- The eKensington Sampler - Spring 2013 is now available FREE from Amazon and Kobo! It includes information about and snippets from upcoming e-book releases, including Never Too Late! And did I mention...it's free?!
- I'm scheduling online appearances for Never Too Late's May 2nd release. Check out my Appearances page to see where I will be. (Some will include giveaways!)
- Did I mention that Never Too Late is now available on NetGalley for reviewers? Well, it is! (I know! I can hardly believe it myself!)
And now...this week's snippet is set in the midst of a dinner party hosted by Alex's mother, who is a great supporter of writers and has gathered an eclectic group of them this evening. Dinner conversation has turned to philosophical musings on love. And, yes, the Tennyson speaking at the beginning of this excerpt is this Tennyson. Enjoy!
“I think we can agree there are those, whether lovers or friends, who we simply cannot live without,” Tennyson continued. “There are those who make our world. Oh, the world exists before them and possibly long after them, but their love gives us life and meaning and wholeness.”
Honoria felt painfully choked by this barrage of sentiments. Who talked like this at dinner? What struck her keenly was the quiet awareness that she had no such person, whether lover or friend. She knew her work held meaning, but could she truly say she lived? When her hand stole up instinctively to worry the button and lace that normally covered her neck, she was surprised to feel only bare skin. That notch, that warm, soft hollow at the base of her throat, reminded her sharply of the gown's low neckline.
Again, she felt a warm flush spread along her face and shoulders, along with a prickling sensation of being observed. Feigning casualness, she looked in the direction of Lord Devin, intending to focus just past him, at the doorway. Instead, she found herself caught in his dark, open gaze. He made no pretense of accidental or fleeting eye contact. Instead, the intensity of his expression deepened into an almost elemental entitlement. His eyes seemed focused on her hand, on the spot where her fingers touched her throat. She froze under that riveting stare, momentarily unable to breathe, unable to see anything in the room but him, unaware of anything or anyone else. When she recollected herself, she quickly moved her hand back down to the table. His eyes briefly tracked the motion and then lingered again at her neck before meeting her eyes. Something about him reminded her of Jupiter—the way the tabby would crouch, belly nearly brushing the floor, body contracted, just before springing on his prey, whether it was a hapless intruding mouse or a ball of dust. She was shaken and tried hard to mask her tumultuous emotions, but, from across a crowded table, he'd somehow established a commanding intimacy without even touching her. She knew she ought to feel offended by his presumptuousness, but that didn't help to quiet the hot licks of some undefined emotion skittering across her skin, particularly in areas caught by his eyes.