Six Sentence Sunday - 01/20/13

This will be the second to last Six Sentence Sunday post. Sad to see it go. Found some new-to-me authors on the list and it's been a fun exercise, helping me to sharpen my own writing (and sometimes to creatively edit) to manage to fit the important stuff into six sentences.

On a few occasions, even works I'd already submitted came under the axe and, during the final editing phases, were streamlined further in the finished book. (You can go back and look, if you like, but I'm not pointing out the way!)

Today's second to last six, and perhaps next week's also, are from FROST, my 1Night Stand story from Decadent Publishing, releasing on February 12 in time for Valentine's Day.


How many times before had he been through this?
Suffered through just such a female reaction to his overpowering sexuality? She tried to steel herself, to toughen up, to call upon her inner smartass. But he made it difficult. Dressed all in black, from T-shirt to jeans, he seemed to fill the room, his dominating presence swamping even his most compelling paintings. Thick bands of taut muscle rippled beneath the tight cotton and snug denim. He needed only the leather biker jacket to complete the bad boy image.

Blurb:

Dagney Night, a sought-after succubus, is no stranger to blazing hot sex. But as Valentine’s Day approaches, she longs for something more. When oddly erotic paintings arrive for display at her art gallery, arousing everyone who views them, she wonders about the mysterious artist who created the works. 

Maxwell Raines, a fire-sex demon, lives a life of solitude and seclusion behind the walls of his compound at Sleepy Hollow, channeling his lustful impulses into his art—until his muse deserts him and his temperature rises past the danger point. He needs sex. Now. 

When Madame Evangeline arranges a torrid Valentine’s 1Night Stand for them, will the flames of their encounter be too hot to handle?

Excerpt:

Dagney followed her sister’s glance, and her heart flipped like a gymnast unable to nail a vault. Darkness swathed the gallery with the exception of the lights above or below each of the paintings. The large man emerging from the shadows held her rapt. Waves of pure, unadulterated lust smacked her with such force she didn’t even see Lily and Campbell leave. The blast of raw desire crumpled her to the floor. Her gaze remained riveted on the tall hunk of ferocious male stalking toward her, radiating undiluted carnality. He set something carefully on the floor and grasped her by the elbows, his touch surprisingly gentle when he lifted her to her feet.

"I’m Maxwell Raines."  
Yeah. No kidding.Who else could a guy so hot, so studly, possibly be?

She told herself not to swoon. Ordered herself not to swoon. But, Goddess, that rumbling voice. More potent than a train barreling over the tracks. And he smelled so good. Sinfully masculine. A bit of musk, a bite of pine, an essence of dark, smoky nights. Sexy scents. Reminiscent of tangled satin sheets that had been given a good work-out.

Her legs turned to rubber, and she doubted they’d support her on their own. She’d be mortified if he’d have to scrape her puddled body up again. But he hadn’t yet relaxed his grip. Could she bullshit her way through the meeting without collapsing?

"You’re late," she said.

"I’m never late."

"Well, the party’s over, Mr. Raines." She waved a hand around the empty room.

"Depends on your perspective."

"You’re big on perspective, are you?"

"I’m a painter." A brief shrug accompanied his blunt words. "Obvious connection."

"Right. But as you can see, everyone’s left."

"You haven’t." He gazed down at her, a black brow flaring. "And you’re what I’m here for


And check out the other Six Sentence Sunday authors at http://sixsunday.com