One of
the things I struggle with as a writer is showing the moment when my hero and
heroine realize they have fallen into the huge abyss that is love.
Still,
there are signs a person has fallen hard. When it comes to love, my heroes tend
to be faster out of the blocks than my heroines. Maybe it’s because I have a
tendency to write challenging women with issues and no real need for a man.
They are strong, independent, and some say clueless when it comes to love. Or
maybe it’s because deep down inside I like the idea of a man chasing a woman,
wanting her so badly, he’s willing to do just about anything to win her heart.
Sigh… Yeah, that’s probably it.
So here
is a Top Ten list for heroines:
You know you’re in
love when…
10. When you and your man are
together and you automatically walk to the passenger’s side of the car instead
of the driver’s side—even when it’s your car. Let’s face it, guys like to drive
and a real woman has no need to prove to her significant other that she’s more
than capable of navigating the mean streets of Brooklyn or Boise.
9. You go to the store and buy his
favorite beer and snacks without thinking twice—although you might wonder how
he drinks beer so thick you can stand a spoon in it and spend time pondering
his deep and abiding love of beef jerky.
8. You stop sleeping in the middle
of the bed unless you’re trying to get closer to him.
7. He comes over to your place
unexpectedly, you realize you don’t have a stitch of make-up on, or worse yet,
haven’t taken yesterday’s makeup off, and you’re wearing an
I’m-too-bloated-for-regular-clothes scary outfit consisting of paint-splattered
sweatpants he left at your place and a t-shirt you stole because it smelled
like him—and you don’t run screaming into the bedroom to shower and change.
6. You sit through a movie you sooo
don’t want to watch knowing the next movie night he’ll sit through a
three-hanky drama and not complain about the mascara stains on his new shirt.
5. You notice a lot of his hair on
the drain in the shower and you warn him he’s going bald so that ten years down
the road, it won’t come as a shock.
4. You find yourself watching the
Discovery Channel’s special about the Building of the Hoover Dam for the sixth
time without complaining or mentioning that watching it makes sleeping pills
unnecessary.
3. You find yourself sharing your
food at restaurants. Well except for the chocolate desserts—and even though
he’s allergic, he orders one knowing you can’t decide between Death by
Chocolate Cake and the Chocolate Covered Cannolli.
2. You look around your empty house
or apartment and wonder why it feels weird. You try to figure out what’s
missing only to realize the only thing that’s missing is him.
Number
one: You know you’re in love when…
You
don’t kill him in his sleep after you realize, too late, that he’s left the
seat up. Again.
Yup,
that’s when you know you know you’ve fallen in love—right after you’ve fallen
in the toilet. Ain’t love grand?
So tell
me, when did you realize you were in love? I’m giving away a copy of my new
book, BACK TO YOU: BAD BOYS OF RED HOOK to two lucky commenters. I can’t wait
to hear your stories!
Here’s
an excerpt of BACK TO YOU:
CHAPTER ONE
“I
think you killed him.”
Ten-year-old Nicoletta said it with such immutable calmness, Breanna
Collins wondered if this wasn’t the first time a strange man had entered
Nicki’s room at three in the morning and been taken down by a woman wielding a
cast-iron frying pan.
Bree’s
heart traded punches with her sternum, winding her more than a ten-mile run
uphill. She sure as hell hoped Nicki’s assessment of the intruder was right.
Better a dead burglar than a live one.
The
dim glow of a streetlight outlined the shadowy figure lying facedown on the
carpeted floor between Bree and Nicki. Dropping the skillet, Bree skirted the
body before grabbing Nicki’s arm, pulling her off the bed, and shoving her
toward the door.
The
man groaned, and, like something out of a horror flick, a vise-like grip closed
around Bree’s ankle. She landed hard, kicking and screaming. She reached for
the frying pan, only to be flipped like a tortilla on a hot griddle, and
covered with one extra-large serving of man.
“Get
off me!”
He
held her hands on either side of her head as his breath washed her ear. “I’m
not going to hurt you.”
“Yeah?
Well, I’m going to hurt you.”
“You
already have.”
Light
flooded the room, causing temporary blindness. When Bree’s vision cleared and
she saw he wan’t an intruder, she wanted to crawl under the pink princess
canopy bed and hide. Instead, she dove right into the turbulent, ocean blue
eyes of an enraged Storm Decker—the past occupant of Nicki’s room. Storm
Decker—a man Bree had known since before she started wearing sexy underwear.
Storm Decker—a man who epitomized the reason women bought the lacy,
uncomfortable stuff in the first place.
“Breezy, a frying pan? That was the best you could do?”
Bree
hated that nickname—maybe because Storm was the only one who dared to use it.
It didn’t help matters that the sound of it rolling off his tongue had always
been enough to make her breath catch. She struggled, trying to slide from
beneath him, but succeeded only in pressing her body against his. His heat
scorched Bree through her Mr. Bubble boxers and matching tank top. She couldn’t
believe Storm would be a witness to the remnants of insanity caused by a wild
shopping spree at the Walmart in Secaucus. Women built like her shouldn’t wear
tank tops—not even to bed.
Storm
didn’t move a muscle, keeping her pinned beneath him. He didn’t behave like a
gentleman should and get off her, help her up, and make sure she was all
right—not that she was surprised. Storm Decker was a bad boy, and he had the
rap sheet to prove it.
He had
the nerve to shoot her his guaranteed-good-time grin, the one that made any
woman in the vicinity want to remove the sexy underwear she’d purchased with
him in mind. “If I were out to hurt you, you’d be in a real tight spot right
about now.”
“No,
she wouldn’t.”
Storm’s attention snapped to Nicki standing in the doorway, holding the
phone in one hand and the frying pan in the other.
“You’d
be out cold again, and the cops would be on their way. Now, do you want to get
off her, or am I gonna have to use this?” She waved the frying pan and did her
best to look menacing.
Nicki
was too cute to manage that, but Bree gave her points for trying.
Storm
turned back to Bree, their noses almost touching. “Who’s the kid?”
“Storm, this is Nicki. Nicki, meet Storm Decker, Pete’s son.” She tried
not to think about Storm’s proximity and concentrated on the pained and
confused look on his face. He wasn’t the only one confused. “What are you doing
here?”
Storm
rolled off her. She thought she’d be able to breathe better without two hundred
pounds of man crushing her, but she was wrong. No, the breathlessness was still
there. Crap. She was twenty-eight and a far cry from that seventeen-year-old
caught in Storm Decker’s wake.
“Logan
couldn’t get away from the vineyard—something about harvest season. He got
ahold of me and told me Pop was sick. Since Logan was unable to make it, I was
elected. I’ve been traveling for”—Storm glanced at his watch—“twenty-three
hours, and this is the welcome I get? No wonder I haven’t been home in years—”
“Eleven years.” Bree sat and hugged her knees to her chest.
“So
you did miss me.”
“Yeah,
like a rash.”
“I
might not have seen you, but I’ve been home a few times. The last time was five
or six years ago. You were probably away at school.”
Bree
rose and brushed herself off, just to have something to do with her hands. “You
must have left quite an impression. Funny, no one mentioned it to me.” She took
the phone and the pan from Nicki. “It’s late, sweetie. Go back to bed.”
“Aw,
Bree.”
Dropping a kiss on Nicki’s forehead, Bree cut her off. “I’ll see you in
the morning.”
Storm
rose to his feet. He’d looked a lot smaller when he was out cold. He picked up
his duffel bag with a grunt, one hand held against his head over what must have
been one hell of a lump.
Bree
waited for Nicki to climb into bed and curl around a big teddy bear before
pulling up the light cotton blanket and brushing a hand over her hair. “I’ll be
in the next room if you need me.”
“Okay.”
Bree
followed Storm out, doused the light, and closed the door behind her. Without
looking at him, she headed straight to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of frozen
peas, and tossed them at him. “Are you okay? Do I need to take you to the
emergency room to have your head examined?”
He sat
on a bar stool and winced when he placed the bag against his head. “I’m fine.”
She
looked him over—his pupils were equally dialated. “Any nausea?”
“Why,
Breezy, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you cared.” The side of his
mouth quirked up.
“I
don’t. I just don’t want to be charged with murder. Now answer the question.”
“No,
I’m fine.” His phone rang, sounding like a foghorn. Pulling it off his hip, he
checked the caller. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”
“Fine.” Bree started out of the kitchen, but he wrapped his fingers
around her wrist and held on. The tingle shot straight to her breasts. She
didn’t dare look down.
“Storm
Decker.” He listened for a moment, and a smile spread across his face as her
cheeks ignited. His black hair was cut short, much shorter than she remembered.
It only served to accentuate the chiseled features of his face, while his
strong, square jaw covered with dark stubble added to his dangerous look. Blue
eyes watched her and changed color with his mood. When he’d been on top of her,
it had been like looking into an angry sea, and now his eyes were the color of
a summer sky—deep blue and full of promise. When he smiled, his perfect teeth
gleamed white against his tan skin. His voice was as soothing and buttery as a
bottle of Macallan’s fifty-five-year-old single malt scotch. At $17,500 a
bottle, she’d bet a case of it that the person on the other end of the line was
female.
“Hi,
Sandy.”
Bingo.
Bree twisted her wrist and pulled away, breaking his grip.
“How
are things at home? Any problems today?” Storm’s gaze lingered on Bree’s chest
before moving to his pricey watch. She wondered if they sold cheap knockoffs on
the street corners in Auckland. She doubted it. It looked more expensive than
the run-of-the-mill Rolex. They probably charged extra for the dive watch to
withstand the pressure of the ocean’s depths or the corner office. Then again,
maybe his watch had been a prize for winning the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.
So okay, she’d Googled him and found a picture of Storm and his team holding
the Rolex Cup. It was just her luck the photo hadn’t done him justice.
“Tell
Laurel I’ll be back in plenty of time to go to the yacht club dinner. This
should only take a week, two tops.”
Bree
did a quick boob check while she wiped the already-clean kitchen counter and
tried to look as if she weren’t listening to every word of his conversation.
Unfortunately, the girls were standing at attention. Still, it didn’t keep her
from wanting to smack him upside the head with the damn frying pan again on
general principle. A one- or two-week visit was no help. She had called Logan
because she needed someone responsible to stay for the next couple of months at
least. Storm’s plan seemed to be to blow in, stay just long enough to assuage
his guilty conscience, then leave for the next eleven years or until Pete’s
funeral, whichever came first. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. He
probably had Peter Pan tattooed on his incredible ass.
Storm
snapped his phone shut. “I guess I should thank you for the great homecoming.
Now, do you want to tell me just what the hell is going on and who that kid is
in my old bedroom?”
“Who
are you to walk in here and start demanding answers? You ignored Pete for
years, and now . . .” Storm was . . . God, he was
here. Her energy level bottomed out, and she leaned against the counter for
support. “Why couldn’t Logan have come? And if he had to send someone, why
couldn’t he have called Slater?” After all, Slater was safe. “Slater’s in
Seattle. And last I checked, Seattle is a hell of a lot closer to Brooklyn than
New Zealand, if you’re still in New Zealand.” With the Storm Chaser, one never
knew.
“I get
that you’re not happy I’m here. Deal with it, Breezy, because like it or not,
I’m all you’ve got.”
“Lucky
me. When it comes to helping someone other than yourself, you were always as
useless as an inflatable dartboard.”
Storm’s head snapped back, and his chin followed, as if Oscar De La Hoya
had hit him with a right cross. “People change.”
She’d
won this round. She’d pinned him against the ropes with the two-ton weight of
her gaze, willing him to explain his disappearance years ago, but his eyes told
no tales. “Pete collapsed at the Crow’s Nest. Heart attack. They did bypass
surgery, and he’s not handling it well.” She threw the sponge into the sink and
wiped her hands on a towel. “I have a hard enough time managing the restaurant
and Nicki single-handedly. I can’t take care of Pete too. I need help. I’m
surprised Logan called you, but I’m even more surprised you came.”
“Why
wouldn’t I have come? Just because I moved away doesn’t mean I’m not close to
Pop.”
“Oh
yeah, I heard you friended him on Facebook. I’m sure that means so much to
him.” Bree took a deep breath and released it slowly. “He’s at Methodist
Hospital, and with any luck, he’ll be out in a few days. He needs to heal, and
I don’t know how much he’ll be able to do once he’s back on his feet.”
Storm
stood and in two steps was around the breakfast bar. “Breezy? Is Nicki yours?”
“Mine?” She stepped back. “Why would you think that?”
“Why
wouldn’t I?”
Bree
ran her hand through her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “No. Nicki is
Pete’s.”
“Pop’s? Since when?”
“It’s
been a few months now.” If Pete hadn’t told him about Nicki, it wasn’t her
place to do it. “Look, I’m tired. I’m going back to bed. Help yourself to
whatever you want. There’s beer and leftover pizza in the fridge. The guest
towels are in the linen closet. I’m in Logan’s old room. You can stay in Pete’s
room tonight—the sheets are clean. Good night, Storm.” She brushed by him on
her way out of the small kitchen.
“Good
night, Breezy.”
Bree
felt his eyes on her the whole way back to her room. She closed the door and
thought about locking it—not sure whether it would be to keep him out or keep
her in. Climbing into bed, she fought the searing memory of the last time she’d
seen Storm Decker. He’d been running out that same door and leaving her behind.
Storm’s gaze locked on Breezy as she moved away. Reddish brown hair
framed her face and gave her that hot, tussled, just-rolled-out-of-bed look
women spent a fortune to duplicate—Breezy did it without trying. But then
shehad just rolled out of bed. He couldn’t help but smile at the way her big
green eyes sparkled with humor or anger whenever she hit her target. She had a
hell of an aim, and not just with frying pans.
Her
face had softened with time but still showed off those high cheekbones, short,
upturned nose, and wide, full mouth. Her face wasn’t the only thing that had
changed. At seventeen, she’d been a skinny kid, but she’d filled out in all the
right places. Her tank top showed off an abundance of cleavage, and those
breasts were one hundred percent natural. He could tell. The rest of her body
did anything but disappoint, and it put her in the realm of fantasy material.
Damn, leave it to Breezy to be the only woman alive who could make those stupid
cartoon pajamas look better than anything he’d seen as a teenager in the
Victoria’s Secret catalogue—the poor man’s Playboy.
Storm
fingered the goose egg on the back of his head. Shit, he was going to kill Logan
when he got his hands on him. Logan failed to mention Breezy worked for Pop.
But then, Storm had never asked about her either. The last thing he needed was
a reminder of Breezy—hell, he’d dreamed about her every night for at least a
year after almost having sex with her.
Storm
pulled the phone off his belt and called Logan. He didn’t give a shit what time
it was. While the phone rang in his ear, he looked around the apartment he’d
grown up in. It hadn’t changed much except for some new carpet, paint, a
big-screen TV, and a leather couch. Pop’s favorite recliner still sat in the
corner. Even though smoking in New York had been outlawed, since the apartment
was above the Crow’s Nest, it still held the faint scent of stale tobacco and
beer. It smelled like home—something he hadn’t realized he missed until he’d
walked through the door. That was . . . right before Breezy
beaned him with the frying pan.
“Do
you know what time it is?” Logan didn’t sound happy. Good, neither was Storm,
and it was three hours earlier in California. Hell, Storm didn’t even want to
know what time zone his body thought it was in.
“It’s
twelve forty-five your time. I guess the better question would be, do I care?
I’m home, and you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“What
do you need explained exactly? Pop’s in the hospital, and one of us needs to
help him until he’s back on his feet. I’m in the middle of a harvest, and
Slater is doing an internship for school. You were elected. Besides, it got you
out of the winter blues down under, so what the hell are you complaining
about?”
Storm
raked his fingers through his hair, momentarily forgetting about the goose egg
until his hand traveled over it. He sucked in air through his teeth, the ones
he was currently grinding. “Logan, you never told Bree I was coming. The first
thing she did when I got here was hit me upside the head with a frying pan. She
thought someone had broken into the apartment.” The deep chuckle on the other
end of the phone irritated him.
“What
did you want me to tell her? She asked for help, I sent help.”
“You
also failed to tell me about the kid.” Storm didn’t know what to do with a kid,
especially a girl. Women, sure. Girls, no way.
“What’s this about a kid?”
“You
didn’t know either?”
“What
the hell are you talking about? What did Pop do now, take in another stray?”
“This
one is a little kid. Her name is Nicki.”
“Did
you say her?”
“Yeah.
Her, as in ‘Congratulations, it’s a girl.’”
“How old is she?”
“How the hell do I know? She’s not walking around with her date of
birth stamped on her forehead.”
“Well, is she two? School age?”
“Definitely school age.” He tried to think back that far. He
didn’t see many kids, so he didn’t have much to compare her to. “She’s at that
awkward age when nothing quite fits together. Her legs are too long and skinny;
her teeth are too big.” She was old enough to have the same look in her eyes
he’d seen every time he’d looked in the mirror as a kid. Nicki was on a first-name
basis with pain and fear and the dirty underbelly of society. Still, that
knowledge came to some really young. “I don’t know, somewhere between eight and
twelve.”
“Why didn’t Pop tell me?”
“How the hell do I know?” Storm kicked the wall under the
breakfast bar, something that never failed to get him a smack on the back of
the head from Pop when they were kids. “I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad since
he didn’t tell you either. After all, I’m the black sheep.” Pop had never
forgiven him for leaving without a word, even though he’d planned to join the
merchant marines. He never explained why he’d shipped out two months earlier
than expected—explanations were always messy.
“When did the kid show up?” Logan asked.
“Bree said it’s been a couple months. Why the hell has it been
months since you’ve talked to Pop?”
“Look who’s talking. I’ve been busy at the vineyard.”
“And Slater?”
“School and work. Pop came out last winter, and the three of us
got together in Vancouver.”
Storm hadn’t been invited. Not that he would have flown to the
West Coast, but shit, he used to be one of them. An invite would have been
nice.
“It must have been before he got her. Pop never said anything
about a girl. He never said anything about a heart problem when he was with us
either.”
“A quadruple bypass is a little more than a problem.”
“I was shocked when Bree called and told me he had a heart
attack.”
“Yeah, I know. Looks like he’s closer to Bree and Nicki than to
any of us.”
“What are you waiting for? The pity platoon to come rescue you?”
Storm groaned. Even to his ears that sounded whiney. After all,
Pop had rescued him, Logan, and Slater from foster care and loved them as if
they were his own. Then they’d grown up, and Storm had moved on. Hell, he’d
left Red Hook, but not because of Pop. He left because he had no choice—he
couldn’t disappoint Pop, and he couldn’t stay. There was no future for him in
Red Hook, only a past he wasn’t proud of.
“Are you going to see him tomorrow?” Logan asked.
“No, I came all this way to hang out at the bar. Of course I’m
going to see him. I’ll be at the hospital first thing.”
“Good, get some sleep. And Storm, you might consider buying a
helmet.”
“Don’t laugh. I might do more than just consider it. The woman has
one hell of an arm.”
“I’m glad you’re home.”
“Yeah, well, I’m here. But I need to get back in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?”
“I told you, this is the busiest time of the year for me. I just
landed a commission for a Class 40 racing yacht. I’m slammed with tight
deadlines. As much as I love the old man, I can’t stay in dry dock forever.”
“Okay, I guess we just have to hope Pop’s better. I’m in the
middle of harvest, and it’s not something I can take care of from Red Hook.”
Storm ended the call and stared at Breezy’s door, wishing he had
X-ray vision. Even after all these years, he hadn’t needed the lights to know
who lay beneath him. One breath and Bree’s scent—an intoxicating blend of
citrus and spice—tossed him back eleven years, landing him in the exact place
he’d been before. On top of her. Between her legs. Hard.
“Fuck.”
He wasn’t sure what had him reeling more—the conk on the head or
seeing Bree.
To read
the rest of Chapter One, check out Robin’s website.
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/RobinKayeWrites
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/RobinKayeWrites
***Robin's winner is Sunnymay! Please email totebag@authorsoundrelations.com with your mailing information. Thanks!***
***Robin's winner is Sunnymay! Please email totebag@authorsoundrelations.com with your mailing information. Thanks!***
28 comments:
Hi Robin -
Hubby & I had a whirlwind beginning to our relationship. We realized things were moving fast, so I went to my parent's house (we were in college) for the weekend. The whole time I was there, I kept turning to share observations or tell him something. I'd never done that with anyone before.
Married him a month later :)
Many years later I still share thoughts and observations with him
My hubby knew sooner than me that he was in love. I jut saw him as a very good friend. Being with him was so easy, comfortable, I could be myself.
One evening we were watching television and my had was on his lap and everything was just so perfect. That was when I realized I loved him.
Wow! That was fast. I thought my DH and I were fast--we were dating 4 months when we got engaged, married 4 months after that. We've been married 23 years.
That's great. It wasn't fireworks, but it was comfortable which is wonderful! Thanks for sharing it!
When my heart and soul was captured by this special man. No one has ever done that before. Years ago and still the one.
His charm, charisma and genuine and sweet nature took my breath away. My life changed in a wonderful way.
Thanks for the great post and excerpt! Sounds fantastic! My "realization" came more gradual. I think I looked at him one day after we'd been together for a few months and realized that this is the man that I would grow old with :) We are 4 yrs and still going strong!
Honey knew before I did that love was in
the picture. I think my hesitance arose
from the fact that he was younger. When
he asked me to marry him and I finally
accepted, it was some 5/6 months before
we took the walk down the aisle! That was
52 years ago in April.
I think I will feel in love each time reading book :D
That's lovely. Thanks so much for sharing!
I try to make my heroes do that in every book I write. It's great to know it happens in real life too!
Congratulations! A few months is still pretty quick but it's working!
Wow 52 years is quite a feat! My DH and I have been married 23 years and I barely remember my life without him. Congratulations!
That's my goal as a writer--I try to make sure my readers fall in love with my hero and heroine and feel invested in their relationship.
I couldn't point to a particular moment. It kind of crept up on me.
You know you're in love when:
You share everything with him, good, bad, trivial or detailed
You want to be with him ALL THE TIME
You forgive
You want to walk hand in hand through life
You make him chocolate chip cookies and special dinners with all of his favorite foods
You laugh together
You do fun things together that you both enjoy
You watch violent movies when you prefer romantic comedies
You put up with his friends
You want to kiss him all the time
You know you’ve been in love a long time when you still reach for your partner’s hand after 30+ years for no reason other than if feels good.
Well my husband proposed to me the first time I met him. It took me a bit longer to realize that I needed him in my life. He actually stopped coming to see me for a few months and I missed him a lot. When he came back, I knew I wanted to have him in my life. We've been married for 44 years now.
I realized I was in love when my beloved cleared out a drawer at his place for me and I found that I was willing to use it.
little lamb lst at yahoo dot com
Sorry but can't actually explain how and when did I realize that I love him. Maybe that's one of the mystery of being in love. Sigh! But one thing is for sure, I'm joining the bandwagon of people who can't stop thinking about the person that they really, really like. <3
You know when you're in love when you get the schedule out and see when there's time to overlap. My longest relationship involved both of us saying we didn't want to get serious, yet we were just fooling ourselves and saying words to not jinx the setup of our dating.
Love has a way of doing that!
That's a great list! Thanks!
DT - You're the best guy I know--well, next to my DH. Your wife is a lucky lady! And from what I hear about her, you're pretty lucky too!
Kaelee - that's amazing! Congrats on 44 years!
Aww... that's so sweet and brings me back to the day my beloved did the same thing. Thanks!
Lory Lee - Love is definitely a mystery!
When I met my DH I actually interviewed him. I was tired of dating guys who didn't meet my needs. I didn't want to get married--ever, but I did want a long-term relationship. We were engaged 4 months later, married 4 months after that.
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