Title: Born Into Fire
Author: Tarah Scott and KyAnn Waters
Genres: Contemporary Romance, Erotic Romance, Paranormal Romance
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Release Date: 12/22/2012
Word Count/Length: 38,000 words
She’s fire, he’s air. Together, their power is unimaginable…and hot, hot enough to melt steel.
Aspiring artist Kenna Lang can’t believe her luck in meeting the gorgeous Eric Grey. What she doesn’t know is that their chance encounter was by his design.
Their affair turns hotter than her glass furnaces. Drawn together in an erotic joining, they become more than human. In their merging, Eric shows her they descend from elements of air, water, earth, and fire. When another man tries to enslave her, Eric turns to the ones who were there when she disappeared: his race's sworn enemy, the shape-shifting dragons Drakaura.
Award winning author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on authors such as Georgette Heyer, Zane Grey, and Amanda Quick. Her favorite book is a Tale of Two Cities, with Gone With the Wind as a close second. She writes modern classical romance, and paranormal and romantic suspense. Tarah grew up in Texas and currently resides in Westchester County, New York with her daughter.
Tarah's Reading Group
Kenna Lang jackknifed upright in bed. Wind blasted over her fevered flesh. Her pussy pulsed with sudden emptiness, and she dragged in breath with a final wave of orgasm. Holy shit. A dream.
She jammed her eyes shut and mentally clutched at the receding edges of the erotic vision. A barely distinguishable whirlpooling shadow moved against the darkness within her mind, then evaporated. An answering echo of pleasure
clenched her pussy.
Wind fluttered over her, cooling the sweat- dampened hair at her temples, soothing her rampant heartbeat. She opened her eyes and stood. The room seemed to shift. She grabbed the edge of her grandmother’s armoire and inhaled a steadying breath. Curtains billowed at the window opposite the bed, then stilled. Rain and wooded scents lingered in the air…as did the heavy aroma of sex.
She took two steps, scooped up the robe that had fallen from the bed, and slipped her arms inside the long sleeves as she crossed to the window. Cool air washed over her heated skin when she drew near, and she let the robe fall open. Goose bumps chased across her arms. Despite the chill—needing the chill—she leaned into the brisk air and gazed heavenward. Stars sparkled in the cloudless night sky over Lakewood, Colorado. A hawk screeched in the distance. A storm had blown straight through while she slept.
Kenna faced the bed. The sheet lay in a tangled mess across the mattress. She’d flung her pillow clear to the door. The chaos explained the uneasy feeling in her belly. She’d obviously had a fitful night. But the dream, the sexual energy, had been so real. Given the hard orgasm that woke her, she should be feeling ready to take on the world. Yet sexual tension still hummed through her like a live wire. Another wave of shivers raced across her flesh. She’d come, but the experience had been unlike any she’d ever dreamed—or imagined. She hadn’t been that aroused…ever.
She grimaced. The pent-up anxiety over her upcoming show must have channeled into emotional chaos. Just thinking about the show started the gnawing in her stomach that had begun when Michael Laird first contacted her three months ago. This was her first major glass art exhibit—and it was now only two weeks away. Half a dozen crates had been shipped to the gallery.
Several in-progress pieces lined a shelf in her workshop, but it was the special not-yet-started project that had her nervous. As a child, she’d envisioned the piece and, good or bad, the dragons she called Drakaura would define her as an artist.
A nervous quiver radiated through her. Marshall Thomas would be attending the show. She hadn’t seen her mentor since showing him her first attempt at Drakaura two years ago. He’d accused her of copying William Gudentrath, and she’d walked out without a word.
She understood the risk of blowing dragons in glass. William’s dragon glass goblets were world renowned. But he worked in muted copper, dark wine, ivory, and soft green, whereas her Drakaura was vivid greens, reds, and oranges. Still, Marshall’s accusation had played into the very fear that her critics fueled: the hidden passion within the glass was missing. What would they think of her dragon theme? What would Marshal think of it?
He had read about her upcoming show. His congratulations had included an offer to fly in from Texas and help out. Sadness tugged at her. She missed him, the way he brought the art to life for her, his patient teaching. But was she ready to see him?
Kenna shrugged off the anxiety, changed into faded jeans and a T-shirt, then started down the stairs of the two-story Colonial that had once been her grandmother’s home. The third step creaked. Kenna smiled. The seventh step would grumble next, then the eighth, and lastly, the twelfth. Many found the groans of an old house creepy, but she
knew the sounds began and ended with the wind.
Ten minutes later, a hot cup of coffee in hand, Kenna walked the few feet from the house to her garage turned workshop. She slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. A breeze wafted past as she entered.
Her heart always jump-started at the sight of the three glassblowing furnaces that dominated the workshop. A massive five-by-six freestanding crucible furnace to melt the glass sat near the farthest right-hand corner. To its right, along the garage doors, a six-by-four front-loading annealing oven used to slowly cool the glass sat on steel legs,
while a pipe-shaped insulated firebrick glory hole furnace used to reheat the glass lay beside it. Five years of eating alphabet soup, bread, and skim milk had been worth it.
Nearer the middle of the room sat the marver, the steel table where she worked the glass. Two parallel rails held the pipe while she worked with the glass to form the skin. Blown glass filled the shelves lining all four walls.
Kenna closed and locked the door, then crossed to the workbench and set her coffee and keys on the tabletop. After lighting the glory hole furnace, she stood, her gaze on the far shelf where she’d tucked away the piece she’d named Twilight Glide: a solid fire-colored base with a translucent yellow half- moon in the middle. A swirling crimson stem rose from the moon, and a sleek dragon, its dark green wings spread, soared above. Not quite Drakaura, but nothing like Gudentrath. This new piece was to follow the others already shipped to the Michael Laird Gallery for the Emergence of the Dragon exhibit.
The yet uncreated centerpiece rose in memory as if stepping from the furnace fully formed. A tremor of familiar excitement fluttered her heart. Dreams as a child had conjured feathered dragons that guarded her in the deepest part of the night. Their memory outlived even Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and metamorphosed into the Drakaura, sensual creatures that flowed in harmony with the glass. A soft breeze skimmed across her arms. Kenna smiled.Today was the day.
Giveaway 5 ebook copies of Born Into Fire.