We all know you can’t have a good book without conflict. Many times we need to have more than one to carry the book. Today, I’d love it if you post fan excerpt of your hero and heroine’s first conflict. Or, if you don’t want to post an excerpt of your own, post a conflict from another work that you like.
Here is mind from The Seduction of Lady Phoebe, which will be released in autumn.
An hour later, dressed in a very pretty gown of sprig muslin, Phoebe made her way towards the drawing room, passing through the picture gallery. The afternoon sun lit one-half of the wide corridor. Long mullioned windows were flanked by red and gold brocade hangings and red velvet-covered benches sat against the outside wall.
Centuries of portraits of somber-faced Vivers hung on the inside paneled walls. As she approached the ancient, carved, double doors leading to the grand staircase, something moved. She stopped.
Lord Marcus staggered slightly as he strolled out from the corner. “I’ve been looking for you, my dear.” His words were slurred as if he was drunk.
“Lord Marcus, have you been drinking?” A chill ran through her as she remembered what Lady W had said.
“Just a mite,” he said. “Liquid courage and all that. I have something important to discuss with you.”
She raised her chin and moved to go around him. “I have nothing to say to you, my lord.”
“But I have a lot to say to you, m’dear.” He held out a hand to block her exit. “Come to me, Phoebe.”
Her initial trepidation turned to rage. She narrowed her eyes and used her coldest tone. “How dare you address me in such a manner? Out of my way and let me pass.” How could she have been so wrong, and now what was she to do?
Lord Marcus’s arm snaked out to grab her. “I’ve a better idea.”
Phoebe jumped back and tried to run around him, but he caught her. The strong scent of brandy assailed her nose. Her heart thudded wildly. What a mistake she had made. Lord Marcus was nothing like she’d imagined. She had to get away from him.
His arm tightened around her. He took her jaw in his hand and turned it to face him. “I love you, and I want you to be mine.”
His gaze burned hot. She shook her head back and forth, trying to avoid his lips and his fingers brushed her breast. A jolting thrill went through her followed by overwhelming panic. What had he done to her?
For the first time in Phoebe’s life, she was truly afraid. Desperate, she broke his hold and drove her fist into his nose.
Blood spurted out. Lord Marcus reeled back and fell to the floor with a grunt.
She stood over him, shaking with anger. “You rogue—you have the privilege and wealth of a gentleman, and what do you use it for? Nothing. I didn’t want to believe the stories, but you’ve proven them true. You treat people with contempt and wonder why you’re not respected. Until you learn to put others first and use your power and affluence to help people rather than hurt them, you will remain the poor excuse for a man you are now. Leave this house now. I never want to see you again.”
ellaquinnauthor
Wow, what a wonderful excerpt, Ella. I can’t wait to read the complete novel.
I actually have an excerpt to share today. It’s the first confrontation between my hero, Calum, and heroine, Arabella. She’s a bit stubborn and he doesn’t really care for it.
With his bag secured to the saddle, he attempted to shrug away his worry. His desire to protect her was a natural instinct. He was adept in protection and exceedingly defensive of his family and clan. Regardless of her lack of knowledge with the fact, she was now a member of both.
Three days. That’s the span of time he had to acquaint her with said knowledge. Christ, his life had grown more difficult since she’d entered it. He raked his hand through his short hair and turned around just as she rushed through the camp. His mouth gaped open. Why the daft woman!
Arabella fiddled with her satchel, the action prodding his irritation. He stomped to her side and gripped her arm. “I told you to call for me.”
Raising her bold, heated gaze to his, she lifted her chin in clear challenge. “I thank you for the concern, but my injuries are quite well today. Indeed, your salve does work wonders.”
Her voice dripped with sweetness, and he paused in disbelief, giving her the chance to wriggle free from his hold. She continued to rummage through her bag, ignoring his presence. Aggravated by her blatant dismissal, he inhaled a deep breath to quash the sudden impulsive desire to shake her. Didn’t she realize he only sought to protect and keep her safe? It was evident that included shielding her from herself- the reckless, little termagant. He grabbed her arm and whirled her around to face him.
“You need to understand the difference between a request and an order. When I tell you to do something, you do it.”
Anger flashed in those brilliant green eyes of hers and her chest heaved. She jerked her arm away. “I’m neither one of your men nor a child! You have no right to order me to do anything.”
Calum narrowed his eyes, reached out, and snagged her around the waist. He pulled her up against his chest until she stood on her tiptoes, the top of her head reaching his chin. Defiance swirled in her scorching eyes, and his groin tightened in response. Leaving no distance between them, her ample breasts pressed against his chest. Their fit was nothing short of perfection in his mind. He drew a deep breath of cold air into his lungs to soothe his raging temper and lust.
Within a hairsbreadth of her flushed face, he ground out his reply. “You will not speak to me in that manner ever again, especially in front of my men. If you take issue with an order I’ve given, we can settle it without an audience. Pack your things. We need to leave. Now.”
He released her and spun away. Once he vaulted into his saddle, he tried to steady his breathing and control his thumping heart before it burst free from his chest. Closing his eyes, he attempted to suppress the surge of lust that hit him with the force of an army of men. He wouldn’t permit her disrespect or disobedience, but the God’s honest truth was it aroused him beyond belief to see such fire in her.
Oooh, Melissa. This sounds like it’s going to be a wonderful read.
Great post Ella. I always knew I’d love Phoebe because she smacked the hero in the nose. Best first conflict EVER!
Here’s the first conflict from my paranormal christimas erotic menage novella about a homeless woman named Zoey rescued by two sexy Irish Vamps. She wants to leave, and one of the vamps agrees and the other one is determined to keep her.
“Ian,” she spoke softly, but he heard her. “Where are my clothes?”
The look of confusion on his face would have been endearing at another time, but the tension was thick enough that she could feel it.
“Why do you need your clothes?” Ian crossed his arms, a mirror of the brooding Connor on the other side of the room.
“I think it’s time I leave. You both clearly have things you need to discuss, and I don’t want to be underfoot a moment longer.”
“No!” Ian barked.
Zoey flinched at the sharp guttural sound. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I don’t want your pity…” she trailed off, face flushing when she realized she’d wanted something else. Him. Her eyes strayed to Connor and something hit her in the gut. Even as frightening as he was, she had to admit he fascinated her too. When it had been just the two of them alone in his bed, he’d chosen not to scare her, but instead to overwhelm her with his raw passion. She’d been a moth to the fire of his embrace.
She wanted Connor. She wanted Ian. It was insane to want them both, but she did. They were immortal creature, vampires. She was a homeless human. A stray. They didn’t want her, they only pitied her. Zoey raised her chin, trying to think of all of the things she should be proud of, and not let her own self-pity weigh her down. She couldn’t stay. If she left now, she might make it back to the shelter before they closed and maybe, just maybe they’d have room for her to sleep there in the main room, rather than having to go back to the underpass.
A shudder of fear tinged with anxiety shot up her spine, giving her a headache. Another horrible night under that concrete bridge…where she’d hope no one would attack her. It had happened before. Hands groping in the darkness trapping her limbs immobile, fetid breath on her face, rags shoved inside her mouth to prevent her from screaming while an accomplice stole what little food she’d kept for when she needed it. That was what she had to look forward to.
“You can’t go, love. Please.” Ian’s tone was heavy with pleading, but his fists were clenched and his taut expression revealed surprising determination.
“I won’t be an object of pity, Ian. Besides, he,” she pointed at Connor, “doesn’t want me here.”
Ian’s head whipped in his friend’s direction, a storm cloud hovering over his features. “Do something, Connor. I’m keeping her so apologize to the lass.”
Connor’s scowl might have made Zoey laugh under other circumstances. He looked like a spoiled child who was hearing the word “no” for the first time. She had a feeling he got his way more often than not when he and Ian quarreled. Finally his expression changed to stony defiance.
“Fine. You can stay. For now.” That was all he said. No apology, no pleading. Just a gruff reply before he stalked from the room.
Zoey winced when he slammed the door to his bedroom. He’d shut her out, but it felt so much more than that. Like he’d closed the door to his life on her, why that mattered, she was too afraid to analyze. She didn’t want to contemplate that she was crushing on a vampire…make that two vampires.
Great job, Lauren. I can’t wait to read the rest of this.
Oh–that’s some great conflict. Phoebe’s letting him have it.
Thanks, Angelyn.
This is from Maid To Be a Baroness- The book I recently finished and has now been submitted to my publisher-
“I’m truly sorry that you worried. As you can see I’m feeling so much better.” Now the time had come to get to the truth, whatever it was. “So, how was your visit with the Baron?”
“It was wonderful. I told him about your love for an orangery and he immediately had plans drawn up. As my note to you said, I brought them with me.”
“Let me ask you this, m’ lord. How could you have spoken to the Baron when you were in London?” Debbi demanded and raised her foil to the en garde position.
“What?”
She wasn’t surprised when she heard his voice crack.
“No, I was with my father the whole time, just like I said.”
“Sir, don’t lie to me. I overheard, with a witness, the Duke say he spoke with you the other day about catching some spy for the French. I can assure you that if I was to marry you, which now seems doubtful, there will be no secrets of any kind between us.”
As she finished speaking a foil slid across the flagstone floor, stopping at Gerrard’s feet.
“Sir, I am calling you out as a liar. Now pick up the blade and defend yourself.”
“M’ lady, I’ve seen you with a sword take down a man twice your size. If you think I’m going up against you, forgetting for the moment you’re a woman, then you are daft.”
What Debbi didn’t hear or see was the duke and duchess now standing at the entrance to the orangery observing two very strong-willed and stubborn individuals.
“Sir, pick…up…the…foil.”
“I will but only to toss it in the pond.”
She watched as he slowly bent over and with two fingers on the blade’s tip prepared to keep his promise.
Fun post, Lindsay. Loved the conflict.
Great post Ella. I can’t wait to read your books. Your imagery is beautiful!
Thank you, Nancy. You should post an excerpt.
Great excerpt, Ella! Love this: For the first time in Phoebe’s life, she was truly afraid. Desperate, she broke his hold and drove her fist into his nose. (Phoebe sounds like she can take care of buisiness!)
She doesn’t fool around, that’s for sure.
Munro returned home, wearied and with a conscience and stomach alike uneasy; even the sight of the sheep pens prepared for lambing and the fresh thatch on the stable roof failing to raise his spirits. To be met with stony silence and a chill in the atmosphere, indicating that a whisper of some sort had beaten him.
The presence of the twins clamouring for attention protected him from immediate censure, but alone in their chamber Kate rounded on him.
“A day or two only? It may not signify?”
He reached out, but she twisted away as if his touch would soil her.
“The Cunninghames have lost much.” It was an unconscious echo of William.
“The half of Ayrshire has lost much, and over many years.” She sucked in air, as if to fan a flame. “Indeed all of Scotland is salted with old rivalries that erupt, in season and out of it, like boils, which, doctored or not, leave scars aplenty to mar the landscape. Must we have part in it?”
She took a handful of twigs from the basket by the hearth, snapped them into kindling. “It is a dirty business, and no-one the winner, save perhaps the coffin-makers and clothiers who aye make good money of men’s folly. Cunninghame or Montgomerie, it makes no odds…Dear God to think more of obligation than our children.”
He wanted to protest that it had been their children he thought of, and her…and her…for to refuse Glencairn… but risked only, “I did but as I was bid; as I was bound to do.”
“No-one is bound – save by the laws of God.” Turning her back, she unpinned her hair, snuffed the candle, spoke into the darkness. “There is always a choice. If this is yours, do not look to me to share it.”
Excerpt from Turn of the Tide – The story of a fictional family trapped in the real-life drama of a 16thc Scottish blood feud. – Published by Capercaillie Books Nov 2012 http://tiny.cc/mzf2ow
Very nice, Margaret. Thank you for sharing.
You know I love Lady Phoebe! Such a great conflict too.
This is the first conflict in Betrothal, my medieval novella:
“What do you require of me, Majesty?” Her mouth so dry she could taste sand, Alyse fought to speak in a normal tone. With a sigh of relief, she dropped gratefully into a deep curtsy, hiding her face in the folds of her skirt. If only she could remain bowed thus before His Majesty for the remainder of the evening.
King Edward laughed. “Obedience, Lady Alyse, as I require of all my subjects. As your father requires of his daughter.”
Her heart thumped wildly in her breast. That could only mean one thing.
“Rise, my lady.”
She did so on unsteady feet. “I am ready, as always, Your Majesty, to obey my father as I would you.”
Holy Mary, let it be Thomas Knowlton.
King Edward lifted an eyebrow toward Alyse. “A very pretty answer, my lady. And are you ready to accept your father’s decree for your betrothal? His messenger has today reached me with the contract, as I am to stand in his stead in this matter.”
Alyse took a deep breath and hoped her voice did not tremble. “Yea, Majesty, I will obey my father.”
King Edward nodded and leaned over to whisper something to Queen Phillipa.
Mere seconds before she learned her fate. She could scarce affect an indifferent pose before the court when inside every inch of her quivered with anticipation of the name. His name, pray God, on the king’s lips. Thomas. In her mind she heard the word.
The king straightened, glanced at her, then to the man by her side.
“What say you then, Sir Geoffrey? Does the lady not speak fair? I vow she will make you a proper wife, and a dutiful one as well.”
Alyse turned, until that moment unaware that Geoffrey Longford stood beside her. Chills coursed down her body as the king’s words echoed in her mind. The sensation of falling backward assailed her, as though she rushed away from the tall man at her side even as his figure loomed larger and larger in her sight.
Not Thomas Knowlton.
Her numbed brain repeated the phrase, trying to comprehend that instead he would be her husband. Geoffrey Longford.
God have mercy on me, for by the look of him, this man will not.
Fearful, she cringed as her gaze climbed higher, over his chest, over his chin, finally resting on the dark blue eyes turned toward her.
Great job, Jenna. Thanks for posting.
Loved your excerpt, Ella. Quite a feisty heroine. Even though this book has been out for over a year, the opening scene in A Wife By Christmas remains my favorite conflict scene:
Max Colbert glared at the woman perched on the edge of the chair across from him. History teacher Ellie Henderson had been a thorn in his side the size of the Oklahoma sky ever since he’d been appointed principal of Logan County High School three months ago.
She sat there, humming. Humming! His gut twisted and he clenched his jaw. Drat the woman for being so unconcerned while he fumed. He needed to draw on his years of experience in dealing with teachers to get his emotions under control. He took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Miss Henderson, your unapproved activities have gone too far. I am going to have to fire you.”
Ellie’s right eyebrow rose, meeting him glare for glare. “No. You can’t.”
“Yes, I can, and I am.” Blood rushed to his face.
She stood and placed both palms on his desk, and leaned in. “I will tell my Uncle Jesse.”
Max pushed his chair back and got to his feet. He moved close enough to see the light dusting of freckles across her nose. “It won’t make any difference.”
“It will if you plan to be Territorial Superintendent of Schools.” They were now almost nose-to-nose.
Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “I will get that job on my own merit.”
“Not without Senator Jesse Cochran’s endorsement.” Her hazel eyes narrowed.
His jaw tightened, his mouth working as if to say something. Then, like a rag doll, he collapsed into his seat and leaned back, eyes closed. “Miss Henderson, you are a pebble in my shoe.”
“And you, Mr. Colbert, are a horse’s behind.”
He opened one eye. She again sat primly on the edge of her seat, adjusting her skirts, the two red dots on her cheeks the only indication of her anger.
“You may leave now,” he said through gritted teeth.
Ellie bowed her head slightly. “As you wish.” She stood, smoothed back the hair always loose from her bun. With head held high, she sailed from the room, closing the door softly. Her skirt stuck in the door. She re-opened it, yanked the skirt, and banged the door shut.
Max winced at the sound. His left eye twitched.
This is such a great excerpt. Thanks for posting it Callie.
Woot! Go, Phoebe!
I’m not sure if this qualifies as conflict. It’s from To Rescue or Ravish? (question mark is part of the title).
Arabella rapped hard on the roof of the coach. It lurched around a corner into darkness broken only by the glimmer of the hack’s carriage lamps and stopped.
She put down the window. “How far are we from Bunbury Place?”
The jarvey got down from the box and slouched against the coach, a nonchalant shape with an impertinent voice. “Not far, love. Changed your mind, have you?”
“I have not changed my mind. I am merely asking for information.” She put her hand through the window, proffering the guinea. “I trust this suffices. Kindly open the door and point me in the right direction. I shall walk the rest of the way.”
He didn’t take the coin. After a brief, horrid silence during which she concentrated on thinking of him as the jarvey and not her once-and-never-again lover, he said, “Can’t do that.”
“I beg your pardon?” She pushed on the door, but he had moved forward to block it.
“It’s not safe for a lady alone at night. This, er, Number Seventeen, Bunbury Place—it’s where you live, is it?”
How dare he? “Where I live is none of your business.” She shrank away from the door and kept her hood well over her face.
“So it’s not where you live. Who does live there, then?”
Why couldn’t she have just told him that yes, she lived there? Must every man in the entire country try to order her about? “Let me out at once.”
“Sorry, love. When I rescue a lady from deathly peril, I see her home safe and sound.”
Some shred of common sense deep inside her told her this was extraordinarily kind of him, but it made her want to slap his craggy, insolent face. Home wasn’t safe for her anymore. Nowhere was safe, and meanwhile Matthew Worcester was playing stupid games.
“Cat got your tongue?”
She exploded. “Damn you, Matthew! Stop playing at being a jarvey. It makes me positively ill.”
There was another ghastly silence. It stretched and stretched. Good God, what if he actually was a jarvey? Surely he hadn’t come down that far in the world. A different shame—a valid one—swelled inside her.
“You recognised me,” he said at last. “What a surprise.”
If it’s not, it’s deuced close, Barbara. I loved this book. Thanks for posting.
Ella, in all seriousness, your excerpt was extraordinary.
All the excerpts were marvelous!
Thank you so much, Brenda. I really appreciate it.
Ella, I wish I had the time to post my h/h first conflict. But let’s just say, in my newest release, “Crazy For You” the first coflict comes when heroine meets a scraggly looking guy who doesn’t dress right (and she’s a fashion designer) and learns this guy is from the future and he wants her to break off her engagement with her fiance. CONFLICT #1. But it doesn’t stop there! lol
But this book is FREE until Weds, so come get it on Kindle now – http://amzn.com/B00AZRMPOW
Marie, that sounds fun! Thanks for coming by.
God, I love that excerpt, Ella! Phoebe is my kind of girl! Here is a bit of the first conflict (one of many) between Eve and Dylan from Wicked In His Arms.
The tips of his Hessians disappeared beneath the hem of her dress. She followed the polished black leather up to his knees to the powerful thighs wrapped in butter-colored buckskins and higher until her eyes met his. Something flared in those intent amber orbs, like the first light in an otherwise dark room.
She gasped softly at a sudden infusion of heat to her skin. A glance down revealed the cause. No one visited Wicken End. She never wore gloves at home. He’d taken her hands, her bare hands in his and patiently unfolded her fists; wound tight much to her surprise. Long, powerful fingers covered hers and held them trapped and still.
Eve tried to pull away.
“Don’t.” He held her, more with the firm command of a single word than the strength of his grip. His gaze never left her face. “Hightower, you owe the lady an apology.”
“Now see here, Crosby,” the man bleated. “You don’t know anything about it. I demand that you—”
“Apologize. Now.” Carved marble effigies in the family chapel bore more expression on their timeless visages than he did in this moment. He didn’t need it. Only a fool would mistake the cost of ignoring this man.
After a breath of hesitation and a furtive glance at Eve’s brother, Hightower gave her an abbreviated bow. “Please accept my apologies, Miss Tildenbury,” he muttered and proved himself not a fool, if only in this instance.
It mattered little to her. This time she did extricate her hands from the ruthless Mr. Crosby. She picked up her skirts and stepped away. “I want them out of this room, Bennie. And then I want them out of this house.” Eve spun on her heel and paced a dozen or so diligently ladylike steps into the cover of an aisle of giant ferns. The satisfactory clip of her half-boots on the marble tiles echoed in the silence until an explosive crunch of knuckles to flesh followed by a dull thud stopped her in her tracks.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
She had no choice but to hurry back the way she came. Being raised with two brothers and a host of arrogant male cousins, the sound of a good punch to the nose was all too familiar. Once past the overgrown ferns she saw exactly what she expected. Dylan Crosby, her stone-faced avenger, stood over a now supine Hightower. Oh for pity’s sake. In spite of the tiny carillon of pleasure racing through her at the sight, the last thing she needed was a bloody-nosed lout leaking all over the conservatory floor.
“Dammit, man, you had no cause to—” Hightower, his fingers splayed across his face, spoke in such watery tones Eve feared his nose might be broken. Well, not exactly feared.
“I had every cause.”Crosby’s dark voice drew the words with an edge so lethal she winced. “Now stay down there and tell me what the hell is going on. After which Tildenbury here will hit you for insulting his sister.”
“Oh, I couldn’t – it wouldn’t be – he is a guest in my…” Poor Bennie continued to stammer.
Furious, she stormed out of the foliage and shoved Mr. Crosby aside. “Enough!” A quick rummage through Bennie’s pockets produced a large, somewhat clean handkerchief. “Really, sir, I hardly think it the conduct of a gentleman to brutalize a guest in someone elses home and then encourage my poor brother to do the same.” She knelt beside Hightower and applied the handkerchief to his nose with a none too gentle pinch. The resulting scream would have done an opera singer proud.
“It is when the guest deserves it.” Crobsy’s sudden shift from primitive warrior to smug scoundrel made her dizzy and irritated her no end. “Stop screeching, Hightower.”
The man quieted only long enough to sit up and complain, “You boke by bwoody nose, Cwosby.”
Eve twisted the trapped proboscis back and forth with the now blood-soaked linen. “It isn’t broken. Be still, you’re spraying blood everywhere.” The screeching went up an octave. Crosby handed her his handkerchief. She snatched it from him quickly, but not quickly enough. The barest brush of his fingers sent a shock of awareness up her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them wide. “You can hardly berate him. You’re the reason he’s screaming.” She replaced the bloody handkerchief with the clean one. Another long wail ensued.
“Clearly not my fault. He needed to be reminded the respect a gentleman owes a lady.”
Eve snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whoever said Hightower was a gentleman?”
A garbled protest blew against the slightly less stained fabric she held over most of Hightower’s face. This time when she squeezed the bridge of his nose she only got a heartfelt whimper for her trouble.
“I concede your point.” Mr. Crosby offered. “But I am a gentleman, and my honor demanded it.”
“God save me from honorable men.” She grabbed Hightower’s hand, placed it where hers had been and got to her feet.
In an instant she found Crosby’s hand curled around her elbow. “I should think you’d prefer to be rescued from the dishonorable ones.”
“I can escape those all by myself, thank you. That’s why God gave me a brain, to recognize scoundrels and avoid them.” Even through the sturdy wool of her gown his fingers pressed tendrils of strength and heat into her skin. Her eyes darted from those fingers up to his slight smile and all-too-knowing eyes. She tugged her arm free and forced herself to let it fall to her side.
“All scoundrels?” Crosby raised an eyebrow and slowly closed his fingers against his palm.
“If I’m going to hit you, Hightower, you’ll have to get up first.” It was difficult to tell who was more shocked by her brother’s sudden outburst, Bennie or everyone else in the room.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Eve had almost forgotten he was there. But when Bennie was quiet it meant he was thinking. The longer he thought the worse the results. And Bennie had been quiet through her entire argument with Crosby and Hightower’s operatic howling. No good could come of this.
“Well I can’t very well hit him when he’s down, now can I? Not sporting at all. Have to at least let the man stand up before I knock him down.”
“Quite right.” Crosby grabbed Hightower by his free arm and hauled him to his feet. “There we go, Tildenbury. Have at him.” He stepped back with an expansive wave.
Hightower gurgled, eyes wide.
Bennie cleared his throat and took a step toward him.
“Stop this at once,” Eve barked. She shook her forefinger at Bennie and then indicated the settee. “You, stand over there.” She swung back to Hightower. “You, sit back down.”
Hightower dropped to the floor as if shot.
Her brother, however, looked at Crosby, his forehead creased in consternation and then back at her. “It’s my duty, Eve. Right, Crosby?”
“Absolutely.” His handsome face bore all the solemnity of a bishop, but a small boy’s wicked grin lurked about his lips.
That grin set her blood to boil. The man’s scandalous demand for an apology on her behalf had usurped Bennie’s place to do so and belittled him in the process. She neither needed nor wanted either of them to defend her, thank you very much. Not her sweet brother, who eschewed violence at all costs, and of a certainty not the perfidious charmer who had made her forget the past for a moment. With friends like Hightower and Dashwood he must be a rake and debaucher of the first order.
“Miss Tildenbury?” Crosby ventured.
“This is all a game to you, isn’t it?” She stalked toward him, but unlike Hightower he stood his ground. Arms folded across his chest, he had the appearance of a slightly amused marble statue. She wanted to take a hammer to him. “You and your addle-pated notions of honor and women have little to do with either. It’s all about power. The power to rescue a woman in the hope she will fall at your feet in gratitude and adoration.”
“You adore me? Miss Tildenbury, I’m flattered.”
“And the power to humiliate that same woman and teach her just how little her adoration is worth.” Her entire body shook with the vehemence of those words. What on earth had she said?
Whoa, that was intense! Great excerpt, Louisa.
Louisa, a great writer.
Wonderful, Louisa! Bravo!!
I too can’t snag the post, but the conflict came from the differences of their worlds and era’s of upbringing. Swamp Magic releases the 28th of this month. I’m working book two and you’re right. This one has several conflicts. Poor hero and heroine just can’t catch a break.
Great post and sample above. Adored how your heroine socked your hero to put him in his place, quick like.
I’m so sad you can’t post, Bobbi. Maybe the the next time. Thanks for liking Phoebe.