A (spoiler-free) sneak peek from Sinful Silence

I don’t hesitate.

I walk straight through the trail of discarded clothes. Jacket. Vest. Dress shirt, cufflinks tossed to the side. Dress pants, suspenders still attached.

All drenched in a deep shade of crimson.

A part of me wants to pick them up. A bigger part of me isn’t ready to see exactly how much blood has been spilled.

My only source of calm, the only reason I don’t panic is this odd sense of comfort beneath my bare feet. No matter how heavy I make my strides, no matter how hard I dig into the carpet, blood isn’t oozing between my toes with every step. So, I’m either too late and he’s already dead…

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WEEK 65: Two coffees and a straw

Prompted by: Sam

The crazy author says: I crammed all 4 of Miss Sam’s suggestions into this bugger…

  1. Two coffees and a straw
  2. Fool me once
  3. Scared shitless
  4. We go way overboard

But he has nothing to worry about. Sunshine will be returned without a scratch on her. His motorized baby is in safe hands.

Besides the obvious offenses, Trace is a responsible, law-abiding citizen. Even though it’s the middle of the night and the streets are barren, he comes to a full stop at every red. I get nervous at the fourth intersection. Because when the light turns green…

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WEEK 63: The burn, it soothes me

Prompted by: AnRo

The crazy author says: Maybe we’ll switch the POV next week. Ehh, maybe not. Dunno yet…

Then he starts to purr and I melt into an instant puddle.

I swear to God, my colossus of a man sounds like a fluffy, newborn kitten. Yeah, we’ve been reduced to kittens and fucking puddles. It doesn’t even matter. I’m perfectly content.

Until he shifts to nuzzle closer and leaves a trail of fresh blood smeared across my chest.

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WEEK 62: Mom and boy next door

Prompted by: Susan Lage Martin

The crazy author says: Trace is giving me warm fuzzies. Is that normal? I don’t think so…

Trace staggers forward, flattening my spine against the wall, and leans away to look at me.


I can hardly see but I know he’s beautiful. His thumb sweeps across my lashes as a heavy sob breaks from my chest, fragmenting the words, “You s-scared me.”

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Look who (else) I’m hanging out with in the Hot New Releases…

The fantabulous Jane Blythe and I ended up rubbing shoulders in the Kindle Top 100 for literary sagas. She writes romantic suspense with underlying themes of sexual abuse and I write, umm, you already know.

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