Analects

Analects? What are analects you ask? Dictionary.com defines them as “selected passages from the writings of an author or of different authors”, or “a collection of excerpts from a literary work”.

Here you will find analects from published works from both established and debut authors. Read on then hop over to The Buzz Book Store and order the book today!

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A Blurb from….

Until There Was You by Francis Ray

UNTIL THERE WAS YOU

Essence bestselling author Francis Ray reminds us–with this captivating novel featuring the life and loves of the Grayson family–that there’s nothing like the first time…

CAN THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THEM

All he was looking for was some peace and quiet. Instead, what ex-FBI agent Luke Grayson finds in the secluded cabin in the woods is a gorgeous, smoky-eyed woman…who just happens to be pointing a gun in his direction.

BRING THEM CLOSER TOGETHER?

Dr. Catherine Steward is relieved that the handsome stranger she encounters is not a dangerous intruder. But how is she supposed to relax in her woodsy hideaway with stubborn, intense, brooding Luke around? A woman could get into a lot of trouble with a man like that–and trouble is exactly what each of these two lost souls came here to avoid…

UNTIL THERE WAS YOU

“Tenderness and passion that smolders between the pages.” Romantic Times BOOKreviews

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An Excerpt from…

Secret Agent Seduction by Maureen Smith

Kimani Press, September 2008

“Welcome to your home away from home for the next ten days,” Lia said.

Armand Magliore cast an appraising glance over the cozily furnished living room, then looked back at her. “You mean we’re to share this cabin…alone?”

Lia’s pulse reacted to the low, velvety timbre of his voice. She cleared her throat briskly. “The other agents will be less than fifteen feet away in the next building. You’ll be more than safe.”

Magliore chuckled low in his throat. “Believe me, Miss Charles,” he drawled, trapping her in the smoldering beam of his gaze, “that was never my concern. No man in his right mind would protest forced confinement with such an exquisitely beautiful woman as yourself.”

Lia’s heart thudded.

She was losing control of the situation, of herself. In the six years she’d worked for the Secret Service, not once had she ever crossed the line with a protectee. She’d never even been tempted. But Armand Magliore, with his dark good looks and raw animal magnetism, was the living, breathing embodiment of temptation. This was a man who could persuade a nun to cross the line into sin with one little crook of his finger. Lia doubted he’d ever met a woman he couldn’t bend to his will.

But Lia wasn’t just any woman. She was a highly trained Secret Service agent who’d been assigned to protect him. To do that, she needed to remain focused, professional. Detached.

And the first step would be to establish some ground rules.

Magliore was watching her, his eyes alight with keen interest. “Is something wrong, Miss Charles?”

“No. Yes.” Exasperated, Lia blew out a deep breath. “Look, Mr. Magliore-”

“Armand.”

“Excuse me?”

His mouth twitched. “After everything we’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours, don’t you think we’ve earned the right to be on a first-name basis with each other?”

Lia gave him a cool, measured look. “What I think, Mr. Magliore, is that I’m not here to amuse or entertain you, or to keep your bed warm at night. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. To keep you alive until the date of your hearing before the United Nations. I don’t expect you to like the fact that your life has been entrusted to a woman. I think you made your feelings known back in Muwaiti. You may not respect my qualifications, but I do expect you to respect my authority and judgment-as well as my boundaries-for the duration of our stay here. Comprenez vous?”

Magliore held her eyes for several long beats, as if deciding whether to even answer her.

“Do you understand?” Lia repeated in a deceptively soft tone.

After another moment he inclined his head. “Oui. I understand perfectly, Miss Charles.”

“Good.” Lia nodded briskly, then glanced at her watch. “If you’d like to shower and change before dinner, you’ll find everything you need in your bathroom. Towels, soap, toothpaste, shaving cream-whatever you need.”

Again he nodded, already starting toward one of two doorways that opened off the living room. Suddenly he stopped, looking expectantly at her over his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

Lia stared at him, nonplussed. “Where?”

He frowned a little. “I was under the impression you would be guarding me at all times.” He paused. “Even when I’m taking a shower.”

Lia felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought of herself posted outside his shower stall, trying not to peek through the steamy glass door as ribbons of water sluiced down his hard, sculpted chest and taut abdomen before rolling down those long, powerful legs.

Her mouth went dry. “I, ah, don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll be right outside your bedroom door if you, ah, need me.”

Magliore nodded, a ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need,” Lia muttered after his retreating back.

When the bedroom door had closed firmly behind him, she let out a long, shuddering breath.

At that moment, with her pulse hammering wildly and her knees shaking, she realized that extracting Armand Magliore from the dark, treacherous jungles of Muwaiti had been the easy part.

Resisting her attraction to him would test the very limits of her endurance.

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An Excerpt from…

Secrets, Lies and Family Ties by Sylvia Hubbard

Hub Books, May 2008

Secrets, Lies and Family Ties The ride to the top of the hotel seemed too long, and there was a funny queasy feeling of nervousness stirring in the pit of her stomach. When she stepped off the elevator, the lights were low in the hallway, nor could she hear any party music. Turning to step back on the elevator, abruptly the doors closed and there were no buttons on the wall to get the elevator back up there. Cursing, she faced the door and pressed the doorbell. She’d just have the person in there call the elevator back up.

No one answered the door, so she knocked on the door hoping they weren’t asleep, and hoping they didn’t curse her out for bothering them. These rich assholes could be mean fucks sometimes. She should know, she dealt with them all the time with her company.

Just as she knocked for the third time the door opened automatically, and she was looking at a candle lit room. The floor looked like a wet, black pool, but in truth it was expensive onyx marble.

“Hello?” she called out.

There was no sound at first, but then she heard some one walking around in another room where there was candlelight streaming, just off the main room.

“Can you call back up the elevator?” Grae asked.

Suddenly a large white man appeared at the doorway of the well-lit room. He only wore a towel around his thick waist. It looked as if he had just stepped out the shower.

Now Grae was about five foot eight. A rather tall size for a woman, and it was always hard to find guys that she didn’t equal or tower over. On top of that, instead of just getting to be a slim five foot eight, she was thick in all the right places, so no skinny man would do it for her. The three-inch heels added on a lot of her, and she was not an easy woman to match up with a man.

Yet, this golden live statue of David all buffed up like he had just won Mr. Universe, was over six and a half feet, brawny with golden hair across his chest that led down to his belly and into the towel. Looking back up at his face, she gasped realizing exactly who this man was. True, he was gorgeous, but he was also Ezekiel Chambers. She couldn’t forget those sensual green eyes, or the strong arrogant chin, and the broad shoulders.

She found herself licking her lips, and unable to keep her eyes straight. “I-I was…” She had to take a breath because suddenly she couldn’t breath. “T-The party.”

“I’m not going to the party as you can see. Get the jar off the table beside you, and get in here.”

Grae could feel his visual gaze licking over her body in a sensual caress.

He stepped away from the doorway and walked away. The light that had been on in that room was now flicked off.

She looked for the table, which was by her hand, and grabbed a jar. Looking at the thick golden liquid inside she realized it was honey. Why would he need honey?

Maybe he wasn’t going to the party because he wasn’t feeling well? But shouldn’t she be heading to the kitchen to make him some lemon honey tea?

“I’m waiting,” he growled impatiently from the other room.

Going to the doorway, she clutched the honey to her chest. A low fireplace only lit this room, and it was extremely warm. The windows were opened, and she could see Chicago’s Downtown – a beautiful urban display set against the bed… the bed!

But he wasn’t there. She found him sitting in a corner by the fireplace in a chair.

“Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?” he asked.

“I’m not supposed to do that,” she said obviously.

He chuckled sensuously. “You’re not going to have sex. Is that what you thought? I’m not like the others. Trust me.”

“Others? What the hell was he talking about?” Curiosity was killing her.

“Take the clothes off,” he ordered. The words were said real slowly and very pronounced.

It was like his voice had put her in a trance, and to not obey seemed suddenly ridiculous. How many nights had she imagined this? Was she dreaming now? If so, she didn’t want to wake up. She found her hand moving down and unzipping the skirt from behind. It shimmered down her thighs to her ankles. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ her mind screamed. She ignored her brain and took off her top so she was only standing in her black lace bra and thong.

He gasped and she thought something was wrong. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Did you put the honey on your body somewhere already?” he asked.

“On?” she asked confused.

“Yes,” he answered pronouncing the last sound overly long. “Would you like me to close my eyes while you put some on? Surprise me and I’ll join you on the bed.”

“Bed?”

“The large comfortable rectangular object in the center of the room.”

Grae realized he was being sarcastic.

“You have fifteen seconds,” he ordered, closing his green eyes.

“Now?” Grae asked.

“Now.”

She opened the honey. Her fingers were trembling as she dipped her finger in the sticky thick sweetness and applied it to her arm. Setting the jar on the table next to the bed, she laid down on the bed careful not to get the honey on the sheets.

‘What the hell are you doing?!’ her brain screamed again.

‘Would you shut the fuck up! This is Ezekiel Chambers and he’s looking at me! At me!’

He stood and the towel dropped off his waist. It was her turn to gasp. Thick and pronounced – not his speech; His full-hardened shaft! He moved over to the bed and stared down at her. He reached over and touched her collar lightly with just the tip of his fingertips.

She bit her lip to stifle the whimper. Okay, maybe she should have listened to her brain, but damn if curiosity wasn’t making her lay her ass right there and watch his every move despite the dimness in the room.

His weight made the bed lean down as he sat next to her, his flank brushing against her hand.

Ezekiel Chambers was sitting naked beside her. NAKED!

And try as she might her eyes were like a magnet drawn to stare at the beautiful erect shaft that seemed to beckon her to taste it. Grae suddenly realized that he moved his hands until they were on each side of her head and he was partially leaning over her.

“Damn!” he hissed as he leaned over her. “You’re beautiful. Where did Leon find you?”

Grae’s eyes widened. ‘Leon set this up!?’ She didn’t answer because she wasn’t supposed to be here.

“So where did you hide my honey?” he asked amused and leaned further to plant kisses on her neck. Grae’s body and breath froze as his warm lips trailed down from below her ear. Her nose inhaled his arousing masculine scent along with Armani cologne. Damn him! He smelled so damn good.

Her body felt like an invisible grip had been placed upon it and no muscle obeyed her mind as it screamed for her to get the hell up off of the bed. Usually Grae could just obey, but this was Ezekiel Chambers. Someone else had inhabited Grae’s body and was not listening to her conscious mind. It was as if the fact that this was Zeke made all the sense in the world, but it didn’t. He was just a man, just like any other man that Grae had refused to allow to touch her body, and yet…

Not a muscle moved as his tongue flicked out and trailed along her ear.

“M-Maybe I changed my mind,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes at how good it felt. Grae had gotten herself in deep shit and she didn’t know how to think her way out of this trouble. Her curiosity was going to be her downfall and there would be no way to explain. “How are you going to show your face tomorrow once everyone knows?”

His mouth suckled hard on her neck and Grae moaned another protest, but it was incoherent to even her ears. It was a moan, mixed with a purr. He tasted every inch of her skin voraciously as if she had drenched her whole body in honey.

His face moved down to her chest and Grae couldn’t move at all as his mouth licked, suckled and titillated her skin. “It’s innocent,” the evil voice said. “He said no sex. He’s not like the others.”

‘Crazy, get your ass up!’ her conscious mind yelled.

That invisible grip was still there. She felt like she was outside of her own body watching, but also feeling what was going on. Grae couldn’t stop watching his pink mouth and tongue take its time licking over her shoulder and then going down her chest until he raised a hand and pulled away her bra to reveal the dark nipple. It was like her whole body received a bolt of electricity and his mouth felt like fire and ice at the same time against the sensitive skin of her nipple.

“My arm” she cried, raising up and pushing him off of her. “The honey is on my arm!”

Her key card fell out on her lap and he placed it on the side table next to the jar of honey. His hand reached up and playfully pulled a tendril of hair. Frowning, he said, “That’s not fair to tell, my Queen.”

Her name was not Queen! And there was no one in the graduating class by that name. Raising her arm, she held it out to him. “You were very cold and the way you were going, it was going to take hours.”

“That was the point.”

Why did she feel doubly wet between her legs at that statement? Sitting up straight and clearing her throat trying to concentrate on what her subconscious was saying, she said, “I should go. This was a very bad mistake.”

“Not yet,” he said in a very hypnotic voice.

“Zeke, this is crazy. I’ve never -”

He placed a finger over her lips and then gently picked up her arm that had the honey on it. She couldn’t speak or halfway breathe again as his thick tongue licked the honey off in long strokes. Once her arm was cleaned, he turned those passion filled green eyes on her again and smiled the most gorgeous smile.

“Not yet,” he said again.

“Why?” she asked breathlessly.

That smiled widened as he reached over and picked up the jar of honey. “My turn.”

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An Excerpt from…

Somewhat Saved by Pat G’Orge Walker

Kensington, April 2008

Chapter One
Somewhat Saved In a posh home located in the wealthiest section of Pelzer, South Carolina, where worries were left to those on the poor side of town, was where Sister Betty resided.

Sister Betty was something of an enigma. She always wore a white ugly-looking hat around town with a strange fluffy white and black feather that waved like it was possessed when she walked. She also wore a large gold cross and carried a Bible with her initials embossed along its spine.

Sister Betty hadn’t always lived high on the hog, as some referred to her. She, too, once lived on the other side of the tracks. However, due to the untimely and embarrassing death of one of her longtime friends, wealthy Mother Eternal, her station in life had changed dramatically. Mother Eternal had succumbed to a heart attack while clutching a cash register. It was attached to the pulpit. Her generosity left Sister Betty with more money than she’d ever had, and more problems than she’d ever imagined.

Sister Betty had lived in Pelzer, South Carolina, since her early twenties. And ever since that time, with her well-documented though mostly self-proclaimed experiences with God, she’d also gained something of a reputation as God’s go-to woman. So eventually she became Pelzer’s moral compass. She was the official, though barely appreciated, chief negotiator with heaven.

Just barely five-foot-two, she’d gained some weight over the years, and only old photographs testified of a younger Sister Betty who’d been a well-proportioned, brown-skinned beauty. Now her shoulders were slightly stooped as she struggled to bare the burdens of others.

She was also the chief prayer intercessor in her church prayer team of two. Just her and her longtime friend and neighbor, Ma Cile, were left. Out of what started as a team of five women praying, three had dropped out from exhaustion. So Sister Betty and Ma Cile would double up on praying and, of course, they’d do it on a daily basis. Now Ma Cile, hospitalized by a stroke, was no longer available. But Sister Betty pressed on as she stood in the gap for her people.

So, when she saw her name and the lie about her running against a woman who some believed was truly a spawn of Satan, she wanted to know, where was her God?

Sister Betty didn’t have to wait long for hell to break loose. If she wasn’t going to it, it would come to her. And hell had no problem coming to church; it never had.

It all came to a head the following day after the church service. No matter how saved she claimed to be, things got so bad that morning, it was all Sister Betty could do not to put down her Bible and pick up a brick in defense. She’d barely put her hand down from repeating the benediction when it happened. She’d thought that since no one had mentioned the headline in the BLAB that God had taken care of the situation. But if He was going to do it, He hadn’t yet.

Current Mothers Board president and resident terrorist Sasha Pray Onn, nicknamed Mother Terminator, and Vice President Bea Blister, called Mother Rambo behind her back, confronted Sister Betty in the downstairs fellowship hall. They’d read the BLAB and took offense to her running for the office of president of the Mothers Board. They’d planned on attending the upcoming Mothers Board Conference in Las Vegas unchallenged.

As they blocked her exit, the two old women reminded Sister Betty that even before the Ain’t Nobody Right but Us-All Others Goin’ to Hell Church disbanded and was absorbed into the Crossing Over Sanctuary Temple diocese, they’d created and made the Mothers Board what it was.

Mothers Bea and Sasha had headed the chaotic, geriatric auxiliary and had no intention of relinquishing their positions-ever. “We aren’t stepping aside for you, the Reverend Leotis Tom, the Taliban, or the United States president,” Sasha boasted.

“And you can believe that!” Bea added.

Those two old she-warriors were serious. They would’ve gone so far as to ask God for His I.D. before they’d move aside. Sasha and Bea were so cantankerous that even old Satan wouldn’t battle them without the Lord on his side.

With a toss of their heads, Bea and Sasha backed out of the fellowship hall with their eyes still trained on Sister Betty.

Sister Betty had not gotten a chance to refute the BLAB’s falsehood. Instead of speaking up when there was a moment of sanity and silence, she didn’t; she had a chance to leave the hall in one piece, so she took it.

Arriving back at her home, Sister Betty changed clothes and went into her living room to think and pray. Seated in her favorite recliner, her feet propped on an ottoman, she laid her head back. She tried to meditate, hoping it would help her come up with a plan. She shifted her legs on the ottoman and her boney, arthritic knees crunched like they were made of aluminum foil. And, of course, she knew that those aching signs always preceded a mission from God. She was tired. The last thing she wanted was another battle with those hardheaded church folks, as she liked to call them, because she didn’t use profanity.

The young people weren’t nearly as difficult to minister as those staunch never-gonna-change-their-minds older ones.

“Why would You let a lie like that be printed?” Sister Betty looked toward the ceiling, waiting for God to answer. “The Mothers Board, Lord?”

She’d dealt with the Mothers Board before. There was always something the women didn’t agree with. If the pastor asked for a donation, they’d fuss about the amount. If he said something was going to be free, they’d want to know why there wasn’t a charge. Nothing pleased them.

However, as long as the current president and vice president Sasha and Bea led the fray, Sister Betty’s ministry life would always be one long, unending roller coaster.

She’d never understand Sasha and Bea. Earlier they’d banded together to confront her and yet the two of them had occupied the same pew each Sunday for the past twenty-something years and couldn’t stand one another. The Mothers Board members always reelected Sasha and Bea. It was as though the other women just loved the chaos that followed their rule.

Sister Betty rose and went to her kitchen. She brewed a pot of her favorite cayenne pepper tea and carried it with her into her bedroom. She needed to do some serious praying and the hot peppered tea always gave her a lift in both her spirit and her imagination.

For two weeks after the confrontation, Sister Betty fasted, prayed, travailed, and even rolled around like Hannah, thrashing floor-style in her bedroom. Sister Betty had cried until her eyes bulged trying to convince God that He shouldn’t put her in the midst of another one of Bea and Sasha’s messes. However, God being sovereign always had the last word.

In this case, however, Sister Betty wanted the last word. “Heavenly Father, just once, can I please go to some third-world country or even the Middle East and spread your message? Please don’t put me in the middle of another one of Bea and Sasha’s messes….”

Suddenly, Sister Betty’s left knee crunched and shot forward as though she were twenty. She howled.

“Okay!” She’d have said more but experience taught her that her arms were just too short to box with God.
So she got up from the floor as quick as she could. It wasn’t only God that spurred her to move. That cayenne pepper tea was doing it, too.

Sunday rolled around again. Only this time it was the fifth Sunday. Many of the members used that particular Sunday to do other things. They felt their heavenly service was done by attending the other four Sundays. Sister Betty could only hope that Sasha and Bea would be among the missing.

As she dressed and prepared to leave her home, she recalled the dream she’d had the previous night. Lifting her pageboy-styled gray wig about an inch, she scratched her head and pondered. Why would I dream about Rambo? She’d not been a fan of such violence, so she’d only seen the first three movies. In her dream Rambo wore a dress and walked with a cane. Somehow, even with the silly disguise, she still knew it was supposed to be Rambo. She couldn’t recall the entire dream, but one thing she knew for certain-Rambo was about to fight the Terminator. Only in her dream the Terminator wasn’t Arnold Schwarzenegger. The tall figure was slightly bent, with very dark skin, a natty dark wig, muscles that resembled silly putty, and, like Rambo, it wore a dress. The two superstars were about to rumble. That’s where her dream ended.

Sister Betty went to church and praised God like her life depended upon it. Her feet moved faster than usual as her dance of worship became more like a tap dance. She shouted, “Hallelujah” and spun until almost woozy.

“I’m praising and glorifying Your name, Father. You said when the praises go up the blessings will come down. I need a blessing, now!” Sister Betty’s body resembled a switchblade as her arms shot up and out. “Victory, victory,” she screamed while she continued to praise God and shake her head. The shaking caused her hat to lean gangster-style and that ugly feather to bounce uncontrollably. Now emboldened with supposed power, she stared at Sasha and Bea. Holding her Bible across her tiny chest as a shield, Sister Betty said accusingly, “God’s not pleased with the Mothers Board.”

Before Sister Betty could finish her revelation, Sasha and Bea shot up from their pews. Each woman had a revelation for Sister Betty.

“Don’t say another word,” Sasha snarled, while she pointed her cane at Sister Betty’s still bouncing hat feather. “Whether you say it’s a word from God or whomever, I will still stick that ugly feather in a place you won’t like,” Sasha promised, before heading back to her seat.

On her way back to the pew, Sasha used her Bible to tag team Bea who’d moved closer to Sister Betty to deliver the verbal coup de grâce.

“And you’re gonna need someone to drag your meddling butt to a Healing service,” Bea added, as she pointed a bent finger at Sister Betty’s hat feather and hips, “’cause you gonna be crippled for life!”
Knowing Bea and Sasha didn’t make empty threats caused Sister Betty to stop prophesying and retreat from the church. Suddenly fearful, she’d forgotten God’s word never returns void.

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An Excerpt From…

Bliss, Inc. by Chamein Canton

Genesis Press, June 2008

Bliss, Inc. Wearing a formfitting little black dress that showed off her curves, forty-two-year-old divorcee Paige Baldwin entered the hotel lobby of the Marriot Marquis. A little while earlier she had escaped from another bad blind date her best friend Adriana had set up. A professional wedding planner and owner of Bliss Inc., Paige’s business revolved around romance, yet her personal life was romance free. So her best friend had taken it upon herself to help resurrect her love life with disastrous results, that evening being the latest example. I know Adriana means well, but she has got to stop setting me up with guys who talk about their latest medical procedure over appetizers, she thought as she leaned against a wall to release her little toe from high-heeled pump bondage. “That’s much better,” she sighed as she wiggled her toes to restore blood flow. How anyone wears high heels all day is beyond me. She slipped her foot back into the shoe. I still can’t believe what happened. It’s a beautiful evening, my son is with his dad, I’m wearing a new dress and in one of the most romantic restaurants in Manhattan, this guy decides it’s the perfect setting to discuss his last colonoscopy. It was like being trapped in some warped version of show and tell, only without the pictures- probably because they wouldn’t fit in his wallet. She laughed to herself. I could have had a V-8. To think I missed Top Chef for this. If this is dating over 40 I need a drink. At that moment she headed for the hotel bar. Thirty-three-year-old Matthew Smythe walked into the lobby like a claustrophobic man escaping from a confined space. He’d been attending an engagement party in one of the spacious event rooms and all the questions about his bachelor status had left him with the need to catch his breath. What is it about weddings and engagement parties? Can’t I be a happy single guy? Is that so hard to believe? He took another deep breath and loosened his tie. Matthew was the son of socialites Douglas and Margaret Smythe. With relatives that traced back to the Mayflower, the Smythes were accorded a certain position within high society. However Matthew was somewhat of a rebel; he’d attended Brown instead of Harvard, he wore Dockers, had bought a brownstone in Harlem instead of the Upper East Side, and taught high school history above Ninety-Sixth Street. The Smythes were known for their philanthropic work so his parents supported his decision to be a teacher. Nevertheless they tried to set him up with as many well-heeled young ladies as possible. After all, Matthew was six feet, four inches tall and muscular, with hazel eyes and thick, dark, wavy hair. Unfortunately, Matt wasn’t interested in the society debutantes; he preferred to meet women on his own. He usually avoided high-society functions but he’d made an exception today for his younger brother’s engagement party. He’d even managed to stay for a couple of hours before the parade of debutantes got to be too much. I could use a drink, he thought and headed to the bar. Paige nursed a margarita at the bar. She kept her phony glasses on just in case another guy over forty with psoriasis decided to strike up a conversation about the perils of hydrocortisone, but she still looked seductive as she watched ESPN for the sports wrap-up. Matthew approached the bar and ordered a drink. As the bartender mixed Scotch and soda, he noticed Paige.

Wow. Now there’s a devil in a black dress. She looks as if someone poured her into that dress. Now that’s more like it. This woman has it going on. Hot under the collar, Matthew loosened his tie.

Paige glanced his way for a moment. Now there’s a cutie. He looks young. What’s wrong with young? I’m a young forty-two, more like an Indian summer vibe, she thought as she sipped her drink.

For his part Matthew was wondering if she would like some company. Matthew took a sip of Scotch for courage, and then Scotch in hand, walked over to Paige.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked.

“Not at all.” She continued to stare at the television.

His eyes were amazing. She glanced down at his hands.

Mmm, strong hands too. Forget shoe size; I like strong hands.

She traced her fingers around the rim of the glass. Evan Mann had big feet and Adriana said she needed a magnifying glass and tweezers to find it. Paige softly chuckled.

“Anything new in the world of sports?”

Oh, listen to that smooth voice. “Damned if I know. I’ve narrowed my sports news down to just New York teams.”

“You sound like a woman who knows her mind.”

“That’s about all I know.” Except you’re the sexiest man I’ve seen in a long time.

“Somehow I doubt that.” He paused. “Are you here for a conference or something?”

“Or something is more like it. I’m just here for a breather.” I wonder what he has in mind. She tossed her hair.

“Hey, I hear you. I went to a party tonight. It was good for a while but then I started to feel like someone was sucking all the air out of the room. I just had to get out of there.”

“What kind of party was it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was an engagement party.”

“Yours?” I hope it wasn’t. It would be a shame to miss out on those hands, and maybe a few other parts of his anatomy. Paige hid her smile behind her margarita glass.

“No.”

She nodded her head. “I see. You had the misfortune of being a single guy at an engagement party.”

“Exactly.” He sipped his drink. “Are you married?”

“I’m divorced.” Thank God.

“Are you down on love?” He hoped she’d say no. It would be a shame to let a fine, vibrant, and sexy woman like her languish on the vine.

“Not at all, in fact I’m a hopeless romantic.”

“Good for you, that’s nice to hear. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“I didn’t give it to you and I’d like to keep it that way.

Names only mess things up. I think both of us need a break from the ordinary.” And maybe a roll in the hay if he plays his cards right. She twirled her hair.

Was that an indicator she wanted sex? Please God let me be right. “You’ll get no arguments from me.”

They did an unofficial toast for the evening.

A few hours later Paige and Matthew kissed urgently as he tried to swipe his keycard for the room he luckily booked before the party. Finally the door opened and the two practically fell into the room. There was a sense of urgency as their clothes came off. He lifted Paige, kissing her neck and soft, supple breasts. She stopped him.

“Before we go any further I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not that kind of woman.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Paige placed her glasses on the night table next to the bed and they picked up where they’d left off. His kisses unlocked her inhibitions so she climbed on top of him. In all her curvy glory, her pinned up hair falling into long loose curls, Paige was a café au lait Lady Godiva. Though she looked so beautiful on top, Matthew hungered to kiss her and he rolled her onto her back. They made passionate love, shaking the bed in their fervor. Unbeknownst, Paige’s glasses fell unnoticed onto the floor.

The next morning while Matthew slept, Paige quietly retrieved her clothes and got dressed, then planted one last kiss on his cheek. As she was about to leave, she realized she was missing her glasses and nearly panicked before spotting them on the floor. But they were broken.

She glanced over at Matthew. We did this? She smiled and placed them in her purse as a memento of her one wild night. With her shoes and coat in hand, she quietly left the room.

A little while later Matthew woke up alone. He got up and checked the bathroom, but his mysterious woman from last night was nowhere to be found. Disappointed, he showered and dressed. As he was about to leave, he picked up his keycard to keep as a memento.

****************************************************************************************************************

An Excerpt From…

Designed for Passion
by Francine Craft

Kimani Press, March 2008

It was the last Sunday in May and Melodye Carter frowned as she answered her door. She was rushing to leave for her boutique and design studio for the plus-size woman, and she wanted no distractions. The twins were with their godmother for the day, so Melodye could bring sketches back home to work on.

Looking out of the peephole, her heart nearly leaped into her throat as she saw the tall, familiar figure. She opened the door to Detective Jim Ryman, one of Crystal Lake, Virginia’s police department’s finest. “Oh, Jim, come in.”

The man grinned, stepped inside and hesitated. He wanted to hug her, but something held him back. He hadn’t seen her since he’d investigated her husband’s death in a robbery over two years ago.

“I haven’t seen you in far too long. You’re looking fabulous.”

His eyes roved her face and voluptuous body. She’d gotten even more beautiful than he remembered. Her straight, off-black hair was worn in a shoulder-length flip with bangs made to order for her oval face. Yeah, he remembered the thickly fringed, long black lashes. He smiled a little as he looked into her dark eyes.

He apologized for stopping in on a Sunday. She said it was okay. He knew then why he hadn’t hugged her. She was fine wine and she went to his head. And he didn’t like it one bit. He wasn’t looking to be romantically drawn to a woman anytime soon…and maybe never again.

His face grew somber then. “What I’m here to see you about is going to hurt you and I’m sorry.” He gave her a minute to prepare herself. “I’ve been assigned to your late husband’s cold case and I’ve collected enough evidence to tell me Rafael’s death was a premeditated murder. It wasn’t just your ordinary business robbery.”

“Oh, my God,” she breathed as dizziness set in, and he reached out to steady her. Electricity flashed between them, startling both. He drew a deep breath and guided her to the sofa where they sat down. She was trembling and it wasn’t from what he’d just told her.

“I’m going to need your help, Melodye. I’ve been able to pinpoint who I think is behind this, but it’s liable to be the devil to prove. We think there’s at least a small mob tie-in.”

She looked at him steadily as a finger of dread traced along her spine. “Am I in danger then?”

He looked at her keenly, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, but there’ll be protection for you just in case. We’re moving fast on this one so far, and the guy knows he’s in our crosshairs.”

“Do I know him?”

“Turk Hylton, Rafael’s partner.”

Her heart lurched and she felt cold. Turk had come on to her the whole time she and Rafael had been married. After her husband’s death, he had gotten bolder until she’d turned him away.

“I see,” she said, “I’ll give you every bit of help I can.”

Jim drew a quick breath. He saw he was making her nervous, but he couldn’t stop feasting his eyes until they landed on her moist and full, luscious lips. Without wanting to, he imagined sucking the bottom lip, his eyes nearly closed with desire. He was fighting it all the way. Since Elyssa’s death, he hadn’t been with another woman.

“How’re your twins? Mom still talks about them and their terrible two’s,” he said.

Melodye smiled with her head slightly thrown back in that way he remembered from their high school days. His mind flooded with memories of the days when they’d been friendly, although they’d moved in different crowds. She had been shy and one year behind him. She hadn’t dated, but boys had admired her full figure extravagantly. He used to wonder if she was shy because they came on to her so hard or if they came onto her because she was so shy.

She was busy with her own memories of high school. “They’re fine, with plenty of the two’s left over. Their godmother has them for the day. Hey, I’m delighted to see you. Your mom told me you were coming back and I thought I’d run into you before now.”

“Yeah,” was all he said.

How calm she sounded, Melodye thought, as if he’d come by with good news instead of this shocker. And as if he were just any man and not a six-foot-two hunk. He had always carried an edge of danger that thrilled her.

It was warm for May. He was dressed in a long-sleeved white tee that failed to hide his rippling pecs, biceps and abs and stonewashed jeans. She stifled a groan at what his body did to her. His voice was still slightly husky, as if he were recovering from a cold. The coal-black hair, straightgrained and rough, the stormy hazel eyes and the thick black silk brows made her stomach ache a little with wanting to run her fingers over his long, angular face.

The trouble was, after Rafael, she felt she never wanted another man to hurt her the way he had. It was okay, she told herself. She could handle her feelings for Jim. It was simply physical hunger and the desire to be wanted, the way Rafael wanted her in the first years of their marriage.

“Have you had coffee?” she asked.

“Just one cup, and that only starts me for the day.”

“Have another. I made fresh coffee from beans I ground myself.”

Again she thought how calm she sounded, as if a thousand butterflies weren’t fluttering in her stomach. He was giving her a chance to digest his news and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She wasn’t surprised. Her late husband had long had dangerous friends and lived a dangerous life.

Jim was the detective assigned to Rafael’s robbery. It was his first case after moving back from New York. Jim himself had been shot in a street robbery not too long before Rafael’s death. Both cases had gone cold. She tensed. She didn’t want to think about Rafael. He had hurt her enough.

They took their coffee and raspberry Danishes to the breakfast nook, which was flooded with sunlight. In the morning light she was beautiful, he thought. He smiled inside, remembering that he sometimes brought her home in his souped-up hotrod.

But her mother had put a stop to even that. Melodye had looked sad when she told him. Jim raced cars and was the community heller who had more than his share of girlfriends. Everybody wondered how his mother, that sweet Miss Belle, and his strict father, Paul, could raise such a son.

“Hey, you’re lost,” Melodye gently prodded him. “What’re you thinking?”

Jim laughed then, his head thrown back. She drew a sharp breath as she watched his wide, wickedly sensual mouth. Heat ran rampant throughout her body.

“You don’t want t’know.” His eyes were half closed. He’d been thinking about the steady, raunchy pipe dreams he’d had of Melodye in their youth. She was stacked, even then. Voluptuous with her womanly hips and large, perky breasts. From the top of her head to her beautiful feet she was fine, he reflected, and she hadn’t changed.

He grew somber then. “You’re still beautiful,” he told her, feeling his crotch begin to swell and tingle. The heller he had been as a boy had turned into a man who brooded and kept his own counsel. People considered him aloof, but he was talking to her, paying her compliments. Something about her still seemed to need reassurance and he was more than happy to provide it.

She shook her head. “You always said that, and I never was. I was always too big, too awkward. I’m out of fashion and you’ve never realized that. Out of fashion. Out of season.”

He smiled, his eyes on her. “But you’re coming back into fashion. The rail-thin woman is going out of style.”

As he looked at her, Jim felt his loins tighten. This wasn’t going to do. These weren’t just friendly feelings, but he had sworn off anything like desire and passion since Elyssa and his unborn son died. He had lived a bleak life since then. It was getting better, but there was no room anymore for love and romance. Plough on, he told himself. You didn’t come here to ogle her. Still, he found himself saying it because she looked wistful and a little lost, the way she’d looked long ago.

“You never knew you were beautiful,” he told her. “I used to want to drill it into your head that you were. Those few times I ran into you and we talked. I know Papa France and your grandmother told you, but you always chose to believe your mother and your sister. You’re Cinderella, babe, and I thought by now you’d know it.”

She shrugged. “I’m just another overweight sister who doesn’t look too bad.”

His leg brushed hers, and she thrilled, fever running throughout her body, then fought it.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. He didn’t have to know that every nerve in her body was thrumming with excitement. What in hell was wrong with her? If she could handle his raging teenage hormones, she surely could handle her feelings now.

For a moment, Jim held his breath. She was feeling something for him; he was sure of it, but he didn’t intend to lead her on. “We need to talk about Rafael’s death again. What happened after I left?”

She breathed shallowly, remembering that time. “Not much, but one thing, Turk Hylton asked me if I’d found a large sum of money he said Rafael left for him. I searched and found nothing. I told him, but I don’t think he believed me. I’ve never been able to bring myself to go through Rafael’s study….”

She hated talking about Rafael, remembering only the shattered dreams and what he’d put her through.

He cleared his throat. “You miss Rafael, I know, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. The worst part of being a detective is breaking news of a murder to the spouses and families.”

She longed to tell him then that Rafael had long destroyed her love for him by the time he died. At first, he had been everything she’d dreamed of in a husband. Well, maybe not everything. From the beginning, he’d been hard to get along with. He had wanted her to have an abortion when she found out she was pregnant with twins. He’d railed that he didn’t want children. He’d never told her that when he was courting her.

She’d been adamant. No abortion. He’d sulked and stayed away later. After the twins were born, he’d criticized her for not being good company. “Hell, they’re your whole life. Where do I fit in?” He’d been drunk half the time and spent more and more time at Steeped In Joy, the nightclub he owned with Turk Hylton. She’d suspected he cheated and she’d thought about hiring a private investigator, but by then, it hadn’t mattered. He also gambled heavily, something else she hadn’t known before they were married.

“I don’t miss him,” she said flatly, and he looked at her, startled at the vehemence in her voice.

His head went to one side, keenly interested, empathetic. “Want to talk about it?”

She thought a moment before scalding tears stung her eyes. “Later,” she said, “and thank you.”

What had hurt so much was the brutal way Rafael had criticized her person. She had gained little weight with her pregnancy, but he said she had and that he didn’t like it. The final straw had been when he compared her unfavorably to Lucia, her thin, fashion-model sister, saying, “You two sure aren’t cut from the same cloth. Take a page from her book. I’m putting you on a diet.”

She hunched her shoulders, still too vividly aware of him. She wasn’t looking for a man, not even Jim. “Do you still miss Elyssa?”

He thought a moment and found he couldn’t talk about it. It still hurt too much, even after almost three years. He shook his head. “As you said, later. Mom told you I moved back.”

“Oh, yes, she told me even when you were planning to. She needs someone since her heart attack. She misses your father.”

He wanted to talk about his pain and how much it had hurt that he wasn’t going to get to be a father. Suddenly his attention was caught by a large framed photo on the table beside them. “The twins,” he said, and picked it up. God, they were beautiful, each with an arm wrapped around Melodye’s neck. He could only croak out, “Very nice,” and it was like saying a brilliant sun was nice. Not nearly good enough.

“They’re a handful,” she said, laughing. “They’re often sick and I wonder about it.”

“I understand children are. Fevers, that sort of thing.” She pressed her legs back against the chair so his leg wouldn’t brush hers again, and bit her lip.

Jim looked thoughtful. “We know Rafael was a heavy gambler, but not a very good one. You would know he went everywhere from Vegas to Monaco…Atlantic City.”

“Yes.” That was one of the things they had quarreled about.

“I think he was a hit. We’ve questioned Turk Hylton. His kind would hire it done, of course. I think Rafael double crossed him. Turk’s got mob ties….”

She shuddered. “I think he’s a dangerous man.”

“He knows how to play it safe. I don’t think he’ll bother you.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, and he noted the protective gesture. “Like I said, I haven’t gone over Rafael’s things because I haven’t wanted to face what he left behind, but you’ll need me to, won’t you?”

“Yeah. I’d appreciate it if you did.”

She felt cold then. “I don’t like danger, Jim. If I’d known there was any chance that Rafael even knew a mobster, or that he gambled heavily, I wouldn’t have married him. By the time I found out, it was too late.”

His heart went out to her. He wanted to talk about old times, but now wasn’t the right moment. They had to talk about Rafael’s murder. He drew a deep breath, asked her what she remembered about the night Rafael died. She told him everything, thinking back to the shock and of that night. Rafael had been a night owl, especially with owning and running a nightclub. He had been killed at 3:00 a.m. His wallet had been missing, but not his expensive diamond ring and watch. He was known to carry large sums of money and it seemed a simple open-and-shut robbery case.

Jim listened intently. Finally he asked, “Men living the life he lived have enemies. Do you personally know of any?”

She shook her head. “He kept his business to himself. He wasn’t fond of Turk, although they’d once been best friends. He often talked of buying him out, but Turk wasn’t selling. One thing he did tell me when we were close…”

She was silent and he gently prodded. “One thing…” She drew a deep breath. “He said he was loosely connected to the New York mob, that he couldn’t get where he wanted to go without them. He was worried that they demanded more and more and he thought Turk was really in bed with them. The police never said anything about that and I didn’t tell them. I was just too much in shock.”

Jim nodded. “That’s understandable.”

She closed her eyes. “How much time do you have?”

“Any amount you need.” She was affecting him so. He tried to tell himself she brought back the old, carefree days, but that didn’t explain it all. He was conflicted. Right now, he neither wanted, nor needed a woman. He had expected to feel what he had felt in the past—a lighthearted, friendly, sexy attraction. An emotional small car. But from the moment she opened her door, her presence was on top of him like a Mack truck. Damn! He was well trained to keep his emotions in check. Well, that training wasn’t serving him.

His mind told him he could handle it, but his feelings wandered.

“Would you go through at least some of his things with me?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

He shook his head. “I don’t usually get really hungry until later on.”

“Could you down a grilled cheese?”

“I’d like that.”

They didn’t tarry after eating; she took him straight to Rafael’s study, to the secret panel that she opened electronically. It was a small room with shelves and built-in drawers. Everything was tidily arranged. Rafael had been a neat freak. She felt cold with dread and memory. They looked at papers and money in packets, but there were no large sums from the cursory search they made.

Jim was relieved that, in the course of sifting through Rafael’s things, he was a little less aware of the way Melodye drew him. His gut was still tight, but thank God for small favors. The saucy, perfume she wore wasn’t helping.

“Do you see anything here that’ll be helpful to you?” she asked.