Saturday, August 9, 2014

Long Time, No See

Hello there! It's been a while. I seem to have this nasty habit. If I don't write my blog post the *second* it occurs to me, I forget it and I forget all about it. I'd like to blame it on old age, but it's been a problem for way too long. I think I keep 3M in Post-It Notes profit. There's even a bright green one taped to my computer monitor, as I type, that says "blog post."

This month, I thought I'd do something a little different. I thought I'd post an excerpt from my WIP, as of now untitled, but goes by the unofficial title of "Truck's Story." I know, isn't that just so original?!

Truck is an officer in the United States Air Force. He flies on the AC-130 Specter Gunship as a Combat System's officer. He and his crew mates are temporarily grounded, they hope, so Truck decides to spend some time on his other passion, enjoying the subs at Chain of Command, a local BDSM club. But before he can do that, he meets Genevieve, a worker with an NGO based in Africa. She's come back to state-side to raise holy hell with the military brass, but before she can do that, she meets Truck, a man who brings out every sub instinct she has.

A beam of sunlight poked at Genevieve’s brain, pricking at her to wake up. Her non-tortured eyelid fluttered with the effort to open and failed. With a loud groan, she rolled to her other side in an attempt to dodge the sun streaming into her room and the drum banging in her head. The blue of her sheets appeared before her eyes as she finally managed to pry her lids open.
Blue sheets? What the hell? My sheets are ivory.
Where the hell was she? What the hell happened last night?
The kettle drum banging in her brain amplified as she tried to recall the events of the previous evening.
The last thing she remembered was Timothy wanting to take her to the local BDSM club. She had only planned on meeting the guy, no jumping right into a scene. She remembered asking him to call her a cab so she could go home. Obviously, that hadn’t happened. Instead of waking up in her own room, she woke up here. Wherever here happened to be.
Note to self: Don’t let Heidi introduce you to a prospective Dom ever again.
A terrifying thought popped into her mind. She swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. Dear God in Heaven, had she left the bar with Timothy? Genevieve lifted up the comforter and peered underneath. The breath she didn’t realize she was holding whooshed out. At least she was still dressed, wherever the hell she spent the night. If she had gone home with the jerk, she hadn’t slept with him.
Pushing herself to a sitting position gave her a better angle to survey her surroundings. It did nothing for her head. The stark room divulged nothing. The bare walls and uncluttered dresser top revealed nothing about her host. Strike that. She’d bet her last grant award this room, this place, belonged to a man. Sure, the comforter, sheets, and curtains of blue made it a relatively safe bet. But the lack of anything personal, hell, anything at all, sealed the deal.
Tugging her legs free of the tangled bed linens, Genevieve inched her feet to the floor. She’d never figure out what happened last night if she stayed in the bed. She tugged at her dress, untwisting it from around her waist.
Eww. The image staring back at her looked like, well, she didn’t have any words to describe her hair or her smeared make up. With only her fingers to make herself into something resembling a female human, she fixed herself up as much as possible. Once she’d repaired her wild ponytail and her mascara-smudged eyes, she was as ready as she’d ever be.
Drawing a deep breath, Genevieve rose from the bed and shuffled to the door. She pulled on the door knob and found herself at the end of a short hall. With moving ahead being the only non-cowardly option, she marched to the end and wobbled as she stopped short.
Holy mother of God.
The hall opened into a large living room and kitchen separated by a low bar. And standing behind that barrier stood the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Not to mention the largest. He worked at something on the counter, allowing her to oogle to her lust’s content. His short dark hair neatly cropped his head. Chiseled cheekbones and a strong chin finished off his face, covered by a five o’clock shadow. His shoulders looked so broad; his T-shirt clung to his wide chest and narrow waist. The muscles in his biceps flexed with whatever activity on which he focused. What she wouldn’t give to see if his abs looked as good as the rest of him.
What the hell was wrong with her? She stood in the apartment of a complete stranger and instead of figuring out where she was, she drooled over the man. She drew in a deep breath, preparing to step into the living room.

Happy Military Romance Reading!

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