Slipping in here in the last couple of hours of Excerpt Week, with a longish scene from the rough draft of Chapter 4 of Hunter, my sequel to Swamp Ghosts. Hunter Painter is Gunnar Wolfe’s best friend, though even  Gunn doesn’t really understand him. Hunter marches to a very different drummer than most of the folks in Riverbend, Florida. In an unguarded moment, Hunter confesses to Gunn that he has loved Willow Greene since the 11th grade, over 16 years ago, and Gunn advised him strongly to call her. After much internal agonizing, he does and finds himself having lunch with Willow at her cottage, when things take a surprising turn, scaring Hunter away in a panic. (He still lives at home, btw, helping care for his ailing mother.)

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HUNTER GROANED, PULLING his feather pillow over his head not only to block out the world, but just in case he started shouting in frustration, which is what he felt like doing.

What the hell happened? What the bloody hell just happened? Everything was fine. It was going better than I ever thought it would, and then suddenly it all went crazy. She kissed me! Why the hell did she kiss me like that? How the hell was I supposed to resist that?

The memory of that kiss rocketed into him so hot and fast, it scorched path through his soul. Never in his life had a kiss transported him that way. He could still feel her mouth under his, sweet and yielding, and burning like fire. The raspberry scent of her hair lingered on his hands, and he would never, ever forget the taste of her skin. Every nerve ending in his body felt burned raw from the experience—so sensitive, the slightest breeze sliding over it might cause unbearable pain.

But somewhere in his torment, he also remembered how she had responded to him, moaning into that kiss, and whispering his name over and over as they clung to each other. She had wanted him, too, a concept that had never once seemed a possibility to him in all the years he had loved her.

Doesn’t make it any better, does it, you stupid fool? Still never gonna happen. You don’t belong with Willow Greene, and nothing’s going to change that. All you’re doin’ here is torturing yourself. Continue reading →