Thursday, October 17, 2019

It Only Takes a SPARK of Madness to Fall in Love #PNR #Excerpt


He's a naughty fallen angel...she's a reckless mountain guide...together they're combustible! 
Taking a look inside the erotic supernatural romance, SPARK! 




Back cover blurb...


Calvin Ritchie wants solitude and isn't about to let a wildfire stop him from doing exactly what he wants. An action-adventure movie star, he is in Ouray for a weekend as far away from prying eyes as he can get. He is at a crossroads in his life. As part of a group of fallen angels that needs to either find redemption or be damned for eternity, Calvin is being tested by both light and dark forces.

When a sexy movie star wants to hire her to guide him into Box Canyon despite the wildfire raging miles south of town, local mountain guide Willow Leslie says yes. Never one to turn down an adventure—or a big payday—she ignores the warnings and trusts her skills as they head out for a holiday weekend. 

What they don't know is that an arsonist is loose in the forest and has started a second fire that traps them in the canyon. Bound by survival, they embark on a journey of erotic exploration and internal reckoning as the flames spread closer each day. 

Will Calvin find that spark of redemption he needs to rescue them from certain death? Can Willow learn to trust someone other than herself enough to let love melt her jaded heart? 


An excerpt...adult content

"What's with your obsession over the drone footage? You look like a guy who is looking for something rather than a guy watching himself having a good time."

He laughed. He had expected a question about his personal life—at least that is what he had hoped for. "I would rather not answer that."

"You said I could ask you anything."

"In your show, you're always very chatty with clients."

"You're different."

"How?"

She tilted her head toward the sky and declined to answer. 

He smiled because, for the first time since meeting her, he sensed a crack in her detached facade. Maybe, in fact, she was more interested in him than he had assumed. 

She started unbraiding her hair. He couldn't stop watching her do such a simple task. As her fingers worked out the braid, she hummed quietly to herself. He leaned back in his chair and appreciated all of it—the shadows across the canyon, the glow of the dragonfly lantern illuminating their little space on the bank, the sound of the stream rippling past only a few feet away. The bite of the cool mountain air licked over his skin. 

"You have beautiful hair."

"Thank you." She stared at the water flowing several feet away and brushed her fingers through the waves that fell to her elbows. "Why did you want to do this? You were so adamant that it had to be this weekend, no matter what, fire be damned. Are you hiding from something, Cal?"

"You were right—I'm looking for something."

She smiled through the veil of hair. "I hope I can help you find it."

Damn, is she seriously coming onto me? Or am I imagining the signals? Are there signals?

He stretched his legs out in front of him and wondered what do now. The combination of the oxy and bourbon dulled the chatter that started as usual with the setting of the sun. A familiar restlessness gnawed at him from the inside to do more, be more. Silence usually called forth the demons that tormented him. He tapped his feet against the ground and waited for the inevitable pull from the darkness. 

"What do you usually do overnight on your shoots for your show?" he asked because her silence unnerved him. He wasn't used to being with people who could simply sit and be quiet. Everyone he knew usually fell over themselves trying to compete for his attention with some stupid story or brazen move. Not Willow. She sat next to him, hair free around her shoulders, and stared at the water. 

She looked sad, he realized. Not the sobbing kind of sadness that wanted attention, but the soft kind that hinted at deep sorrow. He wanted to know why and that surprised him. He normally didn't care about the pettiness of human stresses. He found that most people were oblivious to their blessings and consumed with greed—and that bored him. He knew that assessment didn't fit Willow Leslie. 

"We normally chat and get to know each other," she said after a long pause. "The crew is usually here—Billy and Steve—so they liven up the conversation."

"Billy and Steve? You only have two cameramen?"

"Yes, just the two. You've seen the show," she cast him a long look, "They're good guys. They're up in Crested Butte this weekend." 

"Why did you want to do the show? You're a former Olympic skier—shouldn't you be coaching or judging or commentating on competitions? Isn't that the usual path?"

"I don't like the usual path." 

"Fair enough." He took another swig from his flask. 

"Why do you drink so much?"

"To drown out the voices in my head."

She laughed. 

"Seriously." He tapped his forefinger against his forehead. "They never shut up."

"We all have those voices."

"What do yours say?"

"That you're dangerous and I need to steer clear."

"They're right. I am the most dangerous adventure you could ever have." 

"I've been known to crave a danger or two."

His desire grew when she actually looked excited at the idea. 


"Want to know what my dare is?" 

"Ah, the dare. I forgot about that."

He squinted at her profile and grinned because he knew that was a lie. His angel senses might be dulled but he knew a lie when he smelled one. 

"Well? What is it? What would you like me to do?"

"Strip."

She twisted in the chair and gaped at him. "What?"

"It's only fair. You've seen me naked twice now and I want you to strip for me."

"You think I won't?" She arched an eyebrow. 

"I know you will." His smiled widened. 

"Fine. I need to change clothes anyway. It's getting cold. You're very predictable, Cal. I expected more creativity."

"Oh, I can be creative. If you're lucky, you'll find out exactly how creative I can be."

"I think you're all hype."

"Test me, baby, test me. I would love to prove you wrong."

He folded his arms across his chest, the flask dangling from his fingertips, and waited while she moved to stand in front of him. The glow of the lantern light cast golden shadows across her face. She smiled at him—completely confident and unafraid, almost as if she had wanted him to dare her to strip. Slowly, she rolled the hem of her t-shirt over her flat abdomen and inched it over her bra. She did so with such deliberation that he wondered if she had done this before. Over the sports bra it went. She cast it aside before peeling off her jeans with a swish-swish of her hips that had him shifting on the chair. She stood in front of him dressed in white cotton panties and a white cotton sports bra. Long arms, long legs, long hair—he wanted her wrapped around him. 

"Why don't you help me with the rest?" she asked. 

He leaned forward, unsure that he had heard her correctly. "What did you say?"

"These sports bras can be so hard to get on and off. A little help please?" She smiled the smile of a woman who knows her power. 

Without waiting for an answer, she walked into the round tent with the wild pillows and stood at the center, back to him. 

He jumped from the chair, dropped his flask to the ground, and followed her inside with a degree of awe. He hadn't expected her to strip...let alone ask him to help. Perhaps a part of him had hoped she would tell him to fuck off—but this unexpected response only deepened his fascination. 

He stopped behind her, an inch away and allowed his gaze to roam over the hair that fell to the middle of her back. He traced one finger down her spine and over the indent of her waist before sliding it up her arm toward her shoulder. He had seen beautiful women—Willow wasn't beautiful in an expected way, yet he had never before felt so enchanted. She emanated power and grace and stood before him like a goddess. Goosebumps rose on her skin where he touched. He heard her slight intake of breath. 

 He skimmed his fingertips beneath her hair and across her bare shoulder before sliding both hands over the front of her bra. He couldn't remember ever stripping a woman out of a sports bra before, but he liked the feeling of rolling it up and over her head, freeing her breasts to the night air. He dropped the fabric to the floor, slipped his fingers into her cotton panties and rolled them down her hips, and over her thighs. Kneeling behind her, he lifted first one foot and then the other until she stood naked with him holding both her ankles. 

The lantern's light illuminated her like a spotlight. Still kneeling, he slid his hands over the backs of her legs, kissed the back of her knees, and cupped her ass as he stood. He lifted her hair and pressed his mouth against the back of her neck. His hands roamed beneath her arms to cup her breasts. Keeping one hand on her breast and moving the other down her abdomen, he savored her surrender. 

She tilted her neck to the side to give him full access to nip and lick and kiss her throat from neck to ear. She leaned against his chest. 

He turned her around to face him and kneeled in front of her. He nudged her legs apart and looked up at the curve of her breasts above the flat abdomen. He grinned when he noticed the piercing in her belly button and the tattoo of an angel curving across her hipbone. He knew without being told that this was the angel she claimed to have seen that day of her crash. He leaned up and kissed it. He grabbed her ass. He licked and sucked her clit while gripping her ass to hold her steady. He feasted on her, felt her thighs tremble against his face. He devoured her as if she were a sacrifice given to appease him. Her fingers curled in his hair and she ground her hips against his eager tongue. 

He moved quickly and pulled her to the pillows and spread her legs wide before she could say a word or move. He thrust his fingers inside her and returned to her clit. 

She twisted against the pillows, her hips thrusting and back arching. When her body quaked beneath his tongue, he rose up only far enough to free his cock. He needed to be inside her and he needed to be there now. 

He reached for his backpack and retrieved a condom while she propped herself up on her elbows and watched. Anticipation rolled off of her in waves of pheromones that urged him to move faster. 

He peeled off his clothes, managed to roll the condom onto his cock and rammed himself inside of her. Her cunt clenched over his penis and held him tight as he buried himself to his balls and ground his hips against hers. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, claiming her. 

Her hands were all over him—moving across his back, along his shoulders, into his hair. 

They kissed—finally—mouths hungry for each other and breath tangling while tongues danced together. He fucked her like a wild animal and kissed her like a starving man. The orgasm ripped through him from his toes, through his torso, through his lungs, and through the top of his head. He arched his head backward as he came—hard. 

Her legs held him to her. Her fingernails sank into his biceps. 

A familiar itch slid down his back and the felt the stirrings of his hidden wings aching to be set free. He shoved deeper into her until she cried out from a combination of pain and pleasure. His wings spread out behind him and blocked out the lantern light. 

Her head was back, eyes closed, body writhing underneath him like an untamed creature succumbing to primal urges. Her blonde hair spread out across the neon pink and green pillows. 

He slid his cock from her, grabbed her hips and flipped her over before she could see his wings. He pounded into her from behind and grabbed her breasts—squeezed until she moaned. He reached one hand around and touched her ass. He wanted her every way he could have her. He slid a finger into her wet cunt before sliding it over her asshole. Slowly, he slid off his used condom and pushed the tip of his cock into her. She froze but didn't protest. Instead she pushed her butt back against him. He grabbed her hips and eased his girth into her until she screamed and bent her head back. He wrapped her long hair around his fist and thrust into her, rode her ass and yanked her hair until he came again. 

Her scream became a low purr of satisfaction. She pressed her forehead against the pillow. 

His wings shuttered at his side, their mass taking up the entirety of the round tent. He pushed her head back down when she tried to turn to look at him. He didn't want to use his powers to make her forget what had happened and wasn't prepared to show her his true self. 

He had never shown a woman his wings. 

He kissed her spine from between her shoulder blades down to the curve of her ass. He nipped the side of her hip and waited until his wings settled back inside before turning her onto her back. 

Her hair wrapped around her face and neck. She blinked at him with a slow smile stretching across her lips. 

"That was unexpected." She flung an arm above her head. 

He took the opportunity to trace the outline of her breasts and to simply look at her. He could lie and tell her that this hadn't been part of his plan—but he had known all along that would end up balls deep inside her. It had only been a question of timing. 

He had never faced a challenge he couldn't win. 

He focused on the tattoo and his smile slipped when he recognized one of the angels who pestered him on a regular basis—Marisol—staring up at him from the woman he had just thoroughly fucked and who he planned on fucking again and again until dawn. 

Every fiber of his being quaked with anger—sudden and hot. 

This had been a trap.

Keep reading today! 





Monday, October 7, 2019

A Wildfire Exposes Their Secret #Romance and Tests Their Love

Today's molten Monday spotlight goes to Cassidy Springfield's new adult romance, HEAT...which lives up to its title.







From the back cover...

Kiley Ross and Leo Marshall have a secret. He's her indulgence, her vice. She's his compass, his impossible dream.

Kiley is home for the summer between graduating the University of Colorado and attending graduate school out-of-state in the fall. Everything is changing—friends are scattering across the world, her long lost brother has appeared out of nowhere, a wildfire is threatening the family home, and her secret affair with the local outsider—Leo—is exposed.

As the wildfire ravages the forest around the small town of Ouray, she realizes what really matters and what truly doesn't. Her resistance toward change forces her to come to terms with her own failings—or risk losing the friendships and relationships that mean so much to her. Can she break free of the expectations that have held her back in time to rescue her love affair with Leo? Can he forgive her for wanting to keep him a secret? Confronted with seeing everything she has ever known burn to the ground, can Kiley rise up and step into her own power?


an excerpt...adult content

I walk toward the cabin and smile when I see Leo lounging on the front porch swing and moving it back and forth with his foot. His head is tipped back, his eyes are closed, and he's humming. I stop before he sees me to simply look at him. I want to memorize him like this—young, carefree, and waiting for me. 
I think these are the moments I will remember when I am an old woman sitting on a rocking chair somewhere and smiling over a boy I used to know. 
I must have made a sound because he stops moving the swing and looks in my direction. His slow smile has me burning with lust. 
I climb the stairs slowly even though I want to rush into his arms and melt against his body. Without saying a word, I unlock the door. He engulfs me in a hug from behind and buries his face in my hair. I am overcome with desire. 
He kicks the door closed. We don't turn on the lights. He spins me around and kisses me. We tumble toward the bedroom while fumbling to get naked. My hands are on his clothes and his are on mine. We are like a wild frenzy of arms colliding, clothes falling, lips melding, and skin touching. 
We fall backward onto the bed. He mouth is on my neck. His hands are on my breasts. 
I slide the heels of my feet over the backs of his legs. I sink my fingernails into his ass. He pulls his lips from my body only long enough to rip open a condom wrapper with his teeth. I take it from him and roll it over his erection. 
We've done this before—many times. He has visited me in Boulder for the past three years, always in secret, always intense, always mind-blowing. 
He rocks inside me. Our breath tangles between our mouths. 
The cabin is too warm. Sweat slicks between our naked bodies as we roll across the bed. I have never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want Leo. Maybe I never will. 
He wraps his fingers into mine and presses my hands over my head while moving inside me with the same intensity he shows on stage. Perhaps more. It feels like more, but maybe I just want it to be.


Only a few hours later, I am wrapped in Leo's arms watching the first rays of sun slide across the wood floor. Our bare legs are tangled together on top of the bed; his chin is resting against the top of my head. 
"I wish you would have told me about your tour," I admit. 
He holds me a bit tighter. "I didn't think you would care."
"Why wouldn't I care?" I twist my head to look at him. "And don't you dare tell me that talking isn't what we do. We talk."
He grins his sleepy-sexually satisfied grin. "We don't talk much."
"You make me sound like a sex addict."
"Are you?"
"Leo!"
"Okay, seriously," he rolls onto his back and drags me on top of him. "You have made it very clear that we are sex buddies and that's it. You're leaving for graduate school, I'm touring with the band, and it's all okay. We have an expiration date. I have never believed otherwise."
I drum my fingers against his shoulders and contemplate what he said. He's not wrong. I've never been someone who dreamt of happily ever after's and really don't see how we could make it work past August, but yet I don't want to lose him either. I can't have it both ways, I know. 
"I wish I would have known, though. I can make t-shirts."
"T-shirts?"
"For your band, with your logo." 
He arches an eyebrow and looks doubtful. 
"I know how to make t-shirts, Leo." I smile and trace my thumb over his chin. "I want to do it, you can sell them at your shows. I bet you would have made a killing last night. All those girls wanted you."
"You noticed?"
"I'm just saying...for marketing purposes." 
"Right. Marketing." He winks. "Thank you for thinking of my bottom line."
"They would go well with the CDs you produced."
"Why do you want to make me t-shirts?" He brushed his fingers through my hair that has fallen over his shoulders like a shawl. 
"I think it's a good idea."
"But why do you want to make them for me?"
I know he wants me to admit I like him as more than a hook up. I bite my lip and think about how to word my response in a way that won't give him the wrong idea. 
He sighs and shakes his head, as if disgusted that I can't give him a simple response off the top of my head. "I gotta get home, catch a few hours of sleep, and then get back here to work. Your dad wants us all helping on hauling away any slash around the property to clear a defensible space." He rolls away from me and sits on the side of the bed. 
Using my index finger, I trace a line from beneath his neck down his spine. He has a tattoo of a columbine flower on his bicep. He says he got it for me—to remember this place when he moves away one day. He studies me over his shoulder as I trace the flower with my fingertip. The light of dawn ekes its way toward the bed, reminding us that the day is approaching and our alone time is ending. 
"I'll see you later?" he asks. 
"The resort is donating supplies for the firefighters and I'm driving the van up to the firefighter camp at the Hawkins' Ranch this afternoon. Want to come? It's considered resort work so I'm sure—"
"That I won't have to punch out? Got it. Sure. I'll be the driver, wouldn't want your daddy to think I was slacking on my duties." He pushes away from the bed and gathers his clothes. 
I hug my knees to my chest and watch him get dressed. I know he wants something from me but I don't know what. He knows my drive to pursue my education is equal to that of his for music. I want to be neuropsychologist one day—I want to help stroke victims and perhaps research Alzheimer's. I'm fascinated with the brain—it excites me in ways that I find it hard to explain. He's the poet, the songwriter, the one with the words. 
Frustration simmers through my veins like a fuse about to explode. 
"Leo."
He pauses at the door and looks at me. 
What will he write about me one day, I wonder. He writes about everything in his life—everyone. Will I be the lost chance at love, the girl who he lost his virginity to, or the ex he hates? I know he will write about me—he already has and his songs are all about life and hope and angst and desire. 


Keep reading HEAT, available in both paperback and all ebook formats. 







The sequel to HEAT--Flicker--to be released November 26, 2019
Preorder on Amazon
All other retailers coming soon

From the hills of Ouray, Colorado to the beaches of Los Angeles, California, 
can a first love handle the pressure of new adulthood? 


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Monday, September 30, 2019

A Love Triangle with a Ghost #MustRead #PNR


Featuring Dakota Skye's incredibly romantic and erotic paranormal novel about eternal love, loss, and hope...Blurred Lines. Her novel has been chosen as October's book of the month for the Sizzling Hot Book Club so I thought it would be a good idea to share it here as well. I'll warn you now--this book will give you all the feels. 


From the back cover...

Only the good die young. When Shane Weston is murdered before prosecuting a key member of the Mexican drug cartel, he can't accept the idea that all of the plans he had had for his life will never come true. More than that, he can't let go of the love he has for his fiancée. 

Love never dies.Sierra Daniels is crushed after Shane's death. Head writer on a successful television series, she can't get back into the groove of life. All enthusiasm for work is gone. Ready to quit everything, she travels to her cabin in Lake Tahoe in hopes of escaping everyone's expectations and disappearing for a while.

The lines between right and wrong often blur.Alexander Blaine has risked his future on a career change from DEA agent to lead consultant and writer on hit television series. Sierra's grief has shadowed everyone around her, including him, and jeopardizes both of their careers. Unwilling to accept defeat, he follows her to Lake Tahoe determined to break through the barrier enveloping her and make her see that life is still worth living. 

Letting go is like a death.Sierra never thought she would be caught in a love triangle between her writing partner, Alex, and the love of her life, Shane—especially because her ex-fiancé is now a ghost. Tormented with both guilt for moving on with someone else and a desire to be free of the past, she's into the gray area of right, wrong, life, death, ghosts, dreams—the part of life where all the lines are blurred. 

An excerpt...Adult content...

Murder. The word still didn't roll off her tongue with ease. 'My fiancé was murdered..."she doubted she would ever get used to saying those words. Ironic, in a twisted way, that she wrote about crime for a living. 

Shane had been killed during a high profile trial of alleged members of the Mexican drug cartel. Some teenager had been arrested for the crime, but she knew he'd been a punk hired to do the deed. Of course he wouldn't talk, was probably a folk hero south of the border.

Sierra and Shane...that's how she'd come to think over their four-year relationship. Always a duo, their names always said as one entity. 

Palms against the door, she pushed herself away and forced herself into the room. She needed to make a fire, unpack, settle in...her gaze landed on the framed photograph above the mantel. Shane and Sierra, arms around each other and laughing, with Lake Tahoe as their backdrop—joy and love captured in a snapshot. Now he would always be forever tan and young. 

She had been in a downward spiral ever since...now she clung by her fingernails to a career she'd fought and sacrificed for all these years.

I miss you, Shane, she thought with tears in her eyes. 

She shook off the dark thoughts and resumed starting the fire. 


"Sierra..." Her name whispered through the house, a memory of Shane saying it so long ago. 

A tingle went up her spine, lifting the hairs on the back of her neck, before caressing her skin with a feather-like touch. 

Shane's touch. 

If only, so many if-onlys. 

She poked at the kindling, wishing they had bothered to install a gas fireplace when they'd originally bought the property. 

Her cell phone sounded with the horror movie music indicating it was the dreaded Alexander calling again. How many times did she need to hit 'decline' before he got the message? Didn't the man have a life beyond work? 

He thought he was some kind of god simply because he was former DEA turned writer. She snorted again and poked at the sticks in the hearth. Ass. Know-it-all. She had a Masters in Creative Writing from Berkley, not to mention three Emmy's on her desk, and an Oscar nomination for a documentary she'd produced. She was a writer, not Alexander Blaine who bragged about 'stumbling into it.' 

Ignoring the phone, she started the fire, knelt back on her heels, held her hands up to the warmth, and grinned with satisfaction. 

Shane had called her a certifiable city girl. Well, look at her now. 

She searched the kitchen for the supplies Mary had stocked before her arrival. Grabbing a bottle of wine, she smiled.

"Mary, you know me too well," she muttered as she turned the bottle around in her hands before reaching for the corkscrew. 

"You're so beautiful," Shane's voice echoed through her memory."I'm the luckiest man in the world to be loved by you."

She squeezed her eyes closed and indulged in remembering him holding her, kissing her, making her believe in fairy tales and love stories. 

"I'm here. See me."The voice startled her from indulging. Clear. Deep. 

Dropping the corkscrew, she swiveled around and glanced across the room. No one. Only the empty kitchen with its clean marble countertops and gleaming pans met her vision. 

"I really am losing my mind," she muttered as she skipped the glass and drank straight from the bottle. 

Endless days of work on the set of a hit television series took its toll. The stress of having to mesh with a partner had given her anxiety attacks, not that she'd ever admit that to anyone. In show business, writers were only as good as the ratings of the most recent show. Fickle. Not exactly the safe life in academia she'd once envisioned for herself. 

She dropped her iPhone into the stereo after making sure to put it on 'do not disturb', scrolled down to her favorite playlist, and kicked off her shoes. Music filled the room, drowning out any imagined ghost voices. Settling onto the sofa with the bottle nuzzled against her chest, she watched flames snap and crackle. 

She could see Shane without closing her eyes. Often she'd imagine seeing him in a crowd, his tall silhouette a head above the others on the street. Sometimes she would see him at their favorite restaurant sitting at the bar while she picked up her take-out after another late night at the office. She'd always do a double take only to find him gone, a figment of her imagination.

Dreams were the most vivid. She would wake up and swear she'd been touched, her skin tingling where she had imagined his fingers to be. 

"I miss you so much," she whispered, allowing the tears to fall. She suppressed them most of the time by staying busy and immersed in her career. But now—in this place that had once been their hideaway—emotions bubbled to the surface despite the pills designed to keep them buried. "Without you I'm just a stressed out work-a-holic. No one's ever going to love me like you did."

"You're wrong, Sierra."

She took another swig from the bottle, in a way resenting that she still heard his voice in her head. People nagged at her to snap out of it, let him go, move on; but how was that possible when she saw him in her dreams and heard him in her head?  The therapist told her that it was okay to talk to the deceased, that she could still have conversations if that made her feel better. Of course, she'd neglected to tell the doctor that often she heard a response. 

Just my imagination.

"I'm here." Shane's voice. 

"If only..." 

A surge of energy rushed through her like an electrical shock. She closed her eyes and sighed. 

A caress against her lips. She opened her eyes and saw Shane leaning over her. Despite being a lawyer who could wear a suit like an Armani model, he'd had the surfer dude look down to a tee. She grinned at the lock of blond hair falling across his tanned forehead.

"Always too handsome for your own good," she whispered to the image. "I miss you so much."

"I've never left you," he said. 

She covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head. "You did, they took you from me, too young, never should have happened..."

"I'm here, Sierra. See me." He touched her hand. She felt it. Heavy. Warm. 

Impossible. Too much work and too little sleep had pushed her over the edge, add pills and wine to the mix and everything felt unreal. 

"I'm losing everything, you know. I can't function. The show has dropped in ratings despite some damn DEA expert slash pain in my ass who was supposed to save us from going in the ditch. I can't write anymore. Period. I can't do anything anymore, not like I used to, not without you. Now I'm going crazy."

"Believe."

"You're not here."

"I'm here, I've never left you. Look at me. It's taking all I've got to do this." 

One finger at a time, she lifted her hand from her eyes. She swallowed disbelief despite the warm energy rippling through her body.

Shane leaned over her, contagious grin in place, body heavy on top of hers. She reached up, simultaneously scared and fascinated. When her fingers touched his hair, she froze. 

"I don't believe in ghosts," she whispered.

"I've noticed. Do you know how hard I've been trying to connect with you?"

Frozen with fear yet driven by curiosity, she forced a whisper from her lips, "Why here? Why now?"

"You're so sad, I don't want you to be sad anymore."

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes despite his words. "How can I not be sad? You were my world."

"That's not true." He kissed her, the touch like a breeze over her lips. "You had it goin' on when I met you, don't you remember? You ignored me because I looked like an uptight lawyer in my suit. You were at that restaurant with all of your artist friends and I couldn't stop staring. You avoided going out with me for a full month, always too busy working. Don't you remember? You never needed me. You wanted me. There's a difference."

She shook her head, unwilling to remember. Hanging onto sorrow had protected her from living without him. She didn't want to remember life pre-Shane...and she didn't want to think about life post-Shane. Limbo felt like a safer place to hide from reality. 

Now she had conjured him up from memory; that had to be the only explanation. She'd taken talking to the void a step further. 

"You're not real." She touched her fingers to his face even as she said the words. 

"Want me to prove it to you?"

She shook her head 'no,' even as her thumb moved along his chin. The energy rippling beneath her fingertips zapped like electrical shocks, rather than a solid form. Maybe she had lost her mind, which was the only explanation she could believe. 

"I see you everywhere," she whispered.  

"I am everywhere." His smile made her heart ache with longing. 

She slid her fingers over his lips with fascination and relaxed against the sofa cushions. Eyes narrowed, she stared at the image above her. She wanted to believe, but her imagination had gotten her into trouble in the past. 

"You're not here," she said. "I just want you to be so badly I'm seeing things." 

"Believe." 

"You ask a lot."

She closed her eyes and shuddered with the need pulsating through her body. Her hand moved beneath her sweater, fingers tracing over her abdomen before sliding over her bra. Where her hands drifted, ripples of energy followed, creating a trail of sensation over her skin. Desire warmed her blood. 

"I miss being loved," she whispered.

"I love you." Shane's voice against her ear. "Let me touch you."

"I wish you could." She ached for him, for the love they had shared, for the laughter, and the partnership.

With a sigh, she set the wine bottle onto the floor and pulled her sweater off. Another shudder went through her body, ripple after ripple of intensity. Closing her eyes to submit to fantasy, she moved her hands over the swell of her breasts. 

She felt his lips against her neck, breath against her skin. Shane's blond head bent over her, the familiar scent of his shampoo overwhelming her senses, his voice whispering about how much he loved her. 

She missed making love, holding a man against her, tasting him on her tongue, feeling him move between her thighs. 

"Believe in this, Sierra. I'm really here," the whispered command made her squirm against the seat and reach for the zipper of her jeans. 

But the zipper slid down without her fingers touching it. Her eyes snapped open. 
"Is this really happening?" She choked out the words from a throat swollen with fear while her heartbeat raced with hope.  

"Do you want it to be?" He loomed over her, a solid form, yes, but one zapping with an electrical current. "You see me."

"I see you." 

He kissed her; energy sizzled between their mouths as he shoved her jeans down her legs. Where he touched, her skin reacted with an intensity born from loneliness and need. 

What could be better for the book of the month in October than a love story about a ghost who loves so deeply that he cannot let go of life? Keep reading Blurred Lines by downloading a copy at one of the links below--also available in paperback from Amazon and Barnes and Noble.