News
I've worn my computer in by finishing a story. It's a story I just had to write when I started thinking about the heroine and her dilemma. She's an ex addict. Three years ago she went into rehab and came out clean, and she's been rebuilding her life ever since, but her past catches up with her. I loved writing it, but this month and next, it's back to the dragons and vampires!
I'm planning the story of Andros Zelinski, who some of you might know from the STORM series. He had a wasting disease, but that was cured when he was converted to a shape-shifting dragon, but I'm fascinated to find out what scars are left when that happens, and how you cope. I've been looking at real life cases of people who've had a debilitating illness or condition, and what happens after they recover. It's not all a bed of roses. Sometimes they have to relearn skills they haven't used since childhood and they have to grow accustomed to a whole new way of life. How much would that affect a man who thought he'd die early and slowly lose his faculties, only to find himself stronger and longer-lived than any man on earth?
"Maiden Lane" was accepted at Samhain. That's the next Richard and Rose book, so I'm really pleased about that. It should be out in early Spring next year. Now I have to write the last one.
I'm thinking about Freddy's story. I know a few things about the happy-go-lucky Freddy that have never emerged in the stories, so I might use those aspects to develop his story. I also want to do Antonia's story, from Alluring Secrets, but I doubt that Freddy and Antonia will make a match of it.
As always, if you want to know anything, if you review for a site and want review copies, or if you just want to chat, do get in touch. I love to hear from you!
Excerpt
This month, "Texas Heat" is released at Loose-Id. I am incredibly excited about it, as it's my first full-length contemporary romance, and one that has been on my computer for some time. It's a story I've worked and reworked, one of the personal projects many writers have. But I thought it was time that more people met Annie and Vin, and luckily, LI liked it enough to accept it for publication.
Here's part of the first chapter. I do hope you like it.
Description:
Colliding with a gorgeous man in London’s National Gallery leads Annie to sharing days of steamy passion with him, closeted in her hotel room. Even when she discovers that Vin owns the company buying hers, she can’t get him out of her mind -- or her bed. Poor Vin is going blind. Can she deny him his last sight of a woman’s naked body?
Vin’s worries are piling up -- the company he’s buying has financial problems verging on the criminal, and he’s going blind after an operation that went wrong. There’s a slim chance he could see again, as slim as the prospect of having Annie, after he discovers that it’s her company with the problems. But he can’t stop wanting her. Can’t stop taking her to bed and claiming her as his own.
She denies criminal activity and he wants to believe, but all the evidence is against her. His instincts tell him Annie is innocent, so he takes a new complication in her life as a chance to keep her close -- and safe from the danger that threatens her.
But Annie won’t let him take control of her life. She wants to prove her innocence, even at the expense of the man who took everything she had to give, and came back for more.
Chapter One
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Startled by the masculine voice so close to her ear, Annie let out a startled shriek and jumped back, colliding with the hard body just behind her. Her voice echoed around the hallowed space of London’s National Gallery, shattering the peace. Embarrassment heated her skin to the boiling point.
She and the man behind her tumbled into a heap of flailing humanity. From tranquility to chaos in the space of a few seconds.
Just like her life.
She pushed her hair back from her face and looked up. A curator sitting next to the entrance to the next gallery watched her warily but didn’t get up from his seat. People stared, some smirked, and Annie bit her lip, feeling every inch the clumsy idiot.
The curator glared at her, exasperation hooding his pale blue, rheumy gaze. Annie attempted a conciliatory smile, trying to share the joke of her clumsiness. The man remained unimpressed, and his mouth didn’t move at all. People walked on, murmuring to one other, reminding her forcibly of a T.S. Eliot poem.
But she hadn’t tripped over J. Alfred Prufrock, she realized when she turned her attention to the big body that had cushioned her fall.
Heat and masculine warmth surrounded her when he steadied her, both arms around her as he helped her to sit up. Horror struck her first and then confusion.
She stared into the blank lenses of the darkest sunglasses she’d ever seen. “I -- Oh I’m so sorry!” She had never wished so fervently for the world to swallow her up.
“Think nothing of it.” His voice slipped over her senses like hot syrup, a rich American accent adding to the unexpectedly visceral response that mingled with her embarrassment. When she shivered, his arms tightened a fraction before she shifted to get to her feet.
Could it get any worse? She’d just tripped over a visually impaired hottie, one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen in her life. His sharply defined cheekbones and strong jaw added structure to the full lips, currently quirked in a smile of amusement. Definitely something she didn’t feel at the moment. Well, at least she hadn’t sworn as she went down. She couldn’t have; the fall had knocked the breath out of her.
What the fuck was a blind man doing in an art gallery?
When she tried to scramble to her feet, her heels slipped on the polished wooden floor, and she fell on him. Again.
He crowed with laughter, but she just wanted to cry. If falling on a blind man weren’t bad enough, having the hots for him made her feel worse. Much, much worse. He shifted his body under hers. It was beautifully toned, if the way his muscles flexed against her offered any indication. For a bare instant, his crotch came into contact with her hip as he sat up again, and she froze. That hard ridge was unmistakable. He got turned on by having women fall over him? She didn’t want to know that.
No longer caring how she looked, Annie scrambled to her feet, hoping to get out of this place before she could do anything else. She didn’t know if she could ever come here again. But as she stared at him, sitting with his hands on the floor, ready to push to his feet, she knew she couldn’t just walk off and leave this blind man to find his own way. This sexy, gorgeous blind man.
This time she made sure she planted her feet well apart before she held out both hands for him to take. He took one, but he put no pressure on it, getting to his feet in one smooth motion.
People started to walk around again and stare at the art, the low conversations punctuated by the occasion chuckle. The small drama was over for them.
But not for her. Annie found herself close to the stranger, close enough to feel his warm breath on her cheek and smell his sharp aftershave. He had short dark hair, nearly but not quite black, which topped a frame that must have been over six feet. That smile still quirked his mouth. Blind, gorgeous, and probably bruised as well.
“I’m so sorry!” Her voice sounded girlish and flirty instead of the sensible adult tones she’d aimed for.
To think she’d come here for an hour or two to try to regain some serenity. Well, that hadn’t worked. Take me please, God. One little heart attack. It doesn’t have to be much.
That smile should be banned. It didn’t seem decent in a respectable place like this. “It doesn’t matter. I took you by surprise; that’s all. It’s as much my fault as it is yours.” The smooth Southern accent melted what was left of her composure. Dark and sinful, it invited her to sink into the honeyed tones and let him do whatever he wanted to her.
“Hey.” He lifted his hand to her cheek and pushed a lock of hair off her face, tracing a tingling path to her ear with one finger. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
“No, I mean, yes. I mean --” She swallowed, realizing one thing at least. “So you’re not --”
He grinned. “Blind? No.” He glanced at the painting that had so absorbed them both before she’d knocked him over. “I can still see that Bacchus is about to sweep Ariadne off her feet and carry her off to a happy ever after. I always wanted to see what happened next, but from the look on his face, I can take a pretty good guess.” His deepened voice told her he knew only too well, and brought heated visions to her mind, ones she could do without right now.
“It’s my favorite painting here.” She gave him a wry glance. “Or rather, it was.”
“Great, isn’t it?” He still held her hand and showed no sign of wanting to return it. Instead, he turned it over and smoothed his thumb over the back, along her third finger, sending chills right to the heart of her sexuality. “No wedding ring. It could be my lucky day.”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “After what I just did to you?”
He drew her aside as a couple walked past them. “Definitely. Calm down. I’m fine, and so are you. We just gave a few people some entertainment they weren’t expecting; that’s all.” She couldn’t see anything behind his sunglasses, but she felt his gaze on her, and her body tingled under his regard. A frown creased the space between his brows. “You’re shaken up. Would you like a coffee? This place has a good cafeteria, I’m told.”
What harm could there be in having a coffee with a stranger in a place as busy as the National Gallery Espresso Bar? And she didn’t want to lose contact with him. Not just yet. “Thank you. Yes, I’d like that.” She shot him a sly glance. “Though I don’t usually come here to pick up men.”
His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and he tugged her hand, urging her toward the stairs.
Texas Heat from Loose-Id
When she's the last woman you'll ever see...
Order Page: http://www.loose-id.com/Texas-Heat.aspx
ISBN: 978-1-60737-863-1
Startled by the masculine voice so close to her ear, Annie let out a startled shriek and jumped back, colliding with the hard body just behind her. Her voice echoed around the hallowed space of London’s National Gallery, shattering the peace. Embarrassment heated her skin to the boiling point.
She and the man behind her tumbled into a heap of flailing humanity. From tranquility to chaos in the space of a few seconds.
Just like her life.
She pushed her hair back from her face and looked up. A curator sitting next to the entrance to the next gallery watched her warily but didn’t get up from his seat. People stared, some smirked, and Annie bit her lip, feeling every inch the clumsy idiot.
The curator glared at her, exasperation hooding his pale blue, rheumy gaze. Annie attempted a conciliatory smile, trying to share the joke of her clumsiness. The man remained unimpressed, and his mouth didn’t move at all. People walked on, murmuring to one other, reminding her forcibly of a T.S. Eliot poem.
But she hadn’t tripped over J. Alfred Prufrock, she realized when she turned her attention to the big body that had cushioned her fall.
Heat and masculine warmth surrounded her when he steadied her, both arms around her as he helped her to sit up. Horror struck her first and then confusion.
She stared into the blank lenses of the darkest sunglasses she’d ever seen. “I -- Oh I’m so sorry!” She had never wished so fervently for the world to swallow her up.
“Think nothing of it.” His voice slipped over her senses like hot syrup, a rich American accent adding to the unexpectedly visceral response that mingled with her embarrassment. When she shivered, his arms tightened a fraction before she shifted to get to her feet.
Could it get any worse? She’d just tripped over a visually impaired hottie, one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen in her life. His sharply defined cheekbones and strong jaw added structure to the full lips, currently quirked in a smile of amusement. Definitely something she didn’t feel at the moment. Well, at least she hadn’t sworn as she went down. She couldn’t have; the fall had knocked the breath out of her.
What the fuck was a blind man doing in an art gallery?
When she tried to scramble to her feet, her heels slipped on the polished wooden floor, and she fell on him. Again.
He crowed with laughter, but she just wanted to cry. If falling on a blind man weren’t bad enough, having the hots for him made her feel worse. Much, much worse. He shifted his body under hers. It was beautifully toned, if the way his muscles flexed against her offered any indication. For a bare instant, his crotch came into contact with her hip as he sat up again, and she froze. That hard ridge was unmistakable. He got turned on by having women fall over him? She didn’t want to know that.
No longer caring how she looked, Annie scrambled to her feet, hoping to get out of this place before she could do anything else. She didn’t know if she could ever come here again. But as she stared at him, sitting with his hands on the floor, ready to push to his feet, she knew she couldn’t just walk off and leave this blind man to find his own way. This sexy, gorgeous blind man.
This time she made sure she planted her feet well apart before she held out both hands for him to take. He took one, but he put no pressure on it, getting to his feet in one smooth motion.
People started to walk around again and stare at the art, the low conversations punctuated by the occasion chuckle. The small drama was over for them.
But not for her. Annie found herself close to the stranger, close enough to feel his warm breath on her cheek and smell his sharp aftershave. He had short dark hair, nearly but not quite black, which topped a frame that must have been over six feet. That smile still quirked his mouth. Blind, gorgeous, and probably bruised as well.
“I’m so sorry!” Her voice sounded girlish and flirty instead of the sensible adult tones she’d aimed for.
To think she’d come here for an hour or two to try to regain some serenity. Well, that hadn’t worked. Take me please, God. One little heart attack. It doesn’t have to be much.
That smile should be banned. It didn’t seem decent in a respectable place like this. “It doesn’t matter. I took you by surprise; that’s all. It’s as much my fault as it is yours.” The smooth Southern accent melted what was left of her composure. Dark and sinful, it invited her to sink into the honeyed tones and let him do whatever he wanted to her.
“Hey.” He lifted his hand to her cheek and pushed a lock of hair off her face, tracing a tingling path to her ear with one finger. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
“No, I mean, yes. I mean --” She swallowed, realizing one thing at least. “So you’re not --”
He grinned. “Blind? No.” He glanced at the painting that had so absorbed them both before she’d knocked him over. “I can still see that Bacchus is about to sweep Ariadne off her feet and carry her off to a happy ever after. I always wanted to see what happened next, but from the look on his face, I can take a pretty good guess.” His deepened voice told her he knew only too well, and brought heated visions to her mind, ones she could do without right now.
“It’s my favorite painting here.” She gave him a wry glance. “Or rather, it was.”
“Great, isn’t it?” He still held her hand and showed no sign of wanting to return it. Instead, he turned it over and smoothed his thumb over the back, along her third finger, sending chills right to the heart of her sexuality. “No wedding ring. It could be my lucky day.”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “After what I just did to you?”
He drew her aside as a couple walked past them. “Definitely. Calm down. I’m fine, and so are you. We just gave a few people some entertainment they weren’t expecting; that’s all.” She couldn’t see anything behind his sunglasses, but she felt his gaze on her, and her body tingled under his regard. A frown creased the space between his brows. “You’re shaken up. Would you like a coffee? This place has a good cafeteria, I’m told.”
What harm could there be in having a coffee with a stranger in a place as busy as the National Gallery Espresso Bar? And she didn’t want to lose contact with him. Not just yet. “Thank you. Yes, I’d like that.” She shot him a sly glance. “Though I don’t usually come here to pick up men.”
His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and he tugged her hand, urging her toward the stairs.
Texas Heat from Loose-Id
When she's the last woman you'll ever see...
Order Page: http://www.loose-id.com/Texas-Heat.aspx
ISBN: 978-1-60737-863-1
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