Saturday, July 4, 2015

Story Saturdays

First off, today, July 4th, only, both books in my series, The Sanders Family, are FREE. Be sure to download your copy! This is the last time this year these books will be free.


99 cents sale:

*teen romance

*contemporary romance

WOLFE (Billionaire Boys Club) Book 3
*contemporary romance

Available on Kindle Unlimited:

*contemporary romance

*modern western

FOR ETERNITY (Time-Travel Romance) Book 1
*science fiction romance

CROSSING ETERNITY (Time-Travel Romance) Book 2
*science fiction romance

Also, MISSING and FOUND (links above).

New Releases:


WINGS2 (Paranormal Romance) Book 2
*paranormal/fantasy teen romance

Note:  With the exception of books listed as Kindle Unlimited, all of my books are available at other online sale websites. Visit the blog for links.

Visit for details
$20 Amazon Gift Card and a FREE Edge book of your choice.

Today's excerpt comes from a Romantic Suspense entitled, REASON TO LIVE. Close friends, Brice Monahan and Christy Wasner are on a day trip mountain climbing in the New Mexican desert when they come across the body of a boy she recognizes.

I look forward to writing the end of this tale!

Christy Wasner sailed down into the ravine, the sing of the rope, heat of the desert sun, and persistent ache in her muscles combining with a good dose of adrenaline to give her a head rush. Her head cast back, she glanced upward long enough to see the ever-shrinking face of her partner, climbing instructor, Brice Monahan.

She and Brice went back two years to a chance meeting at a coffee shop on Third Street. He was the buff dude about to burst the seams of his t-shirt, and her, the flirt, determined to get in his pants. Since then, he’d succeeded and she’d failed. He was glorious, too, minus the shirt, which he was all too willing to remove, but incredibly abstinent when it came to relationships, a fact that had, initially, made her question if he was gay.

He wasn’t.

Turning her gaze outward, she concentrated on her rate of speed, slowing toward the bottom to lessen the impact on her legs. Her feet on solid ground, she unclamped herself from the rope and reversed, looking up again to watch Brice descend.

Despite his lack of any interest in her as a bedmate, he’d proven to be a good friend and treated her like a lady, which she discovered was extremely rare. He’d also introduced her to mountain climbing. He always said she was a natural. She doubted that, adding the compliment to the list of others he regularly tossed her way. Maybe he wasn’t any good for angst release, but he built her ego.

He loomed into view, his well-cut chest and muscular arms becoming more impressive the closer he came. By the time he’d unhooked, she’d broken a sweat, one unrelated to the desert heat.

“Stop gawking,” he said. “You’ve seen it all before.”

“And I’m still impressed.”

Brice grinned, rolling up a length of rope in his right hand. “Here’s where you offer to feel me up before we go on.”

She laughed once. “I’m not sure which is larger, your self-image or mine.” Turning away from him, she scanned the shaded bottom of the ravine. “I’m glad you talked me into this. It’s lovely.”

The red rock walls and sprinkling of cactus and sage was simplistic beauty hiding foreboding dangers, rattlesnakes and scorpions, to name two, as well as dehydration, a perhaps greater threat.
She never tired of seeing the desert landscape though, but had resisted going quite as far as they had today, time and fear outweighing the effort.

“I was wrong,” she continued.

Brice cupped one hand over his ear. “What’s that? Did I hear …?”

She smiled at him. “I … was … wrong …” she repeated slowly. “Though … that rest you promised me sounds inviting.”

He inclined his head toward the left. “We’ll do that over there. I’m up for fifteen myself.”

Fifteen. She’d be lucky to get five. Brice was always pushing them forward. One mile wasn’t enough, they had to go two … or twelve. So what, the drop was two hundred feet, she was fully capable of doing it, he’d say.

Her shoes crunching over loose rock, Christy paced herself at his side, relieved to see a small stream not too far ahead. She shucked her pack, falling down on her knees to cup the water in her palm, but before she could bring it to her lips, Brice tapped her on the head.

“Don’t drink that.”

She let the water slid through her fingers. “Don’t? Why?”

“Because I’ll be scraping you off the ground,” he said, “and I know I’m tough, but toting you out of the ravine on my back isn’t my idea of fun.”

Christy fell onto her haunches. “But you said …”

“I said we’d rest, not drink the water.” Brice dropped his pack beside hers and took a seat on it. Unzipping one end, he pulled out a water bottle and handed it her way.

She took a long swig. In handing it back to him, she was overcome again by how great he was – tight abs, beefy thighs.

His sly grin returned.

“I know why you keep taking me out here,” she said in response, “because I’m such a sucker for your good looks.”

“It’s mutual,” he replied.

She started and must’ve showed her surprise clearly because he laughed. “You think I’m blind?”

“Well … no … but you made it clear you weren’t interested.”

His brow wrinkled. “Is that what you think? I never said I wasn’t interested. I said I wasn’t hopping in the sack, and I’m not. But I do have eyes, and we’ve spent how much time together?”

“A lot,” she replied, “but I figured … you know … we’re just friends, and I don’t want to mess that up.”

His expression was as serious as she’d ever seen him. Brice was, in general, very lighthearted. He enjoyed a good laugh, loved to dance, and was a good cook. She went to his place at least every other weekend for him to fix dinner. They’d gone out to several clubs he liked on many occasions, and she’d been considered his “date” by others in their group. But she’d never ranked herself any higher than a friend.

He reached out one hand and took hold of her chin. The calluses in his palm rasped hard on her skin, but she made no effort to dislodge him. He seemed to consider his next action, then dipped his head and kissed her. It was slight, the barest brush, but his breath was warm and moist, his mouth inviting.

He reversed, his brow drawing tight. “That tell you something?” he asked.

She nodded, her throat thick.

He held her there a moment longer then pushed to his feet. “I’m going to find a rock.” He was out of view seconds later.

She mashed two fingers to her lips, the saltiness of his skin finding the tip of her tongue. Restless, she rose, needing to soak in the moment, and followed the curve of the stream to where it rounded a boulder. One hand on the sun-warmed rock, she paused to check for snakes, and looking at the bottom where the rock met the soil, her gaze crossed an odd shape.

Her thoughts of Brice fell away as, with her fingertips, she dusted the sand from around the toe of what turned out to be a shoe. A shoe? Her eyes traveled upwards over undone laces to an ankle and a leg, the skin tinged blue. Stumbling backward, the heel of her hiking boot caught in the gravel, and she tumbled downward with a squeak.

Brice appeared out of nowhere, his sweaty, dark hair sticking up at odd angles. “What is it? You okay?”

Hands shaking, she pointed, quivering, at the boulder, and he crept ahead, coming to a halt at the exposed shoe.

“It’s a boy,” he said, “maybe fifteen.” His fingers curling into fists, he pressed closer and a tremor seemed to snake down his spine. “Christy … can you … come here?”

“Come … come there? I can’t. We … should go. Get help.”

“Please?” Brice pleaded, his voice desperate.

Worried, she pushed to her feet, brushing sand from her backside. She made no effort to move, however.

“Christy …” Brice called again. He sounded even worse now.

Her heart pounding, pulse swishing in her ears, she forced herself toward him one step at a time and rounding his side, spotted the boy’s face and knew instantly what was wrong.

“It’s Enrique,” she said.

Enrique Sandoval, the oldest son of her next-door neighbor.

Suzanne D. Williams
Suzanne Williams Photography 
Florida, USA

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

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