Am I glad she did...
Birthdays and New Beginnings
By Em Petrova
This week on Memorial Day, it was my birthday. For year,
I’ve hated the damn things. In fact, I’ve been 31 for many years in a row. I’m
closer to a decade older than I still care to admit, but for some reason this
year I had some inner peace about the ordeal.
The Native Americans look at the passing of time as the
number of years you’ve spent revolving around the sun. Funny how a little
different perspective makes one realize that the things like lines around the
eyes mouth don’t really matter. What matters is how you spend the years moving
around the sun with those you love.
And for me, it matters that I’m doing what I love. Not a lot
of people can claim that! I’m incredibly lucky to be able to stay home with my
children and write full-time. I get to spend all day with panty-scorching hot
heroes and heroines who have become my BFFs. Every day is a playground to me.
Also, this year is a new year of beginnings. I’ve just ‘come
out of the closet’ about my erotica pen name Hallie Knight ( http://hallieknight.com ). Hallie has been
writing erotica in secret for over a year, but recently she began to streamline
and hone her brand into lesbian erotica.
In addition to this and my amazing career as myself—Em
Petrova—I am working toward a few new publishers. Hopefully next year sees me
at a writer’s conference, and I hope to meet more friends and readers. Overall,
I’m happy with the place I’m at in life. After all, Abe Lincoln said, “It’s not
the number of years in your life but the life in your years.”
Read on for an excerpt of my brand new hot logger
book—UNTOUCHED book 2 of the Rough Boys series. RATED ADULT!
Mason
choked the engine of his chainsaw and adjusted it until it was purring. Much
like Eva last night.
The
vibrations of the saw ran up his arms and through his shoulders. He squinted up
at the treetop, assessing it once more. Never could be too careful. Loggers
died every year. Even those with a ton of experience like him had accidents.
He tried
to shift his night with Eva from his mind so he could focus on bringing down
this white oak. The top was heavy on the right side but he didn’t want it to
fall that direction. If it did, it would take out a solid thirty-incher that
could be cut in a second wave.
He wanted
this particular tree to shoot the gap he’d cleared to the left, which meant
some fancy saw work was needed.
The wind
was nonexistent and the air still after his regular faller, Tommy Cook, had
just felled a tree. Two hundred yards away, he was busy select cutting too.
Mason
approached the tree and set his saw blade at an angle. The teeth cut through
the thick bark and wood like a hot knife through butter. He pulled the blade
back and dug in again, drawing the saw upward to cut a wedge from the trunk.
Wood dust showered his arms and coated the backs of his gloves. It burned his nose
and he sniffed deeply, loving the scents of the sap and the pull of exertion in
his veins.
Using the
point of his saw, he tapped the notch he’d cut. It dropped to the forest floor
soundlessly, disappearing into the shallow drift of snow around the trunk.
Circling the tree, Mason set his boots precisely, prepared to jump back in the
event that the log kicked out.
Then,
glancing around quickly to ensure no one was within distance of this tree, he
set the blade at an angle on the backside of the cut. As the trunk was severed
in two, it tipped. Cracking and popping noises sounded even through his hearing
protection. He felt the smile of satisfaction spread across his face.
With a
scream, the white oak plummeted, the top branches ripping through the limbs of
other trees, brushing them in farewell. It slammed to earth with a resounding
wallop.
A cheer
went up from across the clear-cut. Mason looked up to find Tommy sending him a
wave of camaraderie. He cut the power on his saw and thwacked his hands against
his thigh to dislodge the sawdust from his gloves. The cracked brown leather
gloves had been his father’s and one of the only things Mason had saved of the
man’s personal possessions.
He’d found
them on a high shelf in the entryway. Drawing them down, he’d brought them to
his nose and inhaled the tang of leather and sawdust. Both scents he associated
with his dad.
He set his
saw on the fallen trunk and pulled off his glove. A shock tore through him as
the sweet aroma of Eva’s arousal struck him. He’d spent all night loving her.
Even this morning he’d fingered her to completion before allowing her to climb
from his bed. Christ, he could hardly wait to get home to see if his sheets
smelled of her.
He’d
barely kept himself from begging her to stay longer. Returning her to Osborn’s
house to pick up her little car had spurred that deep possessiveness in him
again. Osborn had come outside to harass them about where they’d gone. Mason
had put a stop to it, but not before Eva was as flushed as a Christmas rose.
He brought
his fingers to his nose and inhaled. His balls clenched instantly at the scent
of her he caught there. He’d promised to call her later tonight, but he felt
like a goddamn teenager, dying to pick up the cell and call her now.
Immediately.
What was
she doing? Now that he knew she had a child to care for, he envisioned her in
several different scenarios—the boy nestled on her lap as she read a story or
seated on the floor building a block tower with him.
Why hadn’t
he seen it before? She wore her motherhood like she displayed her femininity.
She was always caring for people. Even hand-feeding Osborn a tartlet last
night.
Mason
wanted to jump in his truck and race to her house right now, and that scared
the hell out of him. He’d never known such longing, even with his ex-wife. Eva
and his ex were like heartwood and rotted wood though. One was strong and
beautiful, something wood connoisseurs prized. Mason knew heartwood when he saw
it.
Trouble
was, he wasn’t going to stick around Salzburg Springs for long. He’d already
contacted the company he’d left when his dad died a year ago and been told he
always had a job with them. In fact, they wanted him as soon as possible. His
roots weren’t firmly entrenched in western Pennsylvania, but they were plunging
deeper after last night.
He
mentally kicked himself. He never should have toyed with Eva. She deserved much
more than a bachelor with a bent for rough play in bed.
Fires
flared in him at the memory of her response to that heavy hand. She’d come
unglued when he pinched her nipples so hard. And her skin had lifted to him
when he tugged on her hair. How far could he push her?
Buy UNTOUCHED ON AMAZON: http://www.amazon.com/Untouched-2-Rough-Boys-ebook/dp/B00CZBHAA0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369449274&sr=8-1&keywords=untouched+em+petrova
Buy UNTOUCHED at Ellora’s Cave: http://www.ellorascave.com/untouched.html
A big thanks to Raven for hosting me today. Thanks for
reading!
Em Petrova
~where words mean so much more~
