Sunday, February 21, 2010

#3 - Green

A Ghost of a Chance,
Legends Book 2
by Carolan Ivey

http://www.carolanivey.com

Samhain Publishing - Buy Here

Troy had never stayed in a materialized state for this long. The strain tore at him, threatened to separate the layers of his energy field and send them flying off into space like water rings from a dropped stone.

It had taken every atom of his strength to make the three-thousand-mile spatial jump, on top of staying solid long enough to rescue the woman from the flooded cave. He’d intended to bring her all the way to the top of the cliff, leave her there to be found and be on his way about finding John.

But the effort had cost him.

Troy glanced down at the face of the woman in his arms, grit his teeth and held on.

If he lost control of his energy and faltered, she would die.

His superb sense of balance, an asset in life and still now in the afterlife, didn’t fail him as he crouched on the narrow rock ledge, braced so the woman’s body wouldn’t slide off into the roiling sea. Rain slapped them from above, and the wind and waves clawed at them from everywhere else.

Risking precious balance, he used one hand to gently unwind her long, matted black hair from around his arm and away from her face. Her lips were blue and slack, her eyes partially open and dull.

He lowered his face to hers, checking for breath. Nothing. He let her head roll to one side and slid his fingers to the pulse point on her neck. If any life throbbed there, he couldn’t feel it for the vibrations of wind and storm.

“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t do this to me, lady…” He tilted her head back and covered her mouth with his.

He blew once, then swayed, dizzy, feeling his grip on his materialized state slipping dangerously with the extra effort it took to breathe for her. He clenched his jaw, tilted his head back and growled deep in his chest, willing his form to stay together, just a little longer. Just until help arrived. He’d seen two people poke their heads over the cliff edge above them, so he knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Not yet,” he muttered, using the vibration of his voice to send binding messages throughout his energy field, reminding it that no matter what the laws of physics said, he was in charge here. Never mind the fact that before now he’d only managed to stay solid for a few minutes at a time, and only in dire emergencies. The last time he’d done it was for the lives of his sister and Beaudry, and for his effort he’d earned a bullet in his shoulder to keep company with the gaping hole he carried around in his chest.

He lowered his mouth and breathed for her again, turning his head to feel her automatic exhale, this time accompanied by a gush of water.

Yes! Another breath into her lungs. Were her lips slightly warmer?

He left his own there for a second or two longer than necessary, testing. A faint green color flickered in front of his eyes, like the brief flash of a hummingbird, there and gone. He tore his mouth away from hers and looked up to see what kind of strange lightning this could be, then he ducked and pressed her body tightly to his as a heavy wave broke over them. The water lifted them both off the ledge, and only by sheer will did he manage to bring them back onto the ledge safely. How much higher was the tide going to rise?

He shook water from his face, pressed the woman’s body firmly between himself and the cliff wall and bent his head to hers once again. She had to start breathing on her own soon. He couldn’t keep this up.

A movement off to his right snagged his attention. A glowing figure, winged and silent, stood on a nearby ledge, observing, not moving.

Her guardian angel, clearly. He spared the being a two-second glare, then lost patience.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to do anything?”

The guardian’s expression grew thoughtful, then regretful. But it didn’t move, either to help or to hinder.

“Thanks a bunch.” Troy turned back to the task at hand.

Breeeeeeathe…

Without thinking what he was doing, he willed life into her. Closed his eyes and focused his energy inside her body, targeting her lungs, her barely fluttering heart.

This time, he felt her jaw move under his mouth, and her body flex in his arms. The weird, pale green lightning flickered around them again. Her first strong heartbeat resounded like a bell throughout his being, her first voluntary breath sucking in what he’d given her.

Then, before he could lift his mouth from hers, she breathed into him.

Troy nearly lost his balance, and flung out one arm to find a fingertip hold on the rock. Her breath filled his mouth, his chest, and even with his eyes closed he saw the faint green flickers of light strengthen, steady, intensify into a solid glow more brilliant than any Ireland had to offer on its best day. Heat rushed through him, and it took him a moment to register the fact that he felt it at all. As a ghost, normal physical sensations were foreign to him. Now every drop of rain hitting his skin felt like a needle. And his wounds, normally painless, now screamed at him.

He tore his mouth away and stared down at her. Her eyelids trembled, opened, light grey irises expanding as her pupils focused on his face. The same fiery emerald light that flashed round them burned in their depths. Even with their mouths now separated, her strengthening heartbeat rushed around him as if he were a child enveloped in her womb.

What the hell is happening to me?

If he was anywhere else but perched on a narrow ledge, an inch from losing her to the maw of the sea, he would have done a quick about-face and put as much space and time between them as possible. But stay he did, her life force growing stronger and flowing like a river under his hands, into him, through him and back to her. She seemed to be studying him, her mouth moving slightly as if trying to form words. But if she made any sound, it was swallowed by sea and storm. Then her eyes slid closed and her head rolled to nestle against his chest, fitting perfectly under his chin.

He swallowed, trying not to take in any more of the living energy that still enveloped them both. Something about it was as seductive as it was disturbing, and all his instincts screamed to get outside it and look at it from an objective distance before deciding what to do about it, if anything at all.

He took her cold hands, intending to tuck them inside her coat, when he caught sight of the diamond sparkling on her left ring finger.

She belongs to someone. Absurdly, the thought felt like a sucker punch to his gut.

He looked up, and finally, finally, he saw two people rappelling down the cliff, red-and-black jumpsuits making ripping sounds in the wind. A metal litter dangling between them.

“Take her first,” he yelled above the crashing tide as the rescuers reached them. Their reply was lost in the noise, but they quickly assessed the situation and expertly relieved him of his burden.

The instant her body separated from his, he felt himself dissolving, the last of his strength leaving as the green light faded. One of the rescuers cried out in alarm, but could do nothing as his grip on the rock slipped, and the icy grey sea closed over his head.

Labels: A Ghost of a Chance, A Ghost of a Chance Legends Book 2A Ghost of a Chance by Carolan Ivey, Carolan Ivey, published author contest, RITBS Stories Stripped, Stories Stripped Contest

#4 - Black - WINNER

MOST ROMANTIC FIRST KISS WINNER!

Somewhere My Love
By Beth Trissel
http://www.bethtrissel.com/
from The Wild Rose Press - Buy this Book

Will blew the layer of dust from an ornate wooden box inlaid with ivory and lifted the lid. Inside were brass workings like the mechanism of a clock. He wound a small gold key in the back until it would wind no more, and released it. The wheels and cogs turned and wonderful music flowed forth, the beautiful strains of a Viennese waltz, The Blue Danube.

Julia clapped her hands. “A music box.”

He bowed. “May I have this dance, sweet Julia?”

She gazed up into his velvet brown eyes, and he gazed back. She managed a nod and he drew her into his arms. Around the attic he waltzed with her secure in his lead. Everything fell away except this moment while the haunting melody played on, taking her back to that faintly remembered place. She didn’t even stumble, not once. It was as if some inner memory guided her in the steps, even though ballroom dancing hadn’t been a part of her lessons.

The music picked up and he swung her around and around. Her dress swirled as he circled. With each turn, he was Will—then Cole, Will—then Cole, both men in rapid succession, separate and yet the same. Her heart pounded from far more than the whirling dance.

The music faded and Will slowly stopped revolving. They stood, his arms circled at her back and waist, eyes locked on each other.

His brow furrowed. “Julia, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “You may be the ghost.”

He tightened his mouth in an impatient line. “Don’t try to make me into Cole again.”

“Will, listen to me. I know it sounds crazy, but I think somehow you already are.”

He dropped his hands, turning away. “Only because you insist I am.”

She grabbed his arm. “No. It’s what I saw while we danced. You must believe me.”

“Believing doesn’t make it any easier,” he said flatly.

“That’s because you think I’m misled.”

He swiveled his head at her. Exasperation flared in his eyes. “There’s a simple reason for my laboring under that assumption. You are.”

“Don’t be angry. I hate that I’ve spoiled such a lovely moment.”

“You’ve a talent for that.” He turned and strode across the floor. His footsteps echoed on the boards with a hollow sound, just as her heart would beat if he left.

She ran behind him and reached out, catching his plush shoulder. “Consider me balmy, if you must, but don’t walk away. Please Will.”

He stayed as he was. “What do you want me to do, Julia?”

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t strong enough to turn him and dashed in front instead, grasping his upper arms and twisting the fabric in her fingers. “Something—anything.”

He smiled faintly. “Never say those words to a man.”

Cupping her face between his hands, he bent his head and closed his lips over hers in an all consuming kiss...so swiftly she hardly knew what had happened. Even if he hadn’t cupped her cheeks, she wouldn’t have moved. The compelling press of his mouth bound her in place.

If possible, Julia’s heart thudded even faster than it had before. The surging pulse drummedthrough her entire being, reverberating in places she didn’t even know she had. From what she could remember of her dream with Cole, her feelings had been poignant but tender. The sensations coursing through her now weren’t entirely that. An exhilarating passion was sweeping her up in a shocking tide.

“Who am I now?” Will whispered against her mouth.

She loosened her grip on his jacket in speechless surprise, too breathless to tell him she didn’t care.

Labels: Beth Trissel, published author contest, RITBS Stories Stripped, Somewhere My Love By Beth Trissel, Somewhere My Love Excerpt, Stories Stripped Contest

Thursday, February 18, 2010

#2 - Blue

Black Horse

by Veronica Blake

Dorchester Publishing
Find Out More Here

Now, sitting here on the hard ground with his long ebony hair tousled around his face and the bewildered expression on his face, he reminded Meadow of a lost little boy. She had the urge to put her arms around him, and tell him that everything would be well. Instead, she began to focus on the way he held her hand so gently in his own—and, of the way this simple gesture set all of her insides ablaze with that odd feeling of pain and pleasure.

Meadow ran her tongue across her parched lips and held her breath for a moment. She knew he had to leave before someone caught them like this, but she could not force herself to pull her hand away. Her gaze met his, and it was as if the rest of the world did not exist. She leaned forward, instinctively drawn to him.

His lips touched hers lightly at first, as if he ached to be near her but was slightly unsure of her reaction. He reached up and placed his hand around her head. She could feel the strands of her long hair entwined in his fingers. His lips pressed harder against her soft mouth, and she leaned in even closer to him.

Never had Meadow imagined that she would experience such an overpowering feeling of bliss from her first kiss. All of her fears dissolved, and every inch of her body felt like a million hot coals had just invaded her. The feel of his lips against hers was like a magical journey that she wished would never have to end.

When they were forced to part for air, Meadow thought she could live forever without taking another breath if it meant she could feel his lips against hers for the rest of her life. She felt his hand slide under her chin, raising her face up so that they were staring into one another’s eyes again. His dark gaze caressed her, and everything outside of this moment was mute.

“Oh, green-eyed woman, what strong magic you must possess. You have put me under a spell,” Black Horse said softly.

Labels: Black Horse by Veronica Blake, most romantic first kiss contest, published author contest, RITBS Stories Stripped, Stories Stripped, Veronica Blake

#3 - Green

SINS OF THE HEART
by Delle Jacobs
published by Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
http://samhainpublishing.com/print/sins-of-the-heart-print Author website is http://dellejacobs.com

The sea was yellow gold as the sun dropped toward the horizon, a quiet plane of precious metal that melted into silvered sand, and as far as the eye could see, changed from gilded sea to brilliant amber sky. All the world was silver and gold.

The horses paced across the wet sand, their steps muffled, disturbing the metallic sheen that settled back to serenity in the little rounded puddles they left behind. Only the quiet huffing of the horses' breath and the faint screech of gulls far out from the shore broke the silence.

She had long ago loosened her bonnet and let it fall behind her, to feel the delicate breeze in her hair as they rode. Beside her rode the man with silver eyes and golden hair, his face dark in the shadow, as silent as the quiet water. It had been his idea to ride along the shore, taking advantage of the long beach created when the tide ebbed. But low tide was a curious thing, that made one believe in the forever of an instant. She had come along, appeasing him because . . .Was it because she must keep him occupied, to keep him from making discoveries about the people she loved?

Oddly, though. She had come to expect, almost to want his companionship. Never knowing when he would turn the quiet of the moment into some strange demand that ruined all that was beautiful. Or if he would not. Perhaps today was one of those times when he would remain silent, or trade the silence for small, beautiful words.

He was, in so many ways, a strange man. He did not court her. But he shared beautiful things with her, often in silence, as if he accepted or believed they saw them the same way. She wondered if they did. Did he see and feel the colors with the sort of passion that invaded her?

They reached the headland that separated this beach from the next, and he pulled ahead. Here, their ride must come to an end.

"Don't go there," she said, and reached for the bridle on his bay.

"Why?" But he reined in his horse.

"It isn't safe beyond this point."

"Is that a cave?" His head inclined in the direction of the sharply jagged cove tucked between two cliffs.

"Yes. But you can only see it when the tide is out."

"Then I want to see it."

"No. It is dangerous. There have been too many rockfalls into the sea, and it's hard to go around except when the tide is very far out. And if you stay too long, the tide will trap you."

"I could climb out."

"But your horse could not."

For an answer, he stroked the bay's mane. She knew he was fond of Hector. Something about her told her he had a fondness for all horses.

"Is it a smuggler's cave?"

"It's called Colliver's Cove. They say it was used by Robert Colliver, but they also say Robert Colliver left Looe in his youth and never returned. Both could not be true. They also tell tales of men who drowned because a high sea came up and caught them inside. When the tide comes in, the cavern floods."

"Is there another way out?"

"There is a hole near the top, but it cannot be reached from inside."

"So you have seen it."

"Yes."

"You got out safely."

"I went when everything was right. I did not stay."

Edenstorm leaned forward in his saddle. He planted a fist on his hips and narrowed his eyes as he studied the small, dark opening that marked the top of the cave. "If I were a smuggler, I'd think it ideal. Drop ropes through the top. Hide the ankers, strung together inside the cave. Let them float. But pull them through the top when there is no one around to see."

"But you are not a smuggler, and you do not know everything you would need to know."

"And you do?"

"More than you, and that is not enough. They say, once the kegs floated out to sea, and the entire cache was lost."

"So they have used it. Do they use it now?"

"There is no need for it these days."

"Why?"

"There is a war. No one pays much attention to free traders these days. You have never seen a riding officer near Looe, have you?"

That deep dimple formed in his right cheek. "No."

"Don't go there," she said again. "There are many ways to be killed on the Cornish Coast. That is one of them."

His ghostly silver eyes studied her for a moment, then he dismounted. He held his hands up to her and she slid down, his hands catching around her waist. And they turned back to the beach they had just left.

He stopped, scanning the distant horizon where the sun dropped lower in the sky and began to tinge the gold with pink.

"If you painted, how would you paint this?"

"Rapidly. Soon the sun will go down and we will never see it quite this way again." She swept her hand in an arc along the horizon. "It is not simply golden, anywhere. It is only the way the many colors work together that makes it so." She pointed to a distant promontory. "Look over there. Even the rock in the distance is bathed in gold, yet none of it is truly the color it seems."

He stood there, his eyes intense and hazy, darkening to smoky pewter. She was aware of the scent that was his, so close and mingling with the salt of the sea, and flesh of horse, with leather and brawn.

"I could never paint," he said, his voice as soft as fine doeskin. "But I could never forget this. If I could paint, I would paint you, bathed in gold, just as you are right now. The gold is the color of your hair. It gleams like tiny strands of gold. No, like golden light."

He took one of her curls into his fingers, then slipped a hand into her hair. A tangle of longing twisted and turned in his eyes. "I'd want to capture the light shining in your hair and playing across your face, the softness of your lips."

"How do you know they're soft?" she whispered.

"I just do." The pad of his thumb crossed over her lower lip. "Yes, soft."

She gasped as his lips touched hers, but not from fear or outrage, but because she had not known her own longing. Had not known the feel of his arms circling her and pulling her close to his body where she could feel all his firmness as if she flowed into it, his kiss deepening and stroking in ways that set her afire inside. Her heart raced with the pounding of an unexplainable wildness within her, the heat she had not understood that had been building from the moment she had first seen him on the beach.

Abruptly, he pulled back, frowning, and dropped his hands from her waist. His jaw took on that hard, jutting look it had when he was getting stubborn. He turned away, and walked back to the standing horses.

The wildness drained out of her like water through a hole in a pot. Sometimes she wanted so much to slap him.

"Well, I would say I did that wrong," she said, and strode back to the gentle brown hack she had been riding.

"You did nothing wrong." But his face was hard like an iron mask.

"Oh, my," she said, and sneered. "I would never have known."

"I told you I do not feel things."

"You lie. You feel things as much as anyone else. You just lie to yourself about it."

His shoulders stiffened, and she could see his jaw jutting even more. He stormed across the sand, his bay gelding in tow, toward the line of brush and furze that grew close to the shore, and found a bush that almost could be called a tree. He tossed the reins over a branch, then turned and stalked back toward the promontory that separated the sandy beach from the cove that ended in Colliver's Cave.

Oh no! He wouldn't! But yes, she knew him all too well. And it was her fault, for she had told him not to go.

Labels: Delle Jacobs, most romantic first kiss contest, RITBS Stories Stripped, SINS OF THE HEART by Delle Jacobs, Stories Stripped

#4 - Black

Shadowed Knight,
by Jan Alyce Avery
Samhain Publishing
http://www.janalyceavery.com/

Fuming at his own carelessness, Fitzwilliam went in search of Lady Ann, to be told by the first house servant he asked that she was in the kitchen. He checked with the cook.

“Outside, sir.” The cook, chopping joints of meat with a huge cleaver, cocked an eyebrow at him, no doubt contemptuous of people who cut themselves with a mere dagger. “In the garden. Around the east side of the wall.” He brought the cleaver down with a whack that dug the edge deep into the wood block beneath. “Just go right out that door, sir.”

Fitzwilliam went out the door indicated. There seemed to be a half-dozen gardens behind the curve of the tower. The first was the kitchen garden, surely, with peas twining around staves, the tops of onions thrusting green through well-tilled soil, new lettuce and cabbage growing in long rows. Beyond these were precise square beds of plants he couldn’t name, though the scents argued herbs, and beyond those, along the surrounding stone wall, were twining roses, lilacs and a fringe of lilies, the flowers running to the edge of a clear bed of turf that surrounded a flowering apple tree. A faint hum revealed bees at their work, the sound counterpointed by birdsong. Fitzwilliam took a deep breath, intoxicated by the rich scents.

He heard another soft humming, from just beyond the tree, a wordless melody sung in a girl’s pure voice, and an instant later Lady Ann came from behind the trunk, her head bent over a basket she carried. She wore her green wool gown and her head was bare. Her loosely braided hair glowed a rich chestnut in the sun, tendrils escaping to curl against her cheeks. Still absorbed by the contents of the basket, she came toward him, her body moving with a grace that made him catch his breath.

“Spring,” he said softly, and she looked up, startled, then realizing who it was, she smiled. “Sir?”

“I was thinking of the goddess Spring and—here you are.” It seemed perfectly natural to extend his hand, perfectly natural that she should take it. “The very image of that ethereal being. If I were an artist, I could ask for no better model.”

Her cheeks flushed a delicious rose, but her eyes danced. “A very pretty speech, Sir John. Far too fine to waste on a respectable widow.”

“I can think of no one who looks less like a widow, lady. As for respectable,” he grinned, “well, that remains to be seen.”

“Rogue! Did you come to help me gather herbs or are you fleeing honest work?”

“Herbs?”

She indicated the basket. “Fennel and thyme, rosemary and lemon grass. To spice your food, sir knight. I, you see, am hard at work helping the cook.”

“Well, I was hard at work as well, mistress, in the weapons room. I came to you because Sir Richard said that you have healing skills. See,” he lifted his bandaged hand, his voice comically tragic, “I’ve been wounded in the line of duty.”

“Oh, Sir John!” She was instantly serious, setting the basket down, then taking his hand in both of hers. “Let me see.”

He laughed, suddenly a little embarrassed. “A nick, lady, no more, hardly worth bothering about—”

“The smallest scratch can fester, sir, if not cared for properly.” She unwound the rag. “Not deep enough to need stitching, but it must be cleaned. And bandaged with clean linen, not something you’ve used to polish rust off armor. Come with me.”

She led him to the far side of the tree to a small plank table set against the wall, where she ordered him to stay before hurrying away. It was only a minute or two before she was back with a bowl of water, clean rags, a flask of ale and a small pot with a lid. She cleaned the cut with the water and one of the rags, rinsed it with the ale—ignoring both his protests at the waste of good spirits and his exaggerated groans of pain—then opened the pot to reveal a pale green paste, which she spread with some care over and around the wound. “You’re to keep this dry,” she ordered as she secured a linen strip around his palm. “And not use the hand for a day or two to let it heal. Does it feel better now?”

“Yes. There’s magic in your ointment.” And in your touch, he thought. “Do you make many such medicines?”

“Yes.” She smoothed the wrinkles from the bandage, her fingers brushing his skin, and even that slight contact sent a shiver through him. “I’ve a hut on the other side of the garden, and there I store herbs. My nurse taught me how to use them to make medicines, for the easing of pain, to aid sleep, to lower fevers—”

“And what ingredients do you use, lady, to make love potions?” he asked softly.

She was bent over his arm, but she looked up at him, startled. “Sir?”

“Surely you brew such cordials.” Her face was only a few inches from his, so close he could smell the warm fragrance of her skin. Her lips were parted, her eyes so pure and rich a green it was like looking into the heart of a newly leafed forest. “And surely you’ve given me some, for I’m drunk with it—”

Ann found herself unable to move. His hand lifted, his fingers gently touching the curve of her cheek, then moving slowly down the line of her throat to brush the soft swell of her breasts. Trembling, she caught her breath in a sob. “Ann!” he whispered—and then his arms were around her and his mouth came down on hers.

Heat surged through her. Her body seemed to melt into the hard strength of his embrace. She moaned, her lips parting, and the kiss deepened, his mouth devouring hers, his hand lifting to cup her swelling breast. Her body burned, trembled, her senses drowning in a shuddering wave of pleasure so intense it was almost pain.

And then he wrenched himself away. “Sweet God, Ann—I didn’t mean… I could never…”

Dazed, fevered, she stared at him, bewildered—then the look on his face struck her like a blow. Without a word, he turned and strode away.

Ann shivered. The warm spring day suddenly seemed to darken, grow chill. I didn’t mean… I could never… The look of misery on his face, misery mixed with shame…

Suddenly she realized why he’d said what he’d said, what he meant, why he’d fled from her, and the realization was like a spear of ice into her heart. It was so obvious… She’d been so blind…

She buried her face in her hands, trying desperately to choke back sobs, while the blossoms of the apple tree spread their fragrant petals and the bees droned, uncaring and indifferent, from flower to flower.

Labels: Jan Alyce Avery, Jan Alyce Avery author, RITBS Stories Stripped, Shadowed Knight, Shadowed Knight by Jan Alyce Avery