A Little Sneak Peek of LOVE IS IN THE HEIR

Hi!
In less than a month I'll be releasing book four of my IT'S REIGNING MEN series, LOVE IS IN THE HEIR. So I thought I'd give you a preview. And I'm excited to be well into writing book 5, SHAME OF THRONES (thanks to my husband for that great title!). Hope you enjoy this sample of LOVE IS IN THE HEIR--it's available for pre-order now: Amazon, Apple, Kobo. And pre-order for Shame of Thrones will be available in a few weeks!

Chapter One

Pippa Grimaldi, a decidedly modern Monafortian duchess and all-around life of the party, didn’t normally ogle men. It just wasn’t her style. And she’d certainly never held up any man in the royal family as anything but friend material. That is, until she ran into His Royal Highness Prince Christopher, Duke of Esmeralda—Topher, for short—for the first time in many years.

Pippa and Topher, third in line to the throne of Monaforte, had a history, and not such a great one. Back when he was fourteen, Pippa, best friends with Topher’s brother Zander and a regular at the palace, wandered in on Topher with his pants down, in mid, uh, self-service mode.

Mortified, Pippa burst into a nervous laughter, then hightailed it out of his room to Zander’s room so fast that her friend immediately noticed something was wrong. And once Zander—long the bad boy prince in the family—latched onto what she’d encountered, he never let it go. Poor Topher was dubbed “The Wanker” by his older brother and teased mercilessly by his siblings for years.

Over the years, it was obvious that Topher took great pains to avoid Pippa’s presence, because aside from his continued embarrassment over The Episode, whenever the two of them were together, invariably the whole thing was dredged up yet again, much to his deep chagrin.

And so when Topher encountered Pippa at the reception following the royal wedding of his brother Adrian, he could only hope that royal decorum would trump his siblings’ propensity for jocularity. The last thing he needed while suited up in his regal princely military garb for this shindig was to be reduced to that shamed teenager of years earlier, with a round of guffaws and elbows to the side while the siblings all referenced Topher’s manual dexterity. Sometimes, even his usually sweet sister Isabella got in on the act. And it would only make matters worse if his new sister-in-law Emma joined the fray.

He really just hoped that after being gone for so long, maybe at last the event had been tucked away in the cobwebbed attic of family lore, finally forgotten, laid to merciful rest. It always amazed him that no matter how old you got or how accomplished you became, you were always brought to your knees by some stupid happening in your life you wish you’d never committed. Or at least wished you’d locked the door for.

Of course one thing he always, always, always held close to him about that day was this: the only reason he was in the midst of the deed at that particular moment was that Pippa had showed up at the palace in a particularly skimpy skirt and tight tee that highlighted her burgeoning assets. And what gangly, awkward teenage boy could resist that? As the two-years-younger brother, Topher always had a little bit of a crush on his brother’s friend, but he also never confided this to a soul. And so in deference to her dignity, he realized all the more it needed to remain tucked away in his mind only, as it would merely serve to humiliate Pippa.

But from then on, he forever associated Pippa with his shame from that event, and rarely did he ever dare to entertain thoughts of Pippa as anything but a family friend.

~*~

Topher, his gentle gray eyes and wavy dark hair highlighted by the bright blue royal military uniform he wore, had just finished his drink at the wedding reception when his brother Zander pulled him into a conversation unwittingly.

“Plus,” Zander said to his beautiful blonde, blue-eyed girlfriend Andi, extending his arm as his younger brother came toward them. “Soon this strapping young man will find himself a woman and the paps will latch onto him instead. Even though I am the much better looking brother.” Andi had seemingly pulled off the impossible, taming the womanizing Zander, known for his scampish good looks, with his scruffy dark hair, perpetual five o’clock shadow, and mesmerizing green eyes.

Apparently Andi was fearful of the paparazzi, which had caused her to flee her blossoming romance with Zander, and Zander had only somehow lured her back to Monaforte just in time for the wedding.

Topher looked at him with wide eyes like he was crazy. “Yeah, right. Besides, don’t hold your breath on that,” he said. “The chances of my marrying any time in the next millennium are slim to none.”

“That’s what I said, and look at me now,” Adrian said as he walked up to the group. The oldest of the siblings, Adrian was devastatingly handsome, and on this, his wedding day, his brilliant sapphire eyes were alight with happiness. “Zander, looks like finally your invisible girlfriend here took pity on you?” He nodded toward Andi, who blushed.

Topher was thrilled the conversation was focusing on Zander’s romance, but only then did he notice that Pippa was lurking on the fringe of the conversation. Pippa—looking so damned hot in the halter gown Topher tried desperately not to stare at because it highlighted her breasts and her shapely waist—was the last thing he needed to think of right now. Those thoughts could get him into a lot of trouble. Her hazel eyes seemed to sparkle against the warm melon color of her chiffon gown.

Two times two is four, four times four is sixteen, sixteen times sixteen is two hundred and fifty-six, he repeated in his head, tamping down all potentially damning sexual thoughts involving the woman, including the time he’d seen her naked when she came out of the shower of the palace pool house when she was seventeen. Two times two is four, four times four is sixteen, sixteen times sixteen is two hundred and fifty-six,

Topher could feel the front of his dress blues getting just a little bit snug, and he continued distracting himself with simple mathematical equations until he could extricate himself from present company. He glanced out of the corner of his gray eyes to see that Pippa’s cascading brown curls—which as a teenager looked so sexy on her, tumbling over her shoulders like a riotous waterfall—had been pulled up in a loose chignon, her hair topped with the obligatory tiara that most women of royalty wore to such events. Hers was interlaced with tiny flowers, and soft strands of curls framed her face, which had grown only more beautiful with age. He thought she looked like quite the princess herself, even if she was actually a duchess. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but in the pecking order of royalty, she wasn’t a princess. Even if she looked like the fairytale version of one.

“Don’t worry, Andi,” Pippa said, piping into the conversation. “We all take care of each other here. You won’t be bombarded by anyone trying to get at you. Just a little here and there. Otherwise we cut ‘em off at the knees.” She made a slicing motion across the throat, jokingly.

Topher knew only too well how everyone took care of each other around here, even when it involved totally dicking on your brothers. Slicing across the throat indeed. That might have been easier for him if they had just slit his throat. Lost in thought, he rejoined the conversation as Pippa continued talking.

“I must say, most intriguing of all is little Topher here,” Pippa said, turning to him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since you were a scrawny kid. You’re looking awfully filled out.” She eyed him up and down with a look of hunger on her face.

“Down, boy,” Zander said, tapping on Pippa’s head. “I think Topher is allergic to girls.”

His brother discreetly flipped him the finger.

Awfully filled out?

If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he was perhaps a baby wildebeest and Pippa a very hungry leopard about to pounce.

Topher said a mental prayer that this was not the segue he’d been dreading and breathed a sigh of relief when, not a half a minute later, he was saved by the arrival of Adrian’s new bride, Emma, ravishingly beautiful with her chestnut curls loosely pinned up and tucked behind a dazzling tiara. Her hazel eyes were wet with tears of happiness. Thank goodness for all of this wedding nonsense as a distraction.

This time he was spared.

~*~

Pippa tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand. Something to do with Adrian and Emma’s wedding and then something more about Emma’s good friend Caroline and Adrian’s best friend Darcy showing up to the wedding engaged, of all things. Which apparently happened after Darcy’s sister Clementine orchestrated a fabulous fake-out at a party at Pippa’s family estate, which left Darcy thinking Zander was hitting on Caroline. At this very party, Zander then ended up hooking up with Andi, with whom Pippa had worked at a refugee camp in Africa months earlier.

Pippa couldn’t help but wonder why everyone around her seemed to be finding soul mates, while she only seemed to find another excuse to host a party or play cupid with her friends’ relationships. Not that she was looking or anything; she was too busy to really worry about dealing with a boyfriend. But sometimes it seemed like it would be nice to have someone to maybe just go on a date with. Or make out with. Or more. She hadn’t scratched that itch in as long as she could remember. The opportunity didn’t present itself when Pippa was working overseas in various philanthropic capacities, which she did as manager of Zander’s Prince’s Trust foundation.

Her thoughts migrated to Topher, standing several feet from her—though she knew if he’d had his way, there’d be several hundred feet separating the two of them. It had always been that way. Well, not quite always. But certainly since The Episode. Honestly, to this day Pippa could still close her eyes and conjure up the image of Topher in that compromising position. It had always left her feeling conflicted—embarrassed, no doubt, but kind of hot and bothered, too.

She’d never seen such a thing before, and it was the first time she’d ever seen one of those things live and in action. God, she still felt like a rookie in the sex department. She’d had a handful of less-than-compelling relationships in college and since, but nothing that aroused much, well, arousal. Most of the guys she’d dated were kind of boring, often trying to rub shoulders with royalty and rarely interested in Pippa as a person.

She tried to discreetly check out Topher from the corner of her eyes. He looked so damned handsome garbed in full military regalia: the crisp blue uniform, the sheathed sword, the sash, and all the medals. For the first time in forever, she felt her heart almost skip a beat over a guy. But could it be a worse guy? Thanks to Pippa, Topher was pegged with that embarrassing nickname by his brothers and could never live down something that undoubtedly the whole lot of them did daily under that palace roof. Poor Topher had the grave misfortune of being caught red-handed. Literally.

She burst out laughing at her own mental joke, so loudly that everyone in the conversation turned to look at her. She tried to cover up her laughter by pretending to be choking on a sip of champagne. But her eyes met Topher’s and in that brief exchange, they both knew they were each revisiting that moment yet again.

Pippa felt horrible: the poor guy could never live down such an isolated instance in his life. No thanks to her.

 Chapter Two

Topher spent dinner engaged in conversation with some princess from Sweden or Denmark or another very blonde country. She was absolutely stunning: deep blue eyes, natural blonde hair (he assumed), perfect skin, knockout figure. Who could complain? In the days of his ancestors, no doubt he’d have been seated by the woman someone else had deigned it necessary for him to marry to forge a union with another country. Which made him quite happy this was not the culture nowadays. Because while this blonde princess was incredibly hot, she was a bit boring. And her breath smelled. Besides, the last thing he wanted was a) to get married, and b) to be told he had to get married.

He was perfectly happy pursuing an advanced degree in marine biology and traveling to tropical climates in pursuit of that pursuit. What he didn’t need was an anchor in the form of a woman to tie him down. Nope, the type of anchor he preferred got lowered by a chain into sand at the bottom of the ocean, when whatever boat he was sailing in was stopping for the night.

Nothing thrilled him more than being on the water, maybe kicking back with a steak fired up on the tiny grill on the back of the boat, a cold beer in his hand, and Bob Marley blasting on the speakers as the horizon swallowed the last of the day’s sun in a spectacular show of color.

It’s not that he didn’t get into the whole dog and pony show of royalty, it’s just that as third in line to the crown, he didn’t have to bow to it quite so often, and he really did enjoy his freedom.

After dinner, the orchestra resumed playing, and he made a point to avoid his dinner companion before having to take it to the dance floor with her halitosis. But soon everyone was coupled up, and while he stood discreetly to the side, trying to not be seen and making small talk with people he really couldn’t have cared less to talk to, he noticed Pippa stood, not far away, perhaps also avoiding being seen. But she had a little bit of a sad look in her eyes, and it made his heart ache just a touch. Enough so he decided to approach her.

“You’re looking somber for such a happy occasion,” he said, handing her a flute of champagne he’d grabbed from a passing waiter.

Pippa shook her head. “Really?” she said. “I didn’t mean to look so disconnected. I guess I’m just lost in thought.”

Topher shook his head. “Please, don’t tell me it’s that thought.” He decided it was high time to just make light of the damned thing, at least face-to-face with her.

She blushed and stammered her reply. “Oh, God, no! I mean, what thought?”

He lowered his head and arched his brow. “I think it goes without saying which thought.”

“You mean that? Heavens no! I thought about that hours ago.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “I mean no! I haven’t been thinking about that! I haven’t thought about that in ages. Actually I’ve never thought about that.” Pippa placed her hand over her eyes, mortified at her stupid remarks.

Topher repeated his dubious look. “I’m pretty sure if I thought about it when we first ran into each other, then you did.”

Pippa cringed. “Oh Toph. It was so long ago. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to resurrect that dead issue.”

He laughed. “Not to worry. It never died, so you can’t be accused of bringing it back to life. Like it or not, it’s part of me now.”

Pippa snorted. “Were it not for me, it wouldn’t have remained in you long enough to be an issue.”

She burst out laughing.

Topher smiled. “Yep, talk about wank-us interruptus.” They both laughed. “I think it’s time we let bygones be bygones with this one, what do you say?”

She nodded and looked down, blushing, which surprised Topher because he’d never known her to be one to wither at the first sign of awkward conversation. Of course if any topic would make her cringe, this one certainly would  be it.

“Yeah, sure.”

Topher reached out his hand in invitation. “Would you like to dance?”

She smiled and nodded, and he pulled Pippa toward him to escort her to the dance floor as they joined the hundreds of guests around them. For several minutes they just enjoyed each other’s company, not saying a word.

When the orchestra started playing “Beyond the Sea,” Topher pulled her closer, his hand around hers, pressed to his chest.

“This is my song,” he said to her.

“You have your own anthem?”

Topher smiled. “Smart-ass,” he said, tapping her on the nose with the tip of his finger. “No. But it makes me think of what makes me happiest: being out on the ocean.”

Pippa cocked her head. “Oh really? You’re a seagoing creature, are you?”

He nodded. “Something about the water calls to me. I’ve been pursuing my studies in marine biology, which takes me there often. I feel most at home when I’m bobbing on a boat in azure waters.”

She nodded. “I understand what you’re saying. It’s like how I feel when I’m helping others. It’s almost like I’m home, too, in a way.”

“Helping others?”

“I work for Zander’s charity,” she said. “I often travel all over the world, whether I’m trying to enlist financial support or simply helping out with a project myself.”

Topher had no idea that’s what Pippa did. He was relieved she wasn’t one of those trustafarian royals who rested on her daddy’s bank account and shopped till she dropped. Though to be fair, he could easily be of the same ilk. Except that his parents would kill him if he tried that.

He found himself leaning in and whispering into her ear, “Wow, you’re quite the international woman of mystery, now.”

Pippa shook her head. “Not so much. Just doing my job is all. But I’d love to hear about your travels.”

Topher’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been doing research on global warming and its impact on coral reefs. Which means I get to sail in beautiful locations all in the name of work.”

“Not too shabby,” she said. “I could almost be jealous about that.”

“Maybe you could figure out a way to incorporate your charitable work with it and come sailing with me some time.” Topher lifted his brow.

Pippa caught her breath. “Me? Sailing with you?”

Topher leaned back to take in her demeanor. “If it’s something you might enjoy.”

“Who doesn’t love to sail?” she said. “But I’ve only sailed in the Mediterranean. What’s it like in the Caribbean?”

He took a breath as he thought about it. “The water is so clear and comes in so many intoxicating shades of blue and green.”

She smiled dreamily. “I never thought of those colors as intoxicating.”

“Oh, but they are,” he said. “Imagine, looking at water the color of the finest turquoise stones. So pure and so inviting. It warms the soul.”

“But what about sharks?”

Topher shook his head. “The biggest sharks you have to worry about there are of the male variety,” he said. “Some of those beach bars, you just never know what type of disreputable men you’ll encounter.”

They both laughed.

“Disreputable, eh?” she said, cocking her eyebrow. “But surely you’d protect me from these shark men, right?”

Topher pulled her in tighter, thinking of how he’d always fantasized about being that man to take care of Pippa.

“That goes without saying,” he said, his voice warm and rumbly in her ear.

“So what do you do with yourself when you’re all the way out there in the ocean? How do you while away those long, lonely nights?”

He laughed. “To be honest, I’ve never had to concern myself with whiling away the hours. After a long day of work, the best I can muster is kicking back with a rum drink, grilling a steak, and blasting some music while absorbing yet another perfect sunset.”

“By yourself?”

“There’s always the skipper,” he said.

“Now that’s not exactly romantic,” Pippa said. “You, a romantic sunset, and the captain.”

Topher cracked up. “Unless the skipper’s a woman,” he said with a wink. “But seriously, you’ve got a point. Though I suppose some might find it romantic to be with the captain.”

“What about companionship?” she asked. “Don’t you find it lonely being out to sea so long?”

To be truthful, he occasionally did. It wasn’t like you could pick up a one-night stand so easily when you were out to sea. Nor did you want to pick up someone you’d regret being stuck with. He tended to keep his philandering shore-side. Not that he philandered much, but still.

“You ask funny questions, you know that?” he said. “For someone who would barely talk to me for all those years, now you’re concerned about my love life?”

Pippa paused as if to think for a minute, then broke into a wide grin. She glanced up into his face, and he knew exactly what triggered her reaction.

“Oh, my God,” he said. “Surely you’re not asking me that?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t at first,” she said. “But then I started to think about it. I mean what else does one do when one is away from members of the opposite sex and the need is there?”

Topher grinned. “That might depend upon whom you’re talking about. I am a man, after all,” he said. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Pippa’s mind flashed to The Episode, where the boy Topher was deeply engrossed in that very activity. Her face flushed as she recalled it.

“But,” he added, “If you really want to discuss this, then what about you? What would you do all alone on a boat?”

She pursed her lips and thought about it. “Depends if the boat has thin walls.”

He laughed some more. “I’m starting to think I’d love to be your skipper. I’d tell you the walls were fortified, if that’s what it took.”

Pippa fake-slapped him. “Why, how dare you, Prince Christopher!”

“Oh, so we’re going to do it on a dare, then?” he asked, pulling her in closer, whispering into her ear.

Her breathing got heavier as she thought about him all alone on a boat. “I could be persuaded,” she whispered back into his ear.

It was Topher’s turn for heavy breathing as he pressed himself up against her, leaving no question about where this discussion was going in his mind. “It’s gotten so crowded in here. Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere a little more…private.”

Pippa locked her hazel eyes onto his soulful gray ones. “But everyone would know we’d disappeared together.”

He shook his head. “We’ll slip off discreetly. You go first and I’ll follow in a minute. I think you know the way to my apartment.”

She took a deep breath. “Our secret?”

He nodded. “No one will be the wiser.”

   

   

Subscribe to my newsletter

find me on Facebook

find me on Twitter

my website

Writers Who Lunch

  
   Writing can be an isolated profession. Most of what we need to do happens somewhere between our heads and our fingers and most of the talking we do is with the characters who inhabit our heads and our stories.We can spend hours, days, even weeks in our writing spaces creating our works and never actually speaking to another human being. Sometimes, when we do interact, it's hard to remember we must speak our words to them and not just think them! LOL! 

   To combat this separation from reality and people, many writers I know have little support groups, or even critique groups with whom they can talk - about writing or stories or just about life. Since most people in real life don't understand the emotional process of creativity, sometimes it's just nice to have peeps who do. 

  I'm part of a little group that we call simply 'Writers Who Lunch'. We meet up - some or all of us - monthly and have a nice visit -- talking about writings, publishing, editing, children, grandchildren and lots of other things. But, for us the focus is on writing and the issues of a writer's life and work. It is so great to breathe the same air as the wonderfully talented authors in my little group. Oh, we're a mixed bunch - from actively published authors to former writers to indie authors and all in between. The common ground, it turns out, is not the writing, but the struggle to continue to write and create among all of our other worldly challenges and commitments. 

I know we're not alone in this need. I know hundreds of other authors who do the same kind of thing. But I also know there are lots of these little groups in every walk of life -- my coworker's husband has a group called the ROMEOs -- retired old men eating out! It may sound silly but those men are each facing the same challenges of dealing with the changes in their lives because they've retired. So, I understand how these 'eating out' men are getting more out of their encounters than just food.

 I've heard of crocheting/knitting groups, women CEO groups, mothers-of-twins groups and more. How about you? Do you have a 'writers-who-lunch' group in your life? Who's in it? And, more importantly, what do you get from it?  Please share it with me -- and I've got a little trinket/giftie from my trip to Ireland for one commentor! 

Terri is currently working on book 3 - BLAZING EARTH - in her new Novels of the Stone Circles series from Signet. She'll be doing some events and signings to celebrate book 2's - RAGING SEA - release in October. Stop by her website for lots of info! Or friend her on FB or her FB page to keep up-to-date!
 

Julie Benson: Ideas

People often ask where I get my ideas. Frequently they fly at me from left field, many of them arriving while I’m driving. At those times it seems I pray for a red light to write down the idea, and of course, rarely hit one. Panicked I’ll lose the brilliant gem, I end up talking to myself to remember the idea until I can jot down the thoughts ping ponging around my brain.

That’s exactly what happened with my Wishing Texas Series. I was driving home from my office (Starbucks), and I wondered when my son Alex was leaving for east Texas to meet his friends at the lake/ranch. I remember thinking I was glad he still got together with his college buddies. Then I gasped, and actually said out loud, “What if friends from the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M still got together every year at one of their ranches?”

A giddy rush of excitement burst through me as I thought about creating a story for each of these friends.

For me, the ideas start out that simple. That small.

As I nurture and grow the tiny seed idea starting with a character or core group of characters a theme forms in my mind, usually with a basic idea such as forgiveness, starting over, self-discovery, or whatever. But the journey always takes a different path than I plan because whatever’s going on in my life crawls into my stories.

This probably sounds like a “well, duh” moment, but the fact took me by surprise. I knew my world view and experiences would color my stories, but I didn’t expect my books to mirror my life to the degree they have. After all, my characters have their own back-story, their own history, their own baggage. But how much of mine they carry with them shocked me.

Lately my characters have wrestled with finding their purpose in life, and carving out a new path. Cassie, the heroine in To Love A Texas Cowboy, moves from New York to Wishing, Texas to raise her orphaned niece. My next heroine, Grace Henry in To Catch A Texas Cowboy, moves to Wishing to run Cassie’s bed and breakfast when she loses her job and no one will hire her. Both women have to reinvent themselves. Both must decide what to keep of their past and how to move forward.

Now here’s my duh moment. I’m facing the issue myself. The youngest of my three sons goes to college in a year. For twenty-five years my prime identity has revolved around being a mom, and now my life is undergoing a serious shift. I shouldn’t have been surprised the theme crept into my stories, but I was. 

Not that I set out to create character back-stories that highlight an issue I’m dealing with, I don’t. I think subconsciously my mind does that. Writers are always told to write what we know. Whether I mean to or not, good or bad, I guess I do write what I know. Or rather what I’m living.

Blessings,

Julie

Kathleen O'Brien: Amalfi Night Billionaires

I’m up late tonight, because I’m in the middle of revisions for my upcoming Tule novella, THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET.  It’s part of a really exciting new series, HOT AMALFI NIGHTS, which kicks off today with Katherine Garbera’s hot and fabulous novella, THE BILLIONAIRE’S TEMPTATION. Go check it out…you won’t regret it! J

My book won’t be available until September 14^th, and I’m glad, because I want that time to polish the story.  Believe it or not, I really love doing revisions.  When I write the first draft of a book, I’m always stressed and anxious.  Is my planned plot going to work?  Are the people likeable?  Will the story be long enough, short enough, correctly paced, satisfying in its happily-ever-after?

Then, when I reach The End, I turn the manuscript over to the editor and take a step back.  Over the next few days or weeks, depending on the schedule, I work on another project, or refill my creative well by doing the non-writing things I love, while the editor does the thinking.

By the time she returns the manuscript to me with her comments and suggestions, I’m feeling renewed, and far less frazzled, because now it’s not just me sitting here worrying myself to death.  Now I’m part of a team, and for all of us the only goal is to make my book as good as it can be.

I’ve written about forty-five books, over many years, and every single editor I’ve been lucky enough to work with, both at Harlequin and at Tule, has been fantastic.  These professionals have, every one, been warm, sensitive, brilliantly analytical and wholeheartedly in my corner. 

People often ask me whether it’s hard to be edited.  One friend even wondered whether it might “hurt.”  I understand the question, but the answer is unequivocally NO. 

Sure, it can be disappointing to roll up your sleeves and go back to work when you would have liked to binge-watch Downton Abbey instead.  And occasionally it’s embarrassing, sometimes, if I have to face that I’ve missed the mark, that something I imagined would be funny simply wasn’t, or that something I hoped would be sexy was actually kind of blah. 

But it never hurts. 

How could it?  We’re all on the same team, remember, all shooting for the same goal.  And knowing the editor is there to catch me if I fall gives me the confidence and freedom to try those high-wire tricks I might not dare alone.

The truth is, no writer can ever possibly tell how her words will come across to someone else.  I know what I meant to communicate.  But did I?  Only a fresh pair of eyes can tell me what actually came across to the reader.  And only a seasoned professional editor can tell me how to bridge that gap, how to flesh out the conflict or pick up the pace, how to build sympathy for my hero or recover those little plot points I misplaced along the way.

So as I return to polishing THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET, a big, sloppy thank you kiss goes out to my editors for helping me be the best writer I can be.  And a big thank you to my readers, too.  Because you’re the goal we’re shooting for.  If you like it, we all win!

I’m giving away a $10 Amazon gift certificate to one randomly chosen poster today, so I hope you’ll stop by and tell me how you feel about getting feedback and notes on your work.  Do you love it?  Hate it?  What makes the difference for you?

A quick Hello! from Susan Stephens

It’s so good to be back here, chatting to again!

The Romance Writers of America conference in New York this July was the most fantastic event. The signing raises a great deal of money for literacy charities, and gives authors the chance to chat with readers face to face. There’s nothing better than sharing our passion for romance.

It also gives us chance to meet up with signing buddies each year—and here’s mine, Alison Stone, who writes fabulous Amish inspirational romance.

Plain Peril is Alison’s most recent book, and I can tell you first hand, that it’s a great, suspenseful story!

This year was particularly special for me, as my close friend and traveling companion, the wonderful author Carole Mortimer was honoured with the Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement award.

I was thrilled to be invited to present an outline of Carole’s outstanding career.

If you would like to watch the RITA ceremony, here is a link to the YouTube recording of the live streaming. Our section begins around 50 mins 20 seconds in.

The night was made even more fabulous as Carole’s family was able to fly in to be with her. And here they are, justifiably proud of a giant in our industry, the modest, self effacing author of more than 200 books! Carole Mortimer.

I’ll be back next month with news of an exciting Susan Stephens box set, along with all the other bits of industry gossip I know you love to share.

Finally, let me thank the wonderful Lee Hyat for hosting this blog, and I leave you with my warmest wishes to you all for the month of August, and I’m looking forward to being back here chatting to you in September!

Your friend and author,

Susan

Non-Interview With A Hero

It's always a challenge as a book is releasing to find fresh angles for blog posts. Today I thought maybe I'd interview my hero, Roman Killian, from Vows Of Revenge. As soon as I started, however, I knew how it would go.

Me: How are you, Roman?

Him: Fine.

Me: Would you like to tell the readers a bit about your background? Why did you have a grudge against Melodie's family?

Him: No comment.

Me: But what about--

Him: I have a call to take. Excuse me.

Roman was a difficult hero to write, to be honest! Not only is he a security specialist with a locked down life, he was a foster child who never had control over his own backstory, let alone his front one. His mother's attempt to feed him by selling herself was the reason he was put into care and it tarred him the rest of his childhood. His history was reduced to a few pages in a folder that was shared with strangers without his permission. No wonder he's willing to help others keep their privacy in tact!

He later winds up learning to hack computers, gets arrested, and is helped/hired--he thinks exploited--by a security specialist who really gives him an education. This results in his writing a type of security software that has the potential to change his life. Unfortunately, he trusts the wrong investors, Melodie's brother and father. They steal it, threaten to claim he hacked the software if he goes to the police, then give him a sound beating for good measure.

It takes years, but he rallies. He's on the verge of annihilating them through old-fashioned competition when Melodie crosses his path. He's certain her flirting is a set up so she can spy on her father's behalf.

Except, Melodie hates her father as much as Roman does. I knew I wanted him to seek revenge against someone who was totally innocent. I love that moment when a hero realizes he has screwed up, bad. I also love those moments when a heroine knows she's being a fool, falling for this cad, but she has no willpower.

Here's a snippet from Melodie's point of view as she faces that maybe she doesn't hate Roman quite as much as she should, even though she really doesn't know him, and definitely knows better!

~ * ~

I knew that day in the limo that you weren’t really like them. I just…”

“Still hate me.”

“I’m trying to. If I don’t, then you’ll—”

“What?” he prompted quickly, demeanor changing.

He knew. She blushed and had to look away.

A muted noise sounded and they both looked to the clutch where she’d set it next to her glass. Her mobile vibrated inside it.

“Trenton is wondering where I am,” she guessed, then made a face, feeling as though she was with a friend after all, she supposed, because she found herself saying a very uncharitable, “I should text back that I’m 'being nice' to you.”

The banked sexual awareness between them flared like the catch of a match.

“That wasn’t—” she hurried to say.

“I know.” He sounded as though he was laughing at her, making her shoot a scowl his direction. “I’m not going to make another unwelcome pass, Melodie. No matter how much I want to.”

Which was a pass in itself, she noted dryly, but managed to say, “Good.” Even though she was suddenly reluctant to accept that. Her mind was expanding with one ballooning thought. What would it be like now, when they’d set aside the misjudgments and animosity?

“I should go,” she said briskly. Before she lost her mind.

“I’ll walk you down.”

“You don’t have to.” She picked up her clutch and headed toward the door.

He pocketed his room key off the bar and followed her. “Better if we both reappear without looking flushed and disheveled.”

“Right.” Flushed. Disheveled. Skin damp and whole body tingling in the aftermath of orgasm. That would be bad. “Yes,” she affirmed. “You’re probably right.”

“Only probably? Don’t give me an opening, Melodie. I will take it,” he said.

They stood at the door, his hand on the latch, his white shirt and black jacket filling her vision.

“An opening for what?” She was playing dumb, not like her at all.

His mouth lifted at one corner, knowing. “I said I wouldn’t make an unwelcome pass,” he said, then touched her chin, gently forcing her to tilt up her face until she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “If this is not welcome say so now.”

His touch was bringing her to life in ways she had thought were manifestations of an overactive imagination.

“I keep wondering—”

He covered her mouth and she knew. They were every bit as volatile as before. They stepped into the kiss with synchronicity, her arms going over his shoulders, his hands sliding to her lower back, pulling her hips into his. In heels she was eye level with his mouth and they both moaned with pleasure at how perfectly they fitted together.

The buzz sounded again from inside her purse.

They broke away.

She threw the clutch toward the sofa, missing. It hit the floor and slid while they stepped into tight contact again, lips meeting without hesitation or clumsiness. Her same distant thoughts of how and why penetrated, but she honestly didn’t care. He was the man who did this to her. She couldn’t turn away now that it had started. And there was no evidence of his trying to slow down things as his fingertips dug into her buttocks and he rotated to press her into the door.

~ * ~

It's not HEA from there. Roman keeps a lot of secrets! And for a woman like Melodie, who doesn't bond easily in the first place, this is a difficult relationship no matter how great the sex is. They still have a long ways to go.

Do you like the strong, silent type? What about a revenge romance? Do you love the comeuppance?

If you'd like Roman's full story, Vows Of Revenge goes on sale Tuesday, the 18th. You can pre-order here:

Amazon: US | CA | UK | AUS
Nook | Kobo | iBooks | BAM | GooglePlay | Harlequin | Mills & Boon

Tomato juice -- a secret weapon? by Michelle Styles

Growing up, I need tomato juice had its uses. It is the best thing for removing skunk smell from dogs. However I had never really thought of its health advantages for me. It was a thing that went in a Bloody Mary basically and that was it. I preferred other types of juice.  That is until a few weeks ago.
Basically, I have reached that time of life. Menopause or at least peri-menopause is upon me at 51. There are a number of annoying factors like my metabolism going south and feeling lethargic. Hot flushes. Difficulty focusing. Wanting to curl up into a small ball and tell the world -- stop I want to get off.
I have a Mirena coil which is supposed to help alleviate the symptoms in any case (except for hot flushes and boy when they come, they really do come). The Mirena is from problems in my early 40s and much than having a hysterectomy. It has worked beautifully.
I am looking forward to being through this whole thing and getting on with the rest of my life.

So when I read about  tomato juice helping symptoms of menopause. (Yes I know it is a Daily Fail article and so needed to be taken with more than a grain of salt)  I thought it worth a go. This was  on about 10 June 2015 so I have now done  over 8 weeks. And you know what? It does work. It took about three days for me to notice anything and then things became much better but things have continued to improve.
My hot flushes are gone. Before this I had a bout one a day. But more than that my positive energy has returned. I find when I am annoyed or upset, instead of curling up into a small ball (my reaction for about, I can actually write. Writing has once again become therapeutic rather than a chore. It is easier for me to focus.
 My anxiety has decreased. One of the problems with being a fiction writer is that a vivid imagination is required. Vivid imaginations can be put to other uses... Personally I'd rather use mine proactively and create something for others to enjoy. For example, the start of Taken by the Viking was written just after a drunken man tried to kidnap my son off a street in Reykjavik, Iceland. Positive use of emotion.  Recently though I would just sit. Within a week of starting to take the tomato juice, I found if I was annoyed or upset, I could channel that energy into my writing again. Not that I like being annoyed or upset, I just like having an outlet for it.

Is it a placebo effect? I am not sure. All I know it is working --particularly with the hot flushes. Tomatoes are rich in lypocene and have a bunch of antioxidents. All of which are concentrated in the juice.

There is another article about it  here.

The fact is that the research was only released in early June 2015. So it is possibly too early to tell long term. However when it is something like tomato juice and very easy to get hold, I thought why wait? Why not just try it and see?

It is working for me and I figure that it is better than a lot of things. And I have developed a liking for Virgin Marys...

I am still keeping up with my exercise (redoing TAM and now rebounding -- good for the lymph system) as exercise with its endorphins are also good for such things.

So if you are feeling overwhelmed and are in menopause or peri-menopause, you might want to try tomato juice  twice a day. It is simple and effective (or at least for me). And when you are menopausal, anything that might help is worth investigating. I am passing this on in case it is of use to anyone. It is very easy to feel alone when you are going through The Change of Life.

Has anyone else tried tomato juice when menopausal?

Michelle Styles writes warm, witty and intimate historical romance in a wide range of time periods including Viking. Her most recent novel  Summer of the Viking was published in June 2015. YOu can learn more about Michelle and her books on www.michellestyles.co.uk

Christina Hollis: Rebel Prince Of Kharova Steals Heart Of A Hostage Shock!

Coming Soon!

The cover of my twentieth novel, Heart Of A Hostage, has just been released. Heart Of A Hostage is the third book in my Princes Of Kharova series for the Wild Rose Press

The first book, His Majesty’s Secret Passion, sets the scene for all the stories that follow. Leo and Sara look on their holiday romance in Greece as some fun in the sun, with strictly no strings attached. She’s determined to go back to her career, while he has to return home to take over his ‘family business’, as he calls it.  Then she discovers the dangerous truth about Leo's life. In an instant, the lives of both Sara and Leo change forever. 

Her Royal Risk is the second book in the Princes Of Kharova series. It follows Leo’s outspoken personal assistant, Krisia, to her new job with Leo’s younger brother Prince Athan. With rebels threatening the future of Kharova and its new king, commando Athan is suddenly centre stage. The last thing he needs is Krisia trying to help out. Luckily, she isn’t a woman who takes no for an answer. The crown of Kharova is in so much trouble, Athan soon finds he needs her like never before. In all sorts of unexpected ways...

In my next book, Heart Of A Hostage, the focus switches from the two legitimate Princes Of Kharova to the pretender to their country’s throne. Four generations ago, Mihail Dukagjini’s royal ancestor was disinherited for eloping with a commoner. Descendants from that marriage have borne a grudge ever since, but their claim to the throne has never got them anywhere. Mihail is the last of the Dukagjini.  He’s more of a realist than his predecessors, but he’s got plenty of imagination and initiative. When the beautiful woman he rescues from a car breakdown turns out to be the king’s sister, Princess Maia, Mihail sees her as a bargaining chip rather than the girl he had a crush on eight years earlier. But Maia's not a blushing teenager any more. She's got no intention of being used as a pawn. 

Find out more at http://bit.ly/1GQPIIq

Here’s the tag line and blurb of Heart Of A Hostage. I'd love to know what you think!

Mihail walks out of Maia's past, and into her present. Who is in more trouble—kidnapper or victim?

Princess Maia has it all—including a horrible fiancé chosen for her by the king, and a family bullying her into doing the right thing—but all she wants is her independence. When she falls into the hands of rebel leader, Mihail, she tastes real freedom for the first time. Mihail is a lone wolf, Public Enemy Number One, and heir to a fierce tradition. A dangerous reputation, a castle full of guilty secrets and now rescuing Maia are all woven into his master plan. He can’t lose.

Until his unexpected hostage turns out to be the house guest from hell...

There's something unusual about the background to Heart Of A Hostage, but I’m only revealing that little nugget to readers of my newsletter. The autumn edition comes out in October.  As well as background details about Heart Of A Hostage, it will also contain news of my latest short story, My Dream Guy, together with a seasonal recipe, an update on my bees after their recent scare, and a competition to win one of my books. 

Sign up to my mailing list here to get a copy delivered straight to your inbox, as soon as it's ready!

Because You Smiled!

Because You Smiled

My family laughs because, when we're out and about, random people come up and talk to me.  They ask for directions, they ask for help, or they simply chat.  As a person, I never mind. I like that I give off an accessible vibe.  As a writer, these moments become fodder for my work.  They inspire a character, or they suggest a scene.

Once, I was on a flight home and an airline mechanic sat next to me.  We struck up a conversation.  I mentioned my husband early on and he mentioned his wife, so there was no worries about flirting.  We simply two people who talked about our homes and jobs.  I, of course, was  all Erie, PA rocks.  He assured me he thought his more southern hometown won...no snow.  (It was snowing as we flew.  Not just a little snow, a big storm.)  It was a fun debate.

At the end of the flight, he said, "Thank you".  And then told me he flew all the time for work, but hadn't conversed with another passenger in years.  I asked why me.  He said,  "...because you smiled." 

Those words have stuck with me for years. I thought it was such a powerful message!  A reminder that the smallest things we do—things we do without even thinking about it—can make a difference to someone else.  A smile.  Holding the door for someone behind you.  Even sharing Monday-Glee on social media. (What you don't do that???  I'm so very guilty of it.)

There's a scene in Her Second-Chance Family that was inspired by this random mechanic and his very profound message. 

As you go about your day today, smile.  You'll never know how much that small act can mean to someone else!  (Or maybe you will!)

Holly

Out Now:

Her Second-Chance Family

Good can come out of bad 

If it wasn't for the tragic accident ten years earlier, Audrey Smith might never have taken in the three foster kids she loves so dearly. And if it wasn't for the new addition to her home—a troubled teenage thief—she wouldn't be fantasizing about Sawyer Williams. 

Make no mistake—Sawyer's the victim here. He's the one who was robbed by Audrey's daughter. But teaching the teen a lesson rather than punishing her makes Sawyer a superhero in Audrey's eyes. Someone who can forgive and forget… That is until another break-in rocks their community, threatening Audrey's family and her future with Sawyer.

An Alfred Hitchcock sort of life

Some time ago, a friend sent me a great quote about writing – fiction in general or drama in the form of a screenplay of a play script.  This quote was attributed to Alfred Hitchcock, but later I found that

Hitchcock was in fact quoting another screenwriter and director.

His name was François Roland Truffaut  and the quote was this:

“What is drama, after all, but life with the dull bits cut out…”

I always remember this when I’m writing. Particularly when I want to create a fast-paced, heightened scene, one in which the intensity sparks between my characters and things are really hotting up. It’s when I use what I call the ‘cup of coffee’ test.  Because, when  the conflict and the emotions in the story are really important, making my characters do something as ordinary and everyday as making a cup of coffee can slow the whole action down and   reduce the pace. (Unless of course the way they make that cup of coffee is full of drama with the mugs banged down on the table, the water spilled from the kettle etc.)

I often wonder if people think that the life of a writer is a drama like the ones we write about.  Writers only seem to get into the papers when the big /TV/magazines when the big things happen –  a major signing a huge advance, a public event for some literary prize, a personal drama or perhaps a huge price paid to turn a book into a film.  The rest of the time we are shut away in our workrooms, with just us, the computer keyboard – and our imaginations. 

The past few weeks though have been what I would term my life with the boring bits taken out.  Part of this was because of my writing – the other pat was because of my husband’s work. He writes too, though mostly fact – true crime and  local history. And just lately he’s had a book of short stories published with the title Uncle Albert, based on memories of growing up in a Yorkshire village and the characters there.

So our summer which is always pretty busy has been more full than usual. We had to travel to Haworth  (where the Bronte sisters lived) to launch the Uncle Albert book – then fly to the Isle of Man to launch the ‘one man show’ that went with the stories.  3 events, radio interviews, all were great publicity but we’re writers – and writers aren’t used to appearing at public events. We’d barely got back before our summer commitments started. I usually go to the Romantic Novelists’ Association conference (and sometimes the RWA one) but these had had to be left aside as there were other commitments

for those dates and times. There was a trip to Wales, where I was teaching at Fishguard Writers’ Holiday, and my DH was giving two talks during the week. We got back, unpacked, did the laundry, repacked – and set out again. This time it was for another event, at the Gilbert and Sullivan Festival where my husband was giving a talk on another of his books – A Victorian Somebody - a biography of George Grossmith who used to appear in the Gilbert and Sullivan productions in 1870s and 80s.   (He also wrote a famous comic book The Diary of a Nobody.)

All this was fun but time consuming. It certainly wasn't 'dull' - but there were times when I wished I could just draw breath and stay put for a while.   Now we’re back home and – thankfully – can breathe again for a little while. The travelling will start again in September when there will be a trip to London to meet with the Association of Mills & Boon Authors – and many of the Editors from HMB London (and Toronto)  I have another course to teach and so does my husband (actually two!)  – and he will be appearing at several book festivals to talk about Uncle Albert and his other books.  Phew!

And before I know where I am, my next book  - Destined For The Desert King - will be on the shelves and I'll need to do some publicity on that one!  

But in the meantime, I’m hoping for a decent patch of quiet time so I can sit at my desk, switch on the computer – and focus. I have a deadline and the next book isn’t going to write itself.  It’s funny that people think  a writers’ life is a hectic and public one. I know that the publicity and the teaching, enjoyable as they are, are the times that interrupt my writing. It’s when I’m sitting  - as the saying is- BICHOK – Bum in Chair, Hands on Keyboard  that I feel most like a writer. Just putting the words down, on paper or on a screen, is what the real writers’ life is like. Even more so, there’s the time that I spend thinking and wondering and planning – before I can even begin to tell the story of my hero and heroine’s journey to their happy ever after.

That’s when I’m working hardest as a writer!  So right now, I’m looking forward to some time where life is pretty dull and ordinary – that’s the way I can best get to know my characters and write their story.   And I can build their story into a drama – by leaving out as much of the dull bits as I can, and focusing on the dramatic bits.

I can’t show you the  image that the cover designers have come up with for the UK edition of  my December book – Destined for The Desert King – but  I can share the Harlequin Presents  cover I’ve only just seen for the first time. This is set on one of the balconies in the palace  in  Hazibah, even if you can't see very much of it.   I like this cover a lot - but it's a bit scary seeing the Christmas decorations on the red banner on the top of the cover  - it reminds me that, even if I get the peace and quiet I want, the time just slips away - and I'll have another deadline, for another book by then.

My  latest romance  is Olivero's Outrageous Proposal published in April in Harlequin Presents and Mills and Boon Modern Romance . Coming next is   Destined For The Desert King  which is published in December this year.

Then there's the  12 Point Guide to Writing Romance, the newest edition of which is available on Kindle or a revised and updated paperback edition now available on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com

Kate Walker's web site is here   and the up-to-date news can be found on her blog or her Facebook page.

It's a Whole New Year! :: Anne McAllister

My favorite "new year" growing up was probably when summer began and I had days of freedom to explore and read and pick strawberries and raspberries and go to the beach.  And every year, I looked forward to it eagerly.  

Even the summer chores didn't seem particularly onerous, though one of mine was to crawl along the brick edging of our yard and cut the grass that grew up alongside it after my dad had finished mowing.  

But I have to admit that I also had a soft spot for that other "new year" that came at the end of summer -- the ones that meant we were heading back to school.  I liked school.  But more than that, I liked paper. I liked pens. I liked notebooks. And erasers.  And pencils. And rulers.  You name it  -- if you could get it at a stationery store (or the local dime store -- do they still have dime stores?)  I was a fan.

And I've noticed that my grandkids are fans, too.  I got a picture the other day of a couple of feet in new shoes -- all set for school.  I heard about the new backpack one of the six year old's got, and the notebooks his sister is sporting this year.  I did my part and tracked down red polo shirts and blue polo shirts so, presumably, someone can tell the ten year old twins apart (but since they tend to wear the same color on the same day, I wonder at the wisdom of this).  

Even the college senior is excited to go back for one more year before he hits "the real world."  He just got home from summer baseball today, and tomorrow he's heading back to the house he shares with friends near campus, ready to find his books and pens and make sure he's got a back-up drive for his computer this year (hard-earned wisdom).

And I'm getting ready, too. Well, I've been getting ready all summer.  I'm working on a new set of books set in a mountain valley in Montana.  I prowled around it in the spring, making notes and conjuring up scenes. I took a ton of pictures and I'm stitching them into collages on the computer.  I have also prowled lots of "people" places looking for ones who "speak to me" and give me ideas as well.  

And I've been learning how to use Scrivener in case I get brave enough to switch from the Word Perfect software I've been moving along with for the past 30 years.  It appears that you can teach an old writer new tricks. But I'm not entirely sure I'll make the switch for good. I may work between the two.

But I'm glad I've done it. The energy that comes with learning something new is always a boost.  It makes the brain turn over. Sometimes it makes the words flow.  

And right now I need to get back at it or there won't be a story come October when there is supposed to be.  

What are you doing to get ready for the "new year?"  Do you like this time of year?  What's your favorite?