(Tl;Dr) Contest at the bottom of the page.
Heart “Mac” MacKenzie is a tough
police lieutenant in the NYPD servicing the rough streets of
Brooklyn, New York. She’s a strong leader who doesn’t mind
getting in the trenches with the men and women she leads at the
seventy-fourth precinct. Her house, her people, and her family—both
blue and blood—are the only things that matter. She would live and
die for the blue wall that shields her from a traumatic past.
When her captain assigns her a
high-profile kidnapping case that she doesn’t want, and insists she
allows the missing girl’s irritatingly sexy uncle to tag along
during the investigation, her blood boils. Mac has no choice but to
do what she always does when things get out of control, lay down the
law—her law.
Kenneth Searlington is a rich playboy
from the Upper East Side of Manhattan. With stunning looks and an
unlimited source of wealth, he’s used to being the center of
everyone’s attention, especially the women that he comes in contact
with in high society. His life is fun and carefree until his niece,
Merridith is kidnapped, and he’s forced to seek out the help of his
godfather an NYPD police captain, David Porter.
Afraid and frustrated, Kenneth defers
to his uncle’s expertise and his promise that he’s putting his
best cop on the case, Lieutenant MacKenzie. When Kenneth discovers
“Mac” is actually a sexy as sin lady cop with a fiery temper to
match, he decides mixing a little business with pleasure might be
just the thing he needs to distract him from long-standing family
issues that are trying to crawl their way back into the forefront of
his life.
Each used to
having their own way, can these two work together long enough to
bring an innocent child home? Or will they settle their differences
and unyielding attraction in a more carnal way and get right down to
the heart of the matter?
~#~
Excerpt:
Kenneth watched
Heart climb the stairs two at a time. She went into what had now
become their bedroom and headed straight for the walk-in closet. He
heard the keypad beeps from the gun safe as she dialed in the
combination code.
He felt a slight
sense of relief. Heart was silent-angry. That was never a good
thing. At least if she was this mad and her weapons were locked
away, he stood a chance of surviving to see the next day.
She re-entered the
bedroom and walked directly past him. He heard her quick footsteps
run down the stairs. He followed, saw her head for the basement
door, and disappear into the lower level of the house.
He walked downstairs
to find her standing in the middle of the gym with her arms crossed
against the expanse of her heaving chest.
“Baby, I…” She
put up her hand and stopped his words. She turned toward the stereo,
turned it on, and fiddled with the dials until he heard Maxwell’s
“Bad Habit” pouring from the speakers.
It was late and she
had the sound turned up on damn.
Fortunately for their neighbors, the basement was soundproofed.
When the house was built, the original owner had wanted a place in
the house where he could make as much noise as he wanted without
disturbing the neighbors. By the looks of it, Heart planned to
benefit from that fact. He wasn’t quite sure if he was going to
benefit from it or not yet.
“What’s with the
music being so loud?” He yelled over the driving base.
“I want to make
sure that the neighbors don’t hear you scream,” she said, face
straight, muscles tightening in her arms as she squeezed her hands
into tight fists.”
“Shit,” was all
he could say. He knew he was in trouble now.
She rushed him…that
was the only way to explain how she was standing across from him one
moment, and sitting on top of him the next. In a matter of seconds
he was on the floor; face up, with her sitting on top of him.
“Heart, this is
not funny. Get up so we can talk.”
She didn’t move,
didn’t even make a sound. She just looked at him, through him with
sharp brown eyes cutting into his soul. His hands had somehow ended
up near his head when he fell. He went to pull them down and felt
resistance. He tried to move them again and heard a metal clinking
sound above his head. He moved his head around until he could see
the shiny glint of handcuffs. She’d cuffed him to the weight
machine they’d landed in front of when she’d taken him to the
floor. This was the very same weight machine that was bolted to the
floor and immovable.
“Heart, this isn’t
funny. What are you doing? Why did you cuff me?”
Her face was still
tight with anger, her body stiff and poised for attack.
“Kenneth, do you
know that I hate watching you get dressed. I hate it because I hate
that anything else in this world gets to touch your beautiful
alabaster skin as closely as I do. I want to be the only thing
draped over you so intimately. Not the fine garments you wear, and
certainly not that bitch, Faith.”
He watched her pull
something from her back pocket. At first it looked like a heavy
handle, but with a flick of her wrist, it became a knife.
“Heart?”
She ran the dull
side of the knife across his lips and said, “Ssssh.”
He swallowed
carefully as he watched her remove the knife from his lips and slice
the sharp side down the length of his shirt, causing the two sides to
peel away from his body like water.
She continued the
slide of the blade through his pants until he was lying beneath her
naked and at her mercy.
“I’m an only
child, Kenneth. I never really learned how to share. I’ll be
damned if I’m going to share you. So hear me now. If you want
that bitch, be with that bitch, and leave me the fuck alone. But if
here is where you want to be, keep that bitch, and any other out of
your face. I. Don’t. Play. That. Shit.”
He nodded his head
quickly. He knew he hadn’t perpetrated that kiss with Faith, but
him lying naked beneath her while she had a sharp blade dancing
between her fingers didn’t seem the most appropriate time to point
out whose fault this entire fallout was.
She brought down the
hand holding the knife with a hard and fast stabbing motion. He
flinched, anticipating pain, but realized soon that there was no
pain. She hadn’t stabbed him. He turned his head slightly to the
side and saw the shiny blade next to him, sticking out of the floor.
Heart grabbed him by
his chin and allowed one word to slip through her tightly ground jaw,
“Mine!”
She slammed her
mouth down on his and kissed him hard, sharp teeth biting into his
flesh. His skin rent and he tasted the bitter metallic tang of
blood. He should have been pissed, he really should have felt
afraid, after all, this woman had rendered him helpless and
brandished a weapon in front of him. He was shaking, his heart was
pounding, and his breath was coming out in rapid tufts of air from
his heaving chest. But surprisingly, there was no fear
only…interest.
His dick jumped
beneath her. He was handcuffed with a knife sticking out of the
floor next to his head and he was so turned on his dick could cut
granite.
What the fuck is
wrong with me?
~#~
BioA native of Brooklyn, New York, LaQuette spends her time catering to her three distinct personalities: Wife, Mother, and Educator. Writing: her escape from everyday madness has always been a friend and comforter. She loves writing and devouring romance novels. Although she possesses a graduate degree in English Lit, she'd forego Shakespeare any day to read something hot, lusty, and romantic.
She
loves hearing from readers and discussing the crazy characters that
are running around in her head causing so much trouble. Contact her
on Facebook,
Twitter,
her website,
Amazon,
and her Facebook group, LaQuette’s
Lounge.
~#~
Interview
(note to long time readers: these are not my questions! I accidentally sent her the sheet of questions that someone else sent me... hehe... but they're good questions and unfortunately, I don't remember where they came from!)
What is the worst thing you’ve written, how did you learn or know it was bad, and what did you learn from it?
Everything that I either have published or will publish will fall into that category of worst thing written at some point before it meets the world. For instance, I always hate my first drafts. I always feel as if they are lacking in something. My latest novel, Heart of the Matter, which releases tomorrow is a perfect example of that.
When I first wrote the story, the bones were good, the foundation was strong; however, the dialogue and the execution of the story development were just off. I had to grow as a writer and reader before I could fashion it in to something that others should read.
Why did you start writing and when did you decide to go professional?
As far back as I can remember into my childhood, writing has always been my preferable method of expression. I just feel writing gives me the opportunity to think about what I want to say and fashion a complete response.
I can’t really say when I decided to write “professionally.” I just remember reading romance novels at sixteen and thinking, “I don’t like the endings to some of these books. If I were the author, I would have done it this way or that way.” After thinking that a few times I finally asked myself, “Well then, why don’t you?” That moment happened about twenty years ago, and that’s when I began writing my very first romance novel. It sucked to high-heaven, but just like Heart of the Matter, it has good bones. I’m going to go back and make it something other people should read. lol
Do you write in more than one genre? Which ones and which do you like the best?
Contemporary African-American and Interracial romance is the lane I find myself in right now. There are characters from an m/m romance that keep making noise in my head, but I’m not quite ready to listen yet, still learning, but some day…
Do you read other author’s books when you’re writing? If so, do you read the same genre or something different?
I read all across the romance genre. I find it all really fascinating. It doesn’t matter if it’s paranormal, m/m, ménage, quandrangles, mystery, medical drama, military, sci-fi, as long as the romance is at the center of it, I will read it.
What is the most difficult part of the entire writing process for you? Queries, pitches, editing..etc.
Editing by far has to be the most challenging thing. It can be a long and arduous process. Conventions of grammar aside, editing is much more than checking punctuation and subject-verb agreement. The task of trying to weave words together in a particular fashion so that the reader, no matter their background or station in life, can understand not just the literal expression of your words, but the sentiment behind them, the actual meaning of them, that is very difficult. Sometimes I toil over a line, a phrase, or word for what seems a ridiculous amount of time because I want to make sure the sentiment is being expressed correctly. Thank God for people like Elizabeth Lance. She’s a wonderful editor who is simply awesome at what she does. Her superpower is that she manages to present my work in a spiffy package without trying to change my words in to her words. That is a talent right there.
If you could have the same type of career as any author currently publishing who would it be and why?
You know, I think every author at some point dreams of having the type of success like someone J.K. Rowling has experienced in her career. But the funny thing is, even though I might daydream sometimes about having Ms. Rowling’s success, I don’t want to be her. I want to walk my own path and experience my own growth as a writer. I want to keep doing this until I learn to really master this skill, and maybe, if I’m fortunate, and I work extremely hard, maybe my work might be just as well received as hers. Until then, I’m so happy with all my wins. Especially my most recent win—being signed to Hot Ink Press.
No comments:
Post a Comment