Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Editor: My Muse Author Larion Wills - The Wait for Red Roses

Author's Info Buy Page


GENRE:  Romantic Suspense



TAGS:  Interior designing, amnesia, head injuries, family dysfunction, broken marriages, family abuse, dominate males, broken promises, rediscovery, rekindled love



WORDS:  57819



PAGES:  212



ISBN:  978-1-77127-296-4











Back Cover



Imposter Curt would convince Cindra he was her husband long enough to turn the tables on the man paying him to fool her and gain even more.



Cindra knew the instant she saw Curt she still wanted him no matter what he’d done. Follow Cindra’s struggles to salvage the life she’d made for herself, not let him back into her life or heart, not to trust or succumb to the charms of a man changed too much, and to stay alive while she learns why Curt left her, and why he disappeared.







Excerpt



Curt sat on the side of the bed with an icepack on his crotch, not real happy with Bolwin. What Bolwin had to say didn’t make him any happier.



“I told you the class of woman she is,” he said in a bored tone.



“You also said I could use the input I’d get from her to convince the family.”



“That was not exactly what I said. I said she would be a good proving ground.”



Curt snorted. “You better hope they don’t know him as well as she does. She suspects I’m not Curtis.”



“Why? What did you do?”



“I didn’t do anything. She said I look different. Wonder why?”



“It’s been five years.”



“She also picked up on the left-handedness almost immediately. Whether she bought the excuse or not, I don’t know.”



“Perhaps you shouldn’t be around her any more than necessary now. If she figures out what we’re up to, she’ll demand some kind of compensation for cooperating.”



“Aren’t you forgetting something? I haven’t gotten her to sign those papers, yet.”



“Have you even told her they were never divorced?”



“No.” He wasn’t about to tell her what he was there for. She’d kick his ass out before he could put his own plans into action.



“It might be better if I handle things now. We do know she has no intention of accepting him back. I’ll draw up the new papers and take them to that shop of hers.”



“Whether you like it or not, I can’t stay away from her. If I back off now, with her suspecting me, she’s very likely to go to them with her suspicions. As for the divorce, I wouldn’t advise you going to her, either. Just a little too much to do with his family, and she doesn’t feel too kindly toward them.”



He hoped she didn’t. He hoped he shifted enough of the blame for Curtis’ obnoxious behavior onto the old man to ease some of her anger at Curtis.



“You better not be getting any ideas of your own, John. If you fuck this up for me, I guarantee you’ll pay for it.”



“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said and disconnected. He had a lot of ideas of his own. Figuring out how to put any of them into effect was the problem.



Before Bolwin could dial back, Curt dialed another number. “Cooled off enough to talk to me?”



“No,” Cindra answered and hung up.



He turned the cell phone off to avoid anymore calls from Bolwin and eased himself back on the bed, unzipping his pants as he moved. The motel phone rang before he could get settled. Cindra didn’t give him time to even say hello.



“What kind of court thing?”



“Thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”



“I’m not. I’m asking a question.”



“Fine line.”



She hung up. He called her back. Not giving her a chance to even say hello and making things up as he went along, he told her, “They can attempt to break the trust. One way would be to prove I’m not competent to take control.”



“Since you haven’t had anything to do with the company for eight years, that shouldn’t be hard to do.”



“Incompetent, not inexperienced, and once I sobered up, I started studying finance. I’ll have a year to prove myself before they can even start anything.”



“You never told me any of that because?”



“I didn’t want you to worry about it.”



“You’re so considerate,” she drawled nastily.



“I said I didn’t handle it right.”



“So why are you telling me now?”



“First, so you’d know why I acted like such an ass, and second,” he took a deep breath and rushed out the next words, “as my wife you?”



“Ex-wife,” she corrected sharply.



Mentally holding his breath, he told her, “Wife. We were never divorced.”



“I signed all those nice papers your lawyer brought me.”



“I didn’t. They were never filed.” Dead silence came from the other end of the line. “Cin?”



“We are not divorced?” she asked in a whisper.



“I never signed them.” Partial truth, partial lie, Curtis disappeared before the lawyer could ever give them to him, something the family never knew until the old family retainer died. When Bolwin took over, he’d found the unsigned papers. “They weren’t my idea, Cin. That was the old man’s doing. I planned on coming back for you once I got settled somewhere.” He added meekness to his voice. “Things never worked out right until now.”



Cindra exploded. “For Christ’s sake, Curt, what if I’d gotten married again?”



“You’d have been a bigamist,” he quipped before saying seriously, “I hoped you never got involved with someone else for the same reason I haven’t.”



“You knew you weren’t divorced,” she retorted. “I didn’t.”



“I never stopped loving you, Cin.”



“Don’t, please, just don’t,” she moaned and hung up.



Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Poet: Faves: William Blake - The Tiger


The Tiger

William Blake (1757 – 1827)









TIGER, tiger, burning bright 

In the forests of the night,     

What immortal hand or eye   

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?  



In what distant deeps or skies         

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?  

On what wings dare he aspire?          

What the hand dare seize the fire?    



And what shoulder and what art       

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?   

And when thy heart began to beat,   

What dread hand and what dread feet?        



What the hammer? what the chain?   

In what furnace was thy brain?         

What the anvil? What dread grasp      

Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 



When the stars threw down their spears,       

And water'd heaven with their tears, 

Did He smile His work to see?          

Did He who made the lamb make thee?          



Tiger, tiger, burning bright     

In the forests of the night,     

What immortal hand or eye   

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?