Favorite Lines Friday: April 7, 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*Open to published and unpublished writers*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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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

4 comments to “Favorite Lines Friday: April 7, 2017”

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  1. Teri Thackston - Apr 07, 2017 Reply

    One of my romantic suspense re-releases: Deadly Climb https://www.amazon.com/Deadly-Climb-Teri-Thackston-ebook/dp/B06XZ36MWQ/

    “Is that guy naked?” Leaning on the windowsill, Laura Killen glanced back at her partner. “On a Manhattan window ledge? In February?”
    United States Deputy Marshal Harry Riordan shrugged his shoulders and considered the well-manicured fingernails on his right hand. “The correct term is, I believe, buck-naked,” he said. “The gentleman was upstairs at a sperm bank when the police arrived. He, uh…” One corner of his mouth twitched. “According to the sperm bank’s staff, he’s a frequent contributor and apparently squeezed in the bank robbery before his regular appointment.”
    “He had to take off all his clothes to…” Laura choked back a laugh. “Contribute?”
    “Some men are more comfortable that way. Or so I’ve heard.” Harry’s gray eyes twinkled. “As soon as the cops moved in, he grabbed the money, bolted out a back door and down the fire stairs, then wound up here at…” He tried to stop it but a chuckle escaped. “At One-Digit Accounting.”
    Laura glanced around the elegant office of the prominent Manhattan accounting firm. Two more deputy marshals and five uniformed cops stood nearby, all trying not to laugh out loud.
    She nipped at her lower lip. “Is the evacuation complete?”
    Deputy Alan Goday stepped forward, Adam’s apple bobbing. This was his first high-rise situation and he visibly wavered between nervous and amused. “This floor, plus two above and two below. It’s all clear, ma’am.”
    Russell Brickman, the other rookie deputy, nudged Alan. “And not one evacuee was naked, huh, Goday?”
    “Uh, no.” Alan blinked rapidly. “Not one.”
    The lone female police officer snickered. “With all the SWAT teams busy on other calls this morning, we appreciate your help.”
    Laura grinned. “Climbing out of high-rise windows on windy winter days is one of my favorite things to do.”
    “Especially if there’s a naked man waiting on the ledge.” Harry scooped up Laura’s climbing gear from a nearby chair. “But if you’re chicken, I’ll go this time.”
    “And risk mussing your hair?” Grabbing the harness, Laura fixed it around her body. “I’ll show you chicken. Stand back and watch a professional at work.”
    “Professional what?” Reaching behind her, Harry swatted her backside. As she gasped in surprise, he whirled her toward the window. “Go get ’em, kid.”

  2. Becky Lower - Apr 07, 2017 Reply

    This is the first meeting of Violet and Parker, from my WIP, a Regency.

    Violet affixed the big calendar to the wall behind her desk just as the door to the greenhouse opened. The glass enclosure had misted over during the night, condensation on the glass shielding her from the outside, but she didn’t need to see. Her American albatross was here. Later than she expected, but still.
    Time to face the inevitable. She could be cordial, as her father had requested. She’d be the epitome of the frosty grace English women were known for. Teach him quickly and send him on his way with a boatload of roses. Sell him much more than necessary, in order to pad their bottom line. More money in the coffers wouldn’t make up for the lapse in Violet’s work, but it would at least be something to point to with pride. She pasted a smile on her face, left the confines of her small office and strode out to meet her father and the American.
    Her footsteps faltered as she caught sight of their guest. She’d been expecting an older white-haired balding gentleman, possibly stooped over from decades of tending young plants. Yet the man standing in front of her was neither white haired nor stooped over. Instead, he towered over her by at least eight inches. His arms were muscled, and his tan breeches clung to his toned legs. Her gaze traveled up, over his broad shoulders to his face. His mop of dark hair had been tossed about by the wind and his eyes were the clearest blue she’d ever seen. He couldn’t be more than in his early-thirties, if that. Certainly not what she’d envisioned. Not what she’d hoped for.
    Their eyes met.
    He smiled ever so slightly.
    Violet caught her breath, her heart beginning to pound against her rib cage.
    He didn’t speak.
    Neither did she.
    A hot stretch of silence spooled between them.
    What had happened to her sharp tongue? Instead of being razor-like, her tongue seemed to be glued to the top of her mouth.
    “Ah, there you are, Violet.” Her father entered the small office after his guest, filling the void. “This is Mr. Parker Lewis, from Philadelphia. Mr. Lewis, meet my second eldest, Violet.”
    Violet extended her hand, expecting him to kiss it the way a proper English gentleman would have.
    Instead, his big calloused fingers wrapped around hers, squeezing ever so slightly. His palm was tanned and nicked with scars. She shouldn’t have noticed. Why had she? Her breath pushed up her throat in a thin wisp of air.

  3. abbieroads - Apr 07, 2017 Reply

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

    Cain knelt at the altar of blood. The sweet scent of rotting biological material an abomination to his nose and yet, foul anticipation crawled underneath his skin. His mind slid sideways like it always did when around the red stuff. Back to his childhood. Back to a time when he was very much his father’s son. Back to when blood covered his skin—the slick, silky, warmness of it so wrong and yet so horribly soothing at the same time.

    He slapped his hands down into the congealed sludge. The coldness sent pleasant shock waves up his arms. He didn’t want to feel pleasure, didn’t want to enjoy this, but that other part of him had terrible intentions. Helpless to stop himself, he smeared his hands around in the red like a kid playing with finger paints. Only when they were coated with the family’s blood did he raise them to his face.

    A miniscule part of him rebelled against what he was about to do, but the rebellion was quashed before it began. He spread the blood over his forehead, his cheeks, coating his skin in the thick, sweet, goo. He painted his neck, his bare arms, then lifted his T-shirt and wiped his hands on his chest.

    His head fell back on his shoulders. His breath came in shallow, hyper-ventilating gulps. From a distance, he heard himself moan, only it wasn’t a moan—it was more like the yowling of a feral cat fighting for its life. Or getting ready to mate.

    Blood did that to him—was a pleasure and a pain. A gift and a curse.

    He had a complicated relationship with blood. He hated it. He loved it. Blood was a conduit, a link, a connection, between him and those who slayed souls. Blood opened a doorway, allowing him to step into the mind and body of those who found bliss in ending life. He became the killer. He saw what the killer saw. Did what the killer did. Felt what the killer felt.

  4. SANDRA MASTERS - Apr 07, 2017 Reply

    This is from my Book Five, Book Series, ONE NIGHT WITH A DUKE, release date June 2017.

    “I do hope that none of the rakish kind will offer for my basket. Men do feel widows are fair game. I’m not sure how I would handle such rakes. I have insufficient experience, but I suppose I will have to learn.”
    “My dear Samantha, do you expect me to believe that in these past three years, you haven’t encountered disreputable men?” He laughed. “I do believe you will have a sufficient amount of reputable young men who will bid on you and your picnic basket. After all, it’s for a good cause, isn’t it? But I do hope you will keep your conversation light, or you will suffer the young man to have indigestion or apoplexy.”
    Impishly, she said, “I deserved that. I like your sense of humor. It’s also good to hear you laugh. We do battle well.” Perhaps he could be a man of consequence?
    “Indeed, but I warn you, I have not started my retaliation. When one acquires an enemy, I don’t believe in keeping him or her closer; however, I might make an exception for you.”
    “Oh. No, I’m not your enemy, Your Grace. Please don’t consider me as one.”
    “Perhaps if you try hard, you can change my mind.” A small grin curled his lips.
    “What would I have to do?”
    “I leave that to your resourcefulness…and mine…under a starlit night with nothing but our naked imaginations.”
    “Sweet heaven,” she muttered.

    Enjoy!

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