Joely Sue Burkhart

I know some of you are enjoying Letters to An English Professor–and some of you aren’t, to say it mildly.   If romance is not your thing, please feel free to skip the snippet and merely leave your link! 

If you are interested in rather steamy contemporary romance, the snippet is below the cut, as well as links to previous weeks’ pieces from this story. 

I also have a huge favor to ask.  I intend to enter this story in the Brava novella contest, and would like some help selecting the best 750-word excerpt for entry.  It’s hard to pick only 3 pages!!!  (While I love the excerpt below, it’s 1125 words.)  If you’d be interested in reading the 120 or so pages I have and making a suggestion, I would be so grateful!  If you’ve read the letters, you know this story includes some elements of BDSM and harder language than I typically use.  I’m also in a time crunch.  The deadline is Sept 30th!  So if I haven’t scared you away, you have the time and the interest, please e-mail me at joely AT joelysueburkhart DOT com. 

Backstory Letters
Chapter 1, Scene 1
Chapter 1, Scene 2

Without meeting his gaze, she turned around and headed for her truck.

Muttering, he strode after her. “You promised not to run out on me again.”

“I’m not running.” Yet she didn’t pause her hasty retreat to her truck. She didn’t even drool over his black Mustang parked in the driveway.

“Rae, please talk to me. Where have you been? What happened to you?”

“I left you a message,” she said faintly. Almost to the truck. If she didn’t look at him, she might make her escape. She patted her front pockets, trying to remember where she stuck her keys. Her back pocket, right, nope, left. Shit. What if they fell out beneath the porch? She’d have to hotwire the truck because she was so not staying here for this conversation.

“One message, so choked with tears I couldn’t understand half of what you said. It’s been five years, Rae.”

She reached out for the handle of her truck, but he seized her arm, dragging her around. Her gaze darted to the front seat, the dash, the ground, anywhere but his eyes.

“Damn it, Rae, five years! Without a word!”

“I wrote you!” She fumbled her left hand at the door handle, jerked it open, slamming her hip with the door. Trying to tug her arm out of his grasp without showing how panicked she was, she edged closer to escape.

“When?” He tightened his grip on her arm and stepped closer, which allowed her to sidle closer to her truck.

She backed toward the seat, still scanning for the keys. There, on the floorboard. She stretched down, hoping her sweaty arm might slide right out of his grip, but no such luck. “I e-mailed you.”

Which was true. But she also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he never read his e-mail.

“The internet is the bane of my existence.”

Despite the frustration and hurt ringing between them, she had to smile. He’d said that often in class, cursing the loss of formal letters and communication written intelligently and politely. He believed letter writing was a lost art. So she certainly wouldn’t tell him about the stacks of letters she’d written to him over the years and never mailed.

With a quick yank, she finally slid free, dove for the keys and climbed into the seat. Conn wedged his shoulders inside so she couldn’t slam the door on him. Ignoring him, she started the truck.

“Are you even going to look at me?”

“I can’t,” she whispered, staring at her white-knuckled hands on the steering wheel.

“Why not?” He slowed his speech to that seductive Texas drawl that always curled her toes. “Truth, Rae. You promised to always tell me the truth.”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. She couldn’t lie, but she didn’t have to say anything, either.

“Alright,” he sighed. Her shoulders sagged with relief. “But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook entirely. You’re going to tell me why you left one way or the other.”

Staring straight ahead, eyes hot and burning, she whispered, “Let me go, Conn.”

“Not on your life, darlin’.” He leaned in, bracing his forearm on the seat beside her. Her heart pounded so hard she swayed, dizzy. “Don’t let Miss Belle down. She needs someone to help her get this old barn into shape by her grand opening, and she obviously likes you. Don’t let our difficulties keep you from helping her.”

“Do you live here?” She hated her fragile, shaky voice, but she didn’t dare take slow, deep breaths. Not with him so close. If she breathed deeply, she might catch a scent of his cologne. Just thinking about it made her mouth water.

“No.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Shuddering, she closed her eyes, fighting the answering surge of need pulsing through her body. “Take the job, Rae. I won’t interfere, but I do want to see you.” His fingers settled beneath her chin, slowly, inexorably forcing her to meet his gaze.

A mountain fell on her chest, crushing her. She couldn’t breathe beneath the onslaught, the weight and agony of the memories. His hands, his voice, his eyes. Unforgettable.

“I just have one question I need answered, and then I’ll let you go. Alright?”

She nodded, tensing for flight.

The pad of his thumb slid over her lower lip and every muscle in her body clenched. He leaned toward her, his lips parting slightly.

She flinched back as far as the seat let her, merely an inch or two. But it was enough. His face closed down, grooves lined his grim, flat mouth, his shoulders and head drooped, his eyes shadowed with defeat.

A small sound escaped her mouth, startling her. Disappointment. Regret. She wasn’t sure. Five years ago he hadn’t kissed her, not really. Now, he’d never kiss her. She’d never know the mastery in his mouth, the texture of his lips, the stroke of his tongue.

His head whipped up and his gaze locked on her. His eyes slowly heated, his mouth curling. Now he leaned back toward her slowly with smug certainty, holding her gaze. A flip switched in him, in her, smoldering his eyes. “Do you want to find out what I taste like?”

Her lips parted on another soft little cry, her heart pounding a staccato beat inside her head. “Is that your question?” She croaked, wetting her lips.

Heavy lidded, his gaze settled on her mouth. “No. You already answered the first question.”

Hovering over her mouth, he reached across her. Her body jerked alive, tingling and trembling at the hope of his hands. Instead, he snagged something from the seat and brought it up where she could see it. Her business card.

“I’ve been dreaming about how good you’ll taste for five years, darlin’.” He flicked the card and slid it into his shirt pocket. “Go home, wherever that is. Think about how good I’ll taste. Then come back to Beulah Land tonight and help Miss Belle. I–“ He stepped back and shut the door for her. “Will call you this time.”

Daddy’s old beat-up truck didn’t have air conditioning, so the windows were rolled down. Staring at Conn, it was all she could do to put the truck in gear and drive away. But she did. She had to.

Self preservation. She’d learned that lesson from him first and from her ex-husband second. The driveway curved in front of the house, past the grand if peeling front porch. Miss Belle waved a piece of paper as she drove by. “Dinner’s at 6:30, dear. Wear a dress!”

Rae groaned out loud. It was the damned contract she’d signed. Why, oh, why hadn’t she said no?

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 27th, 2007 at 5:00 pm and is filed under Writing, Friday Snippets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.