Don't Apologize for Calling a Spade a Spade

“What do you mean? This is good info.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t.  It’s about how it was acquired.” He paused pacing, and stared aimlessly at the back wall. “Unless a person who would have this information legally claims to have given it to you.” He threw up his arms dramatically.  “It can’t be used.”

“In a court of law,” she finished as she dropped her ever-tiring head into her hands.  Abandoning that she popped her head up causing her hair to cascade over her head, and resettle disheveled. “So all this really did was put me on the chopping block.”

Thomas made an odd negative sound that was between a growl, and a hum as he started pacing again.  “Not necessarily; it gives us more than we had before.”

Not seeing the bright side like he was Charlotte hissed, “That being?”

Her sharp tone made him stop pacing, and turn to look at her as an odd expression briefly crossed his normally passive features. “A path.  We can figure out what he is doing, and how he’s been doing it.” Thomas nodded to himself. “I can use it to make him incriminate himself.”

He then looked at her for only the second time since he had determined that she needed to relocate.  The hard lines of his face softened slightly.  The difference was almost undetectable.  Most people probably wouldn’t notice, but Charlotte had.  It made his lips soften, and the crinkles around his eyes lessen.

“You need to sleep.” The statement was more of an order than an observation. 

Thomas walked back to the SUV, and pulled out her gym bag.  With a head gesture he inferred that she should follow him.  Feeling like she was just tired enough not to argue, Charlotte lifted herself from the chair, and fell into pace behind him as he began clearing the space to the staircase.  They went upstairs, and he opened the door of the first room.  Charlotte followed him, and it was like she was at the Hyatt all of the sudden.

The room was like a hotel room.  The furniture was wooden and in solid colors.  Not great, but not bad.  It was mostly sterile, and looked like a man had picked out everything.  There were no knick-knacks, just basics.  An ugly pasty green couch, a matching chair, and some dull wooden end tables were the highlights of the decor.  In the corner was a kitchenette with a full sized fridge, stove, dishwasher, and microwave.  The sink was a single basin with a washrag, and dish soap nearby.  The second door in the room lead to a bedroom that housed a king-sized bed covered in a hideous beige comforter, and some more of the dull wooden end tables the living area sported.

“Bathroom is connected to the bedroom,” Thomas said as he threw her gym bag on the bed, and started for the door.

Charlotte stared at the room, and grabbed the arm of the brooding man as he passed her.  She almost hissed at the warmth of him through her fingertips.  The feeling was short lived as he stopped, and removed her hand from his arm by grasping her wrist.  The action made her snap her eyes to his, and they held for a moment neither of them blinking for the space of two breathes.

“You’re safe here Charlie.”

“Tommy—,” she stammered not really believing that she had addressed him so familiarly.  It had to be her exhaustion because he had not done anything that would make her assume such an air with him.  The look that danced in his eyes for a moment could’ve been shock or anger.  She wasn’t sure, but she was sure that she had crossed some invisible line with the name that had fell from her lips.

 “Thomas,” she quickly corrected looking up at him.  “I didn’t mean— on the phone—”

He whipped her body into his, and ducked his head to seal his mouth to hers.  Charlotte felt the burn of his lips against hers.  The abrupt entry of his tongue pushing between her teeth made her stiffen, then practically melt against him.  Her wrists were captured behind her back by one of his larger hands.  The other hand had taken possession of her left butt cheek pulling her against his body.  She moaned in a haze of adrenaline, pleasure, and fear as she kissed him back with just as much ferocity as he was kissing her with.  His hips were grinding into hers.  She could feel the length of his erection between them.  With that knowledge her knees nearly buckled.  What she wouldn’t give to get her hands on him.

What had started as rough tongue stabbing was dissipating.  The forays he took between her lips were becoming more leisurely as he explored her mouth with long slow licks that drug his tongue over all of the surfaces of hers.  He would pull away slightly, and then decide that he wasn’t done, and take her mouth again.  This happened a few more times before he pulled back, and slowly licked his lips.  Panting they held there breathing each other’s air.  He let his eyes roam over her face.  She watched as they settled on her lips then flew back to her eyes.

“Don’t apologize for calling a spade a spade,” his deep voice was rough, and his accent was dominating his pronunciation.
An excerpt from Charlotte's Chance on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords

And Now the Running

Sandra had a corner apartment on the third floor.  They were the only units in the building that offered the large obnoxious roman bathtubs.  The only draw back, if you saw it that way, was that they were at the end of the living group for the hallway.  The closest thing to her door was the fire escape across the hall. It was open, and Sandra loved to climb it instead of taking the elevator or the interior stairs.  In her heart of hearts Sandra was really a recluse, and this suited her.

While musing over the oddities that comprised her best friend, Charlotte had locked the door, and had that feeling. As soon as she had turned the bolt, the sudden creepy crawly feeling of being watched covered her.  It had been in a split second, but her mind had yelled RUN!!  She hadn’t thought about it, she had just reacted.  She had run to the elevator of the long hall way as the door was closing.  Then she bolted for the stairwell at the end of the hall.  Charlotte hadn’t heard the footsteps, but she had felt the eyes.

‘Don’t look back.’  She heard her brother in her head yelling at her.  The self-defense pointers he had given her starting to play in her mind. 

‘Focus on what is in front of you.  Will yourself to that place.’  She flew through the doorway to the stairwell. 

‘If you get a chance, hide, don’t try and outrun them.’

She turned the stairwell, and went up instead of down.  The stairwell was a myriad of walled half flights, carpeted, and quiet.  She crouched on the other side of the wall facing the steps leading to the next level hoping her pursuer didn’t realize that she was there.  Charlotte pressed her back to the wall of the stairwell flattening her palms near her hips.  She balanced on the balls of her feet ready to spring because of the low heels on her black boots.  Her breath was coming out loudly almost panting. The air-conditioned area was musty like carpet that had been left wet.  There was a single oval recessed light on each landing right above the open space before you stepped through the door.

The creaking of the door on the landing beneath her as it flew open made her stop breathing.  Charlotte swallowed her gasp. Her heart was beating so loudly it could probably be heard from the street. She flexed her hands against the wall willing herself not to move. Even as the slight sound of padded footsteps receding reached her she waited before she let out the breath she had been holding.

‘Be patient. Don’t make a mistake now. You’re almost there.’

Charlotte slowly moved away from the wall, and made her way back down to the landing she had come from.  She walked slowly, fearful that her pursuer would get wise, and come bolting back up the stairs at any moment. When she reached the hallway she stood nervously in front of the elevator knowing that she couldn’t go down it alone.  She paced a few moments as a crowd of young adults made their way to the elevator.  A few of the ladies had hair like hers.

‘Don’t shy away from people.  Other people are your best cover if someone is looking for you to be alone.’

She boarded the elevator with them.  They reached the garage under the building where she had parked her F-150.  Because of her brother’s diligent teachings, she always parked very close to elevators, and always under highly lit areas.  Charlotte streaked for her F-150, and got in locking the doors, and starting the truck in the same motion.  The creepy feeling returned, and for a split second she stared into the black eyes of a tall stocky man with a greasy look and feel to him.  His face snarled as she hit reverse, shifted to drive, and burned rubber pealing out of the parking lot.

It had all happened so quickly.  She had come home locked all her doors, closed all her blinds, and battled herself into not calling the police.  What would she say?  I think this guy was following me.  Oh yeah because my best friend and me have gotten ourselves into some serious trouble with a local oil baron.  And did I mention the CIA agent that kidnapped her off to Japan.

She had finally convinced herself that she would’ve sounded nuts.  At that time she most likely would have.  After all who was to say the guy didn’t need change or something.  Maybe he was a bill collector she had missed and was trying to find Sandra.  Charlotte had spent the night concocting an array of amusing, interesting antidotes that would explain what had happened at Sandra’s apartment.  Then it had happened again.

An excerpt from Charlotte's Chance on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords

Charlotte's Chance

Near the end of Chapter Six:

'It was a very near thing because they had almost made it out of the club.  Sparked by whatever insane notion, she stopped on the dance floor as “World in My Eyes” by Depeche Mode started to play.  All of a sudden she was 19 again, hanging out in one of these places for the last time, as she knew she was heading to design school.  That night she had let everything go.  She had danced her heart out, drank too much, and flirted too hard.  She would remember that night till her dying day as being one of the best nights of her life. 

The day after tomorrow she could be dead.  It wasn’t just a morbid thought any more.  It could be the truth.  Just like that this trip could be over.  She was in the company of one of the most delicious men she had ever had the chance to encounter.  Even if her over wrought moral code wouldn’t let her sleep with him, it would let her dance with him.  It would not only let her dance with him, it would even allow her to dance dirty with him.  She looked back at Thomas, and started to dance. She began moving slowly, seductively.  For a few moments he just watched her not moving, and not saying anything.  Then he pulled her into himself. 

Most people who witnessed what happened on the dance floor would call it what it was, vertical non-penetration sex set to song.  But it was a gothic club; there was a lot of that going on.  Most of the time he let her set the rhythm, and then he would take over by pulling her hips in the direction he wanted. When the song ended she had her arms around his neck, her body pressed intimately to his, and his hands on her ass as she nearly rode his thigh.  His hands slowly slid up, and lifted his hood just enough that she could see his lips. He then he lifted her veil only enough to settle his lips over hers.

She moaned into his mouth when he pushed his tongue between her teeth as the original German version of “99 Luftballons” played overhead. Her arms tightened around his neck as his hands trailed down her back pressing her even closer than when they had danced.  Suddenly he pulled back his eyes closed.

“Slap me,” he ordered in a husky but sharp tone.

Charlotte frowned, but more at the fact that he wasn’t kissing her anymore. She opened her mouth, and he cut her off before she got any words out.

“Just do it, hard.”

So she wasn’t waiting till they got back.  She pulled back, and wailed across his face as hard as she could.

He grabbed her hand, and they finally made it out of the club.  Thomas had needed that slap.  While he had been kissing her he hadn’t been able to find one single solitary good reason why he shouldn’t just pin her against the nearest wall, and have her.  However he had been reasonable enough to understand that not being able to think of a single good reason not to take her against some random nearby wall was very unreasonable.  Charlotte muddled his mind when she was being a good girl.  Naughty Charlotte was sending him into premature meltdown, and he needed to get her secured, and back to her old self quickly or his self-control wouldn’t last the night.

“I’m sorry” Charlotte whispered in the quiet of the long drive back to their base of operations.

Thomas was a little distracted making sure they weren’t being tailed, but he did eventually respond. “For?”

“I was an unmerciful tease tonight.”

“Yes, but you were supposed to be.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Got reminded of who you used to be. It’s unsettling.”

She paused, and nodded knowing that he was right, and that really had been her problem. “I’ve come a long way. I don’t want to start back peddling.  But with you---,” she stopped herself.

“Charlie, I’m not going to judge you, not now, not ever.  There’s a saying about whores, stones, and glass whorehouses that I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

Despite herself, and the twinge of self-hate she was feeling, Charlotte giggled a little.  Then started to laugh in earnest. “I fogged up your glasses pretty good huh?”

They came to a red light, and he looked over at her until she locked her eyes with his. “There aren’t words to describe the type of desire you make me feel. You respond to me without being ashamed of your own reaction, and that’s hot enough.  But when you bait me without feeling guilty or without being apologetic it’s like tossing out the Bunsen burner for a flame-thrower.  I was nearly unmanned.”

The light changed, and the force of his golden eyes was pulled away from her.  Charlotte tried unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of sheer desire and awareness that flooded through her at his words.

“I can’t be the only woman that’s ever tried to entice you.”

His eyes didn’t leave the road as he answered. “You are the only one that has done this for the most basic reason.  It’s not because you want me to save you, protect you, or back your play.  You already have that from me. You bait me because you want me to want you for the sake of your own desire.”

Charlotte understood now why this was uncharted territory for him.  Honestly she had never had a man just desire her for the sake of desiring her.  There had been guys that had cared for her, but it hadn’t been insane love or even nearly unmanageable desire.  There had been the guys that had just wanted to get laid, and for them any woman would do.  Then as her self-esteem had done a real noise dive there were the guys that had wanted her to support them because of her business.  Charlotte had been in love, and in lust before, but she had never felt the type of emotions that Thomas Glendel made her feel. As they spent more and more time with each other she was starting to understand that he could say the same for her.

“Thomas—” she started.

“I meant what I said tonight. We’ll get to it.”

~ CHARLOTTE'S CHANCE Book 2 of The W.A.R.M. Front Series Available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

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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