Favorite Lines Friday: March 17, 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*Open to published and unpublished writers*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!


*In order to participate in Favorite Lines Friday, please follow the rules…

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.
5. Share this post. Feel free to use the handy Click-to-Tweet link below.

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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: March 17, 2017”

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  1. Peter Perrin - Mar 17, 2017 Reply

    Here are some lines from my debut novel ‘Not Too Old for Love’ which hopefully will be published at the end of this summer.

    The next morning Alf awoke expecting to find a naked Grace lying beside him. But to his consternation, there was no sign of her, apart from her clothes lying in a dishevelled heap on the floor. Just then the bathroom door opened and she appeared, clad only in a bath towel.
    Grace looked over at him and frowned. “Awake at last I see. I don’t suppose you remember much about last night?”
    “Not after we got back to the room. However, from your tone, I guess not a lot happened.”
    Grace glared at him. “Not a lot! The fact is nothing happened at all. Oh, your mind was up for it but your body wasn’t capable. So much for making the most of our time away from prying eyes at The Grange.”
    Alf felt gutted, and he hung his head in shame. After his banging on about Grace’s drinking, it was ironic his own had prevented a late-night romp. He glanced at his bedside clock and noticed it was only 8:15. With a smirk, he realised they had over an hour before breakfast ended. That was more than enough time to rectify the situation. “I feel terrible about that. Yet I see there is a window of opportunity before breakfast finishes to make up for it. Would you like to use it?”
    Grace smiled at his words and walked towards him. As she neared him Alf put one hand on her towel and removed it with a flick of his hand. She stood before him in all her glory, and his ravenous eyes roamed over her body. With great tenderness, he pulled her to him and proceeded to work his magic on her.

    • Peter Perrin - Mar 17, 2017 Reply

      By the way, this takes place in a retirement village. Grace is 68 and Alf is 71.

  2. abbieroads - Mar 17, 2017 Reply

    From HUNT THE DAWN… .99¢ SALE for a only a few days more!!! Amazon: http://hyperurl.co/HtDAm3101716

    Lathan laid Honey in his bed. Her body was deadweight and awkward, so he adjusted her arms, her legs, her head as if she were a life-sized rag doll until she looked comfortable.

    He tore off his gloves, pressed his fingers to her neck, and concentrated on finding her pulse. The steady pressure of her heartbeat tapped against his fingertips with a Morse code rhythm all its own. He laid his other hand on her chest, just below her clavicles, to ensure the rise and fall of her breathing. He tried not to notice how close his hand was to her breasts. Failed.

    The side of his hand rested next to the gentle slope of her breast. If he fanned out his pinkie finger—no. He pulled his hand away.

    She must’ve just passed out.

    He went into the bathroom, soaped up half the stack of clean washcloths, and washed the lingering scent of decay from her hand.

    Her skin was rough and red, her fingers knobby and strong, her nails ragged and short. She had the body and clothing of a stripper, but he expected something more faux sexy than torn-up fingernails and blistered feet. What kind of job abused her hands and her feet? Nothing seemed to fit.

    He had questions and not one answer. What was her name? Why didn’t he get SMs from her? Why was he able to touch her? Where the fuck did she get a human eyeball?

    He stared at her face as if the answers were written in the delicate arch of her brows or in the gentle curve of her lashes. Or in the small sickle-shaped scar at the corner of her mouth that curved upward, giving her the curious appearance of smiling out of one side of her mouth, while the other side frowned.
    Her eyelids fluttered. Opened.

    “How are you feeling?” That question was more appropriate than interrogating her on how she came into possession of a human eyeball. He’d wait until she was fully conscious before tripping down that trail.

    “Cold. So cold.” Goose bumps pimpled over her bare skin. She scooted toward where he sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping herself around his hips, seeking his body’s warmth.

    He should get the heavy sleeping bag from the closet. He should cover her with it and leave the room. He should, he should, he should. He didn’t. He pulled off his boots and eased into the bed. She latched onto him before he fully reclined.

    She molded herself to him. His shoulder her pillow, her arm around his middle, one of her legs draped over his thighs, her knee just a few miniscule inches from his groin. Everything vanished, except the vivid sensation of her feminine curves burrowing into him, seeking his safety, his comfort, his warmth. She was cool where he was on fire. She was soft where he couldn’t bend. She was sweet where he felt bitter.

    She fit into his arms, against his body, and into his soul like she was designed especially for him. He wanted to believe he could have a happy ending with her, but his reality was a cruel, hard place where good things just didn’t happen. Or if they did, they never lasted.

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