Favorite Lines Friday: February 24, 2017

You’re a writer. You’re awesome. Share your favorite lines from your novel here.


*Open to published and unpublished writers*
This is a positive place for writers! A place where you can show off your writing!

In the comments, post some of your favorite lines from your work-in-progress or a book you have published. Feel free to drop in a buy link too! Encourage your friends to stop by.

*Even if you don’t enter your own words, please comment on your favorite submission! Positive words are food to a writer’s soul!


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Abbie Roads writes dark emotional novels featuring damaged characters, but always gives her hero and heroine a happy ending… after torturing them for three hundred pages. RACE THE DARKNESS and HUNT THE DAWN are available now! SAVING MERCY is available for pre-order.

RACE THE DARKNESS

HUNT THE DAWN

SAVING MERCY

About the author: abbieroads

9 comments to “Favorite Lines Friday: February 24, 2017”

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  1. abbieroads - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

    From SAVING MERCY: http://hyperurl.co/SMAm1227

    She snagged a pair of sleep pants and a T-Shirt and dashed out of the closet, flipping the light switch behind her. Blackness swallowed everything, blinding her. Ahead of her she heard, the bathroom door open and she could barely make out the shape of him walking into the bedroom. It was too dark to make out any details, but shape was all she needed.

    His shoulders were so broad, his waist so trim. Her gaze shifted downward, locking on that place she shouldn’t be looking. She squinted trying to see in the dark. Too bad she didn’t have a pair of those night vision goggles. Damn. Was he wearing a towel?

    “Clothes.” She thrust out the pants to him. He took them and then put them on while she tried and tried to see through the dark. He walked over to the bed, drew back the covers, and laid down. He turned his back to her and sighed a breathy sound of pain and sorrow.

    That was enough to knock her out of horny-land. She pulled her filthy shirt over her head, and put on the clean T-shirt she still held, then let the sleep pants she’d put on ages ago fall down to her ankles. She needed a shower, but he needed her more—whether he’d admit it or not.

    She padded to the other side of the bed and slipped under the covers, facing him.

    “No. Don’t.” His tone that of a petulant child—arguing just to argue.

    She scooted closer, slipping her arm underneath his neck and pressed herself in to his body. He smelled clean and warm and safe. And even though she was in his bed to offer him comfort, her body eased, relaxing more than she had in years.

    His body was rigid with tension—he was two seconds from pulling away. “Shh… Just let me hold you.” She ran her hand through his hair. Felt the dampness of it on her fingers.

    As if the balloon of his tension popped, all the hardness in him turned to softness and he melted against her, shifting to find his place of comfort. He nestled his head on her shoulder, his arm around her waist, pulling her tighter in to his body. And it felt so right. So natural to be like this with him—as if they truly were meant for each other.

    Part of her knew they were. No one else could ever understand her the way he did. And he needed her to show him he wasn’t a monster, but a beautiful soul who’d survived some bad shit.

    Tonight she’d lie here with him, soaking in the sensation of his arms holding her tight, of his warm breath fanning across her chest, of holding him just as tight as he held her, of feeling at home for the first time in her life.

    A tear slipped out of her eye and tickled its way down her cheek because tomorrow she would leave.

    • Sharon Ervin - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

      Great intro, enticing readers to want to see where things go from here. Good job.

  2. abbieroads - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

    From Author Brinda Berry’s Fit for Love which is FREE Today: https://www.amazon.com/Fit-Love-Stand-Novel-Book-ebook/dp/B01I5T17BI/
    (It’s New Years Eve about to hit midnight)

    The singer leans into the mic. “Wish somebody luck, my friends. If you don’t kiss somebody, your year’s fucked! Three. Twooooo.” He points to the crowd with his tumbler if whiskey.

    This is my chance. I step through the end of the bar and stand beside her. “Hi Makenna,” I say. “Want to help a guy out with a kiss? I need all the luck I can get.”

    Her lips part like she’s sucking in a breath and her eyes widen in surprise.

    Placing my finger under her chin, I tilt her head up. She has plenty of time to back up or even kick me in the balls. But she does neither, only watches me as if the world has come to a screeching halt.

    She’s a deer caught in the headlights. Her wariness tells me she’s not as confident when she’s not in control.

    “One,” the singer yells and party horns sound.

    I lean down and touch her lips with mine. A gentle kiss. A tribute to a beautiful woman. I swear she trembles at the touch.

    Her soft lips part. She slightly tilts her head. Her fingers graze my biceps as she leans forward.

    She smells of sugary lemons.

    Then, some jackass bumps into us and we separate. I reach out instinctively to steady her, accidentally brushing one breast. A thrill of hot need crashes through me at the simple touch.

    She shoots me a look. She thinks I was trying to cop a feel, but then her eybrows lower as if she decides she’s wrong.

    “Happy New Year,” I say.

    • Sharon Ervin - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

      Is the “she” a “he”? I don’t know what gave me that impression.

  3. CJ Warrant - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

    A scene from Forgetting Jane, a dark romantic thriller. Come by at Abby’s Author on the Couch and win a copy. http://wp.me/p5h5aN-Y6

    Her cheeks bloomed even more crimson as she focused on the hallway floor. “Can you put something on? Please.” Jane’s mouth went dry. She had a sudden thirst for wet skin.
    “I’m not naked,” Elias said nonchalantly. “What do you want?”
    Jane kept her head forward. “Please,” she stressed, then tried to change her focus from Eli’s nakedness to something else. “Cleaning isn’t your strong suit.”
    “Is that what you came up here to tell me?”
    “No, but just glancing at your room. You lack organization. Or is it just cleanliness?”
    “Being a slob is one of my good traits—now tell me what you want to say.”
    Out of the corner of her eye, Elias stood there, not dressed, looking quite bored. Heat grew in her stomach—lower. “Please get dressed.”
    “Fine. Come in while I throw some shorts on.” Jane heard him laugh.
    If it weren’t for his coarse behavior, she could actually like the man. “You’re not funny.”
    HIs laugh got louder.
    Don’t look. Too late. She tilted her head slightly toward his direction and caught him dropping his towel. Ooh my. Everything about his body was simply beautiful. What a gorgeous ass. He left the door wide open for her viewing pleasure. Would he do that on purpose? Her chest hurt from her frantic heartbeats. She couldn’t catch a full breath.
    What the hell is wrong with me? I’m a peeping Jane.

    • Linda Moffitt - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

      I did it sounds really great

    • Sharon Ervin - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

      If we’re teasing sex, where do we go from here, because we’re already there.

  4. Sharon Ervin - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

    The opening of MEMORY, a romantic suspense coming March 8, ISBN: 9781509212903

    The windshield wipers slapped faster, clearing glimpses of shiny blacktop highway. They had waited two months for a good rain. Now, here it was, all at once, midnight the first day of August.
    “Careful, David.” Laurel’s voice sounded hollow. “Someone’s walking. Over there. On the shoulder.”
    David McCann saw a shimmer as his headlights reflected off the wet pedestrian not twenty yards ahead. He tapped the brake again, slowing to a crawl on the four-lane.
    The walker’s pace looked purposeful and vaguely familiar. David strained to identify the woman as his Lexus rolled by her striding form. He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. By remote, he lowered the passenger window––Laurel’s window––and leaned toward it.
    Passing briskly on the passenger side, the walker ignored them.
    “Memory?” David shouted.
    Laurel covered her ears. He had put some volume behind it, but he doubted his raised voice did more than annoy Laurel. Ten years after their senior class play, the woman was still the consummate drama queen.
    The pedestrian stopped and turned to face them, pushing strands of her dark, bedraggled hair away from her face as she squinted against the headlights. She took several steps back to put herself even with the car, bent, and peered inside.
    “Hello, Laurel. David.”
    A car roared by, spewing water as its taillights danced crazily in the spray. David frowned at Memory’s face, visually trying to sort out the features which had once haunted his dreams.
    She never dated, of course. Not the wondrous creature known in Astrick as “The Miracle Child.” Regarding her more closely, it looked to him as if the angelic Memory Smith’s full bottom lip was cut and swollen.
    “Get in.” He tapped the automatic door lock, releasing the latches.
    She fumbled with the handle to open the back door, then hesitated, shivering. “I’m filthy. And soaking wet.”
    Laurel cleared her throat to draw his attention before she spoke in a stage whisper. “We can send someone back for her.”
    “Get in,” he repeated, more forcefully, ignoring Laurel. “The seats are leather. You won’t hurt them. Hurry up, before we get rear ended.”

    • Linda Moffitt - Feb 24, 2017 Reply

      This sounds like a good book. Are you the author?

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