I’m absolutely delighted with this week’s Snippet Saturday theme, because it lets me share with you one of my favorite pieces of writing. DIRTY LOVE started with this scene… and the entire story developed from there. What I’m posting this morning is just a snippet, because the entire prologue is too long to include here, but I’d love to hear what you think.

As for me, I may never cross a bridge without thinking of Isy again.

—

Isabel Warren has never seen water so blue.

The river’s azure ripples morph into striking sapphire the closer they come to the orange glow of the horizon. The colors remind her of other vibrant hues, of eyes she can picture so vividly that the faces of the men who haunt her seem real, even now.

But they’re not real. They’re mere shells of heartbreaking memory.

A hundred feet directly below Isy, the water shines the color of a robin’s egg. When she glances down, she can make out the reflection of the suspension bridge, black and wavering. If she stares hard enough, she can also trace her own mirrored visage, no more than a slash of black across the river’s surface.

As Isy watches, the thin line representing her shimmers and pitches forward. She gasps, gripping the railing hard enough to send a jolt of pain into her wrists.

She isn’t ready. Not yet… God. Soon. But not yet.

Coward. Lousy wimp. When have you ever been brave? When have you ever lived your life the way you’d wanted to, instead of doing what you thought would keep you safe?

The taunting voice creeping around the edges of her mind continues to punish her as it has during the last seven months. This time, she’s ready for it.

The night I gave myself to Connor and Trevor. I was brave then.

For once, the voice of her subconscious has no reply. She’d gloat, but summoning even the slight energy necessary to do that much would take more effort than she cares to give.

She gulps deep, anguished breaths of exhaust-tainted morning air. The streets are no longer as crowded as they’d been in New York’s glory days, yet the steady flow of morning traffic still manages to create a wall of noise that shields Isy protectively from a city teeming with anger and loathing. She can almost feel hateful eyes boring into her back, as though the city itself wants to condemn her for behaving in a way that goes against the morals and beliefs of its citizens.

All that despite the fact she’s done nothing more dirty or dangerous than follow her heart.

Yet, to the rest of the world, issues of the heart are irrelevant. The only thing that matters is the future of mankind. But Earth’s fate is no longer Isy’s concern. Her own future vanished seven months ago, like smoke in the breeze.

A wave of dizziness rushes up and pummels her temples, forcing her to jerk her gaze from the tiny speck that is Isy, but soon won’t be.

The rising sun’s glow dances off the metal bridge railing and hits her eyes, stinging them. She blinks rapidly to banish the surge of unwanted tears. She hasn’t shed one teardrop in longer than she can remember, and she won’t start now for fear that once she does, she’ll never stop.

Since learning the heartbreaking news about Connor and Trevor, Isy has refused to let herself grieve. Her men are dead, and no fit of crocodile tears will bring them back. Loneliness, her constant companion, engulfs her. Endless horrible scenarios paint striking pictures of blood and broken bodies to terrorize her thoughts.

She’s made so many mistakes in her life. But the one action she can’t bring herself to regret is the one that has cost her the most. She knew what she risked when she gave in to forbidden feelings for a man sixteen years her junior. So did he.

And she was no better off admitting to the depth of her need for another man, one who stole her heart and gave it back to her in shattered pieces. He knew the risks, too. Accepted them willingly to be with her.

The reality of the consequences the three of them have brought upon themselves tears strips out of Isy’s soul each time she inhales. She wishes she was brave enough to face each new day without them, but she isn’t. Besides, where would she go? She’s lost her home, her livelihood, her reputation. There’s nothing left here for her now. Nothing but shadows and dust, and more memories than she cares to remember.

Coward. Cow-ard. Coooow-aaaaaard.

Yes, she responds. Yes.

Once more, the voice in her head goes quiet.

—

If you enjoyed this tiny peek at Isy’s scarred soul and you want to learn more about her and her men, pick up DIRTY LOVE at Amber Heat.

And don’t forget to visit the blogs of the other authors participating in Snippet Saturday this week:

Sylvia Day
Shelley Munro
Jaci Burton
Michelle Pillow
Juliana Stone
Moira Rogers
Sasha White
TJ Michaels
Jody Wallace
Eliza Gayle
Kelly Maher
Taige Crenshaw
Beth Williamson
Beth Kery
Mandy Roth