Fascinating. A sprinkle of freckles covered the tip of her button nose. A fine white scar feathered up her chin to her rosy pink lips.
Lick. He had the irrational urge to lick his way up it.
Want.
What the?
He blinked madly as his body reacted uncontrollably. Heat flared up his neck, hitting his cheeks. Pin pricks of sweat tickled his skin as it flamed. He was a long way from being a school boy, so when the telltale tightness grew in his groin, he rushed to cover himself with the sheet.
Shit. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Biological reaction.
The woman bent to pick up the crumpled paper and straightened. When her whiskey brown eyes met his, there was an inexplicable moment of intimacy, of human connection. The world around him fell away, and he felt nothing, no envy, no self-disparagement. It was him and her and the strange notion that she saw through it all. The moment lasted long enough to make his heart thud once… twice in his chest, and then it was gone.
She lifted the paper ball in her hands. “Is this important?”
He shook his head like a dumb-ass.
“He’s an artist,” Mary said with a pointed look at the paper. “He’s very talented.”
Evan cleared his throat and glared at his mother, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“He has an exhibition in a few nights—”
“Mamà,” Evan warned.
“He’s also a tattooist. Has his own studio.”
Christ. He scrubbed his face, letting his hand drag down over his stubble. He caught a whiff of his body odor and flinched. God, he must look awful. He wanted to crawl under a rock or, better yet, sink beneath the floor and never come out.
Mary kept talking about him. Stop. Please, God, stop embarrassing him. He ground his teeth. “Mary.”
“Right.” Understanding entered Mary’s eyes as she ping-ponged between him and the doctor, then she gathered her things, including the plastic bag holding his Envy fighting leathers. “Right. I’ll get out of here and let you do your job, doctor. You’ll be wanting some privacy. I’ll go and get a coffee. I’ll wait for you outside, Evan.”
With a secretive smirk, Mary opened the curtain to exit, and then closed it behind her, tugging the width tight to the edge, ensuring maximum privacy.
The last sense of envy in the tiny space vacated. Evan turned his gaze back to the doctor in surprise, realizing only then why he hadn’t sensed her approach. She held no envy. None.
Character Sketches
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Also by Lana Pecherczyk
The Deadly Seven
(Paranormal Romance)
Sinner
Envy
Greed
Wrath
Sloth
Gluttony
Lust
Pride
Despair
Deadly Seven Box Set (Books 1-3)
Fae Guardians
(Fantasy/Paranormal Romance)
The Longing of Lone Wolves
The Solace of Sharp Claws
The Dreams of Broken Kings
Game of Gods
(Romantic Urban Fantasy )
Soul Thing
The Devil Inside
Playing God
Game Over
Game of Gods Box Set
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About the Author
OMG! How do you say my name?
Lana (straight forward enough - Lah-nah) Pecherczyk (this is where it gets tricky - Pe-her-chick).
I’ve been called Lana Price-Check, Lana Pera-Chickywack, Lana Pressed-Chicken, Lana Pech…that girl! You name it, they said it. So if it’s so hard to spell, why on earth would I use this name instead of an easy pen name?
To put it simply, it belonged to my mother. And she was my dream champion.
For most of my life, I’ve been good at one thing – art. The world around me saw my work, and said I should do more of it, so I did.
But when at the age of eight, I said I wanted to write stories, and even though we were poor, my mother came home with a blank notebook and a pencil saying I should follow my dreams, no matter where they take me for they will make me happy. I wasn’t very good at it, but it didn’t matter because I had her support and I liked it.
She died when I was thirteen, and left her four daughters orphaned. Suddenly, I had lost my dream champion, I was split from my youngest two sisters and had no one to talk to about the challenge of life.
So, I wrote in secret. I poured my heart out daily to a diary and sometimes imagined that she would listen. At the end of the day, even if she couldn’t hear, writing kept that dream alive.
Eventually, after having my own children (two firecrackers in the guise of little boys) and ignoring my inner voice for too long, I decided to lead by example. How could I teach my children to follow their dreams if I wasn’t? I became my own dream champion and the rest is history, here I am.
When I’m not writing the next great action-packed romantic novel, or wrangling the rug rats, or rescuing GI Joe from the jaws of my Kelpie, I fight evil by moonlight, win love by daylight and never run from a real fight.
I live in Australia, but I’m up for a chat anytime online. Come and find me.
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Sinner: The Deadly Seven, Origins Page 12
