The books I feature today are from authors who were not afraid to be soulful, sappy, and/or suggestive when it came to their heroes. So, grab a seat, and pick up a pen and paper so you can add these to your TBR list.
Happy reading!
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He sighed and dropped his pile of blankets on the floor in front of the fire and started layering and straightening them. "If you’re not going to sleep in the heat with me, then I have no choice but to sleep here. That’s how grandpa raised me."
"You’re being ridiculous."
"No, sweetheart, I’m being a man." He glanced down at the blankets he’d spread out. "It’d be warmer if we slept down here together and could share body heat."
"A pick up line." She rolled her eyes. "Still being a man, I see. Did your grandpa teach you that too?"
Keri Ford ~ Chasing Her Trail
"You’re being ridiculous."
"No, sweetheart, I’m being a man." He glanced down at the blankets he’d spread out. "It’d be warmer if we slept down here together and could share body heat."
"A pick up line." She rolled her eyes. "Still being a man, I see. Did your grandpa teach you that too?"
Keri Ford ~ Chasing Her Trail
“God, you’re beautiful... I needed to see you, to touch you.” He removed his hand from my cheek, and I felt a moment of loss, wanting him to hold me again. “I don’t know what, or how much you remember. I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re alive. I’ve said it before, I’d rather have you alive and hating me than to not have you at all, and I mean that. When they buried—” His voice roughened and broke. A tear trickled out of his blue eye.
Tank never cried.
He laughed, he joked and he got mad. He never cried. Without thinking, I flicked away his tear, then cupped his cheek in my palm, busy blinking back my own tears.
After a brief pause, he cleared his throat. “When they buried you, they may as well have placed me in the casket with you. All of me was with you.” He took hold of my hand and pressed it to the centre of his chest. “You are my heart. Without you, I don’t exist.”
Madison J. Edwards ~ According To Plan
“Maggie.”
Her name came out too abrupt, too urgent. He opened his eyes to meet her wide green gaze and forced a shaky smile. He plucked the fork from her hand and dropped it to the plate, weaving his finger through hers as if she could anchor him. She blinked away the confusion clouding her eyes when he opened his mouth and no words came out.
A nervous smile twitched her lips. “What? What’s the matter? Speak, boy. Is Timmy in the well?”
He managed a weak chuckle in appreciation of her lame joke and shook his head. “I just…” His finger tightened around hers. “I just…You’re happy, right?” he managed in a rush. “With how things are going? I mean, obviously we’re not pregnant yet, but other than that…Me and you? You’re okay with how things are with us, aren’t you?” When she reared back, he leaned in, desperate to keep her from slipping from his grasp. “I am, I mean…Really happy. I think things are going really well—”
Stubborn pride had him clamping his mouth shut the moment she wrested her hand from his. He looked away as she slipped from her chair and rushed into the kitchen. He stared at the wall, the muscle in his jaw ticking with tension. Somewhere, there on the cat-hair-dusted floor, his heart lay split open wide and bleeding. He didn’t want to risk a peek.
“I have something for you.”
His head jerked up. He clenched his teeth and sucked in a deep breath before turning to look at her. Maggie leaned against the doorway, waving a plastic stick as if it was a magic wand.
“I’m happy with all that and with how the getting pregnant thing is going, too,” she said, a slow, sly smile creeping across her face.
“Huh?” His forehead creased into a frown when she waved the stick in front of his face again. He caught her wrist and leaned back, squinting to bring the scrap of plastic into focus. A blue line streaked across the tiny window. His head jerked up, their gazes met, and her smile unfurled like a flower in bloom. “You’re pregnant?”
The quick, herky-jerky movements of her head could have gone either way, but his brain engaged at last, reminding him that she wouldn’t be standing there brandishing a stick she’d peed on if the answer wasn’t yes. Eyes locked on hers, he rose from his seat, winding his fingers around hers and trapping the magic wand in her closed fist.
“We’re pregnant,” he whispered, dipping his head to seal the declaration with a kiss.
Margaret Ethridge ~ CommitmentHer name came out too abrupt, too urgent. He opened his eyes to meet her wide green gaze and forced a shaky smile. He plucked the fork from her hand and dropped it to the plate, weaving his finger through hers as if she could anchor him. She blinked away the confusion clouding her eyes when he opened his mouth and no words came out.
A nervous smile twitched her lips. “What? What’s the matter? Speak, boy. Is Timmy in the well?”
He managed a weak chuckle in appreciation of her lame joke and shook his head. “I just…” His finger tightened around hers. “I just…You’re happy, right?” he managed in a rush. “With how things are going? I mean, obviously we’re not pregnant yet, but other than that…Me and you? You’re okay with how things are with us, aren’t you?” When she reared back, he leaned in, desperate to keep her from slipping from his grasp. “I am, I mean…Really happy. I think things are going really well—”
Stubborn pride had him clamping his mouth shut the moment she wrested her hand from his. He looked away as she slipped from her chair and rushed into the kitchen. He stared at the wall, the muscle in his jaw ticking with tension. Somewhere, there on the cat-hair-dusted floor, his heart lay split open wide and bleeding. He didn’t want to risk a peek.
“I have something for you.”
His head jerked up. He clenched his teeth and sucked in a deep breath before turning to look at her. Maggie leaned against the doorway, waving a plastic stick as if it was a magic wand.
“I’m happy with all that and with how the getting pregnant thing is going, too,” she said, a slow, sly smile creeping across her face.
“Huh?” His forehead creased into a frown when she waved the stick in front of his face again. He caught her wrist and leaned back, squinting to bring the scrap of plastic into focus. A blue line streaked across the tiny window. His head jerked up, their gazes met, and her smile unfurled like a flower in bloom. “You’re pregnant?”
The quick, herky-jerky movements of her head could have gone either way, but his brain engaged at last, reminding him that she wouldn’t be standing there brandishing a stick she’d peed on if the answer wasn’t yes. Eyes locked on hers, he rose from his seat, winding his fingers around hers and trapping the magic wand in her closed fist.
“We’re pregnant,” he whispered, dipping his head to seal the declaration with a kiss.
Thirteen stitches and four hours later, they left the hospital. They swung by the Elm Street building to make sure his truck and the building were locked up and then stopped by the pharmacy to fill his prescription of mild painkillers.
“Your place or mine?” she asked.
“Yours,” he said leaning his head against the seat.
At home, she got him settled on the couch, then looked him up and down. “Take off your clothes.” She laughed at the grin spreading across his face. “Your clothes have blood on them and need washed.”
“I don’t have anything else to wear.” But he began removing his clothes anyway. “You’re staring,” he said, kicking his jeans to the side. Beneath he wore boxer briefs and a hard on.
“You’re gorgeous,” she said on a husky whisper.
“You stole my line.”
Christina Wolfer ~ The Daughter
Visit Renee Vincent at:
http://www.reneevincent.com/“Your place or mine?” she asked.
“Yours,” he said leaning his head against the seat.
At home, she got him settled on the couch, then looked him up and down. “Take off your clothes.” She laughed at the grin spreading across his face. “Your clothes have blood on them and need washed.”
“I don’t have anything else to wear.” But he began removing his clothes anyway. “You’re staring,” he said, kicking his jeans to the side. Beneath he wore boxer briefs and a hard on.
“You’re gorgeous,” she said on a husky whisper.
“You stole my line.”
Christina Wolfer ~ The Daughter
Visit Renee Vincent at:
http://www.pasttheprint.blogspot.com/
http://www.facebook.com/reneevincentauthor
http://www.twitter.com/ReneeVincent
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