Here's an exerpt from my Rane Lavita mystery adventure novel, which I wrote for your enjoyment.
Share in the thrills 'n spills, murderous mayhem, love and laughter of TEN THOUSAND SUSPECTS (PDF 1.9MB):
I zip into my bedroom to change out of my tracksuit into something more impregnable. He's wearing soft black leather that I can feel with my naked eyes. And I don't have to guess what's underneath. Problem is, I don't know how to say no to myself when he's wearing it because on him leather is foreplay. I glance in the mirror. Shit. My cheeks are rosy. I need some serious backup to keep myself from climbing all over him. I've got to concentrate on staying out of the hands of the masher. The psycho, I mean.
Safely encased in a red and white romper, I saunter into the living room.
He leans against a wall, turning the drab, barren wall into a work of art….I defy the world to show me a guy who looks better in black leather. Thighs to die for. He turns around and bends over to get something out of his jacket. I'm not looking. No way. Not me. Be still my shameless heart. If all used car salesmen were even half as sexy, the world wouldn't stand a hope in hell. We'd all be driving clunkers.
He steps towards me. "So what's this about you trying to date up some schmuck in the mountains? You're supposed to feed the tourists, not eat them." I step aside. "I helped him get lost. Never mind, I almost got a date with death."
"You look alive enough for me."
Uh-oh, I can see my naked body in his eyes. I hop onto my treadmill, which takes me nowhere fast. "About the car, are you going to lend me one until Saturday or what?"
"Yeah, I've got something hot in mind for my cutie-patootie," he says, closing in on me. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. My feet dangle off the ground. It's great being around a guy who doesn't make me feel like an Amazon. If only he didn't have that killer smile. Guess I'll just have to wipe it off his face.
With my lips. Amongst other things.
Ahh. The phone rings. Grrr.
He reaches around me, picks it up off my workout bench and puts the phone up to my ear. "It's Chanlee. She's calling from work," he says, his husky voice dropping another octave.
"There is no Lexus registered to anyone with a Nester license," she says without a trace of regret.
"You must have read it wrong. Maybe it was Hester or Pester."
"Uh-uh, it started with an N."
"How about Nest or Near or--"
"Nope. I guess that's it."
Fitz undoes the large gold buckle on my fake belt. Undeterred, he tries unbuttoning my fake blouse. The buttons are real, but they don't open up anything. He gives me a pleading look. All innocence, I shrug and hop onto the treadmill.
"Aw, come on, Chanlee. We didn't dream up the Lexus or the kid in it," I say.
"What do you expect me to do? I haven't been assigned to the Hironaka case."
Fitz leans into me and the phone. "Hey, Chanlee, you might want to try N-e-v-a-r. I've got a customer with that name." He cruises around the machine to get at my romper from behind.
"As in Stefan Nevar?! I seriously doubt it. He's a mouthpiece for moneyed offenders," Chanlee says. "You know, don't you, Rane, that none of this makes sense? You say that the owner of the Lexus killed the hiker, but you also said that he must have seen you watching with your binoculars. He couldn't have been up on the mountain and harassing you at the same time."
"So unless you pull the trigger yourself, you can't have anyone killed?"
"Okay, okay, I'll try Nevar."
I hang up, and Fitz turns off the treadmill. "Got a minute, Sugar?" he asks.
"Well, Speedy, if that's only how long it's going to take…." I turn on the treadmill.
"Uh, is there anything left in the bedroom resembling a bed, or is this as comfortable as it gets around here?"
"Who wants comfortable? I want challenges, excitement."
"In that case, this'll do." He jumps onto the treadmill.
