I Think Of My Books Now As

And Then He Pressed Into Her. First His Thighs, Then His Middle, His Chest, And Finally His Mouth. She Made A Whimpering Sound, But Its Definition Was Unclear Even To Her, Until She Realized That Her Arms Had Gone Around Him Instinctually, And That She Was Clutching His Back, His Shoulders, Her Hands Restless And Greedy For The Feel Of Him. He Kissed Her Openmouthed, Using His Tongue, And When She Kissed Back, She Felt The Hum That Vibrated Deep Inside His Chest. It Was The Kind Of Hungry Sound She Hadn’t Heard In A Long Time. Masculine And Carnal, It Thrilled And Aroused Her.

She Shook Her Head Slowly. “i Don’t Believe You. You Can’t Be A Cop.” “not A Cop.” “federal Agent?” “fbi.” “even More Unlikely.” “j. Edgar Rolls Over In His Grave Every Day, But That’s The Way It Is.

I Try To Weave A Secret Into Each Plot. It's The Thread That Holds The Rest Of The Story Fabric Together. In Fact, It's The Reason For The Story. I Hint At The Secret Early On. Immediately I Want The Reader To Get The Feeling That Something Here Isn't Quite Right. It Helps Maintain The Suspense If A Puzzling Element Is Introduced In The First Few Pages Of The Book, But The Answer Isn't Revealed Until The Final Ones. Hopefully, Readers Want To Know What The Heck Is Really Going On, And It's The Desire To Find Out That Keeps Them Turning Pages.

I Made Straight A's And Never Got Into Any Trouble, And I Still Impose Those Standards On Myself. So Writing Is My Chance To Escape And Become The Sleaziest, Scummiest Role.

He Lifted His Gaze To The Framed Photograph Of Tanya And Him Taken On Their Wedding Day. God, She Had Been Lovely. Her Smile Had Come Through Her Eyes Straight From Her Heart. He Had Known Unequivocally That She Loved Him. He Believed To This Day That She Had Died Knowing That He Loved Her. How Could She Not Know? He Had Dedicated His Life To Never Letting Her Doubt It.