Saturday, June 23, 2012

So, anyone up for a bit of play?

Now who doesn't like truly awesome heroes? I know I do.

I love a strong, protective man that will watch over his woman and take care of her. Of course, every person has their own preference. Some women lean towards the charmers, while some love the classic alpha males.

So, I'd like to give the opportunity for you guys to leave an excerpt of one of your works in progress. Give me an excerpt that defines your hero's character. Is he honorable, charming, sexy, commanding? How does he feel about his lady? You tell me. I'd love to find out.

I always enjoy reading snippets of writer's works. So, here's your chance to showcase your story's hero. If you do you not have a WIP, give me one of your favorite snippets of a hero you love from one of your favorite books.

Also, I'll be offering up a $5.00 gift card to (2) random people who leave me an awesome excerpt. Can't wait to hear what you guys come up with. :)


20 comments:

  1. Here is a snippet of my heorine's first introduction to Devon Brand in my 50 shades fan fic . It's her first day at the temp job and she's just arrived to find some very strange circumstances. Hope you enjoy. It's still a little rough around the edges yet.

    The door buzzed again and a god-like man in a black suit and white shirt stepped through.

    My heart thumped against my chest at the sight of him, or the smell. Or maybe it was the energy charge that filled the room with his presence. He took up more than just physical space.

    It was as if someone had hit me with the paddles of a defibrillator and kept on hitting. I gulped.

    Tall and lean with dark hair slicked back, the man exuded a territorial confidence that would make anyone cower. His chiseled face and dark eyes swam with unfathomable depth. Sexy and sinister, he was frightening. Glorious. Fearsome. Maybe it was the razor-thin scar that ran from his temple to his chin on the left side of his face, cutting his cheek in half or maybe just the indifferent gleam in his eye that screamed he'd just as soon kill you as fuck you and maybe both. And maybe in that order.

    The dark steel trap of his stare caught mine and wouldn't let go.

    Shit. I'm wasn't supposed to look him in the eye. But there was no way I could divert my gaze.

    He strode toward me, as if stalking a meal. "Ms. Lowe. Are you ready for me?"

    Holy shit! Not just no, but hell no! "Yes, sir."

    No introductions were necessary. Everyone knew Devon Brand. At least anyone with a bank account and the internet. His company Brand Banking Technology was a Fortune 500 and Brand himself was on Forbes list.

    "In that event, follow me."

    Oh fuck! "Ohh-kay."

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Awww man! That was an awesome description of your hero from the eyes of your heroine. Loved it!

      Delete
  2. Fun idea, Melissa! Okay, mine's a short excerpt because this WIP is in its infancy stage and I don't want to jinx it with oversharing. But I think you can still get a good glimpse of him. Here we go....

    Luke handed me a couple of pills and a glass of water.

    I swallowed the plain white tablets, clearly prescription stuff. “You poisoning me?”

    “Depends. You gonna tell me who did that?” His tone was casual but beneath the sweatpants and T-shirt, his lean body vibrated with tension. At least he’d finished cursing, which had gone on for a few minutes after seeing my bruise.

    I handed back the glass, and he set it on the bedside table. I watched him pace from my perch on his bed. A light layer of scruff and bloodshot green eyes, courtesy of a long day at work. And it was even longer now, thanks to me.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Sounds like a protective hero to me! :) Very nice excerpt, Amber.

      Delete
  3. Hi Melissa! Great idea! Here's a teaser from my WIP The Selkie. The hero, Calan, is a mythical Selkie man from the Orkney islands in Scotland. Hope you enjoy!

    She was attempting to stand on her wobbly legs when she heard the sound of splashing water. Thinking it was her seal, Maggie turned to look.
    Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the animal at all.
    It was a man. He was rising out of the waves, walking toward her. She froze. He was nude, utterly nude, and was staring at her with overflowing intimacy. As if they’d had, God help her, relations.
    And she realized, with sudden panic, they’d had! In her dreams. He was the seal-man from all her sex dreams.
    No. Impossible.
    Her first instinct was to call for help, but there was no one near. And then she realized with frightening awareness that she didn’t want any help anyway. Glued to her spot, she couldn’t help but drink him in.
    He was beautiful, if unnervingly wet and naked. He had long, shiny brown hair that hung down past his shoulders. His face could have belonged on an ad for expensive cologne, and he had a body to match. Sculpted shoulders gave way to arms corded in muscle. His defined chest was blanketed by a smattering of sparse, brown hair that led tantalizingly to his rock-hard abs.
    Maggie held her breath as her eyes travelled lower on his body, taking in trim calves and thighs a quarterback would envy. And, she noted with simultaneous hunger and horror, his penis was the biggest she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. It was thick and long and glistening with the droplets of water that yet cascaded over his body. And it seemed to be reaching for her. She gulped, and forced herself to look back up at his face.
    There was a faint glow about his skin, a shimmery aura. Dismissing it as a trick of the moonlight, she shook her head.
    He was almost upon her, and his full lips were taut in a teasing grin. Maybe he was a surfer who’d lost not only his board, but his shorts in the waves. She knew she should be frantic, but wasn’t. There was something in his brown eyes that was so familiar, so soothing, even as they swept over her own body with lustful appreciation.
    He stopped in front of her, and stood boldly, unashamed of his glorious nakedness. She managed to spit out one hushed word. “You.”
    “You,” was his equally-awed reply.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. OOooo very sexy, Rosanna. Now why won't something like that won't roll up out of the water for me? Jeez. Seriously, I like the idea of a selkie though. And Scottish to boot! :)

      Delete
  4. In my current WIP I haven't got to the point in the story you are looking for for this excerpt - so I went back to my last book - Black Dorn.

    Sorry it's a bit long - I'm puppy sitting and it's like having a hyper 2 yr old.

    Branwyn was torn between panic and numbness. Malack looked exhausted. His shoulders slumped forward and dark circles underlined bloodshot eyes. Slashes in his clothing hinted at bloodied wounds hidden beneath. When had he slept or eaten last? Could he beat a healthy, well-fed, well-rested opponent?
    If Timous won. If Timous won? The terrifying thought circled her mind--would she be given to him, as he would be the gon-dra? To be handed to him? To have to tragor to his touch, his kisses, his manhood? Her stomach lurched. She tasted bile.
    Thoughts tried to push their way into her mind. She fought to suppress them, but they floated through. What about her baby? Her hand rubbed her belly. Would Timous allow her to keep it? A cry escaped her. Malack might never know he had fathered their child. A jolt of fear made her tremble. What if the baby is a boy? Malack's son. Would Timous allow him to live? The son of his hated rival. What if it is a girl? Would he sell her to be a dune as she had been sold? Tears began to pour down Branwyn's cheeks.
    Never again to be kissed by him. The harder she fought to stop her wild and random thoughts the more they wormed their way into her consciousness. To be touched by him. To feel his hand caressing my breast. To stop the sensations of remembering his touch, she attempted to take a sip of wine. She could not. Her hand shook too much.
    She balled her napkin into a tight mess, squeezing so hard her knuckles turned white. How long had it been? She looked to the gonness for comfort. The fear on the gonness' face showed she also thought the fight had taken too long.
    What if? What if? What if? whirled around her brain.
    The doors opened. Timous stepped forward. The gonness screamed and threw herself onto her husband. Branwyn could not react. She refused to believe what her eyes saw.
    Then, with the tip of his own sword pressed into his back, Timous stopped before the gon.
    Malack growled, "Kneel!" Sweat poured from Malack's face. His breath came in labored gasps. Both men had fresh wounds dripping blood.
    Timous stood. His icy cold gaze never left his brother's face. Malack swung the sword at his legs. He crumpled to his knees. Grabbing Timous' hair, he pulled his face up. "Tell them what you did. Tell them why I have the right to kill you."
    Timous spat at Malack, but missed.
    Malack jerked his brother's face up. "Tell them!"
    "Damn you to hell!"
    Malack slammed the hilt of his sword across Timous' back. He fell face first, to the stone floor. With his foot pressed on his brother's neck, Malack raised Timous' sword to the room. "When I found Nalar's executor, I tried to force him to speak. I wanted to know who the traitor was. Who started the battle against Uplands? Who was trying to break our power? He died before he spoke the traitor's name. A farmer described the traitor's sword—dripping in blood. Look at the hilt." He held it high.
    On the sword were small red stones placed to look like a river of blood running from hilt to blade. "The abbot at Uplands told me if I was light then the traitor was darkness. I did not understand until I saw this sword—your sword." He pressed his foot harder on his brother's neck. "The abbot meant us—as brothers."
    He closed his eyes, gathered his thoughts, then spoke in a clear voice, "You ordered the raid on Uplands in order to breach a crack in Black Dorn's power. Cunning? Bah! Cowardly! You were not at the castle when I arrived. I traveled to Uplands to defend it. You ran and hid after ordering the death of my brother. You could not kill him yourself. Again, a coward. And you may not have Branwyn!" He raised the sword. "For Black Dorn! Rot in hell!"

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Awesome, Daryl! You know I love Malack. He's definitely one of those honorable, protective heroes.

      Delete
  5. I love this.
    This scene is taken from my WIP called Prophecy's Child.
    In this scene Kal and Katherine have literally bumped into each other after ten years. This scene is in the heroine's POV, so I hope this is okay, but Kal is trying to be a gentleman.

    Katherine crossed her arms over her chest in a pitiful attempt at guarding her heart. “What are doing here?” Please say visiting relatives or on vacation.

    Kal pulled his left hand out of his pocket and showed her a small plastic bag. “Buying a video game.”

    “I mean, what are you doing in Vancouver? When did you move from Toronto?”

    “I moved here for work a few years ago. What about you?”

    “That’s none of your damn business.” She pointed at his bag and smirked. “Nice to see you’re just as childish as you were years ago. Some things never change, huh?”

    His cheeks reddened and he glanced at the floor. Sighing, he rocked back and forth on his heels as he shoved the bag back into his pocket. With a flick of his head, he dislodged thick bangs out of his eyes. “Look, Katherine, I need to apologize.”

    “For knocking me down? Don’t worry about it.”

    A small smile tugged at his lips and sadness filled his eyes. “That too, but I’d like to apologize for the way I left things between us.”

    The tenacious hold she had on her rage disintegrated. And not giving a crap that they stood in the middle of a store with people all around, she said none too quietly, “You didn’t leave anything between us—you just left. I woke up and you were gone, which wasn’t unusual, you were never there in the mornings, but when I tried to call your cell phone, guess what? You cut the damn thing off! So please, do me a favor and keep your bullshit apologies, because I don’t want to hear them.”

    With the rounded tip of his boot, he toed the base of a metal clothes rack which held an assortment of women’s robes. He fingered the sleeve of a fluffy, purple housecoat; his intense stare locked with hers.

    He was the first to glance away, but before he did, she noticed guilt and hurt cloud the blue depths of his eyes.

    How dare he be hurt. He had no right. Katherine’s fury boiled over. She wanted to wound him even more.

    She curled her fingers, making tight fists. “If your objective back then was to make me fall in love with you, and then make me despise you, then bravo, mission accomplished. And make no mistake. I do despise you.”

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I can't wait to read this, Brenda! You know I've been waiting for Kal's story. Awesome excerpt!

      Delete
  6. Hi Melissa! Thank you so much for the chance to define my hero's character. This is from Portals of Oz, coming June 29th from Ruby Lioness Press.

    Jack stepped off the curb when the light changed and surveyed the thin cluster of people coming at him. Bloody hell. Five people hardly made a crowd, but more than two was too many for him. With his mind on the artifact sale he'd just completed, he nearly missed seeing the willowy girl walking toward him in a green sundress. She seemed in a hurry, stress etched worry lines between her arched brows.

    He may have grown up in a sleepy California town, but living in the outback of Australia taught a man to gather information, collect more than what he saw, to use wherewithal to piece things together. His search for the elusive Brownie Elf began when he made their connection to the Aboriginal people in the land of kiwis. Folklore and eyewitness accounts claimed the natives' ability to project their bodies from one location to another.

    She glanced over her shoulder, her long blonde hair swaying in an arc as she turned. Jack looked past the pretty girl and noticed two rough-looking bludgers grinning at each other. Their pointing fingers and elbow jabs threatened to ruin what was left of his good day.

    A damn good reminder why I don't live in town. Jack adjusted his path to maintain a crash course into the runaway blonde.

    Intentional? Yes.

    Direct hit? Absolutely.
    ***
    I'm looking forward to reading everyone's posts. The ones listed so far are FABULOUS! Great job!!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Fantastic scene, Sheri! Feel like I need to keep on reading to find out what happens next! :)

      Delete
  7. Excellent excerpts so far, Melissa! Great call. Mine is from the second book in the Scandal series, Only Marriage Will Do.


    Juliet had never been so glad to see anybody in her life as she had the stranger who walked into the reception room just after Philippe had informed her that he had married her by proxy. She knew it was a lie. It had to be. And what better way to counteract a lie than with another one? And this stranger who had stumbled into the sordid drama had risen to the occasion beautifully.

    A knight in shining armor indeed. And so protective! She thought that might be the most compelling reason for her tender feelings toward the captain. He made her feel safe. Almost safer than she felt when she was with Duncan. Especially now that Duncan was married. She loved Katarina without question, but she realized most keenly that Duncan’s first allegiance now was to his wife. The woman that Captain Dawson had come to Dunham House to see.

    Perhaps she could help him forget her. Her face heated at the thought. Katarina was a truly beautiful and spirited woman. And though Juliet knew herself to be attractive, she also realized there could be no competition between the two of them. Especially if it came to a contest for the affection of one such as Amiable Dawson.

    Juliet had not been so distraught at the interview with Philippe that she had not taken in the captain’s wonderfully masculine form when he appeared. Almost as tall as Duncan, the man was made more slender than her brother, though not to the point of thinness. When she leaned against him his chest had been firm, not soft and his arms were corded with muscles, unmistakable even though his coat. Dark blonde hair pulled neatly back in a bag and those intense blue eyes! She thrilled at the thought just sitting in the carriage. Yes, Captain Amiable Dawson was a fine figure of a man. A man who would make any woman a wonderful husband.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. What an awesome excerpt, Jenna. Yet another book I'm waiting for! :) Amiable does sound pretty delectable. Just saying.

      Delete
  8. Oh, love this! Great idea! Can I borrow it on Tuesday?
    Mine is from a brand new WIP called Cowboy, Come Home...

    He sat on the edge of the bed and let his hands hang between his knees. “Eden, this isn’t helping. It’s not going to bring him back.”
    “I just want to sleep.”
    He fought his building frustration and edged around on his hip so he faced her back. “I know you’re hurting. You think I don’t know that? But this isn’t doing you any good…”
    Silence met his ears.
    He placed a hand on the unfamiliar edge of her thin hip. “I miss him, too.”
    She shoved the pile of blankets away and rolled over to face him. With her honey blonde hair a dirty, tangled mess and black circles around her eyes, she looked like hell warmed over. “Do you, Adam?”
    He recoiled as if she’d punched him. “You know I do.”
    “Then leave me alone.” Tears filled her eyes and full lips trembled. “Stop badgering me.”
    Guilt filled him. All this was his fault. If he hadn’t wanted a son so badly… if he hadn’t made her pregnant she would still be the warm, funny, life-loving girl he’d married. Not a shell of her former self. “Honey, let me help.”
    She grimaced. “Nothing can help. You can’t bring my baby back.”
    Her accusing words cut through his skin like a lash from a bullwhip. He’d give her the stars and the moon if he could. And he’d damn well make sure their son was born alive. “You’ll feel better after a shower and a hot meal.”
    She reached for the covers and he grabbed her hands and held them. She jerked away like he was carrying hoof and mouth disease. “I don’t want to eat. I’m not hungry. I just want to sleep some more. I want to forget.”
    “You slept all day,” he reminded her gently.
    “I’m still tired.”
    She looked exhausted, he had to admit. How could someone sleep almost around the clock for over a month, and still be so tired? “A shower will do you good. So will some hot food.”
    “I don’t feel like getting up, and I’m not hungry.”
    A tear leaked down her face and he brushed it away with his thumb. “Don’t cry, babe.”
    “How can I not cry?” she asked in a garbled voice. “How can you not? Don’t you even care?”
    He flinched. He hurt. A lot. But he’d been raised that crying was for women and children. Not a man. He dealt with his pain by working, by driving his body until his mind was too tired to think. Until he passed out, and the nightmares came. But he didn’t share any of that with her. Instead he stood and spoke harsher than he meant to. “Get up, Eden. I’m dirty and hungry. And I’m too damn tired to cook my own supper again.”

    ReplyDelete
  9. I can see this is another goodie I'm going to have to read. :) Loved the excerpt, D'Ann. :)

    ReplyDelete
  10. Some great reads here. This is from my book Circles Interlocked - it is a letter the bride receives on her wedding day.

    Julie's mother handed a crinkled envelope to Julie. "Robert gave it to me before he went to Vincent's to get you. He didn't ask for it back. He probably forgot about it. I thought you might like to read it." With a loving motherly hug, Mrs. Anderson wished her daughter happiness in her marriage and said it was time the mother of the bride made her entrance.
    Julie's fingers trembled as she opened the envelope.
    Hi,
    If you're reading this then something went wrong and I guess I'm dead. Sorry. But that's only one more screw up to add to my list. I've messed things up a lot in this relationship. Why do people who should never be together fall in love?
    I should've never met you and I certainly shouldn't have fallen in love with you, but I did. I never stopped loving you once in the years we were apart. Telling you this now seems a little stupid, I guess I should've done it before I let you go back to Langston.
    A long time ago - in high school - we had to write an assignment for our last English essay. You and I had broken up and everyone was mad at me for being such a bastard. For my essay, I handed in a poem. Ya me, I wrote a poem. Mrs. Wolmsely liked it - hell, she gave me an "A".
    She wanted to read it in class. She was hoping you'd forgive me. Which is exactly what I didn't want. I wanted you to go dance. I wanted you to live out your dream. I'm sorry I screwed up on that. Anyway, this is my poem. I've revised it a bit. It was only two verses long then. I wanted to call it LOVE SUCKS, but I didn't think Mrs. Wolmsely would like that.
    She possessed my being -
    Gave me a future -
    A life.
    Our souls intertwined -
    Fantasies fulfilled

    But
    Reality intruded.
    One's dream realized
    One's destroyed.
    A heart broken
    The pain -
    Where a heart should be
    A void existed.
    The expanse of days
    Became years.
    A dream withered.

    By chance -
    Two faces meet
    And smile
    Lips touch
    Love strikes once more.

    My being possessed -
    Desires fulfilled -
    A dream revived.
    A future
    With Love!

    I don't know why I told you all this. All I wanted to do is tell you I love you, but it seemed cold and impersonal on paper. Please don't grieve for me. Remember our good times together. Forget the bad stuff. Have a happy life, full of love and joy.
    With Love,
    R
    She caressed the line "With Love." She'd chosen the correct inscription. She'd chosen the correct man.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Awww that makes me feel all warm inside. Very nice excerpt! :)

      Delete
  11. What great snipits. Here is one I have not posted before from my regency, The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh.

    An hour later, Anna was in the drawing room with the other guests. She found several ladies with whom she was acquainted and was enjoying a pleasant conversation when Rutherford joined the group. He was perfectly dressed as always.
    His black jacket fit snuggly across his shoulders, setting off his magnificent shoulders, and not a wrinkle to be seen. His shirt points were high enough for fashion but not so high he could not turn his head. And his cravat. Anna wanted to sigh. No one but Brummell could tie a cravat like Rutherford.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Mmm nothing like a nicely dressed man. I love the name Rutherford too. I can't wait to read more for you in future, Ella. :)

      Delete