Enjoy this special excerpt from the critically acclaimed full length novel Emerald Fire.
MAXINE rolled over in the bed. As the blankets slipped off, she felt cool air on her shoulders. While her partially asleep brain pondered that, she tugged the sheets back up to cover herself and her ring caught a thread on the blanket.
Her ring?
Maxine's eyes flew open as memories of the night before flooded her mind. She whipped her head around. The bed next to her was empty, the pillow indented from where her husband's head had recently lain.
Her husband!
Alone in the bedroom, she lifted her left hand and stared. There sat the ridiculously enormous, preposterously expensive platinum ring, encrusted with emeralds and diamonds, that the man with whom she had been engaged for less than two hours before their wedding ceremony had picked out for her. When he slipped it onto her finger, he'd said something about the color of her eyes. Seconds later, he'd kissed her.
After a cursory glance around the room to be certain she was actually alone and the bedroom door was shut, she threw the covers off and rushed to the closet, looking for anything to wear. She grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater and dashed to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. She leaned against the closed door for a moment while her heart raced and her mind reeled.
What in the name of all things holy had they done? Rather, what had she done?
With a few flicks of her wrist, she turned the water on for a shower and stopped to look at herself in the mirror. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and traced lips swollen from his kisses. Her green eyes sparkled like the emeralds on her finger. Normally, her olive complexion needed the help of cosmetics to bring out any kind of rosy flush. This morning, however, her cheeks looked rosy, flushed. She felt warm inside despite the morning chill.
In her entire adult life, no other man had ever even so much as kissed her. Not once. Many men had tried to taste her mouth, but whenever they'd gotten close enough, panic would rise up and make her push them away. That typically ended the relationship. The ones who suffered that humiliation soon learned that it wasn't a onetime thing and very quickly gave up trying. As she stepped under the warm spray of water, she thought back to the night before and to her complete lack of fear.
Her husband of less than twelve hours – her husband didn't frighten her at all. When he kissed her, it occurred to her that she felt absolutely none of her normal panic. Instead what she felt was warmth, excitement, attraction. He made her feel safe. He made her feel … loved.
"Husband and wife," the Elvis impersonator had proclaimed with a shimmy and a shake. Then her husband had slowly leaned in close and taken her lips with his strong, masculine mouth as if they were the most delicate rose petals. Her knees had vanished and she felt his arm around her waist holding her up, lifting her, supporting her as she kissed his heavenly mouth.
Then, here, in this hotel suite last night on the very top floor of the Las Vegas casino, her husband had let her lead the way. It was as if he sensed that she needed to be able to control all of the activity. She never had to say anything to him or explain her fear. He just accepted her hesitations or kissed her through them. He slowly coaxed and guided and offered until she accepted. It had been so wonderful, so beautiful, that he had held her to him with her head cradled against his broad, thick chest and his strong arms around her while she wept at the beauty of it.
Her sister was going to kill her.
Reflecting on that for a moment, Maxine realized she didn't much care. She was excited, thrilled. Married!
She quickly finished showering and got dressed. After brushing her teeth and running a comb through her long straight black hair, compliments of her Native American father, she left the bathroom, again comforted by the solitude. Little nervous butterflies woke up in her stomach while she slipped into her shoes, the sight of the enormous ring on her finger distracting her with every motion of her hand.
Stalling, she straightened the bed. As she pulled the coverlet up, her ring caught the light. Running her hand over his pillow she smiled and felt a warm rush of love flow through her heart, quelling the nervous butterflies.
When she could think of nothing else to do, she opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the living room. Seeing him standing there staring out into the sunrise brought back visions of every time she had seen his face in the last three years. She thought of every time she had sketched his face. She could not believe how much had happened in the last three weeks.
The thought stopped her. Three weeks? Had it only been that long since they put her brand new husband's first wife in the ground?
Without turning to look at her, his smooth, baritone voice reached her ears. "Obviously, we need to talk."
EXCERPT FROM TOPAZ HEAT
Topaz Heat was a 2012 RONE Award Nominee for Inspirational Novel of the Year. If you missed Topaz Heat, part 3 of The Jewel Series, buy it now in Paperback or eBook wherever fine books are sold.
Enjoy this special excerpt from the critically acclaimed full length novel Topaz Heat.
SARAH heard another clang. She quietly set her purse down but held onto the umbrella, holding it just above the handle like a baseball bat. Running lightly on her toes, she crossed the room quickly and stood by the door of the dining room. There were a few more sounds, then the sound of a man whistling that got louder as he got closer.
Taking a deep breath, she raised the umbrella over her head and waited, focused on the door. She let it swing open, watched the figure of the man come out of the dining room, and brought the umbrella down. Hard.
He must have sensed the movement because he ducked and the umbrella hit him across the back of his shoulders. "Ow! Hey!"
In the next second, and utterly without warning, he rolled to the floor and used one of his legs to sweep hers out from under her. She flailed her arms as she landed on her backside, finding herself under his weight. She started struggling, but he threw one of his legs over hers and grabbed her arms in a bone-lock, pinning them up by her head.
"Sarah?"
She realized her eyes were closed. At the sound of his voice they flew open. Immediate recognition prefaced the heat that rushed her face from total embarrassment. "Derrick? What are you doing here?"
"I was about to ask you the same question."
She hadn't seen him in at least five years. No, it was six. He left town right after his mother's funeral. He'd not been back. She got updates from Maxine or Robin each time they'd seen him in New York. She hadn't been to New York and hadn't seen him at all in that space of time. He'd filled out, she thought. His face looked more mature, almost tougher, his shoulders wider.
Derrick was thinking that Sarah hadn't changed at all. She still looked like a teenager. Her hair had come out of its clip and lay spread out around her head on the carpet, the red highlights caught in the curls, catching the light. She still had the spray of freckles across her nose, and her eyes, behind their glasses, still looked exactly like the color of the richest topaz.
Realizing he was staring, he released her instantly, pushed away, and sat next to her. "What in the world did you hit me with?" He reached behind him and gingerly touched the back of his shoulders, wincing when his hand came away smeared in blood.
The only thing he had on was a pair of sweat pants. "My, um, umbrella."
He saw it next to her and grabbed it. It was snapped in half. Irritated anger burned through him. "This? You think there's an intruder and this is what you use to defend yourself?"
She ripped it out of his hands and stood. "It was all I had."
"It never occurred to you to call security?"
Her cheeks flushed bright red. No, it had not occurred to her. She waved her hand as if to dismiss his last statement. "Let me see," she said, moving behind him.
He jerked to his feet. "No, thank you. Don't touch it."
"Don't be such a baby. Let me see."
He held a hand up to ward her off. "Really. Don't wor
ry about it."
"I promise I won't hurt you, Derrick. I won't even touch it." She put her hands on her hips. "I am a nurse, you know."
She almost withdrew the offer. Then he glared at her before moving to one of the oversized chairs, sitting sideways so she could see his back. The skin across his shoulders was already starting to purple with a bruise, and it looked like something had caught the skin and ripped it. He had a gash about three inches long diagonally across his right shoulder. "Ouch, Derrick. Sorry about that."
Over his left shoulder, just shy of the bruise, was a tattoo of a dragon, done in brilliant colors – turquoise, fuchsia, purple, bright green. She was surprised that it was there, intrigued. He had done everything to get rid of his past, and she wondered why he still had the tattoo. Before she realized it, her fingers were hovering over it, about to touch it.
He looked at her over his shoulder and glared. She bit her lip and gingerly touched the bruise. "You'll want to put some ice on it, and you should let me clean and dress the cut."
She turned to leave. "What are you doing?" he asked.
She was halfway down the hallway before she answered him. "I'll be right back." Moving quickly, she went to the master bathroom and pulled open the medicine cabinet, finding the supplies she needed. She slipped the roll of tape and the package of bandages into her scrubs pocket, then pulled a washcloth out of the linen closet and wet it.
When she returned to the front room, he stared at the brown bottle in her hand suspiciously. "What's that?"
"Hydrogen peroxide."
"Uh huh. And what do you think you're going to do with it?"
With a sigh, she poured some on the cloth and stepped closer. "I'm going to clean the cut."
He hissed the breath between his teeth and cringed away as the cloth came in contact with his skin. "Ouch. That hurts."
"Good Lord, Derrick, quit being such a baby."
He clenched his teeth and swallowed a retort. Then he felt her warm breath blowing on the wound. He imagined her lips puckered as she blew against his fevered skin.
"There, is that better?"
"It's great. Kind of like a carnival ride but without the cotton candy. Thank you."
He heard her moving behind him, heard the sound of the cap going back on the bottle. He felt her fingers graze his skin as she placed a bandage over the cut and taped it to his skin. He tried desperately not to react to her touch in any way, to pretend she was some platonic stranger tending his wound. "You need to ice it. I'll go get some."
While she was gone, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seeking some inner steadiness. Why was she here? She quickly returned and gently set a plastic bag filled with ice across his shoulders, then sat on the couch that angled with the chair so that she faced him.
"You never answered my question," he said, staring at her with those brown eyes that always made her uncomfortable. "What are you doing here?"
"They're painting my brownstone today and tomorrow. My furniture is under sheets in the middle of the rooms. Robin never told me that you were going to be here." She looked down at her shoes. "I really am sorry, Derrick."
"I guess I forgot to tell her where I was staying. I thought Tony might've let her know." He reached behind him and shifted the bag of ice. "You would have had to park next to my car in the garage though."
"I walked."
He narrowed his eyes. "From where?"
She gestured at her pastel pink pants, the matching top, and the white jacket with the pastel slashes of color. "Hello? From the hospital."
"Are you out of your mind?" She opened her mouth to argue with him, but he cut her off. "That's easily four or five blocks. Downtown. On a Friday night."
"It's not like the streets were deserted or anything."
"What possessed you to walk?"
She bared her teeth. "It might have something to do with the fact that my car wouldn't start."
"Why didn't you call someone?"
She'd had enough. She was really sorry that she'd whacked him with her umbrella, but the truth was she really couldn't stand the man and never had been able to stomach him. "I've been an adult for a long time, Derrick, and I don't answer to anyone, most especially you. If you'll excuse me, I've had a really long day and I'm going to bed."
"Sarah …"
She stood. "No. I'm done. Good night."
As she brushed by him, his hand came out of nowhere and grabbed her arm. She froze, stared down at him, waiting. "I apologize," he offered with his most velvet voice.
"I'm not going to fall for the smooth charm, Derrick. Now let me go. I'm tired."
His jaw clenched as he released her. When he heard the click of her bedroom door shutting, he ripped the ice pack off his back and threw it across the room. He turned and carefully leaned back until his back touched the chair. Then he closed his eyes and sighed.
Six years later. Six years and he was still completely in love with her.
He'd hoped it had been a crush, kind of like what he had for Robin, even a touch for Maxine. The sisters had charmed him the second he laid eyes on them, and he loved them for their beauty and their love of life. Except it was more, much more, with Sarah.
And she couldn't stand him.
She would never look at him and see anything but the teenager in the ripped leather jacket with the I-dare-you scowl. He'd changed, though, in every way he possibly could. He had cleaned his clothes, cleaned his act, found Christ, and followed God. Like his water baptism cleansed his soul and made him a new person, he shed his past and created a new person. It didn't matter. She still looked down her perky little befreckled nose at him.
He rubbed his face with his hands and surged to his feet. He thought about her traipsing through the heart of the city alone at this hour with only a purse and an umbrella and thought about all of the terrible things that could have been waiting for her during that five block walk. He whispered a prayer of thanksgiving for God's protection over her in those early morning hours, and retired to his own bedroom, sorry that their reunion had not gone well at all.
Any secret, unacknowledged hope he had of winning her over with a smoothly executed reunion meeting was now gone forever.
VIRTUES AND VALOR SERIES
The Virtues and Valor series
the battle begins in 2013 …
SEVEN women from different backgrounds and social classes come together on the common ground of a shared faith during the second World War. Each will earn a code name of a heavenly virtue. Each will risk discovery and persevere in the face of terrible odds. One will be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice.
Introduction … Heavenly Heroines
Part 1 … Temperance's Trial
Part 2 … Charity's Code
Part 3 … Mission of Mercy
Part 4 … Homeland's Hope
Part 5 … A Parcel for Prudence
Part 6 … Grace's Ground War
Part 7 … Flight of Faith
INSPIRED by real events, these are stories of Virtue and Valor.
&&&&
Fifty Shades of Gravy
HALLEE'S GALLEY VOLUME 1
Fifty Shades of Gravy
While confronting and redeeming a recent popular secular phenomenon, Hallee Bridgeman, A.K.A. "Hallee the Homemaker" rides the gravy train to triumph and hilarity with her premiere cookbook, revealing the secrets of the penultimate comfort food – gravy. Fifty Shades of Gravy "a Christian Gets Saucy!" is a cookbook wrapped in a parody surrounded by a comedy with a tongue firmly inserted into a cheek – but the recipes are deadly serious and may leave readers licking the gravy boat.
Her famous whole food, real food recipes bathe in luxuriant liquid comfort with recipes that are sure to captivate and enslave any audience.
Hallee starts with stocks and broths and then explores every shade of gravy you can whip up. Some recipes are entire meals and some are simple sauces while still others are gravies served alongside a traditional holiday feast.
T
here are meaty gravies, comfort food gravies, vegan gravies, gluten-free gravies, and even chocolate gravies! For any gravy question you were too ashamed to ask, this saucy Christian shares the answer.
Visit http://tinyurl.com/50gravyshades for more saucy information.
THE WALKING BREAD; THE BREAD WILL RISE!
HALLEE'S GALLEY VOLUME 2
THE WALKING BREAD; THE BREAD WILL RISE!
While confronting and redeeming a recent popular secular phenomenon, Hallee Bridgeman, A.K.A. "Hallee the Homemaker" finds every grain of truth in her second whole food, real food cookbook with in-depth analysis and amazing recipes of yeast breads, quick breads, sourdoughs, and breads using grains other than wheat. The Walking Bread is a cookbook wrapped in a parody surrounded by a comedy with a tongue firmly inserted into a cheek -- but the recipes are "dead serious" and may leave readers searching for all the tasty bread crumbs.
"I am the bread of life. Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and are dead. This is the bread which comes down from heaven, that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread which came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever; and the bread that I shall give is My flesh, which I shall give for the life of the world." John 6:48-51
Readers, bakers, homemakers, and cooks all over the world will find themselves slathering the good stuff atop the muffins or corn bread; speeding through the quick breads; and going ape of over the banana bread. These bread recipes are so good, so healthy, and so easy you will want to pass them down from generation to generation.
An Aria for Nick (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Song of Suspense) Page 36
