The past week has introduced a new character, Daniel, Andy's brother. As a part of the storyline, I've written him into the relationship and several menage scenes have resulted. Which are always fun to write (although there have been times I've been tempted to buy a Barbie and a couple Ken dolls to keep track of all the body parts. Guitar Hero has one of those jointed arts figures from his days when he was training as an Animator at college but I doubt he'd be thrilled to let me borrow it, LOL. (No, he's not an animator like Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake character, he took Computer Animation at college.)
Oh, and this week's 20K doesn't include the changes I made on Wednesday after receiving and finishing my line edits for Sam's story. Not that there were many. My grammar's pretty darned good if I say so myself. But OMG Sam's story has turned out even better than when I'd originally submitted it to Angela last September. The new ending I wrote thanks to a suggestion Angela made is SO much stronger, I'm thrilled with how it's turned out!
So to give you a sneak peak - here's an excerpt for you.
WARNING: This is an except for adults only as there is some explicit language and adult situations in it.
copyright Leah Braemel
available from Samhain Publishing, May 12, 2009
copyright Leah Braemel
available from Samhain Publishing, May 12, 2009
The sun hadn’t yet risen when Sam waved his passcard at the card reader guarding the entrance of Hauberk Security’s D.C. facility. The front door unlocked, granting him access to the reception area.
The bulletproof doors were overkill, because that area only held the Accounting and Human Resources departments for Hauberk Headquarters, along with a half dozen empty desks for the local Close Protective Officers to do background checks or fill out reports. At the back of those sections was the executive office area that his operatives jokingly referred to as the Inner Sanctum. But the heavy steel doors he’d had designed to resemble the wooden gates of an ancient English castle he’d once stayed in impressed the hell out of potential clients.
Most mornings he would have headed into his office. But this morning he turned toward the indoor firing range and its armory. He placed his hand over the new-to-America palm vein scanner. Another device he’d been recommending his mid-level security clients start installing instead of the easy-to-fool fingerprint scanners.
Hearing the muffled sound of gunfire beyond, he opened his locker and selected a pair of ear plugs, then signed out a box of ammo and a couple of paper targets.
As it did every time he entered the range, the familiar scent of gunpowder both soothed and irritated him as it reminded him how much he missed the camaraderie out in the field. Now he drove a desk, having to get his thrills through reading others’ reports, instead of the adrenaline rush of guarding a principal himself.
Two shooting booths were already occupied, including his favorite one at the far end. Chad—-he should have guessed his area manager would be on the range this early, and… Well, well, well, instead of wearing her usual pair of baggy cargo pants, Ms. Rosalinda Ramos wore a pair of hip-hugging blue jeans. Jeans that hung low enough he could tell that she wore a blue thong and had some sort of tattoo on the small of her back. Aw, damn, he didn’t need to know that. Now he’d be thinking of taking those jeans off her all day to discover what the rest of the tattoo was and just how far down it went.
She raised her gun and fired. The shot hit directly in the heart of her target. She fired again. The second shot doubled the size of the original hole. She glanced over her shoulder, then muttering something he couldn’t hear, put her gun on the counter and bent over to fiddle with her left shoe.
Oh, mama, her jeans pulled taut over the tight round globes of her ass. An ass that begged to be squeezed. To be fucked. With a groan, he adjusted his pants, his dick firming at the thought of being buried in such a tight channel.
Ever since she’d won him in the charity bachelor auction three months before, he’d sensed a carefully hidden sensuality in Ms. Ramos. As if deep within, she guarded a slow burning ember waiting to be ignited. A fire that would set his world ablaze.
He’d been hard pressed not making a move on her the night he’d fulfilled his obligations and taken her to dinner. While he’d wanted to see if he could add a little oxygen to the fire and kick start the inferno, he’d held back. He’d had to. She was his employee after all. So instead of making a move, inviting her up to his place or pressing his case when he’d escorted her home, he’d been the perfect gentleman. At least that’s how she’d described his behavior the next morning, much to his disgust and everyone else’s amusement.
But damn, it was getting tougher to maintain his hands-off policy. That element of danger and the heat he was sure would envelop them both was too enticing to resist. If he just had the right reason to breach her defenses…if he could find some way to let her make the first move.
Rosie straightened and took two more shots. Both shots were low and outside, yet the center of the target had a good half-dozen holes from where she’d been firing before he’d arrived. Interesting, had he thrown off her concentration?
Seeing his opening, he strode over to her. His body touching her in all the right places, he wrapped his large hand around hers over the gun barrel, repositioning her fingers. Dayam, it was like holding a sparrow, her hands were so tiny.
He leaned down and nudged her earmuffs so he could murmur in her ear, lowering his voice to a whisper, “It’s better this way.”
Her pulse jumped, racing beneath his fingers. Oh, yeah, that ember was definitely burning brighter. He should have made a move that evening three months before. He should have invited himself into her apartment at the end of the evening, given her more than a chaste kiss on her cheek. He should have put on some soft jazz—-Diana Krall maybe—-pulled her against him as they danced so she could feel what she did to him.
“Thanks,” she said, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. Did she realize she was doing that?
The scent of her shampoo—apricots—filled his senses. She always wore her hair in a rigid bun making him wonder if her hair were long or short, curly or straight. He had the strange compulsion to pluck the pins taming it just to satisfy his curiosity.
Yeah, he’d watch that hair spring free from its confines, push her jeans down—no, she wouldn’t be wearing jeans, she’d be wearing that little black strapless number she’d worn to dinner that night. Even better. He’d push the skirt up as he slid his hands up her thighs. Then he’d remove her thong and go down on her. Hell, he wanted to stretch her petite body over the firing counter right now and pound into her from behind.
He nearly groaned when her breasts brushed the side of his forearm. The heat of her body snugged up against his blasted a shot of pure lust to his groin. Dayam! If she turns around right now and sees the hard-on you’ve got for her, you’re gonna get yourself sued, boy! Or your dick shot off. If not both.
Going against the natural instinct to grind against her, he eased his hips away from hers and resettled her earmuffs back in place.
Muttering something about needing to get back to work, he whirled back through the soundproof door and tossed his earplugs into his locker. D.C. didn’t need him here—he could work out of the Atlanta office, no problem.
Atlanta. Where there were no spitfires with bitable asses to tempt him. Maybe then he could avoid future cases of the blue balls he’d constantly been dealing with lately.