I’m
pleased to put the spotlight on an author I’ve enjoyed a few times. Graylin Fox’s
new release, SMOLDER, just hit bookstores in the last few days. It’s already in
my ebook list to read asap…be sure to add it to yours too!
SMOLDER
Romantic Suspense,
Romance
Published at Ellora’s
Cave
Blush Line
[Blush sensuality
level: This is a sensual romance (may have explicit love scenes, but not erotic
in frequency or type).]
Clinical
psychologist Ellie Quinn is starting a brand new job at a hospital in Savannah.
She doesn’t expect the amorous attentions of quick-tempered ex-cop Owen Mata
and handsome Russian surgeon Dmitri Komarnitskaia. But choosing between the two
is soon the least of her worries. When she persuades a battered woman to leave
her husband, Ellie finds herself the target of a sinister serial killer, and
something about the case is making Owen increasingly unstable. Only with Dmitri
does she feel safe, but if she can’t bring her psychological skills to bear to
catch the killer, she won’t be the only one in danger.
Excerpt:
The
alarm clock woke me up, but it didn’t have a way to remind me I had moved to a
new home. So after I bumped into the first two walls, I found the light switch
and headed to get cleaned up. After a long, hot shower and a huge mug of
coffee, I was off to start my new job. The three-mile drive to the hospital
took thirty-five minutes. You can’t call it a rush hour if no one is moving
faster than twenty-five miles per hour. The parking deck was nearly empty, so I
had plenty of room to pop the trunk and pull out the boxes I needed to take to
my office. The offer of help that I barely heard with my head in the trunk
registered enough for me to stop and turn around. Oh, my.
Damn,
he’s gorgeous.
He
stood a few feet away, yet I still had to look up to find his eyes. They were
the deep blue of the ocean with gold flecks that made them sparkle even in the
dim light of the parking deck. His black hair was smooth and perfectly placed
except for one straggler that hung down just over his brow. I wanted to reach
up and run my fingers through it. He had broad shoulders and stood confidently
as I let my gaze linger over his strong, lean form. His smile indicated that he
was enjoying the attention. The hand he held out to me was tipped with
perfectly manicured nails. I saw no wedding ring on his left hand and was
relieved. My knees were weak from the brief encounter and I wanted to know more
about him.
“Thank
you,” I replied. “I could use an extra pair of hands. But I’m not quite sure
where I’m going just yet. I only know the hallway where my office is located.”
“It
is next to mine.”
His
sexy Russian accent was beautiful as he spoke softly, almost in a whisper. My
body responded with longing I hadn’t felt in a year. I think I swayed toward
him as he spoke.
“I’m
Dr. Komarnitskaia,” he added.
“Nice
to meet you. I’m Dr. Ellie Quinn. Psychology.”
We
shook hands and his were smooth and strong. I felt breathless and weak-kneed.
As someone who talks for a living I’m rarely out of words, but looking into his
eyes I had trouble finding air or words and momentarily fumbled for my reply.
The last time I’d felt like that had been in high school, when my crush had
asked me to move out of the way at the lockers.
“I
should warn you, I’ll mangle your last name.”
He
smiled and my knees buckled. I leaned back against the car for support.
Reaching behind me, I grabbed the edge of the trunk and tried to make it look
intentional. His eyes sparkled in a way that told me he’d noticed, but he
didn’t mention it.
“You
can just call me Dr. K. Everyone does. I’m a critical care surgeon.”
That
smile could sell anything.
“Okay,
Dr. K it is, then.” I smiled up at him and he winked at me.
With
my box in his hands, we left the parking deck and he used his access card to
get us through the doctors’ entrance. I have to admit it felt a little cool to
use that door. I’m not big on superficial things, but I earned this degree and
I’m glad there are perks that go with it.
As
he stood waiting for me to go through the door he held, I got a very good look
at him. He stood at least six feet tall and his black hair brushed the top of
his collar. He was tall, with a straight back, as his short black hair brushed
the top of his collar, his hips barely moved. There was an easy grace to his
movements. It reminded me of an old karate teacher I’d had, who moved carefully
yet made it look casual and unimposing. People in the hallways got out of his
way and he made the long walk effortlessly. I had to move fast to keep up with
him, so I had to catch my breath when we got to my office door.
My
nameplate was already there on the wall. Human resources had given me the keys
when I was last there, so I fished them out of my pocket and opened the door. Dr.
K turned the lights on, and I was impressed.
A
full-sized waiting room with leather furniture, toy boxes for the kids, a
flat-screen TV on the wall and a bookcase. It all fit easily within the space.
The door at the back was to my private office and I headed that way. The smell
of oak hit me when I walked into the room. Bookshelves lined the right wall and
a mahogany desk took up one-third of the floor space. The back wall was
half-windowed and looked out over a courtyard. The fountain looked as if it hadn’t
worked in decades, but it was peaceful. Ivy covered the wide base and stretched
up to wind around the three tiers that now sprouted clover instead of water.
Birds hovered around the top as if they were waiting for flowers to bloom. I
placed my purse on the desk and turned to find Dr. K staring at me from the
door.
“Thank
you for your help—you can place the box on the desk and I’ll get to it when I
get back from orientation.” I smiled at him, the best one I could muster given
that my stomach was full of nervous butterflies.
“I’m
just to the left on the hallway—feel free to stop by anytime,” he said as he
put the box down and headed for the door. “Anytime.”
I
watched his tall, sexy form leave the room before I turned to grab a notebook
and pen and headed to the conference room for orientation. I don’t know who
came up with the concept of orientation, but they should have to pay dearly for
it. I could have read the entire manual in an hour, but instead I spent a whole
Friday listening to hospital board members blow smoke up our butts about the
great work they did, how wonderful they were, and the contributions they’d made
to get onto the board. I’m not much for blowing your own horn, so these people
made me want to find the pharmacy, and quick.
The
lunch was the standard conference sandwich with soggy bread, chewy ham, and
stale potato chips. At least there was plenty of coffee to rinse the taste out
of my mouth.
The
last presenter was a former detective from Atlanta. He was now the head of
hospital security. If you built a stereotype for compact and powerful, it would
be Security Chief Owen Mata. From where I sat, he looked about five feet ten,
dressed casually in slacks and a polo shirt that accentuated his bodybuilder’s
form. His blue eyes looked angry when he talked about safety, almost as if he
took it personally when people didn’t follow the rules. His light-brown hair
was unruly, with curls that poked out each time he ran his hand over his head.
Damn,
I need help. Or a very long bath with a toy.
I
would never remember what he said, but I made sure to write down his office
number and location. In my business, it always helped to know security. I’d
been threatened and shoved, never needed more than a few moments to calm
someone down, but I couldn’t take chances. Not everyone admitted to the
hospital was honest about his or her medications, and it would only take one
sudden onset of psychosis to get hurt. Rarely happened, but I was careful.
Chief
Mata smiled at me as he left the room. The orientation ended and I got up to
leave. As I waited to get out of my row of chairs, I was caught between two
people who were determined to ignore the fact I was standing between them while
they tried to hug around me. A lovely blonde woman showed up with a smile just
in time to offer me her hand and get me out of the way.
“That
was close,” I said to my rescuer.
“They
were about to smoosh you. Nice to meet you—I’m Lee. I’ll be your assistant.”
Her
accent was evident but I couldn’t place it. She was used to this and before I
could ask, she said, “I’m Welsh.”
I
didn’t remember any mention of an assistant. “I’m sorry, Lee. I don’t remember
that part of the deal. Although I’ll happily accept your assistance.”
“It
was a last-minute decision. The board decided their one staff psychologist
would need to spend more time with patients than handling paperwork and
answering phones. So they moved me over from the human resources office today.”
“Thanks,
Lee.” I walked at her side back to my office suite. She unlocked the door and I
noticed a small office I’d missed earlier, tucked to the left as we walked in.
It was just large enough for a computer desk and phone, but with a door to shut
out the noise if needed. She had a perfect view of the waiting room with a glass
partition for privacy.
“Assistant
under glass.”
“Exactly.”
I
blushed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“It’s
okay, the same thought occurred to me.” She laughed and the tension eased.
“Are
they any patients I need to see today?” I looked at the pile of paperwork on
her desk.
“Not
today. Monday, you have a full day, and I’ll try to get you out of the hospital
tour they scheduled for some time next week.”
“They?
As in the lady with the perfume smell?”
“Stench—you
mean stench.”
“Yes,
yes I do.”
She
smiled. “Yes, she set you up for the standard first week, but forgot the
doctors that requested a staff psychologist had a list of people they wanted
seen as soon as possible.”
I
walked down the hallway past our kitchenette to my office and grabbed my purse.
“Thank you.”
“No
problem.” She shut the door and locked it behind us. “See you on Monday.”
“See
you.”
The
drive home was slow, so I got a chance to check out the stores on the way. I
still had to unpack and get settled over the weekend. I put the coffee on as
soon as I got home and could hear it brewing as I unpacked. I left the garage
door open as I unloaded the moving truck. One of my neighbors had been nice
enough when I arrived to help me unlatch my car from the back trailer hitch. A
local moving company had offered to pick up the truck and car trailer for a
small fee as long as I was sure it was empty when they showed up.
The
house was small, with a central hallway that ran from the front door to the
kitchen at the back. With two bedrooms off to the left, I left the front one as
a guest bedroom and took the back room for myself. A small hall ran between the
rooms and opened into the garage. I’d rented the house mostly furnished, so I
only needed to move in personal belongings and clothes. I’d brought my own
couch and a couple of chairs for the den area, which was huge, with a beamed
wooden ceiling, hardwood floors and a fireplace I could have roasted a small
pig in. My boxes were all labeled by room and contents, so all I had to do was
drop them right where they would need to be unpacked.
The
last trip up the driveway would have burned my lungs if the air hadn’t been
wetter than a damp rag. My new house was cozy and packed with boxes. The last
load went into the bathroom. The smell of coffee beckoned me into the kitchen
from the back of the small cabin that was mine for at least the next year. I
grabbed my travel mug and filled it, then topped it off with enough creamer and
sugar to make syrup.
Ahhh.
Now it feels like home.
The
cable guy had come by earlier while I unpacked the car, and now the TV was on a
local news channel. I’d found it was always easier to handle the local cheesy
commercials on mute for the first few weeks.
Oh,
good—a car commercial with a goat. That makes perfect sense.
The
couch fitted along the wall in front of the fireplace, the television sat in
the corner, and just off to my left, the sunroom had a view of the marsh. I
still hadn’t got an answer about why the pool has a glass house over it. I
would have thought a greenhouse was not what you wanted in a Savannah summer. I
curled my short legs under me and pulled the ponytail holder out of my
shoulder-length, blonde hair. It took boxes of hair color now to keep the
natural look I’d hated as a kid, and it went well with my hazel eyes.
I
was looking forward to my first official week as a hospital psychologist. Years
of training were about to be put to the test and I found myself excited and
nervous. Next week, the disgustingly cheery human resources woman would try to
parade me around the hospital, and I wanted to avoid that at all costs.
She’d
been dressed like a “proper” southern woman. I’d been southern my whole life
and still didn’t know why that meant polyester clothing, helmet hair and enough
perfume to choke the unconscious man on the stretcher in the elevator with us.
Her accent had been syrup-southern, the one that women in the south put on when
they don’t like you and are pretending to be polite. I hated that sound. I
always looked for the knife.
Outside,
the sunset cast an orange glow on the river that wound around the island. The
trees glowed as the sun changed positions.
This
is a view I could get used to.
The
silence settled my mind after yesterday’s four-hour drive to get there from
Atlanta. This would be my first official job after years of training and
school. A text message popped up on my phone. “Are you there yet?” from my
father. I let him know I’d arrived and would call him as I’d got more settled.
My
brain started to close down for the night and I knew there was no fighting it,
so I got up and shuffled off to bed.
On
Saturday, I got the majority of the furniture rearranged. Just as I started to
tackle some large boxes, my father called.
“Yes,
Dad?”
“You
get settled yet?”
“I’m
working on it. It’s gorgeous here.”
“How
was orientation?” he teased.
He’d
been through similar painful days. “It was all a blur after the smoking-hot cop
started talking.”
“Here’s
your brother.”
My
brother got on the line.
“What
did you say to him? He’s laughing. “
“I
told him a sexy cop talked at orientation and took away my ability to think.”
“Oh
geez, El. Glad you’re safe. I’m taking Dad out to dinner now—just wanted to
check in.”
“Thanks,
Josh. “
I
managed most of the boxes before exhaustion forced me to sleep. The next
morning, I woke up with aches and pains in new places from the move. I stood in
the sunroom watching nature until the coffee alarm went off. Twenty minutes
later, I was in an old wooden deck chair in my backyard, staring at the same
view. It was only eight a.m., but the air was already getting thick. Still, it
was a very peaceful and calming view. It was nice to know I’d have a place to
shed stress after long days at work. My cabin stood at the end of the street,
so the peace and quiet should last until afternoon when the boats started to go
by. Very little moved on Sundays in the south until church and brunch had
concluded.
I
treasured the silence because I knew the next day it would end. This was a
career that followed you home.. Every moment stolen was appreciated. Hospital psychology
was a challenging career. Every day was spent going from room to room to find
out what had happened. Asking questions like, why did you try to kill yourself?
Do you remember the car wreck? Just how much alcohol did you drink last night?
And my personal favorite, tell me again how that got in your ass? Those answers
were always the most creative.
The
lies—oh my, the lies people tell.
The
minutes ticked by slowly as I sat there and watched. A couple of early boats
went by close enough for them to wave to me, but far enough away to allow me my
privacy. The real estate agent hadn’t understood why I insisted on isolation.
Some days after work, I didn’t want to have another conversation. I listened
and talked for a living, so silence was my best companion at home. My mute
button was the most used one on the remote control.
The
need for a refill drove me back inside and the piled-up boxes pushed the
responsibility button in my head. So a quick shower and change into jeans and
an old T-shirt led straight to unpacking my things. I hung the picture of my
parents, the last one taken before Mom died, up in the spare bedroom.
A
late afternoon lunch disappeared in a hurry as I moved through the kitchen. My
bedroom and bathroom were last. I unpacked the rest of the boxes, hung the
clothes, and arranged all the knick-knacks.
Monday
morning came fast. The local a.m. news tried to lift spirits with promises of
cooler temperatures just as soon as September arrived in a week. I headed for
my first full day of work hoping nothing would go wrong. In my business, chaos
was the normal order of things, but there were ways for that to get out of
control. I also found my mind drifting to the sparkling blue eyes of a certain
Russian surgeon. I wondered how often I would see him in the hallways. Given my
body’s reaction to him on Friday, I might want to walk close to the walls just
in case I needed to lean against something. Swooning was not my normal
reaction, but something about Dr. K had me wondering if my office had soundproofing.
My face flushed as I parked my car, but he wasn’t there. The office door stood
open and Lee was sitting at her desk when I arrived. She even had a coffee from
the cafeteria on my desk waiting for me.
She’s
going to spoil me.
I
sat at my desk just as she walked in with a printed list of patients, sorted by
urgency and then room number.
“Thank
you.”
“Not
a problem. The top three you’ll want to see this morning. They aren’t more
urgent than the rest, but the requesting doctor will call all afternoon if he
doesn’t see your note in the chart by lunch.”
“Okay,
I’ll start there.”
A
new lab coat hung on the back of the door. I had missed it until Lee pulled it
down and handed it to me.
“This
arrived earlier today. It was embroidered locally, so if anything is wrong, let
me know and I’ll get it changed.”
“Dr.
Ellie Quinn” was engraved on the first line, with “Psychology” on the second
line. “Nope, it’s fine.”
“Off
you go.” She pushed me toward the door.
I
reached back to get my coffee cup and just as I turned to the door, Dr. K
walked in.
“Good
morning, Dr. Quinn.”
“Good
morning, Dr. K.” His smile made me shiver.
“I’ll
escort you to your first patients.”
“Looks
as if I start on the sixth floor today,” I said.
I
tried to keep up with his long strides as we made our way to the elevator down
the hall. I wasn’t entirely sure my shortness of breath was due to the
increased speed.
I
think I heard Lee laugh as we left the office. I’d have to ask her about Dr. K
at lunch, and about Chief Mata—a sexy surgeon on one hand and the obvious
bad-boy former detective on the other. The job looked very good from here—very
good indeed.
The
elevator opened and that unmistakable hospital smell hit me in the face. It was
a cross between body odor, disinfectant and over-processed air. We rode in
silence to the sixth floor. He kept smiling at me and I wasn’t sure my words
would come out correctly, seeing as my knees were knocking. His cologne had a
warm smell to it, a little musk with amber, a scent made me think of the woods right
after a rain, and I wanted to lean into his neck and breathe deeply. He smelled
so good! Dr. K nodded at me as I exited the elevator. The doors closed without
him getting off. His scent hung in the air for a moment after he was gone.
I
walked over to the nurses’ station and gathered the charts for my first
patients. Reading doctors’ handwriting is impossible, but the nurses’ notes and
case managers’ information was legible. I’d look up the patients’ full data on
the computer later, when I dictated my notes, but for now I wanted to walk in
with some knowledge of why they’d been admitted. I cautiously avoided the
personal observations in the charts. I wanted to get a clear, objective opinion
and that would be hard to do if the rest of the medical team had made up its
mind and explicitly written it in the charts.
The
first three were typical cases. The patient was either anxious or depressed
because of their health or a long stay in the hospital. The doctors just wanted
to make sure the mental health issues would resolve themselves after discharge,
so they could send them home today. I checked the charts to make sure I had
read all their information. It angered patients when another member of staff
entered their room and they had to repeat their stories. Then I headed to find
the nurse assigned to the room. The nurses on any floor are my best resource.
No one knows exactly which family member shows up, who is helpful, and all the
little details like the nursing staff. And they loved to talk to doctors. Appreciation
for their paying attention is always well-rewarded.
I
was sitting at the doctors’ station writing my notes when I heard someone stop
behind me. I turned around to find the nurse manager for the floor. She looked
a little concerned, but obviously hadn’t been willing to interrupt me.
“Yes?”
“Dr.
Quinn?”
“Yes,
that’s me.”
“We
have a situation down the hall. A patient’s husband came by earlier and
threatened her. When the nurse told him to leave, he punched her and I had to
call security.”
“They
escorted him out of the building?” Please say yes. I’m not ready for that on
day one.
“Yes,
Doctor. But he keeps calling her and now she’s refusing treatment and demanding
to be released.”
“Okay,
Nurse. I’ll go talk to her.” I stood up and she pointed me to the room at the
end of the hall.
Now Available at …
Graylin
Fox is a multi-published author and poet. She began writing poetry in 1993 with
her first poem published in 1995. In 2008, her characters demanded a larger
format and she began to expand her talents into the short fiction market.
Decadent
Publishing published her short story, Coming Home, in January 2011. In July of
2011 Decadent Publishing released Your Biggest Fan, a psychological thriller.
Her series, Summer Fae, began with Contagion in April 2011. This series
continued with Bloodlines, a novella in September 2012. The final installment
of the series, The Legacy, will be out in 2013.
Her
first full length novel, Smolder, about a Hospital Psychologist who finds love
while dodging a killer, has a May 9, 2013 release date.
She
lives in a marsh off the eastern coast with plants that struggle to survive on
her “happy muse” weeks and a tiny cat runs the place. Graylin can be found at GraylinFox.com
and contacted at GraylinWrites@gmail.com.
