New Release! Arrows of Desire is out no

New Release:

Arrows of Desire: Even Gods Fall In Love Book 3

When the God of Love falls for a nymph, all seven hells break loose
Finished with the tutoring that taught him how to be an immortal, Edmund, otherwise known as Eros, steps off the packet onto English shores, and stumbles head over heels in love.
There’s something different about Perdita Seaton and her secretive family, but for now a bigger dilemma looms. Revealing he’s the Duke of Kentmere could cut their courtship short. Yet abandoning his heritage means leaving his beloved sister at the mercy of the Titans.
Even as Edmund steals Perdita’s breath with the speed at which he sweeps her down the aisle, she feels safe in the irresistible tide of passion. Her father, head of a smuggling empire, is Oceanus—and she is a nymph.
Disaster strikes when Edmund races to London to rescue his sister, and doesn’t return. Desperate, Perdita follows him, only to find no light of recognition in his eyes.
Now she must choose. Admit defeat, or fight to break the enchantment keeping Edmund’s heart prisoner—and risk the wrath of a jealous goddess who’d be all too happy to snuff her out.

Extract:
“Miss Seaton.”
            The words, though softly spoken, nearly made Portia drop her candlestick. A hand came around her and steadied her arm, and the heat of a male body warmed her back.
            Belatedly recognising the voice, she spun around, facing him. Mr. Welles wore a robe over his shirt and breeches, but he’d removed the dazzling coat and waistcoat. His stock had gone, leaving a disturbing trace of male skin visible through the open collar of his shirt.
            So close, his presence stunned her. In the dim, flickering light, his face was almost otherworldly, his eyes glittering with untold promises.
            At least she hadn’t shrieked and roused the house. “Mr. Welles, this isn’t proper!” she hissed. Not that she cared very much about propriety, but she had to say it. Otherwise, what would he think of her? This was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in forever. She thrilled to have a male body so close to hers. Especially his.
            “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but my room is close to yours. When I heard someone moving about, I feared for you and your sisters.”
            Did she believe that? No. “You mean you heard someone and you thought you’d investigate?”
            Was he lurking? As if a man with his looks and wealth needed to do that!
            He met her eyes and her heart stopped. Then it started again. As if it knew something had just begun. Fanciful, yes, but she had reason, being an immortal in a world of mortals. That was normal for her. Meeting a handsome stranger was not. And if she handled this right, a kiss or two might be coming her way.
            Her mother would lecture her for hours if she discovered Portia’s transgression. The notion made the prospect even more enticing. If she got into trouble, a scream would bring everyone running. She could enjoy the deliciousness of a clandestine encounter, however brief, without the danger.
            Or just enough danger to add spice, at any rate.
            They gazed at each other for what seemed like forever. She wasn’t sure who reached for whom, or who put the candle down on the nearest window ledge, but she was in his arms and he was kissing her in an instant.
            His mouth opened over hers, and she followed suit, eager to learn this new way of kissing. She’d only shared guilty, closed-mouth kisses with men—boys—before this. He cradled her close, then cupped her face, guiding her to the position he wanted her.
            She’d have stayed there forever, but someone coughed and they broke apart. Her breath shortened and her heart, already beating harder than usual, threatened to burst out of her chest. Thank goodness, the cough came from within one of the bedrooms, and they were still alone.
            The sound reminded her of their lack of privacy. Standing in a corridor kissing a stranger—what was she thinking?
            Retrieving her candlestick, she took the two steps to the door of her room and glanced back at him. She kept her voice very low when she spoke. “Sir, I wish to speak with you, but you should know I won’t—”
            “I know.” He was with her in an instant, opening the door. Then he closed it before she could go in. “My room, I think. At least I have chairs.” Taking her hand, not offering his arm in the formal way, he led her to the next room along. Her wicked heart thrilling, she went with him. Already she trusted his word, although she should not.
            A fire flickered in the grate, welcome on this chilly night. The sheets on the bed were turned down, an intimate sight that made her shiver with possibilities. Those things could not happen, but that wouldn’t stop her dreaming.
            He led her to the low couch at the foot of the bed and with gentle hands drew her to sit next to him. “You are safe with me,” he murmured. “I swear it.”
            “I hope not,” she said before she could control her recalcitrant tongue.
            He stifled a laugh against her shoulder. His hot breath heated her neck, and then his tongue as he pressed a kiss there. “You are, madam, irresistible.”
            “Good.” So was he, though she’d keep that to herself for now.
            Gently, he turned her head, with two fingers under her chin. Then he kissed her again. This time they were sitting. Just as well because she might have fallen down had she been on her feet.
            Her legs tingled, at the top, where she sometimes explored herself furtively under the covers.
            When she leaned her head against his shoulder, he moaned against her lips. He moved away a little to murmur, “Open for me, sweetness.”
            Yes, oh, yes. She opened her mouth.
            Immediately he was back, tracing her lips with his tongue, before plunging inside. He licked deep, stroked her tongue with his. Nobody had ever dared go this far with her before. His hands held her steady, but didn’t venture further than her back, as she accustomed herself to the thrust of his tongue, a rhythm her body welcomed. When she moved closer to him, he made a sound low in his throat, like the purr of a big animal. She didn’t do it for him. Her breasts ached, and she needed pressure to ease the sensations she didn’t know what to do with.
            With a growl he pressed her closer, supported her with one hand spread across her back. She flung her arm around his neck, giving herself to him with wild abandon, but that was when he chose to draw back. He peppered little kisses on her lips and her nose.
            Gazing at her, he smiled. “I never expected so much bounty. I cannot go further, or I’ll lose control.”
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News for March, 2015

Oh my goodness, another new release!

I’m writing like crazy, except we had a major disruption this month. Our scheduled window replacements arrived, so the whole house was turned inside out while the men came in and ripped the windows out, to replace them with nice new ones. Our house was built in the 1930’s, and it’s the last one in the street to get rid of its original wooden windows. They held out very well, but we had them repaired, and bits replaced because we wanted to keep them. There wasn’t much of the old windows left! We chose the new windows as near in appearance to the old ones. But it was a bit sad when they were being ripped out.

I’m a romantic, that’s my trouble.

But it does lead me to imagine different situations where people might find it hard to love. Sometimes I wake up thinking about new plots and new characters. Other times, I sit in front of my computer stumped, my mind not working at all, until—

And then I get it. It’s usually a character trait, something that the character doesn’t want and tries hard not to have. But they get it, all the same, and they need help to resolve it. Usually of the romantic kind!

This month’s release was no exception. I’d spent years looking at the Classical, Palladian houses built by the Georgians, and read about the revival of classicism, the new philosophical thought, and then read about the aristocracy. The one sentence that turned my mind to the big “what if…?” was in a history book, one of the kind without pictures. It was something like, “Members of the aristocratic oligarchy were as gods to lesser mortals, and they tried to appear that way.”

Aha! That light bulb moment is one of the most precious there is. I wrote the first story, and let it lie. It was too mad to interest anybody, surely.

But no. my editor at Samhain saw what I meant and went for it. It’s a way-out concept, but I’m continually astonished by the way it just works, and things slot smoothly into place. What if the ancient gods and goddesses were a set of attributes, born into different generations Dalai-lama style? When the old Dalai Lama dies, his priests take certain artefacts and hunt for a child who knows them and what to do with them. Then that child becomes the next Dalai Lama. The knowledge persists through the generations.

It makes sense. At least it does to the twisted mind of this romance writer. So the characters are at once Georgian ladies and gentlemen, but they also have extra powers. Sometimes they don’t know what to do with them, and they have to find people of a like mind, who can help. Sometimes they know from birth. Add in a hidden evil in the presence of the Titans, who want to regain their supremacy openly, and eliminate free will, and there you go.

This month, we have “Arrows of Desire.” This is Eros’s story. Eros is a grown man, so he dislikes being compared to the fat baby Cupid is often depicted as, but he has the power to make people fall in love, or lust, or attraction, whatever he pleases. He doesn’t do it often. He’s just returned home from abroad, where he has been tutored in his powers by a mysterious woman, and he meets a young lady, who—well, you can guess! But it gets more complicated than that!

I had a big inspiration for this book. I visited the Louvre recently and fell completely in love with Canova’s sculpture of Cupid and Psyche. He is holding her so tenderly, and the love they have for each other is depicted so beautifully. It was wonderful inspiration. I’ve always found that art, especially sculpture, seen in person is so much more powerful than seeing reproductions or pictures. Communing with the artist. That’s why Michelangelo’s David is such a great work. The power of the statue is overwhelming, every time. But I’m glad for pictures, because then I could remind myself of how lovely it is!