This week's hump day hotness comes from my recently released, POISONED WATER: A CHENOA CANE BOOK.
Blurb: About thirty miles east of the Arizona border, just off Interstate 40, is a heart that beats in time to the ghosts of the west, of the lost, and of the betrayed. A heart that delivers an original, quirky beat all its own. That heart is Nizhoni, New Mexico; a small, dusty town lodged like a spent bullet in the heart of Indian Country. It is a town I know well, for I grew up here, in Nizhoni and it is the place I call home. Fabled for its wide, dry, open spaces, the Southwest truly lives in Nizhoni. Mud-splattered trucks, bull riders and sexy cowboys with their wide-brimmed hats reside among polished local politicians, well-groomed teachers and spotless, luxury SUVs. Here, the ancestors of lore watch over us from the pale, purple plateaus, red mesas, and brown canyons. These ancestors do not always keep us safe.
Excerpt: “Tell me, Chenoa,” Kiki said his eyes on me. “What do you do for fun?”
The question shouldn’t have caught me off guard, but it did. I felt warm all over.
“Well, don’t laugh, but I quilt.”
He laughed after he put down his drink. “Quilting, how…nice.”
“Well, what do you do? Shoot guns?” I asked, with a hint of amusement.
“No, no, I, well, I guess you won’t believe it, but I read,” he said, and then added, “and I write a little poetry here and..."
“Really!” I squealed, having learned a secret to Kiki’s tough guy persona. I clutched my throat as fire erupted from my sharp squealing.
Silence fell between us.
I waited half a beat and rubbed my injured throat. “I’m going inside.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“I want to make sure it’s safe.” Kiki touched his gun still in its holster.
Wrapping his arms around me, he walked me to my beat up truck. The night’s wind, cool and scented with juniper, gently blew against my face. Enveloped by Kiki’s warmth felt so cozy. I wished I could have stayed there forever.
“Why not get another truck? I can hear you coming from miles away,” he teased.
“Do you know how many people want me dead? If I had a newer truck people would try to scratch it up, put bullet holes in it and strip it. This baby right here is all I need anyway,” I said into his chest. I could hear his heartbeat and my own thumped in time to his.
“I know,” he whispered and pulled me closer. “I wish I could change that.”
We stopped at my truck and he kissed the top of my forehead. Who knew he contained so much sweetness and charm? I only knew the tough cop with the raging, inflated ego.
“Will you come inside?” I couldn’t believe the words had come out as quickly as they had.
I felt him smile into my hair. “Yeah, because so many people want you dead.”
He stepped back from me a little bit. I leaned up, titling my head, for I wanted nothing else right then, but his kiss.
I heard him whisper something just before his lips covered mine.
I kissed back, increasing the intensity between us, until I’m sure I hovered inches above the ground. I felt light and hot all at the same time.
“Let’s go inside.” I took his hand, and led him down the path.
Grab a copy of POISONED WATER: A CHENOA CANE BOOK from Torrid today.