I remember attending my first RWA Convention in New York several years ago. I sat in on a JR Ward panel discussion about writing Alpha heroes. Her comment was something like this:
For those of you from Sonoma County, I wrote this scene in a purple velvet chair in the corner of the Bennett Valley Starbuck's. I can still remember that day.
Enjoy this little tidbit. Love my stepchild of a book that gets no love. At least on Halloween, spend some time with my injured Alpha male vampire and his soon-to-be bride:
“Does your husband know about your appetites?” From behind
Anne came a gravelly male voice that sent shivers down her spine. The screams
of the Starbuck’s espresso machine made her wonder if she’d really heard the
voice. But the male scent of him was impossible to miss. The hairs at her neck
stood at attention, telegraphing urgency. The urgent sensation extended well
beyond her waistline. Time stood still before she could bring herself to turn
around and fall under the warm gaze from this tall dark male that covered her.
Not man. Male.
He held her gaze as she stood, transfixed, unable to move or
to speak. That was the way it felt. Being held. “I’m sorry?” she blurted out
finally.
“Don’t be sorry, my dear. It’s a simple question.” The ends
of his lips curled up at the corners. When he inhaled, his chest extended, and
he appeared several inches taller. Then he exhaled and she was covered with the
same musky scent, incapacitating her, wrapping around her like a warm shroud.
It was familiar.
She heard mournful viola music drip with slides and rifts
that pulled on her heartstrings. She felt dizzy. Did she hear him murmur a
groan? Or maybe it was a small earthquake? Probably an ordinary person wouldn’t
hear or feel it. But she did.
Anne was on alert; this male took liberties with her
feelings.
What a crazy thought.
Ridiculous.
He leaned forward, grazing just the edge of her forearm with
his warm hand. An electric spark pricked her. He leaned against the counter and
looked at the barista, not her. “I’ll pay for the lady’s drink.”
She noticed the strong pulse at his neck. Healthy. Smells wonderful.
“And what would you
like, sir?” The young barista was pert. Anne didn’t like her perfect white
teeth. That and the fact the girl’s shirt was made for a ten-year-old,
showcasing her pierced bellybutton.
“I have all I need.” The rumbling words sparked shivers
again down Anne’s spine. He said it just next to her ear, barely touching the
small of her back . . . He was facing the barista, but deep inside Anne knew
the words were meant for her ears only.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Anne suddenly found the urge
to speak.
“My pleasure.” He removed his hand and gave a slight bow.
A bow? No one had ever done that before. Anne
had just fed. She wasn’t hungry enough to play the game this afternoon, having
gorged herself on a salesman who liked to eat garlic fries. His blood was thick
with fat globules she could almost see as well as taste. But it went down
smooth.
So maybe she would play along. This stranger might be a good
candidate for a snack tomorrow. She had never fed twice in one day. She
wondered what being too full would feel like in her current state. It would
probably make her horny. Well then, maybe she should reconsider. She should do
a wet feeding. That way she wouldn’t have to be too careful, could gorge
herself on him. He’d be wonderful to look at in the shower, and his hands might
do something unexpected to her. Something memorable in a string of unmemorable
feedings.
His hand gently touched the small of her back again, and she
allowed herself to be ushered to a corner table, flanked by two purple velvet
overstuffed chairs. They sat, facing at right angles to each other. The counter
girl called out Anne’s drink. He was up and walking over to pick it up for her before
she had a chance to react.
She watched him cross the coffeehouse like a thirsty
traveler eyeing a pitcher of water. He was probably six foot six. His dark hair
was pulled back in a short ponytail. His black leather bomber jacket showed his
nice ass and those long lanky legs that went all the way to Heaven. Even for
his size, he appeared graceful. Unassuming. Confident. And the nicest looking
male from behind that she had ever seen.
And then he turned, holding the little white paper cup with
two fingers, the other ones splayed out, large as antlers. She could see how
long his fingers were, how substantial. She envisioned what those hands could
do to her. But as sexy as he was, he also made her mouth water to feed.
His prominent jaw line sported blue-black stubble. His
strong pulse would be no problem at all, but she would have to bite a little
harder to crack the skin. Maybe he would let her take him slowly. Then she
could kiss other parts of him in between while his heart pumped more of the
blood she craved. His lips were bright red and full. She would enjoy sucking
them, licking them. Perhaps biting them.
His eyes found their way to hers, and when she met his gaze,
she became self-conscious of her thoughts, as if somehow he could read her mind.
Anne told herself it was her craving for blood that caused the almost sexual
attraction for this male. After she fed, surely she wouldn’t feel this way, she
thought.
He delicately deposited the white cup in her hands. One finger
touched and almost rubbed against hers. She thought she was imagining the
touch, of course. Between her legs, a warm pool had formed. It was a curious
place to feel hunger, a hunger of another kind. She blushed at her erotic
thoughts.
“You like cappuccino?” He seemed intrigued by the idea.
Dancing eyes, all over her upper torso, his breathing steady but deepening.
“Yes. I need the caffeine in the afternoon.”
That little hitch in his throat, almost like a moan of
surprise. “And here I thought your cheeks were flushed and ripe from a good
meal.” Those black eyes peered right to her soul. Almost as an afterthought, he
smiled, and the dark became brown, ringed with a coppery color that drew her
in.
I’ll play your game.
“Yes. After a big meal, I get tired sometimes.”
He nodded. “I remember that.”
Anne looked out the window. This was beginning to feel
dangerous. She grabbed her drink and stood. He stopped her by placing one hand
on her wrist. His action was soft, but deliberate. This male won’t be denied.
“Please, sit just a little longer. Then I’ll let you go home
to your husband.”
“Go? You’ll let me go? What kind of talk is that? I think .
. .” She began to rise again, but his firm grip on her forearm stopped her.
“Hear me out just a bit.” He did appear to be begging. Could
it be she saw a flash of pain there? No
way.
“How do you know I’m married?” she snapped out, letting her
impatience show.
“You wear a wedding ring.” He fingered her ring slowly,
sensually. She let him touch her, perhaps a bit too long. She was going to
correct his misconception but decided to leave him thinking she was protected
by another man. Safer that way.
But was she looking for safe?
There was an obvious physical attraction between them. She
had not felt this before, not since before she was made.
“Do I know you?” she asked, ignoring the comment about her
marriage.
“No. Ask it another way.” The huskiness of his voice made
her ears buzz, like he was brushing his lips across them, like they were in bed
whispering unmentionable things to each other.
“Do you know me?” Her eyebrows rose at the ridiculous
suggestion that seemed to be planted in her brain from somewhere else.
He very lightly nodded, his obsidian eyes flashing. “Oh,
yes. I have waited a long, long time for you.”
“Okay, that’s it. I’m outta here.” Anne jumped up, her
coffee in her hand. She slung her purse over her right shoulder and stormed off.
He followed her outside, keeping pace like they were walking in unison. She
stopped suddenly.
“Look. Whoever you are, I will call the police if you don’t
leave me alone.”
“And tell them what?”
“Tell them there is a very strange male following me,
bothering me.”
He groaned again. The ground beneath her feet rumbled when
he did that. “I like that you say male.”
She backed up, raising her palms up and out in his
direction. “Please, please leave me alone.”
“Agree to meet me here tomorrow at this time and I won’t
follow you.” He smiled. “I promise.” He held his hand over his heart. Anne felt
a small tug at her own, as well as an ache down below.
“Alright,” she said, willing herself to say no when her body
wanted to say yes. She’d wrestle with her decision if she could just get away
from him right now. This coffee house would have to be forever off her list. “Tomorrow
at four. But I will call the cops if you don’t stop this, this, way you are being—”
He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her close his chest. She
struggled, but he held her tighter the more she wiggled, and yet she enjoyed
the physical play between them. No matter how hard she fought, he would win. She
softened and heard his sharp inhale. The spice on his cheeks was a familiar
scent to her and, relaxed her just enough so she wouldn’t collapse entirely
being so close to him. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Go for now,
little one. But as for leaving you alone, there isn’t a chance in Hell that
will ever happen. See you tomorrow.”
And then he was gone. Just gone. Nowhere to be found. She
turned around and around and there was no trace of him. No car leaving the
parking lot. No door being opened. Just the normal day all around her.
She was hungry and scared. She liked feeling both emotions
equally.
She knew it was going to be forever until four o’clock
tomorrow.
A feeding would take up the next hour. Only twenty-three
more to go.
Sharon Hamilton
Life is one fool thing after another.
Love is two fool things after each other.
I've walked past this little store for what I thought was a year. Turns out it's been open for three. Who would have thought this little hat store would thrive in the heart of Wine Country where we have foodies and wine enthusiasts from all over the world descend. But apparently it does. What makes it special is that they custom make their hats. Except or the special ones for the Kentucky Derby, they specialize in making men's hats. I didn't even know there was an industry for this, but I'm not a guy.
Made in the mountains of Transylvania! How perfect for a pre-Halloween post. These hats are actually made from a special mushroom only grown there, and being harvested right now. I'm not sure if this was the birth of the phrase, "I'll eat my hat," but in California you never eat mushrooms without a spirit guide, not to mention an Emergency Room close at hand. They are odd little buttons, but very velvety and look more like imitation mushroom instead of the real thing. But they are the real thing. They even smell like real mushrooms.
I rather liked this one in the end. It wasn't hippie, but had an ancient ancestor there. It was already folded and scrunched, which is more my style than the straight brimmed hat that had to live in a hat box three feet in diameter on a top shelf forever. I can't do the little feather and things the Queen Mum used to wear, but this one seemed to suit me.
