Hi there! It's been aaaaaages since I updated my blog, so I thought it was about time.
So ... I've been busy. And lazy. My challenge is that I don't get books out there quick enough. My current rate is around one book every 18 months but if I put my mind to it, I could easily do two books per year. So in order to motivate myself, I've set myself a set word count to 'move my book forward' every day. (Notice I said 'move my book forward'? In reality I'll write way more than the set amount of words each day, but then I will delete a whole heap of words too....
Right now I'm writing a stand-alone book in a slightly different genre to the Soul Protector series. It's a romance/thriller and I'm enjoying writing it so much I've had to put Soul Protector #3 on the back-burner for now. Here's a sneak preview for you. The title is still pending and it's subject to change at any moment:-
I roll my eyes.
“Anyway....” She winks. “It’s not me he keeps looking at. It’s you.”
I shrug. “He can look all he likes. I’m not interested.” Men and relationships spell drama, and drama is the last thing I need right now. But as I pick up the icy bottle and carefully position the straw between my lips, I can’t resist a sideways glance at whoever Harriet is swooning over.
I spot him immediately. He’s stood chatting to a group of people seated near the door. He has short, sandy blonde hair and neat facial stubble. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with his sunglasses hooked over the neckline and he has a tattoo running up his arm.
Unfortunately I don’t look away fast enough. He turns in my direction and nails me with his eyes.
I clear my throat and turn back to Harriet.
“Well?” her eyebrows are raised. “I’m right, aren’t I? There aren’t many of his calibre walking around.”
I rub at my neck aware that my cheeks are burning. “Okay, I admit he does look kind of nice.”
“Nice?” Harriet snorts. “No, Em, nice is the old grandpa up the street. That guy over there is smoking hot.” She lowers her voice, “And he’s still checking you out.”
“Please stop looking over there,” I hiss. “He’ll think we’re talking about him.”
She laughs. “We are.”
“He’ll think I’m interested. He’s not even my type.”
“Are you crazy?” The skin puckers between her eyebrows. “He’s everyone’s type. What’s not to like?”
I look down, fiddling with a bit of label that’s peeled away from the Coke bottle. “I don’t know ... he’s too … obvious. One of those guys who really loves themselves. You know, physically attractive … mentally repulsive.”
I expect Harriet to comment but she stays silent. I look up and notice her lips are pressed into a thin line and the skin around her eyes is tightening.
I’m about to ask her what the problem is when a smooth, deep voice cuts in from behind.
“Who’s mentally repulsive?”
My fingers dig into the glass bottle. I know without looking who is standing behind me.
I take a deep breath before I trust myself to speak. “Do you mind?” My tone sounds more hostile than I intended. “I’m trying to have a private conversation.” I turn round to give him a snarky smile but it freezes on my lips.
He’s standing closer than I expected, practically invading my personal space. He’s tall; a couple of inches over six foot I’d guess. He has perfectly-sculpted features, and close-up I can see how his blue eyes contrast against his dark lashes and eyebrows. He smells good too, spicy and fresh. Whatever aftershave he’s wearing, it’s working.
He’s peering down at me with a smirk on his face. “You’ll have to forgive me … it wasn’t my intention to piss you off. I came over to deliver these.” He holds up two plates and places one in front of me and the other in front of Harriet.
It’s our burgers.
I’d been so wrapped up in his looks I hadn’t noticed he was holding anything.
For the second time since I saw him, all of two minutes ago, I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.
Harriet laughs. “Thank you,” she says. “You’ll have to forgive my sister. She’s just flown in from London so she’s a bit jet-lagged.”
I don’t say anything. I just sit still, praying for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” He smiles and dimples form in his cheeks. To my disgust, something responds deep in my stomach. “I enjoy getting put in my place by people who sound like Mary Poppins. It’s kind of sexy.”
He wipes his hand across his top and holds a tanned, muscular arm toward me. “Seriously, no hard feelings.”
His warm hand dwarfs my palm as he shakes my hand firmly.
“I’m Nate; Nate O’Shea.”