Hello!
Whew. Whirlwind
weekend in Columbus, Ohio. My husband's region won their company's highest
honor and we got a lovely dinner with fun entertainment and a night in a
downtown hotel. Caught up with some old friends and finally, finally got to see
my brother's house just south of the Brewery District. He's only lived there
ten years and it's my first visit. LOL
Tonight's post
features a brief scene from Muddy Up the Waters. Fiona and Warrick play
a wicked game of one-upmanship and tend to be on opposite sides when completing
their fae related duties. They love each other, but sadly never seem to get
their timing right.
Tagline:
Fiona and Warrick
can't quite get their timing together long enough to be on the same page when
it comes to making a commitment. Instead they spend expend their energy on
playing a game of who can hurt who the most…until one decides enough is enough.
And the preview snippet…
Warrick sneered. "That's
right. Walk away, Fiona. Run and hide instead of facing your truth."
Fiona paused mid-step. "And
what truth is that, Warrick?" She slowly turned and faced him.
He smirked. "The one where
I'm what you want even if you're too godsdamned stubborn—no terrified—to admit
it."
Fiona exhaled on a hiss. He
scored big time with that one.
She tilted her head to the side.
"Is that what you want, Warrick? For me to own how I feel?" She
straightened. "What about you, hmm? I don't hear you making any loud
declarations."
He opened his mouth, but snapped
it shut again.
She quirked a brow. "What?
Nothing to say?" She angled back toward the door. "I thought so. End
of conversation." She took a step to leave.
Warrick grabbed her arm and swung
her around. "No. Not end of." His grip tightened. "You want a
loud declaration. Try this one. I'm tired. Of the bullshit. The back and forth.
The you hurt me so I hurt you insanity we put each other through." He made
a low growling sound. "Hell, what we put other people through." He
paused, disgust creeping into his eyes. "Do you even remember the name of
the last guy you screwed?"
She couldn't. Mick. Mike. Mark.
Something with an 'M'. She wouldn't respond anyway. Warrick on a roll? He'd
bulldoze through whatever she offered as a reply. And hit the reason on the
head. The damned man always did.
"Fi, do you know the guy's
name?" He loosened his hold, sliding his hand down her arm to grasp her
wrist.
She barely suppressed a shudder.
When Warrick spoke in low tones—smooth, seductive, sexy—his voice made her hot.
She fought the urge to rip his shirt open and press her ear against his chest
just to listen to the sound.
His fingers lifted her chin.
"No answer?"
She shrugged. "Does it
matter? I screw who I want."
He snorted. "No, you don't.
Because it's not me."
Her eyes widened. "Really?
What about you? That hot blonde you had wrapped around you the other night
didn't measure up then?"
He shrugged. "Nope. She
truly didn't. I wanted a fiery red-head whose prickly-thorned barbs make my
dick hard." He cupped her face. "My perfectly imperfect woman."
Okay. Damn the declarations.
Admissions were absolutely awesome.
Don't worry, the
epic moment isn't the end of the story. It's a brief interlude when Fi and
Warrick get it almost right. LOL
That's it for this
week.
Cheers!
Skye
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