Wednesday, September 12, 2012

1 Sneaky Wave and a New Release by *lizzie starr



I spent a few days this summer in Southern California including a lovely walk on the beach. To remember the walk, I took a couple of videos--but didn't count on how far a wave may travel. Honest, I was at the edge of the wet sand, and all the previous waves hadn't even slipped up the beach that far. With camera focused on the ocean beyond, I didn't notice one sneaky wave. One huge, sneaky wave.

video
I finished the rest of the day sight seeing with jeans wet to my thighs. It was worth the damp.

In Fires of a Keltic Moon, the second book of The Double Keltic Triad, Lara and Iain enjoy the water--although not at the beach. Enjoy this excerpt!

Lara’s back was to him, her bare back. She was curled in the old bathing tub and wet, dark-golden hair straggled between her shoulder blades.

Iain could not breathe, would not be able to move to save his life. Until she shivered.
“Ooh, close the door, Beitris, you’re letting in cold air.”

Iain sank against the door and stumbled back as it slid closed. The latch fell with a finality that made Iain jump away from the warm wood. A tremor ran along his skin. He should leave, should look away at the very least. But, he could not.

Lara lifted one arm over her shoulder, dangling a rag. “I’m almost done, but could you do me one more favor? Would you wash my back?”

Forgotten, the pile of clothing dropped with a soft swoosh to the floor. Iain moved in a trance, one hand lifting to take the rag from her fingers. Lara hunched forward exposing the narrow width of her back. He knelt behind her and dipped the rag in the warm water. Lara’s other hand lifted holding a lump of soap. When his palm touched the tips of her extended fingers, the soap plopped into his hand.

A pleased sigh expanded Lara’s shoulders. “Thank you. This is wonderful. And the soap is wonderful, too. The fragrance is much like what my grandmother makes for me.”

Iain soaped the rag but hesitated with it nearly touching her golden skin. Strange thin stripes of pale, creamy skin stood out in stark contrast to the darker tan. He ached to touch those stripes and taste them with his tongue. The breath burned tight in his chest.

Lara gasped when Iain rubbed the cloth softly over her back. Then she rotated her shoulders. “Ah, yes. That’s what I needed. You have been a great help to me today. Don’t stop, please.”

If he only could. Intense concentration kept him breathing, for the swirl of suds over her back was a potent aphrodisiac. When she swiped her hair forward over one shoulder, he could see a tiny red mark at the base of her neck, a birthing mark that begged for his kisses.

The growing tightness of his loins became unbearable. He shifted position. And dropped the rag. Unable to allow the torture of reaching beneath the water to search for it, he cleared his throat.

“Oh, my God. Iain? What are you doing here?” Lara sank as far into the water as she could and tried to cover herself with her hands. Accusation glared from her eyes. “Where’s Beitris?”

Iain willed himself to look away from her nakedness, to offer her the honor she deserved. All he could do was lower his gaze to the lump of soap still clutched between his fingers. Lara turned sideways in the narrow tub, arms wrapped over her breasts, and cocked her head to one side. Her eyes were wide while she waited for his answer. The sudden hard lump in his throat mimicked the firm ache of his groin. Somehow, he swallowed and found his strained voice.

“I brought you fresh clothing.” He winced and glanced at her. Did he truly sound so dull-witted?

“Oh. Beitris hasn’t been here?”

Iain shook his head. A shy grin gently stretched Lara’s lips. He could not draw his gaze from the rosy fullness. At least it was more honorable than looking at the pink skin below the waterline.

“You will have to finish rinsing my back, then.” She turned and leaned forward. After fishing through the water, she lifted the sopping rag to him. Iain held his palms out to her in denial and shook his head. “Please, I will itch terribly if you don’t wash off the soap.”

The thought of causing her discomfort centered painfully in his chest. He sighed the feeling away and took the offered rag. Using long, careful strokes, he rinsed the drying suds from her bent back. Even when there was no soapy residue remaining, Iain continued to swipe the rag across her skin. Her breathing changed subtly, matching his.

She straightened, lifting her chest from the water. The rag slipped from his fingers, but he continued to rub his palm lightly over her back. Her damp skin glistened. Unable to draw moisture to his mouth, Iain licked suddenly dry lips.

There was only one relief. He lifted the dripping mass of her hair and touched his lips to the birthing mark.






available at Amazon



about *lizzie starr~~
*lizzie made up games and stories to keep her company as a child. So, a witch lived in Grampa’s weather research station and was only held at bay by a certain weed. An ancient road grader became a boat carrying wild adventurers to islands filled with sheep that turned into lions and cannibals.
     Now, the stories of her imagination are beginning to find their way to paper and pixels. Filled with fantasy and love, these tales take her far from the mundane world.
     When *lizzie has to return to that mundane life, she’s *the Lunch Lady* at a private school. Happily, those who know *lizzie have become accustomed to her writer’s ways and just shake their heads when she goes off on some fantastical tangent, asks strange what if questions, or just has to find a piece of paper and a pen that actually writes. One of her greatest delights is to watch the joy of writing fill a friend, and she’ll do anything to help them achieve their dream.
Visit her blog starr words, follow on Twitter, Facebook and Pintrest

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