Dayne Gearner's What Happens in Vegas has received a lovely review at eCataromance. Click HERE to read this review for yourself. What Happens in Vegas is available at Moonlit Romance.
Congratulations to BARBARA who correctly guessed that yesterday's Name That Title clues referred to Robin Bayne's The Scent of Falling Snow. BARBARA may pick any title in Robin's backlist at By Grace. Just enter Robin's name in the search box and you'll get a list. Email your title of choice and format of choice to laurahambyeditor @ yahoo dot com with "February Name That Title Winner" in the subject line.
Adding the 5 Senses to Your Description is an easy-to-read article that's not so much a "how-to" as it is a list with some good suggestions. Try writing a paragraph, as the UE authors have done, utilizing as many of the 5 senses as possible.
In another time Kate would have relished their aloneness as they sat together on one of the steep, stone steps leading down to the sand. Once, at such moments, there was never enough time to say all the things they wanted to say to each other; now the only sounds were the strident cries of seagulls mingled with the rhythmic, muffled roar of waves breaking against the shoreline. In that other world, Adrian’s arms would have closed around her, holding her against him, and his strong hand would have tilted her face gently for his kiss. Now, they sat side by side but rigidly apart and only the ocean breeze caressed her body, bringing with it a tang of salt that lingered on her lips. Without thinking she traced the taste with her tongue, trying to savor again those exquisitely salt-flavored kisses - until she saw Adrian watching sardonically.
Alex had just plopped down in her favorite spot on the sofa, pulled the fuzzy blue and purple afghan up to her chin and was channel surfing when Dillon dropped a beautiful gold box tied with red ribbon into her lap. She looked up into his twinkling eyes and tugged at the satiny ribbon. Eagerly, she pulled the top off the box and was enveloped in the heady aroma of sweet chocolate. There was the familiar crackle of the fluted paper cup as she lifted a piece from the center of the box and brought it to her lips. The first bite was sinfully rich and sweet and she laughed as the caramel was pulled into a long string before she snagged it with her finger. Dillon leaned down and gave her a kiss that was every bit as sinful and rich and sweet as the confection she’d just tasted. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” he whispered.
Sherry (Shara) Jones
The rich aroma of the coffee woke Ansley from a dreamless sleep. Before her eyes could focus on the empty, indented pillow beside her own, Owen’s inimitable tuneless whistle wafted from the kitchen. The comforting sound grew louder as he padded back towards the bedroom with two steaming mugs. The warmth generated from the cup now held in her hand couldn’t match the coffee-warmed kiss he placed on her lips. “Good morning.”
Melissa heard the faint strains of music filtering through the room. It soothed her nerves, as did the warm, sweet jasmine tea she sipped. The atmosphere was in sharp contrast to the mad scene Robert had caused last night; his yelling and throwing of a vase had shattered the evening’s peace. Tonight, she planned to approach him again, speaking only in the softest of tones, and touching the back of his hand in a soothing manner. She’d offer him a glass of brandy, knowing the bitter drink would bring his attention to her. Then she’d approach him face to face, and ask if he perhaps today he remembered the color of her eyes.
Susie sniffed the air. “Yum, fresh bread.”
She could almost taste the fresh crumbly texture on her tongue and her stomach growled in appreciation. Overhead the fan twirled making a steady rick-rack of noise as it reduced the heat in the stifling bakery.
Diane's head whirled. Flashing lights, ringing bells, and a pungent cloud of cigarette smoke left her breathless and nauseated. She rubbed her arms against the chill of the air conditioner as she made her way through the crowd. Through stinging, watery eyes, light from the doorway beckoned her. The glass was cool against her fingertips, the door giving way to her push, and she stepped outside with a heartfelt sigh into a hot Las Vegas afternoon. Grasping the warm iron railing and feeling its heat seep into her blood, she made her way down the stairs and away from the casino.
The wind sighed through the trees, eery and musical all the same time. It carried a cool dampness with it as it caressed Nova's bare arms. She turned slowly, almost like she recognized the source of the wind, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the landscape. She worried her lower lip, tasting the tart afterbitey flavor of her lip gloss. Then came the scent she'd been waiting for---a spicy musk, and she knew for certain what the wind meant. She shivered.
She gripped the rough stone railing even tighter and felt the coppery taste of anxiety rise in her throat at the unfamiliar surroundings: boats of all colors floating on their reflections, the voices of men calling each other in languages she couldn’t understand, and the heavy, homey smell of potatoes. The whole thing was overwhelming. Even for her.
Demi stepped off the patio and on to the freshly mown grass. It was soft and spongy between her toes and the organically pure scent of the green blades lightened her mood. The emerald lawn stretched before her, in alternate stripes of darker and lighter. Birds flitted and sang in the trees, and the sunshine was as thick as honey in the air—she could almost taste it.
The light flickered on, briefly, then off again. Janice squinted in the dark and tried to make out familiar shapes in the room. The smell of gasoline filtered up from the street below. Somewhere there’s a window open. She dropped to her knees and carefully began to feel her way through the darkened apartment. After several paces she felt a coolness ripple over her hair. I must be close. Just a few more feet. She flattened her palms against the wall and moved along on, one knee in front of the other. Finally her fingers hit the rough timber of the window frame. Freedom. She pulled herself up to her full height and sucked in the night air. The gasoline smell was stronger now, mixed with fried chicken and fries.
Mike's pulse pounded in his ears. He squeezed his eyes tight and prayed. He was not sure what gagged him more, the stench rising from the pool of stagnant water at his feet, presently penetrating his worn leather shoes, or the foul rag tied securely around his mount, reeking of greased and turpentine. Perspiration dripped from Mike’s brow. The cold metal of the gun’s point rested against his forehead while his captor’s oppressive breath brushed his ear. The deep voice behind him goaded, “You’re not wanted here, Dig Boy. Now it’s my turn to dig…your grave.” The voice sounded frosty, brutal, and all too clear.
The smooth aged leather bag made a snapping noise when opened. Rosa examined the rusted sticky hinge then sniffed; old lavender and mothballs. Wrinkling her nose she peeked inside its faded purple silken interior. She fingered the tiny glass bottle she found there. ‘Taste Me!’ invited its faded script.
Shivering, Janie huddled closer to the brick. It wasn’t as if it was going to maker her any warmer, but at least it kept her under the lip of the overhang. Out of the rain. The clouds, ominous and dark, seemed to bang together in a clap of thunder, right before they let loose their downpour. Lifting her Starbucks Carmel Machiatto to her mouth, she first inhaled it’s heady scent. Mmmm. Then, slowly, savouring, she sipped. If nothing else, she hoped this would keep her warm while she waited for the bus.