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So, I’m working on a little holiday treat for fans of the Pure Souls series: Jerry and Riona’s love story. I mean, the first time around, when she was just a clueless, sarcastic, non-magical statistician and he was a secret agent of Lucifer sent to spy on her. I’ve only just began fleshing out and writing this little novella, but I can tell you one thing I’ve already learned: Jerry likes to cuss. A lot. (And, yes, this one is told completely through Jerry’s eyes, so get ready for his internal machinations. I hope you find them as thrilling as his outer ones.)
What are you doing? is #34 on the list of fucking questions I get asked all the time and have no clue how to answer. Seriously, is there anything original anymore? Always the same damn thing: Where have you been all my life, lover? How did you get so good at screwing? Why is it that color?
To celebrate the release of the audio adaptation of A LOVE BY ANY MEASURE this week (see my announcement here), I decided to turn this Six Sentence Sunday towards a few lines from Maeve and August.
“We have an agreement.”
The words sobered them both. Grayson composed himself and addressed her once more, his tone all business. “One-hundred-sixty seconds, if you’re still intending to proceed?”
“Aye, well I am here, aren’t I? But you really expect me to stare at your clock and count that high while you’re distracting me so?”
He laughed and his eyes shone in a way that twisted Maeve’s insides anew. “No, I think I’ll get more out of our time if your attentions lie elsewhere.”
No surprise, right? But I’m guessing you’re not disappointed. Here’s another snippet from Pure Souls 2:
“But you’re the one,” Ramiel retorted. “As much as it pisses me off, you meet what was foretold of in prophecy. The fact that I think you’re about the lowest, scum-sucking, goat-kissing, disappointing f*** up this side of the end times is irrelevant. Unlike you, I bow to the will of Big Boss, whether I like it or not. And if that means I have to oversee getting you and Riona to hook up and exchange vows, then so be it. I’m going to be your personal Chuck Woolery from here until I do. Now get on your game and make her fall in love with you before Marc comes back earthside, or so help you God, you will experience a new level of pain that will make Hell look like Disneyland.”
Jerry muffled a chuckle. “Spoken like a man who’s clearly never been to Disneyland.”
Pure & Sinful went all the way up to #887 this week in the Kindle Store. I was completely befuddled and honored. Thank you, everyone, for your support.
In that spirit, a little snippet from Pure Souls 2:
Dee, too, it seemed had been expecting Ramiel to round the door that lead into the dining room where they sat. His brightness dimmed the second Jerry rounded the corner. “Oh, it’s you.”
“You were expecting…?”
Dee shrugged. “Someone I like more? My proctologist, for example.”
“If I were a proctologist, maybe I’d have some hope of removing whatever bug is up your ass.”
(One time advisory: this tag will henceforth replace #SWIPES)
Still riding high on the long-awaited release of book one in the Pure Souls series, I’m busily penning book two and anticipating a Spring 2013 release.
And therefore, I’d like to share a bit of book two with you today. Jerry Romani meets Riona’s mother, Molly.
Molly expression turned to broadcasting incredulity. “This got something to do with all your witchy, devilry, mumbo jumbo?” The petite, wrinkled Irishwoman spat vocal venom towards her daughter before turning to Jerry, adding with an accusing, pointing finger in Riona’s direction. “She barely comes to see me as it is, then last spring my darling daughter shows up asking me if anyone in our family ever danced naked in the moonlight or gotten bitten by a vampire or anything.”
Jerry grinned. “I’ve been with Riona when she was naked in the moonlight. I assure you, Ms. Dade, she wasn’t dancing.”
SWIPES took some time off while I was concentrating on the release of PURE & SINFUL. By the way, have you seen the book trailer?
But, anywho… I’m busily at work on Pure Souls Book #2, and offer for SWIPES this week a little tease from that work. Enjoy:
Jerry couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was still part of his nature, carried over from his demon incarnation, not to hesitate when an impulse fired. Riona’s eyes went wide when he struck out his hand across the way and turned her chin in his direction. He held her there, at arm’s length, fueling all his desire in to his expression. “The only insane thing in all this is how much I loved you, even when I was damned. And how much I still love you now.”
“You can’t love when you’re a demon. Ramiel said so.”
“Yeah?” He released her chin and leaned back against the seat. “Try it sometime.”
Any surprise? PNS is on the edge of completion (boy, that’s a loaded statement).
Hip cocked, hand waving wildly in the air, Riona went into full oh-no-you-didn’t mode. “Ex-cuse me, Father, but who are you to come into my house and lecture me on morality?”
Eyebrows raised, both Marc’s fingers pointed immediately at the ring of white, linen-covered cardboard around his neck.
“Not of my church,” Riona retorted.
From project PARADOX, which has really been fueling my creative spark lately:
He pulls me into his arms and lays my head against his shoulder, and he finally succeeds at shutting me up. His scent fills my senses. Hops is one of the few men who can afford black market cologne. Anybody else so flagrantly using the contraband would have been given demerits and denied rations long ago, but they make exceptions for the Prime Minister of the American State. “I love you.” The words leave my lips before I’m able to recall them, and I pray that he doesn’t think I’m rerunning the script from that night ten years ago. Time has shown me the truth he was so eager to convince me of then: of the problematic age difference, of the inappropriateness of my seduction, of the difficulties a relationship like ours would create among the populace. Even now, though Hops is pushing into his late fifties, he’s still a highly-desirable man. And in his position, the choices he makes for his conquests are rarely questioned. But ours would have been. Ours still would be.
I look in my hand. The envelope is plain, white. No markings on the outside. I know what’s inside. He’s tried to give it to me before, but I always refused the clipping. What is paper to me? The words and truth have sunk like ink into the white of my soul, leaving it spoiled. The title on the newspaper article reads “Beckson dies minutes after shot; Police hunt for clues on gunman’s identity.” The article clipped from the L.A. Times confirms two of the most painful truths of my life: When I was twelve, I watched as my father was shot and moments later, died, and I can’t remember anything about it.
I couldn’t do anything to stop it.