Just 769 words today but I’ll take them.  This piece (Lady Wyre’s Regret) is soooo fun.  It’s been great getting back into this world and visiting Lord Regret and Charlie again.  I went back to previous scenes and layered in a few more details that I thought about after heading to bed last night.

NaNoWriMo Count:  42,121 words

Snippet:  Following from the previous day.

He picked her up, manhandling her down the impressive stairs to her gleaming carriage. Her shoe fell off and she had the inane urge to laugh.  Cinderella would be late to the ball.  Would Prince Charming find her shoe and come to her rescue?

Lord Regret slung her inside the carriage so hard she fell face first against the floor.  Her head rebounded off the wall and for a moment, everything went black.  Outside, screams and chaos did nothing to help her regain her senses.  She tasted blood and her head throbbed.

The flash of heat stirred her numb limbs to life.  Fire exploded about the carriage, created by the Razari crystal she’d studied.  A deliberate message to Majel, as well as a  plausible source for the execution to which she could claim ignorance.  Someone had to want Charlotte dead other than the Queen, enough to make her doubt Charlotte’s hand in her own execution.

Of anyone, the Razari would want her dead for what she’d accidentally done to their planet.

Smoke choked her, making it impossible to see.  She ran her hands over the floor of the carriage, trying to find the escape hatch.  I have to get out before it starts moving.  Damnation, where’s the latch?

Panic made her hands tremble.  Sweat trickled down her face, the heat scalding her skin.  The stench of scorched silk and melting metal burned her throat.  Finally, she found the latch, hefted the small door open, and jumped through to blissfully cool darkness.  She pulled the hatch shut after her and nearly collapsed into a heap of smoldering skirts.

Too close.  Too real.  Her mind shrilled, her nerves raw with fear, but she forced her body to move.  She had to get off Wyreton lands as soon as possible.  Majel wouldn’t delay the search long, even if they managed to extinguish the blaze.

Her greatest fear was that someone would put out the fire before it managed to destroy the carriage.  The Razari crystals were powerful, flashing so hot that metal began melting almost immediately.  Definitely hot enough to combust a body into nothing but ashes, indistinguishable from the remains of the carriage.

I hope.

No one outside of Wyreton knew there were extensive tunnels beneath the estate, and her own people would never betray her House, not even to the Queen.  Yet she daren’t leave any trace behind, just in case.

From her reticule, she pulled out a thin canister of bio-bandage to seal shut the assassin’s wound.  She yearned for a mirror to see how badly she’d scar, resisting her vanity that insisted she cover the ugly cut with a scarf.  She didn’t feel much damage.  Sig knew very well what he was about.

She had no lady’s maid to help her strip off the gown, so she heaved her skirts up about her waist, picked up her remaining slipper, and ran down the corridor in her stockings with nothing but a hand on the wall to guide her.  No light, in case someone was watching.  No sound.  No trail for Majel to follow.

Once well away from the house, she exited the tunnel in a dim, empty stable. No horses lived in these stalls, but Charlotte—and her mother before her—had always been suspicious with private caches and safehouses  throughout Londonium.  With ruthless House Krowe in control of Britannia, a lady never knew when she’d have to make a run for it, and a Wyre always went in style.

Donning a full-length cape, she hopped on a motorized scooter—her own invention, of course—and headed for their meeting place at the Thames dock.  She checked her timepiece and pressed the accelerator.  Lord Regret had been adamant about the time.  Once the accident happened, the docks would close down within minutes just to make sure no one escaped.  Majel would claim she wanted to capture the assassin who’d dared harm her Physician, but she’d want to ensure Charlotte wasn’t escaping the net at the same time.  Five to ten minutes would be all they had to get out of the Britannian airlocks.

She skidded to a halt at the dock, Pier 371 as he’d ordered.  The motor started in a rumbling roar of smoke.  Oh, dear, the Captain could surely use my assistance in fine-tuning his engines. Perhaps he’ll allow me to make a few modifications as we sail…

The ship lifted off and she stared at it a moment, dumbfounded.  She opened her mouth to shout, but it would do no good. No one would hear over the engines, and she daren’t draw attention to herself.  How ironic that she’d been betrayed by her own assassin.  “Dead” wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t get off Britannia.  There was only so long she could hide, so many favors she could claim, so many bribes…before the Queen’s Ravens found her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and fought for calm.  Think, Wyre.  Think!

A hand closed around her arm and she nearly shrieked like a fishmonger in Cheapside.  Her eyes flew open and met Lord Regret’s knowing smirk.

“Doubting the trustworthiness of your assassin, Lady Wyre?  Surely not.”

He guided her further down the dock to a much smaller ship.  Fighting back shock and relief, she stared doubtfully at the tiny boat.  Would it even be large enough for the two of them?  Then an overwhelming sense of loss washed over her, weakening her knees.  My research. Lost.  What if it falls into hands worse than Majel’s?  Her voice trembled as badly as her hands.  “My trunks?”

Inclining his head, he waved her aboard, smiling at her torn stockings and slightly scorched red silk.  “Already aboard, Your Grace.  I thought it best to have my own red  herrings.  Lord Regret would make almost as an attractive lure as Lady Wyre for the footpads and pirates lurking about the docks.  Now shall we be away?”

Charlotte spared one last glance at the glorious city stretched out along the Thames.  The Tower of Londonium rose like a gloomy dark sentinel against the brightly-lit night.  Even at this late hour, crows flew about the tower, their eerie caws echoing like ghosts in the nearly silent city.  Britannians everywhere were pausing in their chores and celebrations to watch with awe and not a little dread as a small distant planet began to slide in front of the silvered moon.  For almost an hour, the moon would be completely hidden in the dark of that planet. While I slip far, far away.

“I’ll not regret it if I never see Londonium again.”

This post was supposed to go up last night but I lost track of time.  I still ended up going to bed way too late, but it wasn’t because I was trying to write an update post.

I was re-reading ZCR.  *happy sigh*

I think I’ve re-read it twice already.  I added the missing scene to get my words in for yesterday.  I picked up a few threads that disappeared.  I went back and laid a little more groundwork on the “villain” thread.  I went back and put some character traits into earlier scenes so it was consistent.  I fine tuned the “fairytale” and “dream come true” theme that I honestly didn’t plan but ended up giving the story — especially the ending — that extra oomph I was looking for.

It all came from one angry, “Wrong fairytale,” line that Yiorgos retorts about a third of the way into the book.  The book already had a “beauty and the beast” vibe, so that matched.  There’s also a “Cinderella” moment.  So it was easy to keep that idea going.

That’s one of the jobs of revision — pick up on the glimmering ideas that need to be highlighted.  Bring them forward and more important than ever.  Tone down and eliminate what’s NOT as important.  Know your theme and what you’re trying to say.

This story might have a lot of jokes and laugh-out-loud moments (especially if you know the real Mythos in Joplin) but it certainly has a lot of very real things to say too.  To be entirely honest, I think it’s my best ROMANCE I’ve written.

I finally wrote a “fireman and arsonist” kind of story.  The hero and heroine know they can’t be together for very real and concrete reasons by the midpoint of the story.  Being together will destroy them.  Yet they find out soon enough that they’re willing to do anything, sacrifice anything, to be together.

The Zombie Billionaire’s Virgin Witch is complete at 44,300 words.  If there’s anyone who’d like to beta read, drop me a note.  I won’t bother the usual suspects because it’s 1). NaNoWriMo 2). Thanksgiving and 3). I’ve bothered you many times in the past.  But if you want an early sneak-peek read and are willing to tell me your opinions (likes/dislikes not critique or line edits), then let me know.

Snippet:  This is one of my favorite scenes in the book and the fallout after this snippet took place much earlier than I expected.  At first I was worried, but then I realized it happened in exactly the right place.  Because then I had a good 60 pages left to make the characters agonize and squirm. 

“When we first met last week, you made it very clear that I wasn’t your type.”

“I said you weren’t my usual type, which, quite honestly, was a mistake in judgment.  One I don’t make very often, because you’re a tempting, sexy siren, and I’ve been finding it harder and harder to resist hauling you back into my arms.”  Whatever look had shocked itself onto her
face made him chuckle.  “Meanwhile, I believe you called me an alphahole.  That certainly doesn’t sound like I’m your type, either.”

“Not my usual type,” she conceded, trying to smile coolly.  Not as shaky as she felt on the inside.  “If it’s my cooking…”

“It’s not,” he broke in.  He leaned forward and slowly
stretched out his hand across the narrow island, giving her time to withdraw.

But she didn’t want to pull away.  She hungered for touch and warmth, laughter and passion, all the things a woman of her age should be able to have with whomever she chose.

His long, elegant fingers slid over the back of her hand, his fingertips lightly tracing the hills and valleys of her knuckles.  Such an innocent touch, but it made her voice thick in her throat so she could hardly talk.  “I thought you liked my cooking.”

“I love your cooking.  But that’s not the only thing going on here.”

“It’s not?”  Fine trembling spread across her shoulders and her eyes ached from staring so hard at him, willing, begging him to say it.

“Should I kiss you again so you can feel it too?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, swamped by the memory of his mouth, heat and wet and pressure threatening to drag her under.  Shuddering, she made herself open her eyes so he could see the truth.  “No.”

He didn’t cease stroking her hand, but his voice gentled like she’d never heard before. “Why not?”

“Mr. Michelopoulos…”

“Surely you can call me Yiorgos now that you’ve had your tongue in my mouth.”

She couldn’t help the rough moan that escaped.  “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”  He taunted, low and soft yet insistent, as
ceaseless as his fingers on her skin. Somehow her hand had flopped over like a cat stretched out in a window seat, soaking in the rays of summer sun.  “Telling you the truth?  Would you rather we walk around like two immature idiots screeching at each other because the sexual tension was destroying our control? Instead, we can sit here like two reasonable human beings and decide how quickly I’ll have my mouth on yours again. Although I admit, I’d rather not have you smashed up against the wall outside, but in my bed.”

She clutched his hand to stop the incessant stroking that was making her insane.  “I’d like that very much, but I can’t, Yiorgos.” [the first time she will use his given name]

His eyes went molten chocolate when she said his name.
Turning his hand in hers, he clasped her firmly, as though he was afraid she’d leap up and run from him.  “Why not, Clare?”

How much should I tell him?

If she admitted that she’d lose her power—and thus her ability to break his curse, assuming she found a way—he’d do the only possible reasonable thing.  He’d back off.  I’m off  limits if he wants to free Remy’s of whatever ill-will might linger here.

Exactly what I want.

Right?

That’s sort of how I feel tonight.  As exhausted as I am, I have to admit I don’t think I’ve ever been able to pull in these kind of numbers before.  It was like once I caught the whiff of “the end” I was obsessed.  I wrote every free minute outside of work and kid duty today.  We even grabbed a bite out so I didn’t have to stop and cook.  Between Dark & Early, lunch, before dinner, after dinner…

I netted over 9,800 words today and managed to finish the first draft of the Zombie Category Romance at 43,133 words.  I have one scene I know I need to go back and add, and I might need to fine tune the ending to get a snappy last line.  I’m not sure that what I have sings enough, and I’m too tired to tell.  There’s also a few dropped threads I need to go back and fix, but overall, I’m so very pleased with this draft.

It’s everything I love about HQ Presents and alphahole heroes mixed with zombies and a tough yet sweet woman who knows exactly how to bend the arrogant Greek to her will.  I so hope Angie wasn’t kidding when she said she was interested in something like this…  Plus it’s got a foodie theme for Alissa and pays tribute to my all-time favorite restaurant, Mythos. I’m so ridiculously pleased with everything about this story that I’m almost giddy.

Or maybe I’m just high on words. Or maybe Clare slipped me a little of that Death By Chocolate Cake when I wasn’t looking…

Now I’m turning into a pumpkin for the night.  I won’t be getting up D&E tomorrow and I plan to rest my wrists and eyes as much as possible.  Since I’m ahead, I might make the first pass of revisions while the fire is hot and then move to Phantom.  Or maybe I’ll just free write notes for Lord Regret.  He’s been nagging me lately, even if I don’t have a plot for his book.

We’ll see how I feel.

NaNoWriMo count:  36,701 words

Snippet:  Hmm, there are so many fun and touching moments I haven’t shared with you.  Shall I share the first kiss…when Clare punches him?  The word games they play in the kitchen?  The “demonstration” that Helga puts on for him that convinces him Clare is the real deal and as honest as she claims to be?

I decided to share the first tender moments when Clare begins to understand exactly how much danger she’s in.

“When are you going to start calling me Yiorgos?”  Briskly, he turned to an expensive barista-quality espresso machine that certainly had not graced the kitchen in her father’s time.  “Besides, tea is for stuffy old ladies in silly hats. I’ll make a cup of coffee that’ll grow hair on your chest, while you explain how a curse works.”  So I can break it.

He didn’t say the last aloud, but now his carefully worded contract began to make more sense.  He desperately wanted to break this so-called curse, and he suspected she might know how to do so.  Even if her father had cursed Yiorgos—which she highly doubted—she didn’t have a clue how to break it.

Of course, Michelopoulos didn’t…couldn’t…know that.  If he suspected she was of no use to him, she’d be kicked out of Remy’s so fast she wouldn’t even have time to remove the apron.  She’d certainly lose her chance of regaining not only the restaurant but the Remy family legacy as well.  If, and that was a huge if, the man would uphold the contract he’d signed, arguably under duress.

She didn’t know much about the real man behind the famous tycoon façade, but she suspected he valued his word of honor above winning this war with her father that had gone on way too long.

“If I’m going to have motor oil in a cup, then I need dessert.”  Laughing lightly at the scowl he shot over his shoulder, she prepared two plates of strawberry shortcake which she’d intended to serve at dinner tonight, assuming he allowed the restaurant to open.  When he set the steaming cup of coffee in front of her—straight jet black and so strong just the smell of it made her eyes water—she spooned some of the cream into her cup.  “Besides, you never gave me permission to use your Christian name, Mr. Michelopoulos, and according to our contract, you’re my employer.”

The furrow between his eyes deepened into formidable caverns.  “That contract is null and void.”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed out heavily, letting her shoulders slump.  “I was afraid I was going to be stuck working for you.”

“You are,” he retorted without any real heat.  He drew up a high stool opposite her at the large island.  Sipping his cup, he closed his eyes—evidently in bliss, not revulsion.  For the first time since she’d arrived yesterday, he appeared more human and less the caricature of the billionaire playboy.  If he was deliberately letting her peek into his real life in order to sway her into helping him, it was working.

Ruefully, she dug into her cake.  The man was gorgeous and rich and brilliant. Evidently he possessed a soul, too.

“Well, then, Ms. Remy, I shall ask the most difficult question first.  Do you hate me too much to help me?”

Surprised, she searched his face.  He was trying for bland and smooth, but he kept his eyes guarded, veiling his secrets in those dark depths.  True vulnerability?  Or merely stage two of his conquest?  She couldn’t be sure.  “I never said I hated you.”  She took a sip of coffee and nearly spluttered it all over his immaculate shirt. “Oh dear.”

His lips curled in the first genuine smile he’d bestowed on her.  “A bit stout?”

“Errr, yes.  Stout.” She barely restrained herself from rubbing her tongue with her napkin to get the bitterness off.  She spooned more cream into her cup.  There’s no amount of fat and sugar I could put into this to make it palatable.

“You have every right to hate me, Ms. Remy.  I defeated your father at his own game, took his beloved restaurant which was surely to be your inheritance, and ultimately left you and your mother to face the world alone.”  He stretched out his long, graceful fingers and lightly stroked the back of her left hand. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.  I had no idea Mr. Remy was quite so ill.”

Emotion made her throat swell shut.  So unfair. Tenderness and sincerity from the arrogant man would devastate her defenses like nothing else.  “We didn’t either.”  She raised her gaze to his.  Gleaming pools of melting obsidian didn’t flinch or withdraw from her perusal.

Because he had nothing to hide? Or because he was such a practiced liar?

Her fingertips tingled, bewildering her even more.  Why would her magic come to life when she wasn’t cooking?  She had no other gifts. But it wasn’t her imagination, because he felt it too.  His eyes flared and his stroking fingers froze on her skin.
“What was that?”

“Magic,” she whispered, as shaken as he.

“Can you break this curse, Clare?”

The way he said her name, slow and gentle, a verbal stroking of pleasure and hope, made her shudder.  This couldn’t be happening.  Just the faint touch of comfort and his voice alone had her quivering like an eager puppy. He’d already made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t attractive to him.  He might stoop to a little seduction to get what he wanted, but that was all it could possibly be.

He’ll leave me brokenhearted and powerless, while he goes in search of his next conquest.

A little early I guess but I might not have time tomorrow, so you get another update from me today.

Huge day today with over 4600 words.  I struggled a bit Dark & Early this morning after having a few days’ off, but once the scene started going, I knew exactly what to do.  Smexy time for the win!  Almost everything I’ve written today is smexy time.  Yes, I know this is probably too much for a true HQ Presents, and the hero is too blatantly dominant (in the BDSM sense, without saying it outright), but hey, I’ve got to go with my strengths here.  🙂

One of those days when I started writing as soon as I got off work, and didn’t want to stop for dinner.  Plotted how to get out of doing the dishes (impossible, since That Man had to work late tonight).  Wrote with football on in the background.  I don’t want to stop now but I’m tired and D&E won’t happen if I don’t get to bed.  Plus my wrists are starting to stiffen up.

I know how I want the rest to unfold, so I hope I’m not jinxing myself by saying it should be downhill from there.  Of course I need to finish this neverending sex scene…

NaNoWriMo Count:  26,877  Also crossed 33,000 in the ZCR itself (started before NaNoWriMo).  I *think* 40K is about where I’ll finish up.  We’ll see.

Snippet:  Verbal sparring between Clare and Yiorgos:

“I ate at your casino restaurant in Kansas City once.  You weren’t there, of course—too busy jetsetting around the globe on business, I guess.  My father made friends with our waiter and finally convinced him to let us see the kitchens.”

“Tell me who it was, and I’ll fire the traitor.”

She flashed a look over her shoulder at him that…  Impossible.  Had the woman actually stuck her tongue out at him?