Someone brilliant once said “writing is all about the rewriting.” Okay, I don’t know if anyone actually ever said that but they should have.
Which leads me to… *drumroll* …rewriting my book blurbs. It’s like a sickness. But this time it was for a very good cause…I needed to squeeze 160+ words down to 100.
No small task!
Thank goodness for good friends (like Zoe York).
I present the new, shorter, and improved Fangs, Fur & Mistletoe blurb:
Vampiress Coco Jeffres has one week to get her mojo back. Mystic Isle, the exclusive pleasure playground for paranormals, is just what the doctor ordered. For once she’s choosing lust over love, in the form of a previously forbidden temptation: tall, dark, and oh-so-handsome werewolf Grayson West.
Grayson just wants to blow off some steam before he heads back into the field and he’s more than willing to help a lady find her inner vixen. Especially when she’s the same beautiful blue-eyed vamp he loved a hundred years ago and has never been able to forget.
Do you have a copy yet?
EXCERPT
“I remember everything,” she whispered, her fangs lengthening.
“This?” he whispered, a large hand splaying across her lower back. Hot. Strong. Possessive. Pulling her closer until their hips brushed.
“Yes.” The word came out as a hiss.
He took her hand and laid it over his heart. The organ beat out a steady rhythm against her palm. She soaked in the heat of his skin, the strength of his chest. “And this?” he asked, his deep voice seducing her as easily as his touch.
“Yes.”
She remembered the sound of his heartbeat thundering in her ears. His pulse, visible in the strong artery in his neck. She’d wanted to taste his blood, sink her fangs into him as he entered her.
She still wanted that.
He cupped her cheek with his other hand and dipped his head. The light from a nearby lamppost lit his eyes. Just as they had all those years ago, his irises flared, and for the briefest of seconds she thought that maybe he could see to the depth of her soul. No one, not even Valencia and certainly not Dmitri, had ever studied her so intensely.
“And this?” he murmured again, their lips less than a centimeter apart.
She smelled whiskey on his breath, one more memory of this night. All she had to do was close the distance and find out if he kissed as well as he did in her dreams.
Just like that night on the battlefield, his thumb traced her jaw line. And just like that night, desire warred with the knowledge that they were not destined to be together.
But she hadn’t come to Mystic Isle for together-forever. She’d come for hot-shout-my-name-sex. She’d come here… to come.
So this time when he glanced back and forth, staring so deeply into her eyes, gauging her response, she let her lips do the talking.
GET YOUR COPY
