For the One
“What the hell was that? Why did you storm off?”
“Because I didn’t want to say anything rude, and you made me angry.”
“Because I asked you to look me in the eye?”
“Well, maybe I’m just tired of you looking everywhere but my eyes.”
He blinked. “It’s difficult.”
He shook his head. “Because when I’m looking in your eyes, I’m too distracted to hear what you are saying. It’s intense.”
“What’s intense? I mean, I know I’m beautiful, but…” I joked in an effort to lighten the mood.
“Yes. You are beautiful. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I sucked in a breath. Wow. He’d said it in a matter-of-fact tone as if stating that the sky was undeniably blue. There was no art to the words, no obvious attempt at flattery. Why was my throat closing up like this?
“I was joking.” I laughed self-consciously. “I’m not really that full of myself.”
“I don’t know what that means. But you shouldn’t joke about being beautiful. It’s not a joke.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and waited.
“I didn’t realize,” I suddenly blurted, my voice trembling with regret.
“That it was so hard for you to look in my eyes. I thought that was a myth. I don’t spend a lot of time around autistic people.”
“It’s hard to look in anyone’s eyes, but easier if I know the person.” I was flooded with relief that he seemed okay discussing this. “Mostly it keeps me from focusing on what is being said. It also makes me feel like I’m violating that person’s privacy.”
“By looking in their eyes?”
“Like I’m seeing things that I shouldn’t see.” He shakes his head. “I get tired of having to explain it to people. And you aren’t going to get it so—”
“The eyes are the windows to the soul,” I interrupted quietly.
“Eyes are not windows.”
“It’s a metaphor, Wil. It means that a person’s eyes can show what’s going on with them beneath the surface. So maybe you’re feeling like a Peeping Tom?”
He was quiet for a long time, shifting from one leg to the other. “Yeah, so maybe if I make eye contact with you as long as you want, you’ll let me peep through your window.”
I opened my mouth, about to lodge a protest, when I saw the smile on his face. He was rather pleased with himself and his joke. “Ha ha. Then again, you do stare at my boobs enough.”
“I like your breasts.” His eyes darted to my chest, causing my nipples to tighten under my t-shirt.
I folded my arms to cover my unconscious reaction and laughed. “I can tell.”
“And your butt. And your legs. And—”
“All right, all right. I get the picture. Let’s get in your car,” I said with an exasperated sigh. Typical man.
The Neverland Wars
A flash of lightning electrified the sky, shooting light through the forest with a jarring pang. The boom of thunder followed immediately after. The sky was grey and the clouds shifted like a swarm of dark fish in a pond. Gwen feared she would be caught in a storm, but not a drop of rain had fallen yet.
All at once, Gwen found herself in a meadow. She had never been here before; she knew that. Wildflowers cropped up in sporadic clumps, and the long, green grasses were uncut at her calves. The tree line had suddenly broken. One minute, she was racing through the forest, the next, she was floating here. Pausing to catch her breath, she ironically felt safer in this open area than in the claustrophobic security of the forest. She landed gently, unthinkingly. Turning her head to the sky, she saw the faint grey clouds blowing and rolling away. Darker clouds seemed to be coming to take their place.
On the other side of the meadow, Peter burst into the clearing. Bramble was leading him, guiding the boy to poor, lost Gwen. If Gwen had understood the fairy language, she would have already known that.
“Peter?” Gwen shouted. She ran to him, and between her bounding strides and his quick flight, they met in the middle of the meadow, cornflowers and lilacs growing up around them. Perhaps if he had been on the ground initially, she would have hugged him. Peter lingered in the air for just a moment though, and by the time he landed, the impulse to hug each other had melted away into urgent discussion. “What are you doing out here?” His voice carried the sort of anger that only accompanied concern.
“I got lost in the woods; I was trying to come back. Is something wrong, Peter?”
Bramble flitted back and forth, pacing in the air, objecting to Peter and Gwen having this conversation now, rather than when they were safely underground.
“The opposition, they’ve launched an attack. We’ve got to get to cover.”
“What? No, it’s just a storm.” Gwen didn’t understand what Peter was telling her, but she had already made up her mind that she didn’t believe it.
The sky was suddenly drained of light. The thin, grey clouds that had blocked the sun were eclipsed by darker, brooding storm clouds, and as the daylight faded, small, grey flecks began to rain down. As they drifted softly, Gwen knew it wasn’t rain. Her attention was as captivated as Peter’s was, but she did not understand what it was the way he did. “Snow?” she asked quizzically, looking at the grey and dirty powder as it started to fall around her.
Peter held out his hand and caught a flake of it, crushing it in his hand. It left a smoky residue on his palm. “Ash.”
The winds picked up, and more of the ash furiously fluttered down. It became larger, and Gwen could hardly comprehend the charred flecks of paper that were plummeting down. Peter zipped up into the air, jumping more than flying, to grab a large square of it. He came back down immediately, a look of horror on his face.
“Peter, what is it?” Gwen pled, hoping that her fear was born of her unknowing, that if she only had answers she wouldn’t be afraid, but from the look on his face, she knew that answers would only bring more fear.
The invisible hand of the wind grabbed the paper from out of Peter’s hold. It blew straight to Gwen. Catching it, she realized it was a page from out of a newspaper; the title read—ISIS ATTACK ON ERBIL; HUNDREDS DEAD.
She had seen newspaper headlines before, but this news did not belong here. Not in Neverland. It was too dark, too terrifying of a thing to read amid the lilacs and cornflowers. Again, she begged, “What is this, Peter?”
The page was torn out of her hand by the vindictive wind. Peter answered her, with a word she had never feared so greatly. “Reality.”
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“It’s a little late for you to be working out still, River. Rest periods are for exactly that, rest.”
She slowed the treadmill to a walk and stepped to the side. Never turning around to face me, she took a swig from her water bottle and meticulously closed the cap.
“I don’t need rest. It’s been six months, Ethan, and I know that eventually Derrick is going to find me. I don’t have the luxury of resting.”
“Pantera,” I corrected her.
She turned then, watching me with a question in her eyes. “Why do they call you that?”
“Because it’s my name, and it’s the one you will use.”
“Ethan Kendall is your name, and I’ve been calling you that the whole time,” she said. She had fire, I’d give her that. But this was my world, my rules. Ethan was a man I wasn’t. A figment of a cracked memory that didn’t mean shit anymore.
“Do you know what Pantera means?” I asked her. My glide toward her was slow. I paused at random intervals, stalking her, pushing her. She was prey. She fought hard not to be, but I still smelled weakness on her, on the edges of her anger. She was always afraid, terrified of what was coming, and not knowing what the result would be. It was that fear that would destroy her.
That fear drew me in.
“Panther,” she said. “I looked it up on the laptop you gave me.”
“I earned that name, River. Carved it out in skin and made my enemies regret ever trespassing against me. What have you done? What have you been made to survive that would ever make you think you could stand on even ground with me?”
I could feel the heat of her anger, but it didn’t stop me. It couldn’t. Anger wasn’t what made me the demon that I was. It was pure, cold, unfiltered hopelessness forged into a blade to cut my way through life.
“You’ve never asked what I went through before,” she said.
I shook my head. “Because it doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
“You cared enough to take me on after you saw me in the hospital,” she returned.
“That’s where you’re wrong, River. So wrong. I enjoy playing with my food. Your every breath marks you as a victim. Every time you freeze when Pavel attacks you from behind, I know you will fail. And every second you look at me with those fearful eyes, I know that whatever Derrick did, he did because you let him.”
She roared her anger, and I laughed. Even as she leapt at me, swinging her right fist hard, I enjoyed her anger. She was smart, sweeping her left leg to take me down, but I twisted my body into her so we were chest to chest. I sensed the shift in her stance and blocked her knee angled for my crotch and wrapped my arm around her neck.
“You can’t beat me, River. You never could.”
Two seconds. That was all it took to take her to the ground. And then she was under me, punching, twisting, and fighting to get away. I let her do nothing. I splayed out above her, pushing her into the mat beneath us. Then I gripped one wrist and planted it above her head. She fought harder, raking her nails down the side of my neck before I could grab that wrist too.
“You have claws, detenysh, but not like mine.”
I bit down on the soft spot of her neck, where it met her shoulder. Her pulse throbbed against my tongue. She screamed, but I didn’t clamp down. I didn’t need to draw blood or hurt her to prove my point. But, somehow, I lost what I had been trying to convey. Between her scent, filled with lavender, and the feel of her body against mine, I noticed her as a man would.
Her breasts were smashed against my chest, but I could feel their fullness. I was cradled in her thighs, a position that went from thinking of the fighting front mount stance, to darker needs. Blood rushed through my veins and pooled into my dick, short circuiting any rational thought.
I wanted her.
I eased my teeth off her and licked over the abused flesh. She froze, a casualty to my strength, my desire, and I couldn’t stop. I traced my way over her jaw and nipped her chin. Her small gasp was all the permission I needed to take her mouth with mine.
Flavor blasted over my taste buds. How long had it been since I kissed a woman? Since I felt one give under my hands? Of all the ones I’d known, I couldn’t place her taste. It was wild and free, and tinted with tears. I knew that place.
Between youth and cynical maturation brought on by fear.
I’d been there.
She was at a precipice she didn’t even realize. She wanted me to make her a killer and all I could think about was taking her body with mine. How fucked up was I that I wouldn’t stop?
I wanted to punish her for making me want something that shouldn’t exist in my life any more. My life was an abyss and she wouldn’t survive it. I hated her for wanting to make me try.
As a boy, he was like an older brother to her.
As a teenager, he became her secret crush.
As a man, he’s her target and she’s determined to get him out of her system once and for all.
Jake Wilde doesn’t live a tame existence. He never has. He never will.
His career as a smokejumper in Alaska? Dangerous.
His female conquests? Copious.
His stance on commitment? Never happening.
But when the girl from his past shows up at his door as a woman, Jake Wilde is about to learn a valuable lesson. Never, ever play with fire . . . unless you’re looking to get burned.
I was smiling to myself when I broke into the room. I had him. The sweet, innocent act wasn’t going to work on the likes of Jake Wilde. He was a hunter. It wasn’t much sport to chase the mewling timid lamb. But game on when the prey was a sleek, powerful leopard.
The room looked like a big rec room, where the smokejumpers probably did everything from eat meals to watch movies to play board games. Right now, most of them were stuffed around a table playing what looked like poker. When they saw me, they lowered their cards to the table and diverted their attention.
“We weren’t expecting the Playboy centerfold visit until next month,” the pretty blond one with perfect white teeth piped up first, rising from his chair. “But I’ve always been a fan of surprises.”
I kept the eye-roll to myself. No need to offend anyone in the first minute I was here. I usually saved that for day two. “I’m Bree Chase. I’m here to write an article on the smokejumpers of Alaska.”
Blondie’s brows came together, like I’d just spoken gibberish. A few of the younger guys were too mesmerized by my rack to hear anything, and the rest were kind of just staring at me like I was going to be their next spank girl.
I’d changed into something more conservative than what I’d showed up in to Jake’s place, but most of them were still looking at me like I was standing in front of them naked, stroking my clit with one hand and my breasts with the other.
I should have been used to it by now, but it still surprised me how much power women had in this world. We could have totally ruled it if we wanted to. But we were too smart for that.
One of the older guys stood up and moved toward me. He was staring at my face, possibly the only one in the room doing so. For as flat as I’d been in high school, the fairy godmother of Venus waved her wand my direction the summer after graduation. My boobs had swollen to the point that jogging was just too uncomfortable to do with any regularity, and my ass had popped too. It made clothes shopping a nightmare, and made being introduced to a guy and having him look me in the eye an impossibility.
The curse and blessing of being a woman.
“Miss Chase. Of course. Glad you’re here, and just ignore these guys. They’re animals. They do one hell of a job fighting fires, but we don’t let them out of their cage much other than that. They’re a menace to society.” The older guy was rewarded with a chorus of jeers and poker chips flying his way. “My name’s Jim Conway, but around here, I’m called Captain.”
I liked this guy. He could shake my hand, introduce himself, and look in my eyes. “My name’s Bree Chase, but wherever I go, I’m known as the ballbuster.”
When Captain chuckled, the corners of his eyes creased. “Well, boys. You heard the lady. Who wants to get in line first to get their balls busted?”
I’d never seen grown men move so fast. In less time than it took me to tame my smile, every single guy was standing in a straight line in front of me.
I was about to point my pen at the first one in line—go figure, it was Blondie—when someone powered up to the front of the line and shoved everyone back.
“Well, Miss Chase, looks like Jake’s up first.” Captain winked at me, slugging Jake’s arm as he headed back to his hand of poker. “Think you can handle him?”
Jake shoved the rest of the guys pushing on him, making their complaints for his cutting in line known. He was acting possessive. Protective. Almost jealous. That was a good thing. A sign he didn’t like the idea of sharing me or my time with any of these other guys.
When Jake looked down at me, I cocked an eyebrow. “I know I can handle him.”
Kat Austen is the secret pen name of a New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author. Kat writes short and steamy reads that leave hearts (and other parts) satisfied.
Title: Secrets and Promises
Author: Jane Anthony
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 1, 2016
There are three things in this world that I love: vintage cars, classic metal tunes, and my older brother AJ. For as long as I can remember, it’s been AJ and me against the world. Now, in the wake of our father’s passing, everything has changed. Chained to the family business, my young life is all work and no play…until he walked in.
“Stay away from my sister.”
I was warned from day one. It should have been a simple enough task, but seeing her at work day in and day out proved to be harder than I thought. I drove into Morello and Son’s Restoration after five years away hoping for an oil change and a trip down memory lane. I wasn’t looking for a job, and I never expected to fall for her.
Jane Anthony is a romance author, fist pumping Jersey-girl, and hard rock enthusiast. She resides in the 'burbs of New Jersey with her husband and children. When she's not writing, she's an avid reader, concert goer, and party planner extraordinaire.
Jane loves hearing from her readers! Connect with her on these social media sites, and don't be too shy to say hello!
In Irina’s Cards
This section is taken from Chapter 4. Title character Irina is still coming to terms with the fact that ‘variant’ really means mutant with a noticeable gift or ability. We get a chance to see Irina having a vision. And we get a first glimpse at the aquakinetic, pyrokinetic, and impossibly strong variations in three other core characters.
We reached the end of the Harbour and the coastline opened up around the corner. I saw a sign for ferries to the US in front of a giant concrete breakwater and a pub decorated with a helm wheel and a mural with starfish and orcas. The hazy soft blues of the ocean and sky were broken by the jagged edges of American snow-capped mountains on the horizon. The seaside sidewalk had a mix of young families, dog-walkers, and spry seniors in trendy windbreakers.
Comedy / Fantasy
Date Published: October 2014
Funny, Compelling, Unusual
A Riveting book readers will find hard to put down.
American gangsters take a very active interest in a run down English football club located in a sleepy village called November Keys which boasts an unusual history.Their main purpose is to take advantage of the club’s geography for their own dubious and very illegal means.
However, they do not allow for some tenacious villagers and things that go bump in the night to try and flaw their plans.
Things come to a head when the football team, hampered by strange characters, bizarre rituals and a priceless ancient recipe, must play a match where failure could threaten mankind.
About the Authors
We are a father and son team. Perhaps a little unusual in the publishing world, however we would like to think our relationship has improved and not impeded our debut novel.
Outside of writing we do share similar interests, both being passionate football fans with a liking for a curry and a pint.
Both have many interests, which include charity work, poetry, music, film, cinema and quiz shows.
Whilst Brian is a published author it is Michael who has invented most of the amusing characters you are going to meet in November Keys. Both writers have spent pleasurable hours burning the midnight oil, endeavouring to portray these character’s personalities and eccentricities in a light hearted manner.
Coupled with an original plot with more twists than a sixties band we hope we have created a novel that is different and humorous, which will keep our readers, young and old alike, intrigued and entertained for many hours.
Be Witched: A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set of Witches and Magic
I'm a Texas gal with a wonderful husband, an amazing six year old son, and an adorable newborn baby boy!
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