Being a Seahawks fan has been a teeny bit difficult the past week, for the obvious reasons. Pete Carroll and Russell Wilson and everyone else have defended the call to pass when it seems the entire world was screaming, “You should’ve run!” but one thing that rings true for me as a lifelong football fan and former tight end/wide receiver (totally not kidding– I also played hooker in rugby during college), is that if the play had worked as planned, it would’ve been a touchdown and no one would be saying anything. Because Butler made a great play (a rookie corner with no interceptions until that spectacular one), the game was over. It was probably the best Super Bowl in recent memory, a constant give and take by two incredibly well matched teams, and for that I am grateful. Honestly, last year’s blowout by the Hawks was a bit boring and that’s coming from a fan.
This week also has one of the most respected newscasters on television turning out to be a little bit of a fiction writer. Now, we all know the news is not just the facts, and there is always a slant depending on the particular channel or publication, but inserting oneself into a situation is certainly not the way to honor the veterans who were actually there. Can Brian Williams recover from this? Time will tell.
For me, well, I have been struggling with Burn for the last, well, forever. I love Nate and Belle, but I’m not loving the way their story is turning out, and the villain is crazypants, but too prominent in the current version of the book. So… you will be getting the first of the Aylesford Series this year, and hopefully the last of the Everett Series as well, but, well, not for a while. Thank you for bearing with me– this whole working 40+ hours a week and raising children thing really gets in the way of writing– and I truly hope when I actually have a book ready, you’ll love it. Until then, how about a snippet?
“So, now Gabe doesn’t think the arsonist is after you?” Belle asked, hating herself for the deflated feeling that came with the thought he might send her back to Claire’s.
“No one is sure anymore. He seems to think it’s sex, or at least things related to sex or sins being targeted, but that’s so broad, so crazy, I have no idea where to start.”
She gave him a saucy smile. “You’re about the sexiest thing in Aylesford, so you’re definitely in danger if that’s the case.”
He returned her wicked grin. “Likewise.”
She had to step away so she wouldn’t jump on him in the middle of a conversation that might mean both their lives were in danger. Her stomach pitched when she told him, “I’ll pack my things.”
The smile slid from his face, replaced with a fierce look. “You said you wouldn’t run.”
“Oh. I.” Her heart was beating double-time. He wasn’t going to send her away, and now he thought she didn’t want to be here.
“You’re mine, Isabelle Baxter.” His green eyes were intense as he laid his claim, but he didn’t move toward her.
His brows furrowed. “Didn’t I make myself clear this morning?”
He hadn’t said much, but the intent was there, especially after she’d begged him to leave bruises. Still, she needed to hear the words. “You didn’t say—”
“Actions speak louder than words, sweets,” he told her before closing the space between them. “I can’t leave you vulnerable, and I refuse to let you go.”
She swallowed. She’d never seen him like this, determined and possessive, and she liked it. “I don’t want to go,” she started.
“But if the arsonist is after me, I will not put you in danger.” She spun away from him. “If something happened to you because of me—”
He turned her to face him, cut her words off with a kiss. “You told me once that I put my life on the line for strangers all the time. Why shouldn’t I risk myself for you?”
She studied him, taking in the hard look in his eyes, the ticking muscle in his jaw. He was a firefighter, a hero, and she had hidden behind that, hidden from him for years because of that fact. Now that she had promised to accept his nature, his need to make a difference, to save people, she had to back up her words with actions. “What if you lose your home because of me?”
“A house can be rebuilt, Belle.” He pulled her to him again. “You can’t be replaced.”
“Neither can you,” she said quietly as she laid her head against his hard chest.