Favorite Lines Friday: February 3, 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*Open to published and unpublished writers*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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1. Sign up for my NEWSLETTER.
2. Keep your favorite lines to under four hundred words.
3. Keep things PG rated. Or mostly PG.
4. You can submit twice if you’d like.
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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

3 comments to “Favorite Lines Friday: February 3, 2017”

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  1. Patrick Tylee - Feb 03, 2017 Reply

    From soon to be released UNIMAGINARY by Patrick Tylee

    “Just wait here,” Ahnim said. “They’ll follow us up the alley. Once they’ve all left, we can go to the car.”

    “Once who has left?” Wynn asked. “Can you tell who they are?”

    “They’re with the local police department,” she said.

    “Not—? Not—?”

    “Not someone here to kidnap you. They’re after me,” Ahnim said. “They’ve chased us up into the next neighborhood —all except one. He’s on the way to your brain bender.”

    “What do you mean ‘they’ve chased us’?” Wynn asked.

    “I’ve caused them to see us running away.”

    A quarter of a mile from the building, the image of the teenage couple running hand in hand showed only from behind.
    From any other angle, the hollow shell gleamed fluid and black.

    “And I’m supposed to save you,” he said. Though the danger had passed, Wynn’s strong arms encircled Ahnim, with her facing away from him. He enjoyed her warmth, softness. At that moment, she became human to Wynn. He lowered his face down into her hair.

    I could hide in here, Wynn thought.

    “You did,” Ahnim said. “You did save me.”

    She turned to face him. He wanted the embrace to not end, not yet. His hands ended up on the back of her neck, behind her shoulder. Her mouth a magnet, it drew him closer. Though Ahnim had no need for breath, she made some just for him, for this moment, and every moment after. He swam in knowing that. Her lips sparked a memory, bending to inhale the fragrance of a rose. The outer petals brushed him, alive, created for the sake of beauty alone.

    “Now that I’ve got you,” Wynn said, “I’m not quite sure what to do with you.”

  2. Claire Gem - Feb 03, 2017 Reply

    From soon to be released Spirits of the Heart, a Haunted Voices novel. You can read a sneak peek here: https://instafreebie.com/free/TGeAw
    And pre-order from Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N7VIZU2?

    Miller waited in silence, listening to Laura’s raincoat crackle as she hung it on the coat tree. He heard something hit the floor with a thud—her purse? shoes? Too small to be a body . . .followed by a slow shuffling on the hardwood before she appeared in the doorway. Her clothes looked like she’d slept in them, and her hair was wild, standing out from her head in a jumble of zig-zags. There was a black smudge on the side of her face.
    He thought she was going to walk right on by. He didn’t want to startle her, so Miller didn’t make a sound. But she stopped in the doorway and turned to face him, blinking in the light.
    Then, she promptly burst into tears.
    Miller had no idea how to deal with this. Angie had not been a crier. When Angie had a bad day, she threw breakables. That’s why he was down to two full-size dinner plates and only three or four drinking glasses. There was no question that his former strategy for dealing with a depressed woman—ducking—didn’t apply here.
    Slowly, he lowered the lid to his laptop (that was pretty much instinct, since Angie had taken out one laptop on him last year with a pie plate), and rose to his feet.
    “What happened, Laura? Are you okay?” The words came out, but then he held his breath. Because he didn’t dare say anything to Angie when she was like this. It was like setting a match to dynamite. He wasn’t a stupid man. He’d learned that by the third shattered dish.

  3. abbieroads - Feb 03, 2017 Reply

    From HUNT THE DAWN: http://hyperurl.co/HtDAm3101716

    While he hauled his machine onto the road, he didn’t look away from her. She stood bereft in the middle of the pavement, staring out over the pasture. Emotions infused the air around her. Shame. Hate. Embarrassment. Sadness. Fear. Desperation.

    He recognized that tangled combination of scents. Knew them intimately. Knew the feeling of being hurt and vulnerable and powerless to stop the pain. Knew how memories, like the one he witnessed, had left wounds on her soul and Junior had just ripped off all the scabs.

    She was raw, bleeding emotionally in front of him, and yet holding it together by a spider’s thread. He could see the effort in the way she stood straight and stiff.

    Fury simmered low in his gut. After he got her squared away, maybe he’d pay a visit to Junior. Show the asshole what it felt like to be the victim.

    He walked the bike to her. After he straddled the seat, he held out his hand to her. She grabbed him, her grip hungry.

    “Climb on up.”

    She tossed her leg over the seat, using his hand to balance her weight.

    He sat at the same time she did, her body settling against his back.

    Holy Jesus. He couldn’t activate the ability to think. His brain short-circuited from her nearness. Everything disappeared but the feeling of her open thighs wrapped around his ass with nothing but a tiny pair of black shorts and his jeans between them.

    Her sweet, musky scent, almost like honey, but better—way better—folded around him like a celestial pair of wings. The scent of her entered his nose and flowed into his lungs, then out to his extremities, spreading a cooling wave of solace that he wanted to savor but couldn’t. Not with her perched behind him, waiting for him to drive down the road.

    He placed her hand against his stomach, pressed it tightly to him. His abdominal muscles twitched under her touch.

    “Hold on.” He let go of her hand, and she slid her other arm around his waist. She pressed her front to his back, holding as tightly to his body as she’d held his hand. She was a clingy little thing. Not that he minded. Her touch felt like—what was the word he wanted to use—kismet. Exactly as he’d always imagined a lover’s touch. Two pieces fitting together perfectly.

    He kicked the machine in gear, trying to ease it forward instead of moving with his normal burst of speed. She rested her head on his spine, nestling her cheek across the fabric of his shirt before settling.

    His heart grew, straining against his chest wall, threatening to come up his throat in a shout of absolute ecstasy.

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