It’s hard to believe that it’s February already. And what year is this exactly?
The older I get, time seems to zoom by in a blur. Days meld with weeks and somehow weeks turn into months and before I know it, I’m in the second month of a new decade. (Yes, I’ve been a bit slow in taking it all in.) 😉
But now I’m here in 2020. *waving hello*
Last week, I turned in MY KIND OF EARL (book #2 in the Mating Habits of Scoundrels series) to my lovely editor. And for the first time in months, I’m taking a few days to breathe, to recharge, and to get organized (or… you know… to pretend that I’m getting organized).
In the meantime, the bookmarks for the signing have already arrived! And I’m so excited that I don’t want to wait to share them. So… if you would like a bookmark, please feel free to visit my “contact” page and send me a request, along with your mailing address.
For all the present-under-the-tree-shakers and gift-in-the-closet-peekers who need just a glimpse of LORD HOLT TAKES A BRIDE in order to survive the next 16 weeks until Asher and Winn’s story hits shelves (3/31/20), this is for you. 🙂
“Winn, this isn’t the time to be shy,” Asher said from the base of the ladder. “Toss down your dress.”
She blushed to the roots of her hair. Unfortunately, even turning crimson wasn’t enough to warm her frozen fingers and stop her teeth from chattering.
“I’m n-not b-being shy,” she stammered, fumbling with the fastenings. “Y-you’ve already s-seen me w-without the dress.”
“You’re quite right. Therefore, there’s no reason to stand upon ceremony.”
Before she could ask what he meant by that, the top of his head emerged over the edge of the loft. She might have gasped at his audacity, but then the rest of him came into view and her mind whirred to a sudden stop.
Asher Holt was naked.
Well, mostly. His bare, broad shoulders and sinewy arms appeared first, muscles shifting and bunching beneath his skin as he navigated the final rungs—and far more adeptly than she had done. Then he unfolded from a crouch, and stood.
Her greedy eyes skimmed the length of him, taking in every . . . blessed . . . inch.
This morning, I did the thing. You know, that cartoonish thing when you see a shadow scurrying across the floor and leap onto a chair? Ugh. I’m not proud of it. Even as it was happening, a wash of shame and absurdity rushed over me.
There I was, still groggy from sleep and not a drop of tea in me, and then I saw it… a minotaur-sized Indiana centipede. It scuttled on a determined path by my feet, doubtless fueled by a lust for blood.
Arrested, I took in every nearby weapon at my disposal: my laptop (too expensive and too cumbersome to wield in a do or die situation); a stack of books (but I cringed at the thought of ever holding them in my hands again after they’d been sullied by arthropod goo); and a decorative pillow (the burly bug would have shrugged off the attack and issued a low taunting chuckle, “Is that all you’ve got, lady?”).
So, left without any options, I leapt to the chair, heart hammering in my neck, lungs shrinking to the size of bubble wrap and ready to burst.
The sudden jolt of activity was enough to rouse my sluggish brain into full wakefulness. And that’s when I remembered that these beasts could climb.
Leaping from the chair with a distance that could rival any ballerina on her worst day, I dashed across the floor and retrieved the Lysol from the bathroom. Sufficiently armed with a yellow can that promises to kill 99.9%, I went back to face the monster. Only to find him gone. Vanished. And likely plotting a path upstairs to my bedroom where he will lay in wait amidst the woodgrain of my furniture.
It’s Blueberry Festival time in my corner of the world. Fried foods… craft booths galore… entertainers… more food… fireworks…the Blueberry Stomp race…parade…and the legendary blueberry donuts.
This hermit usually observes the crowd of thousands from a safe distance. But there have been occasions when the nostalgic appeal of an elephant ear (fried dough brushed with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar) has lured me into the throng. We’ll see what happens this year…
In the meantime, we’re all keeping an eye on Dorian and sending prayers to family, friends, and everyone in its path.
Wishing each of you a happy, healthy, and safe weekend.