Divine Solace: 8 (56 page)

Gen turned to verify, seeing real peace in his eyes.
Happiness, arousal, pleasure, love. She saw it in Lyda’s face as well, and
suspected it was in her own. She’d worn wedding rings twice before, but neither
had felt as right as what she wore now.

After congratulations were given, the patio cleared out with
discreet driftings of the other guests into the house or gardens, leaving the
three of them to share a private moment. Gen was sitting at Lyda’s knee again.
Noah was standing, but now he dropped to a knee beside her, kissed both their
hands. Lyda stroked his hair, then lifted his chin, kissed his mouth. This kiss
was another deep one, a teasing gesture that became even more provocative when
he lifted his hands and she made a sharp noise, keeping him in place until she
left him in an obviously aroused state. Then she leaned down and did the same
to Gen. Lips brushing, tongues tangling, teeth nipping, until Gen was breathing
fast and shallow. Lyda eased back, her gaze sweeping over both of them.

“I can take you up to our guestroom now, and we can
celebrate alone, privately. Or, I can take you to Tyler’s dungeon and we can
have our own version of a wedding reception.” Her gaze sparked. “Either way, my
pets will end up naked and at my mercy, while I give them pain and pleasure
according to my desires…and theirs. But I will give them this one choice. Which
will it be?”

Gen and Noah exchanged a glance. Noah’s teeth flashed in an
untamed, sexy smile, but Gen answered the question.

“Why can’t we have both?”

I've always had an
aversion to reading, watching or hearing interviews of favorite actors,
authors, musicians, etc. because so often the real person doesn't measure up to
the beauty of the art they produce. Their politics or religion are distasteful,
or they're shallow and self-absorbed, a vacuous mophead without a lick of
sense. From then on, though I may appreciate their craft or art, it has somehow
been tarnished. Therefore, whenever I'm asked to provide personal information
about myself for readers, a ball of anxiety forms in my stomach as I think:
"Okay, the next couple of paragraphs can change forever the way someone
views my stories." Why on earth does a reader want to know about me? It's
the story that's important.

So here it is. I've been
given more blessings in my life than any one person has a right to have.
Despite that, I'm a Type A, borderline obsessive-compulsive paranoiac who
worries I will never live up to expectations. I've got more phobias than anyone
(including myself) has patience to read about. I can't stand talking on the
phone, I dread social commitments, and the idea of living in monastic solitude
with my husband and animals, books and writing is as close an idea to paradise as
I can imagine. I love chocolate, but with that deeply ingrained, irrational
female belief that weight equals worth, I manage to keep it down to a minor
addiction. I adore good movies. I'm told I work too much. Every day is spent
trying to get through the never ending "to do" list to snatch a few
minutes to write.

This is because, despite
all these mediocre and typical qualities, for some miraculous reason, these
wonderful characters well up out of my soul with stories to tell. When I manage
to find enough time to write, sufficient enough that the precious
"stillness" required rises up and calms all the competing voices in
my head, I can step into their lives, hear what they are saying, what they're
feeling, and put it down on paper. It's a magic beyond description, akin to
truly believing my husband loves me, winning the trust of an animal who has
known only fear or apathy, making a true connection with someone, or knowing
for certain I've given a reader a moment of magic through those written words.
It's a magic that reassures me there is Someone, far wiser than myself, who
knows the permanent path to that garden of stillness, where there is only love,
acceptance and a pen waiting for hours and hours of uninterrupted, blissful
use.

If only I could finish that
darned "to do" list.

I welcome feedback from
readers - actually, I thrive on it like a vampire, whether it's good or bad.

Joey welcomes comments
from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

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Chance of a
Lifetime

Choice
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If Wishes Were
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Knights
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Knights
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Knights
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Knights
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Ley
natural

Make Her
Dreams Come True

Nature
of Desire 1: Holding the Cards

Nature
of Desire 2: Natural Law

Nature
of Desire 3: Ice Queen

Nature
of Desire 4: Mirror of My Soul

Nature of Desire
5: Mistress of Redemption

Nature
of Desire 6: Rough Canvas

Nature
of Desire 7: Branded Sanctuary

Snow
Angel

Threads
of Faith

Virtual
Reality

Behind
the Mask
anthology

Enchained
anthology

Faith
and Dreams

Hot
Chances
anthology

If Wishes Were
Horses

Knights
of the Board Room: Afterlife

Knights
of the Board Room: Hostile Takeover

Knights
of the Board Room: Willing Sacrifice

Nature
of Desire 1: Holding the Cards

Nature
of Desire 2: Natural Law
 

Nature
of Desire 3: Ice Queen

Nature
of Desire 4: Mirror of My Soul

Nature of
Desire 5: Mistress of Redemption

Nature
of Desire 6: Rough Canvas

Nature
of Desire 7: Branded Sanctuary

Virtual
Reality

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Divine Solace

ISBN 9781419947186

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Divine Solace Copyright © 2014 Joey W. Hill

Edited by Briana St. James

Cover design by Kelly Martin

Cover Photography by Valentin Agapov/ShutterstockArtem Furman/
Shutterstock,

sakkmesterke/Fotolia,mingius/Shutterstock, laschi/Shuterstock

Electronic book publication March 2014

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