Wednesday, November 30, 2016

A Little Bit of SNOWED IN

With all this release week hoopla for Compromising Positions, y'all are asking for more about Snowed In. I've got you. Here's a sample of things to come ::

No way in hell was she staying upstairs alone, in the dark. Marissa gripped the railing as she made her way downstairs where the fireplace gave the room a warm glow. As a kid she’d been terrified of the dark, the power and heat cut out for reasons other than a storm. She’d thought she’d moved past the fear, but out here darkness swallowed everything, so black the flashlight app on her phone didn’t stand a chance.

Coming downstairs had nothing to do with Scott, or the firelight licking the honed muscles of his bare chest. Or how her tummy did a little shimmy when he looked at her. Nothing to do with the post-wedding loneliness people blamed for unintended hookups. This was practicality, plain and simple.

“Are you coming down here for wine or . . .”

“Sure. A glass or two might help me relax and then we can go to bed.” The blush stung her neck as soon as she realized what she’d said. Again. “Go to sleep, separately.”

He tried to hide his laugh as he poured her a glass, then picked up his own. Her heart squeezed. He’d been waiting for her. He handed her the glass, their fingers brushing and sending enough electricity through her to light up the whole damned house.

He clinked their glasses together. “To old friends.”

“And new beginnings.” She sipped the warm red, letting the rich berry flavor play on her tongue. Few things in life were better than a lush Oregon pinot. “This is delicious.”

“Why do you sound surprised?” He sat on one of the couches, leaving plenty of room for her to join him. But when it came down to it, she chose the next couch over. Overthinking had her going two steps forward and one step back. Plenty of guys called her a tease for it, but it wasn’t deliberate, just her brain working overtime to keep her from getting hurt or embarrassing herself.

“I thought most guys like you drank beer.”

“Guys like me?” He leaned back and crossed one pajama-clad leg over his knee.

“You know, rugged, athletic. Dudes.” She took another sip and wondered if downing the glass would keep her from putting her foot in her mouth again.

“Dude.” He dragged the word out and then shot her a grin that had her shifting in her seat. 


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