Sunday Guest Star: Sharon Hamilton!
Hello out there in the land of Cheyenne McCray! I want to thank the talented Cheyenne for having me, and letting me “litter” (lol) her site today.
I’m Sharon Hamilton, and I write in two different genres. What I’m known for are my SEALs, but I also write hot Guardian and Dark angels, as well as Golden Vampires of Tuscany. My website that has EVERYTHING on it, Newsletter signups, samples and audio samples, including booktrailers, is there for you to watch, read and listen. You can sign up for my street team there as well. We’ll have lots of things going on next week with the launch, so it’s a good time to join. I try to have a jam-packed Newsletter each month you’ll love, full of stories outside the stories and pieces about SEALs, the writing process, and anything else that strikes my fancy.
Since next week I want you all to jump on board and support my new launch for Band of Bachelors: Lucas, (preorder available now), I’m going to tell you a little about this hero.
Lucas has been a SEAL for nearly five years. He joined the training while he was single, but, like so many of the real SEALs out there, he soon fell in love and got married to a spitfire of a woman, Connie, and boom! He fathered two kids as easy as brushing his teeth. More and more over the brief years of their marriage, while his career as a Special Operator (SEAL) has advanced, his marriage has been failing. And Lucas was the last to know.
SEALs aren’t trained in the personal arts, and if being a devoted husband and father doesn’t come naturally, with their intense natures and intense training, it’s a skill that can be elusive to many SEALs. In real life, they have an over 60% divorce rate.
Lucas’ only problem is that he thought his communication challenges at home were only temporary. Used to one or two word sentences with his buddies, this didn’t work with Connie.
Connie hires a realtor to liquidate everything they own together, and that’s where the real problem starts. Lucas and Marcy fall for each other “and threaten to ignite the whole forest.”
We add some sexy scenes, some terrorists who have a plot to kidnap SEALs and take trophies back to the Iraq, the appearance of former SEALs who now have a winery in Sonoma County, and the presence of a terrorist training camp near their base in Tennessee, and the stew gets complicated and very dangerous.
Here’s a fun excerpt:
He opened the front door and leaned into the frame, arms crossed, until she looked up and saw him.
“Oh. It’s you!”
“Yes, Miss Gelland. I do own this cabin—at least for a little while longer, anyway.”
Her oversized satchel was slung over her shoulder. She had on a pair of forest green recycled ankle gardening boots, and a big white, silk shirt with a pocket stitched over one breast, covering long, tan slacks that were going to be way too warm in a couple of hours. She’d done her hair up in a clip, and she wore no makeup. He liked her better that way.
“You following me now?” he asked, not moving from the spot, daring her to try to gain entry into his private domain. “I told you I wasn’t going to sell this place.”
She turned around, glancing at the tree line before her eyes at last landed on the thatched roof of the cabin. Then she tilted her head and spoke to him. “Beautiful here. I don’t blame you a bit.”
“So, you’ve seen it. Now, you can go, Miss Gelland—or is it Mrs. Gelland?”
Her lips parted slightly, one side turned up, amused. “Marcy. You can call me Marcy. Unlike you, I’ve never been married.”
“Touché.” The sting in her comment hurt like a pinprick, but it sucked him back into his impending court battle with Connie. He dropped his arms at the sides, suddenly not knowing what to do with them. “Well, that’s it. Show’s over. I have nothing else left to offer, unless you like strong coffee and scrambled eggs.”
“I love strong coffee and scrambled eggs. I’m afraid I can’t make either one successfully.”
He didn’t know why he said it, but before he could take it back, found himself whispering, “Well, perhaps you’re better at other things.”
“I should hope so,” she said timidly. “I guess, according to you, I rob people for a living.”
“Ah, an honest woman who admits her vices. How refreshing. Do you ask for forgiveness before or after you fleece them?”
At first, she didn’t smile, just stared back at him. She wasn’t afraid, which was such a turn-on. “I solve problems. Most of my day is spent solving other people’s mistakes and problems. And I’m damn good at it.” She narrowed her eyes, as if taunting him to say something nasty.
Lucas was struck with the inability to fight with her. Whatever was going on, he couldn’t dislike her, and he wanted to, perhaps needed to.
Marcy still didn’t move an inch. There she was in the middle of the fuckin’ forest, way far away from anyone who could hear her scream. He was trying to stand up to her, trying to hate her and everything she stood for. He wanted to blame her for what his life was going to become. She was a willing accomplice to his wife’s selfish attitude.
She remained standing, as if waiting for instructions. Defiant, almost petulant, daring him to cave in and show his ungentlemanly side. She hugged her file folder and oversized purse, looking way more desirable than she probably knew. But when she broke a smile and stepped closer to his perch, she finally dropped the hand with the folder, catching it at the side of her hip, and giving him the view of her chest he’d wanted to see. Although he wasn’t going to let her catch him at it, his peripheral vision took in the whole lovely sight of her.
She glanced up, recognizing something, and gave him a playful, narrowed look. “I think we got off to a bad start. I’m not here to cause you any pain, or to rob you. Mr.—”
“Lucas. If I’m calling you Marcy, you’re calling me Lucas.”
“Yessir,” she said as she straightened her spine, her pert little lips doing that pouty thing.
What a blessing she was. What a fresh piece of something he’d never had and wanted desperately.
“Like I was saying, Lucas…”
Her large brown eyes smiled up at him, and his heart melted. He hadn’t realized he was so starved for mature female attention, the kind that wasn’t tipped or bought and paid for.
“I think you misunderstand my intentions. I’m not here to sell your cabin. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I can, or that Connie has the right to order either of them sold. That will have to be worked out in a settlement agreement between the two of you.”
He could see that the longer he watched her speak and focused on her lips, the more talkative she became. Words were nervously stringing together, and all he could think of was her light pink tongue darting out behind her white teeth, and the way she licked her lips and nervously bit her bottom one.
“You haven’t taken my suggestion and gotten an attorney yet, have you?” she finished and took in a deep breath.
“That was only a little over a day ago, Marcy.” He was thinking to himself that his perspective was changing by the minute. “But I’m all ears. Perhaps you can recommend someone for me.”
The double meaning seemed to make her blink very slowly, considering what he’d said. She quickly looked downward toward her ridiculous boots.
“Where’d you get those?” he asked with a chuckle.
“No socks. Can’t go into the woods without socks. You’ll get ticks on your ankles, or worse, traveling up your pant legs.”
Marcy cocked her head and frowned then gave him that full gaze that did him in. She forged her response. “You going to continue to defend the perimeter, or am I invited in for those scrambled eggs and strong coffee? Or have I said something to cause you to change your mind?”
There was an exchange between them without words. It fell to him to speak up first, perhaps acknowledge what was going on inside him, hopefully inside her, too. He knew when a woman liked what she saw, and she was definitely transmitting it. “On the contrary. But enter at your own risk.”
He let his words linger there until she dropped her gaze again. Stepping aside, he turned and opened the door for her to walk into his life.
Once inside, she slowly took stock of the place, carefully examining the pictures on the walls, the cabinets, the hooked rug in front of the fireplace, the kitchen area, and the sparse furniture of the living room with one table lamp he’d made as a Boy Scout.
“It’s lovely. I can see why it has special meaning to you. Lots of memories here. I can feel them, I think.”
He’d been holding his breath. “Thank you.” He stepped closer to her, and slowly brought his palm to her cheek and cupped it. Letting his fingers brush against her flawless skin, and then dropped his hand. He wanted to be careful, not push his boundaries, but the granite in his pants was making him very uncomfortable.
She turned once again, and he wanted to lace his fingers through her hair, take that damned clip out and muss it all up real good, before he gave her the kiss she so deserved. Hell, he deserved that kiss. It had been a long, insane dry spell.
She set her folder down on the table, placing her bag on top of it. “Can I help you with something?”
Oh, yeah, darlin’. You can help me heal that big wound in my soul. Get me feeling right about myself again, about the world. “Let’s see. Can you crack eggs?” he asked as he brought out a carton from the refrigerator and set them next to a green bowl from the cupboard. “I even have the right implements.” He drew out a wire whisk from one of the drawers.
Her fingers wrapped around the base of the whisk, and for a moment, their fingers touched. It would have been so easy to curl her into his chest, kiss the top of her head, and feel her blood pumping in her neck as he nibbled there. She smelled divine, and he was fairly sure her temperature had risen, since there were tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip.
He moved away from her to light the propane stove and pulling out an iron skillet. As she cracked several eggs, he brushed behind her to get the butter. He felt her jump at his proximity, and it gladdened him. He would take the whole day cracking eggs and eating breakfast if she’d let him. Suddenly, he wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything.
He poured water from a gallon jug into a saucepan on the stove, and after boiling it and cooking the eggs, filled the coned coffee filter to the top and watched as it drained into a ceramic pitcher.
He added cheese and some spices to the eggs, made toast in the frying pan, poured their coffee, and put the cream on the table.
“Breakfast is served, Madame,” he said with a bow, placing the two plates on the table across from each other.
“So how often did you come here growing up?” she asked.
“Some of the best times of my life. My grandfather and father used to bring me up every summer. Sometimes my mom, but only occasionally. Learned to hunt and fish. They told stories about being a man that scared this little boy to death.”
Lucas worried he’d revealed something perhaps he shouldn’t.
The silence was awkward and in need of filling. Marcy beat him to it. “Wow. These eggs are terrific—I think the best I’ve had.”
“Not my best skill,” he said, smiling into his coffee mug.
She answered him with a smile. “You want an update on the house?”
“I don’t care about that right now, really.”
“None taken,” she said breathlessly. “Lucas, this property was yours before your marriage, from what I can see. Unless you encumbered it in some way.” Her eyes were soft.
“The bank asked me to use it as additional collateral on the loan, because Connie had a couple late payments on her student loan.”
“But you didn’t borrow against it, right? Pull any money out of it?”
“No. Just used it as a kind of guarantee for the house loan.”
“So, if that’s paid off through escrow, then this house would be, what, free and clear?”
“I’m no attorney, but I understand that if it was yours before you got married, it remains your sole and separate property. I don’t think you can be forced to sell it.”
“That’s good news,” he said, letting out a breath. “So, I have a question for you, Marcy, since we’re talking about business sorts of things.” He was about to risk a little more, feeling suddenly comfortable and intrigued.
“Shoot,” she said as she finished her eggs and took a gulp of coffee.
“Why are you here?” Her eyes widened at first, and then she returned his honest gaze.
“Well, you’ll probably have to submit a valuation for this place during your divorce proceedings, when they start. And, I don’t know.” She shrugged, brushing some crumbs from her lap. “I guess I was looking for something. Not sure what.”
Those eyes again searched his face.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked as he covered her hand with one of his.
She hesitated a bit, giving a jolt as their fingers wove together, and then he drew her hand to his face and kissed her palm.
She swallowed hard. “Yes. I think I did.”
“Is this wise, Marcy? You’re going to have to stop me, you know, because I can’t.”
She closed her eyes again, as if searching the back reaches of her mind. “I don’t want you to stop,” she said, her eyes still closed.
I’m going to give away an ebook of your choice, any of my SEALs, if you leave a comment. Here’s the question I’m asking: What would you do if you could spend the day with a Navy SEAL? You don’t have to go into great detail, if you don’t want, but everyone who leaves an answer and their email address will be sent an ebook (please specify which one), or an audio book of any of my series. ANY! Put your email address in a coded form like this: sharonhamilton2001 (at) G mail (dot) com, so we can avoid the automatic spammers.
Thanks for joining me, and if you have questions, please also leave them here. I’ll check back during the day and comment.
Thanks for joining me. Thank you Cheyenne for letting me be here today!
Sharon Hamilton is a NYT and USA/Today bestselling author most known for her SEAL Brotherhood series.
Her Golden Vampires of Tuscany are not like any vamps you’ve read before, since they don’t have to go to ground, and can walk around in the full light of the sun.
Sharon’s Guardian Angels struggle with the human charges they are sent to save, often escaping their vanilla world of Heaven for the brief human one. You won’t find any of these beings in any Sunday school class.
All of Sharon’s books are available on eBooks (most formats), print and Audible.
A lifelong organic gardener, Sharon lives with her husband in the Wine Country of Northern California, where most of her stories take place. When she’s not writing, she’s getting verra verra dirty in the mud, or wandering Farmer’s Markets looking for new Heirloom varieties of vegetables and flowers.
Life is one fool thing after another.
Love is two fool things after each other.
Author Page ** Sharon’s Blog ** Sharon’s Website ** Facebook**Twitter