Zinnia Hope, author of multi-genres and erotic romances; also writing as J. Emberglass
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Saturday, September 15
Yesterday, as I cleaned up around my corner office, I picked up the box that had contained my shipment full of Conspiracy of Angels copies. Something slid around in the bottom of it. I set it down, pulled all the packing paper out, and ta-da! There lay another colorful print copy gleaming in the bottom of the box that I missed.
So, now I have an unexpected extra copy to autograph.
I don't need this extra copy. If you're interested in buying a copy of C of A, whether for yourself or as a gift for someone, this is the last-last (lol) autographed copy I will offer until I arrange my first booksigning gig.
You can find out all that you need to know HERE in regards to the book's plot, the price, etc. Email me here zinnia_hope @ sbcglobal.net with the words "LAST COPY" in the subject if you want the copy. First come, first serve.
Z's Author Newsletter
Sunday, September 2
Jordanne hung her robe on a hook by the closet door and stepped inside. The sensors detected her presence, and a soft green illumination filled the narrow unit. Cloying warm mist drifted down from the ceiling and up from the floor. Within seconds, moisture coated Jordanne's hair and body, the pungent aroma of the antibacterial agent assailed her nostrils and stung her eyes. As the mist accumulated and intensified in the closet, tiny rivulets of moisture coursed down her body.
In the next closet, she heard the door open and close, followed by the soft swishing sound of the misters kicking on. Moments passed. Finally, Jordanne heard a soft rapping on the wall dividing their units. Again, the repetitious rap sounded on the divider. Morse code. She chuckled softly. He wants to enter my misting closet.
A hot thrill pierced her belly and wandered into her loins. Should she allow him to step into her closet? Did she dare trust him? For that matter, did she trust herself?
The pattern sounded on the wall a third time. Hesitantly, Jordanne raised her fist to rap back, but paused and placed her hand on the thin material that composed the divider. Feeling the warmth of his hand flat against it as he waited for her answer, she rapped back.
She dropped her hand to her side and opened her eyes slightly to peer through the green illuminated mist. The dividing wall slid back. Wesley stepped inside, his broad shoulders and brilliant tattoo overwhelming the narrow closet.
"I see you recall how to use Morse," he said, his voice low.
The misting closet shut off, but the fog still hung heavily in the interior. Dimly, Jordanne heard the faint computerized beeps of the timer on the outside wall. Finally able to fully open her eyes, she stepped back slightly and looked up into Wesley's face.
"Ev—every sailor has to learn it in case of severe emergencies," she replied. By the lightning gods, she placed one hand against her heart and stepped back so that her bare bottom pressed tightly against the opposite divider, I think my heart is going to burst out of my chest. Even with the mist clinging to him, he's absolutely beautiful.
"Morse is one of the few tools from Wasteland Earth that we use," he said, his voice soft as a caress. "After learning it, most forget it."
"I like how you read the vibration on the wall. You're very clever." She gulped, her heart rate increasing until she thought she might faint. A tremor began in the soles of her feet. It traveled throughout her body until every nerve ending vibrated.
He leaned over her and rapped gently on the wall behind her.
"That's simple S.O.S," she said, cursing the waver in her voice. Blood pounded in her ears. Sister Hell, it's getting hot in here! Jordanne took a deep breath and forced the nervousness out of her voice. "What sort of help do you need?" she asked, her voice failing her.
He offered her a wicked grin. "I need you to relieve a terrible ache," he said, his lips brushing her ear.
A wave of goose flesh passed over her entire body. She drew in a sharp breath and almost sputtered on a mouthful of mist. Heat flared in her abdomen, the warmth flashing into her crotch. A throbbing began in her loins. Jordanne turned her head in search of his lips and gasped softly upon finding them. Eagerly, he kissed her, hands slipping around her waist. "I don't know what it is about you," he breathed against her mouth, "but you're utterly intoxicating."
"This changes nothing between us." She placed her hands flat against his chest, and for a brief moment, she let her gaze wander over the brightly colored wing that inked one dark shoulder and the pectoral muscle. Slowly, her gaze moved back to his handsome face. Condensation dripped through his raven-black hair, the odd green illumination giving it an almost ethereal aura. Firmly, she said, "I'm still admiral, and you're still a contracted expert for the journey."
His perfect white teeth flashed in a wicked smile. "And your point is?" he asked, dipping his head to nuzzle her ear.
She pulled his head up so that he looked at her. "That you won't use sex as a means to manipulate me."
"The only thing I want to manipulate," Wesley pulled free from her grasp and tasted the base of her neck, "is your body. I want you to beg for me to stop, and at the same time, cry out for me to continue."
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