Today for Wicked Wednesday, J. Paulette Forshey gives us a taste of her vampires…
I lay in my bed tossing and turning, and then grabbed a pillow from behind my head, punched it, bunched it and flopped back on it. Restlessness crawled over my flesh, and a growing feeling gnawed at me that my life was stagnate, a piece missing, a void that need filled. Lying between the covers, staring at the ceiling, blessedly the deep shadows in the room reached out to wrap me in their inky blackness and I slept. That’s when they, the Tarczals, came and whispered in my ear.
For the next few nights, I eagerly waited for bedtime hoping the Tarczals would introduced me to more of their world, entrust me with a new piece of their lives and history. They were patient but then when you have a life span of 1,500 years you can afford some tolerance to others. On the last morning of their visit, I awoke and began to write the Tarczals story. Writing and writing until every sentence became part of a life I’d come to know better than my own. The Tarczal Alliance is their first book; I hope you enjoy meeting a new breed of vampire as much as I have called Tarczal.
The woman’s fleeting inspection caused Logan to pause and suppress the grin threatening to creep across his face. The last time a woman caused him to lose restraint was ninety years ago. An intriguing, yet disturbing revelation, since that was when he’d sworn off relationships.
“You disagree the painting is showy?” He turned the subject back to the painting, and with practiced ease, he returned what he surmised was a compliment from the flush blooming on her cheeks. He indulged himself by allowing his gaze to rake over her. A whine like a mosquito’s settled in his ears.
“The artist captured Kandinsky’s style completely,” she sputtered. Logan didn’t give a damn about the painting or the artist. He wondered if the large, dark purple sweater that hung mid-thigh on her was an attempt to hide her body. If that was her goal, the tight black stretch pants, and thigh-high ebony suede boots were a poor choice. Any movement pulled the sweater tight like a second skin over her compact, lithe body.
“Absolutely. He copied a style. You wouldn’t have, Ms?” She fidgeted, and the movement caused the sweater to pull snug over her breasts making them stand out like ripened fruit and accented her flat stomach. Nice. Bet that stomach quivers when a tongue is run over it. Wonder what she’d do with a tongue in her belly button? She’s probably a giggler. He licked his lips. And a squirmer. It was apparent she had no idea what she did to him. He didn’t mind. Several parts of his anatomy were already stirring in response. Her front equaled the heart-shaped derriere he’d seen earlier while she browsed the competition.
“Weston. Allyson Weston. How did you know I paint?” The tiny frown across her brow made him want to laugh. So this was the estranged wife of his latest hire, Michael Weston. During the job interview Michael had constantly moaned and bitched about his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Guess Michael didn’t grasp he’d let go of an extraordinary woman. Logan let his gaze travel down to her legs, dancer’s legs, long and well-defined. Legs any man would enjoy wrapped around him.
Smoothly, Logan reached down, slipping his hand under hers bringing both up to eye level. “You have paint under your nails.” His thumb brushed the skin of her knuckles.
Oooh, very hot Paulette! Thank you so much for coming by and sharing your new breed of vampire with us! Paulette’s book was just released last week at Whispers Publishing so if you want to read it, click the link and head on over to the publisher!
Have a great Wednesday everyone!