We sat and lamestormed the subjects of our upcoming blogs. Pedicures lamenting... lame. Opinions on ink cartridges... lame. Could cracking one's knuckles be flirting... lame. Finally we decided that we'd write something about ourselves that no one knows.
My mother shared with me her great gift of baking. I adored baking. Hung around the kitchen and underfoot, constantly wanting to learn to bake various types of cookies, new types of cakes and pies. Nothing was from a cook book, everything was from her head with a lot of improvisation.
At the same time my dad share with me the gift of loving animals. We had a cat at one time, a dog, a hamster, a guinea pig and, of course an assortment of goldfish.
Life gave me the gift of imagination. Creativity was my muse and took me through many an adventure, albeit often only part reality.
One day, while still at a young age, I begged my mom to allow me to make all by myself my dad his favorite cookie, oatmeal raisin. She was hesitant at first, but I was also relentless. She went over and over the ingredients, stipulating how important it was to not leave anything out. She talked about taking care with oven mittens and hot cookie pans. I listened attentively and the moment arrived, I got to bake the cookies all by myself. I was tickled, and dad often came into the kitchen to ask if they were done yet, for the sweet aroma had filled the house.
I carefully placed each cookie on a plate in a perfect pyramid and carried them into my dad.
They were still a little warm. He sat there eagerly anticipating the treat with a glass of skin milk, though he not a dunker, just a washer-down sort. He took his first bite, blinking in amazement, swallowing and then regaling me with praise. I watched happily as he ate every last cookie, pouring glass after glass of milk, and then shoving the cookies into his mouth one after the other as I continued to watch, refusing to miss a moment of his delight. Afterward, he gave be a big hug and thank you. Only, as he walked away he had a strange look.At the time, I couldn't help wondering if it had anything to do with my one improvisations. And until now, this very moment, I never told a soul what that improv had been, nor would I have ever but Zi charged me with sharing something that no one knows about me. I have. We had been out of raisins, so I used my guinea pig 's poop. After all, they looked just like raisins to a girl my age. I always wondered, did my dad know, and if he did, what a wonderful man he must have been.
When writing KILLER DOLLS we toyed with the texture of the crave of the heroine and felt she needed to be very desirous. So the readers will find that there are those don't stopportunities woven into the text. I suspect our reasoning why we needed this plot device will become obvious. We hope you enjoy the book. Let us know.
KILLER DOLLSBy Angelica Hart and Zi
EXCERPT
Tease v. Concern
Taut was quite aware of the danger that was just unvialed and reacted with quick and keen moves. Approaching her from her rear, he placed one huge powerful hand over her mouth so she would not inhale any toxins and his other arm about her waist. Lifting her from the floor, he retreated from the danger. He kept focus. Reviewing what he had memorized from Charles Gallagher's e-mail.
Letti gasped at the unexpected behavior but she wasn't adverse to it. After all, he did something similar when he had kissed her so suddenly in her apartment. It felt like one of those fantasy moments, something right out of an old-fashioned bodice ripper. Yet, the moment wasn't quite right. There were those guys. Shouldn't they be a bit prudent, or did the possibility of danger turn Taut…well…taut.
She struggled but he refused to release her. He couldn't let her do anything that might spread the ricin. Gallagher had provided photos of ricin victims. He would not allow this to harm Letti. No one was to be hurt. Not again. Not on his watch. That imperative directed his next decisions.
His hold was an aphrodisiac, animalistic, driven, homogeneous with her want, placated only by submission to it, and her body began to respond. Shallow short breaths followed the intense heat smoldering in her groin, incinerating any resistance, and guaranteeing conflagration of raging flames of lust. The tight, pucker of her nipples signaled her growing arousal, and heaviness attached itself to her breasts, having that need to be touched. She surrendered to his authority, submitted, and urged him with her acquiesces to take more.
We love to hear from anyone interesting in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves a s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.
Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi.com
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