Pssst...Eclectic Writer

Wanna see how I "do it"?

(Or how I don't do it as the case may be?)

I am Janet Lane Walters' guest today at Eclectic Writer.

She tosses out some interview questions.  I babble. 

Please stop by and join us.

The Gift

       

By Taryn Kincaid

The man sensed someone watching him and straightened a bit too swiftly, grazing his brow against the lip of the mantel.

“I was waiting for you,” the little boy told him. “You and Joe Granville. But I fink I fell asleep.”

Before turning toward the source of the youthful voice, the man wiggled his jaw and hoped for the best. A froth of fleece hung in lop-sided fashion below his chin and off to one side like the bow of a bonnet.

But the little boy did not seem to notice. Not quite four, he sat cross-legged next to the tree, half-hidden by the blue-green branches laden with ornaments. He rubbed one eye with his fist and blinked. Small bare feet peeked like pale fish from the hem of his long nightshirt.

The man winced. Pajamas on next year’s list, he thought.

Wind whistled down the flue adding to the chill in the room. A little pyramid of powdery snow mounded on the cold stone grate. He frowned and flicked a few flakes off his red sleeve.

Pajamas with feet.

Candles glowed on the tree and the fresh scent of pine blended with the aroma of oranges studded with cloves, mulled cider and sugary cookies. But the room’s frigid temperature sliced through the homey atmosphere.

He deepened his voice and threw a bit of gravel into it.

“It’s freezing outside,” he said. “In here, too. You must be an icicle, Danny.”

The youngster tilted his head to one side. “You know I’m Danny?”

“’Course, I do.”

The child accepted that with a nod. “I fought it was cold where you live.”

“Not usually this cold. Let’s make a fire.”

The boy sidled closer. “Can you get back up the chimbley, then? If there’s a fire?”

The man raised his eyebrow. A glob of white fuzz crawled across his forehead like a caterpillar. He snatched it down as the boy slipped past him to stare up the stone chimney.

More evidence of his neglect, the man thought. But he’d had to answer the calls that had taken him to global hotspots and disaster areas around the world and that, during this long, snowy night, had brought him into the mountains and rural back roads of home. And he suspected the little boy had talked his mother out of a Santa-singeing fire.

“I know the Granvilles pretty well,” the man assured the child. “I can leave through the front door. That’s how I came in.” Two days ago. Without warning. Shocking the hell out of the inhabitants.

"You know Joe Granville, too?"

"Sure."

The child hesitated, as if he wished to ask something else. Uncertainty shadowed the glistening excitement in his eyes. The little boy’s glance shot toward the duffel bag propped against the couch.

The man waited, but when Danny said nothing more, he turned toward the hearth and built a crackling blaze. Sticking his hands toward the glowing flames with a sigh of satisfaction, he soaked up the new warmth that filled the room.

He was done wrestling with bows and wrapping paper and the pieces of that damn sled for the night, he decided.

Danny stood beside him as he knelt on the stone. “Did you go to lots of places already?” the little boy asked.

“I go first to the places where children need me most,” he answered softly. “I didn’t think you needed me so much this year.”

“My dad came home,” Danny said.

“Sleeping upstairs, I bet. Like you should be.”

Danny shook his head. “Joe Granville went to see kids who need him, too. But he brings them medsin, not toys.”

“Don’t you want to call him ‘Dad’?”

“Mom calls him ‘Joe.’” The little boy frowned and leaned closer, his confiding whisper a breathy flutter against the man's cheek. “I didn’t remember him.”

The soft words wrenched Joe's heart. “He remembered you. He thought about you every day. Every second. You and your mom are what got him through.”

The little boy digested this. His brow furrowed. “Do you fink he’s cold?”

“Tired. But he’ll be back in his bed soon.” Or a sleeping bag on the couch. Joe yawned. Even that seemed inviting. “How ’bout we sit in the big chair a minute and toast our toes?”

“That's Joe Granville's chair."

The man ruffled the child's tousled hair. "He won't mind."

"Sure?"

"Pretty sure." He tucked the child against his side and lowered himself into the armchair. Danny climbed onto his pillowed lap, cuddling closer as Joe wrapped an arm around him.

"I have gingerbread men for you,” the little boy said. “Do you fink those kids gave Joe Granville cookies?”

“I think those kids are sick and probably don’t have a lot to eat.”

Danny looked at the plate of treats next to the chair. His brow furrowed. “Do you fink those kids like gingerbread men?”

“I bet they would.”

“Do you fink Joe Granville would take me to see those kids? I can bring them these.”

The man’s throat tightened. He rested his chin against the top of the child’s head.

“You’re the best boy, Danny,” he murmured into the silky russet hair. Pride swelled within him. “What do you want for Christmas?”

There was no answer and he thought Danny had fallen asleep. But the child tugged on his sagging beard, until he turned his head. He met the little boy’s eyes, softer, but like his own.

“I want my dad to stay,” Danny whispered. “If you see Joe Granville, will you tell him?”

Joe’s eyes stung as much as if cinders from the fire had flown into them. The knot in his throat became a lump of coal.

“I bet he knows. I bet he’d like that more than anything in the world.”

“Anyfing?”

“Oh, yeah.” His arms tightened around the small frame and he pressed Danny’s head against the broad expanse of his red velvet-covered chest.

The need to protect this child flowed through him, clenching his gut like an iron fist, the pain giving way to pure warmth. Joy filled the empty ache in his heart. His. His son. His beautiful, generous, forgiving little boy. His pulse strengthened but slowed, the juice of the adrenalin pumping through him during the night of emergency visits finally ebbing away. This is where he belonged. Nowhere else on earth.

“What do you think Mom would say about that?” Joe whispered.

His breath ruffled the child’s dark hair, shot through with fire, like his mother’s. Danny snuffled in sleep, a small fist curling beneath his childish open mouth.

“Doesn’t Santa know?”

The soft voice came from the direction of the stairway, startling him. He turned. The glow from the hearth illuminated the fiery strands of her hair, distinct shades of red and gold, ginger and spice, an extravagant tumble that flowed past her shoulders.

“I might have once. Three years is a long time, Cassie. Not sure you want me back anymore.”

Her glance slid to the sleeping bag on the couch. Then to her sleeping child, curled in his father's lap.

"He's just like you, you know. "

"Your hair," Joe protested.

"Your heart."

He wasn't certain what she meant or how to respond to that. But he drank her in, his body tightening as he surveyed the lush curves beneath the khaki T-shirt she must have pulled from his duffel, stamped with the words "Property of the U.S. Army Medical Corps." He hadn't managed to wash it yet. Had she, he wondered? His gut clenched with fierce possessiveness at the sight of the faded letters across her chest.

“Two tours, Joe. The things you’ve seen." She belted her loose robe, hiding the words, the corps insignia. I don’t know how to act around you.”

“Just be there. The way I couldn't be.”

“I don’t blame you for doing your duty, serving your country. But I—I don’t know if you’re the man I married anymore."

“I’m not that man, Cass. I hope I’m a better one.”

“What else do you hope, Santa?”

He eased his sleeping child off his lap and stood. Directly beneath a sprig of mistletoe. He eyed the bit of greenery uncertainly before turning his pointed gaze back to his wife. She sucked in a sharp breath.

"What, too corny?" He offered her a tentative smile. The kind of smile that once had the power to melt her.

“Don’t you think I’m a little too old to be kissing Santa Claus?” The slight quaver in her voice renewed his hope.

“No. I don’t. Damn it, Cass. I just want my wife back in my arms again. To sleep beside her in our bed and awaken next to her in the morning. To kiss her like three years of hell never came between us.”

Cassie bit her lower lip. He burned to trace his tongue over the fullness of her mouth.

"You're wearing my shirt," he said. "I haven't even washed it yet. I think you want the same thing. I have to believe that."

"I do."

"Come to me then, baby."

He held out his arms.

The woman he longed for, the woman he'd dreamed about during the darkest hours of his soul, tilted her head in the direction of the mistletoe. And then her eyes fixed on his again. Hungry. Devouring him. As he ached for her.

She erased the distance between them and flew into his arms.

He bent his head, seizing her lips, so sweet on his, warm, trusting, tentative. Familiar. Searing heat sizzled through him. Also familiar. For this woman. This woman alone. This woman he loved more than anything--except for the child of their hearts, sleeping peacefully in the armchair. At last content.

He deepened the kiss. Cassie’s passion for him sparked to life, like the fire he’d kindled in the hearth of the home he’d been absent from for so long. Too long.

“In that case,” she murmured, her lips against his own. “Merry Christmas, Dr. Granville. Welcome home.”

Six Sentence Sunday 12/4/11

             Cole leaned back against the deck railing, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes smoldering as they took in the hot tub bubbles lapping her naked flesh.

            “Drink your fill, G-man.”   
            Their sexual tango, the seductive approach and avoidance of their intricate mating dance, wearied her.  “Or,” she mused, “we can go on playing this game.”

            She arched back against the ledge, resting her head and shutting her eyes. "Your ball, Brannigan."

                                                          

                                

                                              

Six Sentence Sunday 11-27-11

 Aidon throws a dinner party for two uninvited live dudes who have sneaked into his subterranean realm to court his new bride. Not only is he serving them underworld food, but he's got another surprise in store. Wasn’t your Thanksgiving table just like this?

          “What are you going to do to them, Aidon?”

          Stephanie nods toward the pair of weeping dingbats.

          Percy munches a flaky biscuit, the waterworks running all the while, unware that the more he eats, the more uncontrollable his tears. Theo slurps a delicate lemon-asparagus soup and tries to pull his seat closer to the table, unconscious of the chamois-covered manacles clamped around his calves, or that the only direction he's moving is down. The polished floor tile beneath the suitors’ chairs recesses again, lowering them another inch or so on their way to Tartarus.

          “What do you want me to do, Steph?”

            Read other Six Sentence Sunday writers

Six Sentence Sunday 11-20-11

An idea for Cloud Boy's story (he's Surfer Dude's baby brother) has arrived like Athena bursting forth from Zeus's brow. So in honor of that plot bunny, here's six from the story of their big brother Aidon, The Reaper, and hero of my heart.  (One day, Aidon, I will find you a worthy home.)    

            “Listen, you big lug,” I murmur, gasping for air when his lips release mine.  “You’ve brought me Below, turned my whole world upside down – and  I haven’t done anything to you.”

            “My world isn’t exactly spinning normally on its axis, Stef.”

            "But I --" The Big Guy's stunning admission shakes me to the core. "Really?"

Read other Six Sentence Sunday participants.

Six Sentence Sunday 11-13-11

   

“Like these better than the shoes?” Lara taunted, dangling a wisp of red nothing in front of him. “Dolce & Gabbana. Last you’ll ever see of it.” She flung it back into the drawer.

As she crossed the room for her laptop, Cole sidled closer to the bureau and dipped his fingers into the mound of jumbled undies before he could stop himself, the sensual slide of satins and silks stroking his hand and firing his libido  the same way a woman’s moans during sex caressed his ego.

He fished out the illicit red-hot treasure and buried it in Lara’s suitcase. 

          Read other Six Sentence Sunday participants.

November Novella Sale!

Carina Press is having a November Novella sale.

Select novellas, including my sensual Regency romance, HEALING HEARTS, are only $1.99, now through December 1 at 8:59 pm EST.

Don't miss out!

Want to read more about HEALING HEARTS? Reviews, blurb, excerpt and Romance Trading Cards are here.

Six Sentence Sunday 11-6-11

Surfer Dude's back. (For those of you who have been waiting.)

     “You here tomorrow, Gidge?”

          Mia raised an auburn eyebrow, the coppery brown of a worn penny-cronoson, a shade or two darker than the fiery mahogany of her hair.

          “It’s an Old Earth term," he started to explain, but she squirmed out of his arms to click the computer keyboard.

          “Gidget?” she squeaked. “Girl midget?”

          “Well, you only come up to here on me, Shortcake,” he shrugged, and drew a line at his clavicle.

                Visit other Six Sentence Sunday particpants.

                                               

Six Sentence Sunday 10/30/11 Halloween Edition

    Since October is nearly gone, this will be the last Six Sentence Sunday excerpt from SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS. And since it's the day before Halloween, just a bit of the spooky stuff.

       Katy had never been close enough to Vivienne to really study her, and the lighting had usually been dim in The Legends bar where the succubus hung out. But how had she never noticed the spider-web tattoo that spread over the side of Vivienne’s neck? A tiny, naked man splayed across the center of the inked web, captured in full color like a fabulous doomed fly. True, Vivienne’s billows of raven hair usually covered the prophetic tat. But now her dark tresses lay coiled like a snake on her nape and her eyes glowed with demonic red light.

           Clearly the succubus meant business.

                      SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS is available from
                                                          The Wild Rose Press
                                                          Amazon
                                                          Barnes & Noble
                                                          Fictionwise
                                                          Digi Books Cafe
                                                          All Romance 
                                         And other places digital books are sold.

                 
            Be sure to visit other Six Sentence Sunday participants.
                                                           

More than Six

With Six Sentence Sunday having a "time-out" this week, I thought I'd just go ahead and post another excerpt from Sleepy Hollow Dreams. Because when it's October and apple and pumpkin time, my thoughts go to Halloween Central, USA. 

(If you ever have the chance to visit the real Sleepy Hollow this time of year, take it. You won't be sorry.)

So...as you can see, MORE than the usual six sentences this week.

What the hell.

          "Touch me,” he repeated.
 

          The simplicity of the request conveyed an urgency that compelled her to obey. Not that she wasn’t already itching to glide her hands over him and rest her head against his chest.

          Katy brushed the sweep of midnight hair off Ryck’s brow. The sleek strands curled around her fingers, alive, like cords of velvet vine. She stroked him again, his hair soft and silky beneath her palm. The angular outline of his square jaw stood out in starker relief.

          She gripped his shoulder. Beneath her palm, the thick curve of muscle grew more sturdy and robust under his rustic woolens.

          Was he right? Did her touch do that? Did she give him potency, the way his voice had provided her with the guts to best Cabot? The idea tempted her to reach for him again.

          As her fingers explored, a soft sigh escaped him. Color returned to Ryck’s face and his features firmed. His body took on greater form and substance. His sinews and musculature grew solid and dense. She did that.

          “We make each other stronger,” Ryck confirmed.

          Her fingertips drifted below his cloak, to the front of his breeches. The thick ridge of his cock strained against the rough buckskin. Hard. Katy dragged her hand away with effort.

          Could she trust him? She doubted that. He wanted something from her. She ignored what her mind screamed. Her body screamed louder. She yearned for him in a way that nearly made her weep. Between her thighs, her panties dampened. She couldn’t prevent her body’s reaction or resist the temptation he offered.

          Unable to help herself, Katy slipped her hand beneath Ryck’s homespun shirt this time, flattening her palm against his rock-hard abs. His skin heated at once, as if her touch filled him in, made him whole. A sketched outline that became a rich, vibrant painting when her fingertips glided across his warming flesh. He let out another ragged breath. The effect she had on him made her braver. The thrill shooting through her when she touched him sparked and heightened her desire.

          “You like that?” she whispered.

          “You know what I like.”

          Katy recalled the sound of the ghostly hoof beats flying along Broadway the last time she had encountered this man in the flesh. What was she dealing with here, she wondered? A wraith? A specter?

          A psychological manifestation of defective mental health?

         What the hell was a dream voyager?

         She pulled away from him to rub her temples. She didn’t like what he represented. He was just a wet dream. As much as she longed for him, she resented him as well.

         “I want you to get the hell out of my head,” she told him.

          “I can’t read your mind, Katrina. I answer when you summon me. When your emotions are in turmoil, I sense that.”

          “And when we…”

          “I need you more than you need me.”

          She stared at him, unable to credit her eyes, her ears, or what her brain told her. When he visited her in her dreams at night, he never acted as if he were obeying a summons or performing a chore. No, he swept her up in his strong arms, as eager, as excited as she, as desperate to make their moments together last. She did not think he faked the guttural groans of passion she wrested from him.

          “You…need me?”

          “Yes. Hell, yes. I’m not whole without you.”

          Despite her misgivings, she reached out a tentative finger and poked his arm again. This was a solid male body before her tonight. No question about that.

          Amusement glittered in his eyes. “Pinch me,” he offered.

          “I think you should pinch me.”

          “There are other things I’d rather do to you.”

          Fire surged through her, setting her cheeks aflame, melting her. He quirked an eyebrow and his low, suggestive words transported her on a bewildering sensual journey. Ryck was magic. She shouldn’t believe in magic anymore. But God help her, she did. Hudson Valley magic. Her father’s legacy.

          Ryck’s silver eyes gleamed up at her, piercing her to her core, smoldering with a feverish desire as intense as her own. The potent male musk of his arousal mingled with the autumnal fragrance of ripening apples and falling leaves.

          The rankness of the bowling alley pit in which they lay faded away.

          “Apples,” she murmured. “You smell like apples. You smell like fall.”

          Katy no longer cared what he was. Just that she needed him, that she had to have him again, had to feel the sweet, hot friction of his skin sliding against hers, and the burn of their bodies as they tangled about each other in blistering ardor, coming together again and again. Flesh to flesh this time.

          “Kiss me, Katrina,” he growled, his deeply masculine voice rougher around the edges. The battle to seize control of his lust stamped his bold features, the strain written on his face. “I’ve waited a long time.”

          His words thrilled her more than the imperious command annoyed her. What would it be like to kiss him? To really kiss him?

          She bent and touched her mouth to his. Light and brief. Even so, sizzling currents leapt between them. Ryck’s cool lips warmed instantly beneath hers. He snatched her against him, his strong arms imprisoning her against his length, melting her as he seized her mouth, his lips firm and demanding now, making her head swim.

          His mouth parted and she captured the low rumble of his groan, heard it, tasted it, let it resonate through her. Urgent fire swept through her as their breath mingled, sparking an uncontrollable blaze that made her toes curl and her heart leap.

          Her heart pounded, ready to burst from her chest.

          Pure fantasy, supernatural phantasm—whatever else he might be, none of it mattered. Somehow everything seemed more real when she was with him. As if they were two sides of one coin.

          Ryck’s rough tongue slanted against hers, spicy as a harvest night, wringing moan after shivery moan from deep within her. His hot, delicious kisses made her drunker than mulled wine, consuming her, dizzying her, taking her out of herself onto another plane, a place of carnal delights where only she and Ryck existed.

          Ryck crushed her against his chest, his big hand stroking the back of her head. His powerful arms seduced her. The hard evidence of his arousal pressed against her. She answered with a throb of desperate desire.

          His lips claimed hers with such a fierce storm of possession she felt…branded.

          Claimed. 

     Reviews and another excerpt here.

Buy links:

The Wild Rose Press

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Fictionwise

All Romance AReCafe

Digi Books Cafe

Six Sentence Sunday 10/16/11

October, pumpkins & Sleepy Hollow Dreams. More from my sexy, spooky, erotic paranormal from The Wild Rose Press.

Ryck could barely squirm in the small space, but he had no complaints about his uncomfortable position.

He was here, in the flesh. Free -- or nearly.

He’d returned to Sleepy Hollow once again. 

For redemption.

For her.

        Sleepy Hollow Dreams is available at:

TheWildRosePress

Amazon 

Barnes & Noble

 Fictionwise

Visit other Six Sentence Sunday participants.

Carina Press Discount!

In honor of NY Comic Con, all Carina Press ebooks -- including HEALING HEARTS -- are 40 % off now through October 16 with coupon code NYCOMICCON.

Great books at rock bottom prices.

Adam & Emma nearly half price.

What's better than that?

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY 10/9/11

More from Sleepy Hollow Dreams, my erotic paranormal romance from The Wild Rose Press:

(Katy and Ryck have shared moments of blistering passion on the erotic dreamscape, they've had an unforgettable night of hot, mind-blowing sex in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, and now they're about to meet...for the first time.)

     Thrills of excitement rippled through her and her pulse pounded. Her fingers itched to tousle the inky shock of midnight hair that curled at his nape and temples, dampened by nights of hot, sweaty dream sex. She imagined trailing kisses over the square jaw line broken by the dent in his chin, working her way to his lips. Lips that had tasted every inch of her, sucking and licking until she was frantic and aflame.

     “You’re not real,” she muttered.

     Come see, he dared.

     Want more Sleepy Hollow Dreams? Read an excerpt and reviews here. Or buy it The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Fictionwise, and everywhere e-books are sold.

Read the other Six Sentence Sunday participants.

HEALING HEARTS : 2012 EPIC Awards Finalist!

Isn't this pretty? 
  (Just got the official e-mail.)














You can read more about Healing Hearts here: http://dreamvoyagers.blogspot.com/p/healing-hearts.html

Available now at Carina Press.

And nearly everywhere else digital books are sold!

Six Sentence Sunday 10-2-2011

     More from my spooky, blistering hot erotic paranormal romance, SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS, from The Wild Rose Press. Picking up exactly where we left off . Disclaimer: May be just a little bit raunchy. (Didn't think you'd mind.)

     No raw, steamy fantasy sex to exhaust her and ease her restlessness. No hot, passionate, silver-eyed, midnight-haired lover to fuck her brains out and soothe her disquiet with his delicious lips and dark kisses and skillful teasing hands and hot, hard cock.

      “Where are you?” she murmured. “Why don’t you come to me tonight?”

      No answer.

     But the desperate need to leave the house remained.

Want more SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS? Click here.

And read the other Six Sentence Sunday participants!

Six Sentence Sunday 9-25-11

More from SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS, my erotic paranormal from The Wild Rose Press.

     An ominous howl of wild laughter drifted up on the night air from somewhere down the hill, closer to the Hudson River, in the mystical heart of Sleepy Hollow.

     Katy bolted upright in bed, filled with weird urgency—as if something needed her immediate attention—but she couldn’t remember what.

     Of course not. You're still asleep.

     The thought flitted through her semi-conscious mind and vanished like a wisp of smoke.
  
     No dreams tonight.

SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS is available now from The Wild Rose Press,  Amazon,  Barnes & Noble, Fictionwise & All Romance Ebooks, and other digital book sellers.

Read the other Six Sentence Sunday participants.

Six Sentence Sunday 9/18/11: SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS

Since there's a bit of a nip in the air in the historical, mystical Hudson Valley these days, and candy and costumes are already in the stores, I'll take that as a sign Halloween is coming-- even if the trees and grass are still bright shades of spring and summer green.

When I think of October, I think of Sleepy Hollow. When I think of Sleepy Hollow, I think of SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS, my erotic paranormal from The Wild Rose Press.

So instead of six sentences from Surfer Dude or Cole & Lara or other WIPs, I'm going to excerpt mini-bites from SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS over the next few weeks.  Gonna try to keep the blog non-X-rated. Stay tuned to see if I'm up to that challenge.

As always, comments welcome.

(And, in the interest of full disclosure, the second sentence here is actually four sentences in the published book. Yeah. I cheated. So sue me.)

Enjoy!

The crisp October breeze tossed a branch against Katy Lyndhurst's half-open window.

Clatter... scratch... scratch... scratch.

A creak from the vicinity of the bedroom closet.

       Bang.

     The accompanying rotten-egg whiff of sulfur made her wrinkle her nose in sleep. More scratching against the windowsill.

 

Read snippets from the other Six Sentence Sunday participants.