Tia, my dog, is sick. Took her to the vet. Have to take her for an xray if she's not better by Thursday. I'm crossing my fingers the meds do their trick. In the meantime, I'm trying to write/edit love scenes in the book due next week. How many terms can one use to describe a penis?
Towering shaft of Ra
Purple warrior of love
Big Boy (this is actually the name of a train DH saw this weekend at his train show. It was a huge engine!)
Quivering arrow of paradise (sounds like an archery competition winner)
Mr. Sad (needs viagra)
Anyway, since I'm pressed for time, I'm posting an excerpt from my September release, THE PANTHER & THE PYRAMID. This is a desert scene where Graham shifts into his warrior mode.
(copyright 2006 by Bonnie Vanak)
An hour after his hasty departure, her husband returned. Bare-chested, he strode into the tent, flinging shirt and binish to the carpet. Graham unbuckled his sword and dagger and laid them gently on the table. Jillian studied his tight jawline. Sweat glistened on his powerful chest.
“Did you have a good time?” she asked, uncertain.
He glanced at her and gave a derisive snort. “Warriors don’t train for a good time, Jillian.”
Filled with enormous daring, she pointed to the scimitar. “Show me how a Khamsin warrior uses it during training.”
Startled, he narrowed his gaze. She smiled sweetly.
“It is forbidden for women to visit the training grounds for warriors. They are sacred.”
“Then demonstrate it to me here, Graham.”
“Do you know why the grounds are forbidden to women? After training, a man is filled with the excitement of battle. The savage need for a warrior to conquer shifts into a different need, in which all he desires is a woman, to feel her soft body beneath his yield in surrender.”
Her own body tightened pleasurably at the challenge heating his dark eyes. “Show me, Graham,” she repeated.
His nostrils flared. The air inside the tent heated suddenly, filled with an enticing, masculine scent of horses, leather and sandalwood. He had changed, the refined duke shifting into a dangerous warrior. The weapon he had carried reminded her of the perils of this land, where men fought each other, not with foils in gentlemanly sport, but in battle.
The change alarmed her before. Now it only served to excite her. Graham slid the long scimitar from its sheath. An awed gasp of admiration slipped from her as he sliced the air with the sword. Muscle and sinew bulged and rippled he swirled the scimitar in a series of intricate moves.
Where did he learn? Jillian held her breath, not daring to ask as he sheathed the sword, placing it on the table.
Unsmiling he faced her, sweat beading his forehead, glistening on his sculpted chest. Her hand splayed against the wealth of dark hair there, feeling the firmness against her stroking fingertips. A harsh groan rippled from his lips.
A surge of feminine power filled her as she reached up, sliding her hands around his neck, dragging him down for a kiss. Her lips softened beneath the crushing pressure of his, accepting the deep thrusts of his tongue. Jillian pressed herself against him, cradling the hard bulge of his erection. The soft cotton blouse rubbed against her aching nipples.
Graham tore himself away, panting. Hot desire tightened his face. She backed away slightly, enormously excited at having pushed him into this, a bit scared at his dark intensity. Could she handle him?