First Page: Unnamed Romantic Suspense
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Readers, though, the way that I look at it is this: Would the hook itself interest you in reading the book. If yes, what interests you and if not, what would you change to make it more appealing?
Julia cursed as she lost her footing again. The rounded cobblestones were like black ice under her stilettos and her ankles struggled with every step. She clung to her companion for support, and the short, muscular Spaniard with lips like ripe cherries and silky black hair seemed more than happy to wrap his burly arm around her waist. After a few paces he let his hand drop to give her bottom a rough squeeze.
She didn’t protest. Instead, she began to stroke his torso. She imagined running her hands through the forest of dark, curly hair that would cover his platter-sized pectorals, envisioned letting her mouth trace the clean demarcations of his eight perfect stomach muscles.
Julia bit her lip and shivered. Silvio Penalta reeked of gunpowder and trashy cologne, but there was no denying the appeal of his gym-honed masculinity.
As they walked down the dark street toward what she assumed would be his apartment, she admitted to herself that she couldn’t blame all of her imbalance on Madrid’s medieval streets. If she were the type to point fingers, she’d have to accuse the bottle of amontillado sherry she’d downed over the course of the last three hours while waiting for her man to come hither.
Of course she could have snared him faster–American blondes in Spain hardly hurt for attention–but the fun was in letting him think it was all his idea.
Silvio’s pace slowed. Seconds later, he led her around a corner and they were alone in a narrow, moonlit alley. Julia choked back a snort of laughter as she wondered how many girls Silvio had seduced in this very spot.
He would soon discover that she was not the sort of girl who let herself be seduced. She rather preferred to do the job herself.
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