And on the Seventh Day I rested....

No, I'm not God, but after working steadily on my writing since August, I decided I needed a week to rest. Last Wednesday I finished the first draft of A Purrfect Touch and yesterday sat down and edited. Two friends have looked at it and says it is "awesome!"

Just what an author wants to hear. :)

This week I'm taking an editing class and will be polishing a tad on my two completed (and edited) manuscripts. Otherwise, taking it easy and catching up on my reviewing at Romance Reviews Today.

As a teaser, here is a sample of A Purrfect Touch... PS...A Purrfect Love still sits on the Top Ten Bestsellers list at The Wild Rose Press!


"Damn cat. I wonder if Ben and Marisa would miss it too much if I opened the window and let her jump out."

Brock contemplated that thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, Ben said Molly was responsible for bringing him and Marisa together."

The cat in question continued to meow, pushing her paw under the barely opened window. Marisa made it clear to only open the windows an inch.

He rubbed his jaw, suddenly realizing he needed a shave. Eyeing the clock, he decided he had maybe time for a quick shower and shave before the pizza arrived. "I ordered it with sausage too, Molly, so you should be happy."

The black Persian turned her head and yellow eyes gazed at him solemnly in disdain. Which pretty much mirrored what the whole damn city of Chicago felt about him right now.

Three months ago, a football hero with a full dating calendar. Now, he couldn’t even charm a female cat.

Shrugging, he headed for the bathroom. The apartment belonged to Ben, but Brock was staying here to hide out from the venomous media and screeching fans out for blood.

His blood.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Dark hair standing on end and nearly bloodshot blue eyes stared back. This is what injuring your knee and costing your team’s a win during the playoffs does. Who’d think Chicagoans carried a grudge two months later?

Shaking his head, he brushed his teeth, wondering if maybe it was time to find a new city to call home. Of course, nothing held him here, except maybe Ben, and now Ben’s bride, Marisa. The happily in love couple tied the knot in the Virgin Islands earlier in the week and Brock was feeling a little lonely without his baby brother around to cheer him up.

He undressed, taking care with his bum knee. He stared down at the ragged scar that, to some men represented masculinity, but to Brock meant a potential end to his career as quarterback of the Chicago Bears.

Stepping under the hot spray, a surge of energy swept through him. He needed to break out of his depression. He couldn’t hide out in Ben’s bachelor pad forever. It was time he headed home to his mansion with its magnificent view of Lake Michigan.

Riinnggg…

In the process of rinsing his hair, Brock paused. What the hell? The pizza delivery guy was here already? Cursing, he hopped out of the shower and grabbed his robe. He told them an hour and it couldn’t be that already. He was going to give them a piece of his mind.

Marching to the door, he briefly caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t have time to investigate whether Ben now had a mouse loose in the apartment.

He tore open the door. "I told you guys—" he started to say, then stopped.

There wasn’t anyone at the door. He glanced down the hallway, but it was empty, except for…

"Molly!