January 22, 2013 | Filed under: Stuff
What I worked on today at the crack of dawn, JUST for you cuz I love ya:
At the unexpected male voice, Ali’s heart leaped into her throat. She whirled and stared in shock at the guy standing in her kitchen. Reacting without thinking, she grabbed the key bowl off the counter and flung it at his head.
He ducked, and the pot bounced off the wall behind him, shattering into a hundred pieces. As ceramic shards tinkled to the tile floor, he straightened, dominating the kitchen as he turned to her, eyes narrowed.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, heart thundering.
“Oh no, you first,” he said, arms crossed, looking impenetrable and imposing. “Why are you throwing shit at me?”
Wishing like hell that she had clothes on, she was surreptitiously reaching for the coffee mug on the counter – another of her creations – to pitch at his head when he wrenched the mug from her hand. “Stop with the target practice,” he said, oozing dangerous levels of testosterone.
He was tall. Six feet, at least, and built like he was very familiar with a gym or physical labor. And while he stood there in the middle of the kitchen as if he did indeed own the place, she took in other details. Sharp eyes. All the better to see you with, my dear, she thought half hysterically, feeling a little bit like Little Red Riding Hood must have when she’d been trapped in the scary forest by the big, bad wolf.
His hair was dark brown and tousled, as if he couldn’t be bothered with a comb. His t-shirt was stretched across broad shoulders, his jeans sitting low on lean hips. And his cross-trainers made no noise when he took a step toward her.
All the better to catch you with, my dear…
He didn’t look like the big, bad wolf, she told her panicky self. Nor did he look like an ax murderer who broke into homes and tortured women in their undies — not that she was sure what an ax murderer might look like. Snatching the dish towel off the counter, she attempted to cover herself since her Victoria Secrets weren’t hiding much of her secrets.
The maybe-ax-murderer took another step her way. His gaze wasn’t leering, though he was definitely taking in her body, and she forced herself not to squeak as he snatched her sweater off the back of a chair and held it out to her, mouth hard.
All the better to eat you with, my dear…
From IT HAD TO BE YOU, available SOON!
Feel free to preorder (Amazon or BN or wherever you would like!) and make an author’s day. And/or keep her from working at Taco Bell. Not that there’s ANYTHING wrong with that. Taco Bell remains one of my personal fave lunch spots but let’s face it, I would be CRAP at customer service.