The No-Kiss Blogfest (3rd Ed.)!

Yes, folks, it’s that time again. The irrepressible Frankie Diane’s hosting her annual tribute to almost-smooches, and since we’re co-hosts of our periodic Philly Lit Nights, she made it clear that in no way, shape, or form could I skip posting for a blogfest she’s hosting. (Like the rhyme there? I thought it was nice.)

And yes, I need to post the winner of my Random Monday Gaiman Giveaway. I’ll do that this week, I promise.

But in the meantime….

Here’s an excerpt from one of my works-in-progress. It’s the first draft, and completely unedited, but it’s the only thing I’ve got that fits teh blogfest rulez right now. So, for your delectation and delight, here’s an almost kiss between two characters who, shall we say, have a bit of a, uh, stormy relationship. Yup.

*

She tries to brush past me. I touch her wrist. She reacts.

In a sudden, convulsive gesture, she twitches aside, grabs my wrist, and twists. I grunt as my arm bends at an acute angle. Instinct kicks in.

I slam my knuckles against her forearm, yank loose from her grip. She throws a punch at my solar plexus. I block, counterattack. A flurry of close-range blows—fists, elbows, knees. We’re aiming for the cripple points. Arm-lock, break, head-lock, break, fist to the kidney, the neck. We’re in close and dirty. She shoves me backward. I grab her arm and twist. She cries out softly, spins, snatches my free hand, bends it to the breaking point.

We pause, our harsh breathing the only sound in the room. Pain throbs through my nervous system.

My back is against the wall. She’s got my right hand in a painful lock; I have her free arm twisted behind her back. Her knee is jammed against my thigh, the sharp toe of her boot grinding into my calf. Our chests are separated only by her arm, plunging diagonally between us to keep my right hand immobilized. Her face is very close to mine.

Strands of hair have fallen across her cheeks. Her eyes flash fire at me. Her breath hisses against my cheek. Moisture glistens on her forehead, in the hollow of her throat. Her lips are skinned back from her teeth. All I can smell is her skin.

“Enough,” I say through my teeth. “Drop it, darlin’.”

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” she hisses , pushing harder on my hyperextended fingers.

I gasp and yank her arm further out of position—her shoulder is near dislocation, now. She cries out softly.

“I said enough, T.” I take a measured breath. “I’m going to let go.”

Her body quivers with strain. I can feel her heat shimmering across the space separating us. Her gaze rakes my face.

After a silent three-count, I release her. Her lock on my fingers lasts a moment longer, then she lets go as well. She slides her arm from between us, flexes her stretched shoulder gently. But she hasn’t stepped back.

I stare into her eyes. This close, I can see every crimson crease in her lips, every mascaraed eyelash. Her breath is shallow. I reach up.

Her cheek is smooth beneath my palm. The air in the room is suddenly electric, humming with expectation.

“Tarja,” I say, softly.

Her tongue flickers out to moisten her lips.

I lean closer. Her lips part.

She pulls away. “No,” she says. “No.”

*

So you know, folks, that’s totally not how the scene ends in the manuscript. If you’re curious about how it really does end…well, you’ll have to wait till it’s published, then, won’t you? #tease

Anyhow, pop on over to Frankie’s blog and browse the other entries via the Mr. Linky, won’t you? ‘Cause what’s better than an epic tease to brighten your day? >.>

Happy reading, folks. Cheers!