How exciting is our new debut? I've been waiting for the additions to this blog for weeks, and I'm so thrilled about all the new things going on at Romance Worth Killing For!
In the spirit of celebrating debuts, I thought for today's blog post, I'd share an excerpt from my debut novel, What Mattered Most, to be released February 27.
I hope you enjoy!
Lanie was going to kill him, and he deserved it.
John O’Reilly draped his coat over the back of the leather couch. He hadn’t really forgotten the doctor’s appointment. He’d remembered it – an hour too late, while he was wrapped up in trying to question a near-hysterical witness. That interview had given them a lead begging to be followed up, and he had forgotten to call and beg forgiveness.
Guilt curled through him. The kid wasn’t even here yet, and already he was a lousy father. What would he do when the baby was a reality instead of a lump that nudged him in the back every night?
The scents of vanilla and cinnamon wafted through the entire house. Following the aromas, he took the stairs two at a time, knowing just where he would find her. The weariness of a fourteen-hour day tugging at him, he stripped off his tie and suit jacket. In the bedroom, ivory candles flickered on every available surface – the nightstands, the bureaus, the long, low table at the foot of the bed. Tossing his tie and jacket on the plush chair in the corner, he stepped out of his shoes.
More candlelight drew him to the open bathroom door. Just as he’d expected, mounds of scented bubbles filled the large tub. Cinnamon and vanilla hung in the hot, moist air. Eyes closed, Lanie lounged in the tub, her dark hair piled in an untidy knot at the top of her head. Just above the bubbles, he could see the upper slope of her breasts, droplets glistening in the line of her cleavage.
John inhaled the sweet, spicy air. This was why he couldn’t even walk into a bakery anymore without getting hard. Unbuttoning his shirt, he continued to watch her. She lifted one long leg, pointing red-polished toes in a feline stretch. God, she was graceful, even with the basketball-sized bulge of their baby poking above the water. His shirt fell to the hardwood floor in a soft rustle of starched cotton.
“Evening, Deputy Falconetti.” He knelt by the tub and reached for her foot, kneading the muscles in a soft rhythm. Her ankle, slightly swollen, begged for a kiss, and he obliged, bubbles tickling his nose. “I’m a jerk. Scum. Lower than dirt.”
“Is that an apology, Detective O’Reilly?” Her soft, lyrical voice wrapped around him. She propped her other foot on the edge of the tub, and he reached for it, treating it to the same massage.
“Yeah, it is.” He pressed his thumbs into her arch, and she moaned, her pleasure zinging through him. “I’m sorry, Lanie. I know this was important to you-”
“And your job’s important to you.” She said the words without rancor, but they seemed too smooth, too practiced. “It’s okay, John.”
Okay? That was all? He ran his hand up her calf, watching her face. She closed her eyes and sank a little deeper in the water. “You don’t want to yell at me or anything?”
He opened his mouth and closed it again. Why the need to push the issue? If she said it was okay, it was okay. Only it didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel right.
“Would you care to join me?” She reached out a languid hand to brush a finger down his chest.
“Aren’t we going to dinner?” He had to push the words out, his mouth dry with a sudden rush of arousal.
“I thought we might have dessert first.” She opened her eyes and stunned him with the desire burning in the golden hazel depths. With a lazy gesture, she beckoned him closer, bubbles and water sliding over her smooth skin. “Are you coming in or not?”
“What do you think?” Shucking slacks, briefs, and socks in one smooth movement, he joined her.
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