Rosalie Stanton

Romance With Pitchforks

EROTIC ROMANCE AUTHOR.

PRODUCT MAY CONTAIN SACRILEGIOUS HUMOR, IRREVERENT BELIEFS, AND TOO-HOT-FOR-PRIME-TIME SEX SCENES.

VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED.

Six Sentence...Monday?

I can't believe I forgot this again. I'll blame it on my jet-lag. Seriously, I've missed Six-Sentence Sunday by a day for the past few weeks. No more! If I have to make my own day, so bloody be it. First six lines from three different manuscripts.

Working title: Run Like Hell (erotic paranormal romance)

The guy at the bar had been making eyes at her all night. This was nothing new, as men had a habit of making eyes at her wherever she went. What was new was the stirring in her belly and the excitement that sparked her blood to life. It had been a good long time since Sabryna’s sex drive kicked into gear, especially to the point where quickie against an alley wall with a stranger seemed like something worth exploring.

And her new fan was a looker. Tall, broad shouldered, strong jawline, icy blue eyes, and a smile packed full of promise.

Working title: Blood Oath (Urban Fantasy)

Until this moment, Elyssa Wilder had never seen a vampire before, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. There were the horror stories, of course, and the things she suspected Steven boasted about around the dinner table, but an actual in-the-flesh vampire was something entirely new. And discovering a vampire hunched in the corner of her library was not how she had thought to end her night.

Elyssa drew in a steady breath and hazarded a few steps forward. The vampire’s eyes didn’t leave hers; he met her curious stare with cold detachment, though from the ways his fingers wiggled and how he drew in a few reportedly unneeded breaths hinted he was just as unnerved as she. A steady wave of blood leaked from his nose, providing a striking contrast against his pale and otherwise flawless skin.

Working Title: In Sheep's Clothing (Erotic Paranormal Romance)

Okay. Fine. So she thought he was hot. What was wrong with that?

Ginny quickly averted her gaze from the lead singer’s haunted face. For the past three weeks, no matter what she told herself—no matter how many pep talks she gave the mirror, no matter how many promises she made not to be one of those girls—every night when she clocked off work at the diner, her feet aimed themselves in the direction of the Electric Panther.

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There we have it! Maybe next week I'll remember to post them on Sunday. If not, there are worse ways to kick off a Monday, I suppose.

© Rosalie Stanton 2016