We have a winner! Congrats to Sue Peace on winning a book from my backlist!
There are words that I love as a writer: Done. Another favorite word is Coming Soon! That’s where I’m at now. The official release day for Crazy Sexy Love is this Thursday.
I’m excited about the book. This Thursday, I’m doing a surprise giveaway to several newsletter subscribers, so I hope you’re one of my newsletter subscribers. If not, you can sign up here. And stop by for my author Facebook page on Thursday for a chance at winning gifts.
I’m doing a giveaway here today, too. One commenter will get her choice of one book from my backlist. I’ll announce the winner here on Wednesday morning.
Here’s the blurb and below that a scene from Crazy Sexy Love:
**25 cents from every CHRISTMAS AT ANGEL LAKE book sold will go to the Washington County Humane Society in Wisconsin.**
Sam Krushing asked Callie Ryan to marry him when they were four-years-old…and she said yes.
Then he discovered he wasn’t like other kids. He wasn’t good enough for her. Years later, he’s a drummer in a Grammy-winning country band, touring most of the year, at the start of a great career. When he comes home for a week, they can’t resist the pull between them.
She’s a librarian with good friends and a job she enjoys…and a mom who’s not well. Yet she’s never loved a man the way she loved the boy…
And he’s never loved a woman the way he loved the girl… Only now his love is different. A crazy, sexy love.
Her love for him is crazy and sexy, too, but she fears he might break her heart again.
And then there’s his stalker…
Life is crazy. Love is sexy. Forever love is scary.
Sam ushered her into his bedroom, and she could hear the band playing in the bar below, the music sexy and moody, the thrum vibrating through the floor. The kind of music that lit up a message in her mind, as clear as if it were a neon sign: DO IT NOW. DON’T HESITATE. DON’T SCREW IT UP. THIS MIGHT BE YOUR LAST CHANCE.
She was taking that chance.
So much of her life had been about passing up chances. How could it be any other way? She was the girl with the sick mom.
But this… This she could do. This she would do.
He closed the door behind him. She didn’t turn to look at him; instead she took in the room: shelves that held a banjo, a half dozen harmonicas, a small drum, a flute, a saxophone, something that could’ve been a mandolin. A guitar leaned against a corner, a bass guitar in a different corner.
His hand curved around her shoulder. Warm. Branding her with its heat.
Or so it felt, her skin prickling beneath his hand and the prickles spreading down and up her, every inch and every centimeter, like a current of electricity. If he turned off the lights, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d sparkle like an angel on top of a Christmas tree.
His bed was full-sized, and she stared at the musical notes on the black-and-white bedspread. “Nice cover.”
His laughter was soft, like a caress. “I think my mother bought it when I was ten.”
She twisted to gaze up at him. “It’s sweet.”
“My mom would hate to be called sweet.”
She nodded, though she didn’t know his mother well. When they saw each other in the grocery store or the library, they smiled and said hi. His mom wore tight jeans and T-shirts with names of rock bands. In winter, she wore a black leather jacket.
But Callie remembered seeing her in the hall at the elementary school a few days after Sam had broken up with her. She must have looked lost and heartbroken, because Mrs. Krushing had knelt and hugged her and told her she would be all right. She’d said, “When one song stops, another one starts.”
“Do you play all these instruments?” Callie asked, still standing, though the bed was about a half foot away from where she stood. She wasn’t scared, she just wasn’t sure of the protocol. There’d been no making out between them yet. Not even a kiss. Just talking and looking and, most of all, feeling.
“Uh huh. But drums are my favorite.”
“Why?” When he didn’t reply right away, she tried to read his thoughts in his face. It felt to her that she’d asked him something important. After all, drums mattered to him. Probably more than she did. Maybe more than any girl could.
Oddly, the thought didn’t hurt her. For sure, it wasn’t going to change her mind.
His forehead worked, as if she’d asked him the meaning of life.
Finally, he shrugged. “I guess I like to bang things.”
She laughed, and he winced. “I meant the drums. Not you.”
“You won’t like banging me?” She laughed again, and his eyes sharpened and heated. Her laughter caught in her throat. She hadn’t known eyes could look so hot.
What are some of your favorite words?