Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Rewrite and Write Some More

As I'm trying to complete book 3 of the W.A.R.M. Front series I must reread the previous two because of how time intertwined the first three are.  I'll be able to loosen the load some when I tell Rachel's story and we'll get to catch up with all of our happy couples by the time Debbie settles down a few years from the original 2005 date of the first book Sandra's Social.

Our girl Sandy, the one who started this whole mess in the first place.

The only thing harder than trying to tie together the timeline instances that make these three books rebound off of each other is fighting the nearly nihilistic desire to edit the previous two.  Which just means at some point in time I will convince myself to rewrite and re-release this series.

As writers we learn so much about ourselves through our characters.  They built a base for us that has nothing to do with who we see ourselves as in real life.  Then they take on new life and tell you who they are. Its hard to describe that process to someone who doesn't write but I remembered this all too well as I reread this scene that sprang from me practically fully formed as my characters demanded a little fun time give in take in the middle of their intense personality clashes.

Here is one of my favorite excerpts from Sandra's Social:

“You’re drunk lady.” 
His blue eyes looked into hers openly.  She couldn’t place when it had started, but he wasn’t trying to shield his emotions from her anymore.  Instead he lay exposed to her, breathing harder from laughter, eyes glowing with mischief, and an almost catlike curious intensity.  This is what he was like as child she thought suddenly.  This is the person his grandparents had nurtured and created.
Sandra dropped the now useless controller, and her face shifted into a crooked grin that she knew brought out the shallow dimple she had above her left cheek.  The change in him was immediate.  Instantly he reached up, and lightly touched the spot with his finger.  Sitting up onto his elbows he let his lips brush hers for a moment, and then he took her mouth with that super experienced way he had of kissing her.  Sandra felt her head spin, and knew that she was drunk, but not that drunk.  She had never had a man kiss her like this.  The other times with him had been excellent, no doubt about that.  But this one was . . . . different. It was softer and sweeter.  It held more tenderness, and even more affection.  This extraordinary man kissed her like he liked her.  The times before had been curious and expert making them rather tentative in comparison of this intimate exploration. 
The kiss ruled her mouth as he kissed her mouth like she was his.  Languidly his tongue dipped into her, and laved hers.  His mouth tasted her, drunk her in, and then it got hungrier.  The warmth of his palm was against her face. Soft sable brown locks of hair were speared through her fingertips as she cradled his head.  She could feel his ears between her thumb and index fingers.  Without thinking she brushed her fingers over his lobes.  He stopped kissing her instantly, and just stared into her eyes intently.  It lasted for an eternity it seemed because she saw everything in those eyes.  They had darkened to that shade of blue that resembled the sky at midnight.
Sandra mumbled, “Don’t tell me I tickled them.”
That was met with the most genuine smile she had ever been blessed with.
“No, not exactly.” His head fell back onto her lap. “Tell me your name.”
She instantly sobered. “Why?”
Beautiful eyes slid shut.  Somehow she had broken his comfort with the question as he hid himself again she realized.  He only looked away from people when he didn’t want them to be able to read what he couldn’t keep from being in them.  The man was too honest by half.
Swallowing hard he let them slide open slowly revealing that marvelous shade of blue that seemed to contain the secrets of the universe. “I need to know you’re real.”
“Then touch me and see.”
“I told you that ---”
“And I’ll tell you next week.”
In disbelief he stared up at her, and she saw his better judgment warring with what he wanted.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
With slow deliberation he leaned up, and kissed her again, and it seemed like the oven inside her had been turned on.  The son of a bitch had been holding out on her she believed.  There was nothing in any of the kisses that he had given her before that indicated that this would be the response her body would have to him.  Sandra knew that things were happening inside her very quickly, and she was actually starting to become afraid from the influx of feeling he had placed in this kiss.  And even more afraid of the feelings his kiss sent coursing through her. The warmest curl of desire began to hum in her belly as her breasts tightened, the nipples puckering.  Her legs were rapidly becoming useless.  Even her hair felt hot.  Now he was pushing her to the floor beneath him.  He fit himself between her legs, and braced himself on his elbows as he kissed her at his leisure.
Between biting kisses he started, “You have the best lips, soft, full.” He nipped her. “Kissable. That first night they are what I remember.”
He continued to kiss her, long, soft, sweet, and steadily the aggression built.  Sandra dug her fingers into his hair, and gently tugged when the kiss became too much, and he would ever so slightly reign it in until she had settled enough for him to start again.  But too soon she was lost again in a swirling mass of excitement, desire, fear, and helplessness.
“Tell me what you’re feeling.” The whispered request caused an answering shiver inside her as he began to nibble on her neck.
Sandra thought about the hot demand, and realized that she didn’t like the answer. She felt out of control, and lost in a sea of unknown waters. She had never felt this way with any man. The absolute truth of that settled on her like being dumped in the snow with nothing but her underwear on. And that was a terrible feeling.  She knew because of a rotten practical joke played on her by her cousins one Christmas in New York as they had visited some of her American based Greek family. The true problem was that she knew she couldn’t honor his request as she stiffened beneath him.  Feeling her sudden stiffness he responded by lifting his head, and looking at her questioningly.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Yes, no,” she stammered. “I’m not used to . . . I don’t . . .”
“Don’t be shy woman, spit it out,” he grated.
 “I’m not a talker,” Sandra blurted trying to reel her hammering heart and libido back in before they got her into serious trouble.
With a raised brow he shrugged. “Okay, then don’t talk.”
“It’s just that if you prefer a talker,” she hesitated. “I just wouldn’t want to disappoint.  I don’t talk. I don’t scream. I usually make very little noise during.”
The insufferable man smirked at her. “My condolences.”
Sandra pushed onto his chest, and he reluctantly sat up.
“Maybe we ought to discuss what we are expecting here?” She was willing to say anything to get his hands off of her so she could think straight again. She was trying to ignore points from Erikson’s theory on Intimacy versus Isolation ringing through her head. I’m not choosing isolation, she raged internally.
All interest with having sex with her left as he stared at her as if she had gone daft.
“Honestly I just expected sex,” frustrated he muttered beneath his breath.
Sandra nodded as she started to scoot away from him. That scent of his was driving her crazy. So were his wet lips, his pounding heart, and the look in his eyes. “Yeah, but what if we aren’t really compatible.  Our likes could totally not suit.”
“There’s only one way to find that out.”
“I just wouldn’t want to waste any time if it appeared—”
Apparently done with her, the man quickly hopped up from the floor. “I’m making myself a drink.”
Sandra made a face to herself, and took a deep breath.  Thank God he had started talking when he did.  She had been well on her way to chucking her project, her principals, whatever else was left, to sleep with him.  Worse yet was the lingering thought that it wouldn’t have been a bad idea.  She took deep breaths to try and slow her heart rate, and to gain some form of composure before he came back. Unfortunately, now he was pissed; she could see it.  She knew from previous experience that he was a real prick when he got mad. God she had been oblivious to all else except for his lips, and that wonderful body pressed to hers.  Right now the body in question was reclined on the chaise staring at the ceiling. 
Sandra looked over at him, and saw his long legs stretched out before him. The black slacks he was wearing were unbuttoned, and she could see his hairline taper from his navel to disappear there.  Appalled she realized that she was salivating when her eyes fixed on his hip, and she could see the line made by the ending of his abdominal muscles, and the beginning of his hipbone.  Letting her eyes drift upward to his muscled and sparsely haired chest, she tried to get control of her raging hormones.  Sandra felt her eyes shift over the long perfectly shaped slabs that were his pectorals.  Enviously she watched the sheen of sweat that gilded his broad and thick shoulders. Thickly muscled arms rested as his left loosely dangled his drink above the floor.  What she wouldn’t give to be the type of woman that would go over, climb on top of him, and lick him from head to toe.  Sensing her silent perusal he turned to look at her, and she saw the perplexed expression on his face.
The gorgeous creature lifted the sifter to his lips, and casually took a drink.
“I’ll have you know, Madame, that engaging in sexual discourse with someone you are very attracted too is never a waste of time.”  He sipped again. “Unless of course you aren’t very attracted to the person you are engaging with.” He frowned. “Am I not engaging?”
Sandra actually laughed out loud.  It was cute really.  His offbeat way of asking if he was attractive caught her completely off guard.  The alcohol had to be talking; he would never voice such a thing were he more aware.  She was in his house; the man had mirrors.
Smiling still she replied, “You ever think that maybe you’re too engaging, and it throws a woman for a loop.”
Not believing a word of it he practically hissed, “Whatever, you can’t be that close to doing . . . it, and just back off unless you don’t want to do . . . . it with the person you’re doing . . . . it with.”
Maybe tonight she was that woman Sandra thought as she found herself straddling his hips and looking into those oh so blue eyes.  With a sly playful look, she took his drink from him, sipped on it herself, and quickly found herself coughing and gasping for air as he patted her back hard.
“Irish whiskey, goes down harsh,” he said deadpan.
Feeling sexy as hell with her eyes watering, her breathing scattered, and her voice sounding like jaded sandpaper, she got out, “I got a little freaked out cause I didn’t think I’d measure up to you.”
With the delicacy of a ram he huffed at her, and took his drink back sipping it with much more success than she had accomplished. He looked at her as his forehead creased thoughtfully, “You really don’t know how beautiful you are.”
Sandra tilted her head at him and smiled sheepishly. “I’m starting to understand how beautiful you think I am.”
“This couldn’t possibly be happening too fast for you?”
Sandra nodded knowing that it was the truth. She wasn’t ready for what happened to her when she was in his arms.  It was too intense and left her much too open and raw to him.  She had accomplished so much in her life, these feelings she had for him confused her because she didn’t know what they were besides very strong.  Strong enough to sweep her away it seemed.
Sipping his whiskey, cool, dark blue eyes regarded her silently.  The emotion behind them intense, but under control.
“What should we do?”
Her mind yelled ‘Run Away’, but she actually managed to shrug casually and suggest, “A break?”
Refusing immediately he shook his head. “You don’t convince yourself to have less of a good thing.”
Sandra conceded that point in her head, and then said, “Who says this is a good thing.”
He let his eyes roam over her, where she was, and he stated rather sharply, “It is apparent that we get on quite well.”
Sandra blushed from what he implied, and then inspiration started taking root inside of her making her hold up her finger. “But who’s to say that the novelty of this unusual arrangement of ours wears off leaving us avoiding each other on the streets.”
“It’s been going on for months now, and if so, so be it.” To emphasize he sat up bringing his face inches from hers. “I’m not a quitter Madame, in any regard.”
Seeing the challenge in his eyes Sandra gave him another sly look.  She leaned against him, and started to whisper in his ear just so she could feel him, making sure her response wasn’t imagined.
“A wager perhaps.”
Intrigued now he leaned back instantly bracing an arm behind himself. “What kind of a wager?  I happen to know that you are a sadist.”
Mocking his slightly British tone exactly, “I beg to differ sir; I believe you have me at a loss.  I am no more a sadist than you are a masochist.”
An arched brow was his response, which caused her to chuckle at the aristocratic nature of the gesture.  Her laughter caused him to respond with his own letting her know that the gesture had been intentional, and for her response.
“I spent a lot of time with my grandfather, and my grandmother does visit the Ancestral home quite a bit which causes me to be there a lot.  Forgive me if my accent slips from time to time.”
“Nothing to forgive, I like the sound of it.  Most people who live in Texas eventually sound like Texans.  Myself included.  It’s nice to hear something different.”
Nodding graciously he asked pointedly, “And that wager?”
She placed her hands onto his shoulders, and pushed him flat again. She leaned over him until she could fold her arms on his chest, and rest her chin on them.
“You’re not gonna believe it.”
Enjoying the way her mind worked, he smiled slowly, and offered her his drink.  She accepted it, and took a cautious sip learning from her previous mistake.
Smooth and deep his words set her senses to trembling as he breathed, “Try me,” over the skin of her fingertips.

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