Under and Over with Denise Rossetti

I still don’t have my author copies, so I’d LOVE to see a photo of you holding The Flame and the Shadow. Send it to me and I’ll immortalise you here on the blog. You can be anonymous or your first name. Whatever you like.  No pressure. I really would love to see a picture, ‘cos then it will be real, you know? So if you think of it…

Off to the Melbourne Cup day lunch soon. Trying to decide if I should drive - which means I have to VERY careful about how much I drink because the police will be out in force. Or get a taxi. It’s coming home that’s the worry, because a squillion other people have exactly the same idea. And, come to think of it, I need to be sober to write my blog post for Romance Novel TV. This Thursday (Friday in Oz.) Don’t worry, I’ll remind you.                  .

Here’s the last except - Excerpt Three. This one’s a bit hotter - literally! heh heh

The warmth of the fire, the comfort of his hands moving in her hair, the scent of his skin. It was all so good, so perfect, he’d almost lulled her to sleep. But five-it, the Duke was a strange man! Not so long ago, he’d kissed her with a ferocity and sensual skill that made her head reel. Then he’d pushed her away, glaring as if he loathed her. And the next moment, he had her seated before the fire, brushing her hair like a man worshipping at an altar.

Lord’s balls, she couldn’t keep up!

If it hadn’t been for the chocolat, Cenda might have made an excuse, asked him to leave. But the dark, silky flavor had exploded on her tongue, demanding her complete attention. It filled her mouth and nose with a childlike, wriggling delight that was better than any sex she’d ever had.

How Elke would have loved it! And what a mess she would have made! But Elke would never taste chocolat, never learn her first spell, never fall in love, never…

A questing fingertip feathered over her eyebrow and slid down her cheek. Breathing heavily, Cenda shoved the pain away, walled it off. She touched Gray’s hand, feeling his long fingers close hard over hers.

Make it stop. Make me forget.

As if he’d read her mind, Gray murmured, “Put your pets back in the fire, Cenda.” Clumsily, Cenda leaned forward, shooing the salamanders past Titfer’s offended nose. After that, she didn’t know what to do, how to get from her awkward crouch on the floor into his arms.

Gray rose, so lithe and graceful. Smiling gravely, he offered her his hand. But when she grasped it, she underestimated his lean strength, so that she overcompensated, stumbling into his chest, knocking him back into the wall. He grunted.

Then he laughed. “Come here, sweetheart.” Spreading his legs, he pulled her between them, sealing their torsos together from neck to hip.

Cenda gulped. She’d never felt anything remotely like it before, a hard wall of muscle, all warm planes and uncompromising masculine solidity. Barton had been soft and plump, cushiony. The rigid bulk of Gray’s erection pressed insistently into her belly, Her fingers curled hard in the fabric of his shirt, as if they wanted to hold him off, while the rest of her waited for his kiss, shaking with terrified anticipation.

Instead, he bent his head, sampling the skin under her ear. Lady, he was licking again, nibbling all down the side of her neck, crooning in his throat! Cenda’s fingers flexed, gripping the shirt with the strength of desperation, while her stomach fluttered as though it was the skin of her belly he tasted. Oh gods, what if he - he - wanted to-? She moaned, half in embarrassment, half in delight, the breath huffing out of her in an undignified gust.

Under her clutch, a button popped off the Duke’s shirt. The tiny clatter as it bounced off his boot and onto the floor fell on her ear like a brief mocking laugh. Cenda froze. Ah shit! She was going to ruin the most exciting sensual experience of her life, and the Lady knew, she’d never have another opportunity. How was it he made every rational thought in her head fly out the window? A clumsy fire witch was a recipe for disaster. And when the said fire witch was barely in control of herself or her power… Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Straightening her elbows, she levered herself away and Gray lifted his head, his eyes dark as smoke.

Cenda wet her lips. “Duke, please, I can’t- This isn’t going to work.”

“Why not?” he asked calmly, slipping a finger under the neckline of the shift, tracing her collarbone.

Cenda shivered, goose bumps parading down her spine, tightening the skin over her breasts. She pressed her thighs together to still the liquid ache. “I told you…” Dropping her head, she took a step backward in the circle of his arms. “You’d better go,” she whispered to the loose threads where the button had been.

“Look at me.” His hand on her jaw was gentle, but firm.

Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to his.

“You’re thinking so hard I can hear you,” he said. He brushed his lips over hers. “All you have to do is feel.”

“But what if I-”

He laid the pad of his forefinger on the center of her lower lip. “Sshh. If it hurts - either of us - I’ll stop.” A smile flickered across his elegant mouth. “I’m not one who enjoys pain.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur, dark with sensual promise. “Trust me, Cenda.”

But his lips had an ironic twist, thoughts scudding behind those magnificent eyes like storm clouds passing.

“But-”

“You can trust me with your pleasure, sweetheart. Judger God, I can swear to that, if nothing else.”

Cenda searched Gray’s face, her heart thudding. There was nothing to be seen on his regular features but clear, masculine purpose spiced with a kind of guarded affection. His shirt had fallen open to reveal a wedge of firm smooth skin, a shade lighter than his neck, and his chest rose and fell with the force of his breath. Five-it, he was a handsome man! Krys had been more right than she knew.

Cenda pulled in a huge breath. “All right,” she said. And waited.

For a moment longer, he stared, those slanted brows drawn together. Then his shoulders relaxed. He smiled with genuine pleasure and what looked oddly like relief.

The smile changed his whole face, as if a lantern had been lit inside him, illuminating his eyes, giving them an extraordinary clarity. Cenda had seen a mountain stream like that just once, years ago in Remnant Two, flowing clean and limpid over a granite bed, but she’d never forgotten its crystal beauty.

“Do you have a scarf?” he said. “A dark color preferably.”

“What?”

“A scarf,” he repeated. “Or a stocking.”

Cenda closed her sagging jaw. “Yes, but why?”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You need a blindfold.”

When all she could produce was a gurgle, the smile broadened. “To stop that busy brain of yours.” He drew her firmly against him, his palms traveling down her spine in a leisurely caress. “I want you mindless with pleasure, Cenda-screaming, crying, begging-me-to-fuck-you pleasure.”

* * * * *

Want more? Read Chapter 1.

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I’m about to break out the dried frog pills, like the Bursar of the Unseen University. I don’t know if you read Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, but the Bursar is more than a little nuts and the dried frog pills keep him on a precariously even keel. That’s how things are Chez Rossetti at the moment - precarious.

Thanks heavens I’m going to a Melbourne Cup lunch tomorrow with a group of friends who aren’t particularly interested in romance novels.

The Melbourne Cup, BTW, is a horse race that stops the entire country at 2pm in the afternoon of the first Tuesday in November. It’s the only horse race I ever watch, let alone bet on. I’m planning on a lot of champagne.  Tomorrow night’s post should be interesting.

Anyhow, here you go - Excerpt Two.

Cenda couldn’t decide whether heart, guts or loins took the brunt of it, or all three. But she couldn’t look away, not even when the aching regret reached ruthless fingers deep inside her and tugged at the roots of her soul. It was an ancient melody, a strange choice for a man. The Duke sang a mother’s lament for the son gone to battle, achingly, desperately beautiful, threaded through with hope and fear, and futile, empty yearning.

She didn’t know what kind of voice she’d expected, something hard-edged and silvery, to go with the aristocratic regularity of his features. But though his tenor was true and strong, it was husky rather than smooth, ripe with feeling.

Ah, Great Lady… How was it that he made it seem he sang for her alone? Hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Come back, oh come ye back…

After the last of the applause died away, he spoke, dropping the words into a pool of silence. “Something different, now.” The tone was dark and coolly sweet, deeper than his singing voice. “Sing the chorus with me.” A quirk of one flyaway brow and he’d launched into The Milkmaid’s Jugs. The crowd roared with delight, belting out the vulgar chorus with relish. Cenda used the time to dry her eyes and regain her composure.

When the lights came up for interval, the serving girl appeared at her elbow, a covered dish in her hands. “Mistress.” She bobbed a curtsey and placed it on the table. “The Duke of Ombra’s compliments. And he’s sorry he made you cry.”

Five-it! The blush scorched her cheeks, the salamander shifting uneasily in her hair. First she’d bolted her food, then she’d sniveled like a child. And all in plain view. He’d seen. He must have.

“Well, well, the Duke no less. Go on,” said Krysanthe, nudging Cenda’s shoulder. “Eat. It smells wonderful. Anyway, I told you, you need fuel for the fire.”

Cenda picked up the fork, then laid it down. She shook her head. “Can’t.”

A strong hand covered hers, fork and all. “Yes, you can,” said a dark voice, perfectly pitched for her ears alone.

Cenda squeaked and her gaze flew up to meet his.

The Duke smiled, though his eyes remained steady and serious. “May I join you?” He removed his hand, leaving Cenda’s to lie abandoned on the table, limp and awkward. The harp was slung over one shoulder and he had a stoppered wine jug tucked under his arm.

“Of course!” said Krysanthe, leaping to her feet. “Please. I’m just…ah…off to see a friend.” She patted Cenda’s shoulder. “Be good now.”

“Krys!” hissed Cenda, making a vain grab for her friend’s skirt.

“Have fun.” With a final twinkle, the healer drew the privacy curtain behind her, cocooning Cenda with the Duke in what was now an alarmingly intimate space.

She’d thought his eyes must be as dark as his hair, but this close, they were a clear, limpid gray. Long-lidded eyes, full of secrets, shielded with extravagant lashes, surely the gift of some besotted goddess. His brows were strongly marked, with an upward slant at the corners. They gave him a sardonic air that went well with his lithe, self-contained grace.

“Mistress, may I sit?” he asked patiently, obviously not for the first time.

At her jerky nod, he slid onto the bench beside her, bringing with him a wave of body heat, the clean, earthy scent of healthy male. His shadow wavered behind him, dark as slate. All the hair rose on the back of Cenda’s neck. She gripped her hands together in her lap. That way she wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch.

The Duke didn’t seem at all discomposed by the silence. Calmly, he studied her face, cataloging her features one by one. It should have been insolent, the action of a man confident of conquest, but he looked almost…concerned. On the other hand, the expression in his eyes wasn’t the least brotherly. Under the table, Cenda pressed her thighs together to still the sudden liquid ache.

What was a man like this doing here? With her?

Finally, when she was sure he must be able to hear her heart knocking against her ribs, he asked, “Did you enjoy the music?”

Cenda bit her lip. Five-it, she was practically in her dotage! Surely she could speak to an attractive man as if she had all her wits. She tried out a small smile. “Oh yes. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“I hadn’t either, not ‘til I joined the company. He’s unique.”

“No, not Erik.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “I meant you.”

“You flatter me.” Absently, he set the harp beside him, picked up her fallen wine cup and righted it. But his remarkable eyes had gone silver with pleasure.

Cenda fought not to smile. She might not know much about men, but she knew what they liked to talk about. Barton, Elke’s father, had spent hours informing her of his brilliance. “It must be so exciting, traveling with an opera company,” she said, giving him an opening.

“This is an individual deep dish pie. The specialty of the house.” Casually, he picked up the fork and wrapped her lax fingers around it. “Eat it for me and I’ll tell you.” Lifting her hand, he guided it to the plate and speared a fat noodle. When Cenda gaped, he popped it between her lips.

“You need it,” he said, so gently she couldn’t take offence.

As the pie disappeared, bit by bit, the Duke told stories in his sweet, husky voice. If she stopped eating, he stopped talking. His observations were fascinating, spiced with a wry, wicked wit. Sometimes the things he said made her choke and blush and then Cenda would watch the delicious quirk of his lips, utterly enthralled.

With some surprise, she regarded the empty dish. “You should have been a storyteller,” she said. “Or a magician.”

“Oh, I have.” As he uncorked the wine jug, his shadow flickered. His lips went tight. “I’ve done a great many things.”

Refilling the cup, he swallowed, his gaze burning into hers over the rim. Finally, he said, “My name is Grayson. Those who care for me call me Gray.”

Deliberately, he turned the cup and lifted it toward her lips. “Will you drink with me, sweetheart?”

The seconds stretched, the chatter of the crowd suddenly as distant as surf on a faraway shore. All she need do was lean forward a scant inch to touch her lips to the place where his had been. Within her, Magick moved, uncoiling in her pelvis, her breasts. Like fire Magick, but darker, hotter, wetter. Female Magick.

Cenda teetered on the brink.

The Duke-no, Gray-cradled her cheek in his other hand. “I’d wondered about your eyes,” he said in a deep murmur that thrilled along her nerves. “They’re gold.”

“Light brown,” she whispered, trembling.

“Gold like an old coin.” He drew callused fingertips down her cheek, across the cushion of her lower lip. “And your skin’s perfect. Like honey and cream.”

Dark and dangerous, full of secrets. But oh so beautiful, so practiced. And he was a traveling player, he’d be gone in a few short weeks. Why not? She had nothing left to lose.

Lord and Lady, give me strength.

Cenda laid her fingers over his on the cup and lowered her head. The spiced wine slipped over her tongue, filling her mouth, rich and heady and warm, replacing the very blood in her veins. Her whole body flushed with heat.

When she would have taken a second gulp, he removed the cup. “Slowly,” he said. “Very. Very. Slowly.”

There was no mistaking that intent, predatory expression, the smoky heat of his gaze. Great Lady, he was going to kiss her! In a sudden panic, she moved her head the wrong way and their noses bumped. The Duke murmured a curse and the hand on her cheek slipped around under her hair to clasp her nape. A hard thigh pressed all along hers under the table.

She’d do it wrong, she knew it! Barton had always been at her to open her mouth, but it was so…so…wet. Kissing him was a sloppy discomfort to be endured. She’d actually preferred the sex, but even that-

Gray nibbled her lower lip, licked the spot, and all thoughts of Barton dried up and blew away. His mouth was smooth and soft and firm, all at once, and sweet with wine. Wicked bursts of fire licked up her spine, tingled in her breasts, her belly. When she gasped in pure shock, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, but true to his word, he did it all slowly-so slowly, she found she was desperate for more. If she could have freed her lips, she would have begged-faster, stronger, deeper-but all she could do was hang on, her head spinning.

Gods, she’d had no idea!

Want more? Read Chapter 1.

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Okaaay… Things are hotting up. Penguin, bless its publisher’s heart, has done a special on The Flame and the Shadow. There’s an excerpt, (same as the one bel0w) and a Dear Reader letter. It’s nice to know the publisher is doing its bit. Kind of comforting, you know?

As for me? I’m going to publish an excerpt every day until Release Day. This is Excerpt One and you can read it in its entirety on my website. Another one tomorrow!

In other news, I am now a complete bundle of nerves, rather than a woman with any sense at all. Part excitement, part apprehension - all terror. Which is ridiculous really. I should be thrilled, this is my dream. But human nature is weird. Go figure. My poor Beloved - I’m driving him nuts. *sigh*

Whatever happens will happen Over There - not to mention the fact that my Release Day is your Election Day in the US. And I have no earthly clue whether that will help or hinder. Any ideas?

I either need my hand held or a swift slap around the chops. Or both. Go ahead, folks, you have my blessing! Don’t hold back!

The Flame and the Shadow

Book 1 in the Four-Sided Pentacle series

Publisher: Berkley Ace
ISBN-10: 0441016340
ISBN-13: 978-0441016341
Genre : Erotic fantasy romance
Format: Trade paperback, ebook

Release Date: 4 November 2008

Order from Amazon

There cannot be one…without the other.

Some are drawn to the light. Some are drawn to the dark. Some desire both.

Grayson of Concordia, known on countless worlds as the Duke of Ombra, is a mercenary, a sorcerer of shadows - a man whose soul is consumed by darkness. For Gray, the bleak savagery in his heart is manifest in an entity he calls Shad. He has long resisted Shad’s enticements, but when he is hired to kidnap a fire witch, he seizes the chance to restore his soul - no matter the cost.

Cenda’s heart is ash. Since the death of her precious baby daughter, life has lost all meaning for the fire witch. Slowly, she has worked to master her powers and go on living. But when she encounters Gray, her will is no match for her desire, though her love may not survive the terrible discovery of Gray’s plans.
By reading on, you are signifying that you are over 18 years of age.

CHAPTER 1

The flames had been singing to her, so loudly Cenda could almost catch the words. She tugged at the heavy fabric of her gown. Five-it, the small chamber was stifling! But Krysanthe had lit the fire with her own hands and closed the windows tight to keep out the night air. Outside, below the sill, lay the vegetable garden of the Wizards’ Enclave, the plants pushing slowly through the soil in the chilly dusk of early spring. She couldn’t stand having the healer cluck over her like an irritated hen. There’d been enough of that since—

Without taking her gaze from the flames, she shifted in the big shabby armchair, tucking her long, narrow feet under her, unlacing the front of her gown. She could let the fire die so the room cooled, but she didn’t want to.

No, no, keep the fire. Cenda ripped the gown off over her head. Absently, she tossed it aside. Beneath, her lanky body was clad in nothing more than a shift, worn thin and soft with frequent washings. Ah, that was better.

Resting an elbow on the broad arm of the chair, she propped her chin in her palm and returned to the contemplation of the cheery blaze. Yellow and orange ribbons leaped and writhed, dancing for her, crackling, hissing. Was that Elke’s high thread of a baby voice, singing a nonsense song? The one about the fishie in the lake. Are you lost, little fishie, are you lost? Where’s your mama, little fishie, where’s your mama?

They’d both liked that one, though not even a mother’s love could persuade Cenda her daughter had had anything but a tin ear.

Are you lost, little one? Where’d you go without your mama?

Cenda blinked, the tears sizzling on her cheeks. A log shifted and sparks leaped. She seemed to see Elke’s sturdy little body, running away from her, down that long shimmering tunnel, the curls bobbing, Booboo the furrybear toy clutched tight in one chubby hand.

Faithful Booboo. She didn’t need to turn her head even a fraction to locate him, because he sat on her pillow, keeping her company through the interminable nights.

In fact… Cenda uncurled her legs, wincing at her stiffness. How long had she been sitting before the fire? Shadows had pooled in the corners of the room. She rose and took two steps to the bed, almost upsetting the unlit lantern on the small side table in the process. Absently, she steadied it with one hand, even as she smoothed a palm over Booboo’s well-chewed ears. “Look, sweetie,” she whispered, picking him up and hugging him to her chest. She sank back into the sagging embrace of the chair. “There she almost is, my darling. Do you think I’m mad?”

Booboo refused to be drawn, so Cenda set him on her lap and leaned back, losing herself in the flames again. Yes, there was the curve of Elke’s cheek, the twist of a curl, fat little hands, fingers spread like a starryfish. In a strange way, the pain was welcome, the piercing agony of regret better than the odd numbness that had afflicted her for months, so that life went on around her, separated by a gray veil behind which people moved and spoke and existed. And touched her not at all.

A bright eye winked from the other side of a burning log. Cenda watched with complete attention, holding her breath. If she concentrated, she might see Elke’s face. A flame flickered like a tail, like an animal darting into the undergrowth. Cenda blinked. A tiny lizard lay on the log, its body sculpted of moving flame, miniscule claws gripping the charred wood.

“Oh,” she breathed, no more than the smallest exhalation.

The little creature tilted its head to one side, watching her carefully. Its eyes were the same shade of blue as the heart of flame.

Great Lady, what a sweet dream!

The seconds tiptoed past. From deep in the Enclave, Cenda heard the Moonsrise chant, the strange five-beat rhythm familiar, haunting. Her fellow wizards, the Pures, would be filing out into the twilight to raise the Dancers, to pay homage.

She hummed along under her breath. She could hold a tune, but only just. Choir Master used to insist she mime the more complex passages, but the flame beast didn’t seem to mind her vocal deficiencies. Its head bobbed and it crept closer along the burning log. “Pretty thing,” crooned Cenda, abandoning the chant, “sweet pretty thing.”

A second lizard crawled from between two glowing coals and Cenda’s smile widened, her fingers buried in Booboo’s fur. She was undoubtedly mad, but what did it matter? Singing softly, completely off-key, she gazed dreamily at her strange audience, her long body relaxed in the chair, one foot tapping time.

Now she had three, sitting on the tiles of the fireplace, each a jewel of flame, no longer than her middle finger. Steadily, they advanced, until the first reached the threadbare rug. At the first touch of a tiny claw, it began to smolder and Cenda laughed, the rusty sound so loud in the quiet room it startled her. “Watch the furnishings, little one.”

The fire lizard quivered, but held its ground. Then it made a dash for Cenda’s bare toes. She yelped and jerked, but she couldn’t move fast enough. A leap, a scramble and the little creature was sitting on her foot, hanging on with its talons, tail extended for balance.

Cenda froze. It didn’t burn. Sweet Lady, it didn’t burn!

That was— That was— She swallowed.

Pinpricks dug into her flesh, but the fire lizard’s body felt hot and smooth, like sun-warmed stone. Its little sides heaved and she could swear she felt its heartbeat flutter against the top of her foot. “Sshh,” she soothed. “Sshh. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Very slowly, she leaned down and extended her hand, the way she would to one of the Enclave’s cats. An excruciating pause and the creature stepped onto her longest finger, as delicately as a maiden lady. It paced across her palm, advancing until it reached her thundering pulse. There it lowered its head, nosed her skin. Apparently satisfied, it curled up in her palm and appeared to fall asleep.

“Goodness,” said Cenda, lowering her hand gingerly to her lap, next to Booboo. “Goodness.” How Elke would have loved them!

Sharp as a blade in the guts, it all came crashing back. My darling, oh my darling. My baby. A vise made of bitter regret closed around her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath.

Something tickled up the back of her calf. “Hey!”

The second lizard skittered over her knee and made a dash across her thigh, leaving a pitter-patter of scorched tracks on her shift. The third followed, right behind. Together, they made a leap for her forearm and curled around it, an improbable pair of exquisite bracelets. Completely bemused, Cenda watched their heads lift, the sapphire eyes glowing as they stared deep into her soul.

At her back, the latch clicked. A brisk voice said, “Five-it, Cenda, what do you think you’re doing? It’s freezing and you’re sitting in your— Aaaargh!”

* * * * *

Grayson of Concordia, known in a hundred dives on a hundred worlds as the Duke of Ombra, lay naked in the velvet dark, long fingers wrapped around his aching erection. Temptation besieged him.

It was never as good as when Shad did it.

He’d held out against Shad’s cool touch for almost a year this time, since long before he’d arrived on the small, crowded world of Sybaris.

Which was why he’d closed the rickety shutters and drawn the dusty curtains right across. No shadow could exist in darkness this total—Shad couldn’t exist.

He wouldn’t have to look at him, a man-shaped slice of midnight stretching over the floor and up the wall of the cheap inn room. He wouldn’t have to feel the shadow Magick smear his soul, remember the horror in his mother’s eyes that sunny winter’s day on the way home from Devotions, the first time she’d seen his shadow move.

All by itself.

The flick of her fingers in a warding gesture, her choked whisper. “Abomination!”

But his body didn’t care. It was never as good as when Shad did it.

* * * * *

Want more? Read the rest of Chapter 1.

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