by Mickie Sherwood Publish: Sep 16, 2018Contemporary RomanceRomanceWomen's FictionAfrican American Interest
Hounded by a childhood tragedy most of her adult life, Marcy Rayburn tucks tail and hides out in Bayou Country, forsaking a high-profile singing career and all chances of any meaningful relationships. No matter how long she’s been out of the limelight, the reclusive entertainer finds that she’s still fodder for the gossip news. Will the appearance of Jack, an unannounced interloper, cast her back into the spotlight and her heart into a tailspin?
Unceremoniously dumped by his fiancée, Jack Connolly has spent the last few years living in an alternate reality. Going down South to repair and retrieve the company’s helicopter is a pain in his rear. That pain soon has a name, and ultimately, a grip on his walled-off heart. Is he willing to revisit his old world and sacrifice his freedom to give Marcy what she needs?
Two hearts ache. But, will a soulful alliance remedy the pain or only mask the hurt?
Soulful Alliance is a sweetly sensual, behind closed doors, relationship-based love story.
Formerly Louisiana Hot Sauce (Rewritten)
Excerpt Writer’s block was an inevitable outcome to the looming deadline for her latest manuscript. Too many distractions pulled her in too many directions. Her lids fluttered rapidly, eyes magnetized to the cursor’s hypnotizing blink. Marcy’s descent into oblivion was a few seconds in length. However, she jerked awake in a terrorized state, relieved to see Mya napping. “Jack.” She launched upward and rocketed outside. “Jack!” her terrified shriek rent the air. She bolted blindly, kicking herself for leaving him unattended too long. “Come, Jack!” “Son-of-a-bitch!” A man’s voice thundered. “What?” His yell startled Marcy. He sprinted in her direction from the other side of the helicopter. Her antennae skyrocketed. All she saw was danger blitzing her way. She cut short and made a beeline for the house. Marcy looked over her shoulder at him. He gained on her, his head down like a sprinter off the blocks. A baseball cap obscured most of his features. However, the bush of hair around his mouth flared red—an admonition for her to beware. Her heart pounded loud enough to rupture her eardrums. The harder she pushed, the farther away her refuge seemed to get. She tamed the hair from her eyes for another quick glance. Foreboding knotted in the pit of her stomach. He was swifter than she. That unfortunate truth bore out. A vise squeezed her upper arm. Marcy hollered and fought for her life. “Stop hitting me!” he commanded, flinging the arm out that held her captive. The move bandied her about like a rag-doll. His cap hit the ground as he turned his head toward the house in the distance. His distraction was her chance. She wanted her freedom. Nothing else would do. So, she attacked with everything she had: biting his hand, elbowing, stomping. All of her efforts failed when his arm snaked around her body, constricting her intake of breath. The more she struggled, the tighter he compressed. Her feeble attempts at extrication turned her thoughts to Mya—all alone. “The baby’s in the house.” She cursed the fragility in her tone. “I’m not going to hurt you, lady,” he stormed. “But, you are.” She heaved, unable to control the panting while bent over the crook of his arm, her body gouged into his. “I just want you to stop kicking my ass, that’s all.” For Mya’s sake, she had no choice but to make a deal with the devil. She went limp. “I’m going to release you to turn around. Can you do that without a fight?” “Yes.” He did as committed. “Turn around.” She turned all right and took off again. Marcy zigzagged across the field to throw him off. He jetted right behind her, practically breathing down her neck. Then, the fingers he slipped through her hair grazed her scalp. His grasp thwarted her escape. He transferred his grip to her arm, spinning her around so fast her eyes locked on his white-knuckled hold.
Jack races toward love. Marcy's heart is the finish line.
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