Wordsmithing: WEEKEND WRITING WARRIORS

Sunday, 7 April 2013

WEEKEND WRITING WARRIORS - 8 SENTENCES ON SUNDAY

If you are interested in follow this link: WWR

As I am a weekend-only writer of romance, Darrah is still having trouble ignoring Hale.

She leaned against a tree, halfway back to the camp. Before she faced her men, she needed to give herself a few well-worded orders. The man’s ability to reflect and intensify emotions was a biological low-blow. But, the Sarkisian’s range of subtle, hormone-enhanced scents were no more than perfume on a courtesan. The healthy glow of his skin was the bait. The shifting silk of his hair begging to be stroked was the distraction. And the warmth that surrounded him in his aura? That was the trap.

16 comments:

Elaine Cantrell7 April 2013 at 12:53
He does sound lovely. Nice eight.
ReplyDelete
Replies
Susan Stuckey7 April 2013 at 13:27
He does sound like a "tempting bit" and hard for her to resist. Nice #8.
ReplyDelete
Replies
Anonymous7 April 2013 at 14:31
Fantastic description here.
ReplyDelete
Replies
Anonymous7 April 2013 at 16:23
Very nice! I tweeted.
ReplyDelete
Replies
Veronica Scott7 April 2013 at 18:17
Umm, I don't think she's doing a good job of ignoring him at all LOL. Really enjoyed this snippet, loved the descriptions.
ReplyDelete
Replies
Frank Fisher7 April 2013 at 23:10
The warmth that surrounded him in his aura a trap? Never thought of it like that. Interesting detail of the scene.
ReplyDelete
Replies
Lauren7 April 2013 at 23:12
I love the way you described this! It's a true mastery of showing not telling yet still conveying crucial info in an enticing way! Brava!
ReplyDelete
Replies
Unknown8 April 2013 at 13:12
Woah, very early in the morning here for that kind of lust :)
Just visiting today from the A-Z Challenge Juliet atCity Muse Country Muse Come visit us and sign up to follow if you like what you see!
ReplyDelete
Replies

Add comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

RETURN: YA Paranormal Romance

I was running late. But, it was nothing I couldn’t make up with a bit of effort. I shook my head. Confident and happy? I smiled. Increasing my stride, I pushed until the muscles in my legs burned. I kept up the pace even when the hill grew steeper.

Magpie Lane was hardly wider than a ribbon that edged the woods but that didn’t stop traffic using it to get to the motorway quicker. Large trucks and fast cars loved Magpie Lane. They sent vibrations running through me rising from the soles of my trainers. I felt the disturbance in the ground, even before the air pressure tried to knock me off balance. I hunched my shoulders as the cab hauling a container spat stones up at me.

Jogging on the spot, at the entrance to woodland, I ached to leave the road and go inside. My Mum was probably still asleep but I could hear her you-never-know-what might-be-in-there lecture buzzing on repeat inside my head. I should run safe. Not even I would argue that running through the woods on my own was the best definition of safe but I wanted to run-wild and the woodland offered me that. This early, I should be safe from axe murderers or perverts in the trees and besides, I was fast.

I jogged down the slope into the trees. From two paces in, I felt different. Freer. It felt so right. Running in the woods did great things for my style. Avoiding the roots and dodging branches forced my stride longer, I had to step higher. The woodland, The Weald, was only a sliver of ancient woodland that the developers forgot to build on but it felt like it could have been anywhere. Everywhere. At any time. The oaks and beech trees dominated the space and the skinny, silver-birches squeezed up beside them. I laughed. For a second, the woods reminded me of school and I needed to run a lot faster.

Pages

Sunday, 7 April 2013

WEEKEND WRITING WARRIORS - 8 SENTENCES ON SUNDAY

16 comments: