So, I'm getting ready to celebrate being for twenty-four years as of tomorrow, April 22. Gotta say, I'm happy I found a great man who puts up with my overwhelming need to write and be creative. He might not always get the why of it, but he stands behind me nonetheless.
Happy anniversary, wonderful man!
Tonight's post is from Call the Ball, a manuscript I hope to make both hot and humorous. I'm not always great with the comedy, but Gwen and Tag are bringing it so far. Fingers crossed it continues.
Here's the tagline:
Gwen keeps a tightly controlled leash on her feelings for Tag, thinking if she gives up control, she'll get lost in the passion. But when a simple game throws them together, she has to take a chance to see if sparks fly and if so, how to quench the flame.
And here's the sneaky peek…
Gwen rose from her spot at the table. "I can't believe I let myself get talked into this juvenile game." She glanced around, eyeing everyone in the room. "Whose idea was this anyway?"
Barlow Biggles, also known as Biggie, raised his hand.
Gwen snorted. "Figures. Anything for a cheap thrill, right, Biggie?"
She rolled her eyes, hoping it masked the nervous tension she couldn't shake. Seven damn minutes with Tag Locksley. He'd know. And she didn't think she'd be able to deal with it if he laughed in her face.
Sucking it up, she walked across the room and followed Tag into the closet. The walls immediately closed in when the hatch shut behind her. She needed to get grip. Fast. But how? She figured her standard fallback of snark and sarcasm would be a safe bet.
Whirling around, she paced the small space. "This has to be the lamest of the lame. Who needs a stupid game to get it on with someone?"
Tag leaned a shoulder against the bulkhead. "I think the point is you don't know who you'll end up with." His eyes followed her back and forth motion.
Damned man. Cool and calm, and way too casual. She wanted to bounce his head off the walls.
She shot him a scathing look. "Yeah, I don't like that either."
Tag straightened. "Because it's me, right?" He heaved a sigh. "It figures."
She stopped and faced him. "What?" How did he know? Wait, maybe he didn't. She quickly back-pedaled. "No. Geez, Tag. Calm down."
He gave her a pointed glance. "I'm not the one climbing the walls in here, Gwen. You are."
Shit. He had her there.
She scrambled for a reply. "I don't like to be forced into small spaces, all right?"
His brows scrunched. "You're a pilot. You sit in a cramped cockpit. Try again."
No way would she admit he made her nervous in this particular small space.
She shrugged. "I'm in control there. Here? Not so much."
His eyes narrowed for a moment and he pondered her. She didn't like the knowing look settling in his gaze.
His head tilted back. "Ah. I see." He pushed away from the wall.
She also didn't like his know-it-all tone. Or the way he slowly strode toward her in the cramped area.
She took a step back. "See what, exactly?"
Why the hell didn't they make larger supply closets? She had nowhere to go and Tag crowded into her personal space.
He lifted a shoulder. "Your problem." He paused, halting his progress.
She tilted her head. "I don't have a problem." Not one she'd own up to anyway.
His lips curved. "Yes, you do."
She snorted. "No, I don't. This is juvenile. We're not twelve."
Tag barely bit back a retort. He struggled to keep his lips from twitching and Gwen gave him credit for succeeding. She also thanked the universe he didn't point out she'd acted about five years old since they'd walked into the closet.
Tag changed the subject. "Let's focus on the problem."
Gwen argued. "I do not have a problem." Again, not one she wanted to share with him.
His head shook back and forth. "Gwen, you so do." He moved a step closer.
She held her ground. "Okay, what it is then?" The strong urge to dart around him and get some breathing room briefly flitted through her head.
Tag made sure she couldn't, propping his hands on the bulkhead, boxing her in before speaking. "You need to be in charge." He edged closer. "Well, Gwen. I can let you be in charge. We've got what? Four minutes left? Five?"
She nodded, jerkily, unable to utter a word.
A slow smile curved his lips and he eased closer. "Okay, then, you have the ball. Call it."
Now she really didn't know what to do. His breath fanned her face and his lips hovered over hers, barely a whisper away.
She caved and went with the moment. "Kiss me."
He didn't hesitate. His mouth crushed hers and…oh, holy shit…the man could melt metal with his lips. He cupped her face and she leaned into the kiss. Her hands moved up, skimming over his biceps, before trailing down to grasp his hips. He backed her against the wall, the hard ridge of his cock pressing along her stomach. A muffled moan stuck in her throat and the image of his naked body entwined with hers took up residence in her head. She got lost in the picture of his skin sliding against hers and when he pulled away, she gasped and leaned forward, wanting more.
She blinked. "Why'd you stop?"
He rasped, "Time's up. Game over."
His voice had a whiskey smooth quality to it and he swallowed hard, his tongue jutting out to lick his bottom lip.
"Fuck me." She barely held back a shudder and raised her gaze to his. "Can we—"
He nodded, a quick jerk of his head. "Oh hell, yeah."
The hatch swung open and Tag stepped in front of her, giving her a much needed few seconds to get her scattered self together. She dragged in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, willing her racing pulse to slow down.
Tag snorted and stepped out of the supply closet. "Okay, we're done here. Everyone's had their fun and games." He jerked his head toward the exit. "Move out."
Sorry to leave it there, but needless to say, the temperature is going to rise significantly in the rec room. Oooh, la, la.
That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!