There's this program where you put in text and it says who you write like. So I popped in an excerpt from the book I just finished writing in June. It's a contemporary romantic suspense in a gothic setting with paranormal elements.(Ghosties and psychics and a creepy old great camp in the Adirondacks, old cold murder case with very much alive killer out for more blood, and serious heat between two people who couldn't be more wrong for one another. Plus lots of lies and even more secrets.).
According to the ghost in the machine, I write like Stepehen King. So I guess for my target, I hit the mark. Here's the link to the site so you can test your own stuff, and below is the raw, unedited excerpt I used as a sample. Don't know that it's King-esque, but hey, that's cool too!
His touch was firm heat and sparked up the slow burn that had been building all day night in his presence. She hated being close to him this way. All her senses went wild, and all her better thoughts and intentions go into the trash. Emma put her hand on his broad chest. Stifled the urge to let it roam and instead pushed back lightly. “You brought me here. You might want to trust me. I’m not a con anymore.”
Sam didn’t release her. Instead he grabbed her other arm and pulled her close. Slanted a piercing gaze at her. Made her want to be held forever, even though she was spitting mad at the same time. “I’m trying to do the right thing. It’s hard when you don’t know what that is. I’m in unfamiliar territory.”
The moment spun out between them as tension and desire escalated. Her heart was so loud hammering against her rib cage. He must have heard it. Did he see what he was doing to her? Did he care? She drew an unsteady breath and met his gaze head on. “We’re both out of our element.”
The smile he flashed was boyish and at odds with the predator lurking in his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”
He was sexy as hell right now. And he was hiding something. “Do you trust me?”
“Then prove it. Tell me what’s really going on.” That would do the trick. If he told her, then he was worth her time and bother. If he held back, or worse, lied, she’d do the job she came to do, but other than that, write him off. She didn’t have time for players. “Tell me what you’re holding back.”
“Keith isn’t haunting the lodge, Emma.” Sam’s wide chest rose enticingly as he took a deep breath. “He’s haunting me.”