Query:
Bred to strike hard and fast, Lysander belongs to an elite guild of assassins known as The Shadows. When their latest mission goes awry, he’s betrayed by his own and left for dead. From the depths of oblivion, Lysander awakens to a ravishing angel caressing him in the most intimate of places…and to find he’s crippled and immobile. With the police hunting The Shadows, he’s trapped with no choice but to claim he has no recollection of who he is.
Spirited country miss Lady Olivia Woodward is mortified when she’s caught stroking him down there. In her defense, she was bathing him. The enigmatic hero saved her father from a harrowing assassination attempt; the least she could do is nurse him back to health. But the man defies all rules of convalescence. He’s arrogant. Exasperating. Infuriating. And gorgeous as sin. Attraction sizzles as tempers fly, clashes of ire caving to torrid, delirious pleasure.
Drawn by her tender compassion, Lysander knows every kiss is stolen, every touch forbidden. His past will resurface, and when it does, it will destroy Olivia’s trust...for he was sent to kill her father, not save him. As the police close in on unraveling his identity, The Shadows lurk in the darkness, reminding Lysander to finish his task. But they’re not the only ones after Olivia’s father. A deranged madman is on the loose and will stop at nothing to annihilate Olivia’s entire family. With the clock ticking down, Lysander must choose. His loyalty torn, will he betray his brethren and risk everything for Olivia? Or will he stand by his allegiance, and lose the only woman he’s ever loved?
250:
The seductive sway of her hips set his teeth on edge.
The flame-haired minx pranced atop a wooden table, shimmying to the suggestive beat of the piano. Strands of silk clung to her like floating serpents in vibrant hues of orange, purple and red. Men leaned closer, straining, greedily drinking in the sight of her alabaster skin with a lusty smack of their tobacco-stained lips. The smoke-filled joint crawled with trollops, yet the blokes were mesmerized, captivated by this voluptuous, earthy gypsy.
One male was markedly less enthralled.
Lysander glared at her.
Not that she paid him any mind. She seldom did, these days.
Not a minute ago, she’d been onstage, the platform serving a good five-foot buffer from the salivating rough-and-tumble audience. Lysander had turned away to order ale from a passing tavern wench. When he glanced back, his heart stuttered. She was no longer there. He forced down his panic, scanning the dim-lit pub. He discarded the potbellied drunkards, their tattered clothing dirtied from toiling on the wharves, fresh off a hard day’s work and out to spend their coin. The whores with their smudged kohl-lined eyes and brittle smiles, one hand pleasing a man, the other dipping into his purse.
Where the bloody hell was she? He clenched his fists, about to muscle his way through the horde when he caught sight of her. His anger pulsed.
The buffer zone was lost.
Halfway across the bar, she danced on a table, toying with a man’s neckerchief. The beetle-nosed troll gazed at her adoringly, more than willing to let her unwind the linen from his neck.
Bred to strike hard and fast, Lysander belongs to an elite guild of assassins known as The Shadows. When their latest mission goes awry, he’s betrayed by his own and left for dead. From the depths of oblivion, Lysander awakens to a ravishing angel caressing him in the most intimate of places…and to find he’s crippled and immobile. With the police hunting The Shadows, he’s trapped with no choice but to claim he has no recollection of who he is.
Spirited country miss Lady Olivia Woodward is mortified when she’s caught stroking him down there. In her defense, she was bathing him. The enigmatic hero saved her father from a harrowing assassination attempt; the least she could do is nurse him back to health. But the man defies all rules of convalescence. He’s arrogant. Exasperating. Infuriating. And gorgeous as sin. Attraction sizzles as tempers fly, clashes of ire caving to torrid, delirious pleasure.
Drawn by her tender compassion, Lysander knows every kiss is stolen, every touch forbidden. His past will resurface, and when it does, it will destroy Olivia’s trust...for he was sent to kill her father, not save him. As the police close in on unraveling his identity, The Shadows lurk in the darkness, reminding Lysander to finish his task. But they’re not the only ones after Olivia’s father. A deranged madman is on the loose and will stop at nothing to annihilate Olivia’s entire family. With the clock ticking down, Lysander must choose. His loyalty torn, will he betray his brethren and risk everything for Olivia? Or will he stand by his allegiance, and lose the only woman he’s ever loved?
250:
The seductive sway of her hips set his teeth on edge.
The flame-haired minx pranced atop a wooden table, shimmying to the suggestive beat of the piano. Strands of silk clung to her like floating serpents in vibrant hues of orange, purple and red. Men leaned closer, straining, greedily drinking in the sight of her alabaster skin with a lusty smack of their tobacco-stained lips. The smoke-filled joint crawled with trollops, yet the blokes were mesmerized, captivated by this voluptuous, earthy gypsy.
One male was markedly less enthralled.
Lysander glared at her.
Not that she paid him any mind. She seldom did, these days.
Not a minute ago, she’d been onstage, the platform serving a good five-foot buffer from the salivating rough-and-tumble audience. Lysander had turned away to order ale from a passing tavern wench. When he glanced back, his heart stuttered. She was no longer there. He forced down his panic, scanning the dim-lit pub. He discarded the potbellied drunkards, their tattered clothing dirtied from toiling on the wharves, fresh off a hard day’s work and out to spend their coin. The whores with their smudged kohl-lined eyes and brittle smiles, one hand pleasing a man, the other dipping into his purse.
Where the bloody hell was she? He clenched his fists, about to muscle his way through the horde when he caught sight of her. His anger pulsed.
The buffer zone was lost.
Halfway across the bar, she danced on a table, toying with a man’s neckerchief. The beetle-nosed troll gazed at her adoringly, more than willing to let her unwind the linen from his neck.
Hey, congrats! I'm relaying this message because of a commenting technical problem. Ms. Pooja Menon would like to see your first 50 pages, synopsis, and pitch. Please send to pooja (at) kimberleycameron (dot) com (make sure to replace "at" with "@" and so on) with "The Writer's Tank Request: [TITLE OF MANUSCRIPT, Genre]" in the subject line.
ReplyDelete'Beetle-nosed troll' Love it! =)
ReplyDeletePlease email the first 75 pages, your bio and synopsis in ONE Word document attachment to sandy@lperkinsagency.com
ReplyDelete