Six Sentence Sunday 1-8-2012

Last Cole & Lara snippet for awhile. Cole's working undercover at a bar; Lara's suspicious. She's just told him if he's a bartender, she's Mother Teresa. 

             He leaned forward and stroked a casual finger across the YSL logo on her handbag. “How’s that vow of poverty working out for ya, sister?”
             Lara nearly choked as she took a sip of her black-and-tan.
            “Doing any better with those other vows, baby?”
            “Like what?”
            “Chastity,” he winked.

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Six Sentence Sunday -- New Year's Day 2012

Cole's & Lara's story is finished! It's done. At least, for now. So... synopsis, rinse once, submit. That's the New Year's Resolution!

           “You are such an altar boy.”
             In the next second he had her pinned up against a giant, leaf-bare maple tree, her arms over her head, her wrists clamped by one of his large hands.

“Take that back,” he grinned. 

“Or what, you’ll shoot me?” She met his heated gaze, purposely wiggling her body against his in a seductive fashion designed to invite his touch as much as to drive him mad. “Prove me wrong, G-man.”

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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 11-13-11

   

“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. 

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Six Sentence Sunday 9-11

“What do you think happened, Cole?” Lara asked, gesturing at the over-the-top honeymoon decorations dripping forlornly off the cabin’s redwood beams and rafters.  

"Always one thing or another with Bree. She's never been the same since September 11."

Cole shrugged to ward off the black despair that shadowed the most hidden part of him and threatened to descend again, as it had for ten years, when he considered his sister’s inner demons -- more private and personal than his own.  

"Eighteen, engaged to be married that June. We couldn’t get her to return to the living – not for a long time after.” 

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Six Sentence Sunday 8/7/11

Taking a break from Surfer Dude and Mia this week for a little more Cole.

        Cole stared at the words “Property of the FBI” stenciled in peeling letters across Lara's chest and suddenly felt a twinge of… envy? He hated the idea of Lara as anyone’s “property.” Least of all the bureau’s.  The flare of possessiveness made him uneasy and his scowl deepened. This was a new low in the annals of sexual depravity, he thought. Jealous of his own fucking sweatshirt. 

                   
                                         
                                                                                                          

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Six Sentence Sunday 7-10-11

     Took a little Facebook poll to see what'd end up here today and, at the time I set up this post, the Coles seemed to have it. At least on Facebook. (A couple of people told me privately or on Twitter they wanted to see a Surfer Dude snippet, which would have pushed Pierce over the top. You shouldn't have voted twice, Jo Kenrick!) And two people voted Regency, warming my heart.

     So...maybe more Surfer Dude next week, but for today it's Cole & Lara, more or less where we left them last week:

     Lara relinquished the small computer, but treated him to a view of her back. Muttering under her breath, she tossed things into an overnight bag, then paused, her head tilted to one side, her eyes narrowed as if she were considering the growing mound of clothes on the bed, unsure of what to take.

     “How long?” she demanded.

     Cole jerked his gaze away from the enticing sight of her curvy, heart-shaped ass bent over the carryall and decided she was not asking about the size of his erect cock.

     “How long what?” he grunted, more than a little stupid after all the blood had left his brain on a southbound train.

     “How long will this alleged ‘protective custody’ of yours last?”

 

(Googled "Male models with guns" and this picture popped up. Naturally, I thought it was a picture of Cole, fully armed. I now realize he's not carrying firearms at all -- it's a frickin' saddle. With stirrups. At least I think it is. Has nothing whatever to do with this snippet. But it's so tasty I'm keeping it, anyway. I'm pretty sure y'all will agree on that call.)

   

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Six Sentence Sunday 7-3-11

Happy 4th of July Weekend! So great to see some of you at RWA!

             

A little hectic and rushed this weekend, but I thought I'd take a break from Surfer Dude's story to go back to Lara & Cole for a bit:

     They drove to her apartment without bothering to ask her address and both agents stood watch—Tolliver at the door, firearm drawn, and Cole in the messy, clothes-strewn bedroom—as Lara headed straight for her laptop.

     “I’ll take that,” he said, grabbing the neoprene computer case from her hand. 

     “The hell you will,”she said, tugging the strap.

     “Do you want to wrestle me for it, Ace?”

     “Got a warrant, G-man?”

     “I can have one in ten seconds, so get your stuff so we can get the fuck out of here -- and mention the word 'warrant' to me one more time, and I'll take you to school."
                                                        ~

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Six Sentence Sunday 6/5/11

Working on Lara & Cole again. So...to stay immersed in their little world...here's six from the morning after.


She wiggled the glasses on the end of his nose. “You look like Clark Kent in these."



“Contacts.” He slid an arm around her waist and she leaned closer to nibble on his ear lobe.


 “Come back to bed, Superman.”


“Didn’t you have enough?”

“I have faith in you, G-man -- I’m sure you can manage to find at least one place you haven’t made sore.”

     And here's the G-man without his specs. Or his shirt.
 

Six Sentence Sunday 5/15/11

Back to Cole & Lara today:

           The five-word sentence might have been the longest conversation she’d had with the hunk behind the bar to date. So far he hadn’t said more to her than “Good choice, baby.”

           The notion that he might be unbending loosened Lara up faster than the tequila shot another bartender had poured before Sex-on-Legs started his shift. On the other hand . . . whoa.  Was the gorgeous blonde presence of Billie perched on the barstool beside her tonight responsible for Tall, Dark and Hot's sudden chattiness?
          Lara shook off the surge of ugly emotion and reminded herself that she and Hunkalicious had not exchanged more than ten words tops, that Billie was her best friend, and that jealousy’s green head should not be popping up like a demented whack-a-mole.

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Six Sentence Sunday 3/20/11

“What’ll it be, baby?”

Lara started. She’d finally muscled her way onto a bar stool, but she’d spent the last couple of minutes alternately scanning the establishment and its customers, or ogling the bartender’s hellacious butt -- the kind of taut, primo male ass that could give a woman wet dreams for a month.

Now he was in front of her, rag slung over his shoulder as he scooped a pile of cash from the counter, the timbre of his deep voice and the tone of that “baby” sending zippy buzzes of electricity up her spine -- and lower. Lara’s mouth went dry.


“One of those.”


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Six Sentence Sunday 3/13/11

Thought we'd go back to see how Cole and Lara were doing.

The beginning of the infamous hot tub scene from my romantic suspense WIP, Cole in Her Stocking:

As if her heated thoughts had conjured him, the glass doors slid open and Cole strolled onto the redwood deck, his masculine frame backlit by the lights from the cabin, a powerful presence in the night. Through the misting air, his gaze locked with hers, embers sparking until his wintry eyes blazed with sexual fire. 

 Curls of need shimmered across the surface of Lara’s skin, and she shivered, despite the warmth of the hot tub.

Silence lengthened between them and magnified each creak of the snow-laden fir trees surrounding the lodge. Cole leaned back against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes smoldering with hunger as they traveled over her. 

 “Drink your fill, G-man.”

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Six Sentence Sunday 1-02-2011

Happy New Year, everyone!

Excited Six Sentence Sunday is back?

I know I am.

So...this year...let's get it done! (Whatever you want that to be.)

For me, that means finishing Cole in Her Stocking so I can move on. And I really want to move on!

Here's my Six Sentence Sunday snippet:


     "Sorry, Scoop, I'm taking you in."

     Keeping Lara pinned to the panelled wall, Cole bent, pulled a leather case from his biker boot and flashed her his FBI shield and picture I.D. She grabbed his wrist before he could whisk the creds away, her touch on his arm sparking a sizzling jolt that punched him in the gut. As she scrutinized the laminated plastic, he shook off the images of her hand gliding elsewhere on his body.

     “Cole Brannigan, huh? Do you keep your piece in your other boot, G-man?”

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Six Sentence Sunday 12-05-2010

This week, a little Six Sentence snippet from my WIP, Cole in Her Stocking. 


      Cole’s mouth crushed hers, his potent kiss delivering a burst of electric fire that sizzled through her, melting her completely. He tilted her head and angled his mouth,  hard and slashing, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. He tasted like the coffee he’d swilled on the two-hour drive from the city, but hotter and more exciting--a double shot of pure caffeine spiked with single malt Irish whisky.
 
      Her thirst for him ratcheted out of control and she could not drink enough, her hands traveling from his hair to his shoulders, her fingers digging into thick muscle.

     “Holy cow, Brannigan,” she murmured, her lips vibrating against his.

     “I know,” he said. “Shut up.”

My free Christmas read, I'll Be Home for Christmas, is up for anyone looking for something a little more warm and fuzzy. 
 

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Six Sentence Sunday 11-21-2010

From Cole in Her Stocking, my romantic suspense WIP. This is Lara's first glimpse of Cole, an FBI agent working undercover at an airport dive:

Lara headed toward the bar, and nearly collided with the bartender who glided  from the opposite direction like a great white smelling fresh blood in the water.

Powerful shoulders the breadth of a two-by-four, a Flight Risk T-shirt pulled taut over toned abs and pecs, muscled legs that fed a pair of biker boots. And black jeans too snug to slip a wallet--or a condom--into the back pocket.

Lara jerked her focus upward. Eyes the color of ice chips flicked over her with the predatory awareness of a shark.

Holy heart-stopping Hannah, she thought, we're gonna need a bigger boat.


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Last Call

"G-man." [Shakes shoulder.]

"What's the problem, baby?"

"We need to go back to the bar."
"No. We don't."
"Yeah, I think we do."

[Eyes narrowing.] "Why?"

"Remember when I went on the run?"

"Like I could forget."

"I'm not sure I was headed in the right direction."

"Could've told you that, Ace."

"You do tell me that, Cole. Every chance you get."

[Smug male smirk.]
"We have to go back, Cole."
"You've been watching too many episodes of 'Lost,' Lara."
"Humor me, G-man."

[Shakes head.] "We've gone too far, baby. Let's wrap it up. Don't you want to get your HEA?"

"Trust me."[Glides hand up forearm and over biceps.]
"Where have I heard that before?"

"My instincts are pretty good. Admit it."

[Capitulates.] "Still angling for a black and tan on the house?"
"Not tonight, Brannigan."

[Raises eyebrow.] "What then, Ace?"

"I think you'd better make it tequila. And keep 'em coming."