Michael goes on a photographic assignment to Brazil and fails to
return, Kristi and her son fly to Rio de Janeiro, desperate to find him.
Instead she finds that during the cold New Jersey winter, her husband
has spent his time in steamy chat rooms with Nara, a young woman
desperate for attention and involved in the Rio drug world.
she searches for Michael in exotic but crime-ridden Rio, Kristy finds
herself way out of her league. She turns to Italian-Brazilian Federal
Agent Tony Lamazzo for help. As the harsh truth of her marriage brings a
dose of reality to her life, she finds the temptation of getting closer
to the strong, capable—and totally hot—Tony difficult to resist. She’s
in Brazil on the Day of Dead, a day when Brazilians go wild. Why
shouldn’t she go wild with Tony, for just one night, before returning
home to start the new life alone she’ll have to learn to make for
when her son vanishes too, Kristi doesn’t know where to turn. Michael’s
affair with drug-dealing Nara has exposed them all to the murderous
wrath of a ruthless drug lord, and while she longs to trust Tony, she
can’t trust his powerful and politically corrupt family. But in the
dangerous slums and rainforests of Brazil, the danger mounts for both
Kristi and her son, and a cold-blooded enemy has an agenda of his own.
If she trusts Tony, she might save her son. Or it might just get them
Available now from:
They wandered along the sand in the
honeyed glow of evening, making their way towards the lights of the hotels. As
they reached the beach steps, Kristi stumbled and felt Tony’s hand steady her.
Poor guy, always saving me, she thought. He makes me feel protected. Some men
are like that. She was sure women would love him. Any woman with any sense
would want a man like Tony. She wondered if he was married.
Sitting down on the second step, she
wiggled her toes in the warm sand.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said.
“Have you always lived in Rio?”
He shook his head. “I was born in Sorrento, Italy.
My father’s Italian and my mother’s Brazilian/American. They came to Brazil with me
and my brother when I was ten. My father’s a rancher in Bahia.
It’s a ways from the city. I went to college in Boston.”
“My mother wanted me to. Her parents
live there. It was great, I loved it. Boston
is so different from Rio.”
For some silly reason she was delighted
to hear he’d been to college in a city she knew. “I grew up in Boston. Which college did you go to?”
He laughed. “You’re not going to believe
this. I went to Berklee College of Music. I hoped to be lead guitarist in a
She beamed at him. “You studied music!
Josh is going to be so impressed! I can picture you. I bet you had long hair.
Yeah? Curly, long hair. Did you play Hendrix?”
“Yeah. Voodoo Child. I rocked.”
“You’ll have to jam with Josh. Will you
do that? Before we go? Please!”
Almost unconsciously she turned her head
to look at him. As he was sitting on the step below her, they were almost eye
to eye. His half-smile was sweet. Sexy. It made a shiver run through her. She
jerked her gaze away. Suddenly she felt lost. What was she doing on the beach
on a tropical night with this good-looking stranger? It would be fun to be
single, to be flirting with no worries or complications. Was Michael doing that
somewhere close by? Was he having an affair? Maybe her whole family about
to be shattered, like hers had been when she was not much younger than Josh.
Tears filled her eyes. Quickly, she wiped them away. Then without meaning to,
she gave a loud sob. You’re not going to cry! She forced herself to stop. She
hiccupped. Some tourists passed by, carefully looking the other way. Oh God.
What was she doing!
“Kristi,” he said, softly. “Whatever it
is, we can figure it out. My brother, Rafael, is working on finding your
husband. He is Deputy Chief of Civil Police. He’ll do everything anyone
possibly could do. We’ll find your husband.”
Embarrassed, she nodded.
“Come on. Let’s get you back to your
hotel,” he said, sounding awkward as he helped her up.
“I’m sorry I cried like that. I didn’t
“I got an email yesterday. It was from
Michael. It showed him hugging a local girl. They were at the beach right here
in Copacabana. Michael had on those horrible little Speedos and the girl was
wearing a mini bikini. They looked as if they were having a ball. I don’t know
why he sent it to me.” Again, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked hard to
hide them. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing. How can I ever take him
back? I don’t even want him back. I don’t feel the same way about him. But what
about Josh and the twins?” Now she’d told him all her problems again. What was
wrong with her!
He sighed. “Oh Kristi.” Reaching
out, he took her hand tentatively as if taking hands was not something he
normally did. His fingers were hard and his palm callused. She liked hands like
that. She felt a hot quiver run through her. She pulled her hand away. Where
was she going with this? Was she crazy?
Of its own accord it seemed, her body
leaned towards him. She slipped her hand back into his. The feel of his hand
felt natural, comforting. Holding hands was underrated. She really, really
wanted to hold his hand. She could feel the heat of his body where it touched
hers. “You’ve been really nice to Josh and me,” she said. “I feel so strange.
What if nothing was the way I thought it was for all these years?”
“Don’t judge anything now.”
“I didn’t know you did marriage
He shrugged. “I only know it from the
worse case scenario. If anything good happens, don’t consult me.”
“I was. She left me. It was my fault.”
She was about to ask what happened, when
the first big drops of rain pelted down. “Want to make a dash for it?” he said.
Fingers locked, they ran through the drizzle. As they reached the hotel foyer,
he let go of her hand. They stood apart in the brightly lit elevator. Without
meaning to, she again swayed closer to him, feeling her shoulder touch his warm
arm. Self-consciously, she moved away, noticing the muscles of his arms and
chest outlined by his damp tee-shirt. Rain pasted her wet tee-shirt to her
body. Wondering if he could see her nipples, she pulled the clinging fabric
away from her damp bikini top.
She unlocked the door and walked into
the room. They were both wet. For a moment they just stood, looking at each.
Then Tony laughed. “We’d be better on the balcony,” he said. “We’re dripping on
“Would you like a hot shower?”
“Not much point. I don’t have anything
to change into.”
“Well, at least we can dry off a bit.”
She grabbed two of the big, white towels and followed him out into the night.
The air outside was balmy, much warmer than the air-conditioned room. Steam
rose from the wet tiles, but the patio furniture was dry, protected from the
rain by the balcony above. Tony crossed over to the railing and stood looking
at the view, which Kristi noted was meltingly beautiful: white waves crashing,
reflections of car lights shimmering on rain drenched Avenue Atlantica, the
glittering lights of the favelas on the slopes of the mountains and hunched
above it all, the dark jungle-covered morros.
She handed him a towel and stood
watching he pulled off his damp shirt and began to dry himself off. He looked
soooo good. He was just so indescribably hot and her husband was such an
indescribable jerk. As he turned towards her, she quickly pulled her eyes away
from his athletic body and found herself looking at his mouth. He had a
beautiful mouth, lips tilted slightly up as if he’d never be able to look
really angry. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. There just seemed
to be too much space between them and she had to close it. She moved towards
him. His eyes, thick lashes still wet with raindrops, looked into hers. She
closed her eyes and turned her face up to his. His lips touched hers. She knew
she hadn’t left him much choice. His mouth was gentle, his lips warm and firm.
She’d imagined a passionate kiss. She didn’t quite know what to do with a
gentle one. His kiss was almost shy. Warmth throbbed through her. She was hot
enough to melt. She longed for him to kiss her more.
He pulled away slightly, his hands
holding her upper arms. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking a tendril
of wet hair back from her cheek. “Your husband is an idiot.” His eyes were
filled with an emotion that sent a thrill through her. It was so good to feel
appreciated, to feel again that someone thought she was beautiful. He looked at
her quizzically. “I should leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave. I want you
to stay.” Unable to resist, she buried her face in the warm place between his
neck and broad shoulders.
“You’d regret it tomorrow,” he said.
“There are things you don’t know about me. I come from a very different world.”
“Rubbish,” she giggled. “You went to Berklee College in Boston. How different can that be?” Then she
shivered, knowing the shiver was because of him and not the weather.
He took the towel and wrapped it around
her shoulders, making a cocoon for her against his warm body. Without meaning
to, she gave a soft moan of appreciation. She looked up quickly to see if he’d
heard. What if he thought she was trying to sound sexy? He lifted her long, wet
hair, using the nearest end of the towel to dry the dripping strands.
She looked up at him. “You were right. I
shouldn’t have come to Rio. I’ve landed in
such a mess, I...”
Before she could finish the sentence,
his lips touched the corner of her mouth. For a second he hesitated, then his
lips closed over hers, warm and sweet. She clung to him, kissing him
passionately, drawing from his strength, escaping into the feeling of someone
caring about her just for now. She pressed up close against him. Everything
about him felt good: his strong arms around her, his broad shoulders, his hard,
lean body. He responded by holding her tighter and kissing her with more
urgency, his breath quickening. The heat of the kiss and the feel of his body
chased every thought from her head. She could feel the hardness of his groin
and she throbbed with wanting him.
Was she really going to do this? She
pulled away. They stood for a second just looking at each other. His eyes were
dark with arousal. How could she do this? Omigod, how could she not? The
Moroccan-style outdoor sofa looked incredibly inviting and she sunk down into
the pillows pulling him down beside her. For a second, she thought it funny
that she was the proactive one here.
“You shouldn’t sleep with me,” he said,
his voice sounding gruff. Immediately she wanted him even more. She was
totally hot for him. In reply she wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to
continue the blissful kiss where it had left off. Her heart raced, her body
throbbed. She could feel his heart thudding too.
“Kristi,” With a groan he pulled away.
“This is not a good idea.” His voice was thick with desire. For some no doubt
worthy reason, he was trying not to do this.
“Why isn’t it a good idea?” she said.
She could hear her voice sounding petulant and rebellious and somewhat like
Josh when he was thwarted. Why was she doing this? Maybe because she was hot,
so hot, to sleep with him. Burning with longing to sleep with him. Totally
wanting to be right down there, right now, in the bed, or on the sofa, or even
on the wet tiles, making passionate love to him.
“Don’t you want to sleep with me?”
He gave her a lopsided smile and raised
his eyebrow. Then suddenly he wrapped the towel tightly around her again,
kissed her lips hard and quickly, and stood up. He was leaving! “Call me if
Josh isn’t back by eight,” he said.
She stood, clutching the towel.
Disappointment filled her. The night had been perfect. So amazingly romantic
with the rain pouring down around them, the inky ocean crashing out there, a
full moon slipping in and out of dark, flying clouds. “It felt like a
dream,” she said slowly. “A super-cool dream about a dream lover in a storm.”
She sighed. “You’re ruining my dream.”
“A wet dream,” he said wryly. A flash of
lightning silhouetted his dark shape. Thunder crashed.
“You’d regret it in the morning.”
“If you say so.” She knew she was
pouting. How silly was that. She turned her back on him. “Why don’t you just go
“Of course I want to sleep with you. I’m
longing to sleep with you. Not sleep. Make love. What do you think?”
Thunder crashed again. As another flash
of jagged lightning ripped the sky. She shivered.
“You’re wet. Aren’t you cold?”
“Nope,” she said.
“You better get those wet clothes off.”
She looked him in the eye. “Good idea.”
Slowly she pulled off her wet tee-shirt and tossed it into the air. Then she
slid out of her wet shorts. Watching his eyes as he took in her body in her new
bikini and her silver sandals, she walked over to the balcony railings and
stood there. She knew she was standing provocatively, her butt nicely rounded
as she leaned on the railing. She was glad the rain shower suddenly stopped. To
tell the truth, she was cold. But she hoped that would change soon.
Within seconds, she felt his warm, hard
body behind her. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re so perfectly beautiful.”
So you love to write...me too. And after finishing your novel, you're so excited. But then...you have to find an agent and/or sell your manuscript. You finally receive your contract, see your book come into print and again...you are so excited. But then you have to promote your book . . .
Most writers are shy or at least introverts. It's not in our repertoire to promote...anything.
Have a goal
Have a plan
Remember to have some lead time
Do your research
Follow specific formats and style for news releases
Plan to approach and utilize a variety of media resources
Set a budge
Create a street team
Keep updating your plan
Set someone up on your team to keep you accountable
Lastly, remember to celebrate your successes.Take
time to enjoy the wins, as they will likely be hard fought and so very
sweet. Remember those feelings as you move forward and hit future snags.
Above all else, keep moving forward!
The Next Level returns on September 19th (talk
description below) and there's a great line-up of speakers on board.
The full schedule will be posted to SCBWI's website soon. The topics
include everything from HarperCollins editor Abby Ranger talking about
editor-writer-artist relationships with a writer and illustrator, to craft
sessions on both world building and character development. And more!
Season passes are $35 for members. Individual session will be $8 if you
pre-register and $10 at the door for members. For non-members, it will be $10
pre-registration, $12 at the door, and $50 for a season pass.
Here’s the scoop on September’s talk:
Topic: Pitch, Logline, Synopsis: How to
write effective promo pieces for your book
A hands on workshop for writers with a story
to pitch covering everything from the one sentence logline to the full pages
synopsis using low stress examples from familiar stories, and practical
exercises for talking about your work to a range of potential readers.
Rosanne Parry is the author of the
award winning novels Heart of a Shepherd, Second
Fiddle and Written in Stone and the upcoming novel The Turn
of the Tide. She has taught writing at schools,
conferences, Saturday Academy, an educational non-profits, and on
line at the Loft Literary Center. She lives with her family in an old
farmhouse in Portland, and writes in a tree house in her back yard.
The talks will be held at Taborspace again this year. All talks are on
the third Saturday of the month and doors open at 2 PM.
So one of my favorite writing tools is
ProWritingAid.com.It picks out vague
words, long sentences, lovely adjectives, and overused words. I don’t use it
exclusively when I edit, but at least one early pass through ProWritingAid
allows me to pick out some of the really obvious errors.
But one thing it found in my writing that I wasn’t aware of,
was sticky sentences. So I had to do a little research. Sticky sentences, as
you might expect, contain lots of glue words.
Glue words are the unnecessary little words you use every
day. They are this, the, out, if, about,
good, what, there…you get the idea. They aren’t pretty. They work hard. But
they could be replaced by better, more expressive, and more poetic words—words
that will make your prose shine, make your explanations easier to comprehend,
and make the dialogue coming out of your character’s mouth sound eloquent.
In a sense, they
stick on your writing, slowing down a reader who’s trying to understand a
wordy, padded sentence. It might make you think you sound smarter to use so
many words while getting a really small point across, but you’re just making it
harder for your reader.
So let’s give an
example and run an experiment. I’m going to rewrite the previous four
paragraphs to take out some of the sticky sentences and glue words. Currently,
those paragraphs clock in at 200 words.
ProWritingAid.com is a favorite writing tool of mine.The software picks out vague and overused
words, long sentences, and adjectives. I use ProWritingAid during an early
editing pass to pick out obvious errors.
One thing ProWritingAid finds is sticky sentences. Sticky
sentences, as you might expect, contain lots of glue words.
Glue words are unnecessary words you use every day. Examples
arethis, the, out, if, about, good, what, there…you getthe
idea. They aren’t pretty. They work hard. But they could be replaced by better,
more expressive, and more poetic words—words that will make your prose shine,
make your explanations easier to comprehend, and make your characters eloquent.
Sticky sentences are wordy and padded. Many writers believe
they sound smarter by using more words, but readers need to understand your
work and not just be impressed by it.
--So which paragraphs do you prefer? The rambling, sticky
draft at the top or the more polished and concise version at the bottom? Do you
find your sentences sticky?
Tuesday, April 7th, at the Old Church in downtown Portland at 7 pm, Willamette Writers welcomes Eric Witchey, who will speak about Why a Bad Attitude Is a Good Thing, and why that's important to a writer.
BOOKS I'VE READ IN 2015
Still Alice by Lisa Genova
Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin
Where'd You Go, Bernadette, by Maria Semple
JESUS LAND by Julia Scheeres
Books I've Read in 2014
Little Gloria - Happy at Last - by Barbara Goldsmith
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Hurston
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Number the Stars by Lois Lowry
The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls
The Stud Book by Monica Drake - http://www.amazon.com/Stud-Book-Monica-Drake/dp/0307955524
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
Things to Do In Portland or Near by
April 4th Hop Hop Half-Marthon: http://hophophalf.com/
Thanks for visiting my site. "The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today Is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips Then walk out the door and deny him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable." DC Talk