GUEST POST & EXCERPT: Once Pure

Once Pure by Cecy Robson
Series: Shattered Past #3
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She bears the scars of the past. He blames himself for things he can’t control. Their defenses are up, but in Cecy Robson’s latest Shattered Past novel—perfect for fans of Monica Murphy and J. Lynn—true love lands a knockout punch.

Sofia Tres Santos remembers a time before her life went sour, before her innocence was ripped away, before she began punishing herself with risky behaviors and unworthy men. Now, at twenty, she just hopes she’s ready to rebuild some of what she lost. One way or another, it always comes back to her childhood friend and longtime crush, Killian O’Brien.

As strong as Killian is, Sofia has always been his one weakness. He knows Sofia has suffered and wants to ensure she’s never hurt again—not like before, and definitely not under his watch. When Sofia agrees to work at his mixed martial arts gym, Killian seizes the opportunity to help and protect the sweet girl he’s always cared for. And yet, as he trains Sofia to defend herself using his hard-hitting MMA techniques, he’s drawn to the vulnerable beauty in ways he never expected.

As Sofia grows stronger, she also grows brave enough to open herself up to love. And along the way, she challenges everything Killian believes to be true, showing him that no matter how much he dominates in the ring, the real battle is fought in the heart.

GUEST POST

Signs that You’re a Real Writer

Thank you so much for inviting me to be on your blog. Now, I know that there are a lot of readers out there, but I also know there are a lot of authors. For those who write who aren’t sure whether they’re “real” writers yet, I’ve developed a few sure-fire signs that could help you decide. *clears throat* Shall we begin?

15. Every idea is a brilliant idea until it’s not.

14. Your characters crack you up, bleed your soul, piss you off, and shock the hell out of you.

13. You think the book you’re writing is your greatest work ever, but then it’s not, then it is, then it’s not again, until you finally feel good about it . . . only fall apart when you go back and edit.

12. Vacations are a joke and mostly excuses to research new settings.

11. You plot. All the time. It doesn’t matter where you are, what you’re doing, or who’s

watching you muttering to yourself.

10. Ideas come at during inopportune times, like during job interviews, when you have to wake up early for work, or when your spouse is asking you if you’re listening to him / her.

9. Your characters talk to you and you answer them back.

8. You resolve plot holes seconds from falling asleep, resulting in you not going to sleep.

7. You can’t understand how people can go about their daily lives when you just killed one of your most beloved characters.

6. You Google things like: cyanide, rohypnol, medieval torture devices, and assault rifles, terrified you’ll end up on some “list.”

5. Your characters are real people who stay with you long after you type “The End.”

4. You view people who don’t enjoy reading as unnatural, bizarre, and possibly from another planet.

3. Deleting a scene is the equivalent of demolishing a piece of your soul.

2. You come up with the best dialogue in the shower, on a roller coaster, or in the bathroom; in other words, nowhere near a pen, your laptop, or your phone.

1. You love it, and regardless of its trials and torment, you know you’ll never stop.

CECY ROBSON

EXCERPT

There were times in a girl’s life when swooning was necessary, and deeply warranted. This was one of them. I nibbled on my bottom lip, trying to suppress my deep blush and ignore the fist-banging motion Finn did with his hands and his very approving thumbs-up that followed.

I motioned in the direction of Killian’s office, unable to bear the intensity in those heart- stopping blue eyes. “Do you want us to get started?”

“Very much.” He winked. “But for now, maybe you should start with my website.”

He pressed his hand against the small of my back, when all I did was stand there with my jaw falling open, and led me forward. Regardless of his massive strength, his touch was gentle. I should have feared him even though he was taking great care with me. He was big and powerful, and could overtake someone as weak and thin as me. But I didn’t fear Killian.

I only feared what he could learn of me.

I wanted him to keep his palm against me. The gesture reassured me that maybe he did like me. Did think I was pretty. Would want to know me as more than the girl he’d grown up with.

I almost groaned when he let his hand fall. If I were someone stronger, and more confident, I would have reached to touch him or maybe flashed him a smile. But I wasn’t one of those flirty girls who always seemed to say the right things. I was simply me.

We moved along the edge of the gym toward his office. The floor wasn’t padded here, so the kitten heels of my silver sandals clip–clopped against the concrete. I adjusted the spaghetti strap of my floral top when the strap of my laptop case pulled it down my shoulder.

“Here, let me take that for you.” Killian lifted the case, easing the stress of its weight from my body. “You look beautiful,” he added quietly.

I lowered my lashes, averting my gaze. I’d wanted to look nice for him and hoped he’d notice. So when he did, yeah, I might have arm-flailed on the inside. But only a little, I swear. “Thank you.” The edges of his lips lifted into a sexy grin. Okay, I lied. Maybe I flailed a lot.

“How was traffic into Philly?”

“Huh? Oh, good. I left early just in case, but it was fine. I’ll be staying with my mother so I can just walk here and not have to worry about it.”

“You stayin’ in the old neighborhood?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’ll be there until I finish up here. Makes it easier to commute, you

know?”

“Good. I like you closer.”

I stopped short at his comment just as we reached his small office located at the center of the gym. Large windows enclosed the face, giving me a view of two men sparring in the Octagon while several others waited for their turn in the MMA ring. The swearing, the beat-downs, all seemed to drift into the box-shaped space.

My fingers slid over the large chestnut desk. “This is nice.”

He huffed and placed my laptop case on top. “Too nice. Doesn’t fit the damn room.”

An ivy perched on top of a matching filing cabinet was the only cheery color present. I pulled out my laptop and fired it up while I finished scanning the area, the interior designer within me working out ways to spruce up the small space.

Before I could make a few suggestions, Finn hurried in. “Kill, the writer from that MMA mag is here to do your interview.”

“I’ll be right there.” He smirked at me. “I have to take care of this. You okay here by yourself?”

I nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

He smiled and stroked my chin. “I’ll see you in a few.”

He prowled out the door. I watched him, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face. I sat behind the desk, still swooning as I began to work.

A deep voice echoed into the room from across the gym. “Whew. Check out that fine female moving into Kill’s space.”

“Oh, shit,” another guy said. “Do you know who that is?”

I glanced briefly toward the cluster of men waiting for their turn to spar. The smaller of the three squinted my way. “Yeah. Ain’t that Sofia Tres Santos? Mateo’s kid sister?”

I skimmed through the file I’d set up for Killian, trying to ignore them. My brother had a rep. Everyone in South and West Philly knew him.

The guy who’d questioned who I was laughed. “Maybe, but that’s not what I mean.” My typing slowed to a stop as a familiar feeling of dread clawed its way down my back. “Way I hear it, she’ll fuck anything with a pulse.”

Velcro tore as one of the fighters adjusted his gloves. “No shit.” He chuckled. “Well, hey, I got me a pulse.”

My stomach lurched, and sweat built up beneath my arms.

“Are you sure?” the guy who knew Mateo asked. “I always thought she was all shy—you know, what’s that word? Pure. Innocent-like.”

“Get the hell out of here. My cousin Kenny says she pretends to be all sweet, but that’s just an act. A shitload of brothers have tapped that—”

I slammed the door to the office shut and leaned against it, my breath too fast and my heart seconds from exploding. The room went hazy as my eyes quickly flooded with tears. I clasped my hand over my mouth, wishing everything he’d said wasn’t true. I wasn’t so sweet, wasn’t so pure—not anymore. Any innocence I’d clung to was stolen from me the day I was raped.

About Cecy Robson

Cecy (pronounced Sessy) Robson is an award winning internationally published author of contemporary and new adult romance, young adult adventure, and urban fantasy novels. A double-nominated RITA® Finalist, Winner of the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, and published author of more than twenty titles, you can typically find Cecy on her laptop or stumbling blindly in search of caffeine.

Find Cecy in major retailers: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Kobo, Google Play and also on the Hooked App writing under the pen name Rosalina San Tiago.

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