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Thursday, July 7, 2011

Twin Excerpts Day: "My Life As A Dog" and "Undercover Trouble"

. Thursday, July 7, 2011

Time for two short excerpts from two new books! Check them:
BLURB:
My Life As A DogMY LIFE AS A DOG: DrakeMartin is a unique shape shifter. Instead of transforming into a ferociousanimal, he morphs into an eight pound Yorkshire terrier. Six year old KadyHartley rescued him from an animal shelter. As "Precious" he was her "bestest friend" for twelve years, leaving when she started college. Ten years later they cross paths. He's a PI; she's FBI. Continuing to keep his abilities secret from her, he follows Kady as she pursues a case. Accompany them on an odyssey to New Orleans investigating human traffickers and watch the fur fly. To protect Kady, Drake remains in the shadows. For her sake he putsaside his loner life and accepts protection and assistance of the local shifterpack under its leader, the Sufi. The pack and Drake soon discover theyhave a common cause, leading to a bloody confrontation with the Russian humantraffickers. During the adventure, will Drake and Kady rekindle their loving friendship orwill it become much more?

EXCERPT

"He’s a Yorkie, a Yorkshire terrier, according to our vet’s examination, a purebred and in perfect health. Clean him up and he will be beautiful." Unhitching a leash from the wall, she lifted me from the cage to the floor. "Yorkies are a popular breed and live a long time. Your daughter will be able to grow up with him." Winking at me, because I had her eating out of my paws since Monday, the volunteer added, "See how he prances around. Yorkies are so full of spirit. I just love this one to pieces. I’d take him home myself, but we already have two cats and two dogs. My husband would leave me if I brought home another pet."

Four feet tall, sandy hair, blue eyes, and a breath smelling of lemon drops nodded, making up her mind. "He’s the one I want."

That’s how my life changed in a split second. I’m Drake Martin, part-time hit man, most of the time private eye, lover, and shape shifter. This is the story of my life as a dog and the little girl named Kady Hartley who changed it forever.

After botching my last gig, I cleared out in a hurry with the sheriff hot on my trail. A local drug king pin had hired me to assist one of his dealers from the burdens of this life and into the next. Another dealer, who knew of the plan, rolled on us to lighten a pretty big distribution charge hanging over his head. The king pin split to Colombia without telling me about the trap set by the local minions of the law. To get away, I morphed to animal form. In that kind of situation, nobody pays attention to a scruffy little dog skulking along a shadowy wall. While a passel of confused cops addressed their two-volt, one cylinder deductive powers to the problem of how I slipped their trap, I put as much distance between us as my five inch legs could cover. A couple of blocks later, I felt good about my chances, only to turn a corner and damn if I didn’t run into the town’s dog catcher who immediately spotted the lack of collar and tags around my neck. In recent years my once lightning getaway had lost a step and no amount of terrier squirming or snarl could break his expert grip. Cooling my heels in the cage on the way to the shelter, I realized, with rising terror, that I was in my worst fix in over a century of life and regretted not morphing to human form to send this hyper-conscientious nimrod to his eternal reward.

While other shape shifters turn into formidable critters like wolves or bears, I become an eight pound Yorkie. It is a mixed blessing. I’m not worth shit against another shifter, but except for diligent public servants of the animal control department and women, I attract only casual attention. No one perceives me as dangerous or threatening, and the girls love me to pieces. At least it’s better than my friend Paco in Long Island who becomes a chipmunk.

The little girl named Kady and her family represented my best chance to escape. I knew the shelter’s rules. After a week as a guest of the city’s taxpayers, a sad little man euthanized the unfortunate creatures not adopted. As a last resort, I could return to human form, but not while in the suitcase-sized cage. The collar they fitted around my neck also presented a problem. The expansion of my neck as I turned to human couldn’t break it, and it’d nip off my head before I could slip out of it. When out of the cage, I was never alone, even in the dog run. If they removed the collar, imagine the staff’s shock at discovering a six foot naked male in the dog run. After recovering their senses, they’d cart me off to a psych ward, with little chance of escape. The drugs administered there mess up morphs. Once I teamed with other shifters to spring one of our own who came out unable to morph for months, as well as not knowing what year it was. That’s how I met Paco.

Clearly, adoption represented the better way out.

I ratcheted up my charm, best puppy eyes along with a surfeit of face licking. As usual, it worked.

On the drive home, held in the arms of an energetic if not hyperactive six-year-old, I thought about older females and their interestingly different embraces. Adult females, when I’m in human form, entice me to do naughty things to their bodies. Now, I sat on the lap of a considerably younger one. My stubby tail wagged in a blur while an alert face on the other end flirted outrageously with anyone who glanced my way. The gaze of blue eyes, like marbles, washed over me. In that moment, I felt the stirring of a connection with a human unlike any other. After a few minutes she hugged and kissed me with unabashed love the way little girls do with their prized dolls.

"Kady, don’t get so close until we clean him up," Mom gently admonished from the front seat. "You don’t know where he’s been."

"What are you going to name him, honey?" Dad asked.

Profiled by the windshield, his head was a tan blob with sandy hair plastered across it. I remember hoping she wouldn’t choose a stupid name like Fido or Charlie. No offense to any dudes with those names, but after all, I was a purebred and all male. I deserved a manly name befitting my proud and feisty, if diminutive stature, maybe Killer or Spike.

Kady held my face in a pair of small chubby hands. Her infectious smile, one I came to know well, melted me to slush. Gaps showed where two baby teeth had been. In another place the crown of a new tooth peeked above a gum. With a loving gaze, she looked deep into my eyes and softly said, "I think I’m calling you Precious."


Featured beginning today on:
http://rawiyaserotica.blogspot.com/2011/05/cynthia-and-mike-arsauga-creating-my.html

Book Trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADvZ1EEN21U

Cynthia Arsuaga Erotic Romance Author
http://cynthiaarsuaga.weebly.com | http://mikearsuaga.weebly.com

~~~~~


Undercover TroubleUndercover Trouble - a sensual romantic suspense  

Excerpt:
"I'm fed up! What do you think, Spooks? Should I go over and give the rider a piece of my mind? It's early for his nightly trip; he's probably going out again at his usual time."
The small terrier-mix looked up. His amber melting gaze had won Jen's heart and coerced her into choosing him from a pathetic batch of dogs. His adoring watchfulness wasn't calming her heart this night. Spooky appeared to know what she meant though, because he glanced toward the other cottage and plunked his gray, curly-haired body on the top step.

He wagged his tail at the prospect of excitement.
"Okay. Wait `til I get a flashlight."
Rather than take the road, Jen chose a shortcut through the trees.

The brambles clawing at her arms irritated her further. At the back of the log structure, she rounded the tail end of the contraption causing such a flurry in her life. In the dim light from the cottage's
windows, she noticed the Harley-Davidson logo in relief across the gas tank. The red of the letters matched the fury between her temples. She stifled the urge to knock over the gleaming black machine.

Jen rapped three times on the front door, then stooped to push Spooky's enthusiastic paws off her legs. The door jerked open to leave her staring at a pair of huge scuffed leather boots. She took her time
straightening up to consider her best approach. By the time she confronted him, her face had heated as though she'd stood too close to steaming coals in a sauna. Her brain hissed a warning. Spooky
plopped down his bottom and stared at the human towering above him.

"What do you want?" the deep, raspy voice boomed.

She ignored having to look up so high to meet his eyes. "I have a problem, otherwise I wouldn't be here."
"Your car broke down?" After giving Jen's figure a lecherous once over, the man stepped past her to the edge of the porch and peered down his pitch-black driveway.
She glanced in at the cozy, pine-walled interior and noted a loft overlooking a stone-faced fireplace. She turned, and with the inside light now illuminating him, swept her eyes over his brown shoulder-length shaggy hair and scruffy beard. He looked like something from a Werewolves R Us TV show. Two gold earrings glistened from one ear lobe, adding to the glimmer of three chains that dripped
from his neck. His tanned, wind-worn cheeks made it difficult to judge his age, but she suspected he was at least a couple of years older than her own thirty-two. Jen stiffened her backbone.
"I live next door. I should have said, `we' have a problem."
"We do?" His eyebrows lifted.
"Your motorbike is wrecking my evening's peace. The noise wakes me up when you return."
"Hold it right there! It isn't a motorbike! It's a Harley-Davidson. Motorbikes are for pussies."
When she noticed his size, she intended to remain calm and controlled, but his tone made her want to throw flames. "To me they're all the same because they have two wheels and an engine that rumbles loud enough to wake the dead. Is it necessary to rev up when you ride past my cabin? Do you have to be coming and going at all hours of the night? Some people like to get a good night's rest, you know."
The hulk checked his watch and scowled. "It's not bedtime yet."
"It's not right now, but my point is that you'll probably come past later. That's when I'm asleep or trying to sleep. And that's why I'm here now, to..." Damn. She was babbling. She didn't need to explain.
"What's that thing at your feet, a mop?"
She looked down at Spooky sitting meekly beside her. Some enforcer he was. "That's my dog."

Suddenly, Jen wondered what on earth had possessed her to be so foolish. She'd come here alone and angry at God-knows-who. She had to learn to keep a tight rein on her temper.

The aftermath of her last outburst was the reason she'd come to the lake in the first place.

"He's not much of a dog."
Temper be damned. She scowled and said, "Well, he's not a pussy, either. You didn't answer my questions about revving up your engine when you pass my cottage."

"I wasn't aware I was revving up anything." The Neanderthal peered down at her, then scrutinized the darkness. "Want to come in and discuss this?"
"No!" She shivered. "Look, I don't want to be a pain. I just want you to be more considerate and keep the noise level down."
The neighbor stepped onto the six-inch high threshold and stretched his arm to the doorjamb, facing her. A heavy drift of body odor invaded her nose, forcing her to move back. Her eyes flitted along the
football-player shoulders attached to arms so firm and thick his tee shirted short sleeves had to stretch tight to enclose them. She was thankful his sleeves hid his armpits; the thought of seeing a nest of
hair under each arm was enough to make her puke.

A sarcastic smile glided across his tightened mouth. "It's hard to quiet a Harley. They're made to rock your world."

 
Love, light, and laughter!
Jocelyn Modo

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