Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just an writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

Last time I introduced a snippet of a story in which the male main character ties up the female main character in a bathroom. The obvious explanation for this is that she surprised him while he was robbing her museum. However, I did hint at that they knew each other of old. This week I’m giving you the “prequel” by posting a snippet of the chapter before, taking place one day earlier, when they run into each other and my heroine recalls their last encounter. So if you want to, you could start by reading this, and then going on to read September’s excerpt.

And speaking of the heroine – I told you had problems naming her. She now goes by Kathleen.

I hope you enjoy!

EXCERPT:

I scanned his face for a sign that he recognized me, but found none. He still looked good. Older, admittedly, but good. His features had lost their boyish sweetness and he had grown into the nose that had been just slightly too big. He looked more angular. Stronger. More determined. There were a few lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there last time, and on the left side of his upper lip there was a new, tiny scar. I stared at his mouth in fascination. Even with that scar, it was perfect. God, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to rip his clothes off and see if the rest of him was as good. And at the same time, I wanted to hit him across that arrogantly handsome face. The bastard. It may have been ten years, but I was still longing to tear his heart out and shove it up his nose.

And yet that morning last time had begun so well.

I woke up, and without a sound I crawled out of bed and started to pull my clothes back on. He sat up, the sheets falling away from his elegant, tanned body. I felt my cheeks flush as heat rushed through my body at the sight of him. Why had I ever gotten out of that bed? Oh, yes. I had to go home.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” I said, slipping out of his bedroom door. “My mother might worry.”

Drunk with a new sort of sexual power, I simply counted on him to come after me and beg. And he did.

His jeans still unbuttoned, he caught me just by the door. He pulled me to him, and he was smooth and silky and still warm from the bed. He pulled his fingers through my hair and tilted my head back.

“Hey, Birthday girl,” he whispered. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Kathleen.”

“Kathleen,” he repeated slowly. “Pretty. It suits you.” He traced the line of my jaw with his finger. “So can I have your phone number, Kathleen?”

Even that light touch was enough to make my senses reel. Of course I would give him my phone number. I would have told him anything. I was putty in his hands. If he’d asked me to, I’d have lain down right there on the floor among the beer cans, discarded clothes and empty cartons of take-out and let him do whatever he wanted to me.

Suddenly the door to the left opened, and a young man peeped put, blinking at us. He was wearing boxers and a t-shirt and he coughed deeply, the sound of a seasoned smoker in the morning.

“Anybody seen my cigs?” he asked. “Oh, there they are.” He picked up a crumpled packet of cigarettes from the floor and put one between his lips. I shuffled my feet in embarrassment as he checked me out while he lit it.

He inhaled and laughed, the laughter turning to another cough.

“Hell, Ryan, you did it. You really got the redhead to come home with you. But you’re not getting your twenty bucks if you didn’t actually poke her.”

It took me half a second to understand what he was saying. I was a bet? A bet? My brain seemed incapable of grasping this simple fact. It juggled it about, twisted it, stewed on it, but refused to accept it. It simply couldn’t be true. I stared at my lover, willing him to refute it.

But he didn’t. Instead, dark red color was creeping into his cheeks, and he flipped the hair out of his eyes.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said hurriedly and I felt hot tears begin to sting behind my eyelids. When guys say that, it’s always like that.

A bet. I was so cold my teeth almost chattered. I felt used and dirty and stupid. Such an idiot. A gullible, virginal, little idiot. The butt of a joke, that was what I was. I blinked and blinked, fighting the tears that were welling up with alarming speed. I couldn’t cry in front of them. It would be the final humiliation. I’d never survive it.

Luckily, the other guy saved me.

“So did you?” he insisted and I felt a rush of ice-cold fury, blotting out everything else. My ears were ringing with it and it made my voice sound coarse and raw.

“You want to know what happened?” I said. “I fucked his brains out. Big deal. If you weren’t so ugly, maybe I’d do you too.”

I tore the door open and stormed off, slamming it so hard behind me that the wall shook. Crappy cheap building. It suited them. The goddamn assholes. I wanted to kick something. Or run a mile and scale a wall. And then I wanted to go back and neuter the son of a bitch.

He caught up with me on the stairs.

“You have to believe me. It really wasn’t like that.” There was a note of desperation in his voice that just fueled my anger. I wrung my arm from his grip.

“Listen, Ryan or whatever your name is.” I was surprised at how cool and steady I sounded. “I don’t know how it was, and I don’t really care, because I know how it’s going to be. You’re not going to get my phone number. You’re not going to get anything from me, except this.”

I flipped him the finger. And then I walked down the stairs and I didn’t once look back.

Links to other Excerpt Monday writers

Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.

So, to kick it off, your hosts:

Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)
and
Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)

Joining us this week:

Jamie Babette, Fantasy Romance (PG13)
M.G. Buehrlen, YA Fantasy (PG13)
AJ Chase, Paranormal Romcom (PG13)
Stephanie Draven, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Heather S. Ingemar, YA (PG 13)
Cynthia Justlin, Romantic Suspense (PG13)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG13)
Julia Knight, Fantasy Romance (PG 13)
Nadia Lee, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Jeannie Lin, Historical Romance (PG13)
R.F Long, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Shawntelle Madison, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Christa McHugh, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Debbie Mumford, Fantasy Romance (PG13)
Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)
Megan S, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Dara Sorensen, Historical Fiction (PG13)

Melissa Aires, Futuristic Romance (R)
Kendal Ashby, Contemporary, (R)
KB Alan, Contemporary Erotic Romance  (R)
Carly Carson, Contemporary (R)
Cate Hart, YA (R)
Felicia Holt, Contemporary Romance (R)
Ali Katz, Historical Erotic Romance (R)
Inez Kelley, Contemporary Romance (R)
Annie Nicholas, Paranormal Romance (R)
Christa Paige, Paranormal (R)
Mary Quast, Contemporary Romance (R)
Alexia Reed, Paranormal Romance (R)

Sara Brookes, Erotic Paranormal Romance (NC17)
Ella Drake, Historic Paranormal Romance (NC17)
Angeleque Ford, Dark Urban Fantasy (NC17)
J. W. Hankins, Dark Fantasy (NC17)
Kim Knox, Erotic Romance (NC17)
Elise Logan, Contemporary with Paranormal Elements (NC17)
Dawn Montgomery, Paranormal Erotic Romance (NC17)
Kirsten Saell, Erotic Fairy Tale Romance (NC17)
Bryl R Tyne, Erotic Sci Fi m/m, (NC17)

Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just an writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

This is my first time participating and my excerpt is from a story called “The Lady In The Red Dress.” It involves art theft, kittens and the kind of love that defies death.

It’s not finished yet, and I figured I would ask you to help me with it. See, the heroine is being a little secretive. She refuses to tell me her name. I’ve tried several, but I never seem to come up with the right one. So I thought – how about you read this excerpt and then tell me in the comments what you think I should call her?

________

Museum of National Heritage, London, England
3 am

I reached out and someone grabbed me from behind.

To say I almost peed my pants would be the understatement of the year. The only reason I didn’t scream my lungs out was the hand clamped straight across my mouth.

Unfortunately, the hand also managed to squash my nose, making it impossible to breathe. I fidgeted and fought, but whoever had grabbed me had gotten a good grip with one arm around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides. As I felt my lungs contract with want of air, I started to panic. Thankfully, God must have been watching, because my assailant suddenly let go of my nose, and I inhaled so deeply my nostrils flared.

Even before I heard him whisper ‘sorry’, I knew it was a man. I knew, because I even shaky from oxygen deprivation and dizzy from fear, I recognized him the second I caught his scent.

“Don’t fight,” he whispered.

Silently seething, I nodded; then shook my head. Darn, how to explain I wasn’t about to? Obviously, he got the message, because he relaxed his grip a bit.

“We’re going to take a little walk,” he said in a hushed voice, and we began inching back towards the hall. Walking with my back pressed to his chest was hard, but we did pretty good. Right leg, left leg, right leg. Moving in time came naturally.

Just like last time.

Thinking about last time made me uncomfortably aware of how closely pressed to me he was. I could feel his hard body against my back and his arm around my waist and it wasn’t a bad feeling. I almost groaned. What kind of person is dumb enough to contemplate desire for a man burgling her museum and dragging her off to an unsure and possibly hazardous future in… In…

Where were we?

I glanced about. We were standing by the elevator, right by the service facilities. I was caught by a sudden premonition and started fidgeting. God, don’t let me die in the men’s room. In the Austen Room, if I have to die, or – as a last resort – even the restroom for the disabled, but not the men’s room, please.

“Stop,” my kidnapper ordered me. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I quieted down, but remained on my guard.

“I’m going to let go of your mouth,” he continued, his mouth close to my ear. “But don’t make any noise or you’ll just draw the others, and you don’t want that. Agreed?”

I nodded. If they were more than one, I certainly wouldn’t stand a chance. Possibly I didn’t have much of a chance just with him. He was at least a head taller than me and considerably heavier and stronger. But I felt some, although possibly misplaced, trust for him.

He carefully eased his hand away, and I obediently remained silent.

“Good,” he whispered and opened the door to the men’s room. I tried to object, but he pushed me inside, following closely behind.

After the dimness of the hall, the stark light bathroom light was almost blinding. He turned me towards him, twisting my arms behind my back. He was dressed all in black, a balaclava over his face, but what good was that? I’d know those eyes anywhere. Those eyes reminded me of good things; my grandmother’s brownies, freshly-ground coffee, Mississippi
Mud Cake. Too bad they were fitted to such an asshole.

Holding my hands behind my back with one hand, he suddenly yanked at my shirt, ripping it open. I yelped, and he pushed me against the wall, covering my mouth with his hand.

“Shhh.” His mouth was close enough for his breath to tickle my ear. “I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t worry. But scream and I don’t know what will happen. You understand?”

I nodded, feeling utterly vulnerable as he continued to tear my shirt up.

Guiding me towards the sink, he grabbed my arms and pushed me to the floor and with practiced ease, he tied my hands to the piping with the tatters of my shirt.

“There,” he said with obvious satisfaction. “That should hold you for a while. Long enough, anyway.”

I yanked at my fetters. It was obvious I wasn’t going anywhere. I cursed, using every four letter word I could think of.

He made a sound of disappointment and crouched down in front of me. “Such a foul mouth on such a pretty girl.”

“You’ll never get away with this,” I wheezed. God, how original! I sounded like Nancy Drew, girl detective.

My kidnapper obviously thought so too, because he made a coughing noise. It rankled me so bad I couldn’t help myself.

“I know who you are.”

Facial expressions are kind of hard to read when the face is covered by a mask, but I was ready to bet my last dollar (which I keep in a cookie-jar in the kitchen for sentimental reasons) that he was lifting his eyebrows.

“Really?” His dark eyes contemplated me under the thick fringe of his lashes.

I nodded. “You may not remember me, but I remember you, Ryan.”

“I hate to rain on your parade, babe, but telling me you know me isn’t all that smart. I guess I should just smother you in the sink so you can’t tell on me.”

“You wouldn’t,” I said sternly, trying to conceal that I wasn’t really too sure about that.

His eyes crinkled and he patted my head.

“Of course I wouldn’t, Birthday Girl,” he said, letting his gaze slide over me, making me very aware that I was wearing nothing but a lacy bra and skirt that had hiked up almost to my hips. “Wouldn’t that be a terrible waste?”

I felt a shiver run up my spine and it wasn’t just that it was cold in here. “So you do remember.”

He ran his fingers through my hair; just firmly enough to angle my head back so I had to look up at him. I felt my breath catch in my throat at the thought of what he must remember. Even now, sitting half-naked in the men’s room in the Museum of National Heritage at three o’clock in the morning, I felt something heavy and dark pool in the pit of my stomach just thinking about it. I could recall with perfect clarity the way he’d tasted, the way he’d felt. As if that moment of bliss hadn’t been years away but just seconds away. As if time wasn’t linear but circular and we’d suddenly ended up back at that very same place where we left off last time.

“I knew the minute I saw you,” he said.

“You did?” I croaked.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Some things you don’t forget.”

His hands skimmed through my hair in a soft caress and I felt my cheeks flush and my lips part while my pulses slammed in helpless desire. He leaned closer and tilted my chin up with a single finger.

“Much as I’d love to reminiscence about old times,” he whispered, “I really got to go.”

He got up, and I tried to kick him. He jumped aside and chuckled.

“Go to hell,” I snarled. “You were a bastard then and you’re still a bastard.”

__________
Links to other Excerpt Monday writers

Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.

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