And what better way to TEASE than with my upcoming sequel to Imitation?????
I, for one, would really enjoy Linc Crawford--for Valentine's Day or any other day!! And the cover for this one will be revealed on MONDAY!!! wooohoooo!
Here's a romantic peek at book 2:
The darkness is so complete it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I raise my hand in front of my face but the blackness remains undisturbed. I blink. Still nothing.
“Ven?” Linc’s voice is low and gravelly. It echoes around us.
“I’m here,” I say, whispering so the sound of my own voice doesn’t startle me.
Sometimes, all I have is a flashlight and a stick. Morton gave me the stick after that first time I came through alone. Linc had been on assignment and I’d come alone. I was a shaking mess by the time I’d reached the entrance. It’d taken me two hours to muster the courage to leave. Titus had sent security to look for me. I’d almost blown it despite Linc’s assurances that he’d remotely masked my GPS reading.
Now I have the scrambler. Linc made me promise not to use it unless absolutely necessary. He’s programmed it to redirect instead. “Remember how Williams ran in all crazy-eyed when he thought he lost you? Yeah, scrambling does that. We don’t want to alert the cavalry. Only divert them.”
I agreed and let him do the fancy finger swiping—but only if he promised to show me the workings of the device later.
I use my stick like a cane, lightly tapping the floor and wall as I shuffle forward. I don’t like the darkness here. I don’t like darkness anywhere. It feels too unpredictable. Darkness, like memory, is the sort of thing people disappear into and never surface from again.
After my previous trips navigating this tunnel, I should be accustomed to the pressing blackness. The dampness. The slimy walls and squeaky rodents I imagine scampering around at my feet. But it’s still just as terrifying as the first time Obadiah brought me here. I wish there was a better hiding place for them, but so far, I haven’t found one.
I fumble for Linc’s hand and slip my fingers through his, pulling them tight until we’re hooked securely together. Linc squeezes once, and I am reassured enough to press on. “Ready?” he asks.
“Ready,” I say.
We move slowly, dragging our feet to detect any change in the floor. My shoes, black ankle boots that lace up the side, scuff louder than Linc’s. I scowl at the sound—and that my wardrobe is not exactly ideal for a covert outing.
Two right turns and a low overhang of metal piping later, Linc stops. There is the slightest bit of shadowed light filtering from the path that veers left before abruptly disappearing. It’s enough to create a silhouette of Linc’s features. He hovers in front of me, his body language protective even in the absence of danger.
“Why are we stopping?” I ask, breathless from anxiety and Linc’s proximity. Now that I can see him, my senses are on alert and I am aware of how close—and how alone—we are down here in the depths of the warehouse district.
In answer, Linc leans forward and cups my cheeks with his hands. His mouth hovers less than a breath away and he whispers, “I just wanted a minute alone with you.” His lips brush the edges of my mouth. “Is that all right?”
I nod and wait, mouth open and eyes closed, for our lips to connect. When they do, it sends a ripple of pleasure through me. A small noise escapes me and Linc deepens the kiss. I am lost in a sea of passion and disbelief that these feelings are mine to experience. Linc’s tongue slips out to trace the inside of my lip and my knees weaken. I wrap my arms around his shoulders for support and lean into him. I could kiss him forever and the miracle of it would still never grow old.
His mouth leaves mine to trail kisses across my cheek. “Linc …” I whisper. His hands drift lower, cupping my hips. His mouth dips to my neck and finds its way to the space just below my ear. I shiver.
“God, I love the way you feel in my arms,” he murmurs.
I offer silent agreement in the form of more kisses.
Linc’s hands wander, slipping underneath the gauzy fabric of my blouse and working their way up my ribs. His fingertips graze the underwire of my bra. I tense.
He backs off, lowering his hands to my waistline while slowly tempering our kisses. Even so, by the time he pulls away, my chest rises and falls heavily.
I reach up and trace his lips with my fingertip. Their shape is curving and I recognize a smile. I can feel his eyes on me, a delicious tingle of awareness that trails over my skin and down my back.
I hope he’ll kiss me again.
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