You tell me

by Carol Burnside

This month we’re talking about our craft of writing strengths. Dialogue comes easy and I try to build my secondary characters strong enough to be good future heroes or heroines. Oh, yeah – and heat. I’m not too shabby at building sexual tension.

In A Suitable Wife, long-time friends Sam and Rosie are planning a wedding of convenience while trying to convince everyone else they’ve fallen in love.

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Panic held Rosie in its grip. She blocked the noise of J.T.’s boys playing, the sizzle coming from her dad’s grill, and her mama hollering for someone to shut the back door so they didn’t have to cool the great outdoors.

In a few minutes, the wedding plans would be public knowledge and there would be no turning back. She glanced around the backyard. Lorelei was nowhere in sight.

“Sam?” she called.

“In here, Rosie.”

She stepped into the house, following the sound of his voice. Remembering her mama’s shouted request, she shut the door behind her and clamped her hand tightly across Sam’s forearm. He relinquished his hold on a tray of foil covered rolls. His eyes flared briefly at the panic she knew existed in her own.

“Hey, Travis,” he called to her brother over his shoulder. “Could you take this outside? I, uh…need to talk to Rosie for a minute.”

Without waiting for an answer, Sam hustled her through the kitchen and into her father’s study at the far end of the hall.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, shutting the door behind them.

“Is Lorelei in the house? I didn’t see her.” Chicken. Just tell him what you want.

“Sara took her wading down by the river.” He propped his hands on his hips. “What’s going on?”

Tell him. Now. “I don’t know. I panicked there for a minute, trying to imagine us pulling this off successfully.” In the familiar surroundings of her childhood home, their plans felt impossibly wrong.

She envied her future husband standing there, feet apart, looking so self-assured. Could it be that easy? Just believe everything will be fine and it will?

She moved away, stopping in front of her dad’s desk. Its orderly, almost bare surface and the books slotted alphabetically in neat rows were indicative of the way her parents lived their lives.

No artful arrangement. Nothing for show or aesthetics. Straightforward. Honest.

They’d never understand Sam’s insistence on subterfuge and secrecy.

“What are you worried about?” His kept his voice low. “People see what they want to, remember? They’ll be looking for a couple in love and we’ll give it to them.”

She turned, surprised to find him so close. He usually maintained a healthy amount of personal space between them, another thing that would look odd to her affectionate family.

“How, Sam? We haven’t…practiced much. What if we look awkward? People in love naturally gravitate toward each other because they’re used to touching and kissing.”

Sam’s lips twitched in amusement. “So, you want to practice before we—”

“No.” Jeezus Pete, she didn’t want him to think she was hot for him! How embarrassing. “Well, yes, but not because I want to. Maybe we need to, you know? So our act looks convincing, natural.”

Sam nodded as she continued to babble. “Being reserved in public is one thing, but my family is a little more, uh, relaxed about such things.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“They might expect—”

“Me to do something like this?” Sam slid his palms down her biceps, cupped her elbows, and drew her closer.

“Uhh…” The breathy sound whispered from her suddenly dry throat. The placket of his cream golf shirt came into focus, the middle button twisted. Half-in, half-out of the little thread-reinforced opening, it mirrored her indecision. Open herself to temptation and risk revealing her attraction, or remain buttoned up and risk exposure of their scheme?

“Sam?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounded funny, kinda strained. She’d put him in an awkward position.

“You’re sure we need to keep the true nature of our relationship from my folks?”

“I wish it weren’t necessary, but yeah. I’m sure no one here would do leak anything intentionally, but the more people who know, the more risk we incur.”

She nodded.

“It’ll be okay.” In one fluid motion, Sam embraced her fully and settled his lips over hers in a soft, sweet kiss. Just as quickly, he released her and stepped back.

“See how easy that was?” his voice now held a satiny growl, stoking the flame his kiss had lit low in her abdomen.

Soft and sweet wasn’t enough. Not when they’d already experienced more. Rosie nodded again, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Hey,” Sam coaxed. “It’ll be fine.” With one finger under her chin, he tilted her face. Rosie kept her lids lowered, reached for the misaligned button and secured it. She tried unsuccessfully to hide her desire. When she dragged her gaze to Sam’s, it was her breath that hitched in response to the smoldering look reflected there.

Time screeched to a halt.

Nothing existed except this.

Sam’s head dipped forward. Rosie swayed toward him. Their combined breaths mingled, whispering across her lips seconds before he repeated the soft kiss.

Rosie draped her arms around his neck, her nipples pebbling as they came into contact with his solid chest. She opened her mouth to him. His tongue touched hers, igniting a firestorm that engulfed them both in its intensity. A jolt hit Rosie’s midsection, the heat sliding lower, pooling deep in her abdomen. Sam urged her closer, one hand pulling her lower body toward him. Breast to chest, thigh to thigh, it still wasn’t enough.

His firm hands clamped around her bottom, pulling her in tight, a blaze flaring where his rigid length pressed into her pliant belly.

Her fingers furrowed into the silky softness of his hair. His roamed her back, settled at her waist. His thumbs slid under the front of her baby tee, stroking, inching upward.

Yes. Touch me. Need raged through her. A high-pitched mewl escaped her throat, the sound exploding into the room like a gunshot.

Rosie jerked back, only to find herself sandwiched between a hard male and an equally hard desk.

Their ragged breathing joined the faint tick-tock of an old-fashioned pendulum clock on the side wall opposite the desk. By slow degrees, they pulled apart, smoothing hair and clothes without their gazes meeting.

With her eyes downcast, Rosie’s attention caught on the swell at the front of his pants—one she imagined must be very uncomfortable right about now. Pride swelled in her, knowing she was the cause of his condition.

Sam huffed around a mirthless chuckle, drawing her gaze upward. There was no censure, no apology, no blame staring back at her, nothing but tightly leashed desire.

He wanted her. Her. If they got this hot over a kiss, what would sharing a bed with him be like?

Sam’s brows lifted over a knowing gaze. “Still think we’ll look awkward?”

The question was a dousing of ice water so thorough, not even a warm coal remained. Of course he wanted her. He was a man, and she’d practically thrown herself at him. While she’d lowered her guard, he’d been thinking about the effects they’d have on their audience.

Rosie shoved him away and stepped around him. “A few minutes ago, I had my doubts. But that’s what rehearsals are for, right? The performance is always better when you throw yourself into the role.”

- – - – -

In my current WIP, I came across a great example of dialogue that works hard, but it didn’t at first.

1st draft:

“Your Gran’s old place not good enough for the famous psychic anymore?”

Having had long years of practice, Casey easily ignored the taunt. “Marvin’s family is living there now.”

She wasn’t about to impose on her brother. The old cabin barely held the four of them, but things were tough for them financially right now so they stuck it out. “He told me how you looked in on Gran when he and Nancy couldn’t because of work. I appreciate everything you did.”

(This was okay, but I wanted it to be stronger.)

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Current version:

“Your Gran’s old place not good enough for the famous psychic anymore?”

Having had long years of practice, Casey easily ignored the taunt. “Marvin’s family is living there now.”

Arlen’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t it kind of small for four?”

“Even smaller with five.” She waited to see if his distaste for her colored his view of her family.

He nodded. “Times are hard. Smart people make do.”

That was the Arlen she’d known. She breathed easier, feeling suddenly magnanimous. “He told me how you looked in on Gran when he and Nancy couldn’t because of work. I appreciate everything you did.”

(Every sentence here tells the reader something: Arlen’s trying to needle her, but is basically a nice guy, where her brother lives, why she’s staying in a motel rather than with family, and that she needs to feel a connection with him.)

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Well, now that I think about it, maybe the things I mentioned at the beginning are simply the ones I enjoy writing. After reading this, maybe you should tell me what my strengths are.