Today’s snippet is about the moment. To me, the moment is when the hero and heroine’s world’s collide. That first intense moment where their gazes lock and they either hate each other, fall for each other, or…well, you’ll see.

From: Seduced by a Cajun Werewolf (Coming soon)

The rain fell in heavy drops, but she didn’t seem to notice. In the dim light of the street lamps, he could see her clearly now. Slowly, she lifted her hands and pushed back the thick fabric hiding her face. She was almost too beautiful to look at—and yet, Laurent couldn’t seem to look away.

He knew that face as well as he knew his own.

His breath left his lungs in a rush. Her eyes were just as blue as he remembered, only now they seemed to glow. Her skin was still dewy and perfect, like that of a fine porcelain doll. Ethereal. Her brows were perfect arches, the same charcoal brown he’d been fascinated by all those years ago. Even in the darkness, he could make out the thick lashes that fringed her eyes.

Those eyes…so blue, so beautiful. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut by a mule. Damn, she was beautiful. But his mind raced with questions. Most importantly, what was she doing standing in the middle of a street in New Orleans when she’d died two hundred years ago in France?

His arms and legs felt heavy, and he realized he was getting drenched. But it didn’t matter. He’d stand in a hurricane if it meant finding out if she, if Violet, were real. Or if he’d finally lost his mind and was only envisioning her.

Her lips were just as rosy as he remembered; her nose as perfectly shaped, her face oval and oh so familiar.

She remained silent. Did she recognize him?

He stepped closer, silently praying to the gods, Fates, and anyone else who would listen. Sniffing the air, he tried to catch her scent but she was downwind.

“Violet?” He didn’t like the husky tone of his voice. Hated the weakness in his knees, the soreness that resided where his heart had once been. Loathed the desire he still felt for a woman long dead.

Could his eyes be playing tricks on him? Could this woman really be his little Violet? After all these years?

Not trusting himself or his luck, he took another step. She lifted her hands to her lips, almost as if she were praying. Her fingernails were long and polished a glossy red.

A sharp ache erupted inside his chest, and he reached up to rub it. His hand brushed something, and he looked down to see a dart sticking out of his skin. Plucking it out, he stared at the woman before him. Then she and the rest of the world went dark.

Visit the other Saturday Snippet Authors:

Jody Wallace
Emma Petersen
Lissa Matthews
Mari Carr
McKenna Jeffries
Taige Crenshaw
Delilah Devlin
Eliza Gayle
TJ Michaels
Lauren Dane
Helen Kay Dimon
Leah Braemel

Ready for a passionate love story that will make you melt? Are you following the Stormy Weather series?

Violet is the only woman Laurent has ever loved. But she disappeared from his life over two hundred years ago. He has nothing left to live for until he wakes up chained to the bed of a woman who is Violet’s twin in every way. Except the most important one.

She doesn’t remember him. In fact she’s been hired to kill him. He’s not afraid of death, but he is afraid of losing her again. Can he awaken long forgotten memories before its too late?

Bound and Determined is the third book in the Bestselling Stormy Weather series. Wouldn’t you like to meet Laurent and see who’s behind all the matchmaking? Pick up your copy of Bound and Determined, book 3 in the series, today! http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/bound.htm

Also available are Books 1 & 2. Get The Cajun’s Captive here: http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/cajunscaptive.htm and Bitten In The Bayou here: http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/bitteninthebayou.htm

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And now for that excerpt…

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The woman he loved more than life itself had been hired to assassinate him, and here she was dancing around him in her lingerie, trying to slice him to bits. Yes, the Fates had a brutal sense of humor.

“Why are you not afraid of me?” She stopped to look at him. Her heaving breasts threatened to spill over the top of the lacey cups of her bra. Standing in the doorway, with rain splattering her feet, she was a vision. Lithe, toned, and delicious.

“I used to kill your kind for a living.” He cocked his head to the side, watching her through his lashes as his words sank in.

She let out a piercing battle cry and leapt at him. He caught her wrists and held them high over her head.

“I will kill you,” she promised. Her features hardened, and her tone was filled with fury.

“I’m not afraid of death.”

She cocked her head to the side, as if she hadn’t understood him. That glossy hair he longed to run his fingers through trailed over her shoulder in a way he found far too alluring for their present situation.

“My turn,” he said. “Why do you kill?”

“Because it’s what I was trained to do.”

“You aren’t very good at it.”

She moved so quickly he hardly had time to react. Her blade sliced into his arm, and he growled low in his throat as he spun out of the way.

“Then again, I’m not used to fighting a mere woman. Perhaps women are not made to fight. To kill.”

“Would you like to see my kill book?” Her fangs peeked over her lips again.

“Not particularly.”

When she swung this time, he kicked the sword out of her hand. She hissed like a cat who’d just had its tail stepped on.

“Perhaps your heart just isn’t in it.” He gave her a dark, lingering look. And before she could reply, turned and walked out onto the balcony.

Rain poured down upon him, drenching his jeans and soaking his hair. Through the thick precipitation, he could make out a few landmarks and skyscrapers. They were on the top floor of a building. The balcony stretched left and right. The thunderstorm carried the salty scent of the ocean and put on a great light show.

A sharp pain seared his back.

“You’re stupid to turn your back on me, wolf,” she said, her voice raised above the roar of falling water.

“I told you—I’m not afraid of death.”

The point of her sword moved to the base of his neck. A chill broke out over his skin. The feeling…couldn’t be fear. He’d thought about it for so long; had welcomed it on more than one occasion. All this time, he’d thought that she, Violet, was dead.

Life had seemed so dim. It hadn’t mattered how many women had graced his bed. How many parties he’d attended, or how much money he’d made. Travel, food, and life itself had become tasteless and boring. Death would take away the pain. The monotony.

Slowly, he turned to face her. Her hair was plastered against her porcelain skin, and her eyes had turned that weird shade of blue and silver. Water dripped from her nose and ran like a river between her breasts, disappearing beneath the lacey edge of her panties.

“Who hired you?” The tip of her weapon was only inches away from his throat, and he was completely vulnerable. A rare feeling.

She frowned. “Why do you care?”

“Don’t you think a dying man deserves to know who paid for his execution?”

“I don’t know the person’s name.”

“You lie.”

“I do not.” The wind picked up, driving the rain into his skin like BB pellets. She seemed unaffected by the sharp, stinging sensation. Her face remained placid, as if she’d done this, had stood in front of a man ready to carry out his death, a thousand times.

Perhaps she had.

“Well, Violet, I have nothing left to live for.” He knelt in front of her, wondering if she’d go through with it. Perhaps he should call his brother and cousins. But he did not want them to think him a coward. Resigned, yes.

With that little piece of hope inside him dead, he had nothing left on which to cling. Everything—his life, their future, was in her hands.

Buy it:

http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/bound.htm