First, I want to thank everyone who left reviews for Valor at Goodreads. It cheered me up and got me started writing on the next book in the series.
So, I finally have a tiny inkling of an idea for Force’s story. The heroine, Camie, is a city girl who has to fend for herself so she shops at thrift stores and yard sales to find things she can sell on the internet. She also scours junk yards and dumpsters…which is where she runs into Force. Here’s a very rough unedited snippet. Obviously, it needs a lot of work but I wanted to get something out there for you guys to see:
A large hand exploded from beneath the thick jumble of paper and wrapped around my wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep voice said in a rasping lilt.
Naturally, I screamed, then scrambled backwards into a corner of the dumpster, staring at the long fingers attached to my wrist.
“Wh-what? Wh-Why?” I shrieked, both confused and disoriented. What was a hand doing glommed onto my wrist? What was a hand doing in a dumpster? Where was the rest of the person the hand belonged to?
The papers slid aside like the red sea parting and a head surfaced followed by a broad set of shoulders. Then I was staring into a pair of silvery gray eyes rimmed with charcoal. The thick dark eyelashes were just overkill.
“Because that’s my knife,” the stranger claimed in a strange accent.
Panicked, I tried to yank my arm out of his grip but it didn’t work and that just made me more scared. But before I could work myself up to screaming for help, he let go. For the next several seconds I just stared as I tried to catch my breath and calm my startled heart which was doing laps in my chest.
His dark gold hair fell over one side of his face all the way to his chin, framing a very square, very full mouth that struck me as both savage and brutal…not to mention sexy as hell. Morris Samuels might have a Cam Newton smile but this guy had a mouth that screamed kiss-me-now. Not that I was interested or anything. Because at that point in my life I knew enough about guys to understand that you couldn’t count on them for nothin’.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I gasped, when I’d caught my breath.
“I was just…having a quick nap,” he growled, sounding a little defensive.
“In a dumpster?” I questioned, even though I knew plenty of homeless people took refuge in the big tin cans on wheels.
“Is that what this is?” he asked, glancing around.
“Yeah,” I answered while privately thinking “definitely not from around here”.
I checked out the leather vest he was wearing. I’d never seen anything quite like it and wondered if he was newly hatched from some Eastern European country since I couldn’t read his accent. Other than the vest, the only thing he wore were a loose pair of long brown shorts kept up with a thick leather belt that carried his knife and a drawstring pouch. To be honest, he looked like he’d arrived from another era, but I decided to go with Eastern Europe.
And he looked hungry.
With a sigh, I dug in my pocket and pulled out a couple of tens. “You look like you could use something to eat,” I said and tossed the money at him.
He narrowed his eyes on the bills. “What’s this?”
“Money,” I answered. “American money. Buy yourself some food.”
His brows pulled into a fierce frown and his gaze swung back to my face. “I don’t need your help,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry,” I answered, getting impatient. “But you look like you need somebody’s help.”
“I’m not a beggar,” he said in a dangerous slide of words that made my hairs stiffen on the back of my neck. “And I don’t need your help.”