Released in late 2015, The Night's Caress is the first book in the Fallen Romance series. It is a contemporary fantastical romance starring a college student intent on proving vampires are as real as they are mysterious. She's so determined to reveal their presence to the world that she soon finds herself in well over her head even as she falls for the ancient creature who saved her life. The Night's Caress is available in most ebook formats (including Nook, Kobo, and Kindle) as well as in paperback.
Read on for an excerpt from the book:
The cool green on the walls and the bright blue on the bed were both immediately more welcoming than the stark white of the kitchen. Mallory felt herself relaxing as Victor closed the door behind them. Of course, that might have been the wine. She took another sip, pleased with the way it warmed her belly.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Victor whispered in her ear. “I have to wash off the sunblock. It won’t take more than a few minutes.”
He put his wine and the bottle on the bedside table and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Mallory to her own devices. The sound of running water came through the door, distant and indistinct. Mallory, for lack of anything better to do, wandered over to the window.
This was all new to her. Should she undress? They were going to have sex and they couldn’t do that with clothes on. There were just two problems. The first was hers. She just wasn’t comfortable naked. Even in her own apartment she always had clothes on. Always. She usually changed in the bathroom because she was so uncomfortable without clothes. Undressing and slipping beneath the covers…she didn’t think she could do it.
The second problem was related to the man she was about to sleep with. He was old. Two thousand years old. A little more than that, actually. He’d lived through many eras, most of which had the woman as submissive to the man. Perhaps he wouldn’t appreciate a woman who was too forward. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate finding a naked woman in his bed.
That was stupid. What kind of man—human or vampire—wouldn’t want a naked woman in his bed? Unless he was gay. But Victor was surely not gay or she wouldn’t be here.
Maybe she was overthinking this. Making a decision, she kicked off her saddles, put her glass on the table near the windows, and sat on the bench at the foot of the bed. A compromise. Near the bed but not on it. Shoes off but not naked. Best of all worlds.
She was just getting comfortable when the bathroom door opened. Victor strolled back into the bedroom, naked from the waist up. He was still wearing the black jeans, but he’d removed his shoes and socks. On bare feet he came towards her, not making a sound on the silver carpet. He was beautiful and sexy and…hot, she realized. If she was going to lose her virginity, a totally hot vampire was not a bad choice for her first lover.
Her face flushed as he sat beside her and ran a knuckle across her cheek. When his lips touched hers, a bolt of electricity ran from her lips to her groin. Arousal was instant, so she raised her arms to pull him closer. Just when she felt his fangs press against her lips, he pulled back. Mallory groaned in frustration.
“Your eyes are truly green when you wear that shirt,” he whispered, lips brushing over her eyelids.
Mallory could barely get the breath to speak. “I know. Otherwise they’re a boring hazel.”
“Hazel, maybe.” His lips moved to her ear. “But never boring.”
Fangs trailed down her neck, arousing and frightening her all at the same time. She trembled but didn’t stop him. She’d already decided to let him do this. She would let him do this.
When he drew back to look at her, she nearly sagged in relief even as she trembled with desire.
“Hush,” he murmured against her lips. “I won’t bite. Not yet, anyway.”
That made her laugh, which only heightened her arousal.
“Now,” he continued, “the ground rules.”
“What rules?” She didn’t want to hear his rules. Not when her body was singing with need.
“Mallory, listen to me.” He stopped kissing her, waiting until those vibrant eyes were focused on him before he said what needed to be said. “I am a predator.”
“I know.”
But he shook his head. “You don’t understand. A predator searches for prey and kills it. I need you not to behave as if you are prey.”
There was a note if warning in his voice that made her take note of his words. “What do you mean?”
“If you become frightened, do not act it.” Catching her eyes with his, he tried to make her understand. “If you push against me, or scream, or do anything prey might do, my baser nature may take over. If you want me to stop, say the word and I will. But do not whimper or flee.”
Mallory didn’t believe he’d hurt her, but she nodded anyway. “Don’t push you away. But what about pulling you closer?”
Surprise registered in his eyes before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers. Wanting to be closer still, she squirmed toward him until he lifted her onto his lap as his lips ravaged hers. Mallory felt a prick of pain as one of his fangs scratched her.
“Sorry,” he breathed against her cheek.
Mallory gifted him with a faltering smile. “I expected to shed a little blood if we were going to…you know.”
His hand moved to work at the buttons of her blouse. “If you can do it, you should be able to say it.”
He was right, she realized. She was nearly twenty-two, hardly a child anymore. If she could sit in a vampire’s lap, fully prepared to have sex with him, she should at least be able to utter the word.
“Say it,” he demanded as he tugged the blouse out of her skirt.
The green satin was sliding off her shoulders before she whispered, “Have sex.”
Now all that stood between his hands and her bare flesh was her embroidered green bra. She expected him to remove it, but instead he brought his lips back to her ear.
“I want to know if the panties match.”
Before she could answer him, she found herself standing in front of him. His expert fingers unzipped her skirt and it promptly fell to the floor. Standing before him in nothing but her underwear, Mallory couldn’t help but blush. She was just glad everything matched.
“Very pretty,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her navel.
Pleasure shot through her body as his tongue explored her belly. She wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him closer as she moaned from pure sexual excitement. So caught up in desire was she that she barely noticed when his fangs nicked her skin. Barely.
Glancing down, she saw two scratches on her stomach, one on either side of her bellybutton.
“That one wasn’t an accident,” she stated.
“No.” Victor drew his tongue around her navel, catching the droplets of blood that had appeared on her skin. “This one was very deliberate.”
His tongue played about the wound, drawing little gasps of pleasure from Mallory’s throat. She held on to his head, praying he’d never stop.
But eventually he did pull away, gazing up at her with just a hint of blood on his lips. He stood so quickly she barely saw him move, but she certainly felt it when he pulled her against his chest.
“Last chance to walk away,” he growled. “This is the point of no return.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised as she snuggled into the warmth of his chest.
Letting out a satisfied chuckle, Victor swept her into his arms and headed for the bed.
Just released in September of 2015, Child of the Wind the first historical romance by new author Tamora Rose. Follow the adventures of Canace, a young Scottish lass, as she learns about her parentage, falls in love with an arrogant aristocrat, and faces the demons of her past. Child of the Wind is currently available in most ebook formats (including Nook, Kobo, and Kindle) and will soon be available in paperback.
Read on for an excerpt from the book:
Canace carried on an animated
conversation with Edward, laughing gently at something he’d just said.
Truthfully, she wasn’t really listening. Instead her focus was on Jett, though
no one in the room, not even Duncan, would be able to tell. She was aware of
Jett’s eyes on her, following her every movement. He frowned when she touched
the back of his brother’s hand and tried to catch her attention, but she
tactfully ignored him.
This was going better than expected. Canace had decided
that if she had to marry the man, she would do so on her terms, not his. He
didn’t deserve her, he didn’t deserve her money, and he didn’t deserve the
title she would bring him. If he wanted her or anything that came with her, she
was going to make him work for it. Make him earn it. The only real question she
faced was how to accomplish this.
Make him come to her, of course. And to do so, she’d
treat him the way she sometimes treated Bentley. When Bentley was truly
irritating, she ignored him. After a while, he always came around, submitting
to her because it was better than being ignored indefinitely. Jett might be a
man, but no one liked being ignored. So far, it seemed to be working to her
advantage.
Jett cleared his throat. Canace ignored him, turning
instead to answer a question the duke had just directed at her.
“I was feeling unwell,” she explained. “Something didn’t
quite agree with me, I’m afraid.”
Edward practically choked on his wine at her words.
Glancing at him askance, she wondered again what he knew. Throughout the meal
he’d said or done things to indicate he might know something about the spat between
her and his brother. It was possible Jett had told Edward something of their
disagreement, but if that was the case, Edward hadn’t told his parents. For
that, at least, she was grateful.
“But you’re better now, are you not?” the duchess asked.
Canace nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. I feel much
improved.”
“Enough of that, my dear.” Rosemary almost shook her
finger at the girl. “It’s ‘Rosemary’ to you.”
“I apologize. I’d forgotten.” And she had. A flush warmed
her cheeks.
Across the table Nora claimed her attention. “If you’re
feeling up to it, would you ride with us tomorrow, Canace? Edward and I usually
ride in the early afternoon, if you’re amenable.”
A genuine smile lit her face as Canace nodded eagerly.
Not only did she love riding, but she quite liked Edward’s wife. She had yet to
meet their son and daughter, but the mother was sweet enough.
That gave her an idea. “Perhaps your children should join
us,” she suggested.
Nora’s eyes sparkled. “I’d like that. If Edward doesn’t
mind, of course.” Her gaze moved to his.
“Of course I don’t mind.” He raised his wife’s hand to
his mouth and dropped a quick kiss on her knuckles. “They would love to meet
their new aunt.”
Canace almost snapped at him, almost insisted she wasn’t
their aunt, but she stopped herself in time. This was not the time to be
shrewish, not with the duke and his entire family before her. She caught Duncan’s
eye and saw the amusement reflected there. He had been sure she’d react, but
she deliberately nodded and turned back to Nora.
“And I’d love to meet them.”
“Then it’s settled.” Nora smiled at her brother-in-law. “And
you, Jett, must join us, of course.”
Still smiling, Canace grit her teeth. Jett was supposed
to ask if he could tag along, not be invited by the all-too-sweet Nora. It was
too late to do anything about it, but she’d have to look for another
opportunity to force Jett to chase her. She was already starting to tire of
this little game.
Jett smiled and agreed. She resisted the urge to throw
something at him. Duncan frowned at her, reminding her that she had indeed
promised to give Jett a chance. A chance to what? Prove that he didn’t like
her? Prove that he wanted to control her? He’d already proven all that. But she
was supposed to give him another chance, to act like a lady even when she
wanted to hit him. With a sigh, she continued to play her part, but she quickly
came to despise it.
It was almost a relief when Jett asked if she’d play
chess with him. He even went so far as to claim he needed to salvage his pride
by either winning or discovering she was indeed the better player. She agreed
to play, but only because she wanted to leave the duke’s table.
Jett led her to the nearby parlor where they’d played on
her first night here. She remembered that game, remembered Duncan’s advice, and
decided she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him win. It wasn’t in her
nature. Biting her lip, she hesitated before moving her first piece.
“Can I ask you a question, my lord?” she asked, hand
hesitating over her pawn.
“Of course.” He settled back in his chair to watch her.
Canace dropped her hand. “The other night…Duncan says I
should have let you win, but I don’t want to do that. Can I truly play, or
should I just let you win?”
His eyes flashed, but he managed to keep his voice low
and measured. “I’d be offended if you did. I don’t want you to let me win,
Canace. If I lose, it means I have to play with greater skill next time. It
means that my opponent has some talent, or that I was too distracted to watch
my king. It doesn’t mean that I want you to let me win. That would be an
affront to my pride.”
“Duncan said—”
“Maybe we can agree that Duncan doesn’t know everything.”
His gaze moved over the exposed tops of her breasts. “Though if he had a hand
in your appearance tonight, I might rethink that assessment.”
Her brow furrowed in annoyance. “I had a hand in my
appearance tonight, thank you.”
A quiet chuckle rumbled forth. “Then I heartily approve.
You’re lovely tonight, Canace.” Her name rolled off his tongue and tasted sweet
in his mouth.
The compliment seemed genuine, so Canace rewarded him
with a radiant smile. Her hand moved from her pawn to her knight and the game
was begun.
They played in silence for a time, speaking only when one
of them placed the other in check. Canace won the first two games, but Jett
took the third when she foolishly placed her queen in danger too early. She
laughed at herself as his bishop swept in, endangering just about every piece
she had left.
“Well, that didn’t work. I was trying to draw out your
rook.”
He nodded. “I saw that. You play exceedingly well, but
you sometimes forget that your opponent has plans of his own.”
“I hate it when my opponent has plans of his own.” Seeing
his queen about to harass her king, she forfeited. “Your game, my lord.”
“Can’t you call me by name?” His voice was smooth and
low, his eyes smoldering as he gazed at her.
Canace felt a shiver sneak down her spine. “Jett,” she
whispered, lowering her eyes.
Jett’s throat went dry as his name floated on the air. He
watched her hands, her breasts, and her face as she set the board for another
game, but he’d lost all interest in chess. He had eyes for her and her alone. The
candlelight reflected in her golden eyes, making them shine in the dimness of
the parlor. Those eyes were stunning, but they weren’t looking at him. In that
moment, he wanted them to.
“Canace,” he breathed. She looked up, their eyes locked,
and Jett was filled with the sudden need to be near her. Since she wouldn’t
come to him, he’d have to go to her.
Jett rose, licked his lips, and moved swiftly to the arm
of her chair. She jumped and pulled away, but she didn’t actually run from him.
That was a start.
“The game—”
“I don’t want to play.” Well, he did, but not in the way
she meant. He reached out and took her hand in a firm grip.
She instantly tensed. “No!”
“Hush,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to
touch you, perhaps even kiss you.”
“Isn’t that what caused all the trouble before?” Her
words objected to his touch, but she didn’t take her hand back, not even when
he raised it to his lips.
He ignored her as he dropped kisses on her fingers. “If
we’re to be married, we need to know each other. Intimately.” Smiling at her,
he turned her hand over and kissed her palm, letting his tongue dart out to
taste her soft flesh.
A gasp was torn from her throat as a hot wave
of…something…washed over her. A moment passed before she was able to identify
the sensation. Desire, raw and pure and like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Her lips tingled, her breasts ached, and something uncurled deep in her belly.
Jett nibbled gently on her fingers, almost chuckling as
she shifted in her seat. The urge to toss her on her back was strong, but she
wasn’t ready for that. He needed to start slowly. He needed to seduce her.
“Just let me kiss you,” he begged. Her eyes flew to his,
letting him see the desire there. “You enjoyed it last time.”
He was right about that, and her lips did ache for his.
As his lips moved to her wrist, Canace nodded slightly, giving him tactic
permission to kiss her in truth.
Tactic permission was all he needed. Before she could
object, he swept her into his arms, took her seat, and deposited her on his
lap. A sharp squeal almost escaped her, but he merged his lips with hers to cut
it off. With one hand at the small of her back and the other holding her head
in place, he allowed himself to explore her mouth. She tasted of sweet apricots
and smelled of something earthy. On the bluff he’d assumed the scent and been
the greenery surrounding them, but now he realized it was her. She smelled of
the earth, and it was a heady scent indeed.
She squirmed on his lap before raising her arms and
placing them around his neck. When she did so, he moved his hand downward, from
her back to the delicious curve of her hip. No objection was apparent, so he
moved his hand again, cupping her bottom with one large hand. Her flesh was
soft and yielding beneath his touch. There was also a decided lack of padding.
He’d be surprised if she wore more than her shift under the thin silk of her
gown. For a moment he almost chastised her, but eventually decided against it. He
didn’t want to shatter her desire for him, and he also rather appreciated being
able to fondle her without having too much fabric in the way.
Canace was awash in sensation. His lips and tongue were
divine, and she was vaguely aware of his hand where it shouldn’t be, but she
wanted more. That more was a mystery
to her, but she wanted it anyway. His hand kneaded her bottom, sending shivers
up her spine. She knew she should stop him, but it felt good, his touch. She
wasn’t about to stop something so pleasurable. It wasn’t until his hand moved
from her bottom to the curve of her inner thigh that she finally pulled away,
breaking their kiss.
“No,” she gasped. “Not there.”
Knowing that he’d gone too far, and not wanting to
frighten her as he had at the bluff, Jett immediately removed his hand, placing
it at the small of her back once more. His lips captured her again; she yielded
willingly. It was only a moment before she was making little mewling sounds
deep in her throat. Those sounds encouraged him to continue. He deepened the
kiss, inviting her tongue to play with his, trying to put aside his own
mounting desire before he truly ravaged her.
Canace kissed him right back, her tongue meeting his
thrust for thrust. She loved the feel of his lips on hers. This she would allow without hesitation. Wanting more of him, she
wrapped her hands in his hair and pulled him ever closer until her breasts were
pressed against his chest. The sensation was so incredible she pulled her lips
from his, crying out as she flung her head back.
The moment her neck was exposed, Jett buried his face in
the hollow of her throat. Her neck tasted of lavender. No, not lavender.
Something else, something he couldn’t quite identify. It didn’t matter. He liked
the taste. He liked her scent. He could lose himself in both.
His hand inched upward almost of its own volition,
caressing the taut silk covering her breasts. When she didn’t object, he cupped
one rounded globe, squeezing ever so gently. Instead of pulling away as he’d
fully expected, Canace arched her back, pushing her breast into his palm. He
almost came out of his skin at her response. If this went on too much longer,
he’d be past the point of no return.
Only barely able to hold himself in check, he let his
lips drift lower as he plucked at her nipple through the fabric of her gown.
Since she wasn’t wearing a corset, and he was starting to doubt she even wore a
shift, it was almost like caressing her bare breast. Almost, but not quite. Her
nipple tightened, proving her desire, so he reached up and started tugging at
the silk.
Canace immediately pushed him away. “No.” Her voice was
barely above a whisper, but was firm nonetheless.
With a groan Jett moved his hand back down to cup her
breasts. “We both know you enjoy it.” He squeezed, causing her to sigh with
pleasure.
Denying his statement would have been futile so she didn’t
try. “We’re not married yet.”
She had a point, but he didn’t like acknowledging it. To
avoid having to talk about it, he took her nipple between his thumb and
forefinger and rolled. Canace squealed in surprise, then gasped in pleasure. As
she squirmed in his lap, Jett put his lips to her ear.
“Imagine how it would feel if I took that plump nipple
into my mouth,” he whispered. “Imagine how good it would feel if I licked it,
nipped at it, suckled it. Imagine the pleasure.” One more quick tug and he was
removing his hand. He could still see the nipple puckered through the silk,
once again reminding him that she must be wearing nothing under her lovely gown.
“Why did you stop?” Canace asked, breathing hard.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re the one who wanted
me to stop. I’ll happily continue if you wish.”
As tempting as he was, she shook her head and struggled
to sit up. With gentle hands he kept her where she was. It was only then that
she realized she was spread across his lap, legs slightly sprawled. A flush
covered her face at her awkward position.
“Don’t sit up.” His mind cast about for a reason to keep
her there, but all he could think of was to cup her breast again. He felt the
hardened nipple through the fabric once more and finally asked, “What are you
wearing under that gown?”
She blinked at him in surprise. “What do you mean? I’m
wearing my…undergarments,” she finished lamely.
His chuckle was low and deep. “I doubt it. You’re clearly
not wearing a corset.”
“No,” she admitted. “I don’t need one.”
“That’s obvious. Your waist is too trim and your breasts
are too pert to worry about it.” A gentle tug on her nipple brought another
gasp to her lips, making Jett chuckle and kiss her for what seemed like the
millionth time tonight.
Finally his lips lifted long enough to whisper, “I think
you’re naked under that gown.”
“I am not!” The urge to unfasten her gown to show him she
was indeed properly attired—or almost so—was strong, but she restrained
herself. “I’m wearing my shift and a petticoat.”
A dark eyebrow crept upward at her rather short list. “I
don’t believe you. You can’t possibly have a petticoat under that clinging
skirt of yours.”
“I do so!”
There was a challenge in her voice, even if she didn’t
realize it, and he was most willing to take her up on it. Moving slowly so she’d
know what he was about, Jett reached for her delicate skirts. Her eyes widened,
but she didn’t object, not even when he tossed up the blue silk to reveal the
golden petticoat. Jett took the flimsy fabric in one hand.
“This little thing can hardly be called a petticoat.” A
warm hand stroked its way up her calf. “And you’re not wearing any stockings.”
“Are you scandalized?” she asked, watching his eyes for
the truth.
They smoldered with desire. “Intrigued, I think.” His
fingers feathered up her legs, passing her knees without meeting any
resistance. “Now where is that shift you spoke of?”
It was only an excuse to keep exploring her thighs and
she knew it. Sensing that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he found her elusive
shift, Canace sat up, pressed her legs together to stop his questing hand, and
plucked at the laces of her gown. His eyes fastened on her breasts as she did
so, but she had no intention of letting him see too much. Instead of baring a
breast as he clearly hoped she would, she only loosened the laces enough to tug
the gown off her shoulders, revealing the transparent material of her shift.
Ignoring the shift, Jett let his eyes play across her
exposed flesh. He doubted she realized it, but when she’d tugged at the gown,
she’d pulled it down just far enough to allow a sliver of pink nipple to peek
above the blue silk. If he pointed it out, she’d cover it up, so instead he
leaned down to rain down a few kisses on the exposed flesh. When his mouth reached
her nipple, he gave a quick lick, letting his tongue move under the gown and
shift to brush roughly against the puckered bud. She pushed him away, but not
before she moaned at the new sensation.
“Tell me you didn’t like that,” Jett challenged as he watched
her pull her gown back into place.
She couldn’t tell him that unless she lied, and she didn’t
feel like lying right now. “I should probably return to my bedchamber.”
He wanted to object, to tell her to stay right where she
was, but he was nearly mad with desire. His body was so taut with need he wasn’t
sure he could go any further without claiming her virginity. At this point, it
was either bed her or let her go. As much as he wanted to bed her, this wasn’t
the time.
With a reluctant nod he set her on her feet. Her leg
immediately collapsed, forcing her to sag against him.
“Shall I carry you up?” he whispered in her ear, one hand
caressing her rounded bottom.
Canace didn’t say anything for a moment, giving him—and
herself—a chance to enjoy the intimacy of their embrace. But when his hand strayed
downward she knew it was time to take herself to bed. Alone.
“I have to go,” she breathed, pushing away from him. Her
legs were shaky, but they would hold. Picking up her skirts, she rushed from
the room as quickly as her tense body would allow.
It was a long time before Jett was able to rise and do
the same.
Well, the editing for my previous project is done, at least from my end. The editor still has to make small changes, bit as far as I'm concerned, it's over and done with. And when that happens, it's time to start a new project.
For me, as a writer, this is probably the most grueling part of the entire process. If I'm at the beginning, the very beginning, it means I don't have any idea what I'm writing about. Where do I start? What is my story? Who are the characters? Why am I doing this? It's very frustrating. Having to start all over again.
But this is part of being a writer, the finishing and moving on. I get that. But the moving on bit...having to get my head out of the previous novel and in to the next one, usually overnight, isn't easy.
Especially when I'm switching genres, as I frequently do. I have several pseudonyms, and I have to publish at least one book a year under each pseudonym. That's a lot of switching. It's exhausting and more than a little confusing. Sometimes I can't even remember what genre I'm supposed to be in.
It would be great if I could take a few days to find my bearings, but I don't have that luxury. I make a living writing books, but that means I actually have to write. I can't take a week off between projects. I simply can't. I have to move from one project to another as seamlessly as possible.
Which means getting an idea sooner rather than later. I sometimes feel a little desperate, and that leads to some rather ridiculous ideas. Like the cat and the monkey...never mind. That one is not only silly, but it's not even in a genre I write in. How about the young girl who is betrothed...nope. That's a book I read last weekend. Mustn't plagiarize.
I go through dozens of ideas, most of them not at all useful. Then I get a hold of myself. I remember that I'm a writer, and I've done this before, and I'm only allowed to freak out for an hour. Once I lose my mind for a little while, I'm miraculously able to find it again.
And when I do, the ideas falls from the sky, land in my brain, and make their way out my fingers.
What a relief.
I'm in the middle of the editing process. Or really, at the beginning. Or maybe just past the beginning. Whatever. I'm editing, with the help of an experienced editor. It's not my favorite part of my job, but it is a necessity.
Every time I write a book, I think that this will be the one. I'll finally take a look at the finished manuscript and declare that this book needs no editing. The editor will fix a few typos and declare the book perfect. That's what will happen.
That never happens. There's always something that needs fixing. And it's usually one of two things. Either I've written too much or I've written too little.
The first problem isn't really a problem. My editor typically removes the offending chapters and we move on. The second...well it's connected to how quickly I write and how much I hate going backwards.
I can finish a decent first draft in just 2 or 3 weeks. That's pretty quick for a book that's over 100,000 words. But sometimes, in my haste to get the first draft finished, I...jump around a little. Sometimes, just sometimes, I'll forget to stop and impart little bits of necessary information to the reader. I might skip entire scenes, scenes that really need to be included. I don't even notice, probably because I'm the writer. I already know those things. I sometimes forget that the reader doesn't.
So my editor will sometimes have to remind me that I jumped from here to there without warning. And then I have to do my least favorite thing. I have to go back and fill in the blanks. I hate that. When I'm done with a book, I like to be actually done. I like to move on. I like to start a new book.
But it doesn't always work that way. I'm a professional, and that sometimes means making sure the previous book is actually up to snuff before I can really move on. And though I might find it tedious, I do it. I do it because I have to, because the book deserves it, and because I like seeing my books on the bookshelves.
But I don't have to like it.
