Sunday Snippet: A Gentle Valor

Greetings!

Okay, only one more episode of Orphan Black and my current obsession will be on hiatus. EEK! I'm definitely planning a full rewatch marathon so catch all the little nuances I'm sure I missed. J

Tonight's post is from A Gentle Valor, which doesn't involve clones, but it does have a similar theme of breeding the next upgrade to the human race. The heroine is forced to commit a horrific act and the fallout haunts her until she has a chance to redeem herself.

Here's the tagline:

Aggie Fyffe makes an impossible decision and survives a hellish experience. Haunted by her choice, she faces her demons with a little help from Zane Tetherson and earns a chance for redemption.

And here's the sneaky peek…

Aggie Fyffe stood, stunned, staring in horror at the sight in front of her. Women, so many women, hooked up to machines, tubes running to and fro like a spider's web. All in various stages of gestation, she had no idea if any could be saved. Swallowing down bile, she shuffled further into the lab on numb feet that tried to fight forward progress. She didn't blame them. Her brain might not be able to handle a closer look.

Give her a rifle, hell, any weapon, and she could shoot to defend, maim, or kill. The sight of blood didn't faze her. Gaping wounds, lost limbs, or severed arteries barely blipped in her mind. Combat had hardened her against it.

But the sight of the women?

Chilled her to her soul.

She edged closer to the first bed and bit back a curse. (Describe the visage. Unconscious, maybe comatose, her distended abdomen had to be in the final stages of pregnancy. Aggie had no idea how close to delivery the woman might be, but it couldn't be long off. What the hell happened to the infants? Aggie decided she probably didn't want to know.

Her eyes scanned the row of beds. Nine total. Logic suggested one for each month of pregnancy. Why? Again, her brain shied away from possible answers. Movement from the farthest bed caught her attention. Maybe she'd imagined it. She hoped so. Would be better for the women if they weren't awake and aware.

She slowly made her way to the last bed…oh, shit. The woman's eyes blinked, tears spilling out. Addie knew her, not well, but she ran one of the shops on their home world. Betsy Morehead, a nice lady who liked to sew.

Aggie edged up to the bed and Betsy's eyes met hers. Pain-filled and agonized, they beseeched Aggie to remove the tube so Betsy could speak. Aggie gingerly lifted the device and gently tore the tape away. Out of her element, she hoped she didn't cause harm. Putting a gun in the woman's hand would be easier.

Betsy gagged when the tube slid free, coughing and sputtering until her lungs filled with air.

She grabbed hold of Aggie's hand, her grip weak. "Thank you." Her voice croaked, but she got the words out.

Aggie squeezed Betsy's fingers. "What's going on? Why are you here?" Stupid question, but if she didn't get Betsy talking, Aggie would freak out.

The machines and tubes pressed in on her like a weight, a sick feeling crawled up her spine, and her head didn't want to believe what her gut knew.

Betsy swallowed hard. "You have to know. Or guess." Her eyes slid shut and Aggie's heart went out to her.

"Why?" Aggie needed to hear it. To have her suspicions confirmed.

Even with the darker subject matter, this one is a joy to write. Aggie's conflict is challenging to portray on the page and I love a good challenge. J

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippets: Game of One

Hello!

I've got yet another television show I’m obsessed with: Orphan Black. Seriously, it's one of the best written shows out there right now. The thing I love best? They NEVER do exactly what I think they will. I LOVE THAT!! I think they'll fall into the old trap of taking the obvious choice and BAM! They go completely off the rails with something totally unexpected. Sarah and Paul have a very twisted attraction that just works…even when it shouldn't. LOL

Anyway, tonight's post is from Game of One, a short novella featuring one of my favorite things: Friends who become lovers. J

Here's the tagline:

Lacie Brooks' annual Valentine's Day tradition of getting laid and letting off steam is cut short when she shoots her mouth off to the wrong superior officer. Stuck on base, she finds a way to pass her restricted time with Ren Blankenship by playing a Game of One. Too bad for Lacie, Ren decides to turn the tables on her and win for a change.

And the sneaky peek…

Halfway through the paperwork, it occurred to Ren that Lacie would miss her annual tradition of picking up a one night bootie call wouldn't happen this year. Might not be a bad thing. She'd had five years to let go of Chuck. Then again, so had he.

And yet Ren wouldn't act on the sexual attraction hovering just under the surface with Lacie. Part of that had to do with how they'd met. And some of it had to do with enjoying the back and forth with her. They discussed hooking up on a regular basis, but always in a teasing manner. Neither had been willing to take a step to no return. Lacie wanted a friend she could count on and Ren filled the bill.

Ren held back because Lacie needed balance. Someone who'd have her back as often as they got in her face when she needed it. He'd been in on as many pranks she pulled as he'd been on the receiving end. They made a wicked good team. But he'd also go toe to toe with her when she crossed boundaries she shouldn't. She'd do the same for him…if he ever stepped over the line, which he didn't.

The tendency to be exasperating and frustrating, all part of Lacie's appeal. He might be a glutton for that kind of punishment, but rarely did he ever suffer boredom when she happened to be around. From the day he met her, she'd knocked him off balance and showed him new ways to look at things.

His lips quirked. Anyone who'd seen them the day of Chuck's funeral wouldn't have believed they'd end up as great friends. Monica and Doug held a gathering after his burial at Chuck's favorite tavern. Lacie sat at the bar downing shots, one by one, until she practically weaved back and forth on the barstool. At least a dozen glasses lined the wood top in front of her.

Ren didn't realize her connection to Chuck. He'd been stationed off planet when Chuck bought it in a skirmish he shouldn't have been involved in. Chuck told Ren he'd found someone, the someone, and couldn't wait to introduce his best friend to the woman who made life awesome.

Resembling a lush more than an incredible specimen of womanhood, the lady at the bar offended Ren's sense of decorum.

"You should leave. You don't belong here."

She swung her head around and tilted it sideways, tried to focus on his voice. "And why not?" Her words slurred together slightly, but she licked her lips and blew out a breath. "Why shouldn't I belong?" She blinked and seemed surprised she sounded almost normal.

Ren frowned. "Because this gathering is to honor a great man. You're being disrespectful to his memory."

She sniffed. "A great man." Her head bobbed up and down. "Yes. A very great man." Her hand reached for the next shot and she flung it down her throat.

Ren lowered his voice. "Look. I don't know who you—"

Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. "Everything hurts. I hurt." She dropped the shot glass on the bar. "And I can't make it go away." Her gaze met his and the pain in it knocked him back. "I…he…we…" Her eyes slid closed. "I don't know how to make it stop." Her slim fingers rubbed back and forth along her forehead, trying to soothe an ache that couldn't be eased.

It hit Ren. Her identity. "Lacie?"

She lifted her head, eyes watery and bleak. "What? Oh, right. I shouldn't be here." She wobbled on the stool and eyed the last shot on the bar.

A shudder went through her and she tried to slide off her perch. Ren hooked an arm around her and swung the other under her legs before she hit the floor. Lifting her easily, he headed for the exit.

"Hey. Put me down. Who are you?" She squirmed and tried to wriggle out of his arms. "Put. Me. Down." She bucked and struggled against his hold. "Where are you taking—" She tensed. "Oh…God…I'm gonna heave."

Ren made it out the door just in time. Lacie turned her head and puked the alcohol all over the parking lot. He carried her several feet away and crouched down, settling her on a bench outside the bar.

He handed her a handkerchief. "Feel better?"

She wiped her mouth and shook her head. "Not really. No." Her gaze met his. "You're Ren, aren't you?" Her lips quivered. "Please tell me you're Ren."

He nodded. Didn't trust himself to say anything. He felt like an ass for berating her.

She tried to keep it together, but her face contorted and a sob escaped. Ren moved up to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders. He let her cry it out. Figured she'd been holding it in and needed the cathartic treatment.

In a moment of shared grief, a friendship developed. He took Lacie home and got her settled in bed. He stuck around, crashed out on her couch. She got up the next morning and apologized for almost throwing up on him. Ren grinned over the memory. Not exactly the way he envisioned meeting the woman who completed his best friend's life. After she swallowed about four painkillers, Lacie insisted he stay and let her cook breakfast for him. He agreed if she'd allow him to assist.

They put together a huge mean. Lacie informed him Chuck taught her everything she knew and Ren shared the funniest stories of Monica teaching 'her boys' the finer skills in the kitchen. She didn't want either one to burden some poor woman with a need to feed them. Lacie shared lots of great memories and over omelets, bacon, homemade cinnamon rolls and fresh squeezed juice, they got to know each other.

Ren left that afternoon with a promise to keep in touch and made an effort to call and drop in when he had time. Lacie transferred to his base a year or so later and they had an easy camaraderie together. She made a damn good lead pilot and helped pull more inexperienced pilots up through the program.

If only she'd tone down the crazy antics. And the smart mouth. Her natural ability kept her in the good graces of the brass on base, but every once in a while she stepped over the line. If he didn't happen to be there to smooth ruffled feathers, she ended up spending time in the brig or had her passes revoked.

He should probably check in with her, let her know he'd be around. Nah, he'd hit the rec room. Sooner or later she'd make her way there. Gathering up the daily report, he filed it and grabbed his fitreps. Might as well work ahead while he waited.

Ren does indeed find Lacie in the rec room and a lovely Game of One ensues. I'll say Lacie is completely caught off guard and leave it at that. LOL

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Flesh and Bone

Happy Mother's Day to all the awesome moms out there!

If I'd been thinking ahead, I would have tried to have something put together featuring relationships with a mother and child. Sadly, I didn't think about it until now. J

Tonight's post is from Flesh and Bone, which will have a nice mother/daughter dynamic, but it's also a prime part of the conflict and might give too much away. L I've really enjoyed getting into this work because the idea of artificial intelligence gaining cognitive abilities and becoming self-aware really fascinates me.

Here's the tagline:

An AI that spouts philosophical mumbo jumbo, a past that may not be all it seems, and a link between both sends Peta Jones on quest to figure out the truth. It's a good thing she's got Abe Cantrell along to act as her voice of reason.

And here's the sneaky peek…

Peta Jones couldn't breathe. Her prisoner had a firm, deadly grip around her throat and no air could enter her lungs. And, Great Maker, it had happened fast. One moment they faced each other across a table and the next her back hit the wall and her feet left the floor. She struggled against the attack, but couldn't kick out. The prisoner used his free hand to drag the overturned table between them, pinning her in.

And crushing the hell out of her knee. Between the lack of oxygen and the sharp, stabbing pain radiating out from her kneecap, Peta had tears leaking out the corner of her eyes.

She could hang on. She heard the marines pounding on the hatch. They'd blow it any moment to get inside.

Or the prisoner could snap her neck before they had a chance.

KABOOM!

"Put her down! Right now. Now!"

A marine sergeant, Danvers if she remembered correctly, and two lance corporals surrounded the prisoner, weapons primed and ready.

She hit the floor in a heap, striking her hip on the table on the way down. Dragging air into her burning lungs, she watched the prisoner offer no resistance when the soldiers shoved him face first to the deck. Shaken, knee throbbing, hip stinging, Peta jumped when the sergeant gripped her shoulder.

"Medic's on the way. Sit tight, Lieutenant."

She gave a jerky nod, the only she could manage with her throat feeling so raw. Danvers stepped in front of her, securing the prisoner with a titanium steel tether. So far, the only thing that worked on the AIs. They could break free from or wriggle out of everything else with a little work.

The prisoner looked her squarely in the eye. "Say my name, Peta."

A rifle butt to his head didn't deter him.

He laughed and found her gaze again. "Say. My. Name."

Danvers stooped down, snarling in his face. "Shut up. You do not speak to or look at the lieutenant. Understood?"

The AI briefly flicked his gaze toward the sergeant and then upward. He didn't have to see her to continue. "Say it, Peta."

Her hand rubbed gently at her throat and she winced, the bruised skin tender under her fingertips. He wanted recognition, status. She'd been ordered not to give it to him.

Too bad she didn't always follow orders.

"Be—" Her voice croaked and when she swallowed it felt like shards of glass slipping downward. She welcomed the discomfort. It made her more determined to name the bastard and call him enemy. "Bensalem." She struggled to her knees, the injured one all but screaming out when she put pressure on it.

Drawing in a shuddery breath, she repeated, voice stronger. "Bensalem." She swallowed, ignoring the burning sensation. "Ben-sa-lem." Peta leaned in, just a little. "A name is just a word. It has no power."

The AI met her gaze. "But you'll remember mine, won't you, Peta?" He flinched when the butt of a rifle landed between his shoulder blades.

Peta swallowed again finally able to build up enough saliva for her next action. "Yeah, I'll remember." She spit in his face. "With fondness."

She jerked her head toward the exit and the marines dragged the AI away. As soon as they rounded the corner of the door, she collapsed, reaction and pain hitting her in one big wave. She stifled a sob, refusing to cave under the watchful eye of the monitors. A moment later, capable hands scooped her up and loaded her onto a gurney. She had no idea which medics wheeled her away, but crossing the threshold into the corridor brought instant relief.

Felt good to get out of the suffocating and noxious atmosphere of the interrogation room. Felt even better to let her eyes slide closed and shut out her utter failure.

The best thing? Breathing. Deep, soothing, calming inhalations. In. Out. Nice and slow.

The not so best thing? Trying not to freak out about how much the stupid AI—Bensalem One—knew about her personal life.

Peta had a feeling the revelations had only just started. There'd be more and she didn't quite know if she could handle it. But she'd try to be ready.

Once the gates were opened they rarely got shut.

Peta's journey isn't going to be easy, but she's got an excellent support team in place with Abe Cantrell and his grandfather. Exploring how she deals with everything she learns and giving her a safe place to pick up the pieces has been a joy to write.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip side.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Organic Chemistry - Civil Revolution Book Two

Wow, some gorgeous weather today. I love having a true spring with mild temperatures and lovely breezes, instead of a chilly thirty degrees one day and eighty-five with loads of humidity the next. LOL

Today's post is from the second book in the Civil Revolution saga. Organic Chemistry features the same folks from Bad Chemistry but the focus is on Dom and Etta's relationship. Etta is a fascinating character to write and she speaks very loud and clear when I try to go in a direction she doesn't like. LOL I wish all my characters had such strong opinions. :D

Here's the tagline:

Dominic Marinelli and Etta Morgan meet under very difficult circumstances, but form a relationship built on one basic need: sex. When Etta decides to strike out on her own, Dom has to figure out why it bothers him so much.

And here's the sneaky peek…

The walls of the former spa turned way station for refugees closed in on him. He snagged his jacket, turned and bumped into Etta Morgan.

Literally, almost knocking her on her ass.

"Damn. Sorry." His free hand reached out to steady her. "You okay?"

Etta laughed lightly. "I'm fine. Fine." Her fingers were warm when they closed over his bicep.

Kind of like her eyes when she looked at him.

"I wasn't paying attention." Her hand slid down to his forearm and rested there.

Dom stepped back a little, needing some space, but didn't try to shake her hand free. Etta looked over his shoulder, her gaze landing on Lex and Char then dropping down to the jacket in his other hand.

A brief shadow of something entered the depths of her eyes and her mouth flattened to a thin line. But only for a moment. She let go of his arm and smiled brightly in his direction.

"I'm glad I found you…" She angled her head in the direction she'd come from. "Do you have a minute? Or are you heading out?"

Damn. He really wanted to escape into the shadowy dusk. He felt honor bound to assist her though.

His mouth turned up in a brief smile. "I've got more than one if you need it." He flung his jacket over the back of a chair.

Etta's eyes crinkled with a genuine smile. "I promise I won't keep you long." Spinning around she led him to her room and pushed open the door. It hung slightly lopsided and Dom figured out what she needed him for.

Resetting the hinge.

Etta dug into her back pocket and produced the missing pin.

Ding. Ding. Ding. He'd totally called that one.

"This spa is a great place to crash for a few days, but the eight foot doors are just a tad above my reach." She lifted her gaze and jerked her head upward. "Would you mind?"

Dom took the pin from her outstretched hand. "Not at all." She lifted up on the door and lined up the slots of the oversized hinge.

He slid the rod home and swung the door back and forth a few times to make sure it would hold. "Thanks." The assistance hadn't been necessary, but he appreciated it.

Etta grasped the handle and pushed the door shut. Then she turned and pressed her back against it.

"They're perfect together."

He didn't have to ask who she meant, but he so did not want to talk about it.

He frowned. "Yeah, I know." His voiced sounded harsh, even to his own ears. He should probably work on that.

"Why not let it go? Hook-up with someone else?"

Dom shot her a sideways look. "You volunteering?"

Etta shrugged. "I might be." She eyed him up and down. "You interested?"

He swept appraising eyes over her from head to toe. She had a certain rough beauty. Sorta raw and sensual, enough to make his dick twitch under his jeans.

Right. He wouldn't be going down that road again.

He sighed. "Even if I were, I wouldn't be." A hard on didn't make him stupid. She looked the type to tease, tempt and walk away.

Actually she looked offended before her eyes dropped to the bulge in his pants.

"Why not?" An arched brow worked for her. The slightly triumphant gleam in her eyes didn't.

Dom cut to the chase. "You don’t wanna be a substitute. Don't you deserve better?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not about what I deserve. I'm WAY past that."

Baffled, Dom queried. "Then why make an offer that'll open you up to abuse? Because right now—with me—that's what it would be."

Her laughter caught him by surprise.

"Abuse? Really?" She walked around him, putting her hands on his arms, grasping at the muscles of his biceps. "Because you don't feel all tender and gooey toward me?" She snorted. "Not exactly what I'm looking for."

Okay. She had him intrigued.

"What, exactly, are you looking for?"

"Something hot, hard, dirty, and fast." Her gaze flicked up and down, lingering just a moment too long on his crotch. "Three outta four isn't bad. I'd take it."

Dom gave her a tight smile. "And which one do I fall short on?"

She smirked. "For all your big, bad talk of abuse, I seriously doubt you have it in you to be as dirty as I want." Shrugging she turned away. "But I can live with—"

Yeah, sorry, gonna leave it right there. LOL Needless to say, Etta pushes just the right button to get a reaction from Dom. Seriously, delicious fun to write her. :D

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Bad Chemistry (Civil Revolution - Book One)

Hello!

Very crazy week with weather all over the place. LOL I'm kind of happy when it's rainy because I get to catch up on lots of television. Nothing like folding clothes with Stonebridge and Scott from Strike Back.

On a similar note, only three more episodes of Arrow this season. I'm truly excited to see where things end up and where they go after the hiatus. My brain hurts with all the possibilities.

And that leads me to tonight's post from Bad Chemistry, the first book in the Civil Revolution saga. I'm currently writing it under the ML Skye name, but it may very well end up switching over to Skye Ritchey. The sages aren't playing nice and keep giving me mixed signals. They can't decide if they want it set in the future on another planet, or more urban fantasy current time. *sigh* This will be one of those manuscripts that goes through a zillion revisions. LOL

But…I do have a tagline:

Lex Durban and Charlotte Martin do their best to survive in new world hierarchy, each with a different kind of target on their back. But when they have to undertake the dangerous task of moving refugees to a new location, Lex wants Char to stay behind so only one is in danger, but Char has other ideas.

And a sneaky peek…

Lex Durban surveyed his men's work, impressed with the ramshackle appearance of their new base of operations. An outside observer wouldn't think much of the structure of lean-tos constructed with galvanized steel and surrounded by several different types of fencing. He particularly loved the standard issue plank style interwoven with the chain link mesh and patched over with more of the girded metal. The place looked thrown together and had a commune type of vibe.

He grinned. Exactly what he'd been going for when they found the location. The whole thing hid the true beauty—an exterior entrance to an underground bunker facility. A mid-sized concrete building, twenty by twenty-four feet, led to the reinforced true base of operations. A former government safe location, the space transferred into military hands sometime near the end of the cold war. The huge area hadn't seen an update since the late eighties, which suited Lex just fine. The less traceable tech the better.

His fifteen man team kicked major ass. They'd pulled the exterior together in under a week. He'd head out at first light to meet with his commanding officer and give him the bullet on the readiness of their location.

Okay, General Edward R. Mulroney didn't exactly hold an official rank. His former position in the military no longer existed. But he did establish a covert, underground version of the armed forces, one that continued to protect the citizens of a country in turmoil.

The chain of command stopped at the retired general, his attachment of former officers—admirals, colonels, commanders, and captains—and an odd group of no longer elected senators, representative, and two governors. Good people who got into politics to actually make a difference. Until they realized the impossibility of the effort.

Now they put their time into finding shelter for the displaced citizens who got caught out of the boundaries of the new districts or chose to leave the oppressive environments. Lex had been ordered to scout and find a place in New to set up a permanent center. The first part of his mission completed, he had to figure out how to supply the location. If tradition held, he'd be doing a lot of compromising with the Sector Police. Not his idea of fun, but it usually proved necessary.

Letting himself into the main base, Lex scanned a critical eye around the area. He made his way to the living quarters and claimed a space to call home. He tossed his rucksack on the floor beside the bed and fell into it. Sheer exhaustion would guarantee a good night sleep and his internal alarm clock would wake him before the sun came up.

The opening of the book lays some groundwork, which may or may not work well since there isn't a lot of dialog. When I read, I often like being dropped right in the character POV and getting to crawl around in their head before jumping into lots of talking. Gives me a chance to get to know them intimately before they interact with anyone else. J

That's it for tonight's post. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Call the Ball

Greetings!

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!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Shyler: Finding Home

Greetings! Another great weather day after dipping back down into cooler temps again. The week is looking good for mildness in our dreary, cold, bleh spring so far. YAY!

Tonight's post is from a current release, Shyler: Finding Home. Here's hoping it'll help me finish up the follow up novella for the Furlough 99 anthology with Ellipses Press. Maybe revisiting Shyler and Marsh will help me get Spider's groove back. :D

To that end, I'll be featuring a snippet of Shyler's interaction with Spider. Seriously, I LOVED writing their dialog. So much fun. :D

Here's the tagline:

Inspector Shyler Lumen and entrepreneur Marshton Gray don't have much in common. A manhunt for a brilliantly mad chemist brings them together and sparks fly. Shyler and Marsh can fight the wave of change…or grab hold and go along for the ride.

And here's the sneaky peek…

Shyler stood in Spider's domain, getting a good peek at what made him tick. Loads of techno-geek equipment lined every wall in ordered chaos. His actual workspace, strewn with keyboards, monitors, touch pads, files and three headsets reminded her of the desk in her tiny office. Shyler had no doubt he knew exactly where to find whatever someone asked for. She could do the same. Her CI called the top of her work unit a monstrous disaster. She referred to it as an organized mess. He stopped demanding she clean it up. Whenever she did, it took her weeks to find anything. Amazing how a missing tox screen or autopsy report could stall an arrest.

Spider entered, whistling an off key show tune and stopped short when he caught sight of her. "You're letting Mr. Moneybags interrogate his brother?" He shuffled around, and cleared off one of the chairs. "Wow. The sex must've been super hot." He pulled out a chair and plopped down in front of the monitor wired into the makeshift interrogation room.

Shyler contained the urge to head thwap Spider and shot back. "Really? You're going to go there?" She waved her arm in a wide arc. "The guy who uses casino babes and porn goddesses as art wants to be a smart ass about my sex life?" She yanked a second chair out and sat down beside him.

Spider shrugged. "You're breaking your own rules. Can't blame me for assuming a great lay is behind that." He adjusted the camera angle, pulling the view back for a wide shot of the entire room.

Shyler didn't have a defense so she changed the subject. "Whatever. How about some sound to go with the picture." She took the headset Spider handed over and ignored the smirk on his face.

Ahhh. I think this will be a huge help in getting back into Spider's head and helping him deal with Hailey Webb—a woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to get…with Spider's help. :D

Maybe I'll have a post about them in the very near future. :D

Click to buy

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye