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( Photo credit: James P. Mann via Foter.com / CC BY )

Things are kind of weird at this point on the calendar year–my day-job schedule is very light, but we’re heading into peak holiday season, so there are lots of other activities to take up the slack in our schedules.  I’m finalizing my goals for the next year, and working on a few last things to wrap up before the end of this year.  While I keep writing my shifter story. And watching good holiday movies, some of them more than once.  Some more than one time in a single day, if I can get away with it.

We have a day-trip to NYC planned soon, and I’m looking forward to that.  I like visiting New York, but have never been there during the holiday season, so I’m anticipating all sorts of fun there.

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In the meantime, I have a little snippet to share with you from Hunting Medusa.

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She pushed to her feet. “Are you making fun of me?”
He shook his head and felt water drip down the back of his neck. “Just making an observation.” He waited while she shimmied past him, and she seemed very careful not to touch him as she went. Kallan followed her out into the main area of the cave again, where she set the lantern on a ledge midway up the wall.
She faced him, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, her eyes troubled.

“Go ahead.” He’d been waiting. Ever since he’d opened his foolish mouth along the trail.
She caught her lower lip in her teeth, a tiny frown lining her brow. “You should get dry too,” she whispered at last.
When she turned away, grabbing her pack and retreating to the smaller chamber at the back, he felt some of the stress leave his shoulders but his stomach knotted painfully. Trying to figure out his next move, he dragged his wet shirt off over his head, then bent to unknot the wet laces of his boots.
It would never work. He knew it. If anyone had suggested to him that he’d fall for the Medusa, he would have laughed at them and then punched them bloody.
From the rear of the cave, he heard the same wet shushing noises of clothing hitting the stone floor, and he clenched his jaw, trying not to imagine her wet and naked. And failing.
“Andrea?”
Sudden silence.
“How many sleeping bags do you have back there?” He had to know.

The soft sounds resumed, this time more quietly so he assumed she was quickly pulling on dry clothes. “One. But there are extra blankets.” The reply was unsteady, as if she might be imagining the same things he was.
One sleeping bag. Of course. He shut his eyes for a second. As he went to his backpack, he unbuttoned his cargo pants, then tugged out dry clothing. His fingers were clumsy on the heavy material, made clumsier by the enticing images floating behind his eyes.
He shucked his wet pants and moved toward the front of the cave to dress.
A choked sound from Andrea made him freeze as he stuck his foot into his dry cargo pants. And every nerve in him hummed to life, zinging electricity to his groin.
Slowly, he straightened and turned just far enough to see Andrea still as a statue only a couple yards away. Her wide eyes were dark with surprise and something else.

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I hope you find a little time this week for relaxing amid all of the craziness.

 

 

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