Thank you so much for having me, Milo and Tristram on your blog today. My new mystery romance, Artful Dodging: the Torpedo Factory Murders, is set in Old Town Alexandria, an historic cobblestoned city on the Potomac River. Winter there can be quite dreary, but my hero and heroine manage to make their own heat.
Murders, mistrust, misfits, and miscreants—needlepoint artist Milo Everhart has her hands full. Can Tristram Brodie prove to her that love conquers all?
It’s just before Christmas, and Milo Everhart has two needlepoint stockings, a cross-stitch purse, and three canvases to finish for her clients. Waiting out the rain in a pub, she is captivated by the handsome man next to her, but blocking the road to romance are two mysterious corpses who turn up in the tower of her Torpedo Factory Art Center. As if that weren’t enough, a second crisis erupts—a proposal to gut her beloved Art Center.
Tristram Brodie, hard-driving corporate lawyer and former Marine, is focused on his plan to convert the Torpedo Factory into a box store. He is drawn to the beautiful woman sitting next to him, but their mutual attraction will be frustrated by both the murders and his intentions. As they edge closer to love, they must find a way to overcome both their differences and the still-fresh memory of her late husband.
Wild Rose Press, 7/20/2016; Imprint Crimson Rose
Theme(s): Mystery/Cozy Mystery
Contemporary romantic Suspense, M/F, 2 flames
Contemporary romantic Suspense, M/F, 2 flames
Ebook, 66,830 words; Print 268 p.
Although Milo has misgivings about betraying the memory of her dead husband, she allows herself to get a bit carried away in this scene.
Excerpt (R): Milo Takes a Hand
All right. Fine. I can see I have to take a hand. So she did. One finger crept down her thigh unobtrusively and walked itself over to the still bobbing cock. She tickled the tip then drew her finger down the shaft to his balls. He said nothing, but from the deafening stillness, she knew he concentrated all his synapses on her finger. He’s not even breathing. She added three more fingers to the mix, two on each side, squeezing and tugging. Tristram arched his back and stared at the ceiling, pretending he hadn’t noticed. Oh yeah? We’ll see how long that lasts. She ran her palms down to the root and bowed over his abdomen. Her tongue flicked out, barely brushing the crown, licking up the drop of semen that had escaped the hole.
Tristram let out a soft “Uhhhh.”
Tristram writhed. “Milo,
She pulled away. “Don’t what?”
He grabbed the back of her head and urged her back down. “Stop. Don’t stop. God, you make me crazy.” She obediently began to suck. He pressed into her, molding her lips. She could feel the pent-up pressure growing. Finally he shouted, “I’m coming, I’m coming!” They both heard a yowl and a bang as Pinkie hit the floor.
Tristram straddled her, an arm on either side of her face. “She’ll get used to it. At least she doesn’t stare at us like the dog does.”
“Speaking of, have you returned Yum-yum yet?”
“Uh uh. I’ve been too busy. Besides, I like having him around. He’s so cute and fluffy.”
“I’m not enough for you?”
“Well, you’re cute. But you’re not fluffy.”
“I suppose I could wear a pink satin bed jacket and have my hair permed. Would that help?”
He dropped his head and kissed her hungrily. “No. I don’t want you fluffy. I want you naked. And I want you now.” He kissed her neck and started down the path that led to orgasm.
Milo lay back, soaking in the sensation. He reached her vagina and, lips still on clitoris, inserted a finger and rolled it around. She raised her hips to get closer. Taking one last taste, he raised a face suffused with desire. He murmured, “More?”
He inserted one more finger. She didn’t know whether to react or lie there and revel in the glorious, slow-moving ascent to climax. He kept pressing in and out, in and out, his fingers palpating the soft inner flesh. She felt deliciously stuffed, like a warm yeast roll wrapped around a nub of melting butter. The pungent scent of sex filled her lungs. Oh baby, oh baby, gimme more. Take me there. Her body took over, and she bucked uncontrollably.
As she ground against the pulsating fingers, she could hear him whispering, “Come on, baby, come to me, let it go, let it out. I want you to come till the stars burst.” The words—echoing her own thoughts—dragged her to a height of passion she’d never known. Her body lifted off the bed and she drove herself onto his fingers, losing all control and demanding satisfaction. While she dangled in mid-air, panting, praying for the last step over the edge, he pulled the fingers out.
“Oh, my God. Tristram! Arrgggh. I’m so close. Let me finish. Please, honey, please.” In answer, he thrust her back on the bed and let his thick, hard, long prick find its harbor. He began to pump, staring into her face, love and desire etched in it. She met him, and they rode the crest like surfers, embracing the churning waves before finally rolling over and over in the soft sand. She lay, sated and complete. As she savored the peace, she rolled on her side. Tristram had fallen fast asleep.
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/artful-dodging-ms-spencer/1113648470?ean=2940158248047
About the Author:
Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents, the last thirty years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. After many years and several degrees at institutions of higher learning, she worked for the U.S. Senate, the U.S. Department of the Interior, in several library systems, both public and academic, and at the Torpedo Factory Art Center.
Ms. Spencer has published ten romantic suspense novels, and has three more in utero. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
Other Books by M. S. Spencer:
Lapses of Memory
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