Silk & Shadows

Currently working on: Just finished page proofs on FORGED OF SHADOWS, the last step before June 2010 publication
Mood: Good luck, little book!  Now get out

Doesn’t everyone remember the first romance novel they discovered?  Back in the day, I stumbled upon my mother’s copy of A ROSE IN WINTER by Kathleen Woodiwiss.  A charming rouge, a burned-out manor house, an auction-block marriage, a winter ball, and a Beauty and the Beast twist.  Oh my!  After reading that, I was ruined forever.  Kinda like your typical swooning historical ingenue.

I think the right first romance novel is very much like the right first kiss.  You want it to be special, deep and meaningful, a memory to cherish.  So, like a fairy godmother picking out a prince, I take a book recommendations very seriously, especially when I am recommending a first romance novel.

Romance novels already suffer from red-headed stepchild syndrome with some (silly!) people, but I love when I can win over a new reader.  I’m always discovering new great books that I just KNOW will turn on the most hard-hearted cynic, and I also have a few gold standards that I can fall back on.

Romantic comedy
I always like to start off easy on a new romance reader.  I find a contemporary romantic comedy can be a good beginner romance because:

• The contemporary settings are readily absorbed.  There are no Austenian social mannerisms to maneuver around, no “och, wee lass, do ye ken mah claymore yearns fer ye?” historical diction to decipher.
• Rom-com movies often pave the way in reluctant psyches.
• The fun covers sometimes don’t even give away that it IS a romance.

Anything by Jennifer Crusie is a great “starter” because her dazzlingly delightful dialogue will win over non-believers.  And it’s so convenient that she’s writing with Bob Mayer now, because you can even spring these books on unsuspecting male-type readers because — hey! — there’s a guy’s name on the cover!

Historical romance
For the slightly uptight, a good, corseted historical can help loosen them up.  The trick with “reading” a reader who might like a historical is figuring out whether they’ll sway toward a more correct historical interpretation or if a rollicking adventure would more tickle their fancy.

But as far as tickling goes, a spicy, saucy story like Delilah Marvelle’s are sure to please.  And by pleasure, I think we all understand what I mean

Of course, there are also category romances, romantic suspense, inspirationals, straight contemporary, women’s fiction (with a strong romance)…  And, of course, paranormal romance :)  But as you know, paranormal romance isn’t for the faint of heart.

Finding a first romance novel for the people around me isn’t just a job.  It’s a passion!

And how lucky I am to be able to indulge my love as a tax write-off

What’s the first romance novel you recommend to newbies?  Have you ever made a romance reader for life (or — in the case of paranormal romance – afterlife)?

Currently working on: The End is coming! (Not an apocalypse end, just The End of my Book 3)
Mood: Pre-post-apocalyptic

As a child of the Cold War, I have a special place in my heart for apocalypses.  Total world destruction was forever imminent — but it was survivable as long as we got under our desks in time, and meanwhile there’s still a lot of ice cream to eat when you’re 10 years old so it was hard to get too freaked out.

Of course, I planned to be a survivor (the aforementioned ice cream was motivation and I’m super quick sliding under a desk) so — thinking ahead — I even decided to study Russian.  It was us or them, I figured.

Who knew, I should’ve studied Mandarin.  Oh well.

Over the years, I studied apocalyptic literature and movies with great and horrified delight.  Here are a few of my favorites apocalypses you might have missed the first time around.  I even learned a few more tricks — besides the head under desk thing — that might help you survive the end.

ALAS, BABYLON by Pat Frank
One of the first post-apocalyptic books written in the nuclear age, ALAS, BABYLON was also one of the first post-apocalyptic books I read as a kid.  Set in a small Florida town, the book chronicles the breakdown of the society — naturally — as well as the heroism of those who kept their heads and their hearts.

Apocalyptic lesson: When the bespectacled doctor’s only set of eyeglasses are destroyed, I was horrified.  As a four-eyed kid myself, I understood this was a death sentence.  The lesson I learned was read lots now because you never know when you won’t be able to read again.

SWAN SONG by Robert McCammon
In a post-nuclear world, two children become the leaders of opposing camps of good and evil as the rebirth of civilization hangs in the balance.  Apparently the author hates being compared to Stephen King, but this story does read as a more digestible version of the themes in King’s THE STAND, another fun post-apoc — plague, this time — story.

Apocalyptic lesson:  The survivors are afflicted with keloid scars that worsened through the course of the story… and then revealed the true, inner nature of the afflicted.  The lesson being, you better be pure and good if you want to avoid permanent radiation burns and possession by creeping evil.

Mad Max with young, hawt, pre-crazy Mel Gibson
Because post-peak-oil is definitely post-apocalyptic as anybody who wouldn’t be able to fuel up their sweet 1973 XB GT Ford Falcon Coupe aka Max’s Interceptor would agree.  You probably saw this movie when it first came out and then it got buried under layers of Tina Turner’s hair in Beyond Thunderdome.  Go back to the roots where surviving the apocalypse meant being badder ass than the bad guys.  Yes, I know this contradicts the earlier post-apocalypse lesson of being pure of heart, committed to humanity, and not so quick on the trigger.

Apocalyptic lesson: Invest in black leather now, before it’s too late!!!

Logan’s Run (the 1976 movie version)
Spoiler alert!  This was an interesting take on post-apocalypse because… whatever bad thing had happened (some sort of environmental disaster, apparently) was over, but the people didn’t know it and had barricaded themselves inside a domed city and were euthanizing themselves to avoid any overcrowding that would force them out into the bigger world.  Allegedly, a remake — in the works with various producers and directors since the mid-1990s — has been again rescheduled for 2012.

Apocalyptic lesson:  The only thing worse than an apocalypse that ends the world is living as if an apocalypse has ended the world… when it hasn’t.  Doh!

Apocalypse has gotten more sophisticated over the years, from the fabulous climate change pseduo-science of The Day After Tomorrow — cold air from space swirls down to freeze our heroes!!! — to the amok-running of technology in Terminator 2: Judgment Day (my fave of the franchise — girl crush!) which taught us that (contrary to the waif-like Jessica 6 in Logan’s Run) upper body strength will be vital to post-apocalypse survival and, yes, black is still THE color for Armageddon.  But for all the changes since the fall of the Soviet Union, apocalypse remains full of good times in the end times.

Don’t forget to pack your Zippo.

Do you have a favorite apocalypse story?  Do you think you’d be the brave assistant deputy mayor who leads the survivors to safety?  Or would you be the well-armed loner who vows not to get involved?  Or would you be the mutant screamer?

I enjoy torturing my characters. I get a kick out of making them face impossible challenges, battle sinuous evil, and survive harrowing events that threaten to rip away everything important to them.

Which is why I force many of them to have day jobs.

Admit it, didn’t I just describe your average day at the office? From what I’ve observed, sinuous evil takes many forms: Bag lunches disappearing from the communal fridge; photocopiers that jam just when you’ve got a hundred reports to produce; brown-nosing co-workers who always manage to snag the free tickets to the baseball game. Not that I’m pointing fingers.

As Jessa mentioned yesterday, being an immortal demon slayer has a save-the-universe urgency that can’t be contained to pre- and post-work hours. But the world of Drawn into Darkness is a lot like the world we live in, and people are all too eager to tell the tabloids about that weird guy who lives next door. Thus, even immortals need to LOOK normal.

Some of my characters stick to standard job fare, like my heroine Rachel in Drawn into Darkness, who works a 9 to 5 job (Ha! I really mean 8 to 6 with homework) at a local high tech firm. She has a boss who—as Rachel puts it—“stalked the halls like a lion, pouncing on the slightest pause in activity”. Rachel’s job causes her a lot of extra conflict when she’s forced to take on a powerful demon to save her daughter. Let’s face it, even after the demon’s dead, you still need to pay the rent. Poor Rachel, tortured by her author.

Other characters, especially the ones who used to have jobs as sword-wielding knights, have fake jobs, just for appearances. Lachlan MacGregor, the hero of Drawn into Darkness, disguises himself as a priest. He’s got a couple of reasons why he chose that profession, but dressing the way he does certainly simplifies his explanations when he’s caught hovering around a dead body. Which, as a Soul Gatherer, is a daily risk.

Brian Webster, the male lead from the second Soul Gatherer book, Bound by Darkness, used to be a stockbroker (back when he was alive). Now, he uses his investment skills to keep himself in designer suits. Conveniently, investing is not a job that requires regular office hours, so he can pause to battle evil whenever and where ever it pops up.

The heroine in Bound is a thief. Lena steals ancient artifacts and sells them on the black market. She’s got her reasons, which I won’t reveal here. Problem is, being a thief isn’t a job you take on to ‘fit in’. In fact, she doesn’t mention her little hobby to her neighbors—the business card she hands around at block parties labels her an antiquities dealer.

Personally, I love imagining people’s alter-egos. Got anyone at work who you’re certain moonlights as a vampire? Can you imagine the woman in the next cubby with a lab in her basement worthy of Dr. Horrible? A mild-mannered co-worker who might be save the world in his spare time? No need to name names. Just tell us what you think their secret persona is…good or evil.

When it comes to snacking while I’m writing, I take my guidance from the food pyramid. It’s simple to follow and I think it’s important to put all the right nutrients into your body to spur the creative process. I tried to find a picture of the food pyramid I use on the internet, but strangely I couldn’t find one. So, I took the liberty of drawing one.

The pyramid shape is an indication of the quantity of each major food group you should ingest. Although my pyramid doesn’t have a dairy section, you’ll note that there is milk in both the chocolate food group, and in my case, in the coffee food group. Not everyone puts milk in their coffee, however, and those that prefer black should up their intake of choco-heaven to make up for the lost dairy.

Tea or cola can be substituted for coffee. Although not specifically addressed in the pyramid, it’s recommended that you switch from caffeinated to decaf after two cups. Unless you’re on deadline. In that case, you may also support your coffee food group with shots of Red Bull.

The necessity of including choco-heaven in your diet is tri-fold. At different times it can provide soothing calm, inspiration, and emotional connection. No dedicated snacker should skip this vital section of the pyramid. Unless you’re allergic. Then all we can say is “Long live the carob bean”.

Popcorn provides all the dietary fiber you could ask for. The only disadvantage of the popcorn food group is the smears it can leave on your keyboard. On the other hand, butter is easier to clean than chocolate, which is why we recommend eating the chocolate straight from the wrapper.

I know what you’re going to say—there doesn’t appear to be any protein in this food program. That’s actually not true. This food pyramid recommends putting large quantities of cheddar powder on the popcorn to accommodate the full range of nutritional requirements.

It also recommends including exercise in your snacking life—stretches while seated and regular marches to the fridge, coffee pot and ladies room. If you’re so inclined, putting a load of laundry in the machine while you’re up will give an extra workout to those biceps.

Happy snacking!

This week’s topic is “the crafts we pursue outside of writing”. I was tempted to create a piece of fiction for this spot, since I really don’t do much outside of writing. Instead, I sat back and wondered if that was true.

What is the truth? Well, I don’t cultivate wonders in the garden, knit cozy sweaters, cook up masterpieces in the kitchen, or keep a wickedly clean house. Nor do I paint watercolor landscapes, snap prize-winning family photos, or finesse delightful scrapbooks out of vacations to Disney World.

(Insert picture of me peering about the house in desperation, looking for evidence of a life).

Aha!

If I make the assumption that pursuing a craft need not equate being good at it, then I do have a hobby. Arranging silk flowers. Most of the arrangements currently on display in my home were made by moi. Please keep in mind that I’ve already logged the caveat “need not equate with being good at it”. My talents are mediocre at best. But I enjoy putting baskets together, when I find the time.

Lately, though, my spare time has been dedicated to a craft of a different sort: motherhood. I’m a single mom with a teenage daughter. Between chauffeuring her to school, music lessons, multiple social activities, and the shopping mall, I give her advice on life (ha!), admire her artistic skills (the girl can really draw!), and share enjoyable moments on the couch chowing down on all-dressed potato chips & watching our favorite shows.

Am I the only one who can’t find the time to fit in a hobby? Really?

Someone mentioned A WRINKLE IN TIME by Madeleine L’Engle the other day. I still own a copy of that book and read it again when I’d heard that Madeleine L’Engle passed away. Of all the books from my childhood, that one really stands out. Maybe it’s because the heroine, Meg, wasn’t a princess, or popular or especially pretty or endowed with magical powers. Being a kid who hadn’t quite grown into herself, she was awkward. Her hair never did what she wanted. She wore glasses (considered cool now but not then!). She often didn’t like herself and she never could quite control her temper, especially when the other kids at school poked fun at her family situation (father missing) or her “dumb baby brother.” Meg was a regular girl, a girl like me, who struggled with life and fitting in and worrying if she would ever just be “good enough” in the eyes of others.

In a sci-fi adventure story driven by the values of honor, courage, loyalty, personal freedom, the importance of family, etc., we watch Meg overcome one insecurity after another, until she comes to see her own worth. In learning to believe in herself, Meg learns she has the power to save the people she loves even when all seems lost.

For a shy ten-year-old who didn’t think she was particularly remarkable either, that was a powerful message

Another book I loved was THE WITCH OF BLACKBIRD POND by Elizabeth George Speare. It was what you could call my first historical romance and the beginning of a lifelong obsession. OK, the romance was kind of secondary to Kit’s trials and tribulations as she tries to fit in with her Puritan relatives in cold, damp, gray Connecticut (coming from Barbados, poor thing!), but Nat is there for her when she most needs him and makes her dreams come true at the end, albeit they were dreams she never knew she had.

WITCH is a fish out of water story, and I love experiencing the journey of someone who is struggling to adapt to new situations without losing their own sense of who they are. Kit is a fighter and a courageous girl, which is especially evident when she befriends a woman reputed to be a witch. Not cool in a Puritan environment! I’ll admit that in the beginning she is a bit of a spoiled rich girl, but little by little she gets over her silver spoon expectations, comes to terms with the drastic changes in her life, learns to value her often dour relatives and emerges a strong, positive, independent-minded young woman.

I think it’s so important for young girls to read stories that feature strong, intelligent young heroines with the power to take their world by the reins. My friend Traci Hall’s YA Wiccan series, about a spirited, psychic teenage girl named Rhiannon, certainly fits that category. Can anyone suggest others that are being written today?

Currently working on: Redesigning website
Mood: Baffled

I shouldn’t have a superpower.  I say this because I am fairly certain I would abuse my superpower.  My XY tried to reassure me.  “You’d be a benevolent dictator,” he said.

Sure, that’s what all the dictators say. 

It’s like that 1981 study by the Swedish research who survey American college student driver, 88% of whom declared themselves better than average drivers.  Now, you can play with the numbers to make average mean whatever you want, so that more than 50% can indeed be “better” than average at something.  But anyone who drives knows that the aforementioned 88% is patently delusional.  And I’d be deluded to think I’d be a force for good (or at least above average) just because the universe — or maybe aliens or radiation poisoning or whatever – gave me a superpower.

Lord Acton’s full quote in 1887 was:

“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”

Since I’m not a Swedish researcher, I won’t argue percentages with Lord Acton, I’ll just point out that Superman wasn’t from Earth, so he doesn’t count.  But back to my superpower or lack thereof.

I think, in order to keep my corrupting influence off my superpower, I’d be Dharma Girl.  I’m envisioning some sort of invisible-but-sparkly-under-special-goggles fairty-type dust drifting in my wake as I pirouette through the world.  Those who encountered my steps would see their ideal path laid out before them in matching sparkly footsteps — literal and metaphorical.  They would know unequivocally they were going the right way. 

And woe be unto she who did not follow.  Because of course I can’t entirely give up the Dark Knight dastardly deeds — my evil alterego would be Swamp Gas Girl, whose arrival is preceded by the stench of low tide and whose twinkly lights lead followers to an early grave.

Tragically, every superpower has a superfailing.  And mine is obviously that I don’t trust myself to be sure I’m on the right path.  Then again, the universe — or maybe aliens or radiation poisoning — gave me a talent for words and I’m using them on romance writing.  So maybe I would use my superpower for good.

Does your favorite superpower reveal something dastardly about you?  Do share.  Supervillains are people too.

To be honest, if you were to look in my most-visited web sites list, you’d see the places I frequent most often are community/book review sites, such as All About Romance, Dear Author and Smart Bitches. I live for books, both writing them and reading them, so reviews and discussions about books draw me like a moth to flame.

I do, occasionally, venture further afield. I watch a lot of YouTube stuff that people have linked to, and I also visit a few sites on the pretext of research:

Seventh Sanctum. Need a name for a character or a spell? Seeking a dash of inspiration? How about a chuckle? This place is totally awesome.

The Online Etymology Dictionary. Again, maybe it’s because I’m a writer, or maybe because I love historical stuff, but if you want to know when a word originated, or what the root language is, this is your place. Crazy me, I sometimes do this just for fun.

Then, there are the sites I visit when I’m not making any excuses, just wasting time:

Popcap Games. The makers of that internet favorite, Bejeweled. I have unfortunately discovered Peggle, and have lost many an hour watching a ball bounce around.

Make-a-Flake. More of a winter activity, but strangely addictive, even in the summer. Ever make paper snowflakes as a kid? Well, this is way easier and the results are hugely better than anything I could produce with a real pair of scissors.

I also Twitter, post on Facebook, and blog hop. Darn, where do those hours go? Anyone want to give me some more ways to avoid working?

Currently working on: The last of my Prism judging
Mood: Studious

Oh noes, I’m paralyzed by indecision.  Do I write this blog entry straight and talk about my real writing life, where I go to my day job and come home and eat dinner and walk the dog and drag myself to the computer around 9 pm to write until I fall asleep? 

Woo-hoo, blog post done in five easy steps!  And how insanely boring.  So maybe I’ll write about my imaginary writing life with the joys of tropical breezes, bon-bons and cabana boys, or maybe the sexy angst of stilettoes, absinthe and tattoos.

Wait, I’ll do it all.  Kind of a choose-the-real-writing-life quiz.  No cheating.

It’s time for Jessa to sit down and write something.  So she:

1. Finishes her morning yoga and rings for her majordomo to prep her writing area, a ritual that includes lighting lead-free candles scented with homeopathic remedies to inspire creativity and warding the door with a circle of salt to keep out the demons of doubt and any garden slugs that might think to wander through.
2. Finishes her self-inflicted day-long sleep in an Iron Maiden and flays open a vein, liberally spraying the keyboard and monitor, which at least makes it harder to see the dreck spilling from her fingertips.
3. Finishes relocating the last of the evening’s slugs from the pea shoots to a half can of stale Coors Light and heads up to her office to get 1500 words done, come Hell or Miller High Life.

Jessa gets some tough writing news.  So she:

1. Eats a bucket of cookie dough, then calls her therapist, chakra aligner and personal trainer for an emergency three-day weekend at her mountain chalet.
2. Eats a bucket of cookie dough, then peruses The Anarchist’s Cookbook and Easy Three-Step Knitting Guide for a satisfyingly nefarious revenge.
3. Eats a bucket of cookie dough.  And has a glass of milk.

Jessa has a public appearance.  So she:

1. Retouches her roots, freshens her manicure and memorizes her speech in one night using a sleep tape.
2. Tears apart her closet looking for the bunny slippers that still have all four ears and at least one pair of flannel pajama bottoms where you can’t see her long underwear through the 20-pound-paper-thin butt.
3. Quickly organizes a panel discussion so she can stand behind someone else.

 Jessa is visited by her Muse.  So she:

1. Quickly channels the Muse’s brilliant idea into the computer, in such a perfect state of grace she never once misspells ‘teh.’
2. Binds and gags the bitch, drives her to the river, contemplates throwing the squirming Muse off the Hawthorne Bridge, realizes that’s way too obvious, and drives over to the Morrison Bridge instead.
3. Politely gives the Muse the other author’s name when the Muse explains how she must have gotten lost, so sorry to interrupt, and you might want to consider applying the other side of your nose to the grindstone, just to keep it symmetrical, you know?

 Jessa needs to write a blog post.  So she:

1. Selects a relevant post from her categorized and crossreferenced archives and clicks on ’schedule.’
2. Hacks The New Yorker and Smart Bitches and runs the stolen articles through a resequencer that churns out a deviously untraceable post on how romance is a lot like quantum physics.  (Hey, resequencers only really work on CSI.)
3. Stays up too late trying to be clever and experiences varying degrees of success trying to delete most of the expletives.

There you have it.  The glamor.  The pathos.  The randomness.

If you chose mostly 1’s, you must be Danielle Steel.
If you chose mostly 2’s, you must be kidding.
If you chose mostly 3’s… Yeah, that’s a day in my life too.

Currently working in: Revision Hell
Mood: Rather toasty

I’m a big picture person.  I like overarching themes and intricate through-lines.  Writing on that level is like flying with the angels — bright and cerebral, accompanied by the soothing sounds of harps and catered by cupids with Nectar of the Gods.

But a story is really told in the guts.  As in blood and guts, and gutsy decisions.  Scenes are the guts of the story.  You get waaaay dirtier there.  Scenes are slippery and don’t always fit tidily where you put them, and you’re not — according to AMA (Association of Manuscript Assassins) ethics — supposed to use duct tape or a staple gun.  But messy as they are, scenes are where the story is.

Scenes hold the emotion, the action, the energy.  Here are a few of my favorite scenes:

From Raiders of the Lost Ark:

Always bring a gun to a scimitar fight.  The story goes, a strenuous physical fight scene had been scripted between the scimitar-wielding bad guy and Indy and his whip, but Harrison Ford was feeling ill that day.  As a joke, he pulled out his gun and “shot” the bad guy.  Everybody thought it was great, so it stayed.

Whether the story is true or not, the scene is wonderful.  Watching it, I felt my heart race as Indy stood with his coiled whip and the bad guy swirled his scimitar.  Then out came the gun and blam!  The tension was perfectly released with a laugh and a wry thought that, ‘Well, yeah, that sure was smarter. I’d follow this hero anywhere.’

 From Ladyhawke:

I couldn’t find a picture, but remember the pre-dawn scene where Isabeau has bedded down for a night on the frozen tundra with the weary wolf-Navarre?  The sun has not quite risen, but the man is beginning to return from the wolf.  As his dark fur morphs to rumpled hair, she reaches out to touch him.  He lifts his hand to hers…  Then the first rays of the sun shine upon them.  Her fingers become feathers and she burst from their lovenest in a blur of hawk’s wings.

 Oh, the heartbreak.  That suspended moment — without a word said — captures their longing and the hopelessness of their situation.  I perfectly understood the desperation that drove them into their final harrowing battle. 

From The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers:

 For epic battle scenes (with plenty of guts, of both the figurative and strewing kind) I think nobody beats Tolkien, and Peter Jackson’s vision was a technical marvel (yes, I watched the days of bonus material on the DVDs) and a masterful manipulation of the viewers’ hearts and minds: With such vast forces of evil raised against our heroes, how can they possibly prevail? 

With awesome CG and Viggo’s twisty locks, that’s how!  Bliss!

All of the above, of course, is just a transparent attempt to avoid the real topic this week which is the favorite scene I wrote.  I can’t even tell you why I like this scene, because that would be cheating, since it doesn’t matter why I like it.  Not anymore.  Those guts I mentioned before must now come together to give life to a breathing, lusting, struggling entity quite separate from me.

So here goes…  Unlike the scenes above, I chose a quieter scene from early in the story, where the heroine, Sera, confronts the hero about her new life as an immortal warrior acolyte possessed by a repentant demon fighting the never-ending battle against evil.

From Seduced By Shadows:

 “Do you really expect me to believe any of this?  That I’ve been possessed by a… a demon?”

“Belief is beside the point.  It is true.”

It was like being told she would soon be killed by a falling piano.  Of course she didn’t believe him.  And yet she couldn’t help looking up.  “Demons don’t exist.” 

“Not corporeally, not in this world.  Which is why it has clothed itself in your flesh.”

The lake wind swirled, and an inadvertent shudder ripped through her.  She wrapped her arms around her waist.  As if she might feel different.  “And what if I’m not interested in sharing my flesh?”

A muscle in his jaw tensed.  “You can cast it out, before it ascends, before it sets roots in your soul and its mark on your skin.”

He twitched back the edge of his trench coat and from the folds of supple leather released a blackened club the size of her forearm.  With a snap of his wrist and the menacing schick of sliding metal, the club telescoped to double in length.  He flicked it outward, and from the thickened, studded end, a blade cascaded out in a series of glittering steel segments, like a cardsharp’s precisely fanned hand almost twice as wide as her spread fingers.

From primitive club to switchblade battle-axe quicker than her stuttering heart could find its beat.

“Oh God.”  She cringed back against the wall. 

“I never got around to naming it.”  He gripped the weapon just below the wickedly recurved blade and tugged up the sleeves of his coat and shirt.

The razor edge carved the cold light, sharper than the look he threw her as he laid the gleaming blade against the inside of his right arm between the inky lines of his tattoo.

“No.”  A sickening beat of horror skipped through her, like when she’d seen the SUV hurtling toward her, about to change her life forever.

The tattoo, not Celtic nor tribal but even more primitive, swirled over his knuckles and spiked halfway up his arm.  Against the black, the skin of his wrist looked tender, veins and tendons standing out in marbled relief.

He stilled, and despite the dread-full thump of her heart, she found her gaze drawn to his.

“Unforgivably melodramatic,” he said, “but effectively convincing.”

He sliced the blade down his inner arm.

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