasted earthy and pungent. It reminded me of sex, too.
“Yep,” Zach sighed, sounding pretty content, himself. “Green pizza and red beer. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
Nodding agreement, I leaned down and retrieved my bottle from the floor. After taking a sip I smacked my lips. “Delicious.” But it was better than that; really. It was refreshing in a dark, vibrant, exciting sort of way; like a cool, wet, never-ending kiss...
Come to think of it, everything reminded me of sex just now, even the soft cheese that was layered beneath the pesto. Soft, stretchy, springy; it brought to mind the tender sac that held Zach’s balls.
I moved my foot a little, stretching my leg as far as it would reach, until my sole was pressed against the bulge at Zach’s crotch. I rubbed him with my heel, back and forth in a little semi-circle, testing to see how much of that soft springiness I could feel through the denim of his jeans.
“Hey.” Zach swatted at my foot. “Cut it out. Stop that.”
He looked amused, however, rather than annoyed, so I decided not to take him seriously. I scrunched up my toes and pressed harder. “Stop what?”
Mischief gleaming in his eyes, he swallowed the last bite of his pizza and put down his bottle. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”
Was I? I nibbled at the edge of my own pizza while I considered the matter. Truth was, I was feeling a little tired. “Not just right now, thanks. Maybe later.”
“That’s what you think.” Shifting backwards suddenly, so that he was out of my foot’s reach, Zach swung his legs over mine.
I sucked in a quick breath when his big toe nudged my pussy. I was pinned beneath his legs, naked under the pink robe. A thin layer of satin was all that separated my most sensitive flesh from his marauding foot. Heat spread through me at the thought, along with a faint trace of alarm. “Zach, don’t.”
“Don’t... what?” he mocked, using his other foot to spread my legs apart.
Tears stung my eyes as laughter competed with nerves. I still wasn’t completely sure I could trust him, after all, and with pizza in one hand, beer in the other, what could I use to defend myself if things turned rough? My elbows? Ha. But, even so, desire curled in my belly. My nipples peaked. I felt anxious, vulnerable... and almost more excited than I could stand. “Please...”
“You know I like it when you beg,” Zach murmured as his toe massaged my clit. Then his smile widened. His eyes met mine and breathing became that much harder, I could tell he was feeling the same thing I was: my juices soaking through the satin. “You like it too, don’t you?”
His voice alone made my clit throb, so intense it was almost painful, reminding me I was feeling more than a little sore. I shook my head. “No.”
“No?” All movement stopped. Zach froze, looking startled.
My sex pulsed, mourning the loss of his heat, already missing his toe’s tormenting pressure. Screw the soreness. I rocked my hips, trying to rub myself against his foot.
Laughter rumbled from his throat; low, sexy, triumphant. “Liar.” Still laughing, he lifted his legs from mine and pulled away from me completely.
“Pig,” I muttered, feeling bereft, abandoned, frustrated. My chest heaved and I briefly considered which one to hurl at his head--the pizza or the beer--until Zach solved the problem for me by removing both from my hands and then pulling me down on top of him.
“You are such a nut,” he murmured holding me still so he could kiss me.
“Takes one to know one,” I replied straddling his legs and stretching out on top of him. No question about it, I liked being on top; liked the feel of his body, broad and strong, laid out beneath me; liked the feel of his big hands cupping my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.
His lips were warm. He tasted of beer and pizza and male. Did all guys taste this good, or was it just him? I sank my teeth into his bottom lip, frustrated by the fact that there didn’t seem to be any way to get enough of him.
“Ow.” Zach’s hands closed on my shoulders. “What’d you do that for?” He held me away from him while his tongue snaked out to explore the damage to his lower lip.
“I like the way you taste,” I explained, feeling completely unapologetic as I braced my hands on his chest and gazed down at him. It was his own fault, after all. He didn’t have to taste that good.
2011-06-04
Vote for Old Sins, Long Shadows
You can find the review HERE. And, if you feel so inclined, voting is on the Whipped Cream home page, HERE.
I usually don't quite believe it when people say it's enough of an honor just being nominated (I know, I'm very cynical that way!) but in this case, it might be true. (Best Book--squeeee!)
However, winning would be really nice too, don't you think?
2011-05-29
Sound of a Voice That is Still (the LZ excerpt)
I've got a download for the first person to correctly name that tune!
Now only $2.99 at Amazon. Buy Book HERE
Blurb: Sometimes it seems like Spring will never come again. Sometimes the only alternative to living in inner darkness is death. In the depths of winter, Ryan and Siobhan will have to make a choice: to help each other heal . . . or die trying.
“So, what’s next Boss? You about ready for lunch?” Ryan asked. Siobhan looked up from her desk, startled to find him leaning over her, his big hands planted firmly on the desk’s surface. They were a lot like his feet, she decided; large and strong looking with long fingers and a light dusting of golden hair. They looked capable and sensitive and....
She looked away quickly, glancing around the room. He’d taken charge of the post-class clean up today, organizing the other volunteers with such efficiency that Siobhan had decided to devote a couple of minutes to catching up on some of her paperwork. But now, the place was spotless and unexpectedly empty.
“Has everyone else left already?”
He grinned suddenly. “Boy, you really do get caught up in your work, don’t you? They said good-bye, you know. You even answered them.”
“Oh.” Siobhan felt herself coloring. “Well, I guess the dog--”
He cut her off with a shake of his head. “It’s raining again. I let them both out for a run on the grass a little while ago, but I don’t think they want out any more right now.”
Oh,” she said again. “Well, then yeah, why don’t you go ahead and get lunch.”
“What about you? Aren’t you eating?”
“Oh, um, sure. I was just going to fix something here. I don’t want to go out today, what with the rain and all.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I figured. That’s why I brought my lunch with me today.”
Belatedly, Siobhan remembered the brown paper bag he’d been carrying that morning. “Oh.”
“You know you keep saying that, don’t you?” The light from her desk lamp danced in the depths of his eyes as he teased her. “Oh, oh, oh, oh? Wait, let me guess. Led Zepplin, right?”
“Hmm. Very funny,” she said, allowing herself a tiny smile.”
His own smile gleamed brighter. “That’s better. Now, come on, you’ve been working all morning. Take a break.”
*
Ryan watched her as she ate her salad; methodically forking up bits of tuna, spinach, walnuts and raisins while her mind was so obviously elsewhere that he didn’t even have to hide his interest. Just as well, because that was getting harder to do. He’d learned a lot about her in the last week. But the more he learned, the more he realized how much he didn’t know. Yet. And the more deeply he wanted to delve into the mystery of her.
A faint warning rang in his mind. Was he getting a little too obsessed here? He’d been down that road before, and he’d paid the price for his foolishness. In fact, he was paying for it still; in the form of one busted leg that just wouldn’t heal right.
Last September he’d let himself get too caught up in the excitement, the tactics and the chase. He’d gotten carried away, gotten careless. And almost gotten killed. He thought he knew better now, than to put himself into another situation where he could not control the outcome. He thought he’d learned never to dive headfirst into anything, anymore.
There was very little danger of this turning into anything more serious than a brief, bright interlude in an otherwise damp and dismal winter. But all the same, it wouldn’t hurt to take precautions. He should’ve been taking them all along. But for some unknown reason--
Siobhan looked up just then, their glances colliding. Self-consciousness registered in her face. “Sorry, I guess my mind sort of drifted. Did you say something?”
He hadn’t, but, “What were you thinking about just now?” he asked, deflecting her question with one of his own. “You looked like your mind was a million miles away.”
For an instant she looked even more flustered. She waved one hand in a vague, dismissive gesture. “Oh, no, not really. But listen, remind me to have you fill out one of the volunteer information forms before you leave today, okay?”
“Information forms?” He popped the last bite of his pickle into his mouth and began to stuff the wrappers from his lunch back into the bag. “What kind of information are you looking for?”
“Oh, just standard stuff. You know, name, address, phone number, availability, other interests. I usually get them filled out first thing, but...um, well, you didn’t exactly apply in a conventional manner, so--”
He couldn’t help himself. His gaze drifted to her lips and lingered there. “Really? It didn’t seem all that unconventional to me. Think we should try it again?”
Her mouth tightened abruptly. “No. There’s no need for that.”
Despite her frown, he felt his mood improve. So, she was trying to get some information about him, huh? That sounded promising. He smiled at her. “Sure, I’ll fill out your forms. And while we’re remembering things, don’t forget about my ticket for the dinner.”
“Right.” She sighed. “How many did you want again?”
“Just one,” he answered, a little surprised at the question. “Why? how many did you think I wanted?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She poked at her salad some more. “I just...well, I guess I just thought you might be bringing a date, that’s all.”
He leaned back in his chair and pretended to consider the matter. “A date, huh? Yeah. That would be nice. And, to be honest, I was thinking of asking someone if she wanted to go with me, but I don’t know if I should. I’m not exactly sure how she’ll react to the suggestion.”
“What?” She stopped poking and raised her head to stare at him. “Oh, come on. Are you serious? You’re worried about asking someone for a date? Yeah, like you’re really going to be devastated if you get turned down.”
Ryan shrugged. “Hell yeah, I will. I’m a sensitive guy. And this woman...you know, she’s kinda been sending some mixed signals. When you’ve only known someone less than a week, well sometimes it’s hard to know where you stand.” He lowered his voice to ask softly, “So? What do you think? Do I take the chance?”
She looked at him very strangely. Finally she cleared her throat, and looked away. “This woman...I take it she’s someone I know?”
He smiled again. “Yes, Siobhan. You could say that.”
She nodded once or twice. “Well, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. I mean, I think she’d be flattered.”
Flattered, huh? He felt his smile widen into a grin which he tried his best to hide by taking a last sip from his soda. “Well, now, I don’t know why you should feel that way about it, but--”
“No, I mean it Ryan. I’m sure Erin would love to go to the dinner with you.”
“Erin?” He stared at her in almost complete consternation. “Who the hell is Erin?”
She looked surprised. “Well, I just assumed-- What do you mean ‘who is Erin’? You know damn well who I’m talking about. You’ve worked with her three times this past week. Who else are we--”
“The kid who works here? That Erin?” Confusion gave way to outrage. “Jesus Christ. Are you crazy? What the fuck are you thinking? She’s gotta be what? All of eighteen, maybe?”
“No.” Siobhan shook her head. “No, she’s at least twenty. Actually, I think she’s twenty-one. And anyway, you’re the one who said I knew the woman. Who were you talking about?”
“Well, who do you think I’m talking about? I’m talking about you, of course!”
Her face went from pale to red in an instant. “Me? But, Ryan, I--”
He looked at her coldly. “Why the surprise, Siobhan? You have to know I’m attracted to you. Or did you think I went around kissing every woman I came into contact with? You’re one of the more interesting women I’ve met in...several years, I think. Or, at least, you were a lot more interesting when you weren’t acting all coy and trying to fix me up with teenagers.”
She glared at him. “I’ve never acted coy in my life. I just-- well, what are you thinking, huh? You’re telling me Erin’s too young for you? Well, fine. You’re too young for me, too.”
“Seven years, Siobhan. Stop trying to make out like we’re from different generations. And anyway, even if Erin is twenty-one--which I seriously doubt, by the way--that’d still make her fourteen years younger than I am. Twice the age difference between you and me. And you were all for that a minute ago.”
“Oh, I was not all for it,” she grimaced. “To be honest, I thought it was incredibly shallow of you. But-- and anyway, what makes you think you know how old I am? You’re just guessing about that.”
“I never make guesses if I don’t have to. I don’t know why you’re so sensitive about the subject, but unless you’ve been lying to the DMV all these years, I know exactly how old you are.”
“The DMV? You’re saying you had me investigated?”
Investigated? “Huh! Not hardly.” He shook his head, disgusted by the absurdity of the idea. An investigation would have taken a lot more time and turned up a lot more information than he’d thought necessary. But, how the hell had they gotten on this subject, anyway? And what was she afraid he’d find? Whatever it was, he hadn’t found it. Not yet, anyway. He shrugged. “I just checked a few records. It’s not that big a deal.”
“The hell it’s not. It’s an invasion of privacy. I could have you sued. How dare you check up on me? What gave you the right to do something like that?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry if it upsets you. It was just...well, after I’d stuck my foot in my mouth like I did last week--you know, asking you about having kids? I just figured...well, I didn’t want to say anything else that might hurt you. That’s all.”
She looked away, and he was startled by the bitter smile on her face. “Why does everybody do that?”
“Do what?”
She turned back to face him, an expression of cool disdain in her distant blue eyes. “It’s so unbelievably arrogant. Do you really think if you don’t talk about it, then I’m not gonna remember that my daughters are dead?”
“No, it’s not--”
“Oh, yeah, and there’s the look. Like everyone’s so afraid of what I might do. What are you afraid of, Ryan?” She cocked her head to the side. “You think I might try to kill myself so that I can be with them? That’s what you thought that first night, isn’t it--on the beach? Or are you just afraid I might cry? You’re telling me a big, strong man like you can’t handle a few tears? You gonna run away if I start to lose it now? You know, maybe you should reconsider dating Erin. ‘Cause, now that I think of it, she’s probably way more your speed anyway. Young. Uncomplicated. Nothing in her past for you to check into. No trauma. No pain. No reason for her to start crying when you least expect it.”
“Hey. I wasn’t running anywhere this morning, was I?” he reminded her, none too gently, crossing his arms and returning her cool stare with one of his own. “When you found those toys on your porch? And believe me, sweetheart, you weren’t looking all that happy then.”
“Oh, so I have to be happy all the time now, too?” Her smile turned even more bitter than before. “Well, now, that might be asking a bit much.”
“I didn’t mean--”
“Yeah, I get sad sometimes, Ryan. Sure. Sometimes, when I think about them, I even cry. Is that really so awful? You think I don’t know that no one wants to hear me talk about it? Well, I know it! But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about them. Or missing them.”
She hugged herself tightly, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her eyes wide, and endlessly dark as she stared off into the distance. “Sometimes...sometimes I think it’s the not talking about it that makes me so crazy.”
He stared at her as she sat there, lost in thought. Looking lovely and tragic. Like a queen from some old Irish fairy tale, facing down her doom with a dignity that was completely unconscious. She wasn’t asking for his help. She wasn’t asking him for anything, in fact. Which made the offering all the easier.
“So, talk, if you want to,” he said softly, smiling at the surprise that registered on her face as her gaze swung back to lock with his. “Go ahead. I’ll listen.”
Buy at Amazon
2011-05-22
Sunday Chat and post-Rapture Ramblings
I'll be chatting this morning...or afternoon, depending on where you are I guess. And I'm assuming no one disappeared into the rapture, although, I must admit to being impressed with Mr. Camping's ability to predict earthquakes with surprising accuracy. Who knew?
Anyway...
The chat. Yes, I should talk about that. It will be at Romance Books R Us. That'll be me, although they seem to want to call me PJ. Which, really, I should be used to by now and to tell the truth, I kind of wished I'd thought to call myself that, if it weren't for the fact that I used my real initials and all. But, however, I'll be talking about my new release, Old Sins, Long Shadows with maybe a sneak peek at some of the other things I've been working on. Who knows? It's two hours. I could come up with a lot of stuff in that time. I do love to chat, you know. *g*
The link is: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/rbruchat/ Love to see you there!
In the meantime, here's an excerpt ('cause I love those too!)
Anyway...
The chat. Yes, I should talk about that. It will be at Romance Books R Us. That'll be me, although they seem to want to call me PJ. Which, really, I should be used to by now and to tell the truth, I kind of wished I'd thought to call myself that, if it weren't for the fact that I used my real initials and all. But, however, I'll be talking about my new release, Old Sins, Long Shadows with maybe a sneak peek at some of the other things I've been working on. Who knows? It's two hours. I could come up with a lot of stuff in that time. I do love to chat, you know. *g*
The link is: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/rbruchat/ Love to see you there!
In the meantime, here's an excerpt ('cause I love those too!)
Dawn tinged the sky as Damian made his way home, but he paid it no mind. He wasn’t at all concerned about the lateness of the hour. At his age, he was more than strong enough to be able to function at close to normal capacity no matter what time of day it was. And given the surfeit of blood he’d consumed over the course of the night, a few extra minutes exposure to sunlight didn’t even rate a second thought.
There were, however, other circumstances that did concern him. He paused in the mansion’s entry hall to scent the air, searching for any hint of danger, any sign of impending ambush. With two Lamia Invitus in residence, only a fool would proceed without proper caution.
Satisfied that the coast was clear, he headed for his room, his muscles protesting as he climbed the stairs. His body felt pleasantly and thoroughly used, aching in all the right places.
Once inside his room, he slipped off his shoes and let down his hair. Perhaps he wouldn’t even wash before bed. As tired as he was, he’d no doubt sleep soundly, but it was early evening that was still the most difficult part of his day. If he could wake up tonight with the scent of so many strangers lingering on his skin—how could that not help to ease the craving with which he usually awoke? The craving for that which he could no longer have.
He turned to his bureau to retrieve his hairbrush. He might be willing to put off bathing before bed, but failing to give his hair its customary one hundred strokes—that was simply too uncivilized to contemplate. As he reached for the brush, a slight motion in the mirror caught his gaze. He turned around, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. “Conrad?”
“You failed to return to the party as I’d requested,” Conrad said as he rose from the chair in which he’d been seated.
“Imagine my surprise to learn you’d gone out instead.”
The husky edge to Conrad’s voice set Damian’s heart racing. His body, so recently sated, ached with need. An all-too-irrational hope took root in his soul. “Wh-why are you here?”
“I believe my questions take precedence,” Conrad replied as he crossed the darkened room. “Where have you been? I won’t ask what you’ve been doing, since that, at least, seems obvious. You stink of blood and sex.”
Damian shrank back against the bureau as his knees went weak once more. After all this time, how was it Conrad still had the power to affect him like this? He curled his fingers around the dresser’s edge, determined to hold himself erect by whatever means necessary. “SÃ. I imagine I do. It’s hardly the first time and, strangely, I don’t recall it ever bothering you before.”
If anything, the reverse had once been true. For ages it had seemed as though nothing excited Conrad more than the knowledge there had been others before him. Damian’s heart tripped and faltered, recalling the hours of furious lovemaking that had so often followed; of a passion so intense he doubted anyone human would have survived it.
“Did I say I was bothered?” Conrad replied, stopping right in front of him; just out of reach, yet still so close it was all Damian could do to keep from lunging at him. “I was merely making an observation.
Old Sins, Long Shadows
Children of Night, book 2
PG Forte
ISBN: 978-1-60928-450-3
Living forever is hard, but loving forever? That’s damn near impossible.
1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.
Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.
When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.
1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.
Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.
When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.
Product Warnings
This book may not be suitable for readers with an aversion to emotionally damaged vampire heroes. Caution is advised if you have experienced prior sensitivity to any of the following: costume parties, fencing lessons, interspecies, inter-generational or intra-gender dating, occasional mild violence, and/or recreational blood-drinking.2011-05-03
Release Day!! Old Sins, Long Shadows
Is there anything better than a new release? No, I didn't think so.
Living forever is hard, but loving forever? That’s damn near impossible.
Children of Night, Book 2
1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.
Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.
When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.
All rights reserved -- a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
Vampires are nothing if not adaptable. It’s a survival skill; as crucial as fangs. Either you learn early on to blend in, to fold seamlessly into the mise-en-scene, to successfully “pass” as mortal, or angry mobs armed with torches and wooden stakes are likely to figure prominently in your sure-to-be-short-lived future. Conrad Quintano knew this as well as anyone could. Over a thousand years as one of the blood-drinking undead had taught him that nothing was so constant as change.
Still, some changes were indisputably harder to adapt to than others…
“I’m leaving now.” The slight hint of a tremor in Damian’s voice did nothing to soften the defiance implicit in his words.
Sprawled in his favorite armchair, Conrad opened his eyes long enough to cast a single glance in his direction. “So I see.”
His chin tilted proudly, Damian hovered in the doorway of Conrad’s study. He was dressed in somber black, his ankle-length traveling coat draped lightly atop his shoulders in deference to his injuries. In his hand he clutched a small, leather valise.
Conrad stared in consternation at the bag. He’s been packing for the past several hours. Is that single bag all he has to show for it? Conrad could only assume the rest had been stored in the attic, or boxed up so that they might be forwarded to him later. Not that any of it mattered—he could take the whole household away with him, for all Conrad cared. He closed his eyes again, blocking out the sight of his lover’s face, still stained and streaked with tears. “I thought you’d already gone.” He’d certainly delayed his departure long enough. The night was almost behind them.
“Conrad…”
“Get out,” Conrad replied wearily. What was the point of any more conversation? The time for it had passed. If Damian did not leave now, he’d be traveling during the day. He’d be risking sunlight, exposure, discovery, death. I swear he does these things on purpose—just to add to the grief he causes me. It was not the first time he’d had such a thought. “I should have left you where I found you.” If he had, then maybe now, almost four hundred years later, he’d be over the worst of his loss. Instead, it had only just begun.
“You’ve killed it, you know.” Damian’s voice throbbed with sudden passion. “Everything. All the love I’ve ever felt for you… I didn’t think it possible, but now…I swear to you, Conrad, I shall hate you forever. I shall die with your name on my lips, cursing the day we met.”
“Enough!” Conrad thundered, half rising from his chair and glaring furiously at him, the man whose love he’d cherished, whose life he’d blighted, whose flesh he’d ravaged in an unthinking rage. “Will you be quiet? Get out of here. Now!” How much more of this does he think I can take? How much more damage might I do to him if he stays?
When Damian still hesitated Conrad shifted his gaze, deliberately allowing it to settle on Damian’s injured shoulder. He lifted his lips in a sneer that exposed the tips of his unsheathed fangs and snarled, “Or have you not yet learned your lesson? Shall I school you again?”
Damian’s face blanched. Without another word, he turned away. The swiftness of the motion caused the skirts of his coat to swirl out around him in a manner that would have sent entire generations of vampire-loving romantics into a swoon, had they but been there to see it. Unfortunately, the effect was largely wasted on Conrad who was not the swooning type and felt only a grudging appreciation for the dramatic beauty of his lover’s exit.
And then he was gone. The beauty snuffed out like a candle. The pleasure Conrad had always taken in it destroyed. The slamming of the heavy front door half a minute later bore witness to his departure. Conrad winced at the sound, forcing himself to stay in his chair despite the sudden panic that hammered at his senses. Like a dying swan it beat at his soul, insisting that it was not too late. There was still time to catch him, still time to reclaim what was lost, what was his…what was gone.
No. Never. Hurry! Go after him. Now! Beg his forgiveness, if you must. You’ve every right to him. You’ve every reason to command his return—do so!
Conrad held his ground. “For what purpose shall I bring him back? That I might kill him the next time he angers me?” That would only result in even greater anguish.
Dark silence settled around him and was all too soon dispelled by the bright, insistent sound of birdsong, by the slow, inexorable march of daylight across his wall. It was only then Conrad realized that, for almost the first time in over one hundred years, the shades had not been drawn across his chamber windows in advance of the dawn. Light continued to spill in through the unguarded glass until he was finally forced to bestir himself.
Given the great disturbance of the night before, it was hardly surprising that no servant had dared to enter his rooms this morning. Those who hadn’t deserted him entirely were likely cowering in their beds praying that, for once, the myths might prove true, that the coming dawn might turn him to ash.
We really must give some thought to the idea of hiring a new staff, he decided as he reached for the velvet drapes. One made up of sturdier souls this time around. He’d have to make sure that part was clearly understood. He’d have to remember to tell Damian…
But no, he was forgetting himself. There was no “we” any longer and, in the future, he would not be telling Damian anything.
As he dragged the curtains roughly along their rods, he spared a single thought to the question of where Damian might have gone to find shelter this quickly, or if he’d found shelter at all yet. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps…
He pushed that thought away, as well. It would not do for him to be thinking in this fashion. He could not bear it if he had to face each and every dawn of the next five or ten centuries wondering about things that were now beyond his control.
For that matter, to hell with the servants also. He’d close up the house and let them all go. He’d travel abroad. Perhaps he’d tour the continent for a season or two, or maybe he’d go out west. He’d heard it said, recently, that there was money to be made in California, and it was past time he began his life anew in any case.
Vampires were nothing if not adaptable. Had he not said so himself, time and again? So be it, then. He was Vampire. He would adapt. He would embrace this change, as he had so many others, for everything did change, eventually, did it not?
I shall hate you forever…
Well, almost everything.
As Damian’s parting words echoed in his mind, Conrad’s vision blurred. He had to blink several times to restore his sight. Only time would tell if they would be proven true, but Conrad did not doubt he meant them now—and why should he not?
What Conrad had done was unforgivable. True, he’d been goaded beyond reason by Damian’s decision to take up with another Lamia Invitus—a vampire who, like Conrad himself, had undergone the brutal turning intended to make them beasts and leave them broken—but did that excuse Conrad’s actions? Had he not just proved himself no better than any other of his vile kind?
Conrad pulled the final curtain closed and turned away from the windows. “Via con Dios, mi amor,” he whispered. “Wherever you are. And wherever you go I pray your God will protect you as I could not. But I, too, can swear upon forever. And I swear to you now that however great the time or distance you put between us, it will never matter. For I shall love you always, just the same.”
Buy the book HERE
 | Old Sins, Long ShadowsBy: PG Forte | Other books by PG FortePublished By: Samhain Publishing, Ltd. ISBN # 9781609284503 Word Count: 100018 Heat Index  Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket (.mobi), Rocket, Epub  Read More |
About the book
Children of Night, Book 2
1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.
Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.
When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.
Product Warnings
This book may not be suitable for readers with an aversion to emotionally damaged vampire heroes. Caution is advised if you have experienced prior sensitivity to any of the following: costume parties, fencing lessons, interspecies, inter-generational or intra-gender dating, occasional mild violence, and/or recreational blood-drinking.An excerpt from the book
Copyright © 2011 P.G. ForteAll rights reserved -- a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
Vampires are nothing if not adaptable. It’s a survival skill; as crucial as fangs. Either you learn early on to blend in, to fold seamlessly into the mise-en-scene, to successfully “pass” as mortal, or angry mobs armed with torches and wooden stakes are likely to figure prominently in your sure-to-be-short-lived future. Conrad Quintano knew this as well as anyone could. Over a thousand years as one of the blood-drinking undead had taught him that nothing was so constant as change.
Still, some changes were indisputably harder to adapt to than others…
“I’m leaving now.” The slight hint of a tremor in Damian’s voice did nothing to soften the defiance implicit in his words.
Sprawled in his favorite armchair, Conrad opened his eyes long enough to cast a single glance in his direction. “So I see.”
His chin tilted proudly, Damian hovered in the doorway of Conrad’s study. He was dressed in somber black, his ankle-length traveling coat draped lightly atop his shoulders in deference to his injuries. In his hand he clutched a small, leather valise.
Conrad stared in consternation at the bag. He’s been packing for the past several hours. Is that single bag all he has to show for it? Conrad could only assume the rest had been stored in the attic, or boxed up so that they might be forwarded to him later. Not that any of it mattered—he could take the whole household away with him, for all Conrad cared. He closed his eyes again, blocking out the sight of his lover’s face, still stained and streaked with tears. “I thought you’d already gone.” He’d certainly delayed his departure long enough. The night was almost behind them.
“Conrad…”
“Get out,” Conrad replied wearily. What was the point of any more conversation? The time for it had passed. If Damian did not leave now, he’d be traveling during the day. He’d be risking sunlight, exposure, discovery, death. I swear he does these things on purpose—just to add to the grief he causes me. It was not the first time he’d had such a thought. “I should have left you where I found you.” If he had, then maybe now, almost four hundred years later, he’d be over the worst of his loss. Instead, it had only just begun.
“You’ve killed it, you know.” Damian’s voice throbbed with sudden passion. “Everything. All the love I’ve ever felt for you… I didn’t think it possible, but now…I swear to you, Conrad, I shall hate you forever. I shall die with your name on my lips, cursing the day we met.”
“Enough!” Conrad thundered, half rising from his chair and glaring furiously at him, the man whose love he’d cherished, whose life he’d blighted, whose flesh he’d ravaged in an unthinking rage. “Will you be quiet? Get out of here. Now!” How much more of this does he think I can take? How much more damage might I do to him if he stays?
When Damian still hesitated Conrad shifted his gaze, deliberately allowing it to settle on Damian’s injured shoulder. He lifted his lips in a sneer that exposed the tips of his unsheathed fangs and snarled, “Or have you not yet learned your lesson? Shall I school you again?”
Damian’s face blanched. Without another word, he turned away. The swiftness of the motion caused the skirts of his coat to swirl out around him in a manner that would have sent entire generations of vampire-loving romantics into a swoon, had they but been there to see it. Unfortunately, the effect was largely wasted on Conrad who was not the swooning type and felt only a grudging appreciation for the dramatic beauty of his lover’s exit.
And then he was gone. The beauty snuffed out like a candle. The pleasure Conrad had always taken in it destroyed. The slamming of the heavy front door half a minute later bore witness to his departure. Conrad winced at the sound, forcing himself to stay in his chair despite the sudden panic that hammered at his senses. Like a dying swan it beat at his soul, insisting that it was not too late. There was still time to catch him, still time to reclaim what was lost, what was his…what was gone.
No. Never. Hurry! Go after him. Now! Beg his forgiveness, if you must. You’ve every right to him. You’ve every reason to command his return—do so!
Conrad held his ground. “For what purpose shall I bring him back? That I might kill him the next time he angers me?” That would only result in even greater anguish.
Dark silence settled around him and was all too soon dispelled by the bright, insistent sound of birdsong, by the slow, inexorable march of daylight across his wall. It was only then Conrad realized that, for almost the first time in over one hundred years, the shades had not been drawn across his chamber windows in advance of the dawn. Light continued to spill in through the unguarded glass until he was finally forced to bestir himself.
Given the great disturbance of the night before, it was hardly surprising that no servant had dared to enter his rooms this morning. Those who hadn’t deserted him entirely were likely cowering in their beds praying that, for once, the myths might prove true, that the coming dawn might turn him to ash.
We really must give some thought to the idea of hiring a new staff, he decided as he reached for the velvet drapes. One made up of sturdier souls this time around. He’d have to make sure that part was clearly understood. He’d have to remember to tell Damian…
But no, he was forgetting himself. There was no “we” any longer and, in the future, he would not be telling Damian anything.
As he dragged the curtains roughly along their rods, he spared a single thought to the question of where Damian might have gone to find shelter this quickly, or if he’d found shelter at all yet. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps…
He pushed that thought away, as well. It would not do for him to be thinking in this fashion. He could not bear it if he had to face each and every dawn of the next five or ten centuries wondering about things that were now beyond his control.
For that matter, to hell with the servants also. He’d close up the house and let them all go. He’d travel abroad. Perhaps he’d tour the continent for a season or two, or maybe he’d go out west. He’d heard it said, recently, that there was money to be made in California, and it was past time he began his life anew in any case.
Vampires were nothing if not adaptable. Had he not said so himself, time and again? So be it, then. He was Vampire. He would adapt. He would embrace this change, as he had so many others, for everything did change, eventually, did it not?
I shall hate you forever…
Well, almost everything.
As Damian’s parting words echoed in his mind, Conrad’s vision blurred. He had to blink several times to restore his sight. Only time would tell if they would be proven true, but Conrad did not doubt he meant them now—and why should he not?
What Conrad had done was unforgivable. True, he’d been goaded beyond reason by Damian’s decision to take up with another Lamia Invitus—a vampire who, like Conrad himself, had undergone the brutal turning intended to make them beasts and leave them broken—but did that excuse Conrad’s actions? Had he not just proved himself no better than any other of his vile kind?
Conrad pulled the final curtain closed and turned away from the windows. “Via con Dios, mi amor,” he whispered. “Wherever you are. And wherever you go I pray your God will protect you as I could not. But I, too, can swear upon forever. And I swear to you now that however great the time or distance you put between us, it will never matter. For I shall love you always, just the same.”
Buy the book HERE
2011-04-22
The Year of the Rabbit Blog Hop!
If you stumbled upon this tour by accident (or if you happen to fall off along the way) not to worry! Just visit http://justromance.me/bloghop/ to start at the beginning. And please try and join us for our end-of-the-bunny-hop chat, Sunday 7 p.m. EST in Gem Sivad's chat room
And now for the fun part. My story takes place at a Hollywood Premier party. The characters are Doc, a drunk veterinarian; Jim, an anxious bounty hunter; and Candy, a picky stripper. Enjoy!
The Year of the Rabbit: A Tale of Two Girls and a Bunny
Bloody footprints. What a way to start the weekend. As I made my way up the footpath that led into LA’s Hancock Park, better known to tourists and the world in general as the La Brea Tar Pits, I couldn't help but shake my head at the irony. Unlikely as it sounds, being here was actually an improvement over the way I’d previously been working on getting the weekend started.
Up until twenty minutes ago, which is when my office switchboard finally got through to me with the message that a veterinarian was needed here STAT, I was down at the Sunset Grill, getting shitfaced in an effort to forget the shameless gold-digger who'd so recently broken my heart. And, I gotta tell you right now, the couple of rounds I'd already gone with Jose Cuervo hadn't come close to doing the trick. But a job's a job, right? And unless I decide to blow my pay for tonight's gig on new Manolos, I’ll actually be putting money into my bank account this weekend, instead of drinking the sucker dry. So, yep, definitely an improvement.
I hadn't gone more than a couple of yards before I ran into an impediment in the form of a plush, red velvet rope that had been stretched across the path. I swayed to an only-slightly-unsteady stop and stood there, blinking up at the two ginormous security guards, somewhat incongruously dressed in tuxedos, who were stationed on the other side of the rope, effectively blocking my way.
“Can I help you?” one of them inquired, staring down at me in a distinctly unblinking way.
Inquired—that’s an educated way of describing the grunting sound that issued from his cavernous mouth. But, that's the kind of gal I am. Educated. And I got a wall-full of diplomas to prove it.
I pulled myself up to my full five-foot-four—inches, five-six, if you count the heels, I guess, and flashed my ID badge in his face. “I got a page. Someone paged me. I’ve been called in on a...ooh, whatchacallit again? Oh, right, on a consult. I'm here to consult.”
The big guy frowned dubiously as he snatched the piece of plastic from my hand. “Says here you’re a veterinarian,” he said, stating the obvious and glinting suspiciously at me at the same time. I tried to look impressed because, hey, for a guy like him, I figure that probably counts as multi-tasking. I may have overdone it, however because his glint quickly morphed into a leer as he looked me over, idly flicking my card with his finger. He wasn't my type—not by a very wide mile—so I pretended not to notice. “So what kinda business is it brings an animal doctor to a premier anyway?”
“That's for me to know and you to find out,” I answered, but that didn't exactly get the response I was hoping for either. “Take me to your leader?” I suggested next. Still no response. I sighed. “Okay, look, you've got bunnies here, don'tcha?” I waved my arm in the general direction of the park. “Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus? Well, apparently, someone saw a trail of bloody footprints and figured one of the little critters musta gotten hurt.”
“Cunni…what?” He was lookin’ at me now as though I’d grown an extra head in the last two minutes and, to be honest, I couldn’t really blame him. How anyone in the movie biz could think it a good idea to host an opening night party in a place synonymous with slow, sucking death was a mystery to me as well. Why they’d then choose to compound the event confusion by adding two dozen live rabbits to the mix…well, even sober I’d have a hard time with that one.
“Rabbits,” I said, taking my card back and reinserting it into my wallet on only the third or fourth try. I repeated the word for emphasis, drawing it out nice and slow in hopes of igniting a spark of recognition. “Raaaa-biiiits. You know, like Peter? Bugs? Roger? Little Bunny Foo Foo? Tell me, is there even an outside chance of any of this getting through that cranium of yours?”
Jumbo’s frown turned ugly and I began to wonder if I wasn’t about to be scooped up, like a field mouse, and bopped on the head. Luckily, his partner—the one who’d been passing the time talking into his cufflink, trying to make like he was James Bond, I guess—nudged him in the ribs. “Let her through. She’s legit.”
I tried not to smirk as I weaved my way between them, but I don’t think I was particularly successful.
The museum’s grounds had been transformed for the occasion. Klieg beams swept across the sky. Twinkling party lights shimmered in the branches of the surrounding trees. Colored spots illuminated the life-sized models of prehistoric animals (which had been strategically placed in the tar, just in case you’d missed the point of all that prehistoric death) and shone prettily on the small herd of placidly grazing rabbits—all of them perfectly healthy as far as I could tell.
The movie being celebrated was called The Year of the Rabbit; a psychological thriller set in LA’s Chinatown—which, I might point out, is hell and gone from this neighborhood. I’m just sayin’. I guess maybe it was the reviews that put someone in mind of the tar pits; the ones calling the film “dark and terrifying.” The ones that claimed it, “sucks you in and doesn’t let go.” Still, as far as I know there aren’t any actual rabbits in the film, so it’s still something of a stretch, in my opinion.
The park was packed with the usual premier crowd—beautiful people, dressed to the nines. Waiters in traditional, pre-revolutionary Chinese costumes, bearing trays of dim sum and drinks, circulated. I stopped one to ask the whereabouts of my presumed patient.
“No rabbit,” he said in response to my query. He nodded at his tray. “Only duck.”
Yeah. So not what I was asking. Still, when in Rome, I guess. I helped myself to a coupla dumplings, flagged down a second waiter and relieved him of a flute of champagne and then continued on my trek.
I’d just about finished my circumnavigation of the park—that’s another educated word, in case you’re wondering—when I saw her. My Candy. A drop-dead gorgeous, artificially buxom, platinum blonde dressed in a gray satin bunny costume, complete with gray satin bunny ears, a gray satin bow-tie, fishnet stockings, and an expensive pair of fuck-me heels that I knew from personal experience added a good four inches to her height. She'd been a mid-sized brunette with a much smaller rack the last time I'd seen her—which was about four days ago in the middle of my living room, just before she walked out of my life. Or so we both thought.
She was not the bunny I was looking for tonight. She was, in fact, probably the last person in the world I wanted to see right now, but try telling that to my feet, which appeared to have developed a mind of their own, and seemed foolishly determined to convey me straight to the sexy siren's side.
“Of all the gin-joints in all the world,” I found myself muttering as I drew closer even though, technically, there wasn't a whole lot of gin in evidence here tonight.
The guy she was with looked nervous. Now, that might have been 'cause of the way she was draped all over him, like a cheap slut...I mean suit. Or it might have been the carrot she was teasing him with. I guess she was trying to feed it to him, but it looked more like she was getting ready to poke him in the eye. Then again, the reason his nerves were on edge might have had more to do with the heat he was packing. He looked kind of like a hit man to me, or maybe a mob enforcer—but, then again, that might just have been the tell-tale bulge under his jacket talking. Either way, I guess I probably should have had the sense to keep my distance, but I didn’t.
I was only a few feet away when Candy glanced over and saw me. I didn't like the way her eyes narrowed or the way the corners of her mouth drew down as she said, “What’s up, Doc?”
I have to admit, her question stopped me cold. It’s not like she'd never called me that before—it's been her pet name for me since we met—but all the same, it's just not every night you get to hear that particular line popping out of the luscious red lips of a life-sized gray bunny—satin or otherwise. Laughter began to bubble up inside me, but before I could formulate a suitable answer, she’d stepped away from her gentleman friend and pulled me aside.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded in an angry whisper. “Are you following me?”
I shook my head. “Don't flatter yourself, babe. I'm here on a job. I was called in because one of the bunnies was injured.”
“But you’re a veterinarian!” she hissed. “You treat animals, not people!”
“Exactly.” I pointed at the leporids lounging in the grass. “Animals,” I said, helpfully. “See? There they are.”
“This is just bullshit. I told you the other day: it's over between us.”
I couldn't help but grimace. “I know. I remember.” She'd been real clear about that. And I can't say she didn't have her reasons—all of which I heard about. In very. Great. Detail. I think my favorite part was when she claimed that my idea of foreplay was telling a girl, “Why don't you take off your shirt?” Which was completely unfair, by the way, and she knew it too.
It wasn't foreplay, okay? I'd been flirting with her. It was a stupid line and I only tried it the once and, even then, I kind of meant it as a joke. Also, I may have been a little bit drunk at the time. Which was the other thing that hurt. If she'd broken up with me because occasionally I hit the bottle a little too hard, that I could have dealt with. But I tend to babble when I'm nervous and, even when I'm not, it's still a whole lot easier controlling what goes into my mouth than what comes out.
It wasn't foreplay, okay? I'd been flirting with her. It was a stupid line and I only tried it the once and, even then, I kind of meant it as a joke. Also, I may have been a little bit drunk at the time. Which was the other thing that hurt. If she'd broken up with me because occasionally I hit the bottle a little too hard, that I could have dealt with. But I tend to babble when I'm nervous and, even when I'm not, it's still a whole lot easier controlling what goes into my mouth than what comes out.
“Trust me,” I told her. “If I knew you were going to be here, I'd have told them to send someone else. But, what the hell are you doing here anyway? And why are you dressed up like that? Not that I don't appreciate the view, but it's a little late for Halloween, isn't it?”
She tossed the carrot she'd been holding into a nearby bush, fisted her hands on her hips and glared at me. “For your information, I'm here to audition. I can't strip forever, you know. That's why I’m trying to break into film.”
“Yeah, but...why the bunny costume?”
“ It's obvious, isn't it? This movie documents a year in the life of a Playboy Bunny, right? And that man over there—” she said, waving over my shoulder in the unhappy hit man’s direction. “Is a studio big-wig. He could give me the break I need.”
“I don't think he's with any of the studios,” I felt obliged to point out. “And, even if he is, he's carrying a gun, so probably not that big a wig.”
“It's not a gun,” she corrected, smiling coldly, making what I can only assume was a badly misplaced reference to one of Mae West's more immortal lines. “He's just happy to see me. And you’re jealous.”
“He's wearing a shoulder holster!” I snapped, getting really angry with her now. She knew my insecurities all too well—the bitch. “What the fuck are you talking about? And, just FYI, the movie? Year of the Rabbit, right? Not a documentary.”
“Oh, what do you know?” she asked, looking slightly uncertain for the first time that night.
“More than you, apparently.”
“Everything all right over here, Candy?” a deep voice asked anxiously from behind me.
I glanced around in surprise. Shit. For a moment, I'd forgotten all about Mr. Big-wig-Studio-Hit-Man.
“Everything's fine, Jim,” Candy replied, batting about ten pounds of false eye-lashes in his direction. No joke, she could end a heatwave with those things. Somewhere in South America, I thought irrelevantly, a butterfly just got blown to pieces by a freak windstorm. Candy continued to smile sweetly at her hit man. “Doc was just leaving. Weren't you, Doc?”
Suddenly, I was feeling ornery. “Good to meet you, Jim,” I said as I turned 'round to face him. I grabbed his hand and pumped it with enthusiasm. “Candy tells me you're with the studio. Is that right?”
“Studio?” Jim repeated, sounding mildly puzzled. “No. I'm not with a studio. I'm a bounty hunter.”
“A bounty hunter—no shit?” I stared at him in surprise. At least the gun was explained. “Wait, don't tell me, let me guess. You're hunting wabbits—right?”
“Well, actually...”
“I don't believe this.” Candy rolled her eyes in disgust. “Thanks for nothing,” she muttered, glaring at both of us in turn. Then she spun on her heel and flounced away. I'll admit I watched her go with more than a touch of regret. It was just before Easter and she was my Candy-Bunny. I wanted to nibble on her ears. I wanted a piece of her tail. I was, in fact, completely mesmerized by the sight of that fluffy, white cotton-ball swinging back and forth with each sway of her hips. The cottontail, by the way, is a specifically American rabbit and is in no way related to the domesticated or European rabbit. Just in case you were curious.
“So...are you really a doctor?” Jim asked, his voice breaking through my Candy-induced trance.
“Yes, I am really a doctor,” I answered. I get just a little tired of all the people who assume that only people with the initials M and D after their names qualify as “real” doctors. “What's it to you?”
“Well, I was thinking maybe you could help me out. See, I have this little problem. My doctor calls them anxiety attacks; says they're a form of PTSD. Sometimes I freeze up, see? It happened with the last two skips I was trying to take in. This'll be my third strike. If I mess up on this, I'll be washed up, out of the business.”
“So what do you want me to do about it?” I asked, frowning at him in no small amount of confusion. Did he think I was some kind of therapist?
“I thought you could maybe give me something. Pills, an injection—anything you got. Just to help calm my nerves, you know?”
I needed something to calm my nerves, too, damn it. Didn't mean I was about to start popping horse tranqs, however. “Damn it, Jim,” I growled at him. “I'm a doctor, not a drug pusher!”
“Sorry I asked,” he said, looking dejected in that way that only a really big, heavily muscled, armed man can. For some reason, I kind of felt sorry for him.
“Tell me about the guy you're after tonight,” I said, by way of apology as I flagged down a waiter and got us each a drink.
Jim shook his head. “Well, first of all, it's not a guy. I'm looking for a woman. An international jewel thief who goes by the name The Rabbit. Word is, she's gonna hit this premier.”
“You can't be serious,” I muttered as I glanced around. Not that there weren't jewels a plenty in evidence tonight, because there certainly were, but... “The Rabbit? Really?”
“No joke. And the price on her head is huge. If I can find her and take her in, I'll be sitting pretty.” Jim gulped down his champagne then stared in disappointment at his empty glass. I passed him mine.
“So what does this thief of yours look like?” I asked, absently scanning the crowd, looking for Candy. Pathetic, I know. But what can you do?
“Brunette, about five-five, slender build.”
“That's not much to go on, Jim,” I pointed out, watching as Candy made nice with her new friend: a vivacious redhead, dripping in diamonds...
I think you had to be really looking for it, to see what happened next. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately, it all depends on your viewpoint, I guess—I was really looking. It was all I could do to hide my smile as one of Red's earrings went missing. “You know what, Jim?” I said, as I signaled once more for the waiter with the drinks. “I think I might be able to help you out, after all.”
I think you had to be really looking for it, to see what happened next. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately, it all depends on your viewpoint, I guess—I was really looking. It was all I could do to hide my smile as one of Red's earrings went missing. “You know what, Jim?” I said, as I signaled once more for the waiter with the drinks. “I think I might be able to help you out, after all.”
***
A short while later, my work done, I was heading out of the park when I heard the clatter of stilettos behind me and a voice I knew well calling after me. “Doc! Wait!”
I turned, more than a little surprised to see Candy trotting down the path with a large, fluffy white rabbit clutched to her heaving chest.
“Is this what you were looking for?” she asked, panting a little for breath as she came to a stop.
There were large, rust colored patches on both of the rabbit's hind legs. Big enough to account for the bloody footprints, but nowhere near life-threatening. Nothing that a good cleaning, some antibiotics and maybe a few tranqs couldn't fix. Unfortunately, I was fresh out of tranqs, at the moment. I'd have to take him back to my office to take care of him. I looked from the rabbit to the girl and back again and smiled sadly. “Oh, yeah. Definitely what I was looking for.”
“About the other day,” she began, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I didn't really mean all that stuff I said.”
I blinked in surprise as I felt unexpected warmth blossom in my chest. “You didn't?”
She shook her head, blonde curls bouncing with the motion. “I was just...I dunno, feeling especially picky, or something. But I thought maybe, if you wanted, we could...try it again?”
“I'd like that,” I said. Then I leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “But, you've been a very wascally wabbit.”
She gasped softly and pulled back, eyes wide. “You know?” A flood of color rose in her cheeks.
I nodded, unable to stop the satisfied smile that curved my lips. “I know.”
“That...that bounty hunter. Is-is he...”
My smile widened. “Sleeping.”
“Sleeping?” She stared at me, forehead puckering up. She's real cute when she's confused.
“Like a really relaxed...horse.”
What can I say? Sometimes a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do to protect what's hers. And don't think I feel even a little bit bad about that.
“Now, let's get that bunny back to my office so I can patch him up,” I said. “That is, if you've gotten everything you came here for?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said smiling slyly. “I think I got even more than I'd planned on getting.”
She looked cold, so I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then I took the rabbit from her arms and we headed toward the sidewalk, where I'd parked my car. All in all, I had to admit, the weekend was turning out much, much better than I thought it would. Bloody footprints. Who knew they'd lead me to the woman of my dreams?
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