Countdown Started (and Teaser #8)

It's Official Countdown Time for me - ten days until I plan to upload Easy. I'll be taking a short break between this and the next project, because I've not been taking the best care of myself, and that's just irrational. My plans are (1) sleep, (2) read, (3) shop for a gym, and (4) get caught up with everyone in my life that I've been ignoring.

When I'm writing, I tend to immerse myself in that project most of my waking hours (and some of the sleeping ones - evidenced by how often I wake up with dialogue in my head or a plot point that's come into focus overnight). I eat meals in a rush or in front of the computer. I ignore any social obligations or invitations that aren't forced on me. I'm loathe to leave the house for almost any reason. (I only put 200 miles on my car in the last two months. No kidding! 200!) I don't get enough sleep.

I doubt I can change how current WIPs seem to take over and auto-pilot my life. Honestly, though, the process is working, even if it beats me up a little on the way through. (Under threat of multiple ass-kickings from critique partners and members of my family, however, I will be giving a very vague release date for the next project until I get much closer to completing it.)

Tuesday Teaser #8:

“Lie down on your stomach and rest your head on your arms, facing me.”

I did as he told me. “Like this?”

He nodded, eyeing me as if absorbing details or searching for flaws. Coming onto his knees, he moved close enough to fan his fingers through my hair and let it fall over my shoulder. “Perfect,” he murmured, scooting back to his position against the wall, a few feet away.

I stared at him as he sketched, his eyes moving back and forth from my face to the pad. At some point, his gaze began to move over the rest of me. As if his fingertips skimmed over my shoulders and down my back, my breath caught in my throat and I shut my eyes.

“Falling asleep?” his voice was soft. Near.

I opened my eyes to find him on his knees next to me, sitting back on his heels. My heart picked up the pace again at his nearness. “No.” He’d left the pad and pencil on the floor behind him. “Are you… done?”

He shook his head slightly. “No. I’d like to do another, if you don’t mind.” At my nod, he said, “Turn onto your back.”

Tammara Webber

New York Times and international bestselling author of contemporary romantic fiction

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