Going out with a bang!!!

It's our final day to party!!! Thanks, everyone, for keeping me and my new Superromance company this week. We had a blast on romancebytheblog and out on Noveltalk last night. And all the support and high-fives on my ST idea mean the world to me. I'm dying to make that happen now.

It's amazing to hear how many twins or twin family members there are in our little group. Nice to know I'm not the only one intrigued by the unusual bond that twins share ;o) Exploring that's going to be a treat!!!

Can't hang long today, because my son has an all-afternoon event at his school. But I'll be back later this evening to catch up, so make sure you're rocking the blog while I steal a few hours away. Those of you who are local, I'll be signing The Perfect Daughter at the B&N at the Forum in Norcross tomorrow from 2:00 - 4:00. Hope I see a few of you there!!!

As for topic of the day--I want to hear what else in your lives you think would make a great story!!! What wacky, emotional or historical thing from your life is just dying to be out there for the world to enjoy?

Up for grabs today, two Nine West bags... An awesome shoulder bag, and a smaller one. Both Valentine's red. You'll love them. Plus, I have this great set of Pink Tweed cosmetic travel cases. Sooo cute!!!

I'll start. I'm intrigued by psychic phenomenon, because I've expereinced a taste of it myself from time-to-time. Instinct, intuition, call it what you will, but I believe in the power of the mind to see and sense things we don't focus on in the day-to-day. Where do the right words come from when we're helping a friend through something? Where does that flash originate--the one that tells you to take a second look to make sure there's no on-coming traffic, only to save you from being hit by someone flying through a red light?

One of my "huh!" quirks? When I'm under stress, electromagnetic things all around me go nuts. Our wifi at home craps out...just for me...works for everyone else. I walk into a store and the cash registers go down. Can't scan a credit card. Gas tanks stop working. Once, the batteries all my watches died at the same time. Something goes on the fritz when my mind's all a-tumble. You can bet you'll see that in a book one day ;o)

What's your quirk!! Let's go out with a bang, celebrating the wackiness that makes us such a fun group, lol!!!

Blog winner from yesterday--the great silver/black Nine West bag...

Diane--who posted at 7:53... You' re getting something lovely in the mail soon!!! Email me your snail mail addie, my friend.

Keep coming back over the next few weeks as we plan our April party--plus I'm always giving things away out here. Have a few cool St. Patrick's Day prizes up my sleeve for you guys!!!

And here's one final taste The Perfect Daughter... I'm fast-forwarding a few scenes again. I thought those of you who've read the last two daughter books would enjoying seeing Carrinne again.

Now, go get your own copy and see how it turns out!!!

******

Matt had another inch of scotch left in his bottle, and no interest whatsoever in dragging himself out of his chair to answer the doorbell.

But the thing clearly wasn't going to stop ringing if he didn't move. Whoever it was had gotten someone to buzz him in downstairs, totally ignoring the fact that Matt hadn't bothered to.
Whoever it was had better damn well--

"Get away from the door!" he shouted, throwing back another shot of liquor, straight from the bottle.

He didn't want to see another damn person. Didn't want to think about another damn thing.

Thinking only opened the door for feeling, and feeling was at the top of his didn't-want-to list tonight.

He'd been off the job for two weeks. Paid leave, while Internal Affairs investigated, sounded better than being suspended. But it didn't feel any less like screwing up. And nothing felt worse than letting people down--his partner, his captain, Maggie...

"I'm as stubborn as my daughter, Detective Lebretti," a female with a smoky, southern-tinged voice announced. "Don't waste both our time waiting for me to give up and go away."

Only a moron would face his ex's mother drunk off his ass.

The doorbell jingled again.

Either a moron, or a man with binge headache one jingle away from imploding.

He shoved himself to unsteady feet. After making it to the door, he worked the deadbolts, double-vision creating a fuzzy mess of the locks and chains until he blinked everything back to normal. Leaning a hand against the wall, he opened up to the blonde spitfire who'd raised the only woman who'd been able to hold her own against him for longer than a few months.

"Mrs. Rivers, what can I do for you?"

She took in his less-than-sober state, then breezed into the apartment and rounded on him.

"To start with, you can make some coffee and drink enough of it to be able to focus on what I've come to say."

"I've got plenty to drink right here." He gave Carrinne his best scotch-bottle salute and returned to his chair. "You're welcome to join me. Glasses are in the kitchen."

She was the granddaughter of bona fide southern aristocrat, he'd heard--though not from Maggie. They'd never talked about their families beyond whatever was going on in the here and now. Luckily, in Matt's case that meant there was absolutely nothing to say, beyond the fact that his grandparents had stopped being a part of his life years before they'd both died. Of Maggie, he knew that her dad and the uncle she'd left behind in Georgia were the best cops on the face of the earth, her mother was the strongest, smartest business woman in Manhattan, and Maggie worked her ass off hoping to make them all proud. Friends had filled in the gaps a bit, revealing that Carrinne came from money somewhere down south, even though grit and determination had won her the life she'd made since arriving in New York as a pregnant teen.

Matt could easily believe the woman's pedigree at the moment, the way Carrinne gazed down her nose at the trashed apartment he'd recently shared with her daughter. Not to mention his next chug from the bottle. Then she grabbed the scotch and daintily helped herself to a good shot and a half.

Her grin as he reclaimed his booze said she knew she'd shocked him. Satisfied, she settled her petite self on top of the coffee table that matched the couch and love seat he and Maggie picked out together.

"They look like home," Maggie had assured him in the midst of their day-long excursion into furniture shopping--synonymous in most men's vocabulary with the third circle of hell. "They look like us."

So the bright red, slip-covered piles of padding had come home with them, and he'd pretended to like how they were too big for their tiny living area. What cop didn’t want to maneuver through a blood-colored obstacle course on his way to bed at night, or when he stumbled to the kitchen for coffee in the morning. The damn things were an eye-sore.

But since Maggie had left, he'd slept on them every night. Lying in their bed had been an exercise in torture. The hours dragged by, his body on fire as memories of making love kicked insomnia into his own personal, erotic hell.

"Detective?" Carrinne held her hand out for the scotch. Quirked an eyebrow when he hesitated.

He shoved the bottle at her.

"When you're done, feel free to let yourself out." He waved in the direction of the door, but ended up motioning toward the bathroom instead.

Lord, he was drunk.

"Not a chance, Detective. I was dealing with my own Tall, Dark and Brooding man when you were still trying to figure out whether or not girls have cooties. Do your worst. I'll still be here. Resistance is futile."

Hearing one of Maggie's pet sci-fi phrases come out of her mother's mouth got the better of him. His snort burned through the pounding in his head. Rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes, he resigned himself to enduring whatever the woman had come to say. Whatever it took to get his bottle back and his ex's mother out of his apartment, so he could finish drinking himself into the oblivion he was hoping would make thinking completely impossible.