The crew. My squad of writing peeps. I can’t thank you enough. Jenn, you’re amazing. Thanks so much for sharing my love for my book men and letting me know when Ariel was being ridiculous ;) Jaycee, I could never put into words what you’ve done for me and what you still continue to do every time I send you those awesome little gifts known as my writing in your inbox. When I joined Romance Divas, I never would have thought I’d come out with a critique partner so amazing and someone that really gets what I do. Thank you so much for reaching out to me and even more for being my friend through this whole crazy process. RWA ladies and Romance Divas, you’re the best. I’m honored to be a part of such a magnificent bunch of women.
And finally, Kitty Cat and the hubs. You both were the first readers of my book and told me it was awesome…though it was probably closer to crap. Bad crap. But you both saw something in it and urged me to publish. I thank you both for your love and support. Hearts you big sis! And Scott, I couldn’t ask for a better support system and rock. You’ve listened to so many hours of my “Do you think Luca’s hot enough?” talk for so long, I’m surprised you haven’t bopped me on the head. I’ve ruined many-a-dinner talking about my writing and struggles, but every time my rambling occurs, you listen and tell me it’s going to be okay. A big part of my book is your awesome feedback and I can’t thank you enough. Love you!
About the Author
Victoria H. Smith has a Bachelor’s Degree in Political Science. She puts it to good use writing romance all day. She resides in the Midwest with her Macbook on her lap and a cornfield to her right. She often draws inspiration for her stories from her own life experiences, and the twenty-something characters she writes give her an earful about it.
In her free time, she enjoys extreme couponing, blogging, reading, and sending off a few tweets on Twitter when she can. She writes new adult fiction romance in the sub-genres of science fiction, urban fantasy, and contemporary, but really, anywhere her pen takes her she goes.
Links:
Blog: http://twentysomethingfictionwriter.blogspot.com/
Twitter: VictoriaSmith76
Email: [email protected]
Other books by Victoria H. Smith
Holiday Fling:
A short, new adult contemporary romance: November 26, 2012
The Bringer’s Quest (Book Two of the Eldaen Light Chronicles):
Coming Summer 2013
Incandescence (Book 2.5 of the Eldaen Light Chronicles):
Coming Summer 2013
Holiday Fling
A short Christmas tale with a spicy kick!
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance (Novelette)
Available November 26, 2012
Excerpt:
Chapter One
White. The color of purity…
Tarrah quickly tossed the brassiere over her shoulder. That wasn’t the image she wanted to project.
Black. The color of sophistication… Elegance…
Sophistication wasn’t exactly what Tarrah was thinking when she imagined Swanson’s strong hands grasping her thighs and making her call out his name. Nope this one had to go as well.
Red. The color of love. The color of passion. But also… The color of fire, sparks, intensity…and lust. Pure, wanton lust.
Tarrah nodded. No contest.
The door blew open just as Tarrah clasped the red lace bra in place, startling her. She scrambled to cover her chest with her hands. “Shit, Georgia, don’t you knock?”
The tall, gorgeous blonde chuckled as she crossed her arms over her white cashmere sweater. “You took the full length mirror out of the bathroom.” Georgia’s expression dropped and she arched an eyebrow. “Why are you wearing lingerie?”
Because I’m going to bang your cousin like a screen door in a tornado. Tarrah couldn’t say that, though, because Georgia wasn’t aware of Tarrah and Swanson’s “activities” during the annual visit to her family’s home. “No reason.” Tarrah gave a crooked smile. “Anyway, I’m not done with it yet. Give me five minutes to get my clothes on.”
Georgia crossed the small dorm room and picked up the little red dress lying on Tarrah’s bed. “Why do you always dress so sexy on Christmas Eve? We’re just going to my family’s holiday weekend. You know we do nothing but watch replays of my and Swanson’s old basketball games. If anything, you should be wearing a jersey. I tucked an extra one in my bag for when we arrive, if you want?”
Uh, yeah, no. “That’s okay. It’s really the only time I can dress up so I take advantage of it.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. There was always the annual Mathelete’s block party, but that was more of a sweater-set combo event, and she still managed to be the best dressed there. Well, unless one counted the designer Pi Formula shirt her captain had gotten from Paris—which she didn’t.
Georgia nodded, then pointed to the upper corner of the mirror. “Hey, is that a new one? Where are they now?”
Tarrah gazed to the neatly taped postcard she’d hung of her parents in their archeological research gear. “Cairo. They’ve been at that dig site for a few weeks now. But guess what? They’re coming home for New Year’s.” She beamed.
Georgia’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “That’s great, Tarrah. How long’s it been since they came to visit for a holiday?”
Tarrah knew exactly how long: four years. Four long, lonely holidays, but it was a sacrifice she’d been willing to make if it meant she didn’t have to spend her college years on a dig site. That’s how she’d spent her high school years. No. Thank you. Still, she missed her parents terribly. “They’ve never come for a holiday, but they did come for my birthday a few years back.”
“Well, that’s really great, Tarrah.” Georgia rubbed Tarrah’s back. “So you’ll have something to look forward to after our day-after-Christmas shopping extravaganza. You’ll have to get them something good.”
“Yeah.” Speaking of... Tarrah rushed to the dresser, grabbed a pair of black thigh-highs, and pulled them on as fast as she could without snagging the fabric. “I have to head to the bank really quick so I have some spending money for it.
“Oh, can you get some quarters for laundry?”
Tarrah pulled her dress on, then threw on her white winter coat overtop. “Sorry, going through the ATM.”
She really didn’t need to spend any more time than necessary before going to the Stewart’s. She had something awaitin’ her and it sure wasn’t the frickin’ fruitcake.
“No big. See you there.”
Tarrah barely heard Georgia as she breezed out of their dorm in her pumps. She was a girl on a mission and this Christmas was going to be just as epic as last year. It had to be.
Chapter Two
Tarrah stared up at the flashing red ATM screen.
Out of Order.
God frickin’ dammit. The Christmas gods were apparently not as horny as she was. She sighed and turned on her iPod, ridding her Camry of the radio’s Peanuts tune. As much as she loved Mr. Shultz and his holiday greatness, Lady Gaga’s “Christmas Tree” was more suited to her mood.
She hugged herself, her heart beating fast in her chest as she thought about Swanson’s mouth and all the talented things he could do with it. He would definitely agree with Ms. Gaga and her “Christmas Tree” lyrics. She felt a tickling sensation between her thighs and squeezed them together as she dropped her head back on the headrest. Oh, Swanson…those delicious things you do… The honking of the car behind her tore her from her reverie.
Goodnight, how long had she been sitting in the ATM drive-thru?
Sitting upright, her face flooded with heat. She maneuvered the car from the drive-thru and jetted into a parking space.
The December air hit her like a ton of bricks. Frickin’ Midwest and its frickin’ cold-as-a-witch’s-tit winters. It was worth it to endure the environment to be there though. She had to have some kind of normalcy after spending her childhood overseas and this place was it.
Her heels slipped and slid from the snow sh
e tracked in as she made it into the bank, but she composed herself and casually went to the counter for a withdrawal slip. She shook her hips the whole way, ignoring the bank’s Christmas Muzak. She was still thinking about Swanson and what he would soon be doing to her “Christmas tree.”
“ATM problems, too?”
Still in her Gaga daze, she barely glanced up to see another withdrawal slip being shaken in her peripheral vision. She went back to work on hers. “Yeah, Merry Christmas, right?” She laughed.
The stranger chuckled. “Yeah, apparently we all have nothing better to do than come inside the bank today.”
Tarrah nodded with a smile, tapping her heel as she made out her slip.
“Everybody freeze! This isn’t a joke!”
Tarrah’s heart skyrocketed into her throat. She whipped around to see three men clad in black from head to toe, each packing a gun. One went to the counter and slapped it with his palms. “Now, let’s make this nice and easy. Give us everything you’ve got and we’ll be on our way.”
Tarrah felt the nausea turn in her stomach. She could potentially die in a matter of minutes. With her luck, she’d probably be shot by a rogue bullet during the robbery’s shuffle. When she woke up this morning, she expected her annual lay, but was instead gifted with a damn robbery. Really Christmas gods? Really?
The other two men walked about the room. “Everybody down!” they shouted throughout the bank.
Tarrah dropped to her knees as requested, smacking her head on the counter on her way down. Before she could even hit the tiles, an arm wrapped around her waist and carried her in the opposite direction of the danger in front of her.
Now, Tarrah had never flown before—well, except inside a plane that is—but she imagined that this is what it would feel like if she did. She seemed to be gliding through the air like a jet plane with a set of strong arms encasing her. Before she knew it, she was taken from the scene of the robbery entirely and into a hall. From there, she was carried into another room. The lights came on and the arms left her body. She stood there, completely in a daze, as a door closed behind her.
Chapter Three
What the heck happened?
“Hey, are you okay?”
Tarrah recognized the voice as the stranger she’d spoken to before. She turned around, seeking out the owner of the voice with the strong arms. Her eyes landed on him and her first thought was: Swanson, who?
He stood there tall and dashing, peering down at her with a set of mesmerizing sapphire eyes. It wasn’t the eyes that had her sex-drive squealing into overdrive; it was that…hair. Now, Tarrah had never really been into redheads before, but damn, she sure as hell would be willing to convert. It was short with just a bit of curl to it and styled in a handsome business cut.
Shaking her head, Tarrah scanned down. His body was dusted in freckles. Tarrah knew because she could see a bit creeping out from the top of his shirt. They dotted his neck and lightly coated his face, concentrating around his nose and forehead. She idly wondered if those freckles were all over his body, but his clothes covered way too much to tell.
Damned shirt.
Still, the navy checkered number he wore under his carpenter jacket accentuated his frame quite nicely. She could tell he was built, but again, the clothing covered far too much.
“Are you okay?”
Tarrah’s head shot up. What was she doing? She was ogling this guy like a fat kid in a cake factory. She had Swanson to look forward to later and this was completely inappropriate behavior. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”
His eyes widened. “Your head.”
Tarrah brought her hand to her brow, and felt a hot, sticky substance. Pulling away, she saw blood coating her fingertips.
The stranger rushed over, ripped his jacket down his arms, and began unbuttoning his checkered shirt.
Tarrah no longer cared about inappropriate behavior as she watched the man strip himself down.
He finished unbuttoning, leaving on nothing but a white ribbed tank shirt.
There were more freckles. The images floated though her head, biting and licking his speckled, muscular frame. She forcibly made her lip fall from in between the grip of her teeth as she watched the stranger close the gap between them and dab at her head.
She closed her eyes. He smelled like pure heaven, his body lightly coated in an earthy, musky cologne. He wore just enough to set her blood ablaze.
“It doesn’t look that bad.”
She flinched as his dabbing hit a sensitive spot.
He gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
Her eyes scanned his sapphire blues and there was complete silence between the two of them.
He pulled the shirt from her head slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. He held out the shirt to her. “Would you like to do it?”
She squinted. What did he mean by “do it”? She shook her head. Oh, shit. He means the cloth. “Um, sure.” She grabbed the shirt from him, averting her eyes as she walked away in awkwardness.
“We probably should figure out a way to get out of here and call the cops.”
Oh, yeah. They were just in the middle of a robbery a moment ago.
She turned to see him scanning the room and quickly discovered what he did—there were no windows to exit from. Tarrah took in their environment of holiday decorations and partially consumed food. “Looks like we’re in a break room. They probably don’t want the employees escaping.” She laughed. How lame am I?
He chuckled, revealing a wonderful smile when he did. “Right. We could try another room?”
Tarrah grew nervous. She didn’t want to go back out there. She could be shot, but she didn’t want to be left alone in here, either. She followed him to the door.
He jiggled the handle. “It’s locked.”
“One of the tellers must have pressed a silent alarm. We must be on lockdown.”
He nodded. “Do you have a cell phone? I left everything in the car but my wallet. I wasn’t intending on coming in here today.”
She shook her head. “Same here.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Well, aren’t we a pair?”
She bit her lip. God, he was handsome.
“Looks like we’ll just have to sweat it out, huh?”
Tarrah could think of worse things than spending a few hours with a handsome stranger, but then she recalled her previous engagement and really could think of something better she could be doing. It made her heart sink at the thought.
Please enjoy this excerpt from:
Ocean Kills
A sexy new adult thriller, by Jade Hart.
Release Date: December 2012
This excerpt is a pre-edited version. Ocean Kills, book one of Ocean Breeze Series, is due for release December 2012. ARC’s (advanced reader copies) are available to anyone who will post honest reviews. Please contact Jade Hart on [email protected] for more details.)
Author contact details:
[email protected]
Twitter: Jadehart8
Facebook: JadeHartAuthorPage
Blog: http://www.dreamwritepublish.blogspot.com
Chapter One
Ocean
My name is Ocean Breeze. Yep. Ocean freakin’ Breeze. It was my mom’s attempt at some posh-sounding name. She was inspired by—get this—a bottle of toilet air-freshener. My heart squeezed at the thought of a cookie-scented woman with hugs that held sunshine.
The sound of my Nikes pummelling the pavement chased away my thoughts. The slapping of rubber against asphalt was similar to the slap the last prostitute-abusing john gave me. Stinking bastard. No one raises a hand to Ocean Breeze without losing an appendage. Or more, as the case may be.
I swiped my hands on my vinyl, red miniskirt. It wasn’t exactly an attractive outfit—Nikes with a miniskirt? But I’ve learned the hard way. Running in heels never worked. Ever. The sleazy men who paid for sex didn’t care what was on my feet, only what was between them.
I jumped and jived through t
he crowd. It was two in the morning, and the streets of Kings Cross, Sydney, were a hive of activity. Drunken students hauled themselves from karaoke clubs. Rich business men back-slapped each other for the lap dance from the uni-student, who pocketed their tips to pay for her law degree. This place was full of clichés and smut.
And I loved it.
I could disappear here. I was a nobody. Even boasting a pair of ruby lips and a figure that could’ve graced the center fold of Playboy, I didn’t stand out. Beauty was coveted in the Cross, and plastic surgery was the salvation if nature didn’t do the work.
So why was I running?
I just killed a guy. That’s why.
I bolted past the three-story sized Coca-Cola advertisement, blazing red and white, and disappeared into an alley full of meth-heads and crack whores. I leaped over comatose figures, sprinting toward the city centre. Keep running. Get far away.
The night was heavy with muggy heat, unusual for this time of year, and sweat made my miniskirt slide against my thighs.
Kings Cross embraced sin and naughtiness. The suburb encouraged unleashed pleasure and endless partying. It also encouraged rapists and murderers who lurked in the shadows… waiting.
A flash of blue and red lights.
Sirens.
Fuck! I pirouetted on my heel and charged down another alley, passing a gay club blasting Kylie Minogue. Ugh.
“You! Stop!”
Yeah, no chance of that, Fat Cop. I flipped him the bird, and kept running. He jumped back in his cruiser and gave chase. Lazy bastard. Too many kebabs and doughnuts for that slob. He wouldn’t catch me. No one ever caught me.
The Crimson Hunt Page 33
