Before I ventured into the world of romantic suspense, I tackled a few contemporary romances. They are currently languishing on my harddrive, but one day over at the Romance Divas writing challenge I was issued this challenge:

Congrats! The stick turned blue, or whatever is appropriate for your time period. Have your heroine tell the Hero she is expecting his baby and give us his reaction(good or bad). Oh, and don’t forget, this was NOT planned. You must include a camel, a teardrop and four flavors in some way. Throw in an onion for good measure.

And I knew I had the perfect hero and heroine to meet the challenge: Tucker and Libby from This Dark Place. It is a story dear to my heart, and one I’m hoping to rewrite someday. Enjoy the scene!

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A one-night stand was supposed to be just that—one night. It should have been the culmination of a first-love that went sour years ago; the chance for Liberty to find out if she and Tucker would’ve been as good together as she’d always suspected.

Yeah, it had been good all right. Embryo-fertilizing, cell-splitting, good.

She sucked in a breath as she stepped into the deserted lounge. A soft melody immediately grabbed her heart—one of Tucker’s compositions. His head rested on his left arm atop the sleek piano situated in the middle of the room, the fingers of his right hand dancing slowly across the keyboard. The posture of defeat almost sent her sprinting back to her car, but before she could flee, his head lifted and his fingers froze on the keys.

He knew she was there. Somehow, he always knew.

“Libby?”

She wanted to blurt it out right then—I’m pregnant—but she pressed her lips together to stop the premature blunder. The remains of the night’s buffet were decked out on a long table against the wall and she wandered over and picked up a bright red strawberry. She swirled it into the chocolate fondue pot then bit into it, letting the flavors melt in her mouth for a long moment.

How was she going to drop this bomb on him? Maybe if she said it just right, reminded him of all those dreams they’d spun during that summer on the beach…

She spun back around to find he’d left his piano and sidled up behind her. “Tucker, I—”

His hand came up to explore her face, fingers running down her forehead to play over her cheekbones and finally coming to rest on her lips. And then, he leaned forward and replaced his touch with his mouth. He tasted of peppermint and goodbyes—the kind of kiss that said this was the end, not the beginning.

She broke away. She had to tell him before she lost her nerve. “I need—oh, God—I don’t know how to say it so I’m just going to—Tucker, I’m pregnant.”

She desperately wished that just this one time she could read those sightless gray eyes of his, but the way his face twisted, muscle ticking in his jaw, she had a pretty good idea of his reaction nonetheless.

“That’s not even funny,” he said.

No, it wasn’t. She turned back to the buffet, unable to bear the horror on his face. At any other time the garishly huge purple camel centerpiece would have given her the giggles. But today it just reminded her of the vast desert that separated their hearts.

Her fingers picked at the huge blooming onion in the middle of the veggie tray—it was the cause of the sting of moisture in her eyes, really it was. “I wouldn’t joke about something like this. I thought, maybe, you’d be happy.”

“Happy? Why would I be happy?”

She plucked a hunk of cheese from the deli tray and shoved it into a crystal dish of vanilla yogurt. “I thought…I mean, we’d talked about having children…you always said—”

“We were kids, for God’s sake.” He strode back to the piano, as if he couldn’t separate himself fast enough. “I wasn’t some damn cripple.”

“Stop using your blindness as a crutch! What does it have to do with any of this?”

“Everything!” Desperation took up residence in his features. “How can I take care of a kid? What kind of father could I possibly be?”

“A great one.”

“Right. Wouldn’t you be afraid to leave our baby with me? What if it needs a diaper change or needs to be fed? What if there’s an emergency? If it’s sick or choking or if the damn house catches on fire?”

“Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?” Panic fluttered in her breast. He’d already made up his mind.

“And when he or she gets older and needs help with homework or wants daddy to go to a soccer game. What then? How could I bear to disappoint them when I have to tell them ‘No, sorry, I didn’t see your winning goal, I can’t see a frigging thing’!”

A single teardrop rolled down his cheek and struck the piano keys.

“Tucker—”

“It would never work.”

No, not as long as he kept thinking of himself as less than.

“You have so much to give a child and you don’t even see it.” At his grimace, her anger kicked up a notch. “Yes. I do mean see it. Seeing is far more than looking with your eyes. You could teach your children how to look with their hearts. You could give them a love for music, an appreciation that goes far beyond reading notes on a page.”

He was silent for a long moment, as if searching his heart for courage–or an answer–something he couldn’t find. “What would I,” he waved his hand in a circular motion in front of his eyes, “do with a child?”

“Love them. That’s all you have to do.” Her throat constricted, but she forced one last plea from her lips. “ Just show them love.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

Don’t forget to pop over to Excerpt Monday and check out the rest of the great excerpts, including:

 

Bryn Donovan, Paranormal (PG)

MG Braden, Contemporary Romance (PG 13)

Adelle Laundan, Contemporary Romance (PG 13)

Crista McHugh, Paranormal (PG 13)

Dara Sorensen, Paranormal (PG)

RF Long, Paranormal (PG 13)

 

 

 

Where has the time gone? I know I’ve expressed this same sentiment on several occasions, but really, can’t life just slow down a little bit?

Children are out of school, revisions are done, and now I’m trying to get back into my WIP…my exciting, dramatic, Cambodia-set romantic suspense. The RWA conference is coming up too (can’t wait!), and I still need to buy some professional clothes (I have the wardrobe of a stay-at-home mom) and buy a dress for the RITA/GH awards ceremony (I know what I want to buy, but don’t have the budget for it).

I think it’s going to be another whirlwind summer. Before you know it, I’ll be posting an “Is it September Already?” blog post, and having this EXACT same discussion!

Excerpt Monday is here! And this month, I’ve decided to throw up an excerpt from my romantic suspense manuscript, Her Own Best Enemy.  Enjoy!

Setup: In order to find her son, Grace has to team up with Keith, the man she credits with wrecking her life many years ago. They thought they had a lead on where her son was being held, but when they get there, they discover that he’s already been moved.

Excerpt:

It was empty. Keith clenched his jaw and surveyed the barren cabin with growing irritation. They’d hiked away most of the day.  And the damn room was empty.

Grace turned circles in the middle of the room, pressing a fist to her mouth. “We must have the wrong room.”  Desperation clogged her voice.  Her eyes widened, fear and hope mingling in their cloudy green depths.  “The owner said cabin three, right?” she asked, referring to the man they’d spoken with at the office before heading down to the primitive housing.  “This-this must not be the right cabin.”

She rushed past him.

“No, Grace.”  He turned to grab her arm but she shook him off and ran onto the tiny porch.

She traced the number beside the door.

“Room three.”  She blinked.  “Room three.”  Her face crumbled, tears spiking her bottom lashes.  “But the owner said…”

He fisted his hands at his side, itching to…do something.  Smash the flimsy knotty pine wall.  Shout in frustration.  Comfort her.No, way, not comfort her.  What did he know about comfort?

He took a quick inventory of the room’s offerings.  A pair of bunk beds along one wall with a small dresser and what looked like a closet on opposite ends, a miniature kitchenette behind him, and a door off to his far right that had to lead to a bathroom.

“She said Mark had paid for the week.  Not that they were still here.”

“No.”  She straightened, her eyes lit with desperate fire.  “He has to be here.”

She dashed to the bathroom where she flung open the flimsy door.  Her jaw worked and she shook her head until her eyes homed in on the bunk.  She ran to it and tore off the ugly mustard blanket covering the bottom bed.  Next, the crisp white sheets hit the floor.  She gripped the mattress and flipped it, revealing the springs underneath.

She cried out and raced to the dresser where she yanked on the doors and sent them crashing to the scarred wooden floor, one by one.

His heart twisted.  What was she doing to herself? She knew Ryker couldn’t be in the there.  Damn it, the woman was going to have a breakdown if she didn’t-

“Stop.”

Her head jerked toward him at the sound of his rough command.  She swiped at the tears on her cheeks.  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Grace…”  He held out his hands in a foolish, woefully inept attempt to console her.  How could he do so effectively when he’d never been the recipient of such an act?

She spun away from him and stumbled to the closet.  Her fingers curled around the handle, she froze and drew a shuddering breath.

Oh, hell, she wasn’t just looking for her son.  She was looking for his body.

“Grace, let me-”

She shook her head and before he could reach her, yanked the door open.  A cry strangled past her lips.

He leapt the remaining distance and pushed her aside.  Not the kid.  God, not the kid.

He dragged his gaze to the bottom of the closet.

On the floor sat Ryker’s bright red backpack, a whale key fob threaded through the zipper.  Grace reached for it, her movements mechanical and stiff.  She crushed the pack to her chest, her fingers digging into the coarse canvas.

He looked away, unable to bear the sheer heartbreak on her face.  He’d told her not to get her hopes up.  Told her despite the odds, they may not find Ryker today.

But she’d been so certain, so damned determined.  They’d wasted the day, coming up tired and empty-handed.  Back at square one.And Grace…

His eyes drifted to her, his stomach clenched, unwanted protectiveness welling inside him.  He tried to force the tightness aside, but it grew and grew, forming a lump in his throat.

She buried her face in the front of the backpack, sobs wracking her body.

He touched her arm, running his thumb along it in an effort to soothe her shaking.  “I’m sorry, Grace.”

“I was so sure…”  She lifted her head, green eyes drenched with bewilderment locking on him.  “Where could he be?”

Her knees buckled.  He caught her around the shoulders and cushioned her drop to the floor.

His chin brushed the top of her head.  “We’ll find him.”

The fervency in his voice surprised him.  Even more so, the conviction that sprung in his heart.

“We’ll get him back.”  He gathered her in his arms.  “Safe and sound.”

She clutched the front of his shirt, burying her face at his shoulder.  Hot tears leaked through the fabric.  He stroked her back, feeling the bulk of the backpack crushed between them shift with his movements.

He rocked her side to side, remembering as a kid the way he’d once seen his neighbors locked in such an embrace after a devastating loss.  Soothing.  Consoling. And yet, foreign. Awkward.

She looked up into his face, her eyes a mask of confusion and need.  He needed too.  Needed to touch her.His fingers skimmed her jaw, brushing away the wetness he found there.  He traced her cheekbones, her smooth skin gliding beneath the roughness of his own.

“Keith…”

She’d never once complained.  Not about the heat.  Not about the steep trail.  She’d even put up with his deliberate silent treatment.  Never giving up, never losing faith, she was infuriating and tough.  He respected that.  Admired her determination and desired…

What?

Her.

His head snapped back.  Damn.

The thought dislodged from his brain and he couldn’t get rid of it.  Blood roared through his veins.  He wanted to taste her.

Her lips parted, her cheeks flushed.  “I don’t think…”  Her voice wavered to a stop.

He couldn’t kiss her.  It was wrong.  Inappropriate. But he needed to do it. He cupped her chin, tilting her face.  “Don’t you dare wimp out on me now.”

___________________________________

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