Remember how I freaked out in my last posting about pitching at the Cleveland Rocks Romance convention? I wondered if I could cancel my flight reservations.
Had I known Hurricane Florence would slam the Eastern Coast in a few days, I wouldn't have joked the way I did. On Friday I have flight reservations to fly from south-central Virginia to Charlotte, NC. From there I fly to Cleveland. Our small local airport only has flights to Charlotte or Atlanta. None go North.
Need I remind you Hurricane Florence is slated to strike the coast of North Carolina sometime on Friday?
So, I have no clue if I'm going, or not. Will flights be cancelled? Will I use my "Granny Chicken" card and stay safely at home? I dunno. See, I have a history with hurricanes. Oh, nothing drastic. Just memorable.
I was a week shy of entering first grade when my parents took me on a vacation to Ocean City, New Jersey. Hurricane Hazel decided to meet us there. My parents had no clue what they were in for as we walked the deserted boardwalk. It was their first trip to the ocean, too. They'd rarely left the farm.
Waves kept coming closer and closer. The edge of the boardwalk grew more wet with every roll of the surf. Suddenly I got knocked over and rolled toward a closed business. My dad grabbed me around the waist like a bag of potatoes and ran for our hotel, dragging my mother in tow. I choked and coughed and cried.
My parents never did go back to the shore.
Nearly 14 years later, I was a Navy wife with a five-month old baby when Hurricane Doria set her sights for the Virginia coastline. We were living in a small apartment along the Chesapeake Bay in Norfolk. When the men were called to their ships to ready them to sail for deeper waters to ride out the hurricane, another Navy wife and I drove the guys to their ship and dropped them off. Marsha and I decided to spend the next few days at their apartment farther inland.
I parked our red beetle along the curb as torrential rains fell. We both rushed into the apartment complex with our babies. She put them both in the crib while I ran out to get my daughter's clothes, diapers, and formula. The car was gone! It was floating down the street. I ran after it as winds blew the little car from the street across the sidewalk and through a spindly hedge. It was finally embedded between two pine trees. I grabbed a rope from the tool box and tied Trigger Beetle to one of the trees. I was wading through water to my shins. Oh, the glory of an armed forces wife.
Fast forward six years and we are living in south-central Pennsylvania when Hurricane Agnes made her presence known. I was six months pregnant with my youngest and he wanted to make his presence known, too. I'd gone into labor.
My doctor had to drive through flooded roads to meet me at the hospital. With medication and bed rest, the contractions finally stopped. Mike didn't come for another three months. The doctor said the change in barometric pressure was throwing a lot of his pregnant patients into labor. Who knew?
Now, Hurricane Florence is looming!
Will I go or will I stay? Will flights be cancelled? Will I get to give the pitch I've drafted? Stay tuned..
Walking "our beach" a few weeks before our boy became a big brother....
August is here. Hard to believe, right? For those of us on the
Gulf Coast, it means one last month (hopefully) of intense heat. Unfortunately,
this is the month where we really have to start watching the tropics for
potential hurricanes. Though the tropics have been pretty quiet this year, it doesn’t
stop those crazy summer storms from sweeping over our house at a moment’s
notice.
Last week, I put my newborn in her bouncy chair where she
likes to take short power naps during the day so that I could get her big tough
toddler brother to sleep for an hour or two. As I closed the living room
curtains to help bring on the sleepies, I noticed that it looked slightly
overcast. Toddler guy and I settled into the rocking chair and slowly began to
wind down for naptime.
Ten minutes later, as he was just starting to close his eyes, I
heard thunder rumbling. It sounded close and began to
shake the house. My guy likes watching big storms roll in from the window overlooking
our front porch so when he heard the storm getting closer and closer, sleep
became the last thing on his mind. As rain began to lash the front of the
house, I sighed. Naptime’s hard enough as it is for him to do. Add in the noise
and excitement of severe weather and this mommy can count out any quiet time
for writing during the day.
However, this storm seemed to be gaining in intensity. I
peeked out through the curtain and was shocked to see the wind all but laying
down the trees in our front yard. I could hardly see the street, the rain was
coming down so hard. I got that eerie feeling. You know, the one you get if you’ve
ever seen hurricane or tornado weather. That instinct that tells you to head
for the cellar.
Calling my guy away from the window, I picked up my newborn
(bouncy chair and all) and ran for the bedroom closet (our version of a
cellar). As I set her deep in the closet amongst winter boots and hanging
coats, I noticed that my guy wasn’t with me. Alarmed, I rushed back to the front
of the house to find him…that’s right…sitting at the front window between the
parting in the curtain watching nature’s fury in awe. You see, this is the
problem with daredevil boys. That “no fear” mentality is great when
we ride on the family boat at high speeds or when we want him to try something
new like sports or sleeping over at grandma’s. But when it comes to those
things that are clear “no no’s” yet are just too irresistibly thrilling for him
to resist (like, I don’t know, scaling the back of the sofa like a tight-rope
walker…or doing a Superman dive off the dock into the water at the lake all by
himself…) I really wish common sense was there to take over. Alas, I had to
pick him up (no easy task; he’s a two-and-a-half-year-old inside a five-year-old’s body) and haul
him back to the closet.
My guys, the aforementioned daredevils....
The closet has a light in it, thank goodness. I was able to
calm the little one enough to hear what was going on overhead and give my
husband a call to make sure he was out of the storm. When he heard how bad the
weather was at home, he decided to drive straight to us. Yep, through the torrential
downpour. (Like his love of cars, sweets, and power tools, Big Tough Toddler Guy
gets his daredevil streak honestly.) I wondered how I was going to keep the
boy from escaping the closet when he found a box of vintage toys from my childhood.
In a rare moment of sibling comradery, he paraded half-dressed Barbies and Kens
in front of his sister. He giggled over the naked ones and puzzled over the ones
with missing limbs. (My sister and I once joked that if a child psychologist ever
got a look into our toy box, their best guess would be that we turned out to be
coroners or serial killers.)
It was
difficult to hear anything over newborn’s raspberries and my guy’s chatter.
When the door to the closet opened, we looked up to see the hub. He surveyed
the explosion of Barbies and their counterparts crammed with the long-legged
toddler, baby’s bouncy, and me with knees drawn up to my ears all in close
confines and had himself a good laugh. “Storm’s over,” he announced before crawling
into the fray and delicately explaining to one curious little dude the
difference between naked Barbie and naked Ken.
This was the first storm in a long time that has scared me
enough to hunker down. I’m pretty sure the last one involved one itty bitty boy
baby. (Crazy to think that at one time he wasthatsmall….) Long before he was born, I remember walking the beach
with the hub while a hurricane boiled in the Gulf. There was little room
between the raging waves and the windblown dunes. The windows of the condos we walked passed
emitted a loud, rattling sound. Remembering it all these years later still makes my spine tingle. That night
the salt in the air from the wind crystallized on the power lines and caused
massive power outages. I remember sleeping in
the truck after Katrina with our dogs because the house was too oppressive without air
conditioning. I also remember driving back from the lake after Hurricane Ivan and the destruction
we came across as we cruised slowly with the rest of the evacuees down I-65. Not to mention
the National Guard patrols who greeted us once we arrived home. Storms are a
fact of life on the Gulf, one my stalwart son doesn’t seem to mind all that much. Ah, well.
Maybe he’ll grow up to be a storm-chaser or a hurricane hunter. (I foresee long
years and high blood pressure ahead for this mommy.)
He was in some serious trouble…. Cole Savitt does not want to deceive Briar Browning. But if he wants to see his son again, he has to find the weaknesses in her charming bed-and-breakfast, then get out of town fast! But the quaint inn isn’t the only thing charming him…. Cole’s straightforward plan becomes anything but when he begins to fall for the beautiful innkeeper. Suddenly everything’s on the line—his future with his son, a chance at happiness and the love of a good woman. Cole must rethink his priorities…and the stakes have never been higher.
When I wrote the first book in my Harlequin Superromance
series, A Place With Briar, set in my hometown here on the Gulf, I couldn’t
help but include some impressive tropical weather to help draw the hero and heroine closer together. If living in the same place for twenty-some-odd years has taught me anything, it's what it's like to have a category storm barreling toward my house and being helpless to stop it. Here’s a little Throwback
Thursday excerpt from Briar and Cole’s summer romance….
Even with
the fan cooling things somewhat in the bay-view suite, Cole couldn’t settle. He
lay on top of the sheets in T-shirt and shorts, frowning at the ceiling and
listening to the low-tuned, battery-operated radio he’d found downstairs.
The DJs
promised to stay up through the night with listeners, providing the latest
updates on Hurricane Brett, whose slanted eye was now staring straight down the
watery barrel of Mobile Bay. The treacherous east side of the storm was already
pounding the Alabama and west Florida coastlines. Several tornado warnings were
in effect. Early damage reports trickled in from cell phones.
One
message was clear for those who’d not evacuated – don’t venture outside. Law
enforcement officers and meteorologists stated imperatively: stay away from
windows. In case of tornado, find a safe, windowless room in the lowest part of
the house for cover.
With
Briar upstairs, Cole didn’t feel at all comfortable drifting off to sleep. Why had he left her alone?
Suddenly,
a deafening crash outside launched Cole out of bed. It subsided quickly. In the
dim silence that followed, he heard the quick patter of footfalls in the hall.
He
crossed to the room and peered out just in time to see the white tail of Briar’s
robe disappear down the stairs to the first floor. Hot on her heels, he reached
the landing as she ran to the back door.
When he
saw her disengage the dead bolt, he rushed forward. “Briar, no!”
She didn’t
stop or look back, yanking the door open.
“Don’t go
outside!”
His voice
was drowned by the banshee scream of the wind. The door sailed out of her
grasp, crashing against the wall. She didn’t stop there. Gripping the doorjamb,
she battled the wind, stepping over the threshold and moving out into the
storm.
“Holy
hell,” he muttered. It might have made him as crazy as she was, but he went
after her without hesitation. Leaves scattered into the den as he made his way
to the door and chased her onto the porch.
The
clouds flickered with devilish light, illuminating the churning, rising bay—an animal
all its own under the storm’s manipulation. The strobe quality helped him spot
Briar at the far end of the porch, looking at the thick branch that had fallen
over her vegetable garden and torn through the roof of the porch. Gripping the
rail and driving himself into the sucking wind, Cole raised an arm to fend off
the stinging slap of rain. Reaching out, he gripped Briar’s arm in a viselike
hold and dragged her back.
It took
forever to reach the door. Finally, he shoved her to safety and fought the wind
again to wrestle the door closed. When it bolted, he whirled on her. “What the
hell were you thinking?”
“I had to
see,” she explained, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice sounded close
to feeble. “I heard something break….”
As
panicked as he’d felt when he saw her go through the door, he could’ve railed
at her. But seeing the slight quiver of her knees and her pale features, he
swallowed his fury. “You’re soaked.”
“You,
too,” she noted. “I’ll go upstairs and wash off.”
He
grabbed her by the hand. “You’re not going anywhere without me. We’ll both be safer
together downstairs. We should be comfortable enough here.”
Before
she could answer, another ominous clatter broke through the silence. Her face
fell, stricken. “The porch.”
He
reached for her. “Here, sit.” Gently, he ushered her down next to him on the
sofa. “Just sit. There’s nothing we can do until morning.”
“Right,”
she said, swallowing. “You’re right.” Another crash. “God.”
His arm
wrapped around her shoulders. Comforting, he told himself. Strictly comforting.
But his
need to protect, to enfold, overwhelmed him. He leaned back with her hugged
close at his side. Tension loosened from his chest when her head fell to his
shoulder and she didn’t hesitate to curl into him.
A Place With Briaris on sale for just $3.99 at Amazon, along with the two sequels, Married One Night (October 2014 Superromance) and His Rebel Heart(July 2015 Superromance)! I hope you enjoyed the throwback snippet!
A toast to hot August nights and summer reads!
Amber Leigh Williams lives on the Gulf Coast. A southern girl at heart, she lives for beach days, the smell of real books, relaxing at her family’s lakehouse, and spending time with her husband, Jacob, and their two children. When she’s not trying to keep up with rambunctious little ones and two large dogs she can usually be found reading a good romance or cooking up a new dish in her kitchen. She is represented by D4EO Literary Agency. Visit her on the web at www.amberleighwilliams.com!
I love writing, but I also love creating video book trailers for my books. This is one of my favorites. I love the music, it makes me want to get up and dance. And the scenery isn't too bad, either! Jimmy Thomas is on my cover, and there's also another very sexy picture of him in the video. The photos of him with his ponytail are exactly what I pictured my hero, Sixto, to look like. Here's the video. Let me know what you think. Did you have to get up and dance? ;-)
Book Blurb: A Seduction as Overpowering as a Hurricane
When her twin sister dies, Bree Prentis moves from Seattle to Miami to inherit a shadowy business, an upscale house, and her sister’s sexy Cuban business partner and housemate, Sixto Doria. She adjusts to the vivid culture of Miami, but constantly bumping into Sixto is straining her hands-off vow. Bree is looking for a man to give her a happily ever after, and Sixto has sworn off relationships. He knows it’s wrong to want her, but she makes him forget why he's not right for her, makes him crave her natural honesty and wholesome beauty.
When he teaches her to dance the Salsa Cubana, then suggests she spend the night in his bed, Bree is shocked—and tempted. In the midst of a hurricane, Bree surrenders to her reckless desire and makes love with Sixto. Could Bree be the one Sixto's been waiting for? If she finds out he’s hiding a nasty truth from her—their company is a façade for a semi-legal business—she will shut it down, and Sixto will lose the income his family depends on. And more frightening for Sixto, he would lose Bree.
When she researches their company’s outrageous revenue, she sees a pattern of untruths leading back to Sixto. The word ‘love’ enters their relationship, and she prays his duplicity is all a misunderstanding, and his seduction is not merely a distraction to keep her from discovering the truth.
Excerpt:
She brought the phone back to the living room. Sixto stood at the stove, cooking again.
"Is it supper already?" She sat on a stool at the counter.
He shrugged. "I eat a lot.
"You're a big guy."
His shoulders started to shake. "Yesterday I was macho. Today I'm a big guy."
"Are you laughing at my lack of subtlety?" She did have a habit of blurting things out.
He turned and smiled. "You just can't help flirting, can you?"
"I…" Was she flirting? Evidently he thought she was.
Had he been flirting with her this morning? All his compliments about how she'd make a great girlfriend. Was she just too naïve to catch his meaning? He reached into the refrigerator and she stared at his fine butt. When he turned and caught her, he gave her a wink.
The gesture warmed her blood and flooded her brain with too many visuals of her in Sixto's arms—something that she just couldn't let happen.
Okay, they were both guilty of making flirty comments and it had to stop before things went too far. She wasn't interested in a physical relationship without a commitment, and he'd just admitted that he only tended bar for the "social benefits." Sexually, he was way out of her league.
It was time to tackle the issue head on. "Sixto, we've been dancing around it since yesterday, but…"
He looked over his shoulder at her. "What?"
"We both know our boundaries, right?"
He closed the fridge and went back to the stove.
She smelled onion, garlic, peppers, and some fantastic spices. Over the sound of her stomach complaining hungrily, she heard him mumble, "Yeah."
She waited, but he didn't say more. "I mean, we live in the same house and you and my sister were…" She searched furiously for the right word.
"Roommates." He turned toward her. "We were roommates. Nothing more." He stalked toward the counter where she sat.
Bree braced her hands on the counter, expecting some kind of disclosure. Sixto squatted down on the other side of the counter and opened the cabinet underneath. He wasn't going to say any more?
She stood on the barstool's foot rail and leaned across the counter, looking down at the top of his head as he rooted through the contents of the cabinet. "You never dated? Like boyfriend/girlfriend?"
He looked up at her. "I know the meaning of the term dating, thank you." He went back to rummaging. "And no, we didn't click that way."
Maybe she shouldn't ask what kind of clicking they did do. But she was perversely curious. "So, what kind—"
He pulled out a small kitchen tool—a mystery item to her—stood and slammed the cabinet door shut all in one motion.
Before she could pull herself off the counter, he leaned down close to her face and annunciated, "Just. Roommates." He stared into her eyes for a few provocative seconds before he turned and walked to the stove.
That look. He melted her inside with just his sexy brown eyes. She slithered back into her chair, flustered speechless, staring at his broad back.
I love
it when a new book comes out. It gives me a chance to show off my beautiful
cover art. This one features a very steamy picture of Jimmy Thomas.
Book Blurb: A Seduction as Overpowering as a Hurricane
When
her twin sister dies, Bree Prentis moves from Seattle to Miami to inherit a
shadowy business, an upscale house, and her sister’s sexy Cuban business
partner and housemate, Sixto Doria. She adjusts to the vivid culture of Miami,
but constantly bumping into Sixto is straining her hands-off vow. Bree is
looking for a man to give her a happily ever after, and Sixto has sworn off
relationships. He knows it’s wrong to want her, but she makes him forget why
he's not right for her, makes him crave her natural honesty and wholesome
beauty.
When he
teaches her to dance the Salsa Cubana, then suggests she spend the night in his
bed, Bree is shocked—and tempted. In the midst of a hurricane, Bree surrenders
to her reckless desire and makes love with Sixto. Could Bree be the one Sixto's
been waiting for? If she finds out he’s hiding a nasty truth from her—their
company is a façade for a semi-legal business—she will shut it down, and Sixto
will lose the income his family depends on. And more frightening for Sixto, he
would lose Bree.
When
she researches their company’s outrageous revenue, she sees a pattern of
untruths leading back to Sixto. The word ‘love’ enters their relationship, and
she prays his duplicity is all a misunderstanding, and his seduction is not
merely a distraction to keep her from discovering the truth.
~ ~ ~ ~
Picture
it, Miami, Florida, a hot, seductive night. Bree and Marisa are at the
nightclub where Sixto works as a bartender. Since she's met him, she's tried hard
to keep her distance. He's sexy, tempting, and too much for her to handle.
Excerpt: James turned to Sixto. "Your roommate
here doesn't think she can dance."
Sixto glanced at Bree. "Anyone can dance."
She couldn't read his mood, but he seemed closed in,
somehow.
Marisa and Rico came back to the bar, breathless. She
asked Bree, "Why aren't you out there?"
She made a face. "Too fast for a first-timer."
"No it's not." Marisa eased onto her stool.
"Sixto, take her out there. Show her how to Salsa Cubana."
He reached down into the beer cooler and opened a fresh
one for Rico. "Too busy."
"Busy?" James laughed. "It's dead in here,
bro. Go on, I can handle it."
Bree caught Sixto shooting a meaningful look at Rico.
Great, not only were Marisa and Rico conspiring, now Sixto and Rico had
secrets, too. She shook her head. "I'd rather watch. Thanks anyway,
Sixto."
Marisa scowled at her brother. "You leave James
alone at the bar all the time to dance with the chicas."
Sixto sighed and stalked away.
Bree released her pent-up breath and took a sip of wine.
That was uncomfortable.
Sixto appeared on her side of the bar, right in front of
her, his hand out. "Dance?"
Bree considered saying no, but would that give everyone
the idea that she was avoiding him? That there was something going on between
them?
She set down her glass and put her hand in his. His big,
warm hand. The tingling sensation started in her palm and raced up her arm,
spiraling through her to end low in her belly.
He led her to the floor. He stood stiffly, put his hand
on her waist, and took her other hand in his. The other couples pressed against
each other and she waited, breathlessly, for the crush of his body to hers. It
didn't come.
He danced slowly, their hips a foot apart. His face
seemed pinched, his eyes unreadable. She followed his lead, he told her when to
step a different way, or turn under his arm. She forced herself to forget that
where he held her hand, her palm warmed at his touch. She tried to ignore where
his palm pressed hot and firm against her hip through the thin fabric of her
dress. Her hand on his muscular bicep felt every sexy flex of each tempting
muscle in his arm. She made herself forget that, too.
In less than a minute, the song ended and she stepped
away from him.
They dropped their arms, and Bree sucked in air. Without
his touch on her skin, her heart slowed from its manic race, and the heat
drained from her cheeks. The next song started. A slower, song with a
tantalizing rhythm.
She looked at him, his face looked fierce, his eyes
severe.
"One more?" he grumbled.
He wanted her to say no, wanted her to run from him and
be her usual cautious, conservative self. Well, she'd had enough wine tonight
that her backbone was right where it should be. She wouldn't give him the
satisfaction of saying no. She nodded and stepped closer to him.
A muscle in his jaw worked for a moment, as if he
considered walking away. Taking her hand in his, he put his other palm on her
waist. He taught her the steps. They were easier than the last dance and she
didn't have to concentrate as hard. The song grew more intense, the primal beat
stirred her soul, made her warm deep inside, made her feel sexy. She watched
other women gyrating their hips and she let her body move to the rhythm, taking
away her inhibitions.
"Goddamnit, Bree." His eyes burned with
passion. "What the hell are you doing to me?" He stared into her
eyes, put his hand on her lower back, and pulled her tight against him. Pausing
for a moment, he groaned and began moving again, sensually, demanding her
response.
She gasped, his hard body pressed along her soft one.
Breasts, stomach, thighs. A mudslide of sexual awareness covered her, tingled
in her nerve endings. He moved his hips the same way she was grinding and she
felt every inch of his hardness against her stomach.
She told herself to move away, but it was too
intoxicating for her body to ignore. He spun them to the middle of the floor,
away from the prying eyes at the bar. His breath caressed her face, hot and
fast. He stared down at her, her gaze collided with his.
"You shouldn't be in my arms." He tightened his
hold on her. "Next time I ask you to dance," he said between clenched
teeth, "say no."
~ ~ ~ ~
¡Muy Caliente! Hope
you like the book! Laura LauraBreck.com Dancing
in a Hurricane is available at Amazon
