Book Shoot Contest

Credit: VLC Photo

Back in June I submitted a teaser from my book TOUCHED to a contest run by Vania over at VLC Photo. Guess what? I won. Vania took pictures inspired by the scene I submitted. Yesterday she posted the pictures on her website. See them here. Below is the scene I submitted. Aren’t the pictures beautiful?

Two days later I waited until morning light eased the darkness in my father’s guestroom before I rose and stripped off my old nightgown, faded and threadbare from too many washings. Glancing down, I saw I’d lost weight I couldn’t spare, and my hip bones jutted out from a too-skinny, sickly frame. Bruises painted my stomach and strips of white tape bound two broken ribs. Everything ached and I hoped Dean felt half of the pain I did. After dressing, I crept down the stairs and slipped unnoticed out the front door.

The March wind cut through my thin coat and whipped my hair out of its band as I headed for the deserted beach near the marina at the end of my father’s street. Ice and melting snow mingled with the sand and dirt to create puddles of watery mud. Rocks and thousands of broken clam shells littered the sand at the beach, and I picked my way over to a weathered stone to sink down and watch a lone sailboat fly across the water. Unlike the beaches at home, here the water didn’t work itself up to waves, but lapped the shore like a lazy tongue.

The snow-covered mountains, the forest with its skeleton ladies naked without their autumn dresses, the blue water of the harbor, and the immense sky soothed the anger swirling inside me. My father had unexpectedly grown a conscience. Anna had cried when Ben told her he was taking me and to hell with the custody agreement. He did not ask if I wanted to go, but threw his weight around until I found myself on a plane to Nowhere-Frickin’-Maine.

Nobody seemed to care what I wanted. It had been so long since I’d thought beyond surviving Dean that I wasn’t sure I could have answered them if they had asked. Two options lay before me. I could give up and let Dean win. Let him convince me I was worth nothing. Or I could swallow my pride and accept my father’s help. At least temporarily. Maybe I could convince Ben to sign emancipation papers.

I’d have to keep my freak ability a secret if I stayed. That meant leaving my injuries alone because people would notice if the bruises disappeared from one moment to the next. Yet, I needed to know if my power to heal myself had returned. Crowds could be dangerous when the stranger next to me might be carrying a disease or illness. Sometimes, their pain could reach right out and grab me, regardless of how hard I concentrated on blocking them.

I closed my eyes to concentrate. Since I needed to safeguard my secret, I would have to pick an injury others couldn’t see, one of my broken ribs. Like I’d done a dozen times before, I pictured the broken bone and then imagined it mending. A sharp stab speared my side as the bone fused, and I gasped even as the pain faded and my breathing flowed easier than before. Relieved, my face turned to the sun.

In the distance, a camera shutter clicked.

Startled, I looked toward the sound. A boy about my age stood thirty yards away with a camera in his hands. It wasn’t a digital camera, but one of the large professional-looking cameras with all the mysterious attachments. My heart skittered as my attention shifted from object to boy.

Striking. If I’d had to pick one word to describe him, that would have been it. Not Hollywood handsome, but more interesting for the difference. Tall and lean, he moved with ease, completely at home in his skin and sure of his footing. He’d tower over me, I noted with odd pleasure. Deep, chocolate brown hair fell in long waves to his neck. Sharp planes and angles defined his tanned face, making him appear rugged. Full, sensual lips and a square, shadowed jaw completed the picture of perfection marred by a two-inch white scar that slashed through one eyebrow to the top of one high cheekbone.

And his eyes. I sucked in a breath. Even from twenty feet away, their dark green color reminded me of the woods that hugged the marina. The intent expression in those deep-set eyes held a trace of surprise as if he hadn’t expected company on the beach. Something more than his expression prompted a pang of kinship – an all too recognizable air of resigned sadness hung about him.

One of his thick brows rose, and I realized I’d been returning his stare for some time.