Chris will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour
What would you
do to stay young: Lie, Manipulate..kill?
London-Fall,
1888
The city is in a
panic as Jack the Ripper continues his murderous spree. While the Whitechapel
police struggle to find him, Detective Inspector Rudyard Bloodstone and his
partner are working feverishly to find their own serial killer. The British
Museum's beautiful gardens have become a killing ground for young women
strangled as they stroll through.
Their
investigation has them brushing up against Viscount Everhard, a powerful member
of the House of Lords, and a friend to Queen Victoria. When the circumstantial
evidence points to him as a suspect,
Rudyard must deal with the political blowback, and knows if they are going to
go after the viscount, they'd better be right and have proof.
As the body
count grows and the public clamor for the detectives to do more,
inter-department rivalries complicate the already difficult case.
He
wrapped an end in each hand and pulled. His fingers crept up the silk and he
tugged a bit harder still. The material pressed deeper into the flesh of her
neck. Bright pink dotted her cheeks and radiated down to her jaw. The veins in
her temples popped out and pulsed in time to her heartbeat. She moaned, pushed
her hips upward and writhed against him. Her soft pubic hair tickled his
testicles. Isabeau’s unsubtle way of letting him know she wanted him inside
her. He obliged.
Her
hands encircled his wrists. She tugged hard outward, harder than usual. A
choked sigh escaped her. He paid no attention. This was standard. Isabeau
always insisted he maintain pressure until she signaled for him to release his
hold. In the past, when she reached the edge of consciousness, she’d beat along
his upper arms. This time she thrashed her head back and forth, something he
hadn’t seen before. Her eyes bulged in an unattractive way and she clawed at
him. Her nails gouged the skin on his hands, drawing blood.
She
hurt him and he wanted to slap her. He almost let go of one end of the scarf to
do that. Instead, he pulled tighter. Isabeau tried to insert her fingers into
the spot where the material crossed over. Her mouth opened and shut, soundless
and fishlike. She swatted at the mattress wildly. Red-faced to the point of
being near purple, she bucked beneath him.
She
fired his blood with her lack of inhibition. Never had she responded with such
intensity. Raw power surged through him, primitive, animalistic. He pumped
hard. Ready to climax, William clenched his fists, twisting the scarf one last
turn. Odd, feathery touches tapped his biceps, feminine and subtle grazes, and
then she went limp. Spent, he released his hold and collapsed on top of her,
his heart pounding while he caught his breath.
Isabeau
didn’t move and her head stayed turned to the side. She hadn’t cried out the
way she normally did when sated. Perhaps she was disappointed with his effort.
He gave the thought a mental shrug. At the end of the day, it really didn’t
matter. He’d arrange for her departure first thing in the morning.
William
rolled over and slung a sweaty arm over his eyes. He tried to decide which was
worse, telling her tonight the affair was over or waiting until morning. The
idea of doing it after such a rambunctious sexual endeavor seemed bad form, but
he wanted to get it over with. He turned onto his side, prepared for
histrionics, caterwauling, great tears and verbal abuse.
“Isabeau,
look at me. I’ve come to a decision and it will likely distress you.” Nothing.
She didn’t stir. “Isabeau?”
He
shook her by the arm. Still no response. William let go and her arm dropped
listless to the mattress. He raised her arm again and let go. Again, it fell
listless. He straddled her and patted her cheeks. Nothing. Her head twisted
without resistance first right then left depending on the direction of his pat.
He slapped her harder. Nothing. Vacant eyes stared fixed on the ceiling. He
bent an ear to her chest. Nothing. William leapt from the bed, snatched a
silver mirror from the dressing table, and held it under her nose. Nothing.
“Bitch.”
William hurled the mirror against the wall. “Bitch, whore,” he raged and paced
along the side of the bed. “I will not allow you to make my life a nightmare.
This was your doing. I told you to leave me alone.”
I was born and raised in
Chicago. My father was a history professor and my mother was, and is, a voracious
reader. I grew up with a love of history and books.
My parents also love
traveling, a passion they passed onto me. I wanted to see the places I read
about, see the land and monuments from the time periods that fascinated me.
I’ve had the good fortune to travel extensively throughout Europe, the Near
East, and North Africa.
I am a retired police
detective. I spent twenty-five years in law enforcement with two different
agencies. My desire to write came in my early teens. After I retired, I decided
to pursue that dream. I write two different series. My paranormal romance
series is called, Knights in Time. My romantic thriller series is, Dangerous
Waters.
I currently live in the
Pacific Northwest with my husband, four rescue dogs and a rescue horse.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/authorckarlsen
Website:
http://chriskarlsen.com/
Amazon Author Page:
http://www.amazon.com/Chris-Karlsen/e/B005HYTQQI
BN Author Page:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/chris-karlsen
Thanks for hosting!
ReplyDeleteGood Morning,
ReplyDeleteI want to thank Jen's Reading Obsession for this opportunity to showcase Silk. It's much appreciated
Chris Karlsen
My pleasure!
DeleteI liked the excerpt, sounds like a great read.
ReplyDeleteHI Rita,
DeleteI really appreciate you take time to come by and say hi at my different stops. Hope you're having a good week.
Chris
Intense excerpt that grips your attention.
ReplyDeleteHI Jess,
DeleteThank you for the kind words.
Chris
I love the excerpt. Sounds like a great book
ReplyDeleteHI Teresa,
DeleteThank you for joining me. I'm glad you like the excerpt.
Chris
HI Patrick,
ReplyDeleteThank you for visiting with me again and for the kind words.
Chris