Teaser Tuesday: Blame it on the Moon by Shara Lanel

Welcome to Teaser Tuesday! This week I’m hosting fellow Savvy Author, Shara Lanel. She’s here today talking about her latest paranormal book, Blame it on the Night.

In Blame It on the Moon, Haden never found out who his adopted parents were, so that was my starting point for Blame It on the Night. I knew the title and that I wanted to set it in my old hometown in Western New York. Of course, I changed the name to keep folks from showing up there, trying to catch a glimpse the werewolves. Most of the town is oblivious, which means the weres have done their job of protecting their anonymity. However, when Haden comes to town and starts asking questions about his real parents and hometown girl Olivia comes home looking for her sister, the web of secrecy starts unraveling. Add to that two murders and Guy Bastiaan, the caretaker of pack lands, starts to wonder if, perhaps, it’s time to let those secrets out.


Human/werewolf relations were forbidden. Guy’s father had made that clear years ago, but Guy had come very close to disobeying with naïve, teenage Olivia. He’d barely kept his body under control, as he’d held her during her first shocking orgasm. Years later, on edge with anger, grief, and the pull of the moon, Guy knows she’s the last person he needs near him.

Olivia is overcome with humiliation at the mere thought of seeing Guy again, though he’s starred in all of her fantasies over the past several years, but she refuses to leave his doorstep until he answers her questions about her missing sister and the dead body found on his property. Problem is, he’s ordering her to leave while blocking the door, telling her to get lost while pinning her between his hard body and the table, saying he doesn’t know what he’s doing while his every touch takes Olivia closer to heaven.

Sometimes forbidden love is worth the risk, but sometimes it leads to revenge and murder.

Buy link: http://www.loose-id.com/Blame-it-on-the-Night.aspx


Olivia clapped her hands together. “So are you going to offer me coffee or a beer or something?”

Guy hopped up, but not to head to the kitchen. He pointed to the window. “Don’t you want to get back to town before this gets really bad?”

Olivia stood and, for a moment, thought he could be the murderer, but that made no sense. She knew Guy, or thought she did. He was a good man. “Jeez, not very hospitable, are you?”

“It’s just better if you leave.” His face had been hard when she’d arrived, like there was some unknown emotion scarring it, but it had loosened up as they talked. Now it had returned to granite.

Well, if she’d had any hope of a little fling with Guy while she was up here, that quelled the idea. Not that she’d had the idea. She’d been over her crush for years. She needed to find Amy, fix her problem, and catch the next plane south. No time for personal entanglements. It was just that since she’d seen Guy at the lumberyard, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. And her body…well, it seemed more alive than it had been in months. When she got back to Florida, she’d need to spend some time taking in the nightlife, put herself out there more so she could meet someone. It was her own fault that she spent so much time alone.

He’d opened the door and looked out, but now he was frowning. “Shit.”

“What?” She was still sock-footed, so he couldn’t push her out the door that fast. She followed his gaze and saw…gray, and she could only see that because of the powerful barn and house lights. “Shit.” It wasn’t that the snow had accumulated that much — probably an inch or two of fresh stuff — but the wind had picked up, blowing the devilish ice crystals everywhere.

“And you’re driving that low-to-the-ground rental car. Does it have winter tires on it, at least?” Normal New York conversation, but Guy’s eyes looked intense, like there was a more compelling reason for her to leave than the snow.

“Um, maybe?” she said to keep it light, but Guy’s knuckles were white from holding the door too tight, and his other hand shook as he brushed back his hair. A few stray flakes settled, then melted on his face, leaving tiny drops that Olivia wanted to lick off. Okay, where had that thought come from? She forced herself to look away. “Well, you’re right. I should head out. It’s not too deep yet, so I won’t have to worry about getting stuck in any drifts.”

Guy shut the heavy door against the cold and leaned back, shoving his hands in his pockets. His chest moved with his breath as if he’d just completed a long run. “I could drive you to town with the truck.” Not that he sounded happy with the idea.

Olivia shook her head. “No. Then I’ll be stuck without a car, and I want to keep looking for Amy.”

“I can pick you up in the morning to come get your car.”

“Once I get off your road, it won’t be that bad. Well plowed, I’m sure.” She reached for her still-damp sneakers and walked over to the half-log bench at the trestle table to put them on. She tried not to think about the deep ditches on either side of Guy’s unlit, narrow road.

“And you don’t even have boots.” His hand was out of his pocket and through his hair again, leaving odd little peaks that somehow made him look sexier.

“The car has a very nice heater.” She didn’t know why she was arguing with the truck idea. It was sensible. Maybe it was that he seemed so unwilling; she didn’t want to obligate him to come get her in the morning. Shoes on, she popped up, grabbed her coat, and walked to the door, which he still blocked with his large body. “Seriously, there’s not much on the ground if I leave now. No problem.”

He shook his head slowly, his jaw clamped, his eyes looking over her head instead of at her, his hands jammed in his pockets again. He certainly didn’t look like he was going to move.

Olivia took a step forward and reached for the door handle just below his elbow. She hoped ingrained manners would get him to move to the side. His hand flashed out and grabbed her forearm.

Jeez, maybe she should revisit the murderer idea.

“You have to leave.” His voice was like grinding stone.

She rolled her eyes as she looked down at his hand on her arm. “Then you have to move out of my way.”

“Leave, dammit.” But now he gripped her shoulders with both his hands to the point of pain, and something happened with his eyes.

Olivia blinked, and Guy’s eyes seemed normal again, but his thighs pressed against hers, making her stumble backward, toward the table. He didn’t loosen his grip, and Olivia abandoned her protest because of her sudden awareness of Guy’s muscular thighs, warm hands, and musky scent. Why was he saying one thing so passionately but doing the exact opposite, like his body was possessed? One minute his piercing gaze set her body on fire, the next he stared over her head as if he couldn’t look at her.

When her butt hit the edge of the table, she squeaked. “Um, if you want me to leave, you’re walking me in the wrong direction.” Her body didn’t want to leave, despite his alarming behavior. Her body wanted to strip naked and writhe underneath him.

Read more of this excerpt at http://sharalanel.com/books/blame-it-on-the-night/excerpt-blame-it-on-the-night/



At age 10, research to Shara Lanel meant hopping aboard the local steam engine and writing the equivalent of The Great Train Robbery. Nowadays,
she gets hands-on research at the Writers’ Police Academy. Give her a gun and she might hit the target…or a pedestrian. She swears her characters
are much better shots, hitting the bulls-eye with the villains and the heart.

Shara resides in Richmond, VA with a clingy dog, an action-oriented son, and a handsome hubby. Don’t put her in the kitchen, unless you want to
burn it down, and her green-thumb is hit-or-miss, but she excels as a bibliophile, hoping she never has to pack up and move, since her hubby might
see just how many volumes she really has.




Twitter: @sharalanel

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