KISS AND KIN

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I sat on the porch drinking champagne with my two sisters-in-law one night and said, «Y'know, I think I could write a paranormal romance.» They said, «Of course you can.»

I wouldn't have started, and I couldn't have finished, without them.

I had this fantasy that one day I'd get published, and we'd sit on the porch and drink champagne to celebrate, and when the book came out I'd dedicate it to them. We've done the champagne, so here's the dedication. To Vickie and Wendy.

Lark inspected her reflection in her antique full-length mirror. Applying final touches to her makeup, she pursed her lips and smudged her gloss just a bit. She pulled her auburn chestnut hair into a carefully messy chignon, touchable stray wisps framing her face the way Taran liked it.

Dressed in a purple lace bra, boyshorts and four-inch stilettos, she struck a little pose. Which dress to wear?

They both showed off her legs. The chic black cocktail number featured a fun little twirly skit, and she fancied herself a fun twirly kind of girl. On the other hand, she liked to look like a bad girl sometimes, which she did in the lavender sheath with the plunging neckline and the slit up to mid thigh.

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