I wrote a representative harlequin paragraph for a class and inspired me to try my hand at the hard boiled detective genres

I wrote a representative harlequin paragraph for a class and inspired me to try my hand at the hard boiled detective genres

Joy lost her breath as Adam stepped closer. Her toes tingled and trembled. “I came back for you,” he said softly and deeply. He made her heart race as his bold brown eyes lowered onto hers. She melted in his arms, almost out cold. The swirling emotions were too much for her, and she went limp when he lowered her to the grass. The surge of heat went to her head. She shifted her hips and timidly raised them partly on him. If only she knew that he kept his distance to protect her, she thought. And that he was planning to take her with him all along… he would not have needed to endure that time in the desert. But now he is here, now closer. Forever. The clouds broke and the sun beamed over the hills, warming them under the shadow of the Scottish castle. The tension and the nervousness suddenly cracked. She felt a magnetic pull and the intense embrace propelled them. He held her tightly and they rolled faster and faster. She lost her bearings as her breasts squeezed against his muscular chest, their pulses pounded together, until they finally came to rest in the valley.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small fiery sliver of sun shone between the foggy drumlin and the blanket of clouds. The light diffused on the purple hood of my 65 Pontiac GTO. Across the street, in the alley by the liquor store, some thugs were barking at people, looking for someone to roll over. That I had been waiting far too long in a mean, precarious spot for the lady to show up didn’t concern me; that I hadn’t seen a movie in a couple weeks bothered me some, though.

I glanced out the passenger window, looking at a man in a tie-dyed shirt slap a sticker on the newspaper rack.  The sound of boots on broken glass. The rumbling bass a couple blocks away. A pied pigeon and a shiny, broken action figure by the dumpster. A silhouette, neon glow bleeding around the edges, she appeared in my rear view mirror. The dark hourglass sparked into a stained glass effect as she approached under a street lamp. I felt freed, irresistibly, like I just got out of a fight in a phone booth—like a dog must feel in a hot car with his head hanging low out a window when he hears the door open and the ignition and then the rush of wind.

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