Mollie Mathews's Blog, page 13

Better than sex…

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Is reading a great book better than sex?

I’m so thrilled with the early reviews for Sex with Strangers

“I really enjoyed this story. Ruby’s life is turned upside down when her husband of 20 years dumps her for a much younger model. Chanel, her best friend, becomes her life coach and helps her with dating again. This book was humorous, the characters were likable and relatable, and there were a lot twists and turns. Overall, I enjoyed this book immensely and highly recommend it.”

“This is a one-of-a-kind full range of emotion book that if you have ever gone through a divorce and had a wonderfully supportive but definitely zany friend to get you through it all, you will relate to much of what Ms. Mathews has Ruby experience! There were times I laughed, times I cried, and other times I was cheerleader number one for Ruby to get her mojo on and take back her life! I wasn’t a big fan of Chanel initially but even though her advice sometimes came out of left field, you realize it all stemmed from love for her friend and she just wanted Ruby to have a fulfilling relationship and be happy. I absolutely loved all the in-her-head comments that Ruby would have whenever Chanel would throw out one of her wacky life-coach do’s and don’ts! Priceless!! … a very good book.

“I really enjoyed this story. Ruby’s life is turned upside down when her husband of 20 years dumps her for a much younger model. Chanel, her best friend, becomes her life coach and helps her with dating again. This book was humorous, the characters were likable and relatable, and there were a lot twists and turns. Overall, I enjoyed this book immensely and highly recommend it.”

“I absolutely enjoyed this story. I loved the storyline, I loved the characters, I loved the humor. I couldn’t put it down. The descriptions were perfect. I loved everything about this book especially the humor. It was funny, sad at times, and I loved it.”

~ Patricia Quinn

In love, the most dangerous enemy is saucy secrets

44-year-old Ruby Evans doesn’t want to be a ‘leftover girl.’ But finding a ‘forever’ man is proving impossible.

Suddenly single after 20 years of marriage, her husband is the only man she has ever slept with. But the one bit of security she always thought she’d hold onto for the rest of her life is brutally ripped from her.

Humiliatingly and cruelly ex-ed when her husband trades her for a younger model, Chanel Zest, a long-time friend and motivational life coach, comes to her rescue. Together they embark on a quest to reclaim and rebuild Ruby’s shattered life and begin the grueling process of dating again.

Once in a pink moon, Ruby has to play dirty…

If you enjoy romantic comedy, you’ll love  Sex With Strangers .

Full of quirky humor and the promise of a happily ever after.

To purchase on Amazon, click here>>getbook.at/SexWithStrangers

To purchase on iBooks, Barnes & Noble and other great bookstores, click here>>https://books2read.com/u/4EkM6z

To purchase on Kobo, click here>>https://www.kobo.com/ebook/sex-with-strangers-13

To celebrate the release, I’m giving away a signed copy. To enter, email me and tell me Fergus’s astrology sign. The winner will be announced at the end of the month.

 

 

 

 

A Valentine’s Gift: Sex With Strangers (new release)

Valentine’s Release: Sex With Strangers.

Happy Valentine’s:) I hope wherever you are in the world you have a beautiful day and are with someone you love.

I’m so thrilled that today is the official release of my new love story. Sex with Strangers is not a ‘traditional romance’, nor targeted at Mills and Boon. It is a mainstream romantic comedy. If this sounds like your cup of coffee, curl up and laugh today:)

To purchase on Amazon, click here>>getbook.at/SexWithStrangers

To purchase on iBooks, Barnes & Noble and other great bookstores, click here>>https://books2read.com/u/4EkM6z

To purchase on Kobo, click here>>https://www.kobo.com/ebook/sex-with-strangers-13

To celebrate the release, I’m giving away a signed copy. To enter, email me and tell me Fergus’s astrology sign. The winner will be announced at the end of the month.

In love, the most dangerous enemy is saucy secrets

44-year-old Ruby Evans doesn’t want to be a ‘leftover girl.’ But finding a ‘forever’ man is proving impossible.

Suddenly single after 20 years of marriage, her husband is the only man she has ever slept with. But the one bit of security she always thought she’d hold onto for the rest of her life is brutally ripped from her.

Humiliatingly and cruelly ex-ed when her husband trades her for a younger model, Chanel Zest, a long-time friend and motivational life coach, comes to her rescue. Together they embark on a quest to reclaim and rebuild Ruby’s shattered life and begin the grueling process of dating again.

Once in a pink moon, Ruby has to play dirty…

If you enjoy romantic comedy, you’ll love  Sex With Strangers .

Full of quirky humor and the promise of a happily ever after.

Sex with Strangers is a clean romantic comedy with a few spicy bits.

“I absolutely enjoyed this story. I loved the storyline, I loved the characters, I loved the humor. I couldn’t put it down. The descriptions were perfect. I loved everything about this book especially the humor. It was funny, sad at times, and I loved it.”

~ Patricia Quinn

Review Links:

To leave your review on Amazon, click here>>getbook.at/SexWithStrangers

To leave your review on iBooks, Barnes & Noble and other great bookstores, click here>>https://books2read.com/u/4EkM6z

To leave your review on Kobo, click here>>https://www.kobo.com/ebook/sex-with-strangers-13

To leave your review on Goodreads, click here>>https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50311061-sex-with-strangers

To follow me and leave your review on Bookbub, click here>>

https://www.bookbub.com/books/sex-with-strangers-by-mollie-mathews

My Valentine’s Day brought mixed blessings. Drainage issues! But a dozen red roses from Lorenzo and the release of Sex With Strangers made me smile.

I’m all about the happily-ever-afters…

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Did you know that Princess Diana read Barbara Cartland novels?  It was news to me and inspired a scene in my new release, Sex With Strangers. In fact, the whole story is inspired by women who love to read romance. Because what women want is love, passion, adventure, and happily ever afters. When they love, they love deeply and they want a man who loves deeply too—and loyally.

So when Ruby Evans is dumped by her husband she’s almost given up on happily-truly-after. Finding a ‘forever’ man is proving impossible.

Humiliatingly and cruelly ex-ed when her husband trades her for a younger model, Chanel Zest, a long-time friend and motivational life coach, comes to Ruby’s rescue. Together they embark on a quest to reclaim and rebuild Ruby’s shattered life and begin the grueling process of dating again.

But, once in a pink moon, Ruby has to play dirty. . .

If you love romcoms and enjoy reading something uplifting, fun, light, and colorful, then you’ll love my Valentine’s Day new release Sex With Strangers.

To grab your copy from Amazon, click here>>getbook.at/SexWithStrangers

To grab your copy from iBooks, Barnes & Noble and other great bookstores, click here>>https://books2read.com/u/4EkM6z

To grab your copy from Kobo, click here>>https://www.kobo.com/ebook/sex-with-strangers-13

“I absolutely enjoyed this story. I loved the storyline, I loved the characters, I loved the humor. I couldn’t put it down. The descriptions were perfect. I loved everything about this book especially the humor. It was funny, sad at times, and I loved it.”

~ Patricia Quinn

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What I’m working on now…

I’m currently narrating the audio version of Sex With Strangers. It’s great fun! I love reading and narrating my own stories. I hope my New Zealand accent is understandable!

You can see a wee video clip of me reading a chapter of Sex With Strangers on my Youtube chanel>>

Check out the following written and narrated by me.

Love Me Forever

USA

https://www.audible.com/pd/Love-Me-Forever-Audiobook/B081QRGJV8

UK

https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/Love-Me-Forever-Audiobook/B081QQVRV4

Australia

https://www.audible.com.au/pd/Love-Me-Forever-Audiobook/B081QQW4N8

Twist of Fate

USA

https://www.audible.com/pd/Twist-of-Fate-Audiobook/B07YL93YYV

UK

https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/Twist-of-Fate-Audiobook/B07YLBN32S

Australia

https://www.audible.com.au/pd/Twist-of-Fate-Audiobook/B07YL9ZTLJ

The Lightkeepers Lover

 

USA

https://www.audible.com/pd/The-Lightkeepers-Lover-Audiobook/B07Z9PX3NY

UK

https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/The-Lightkeepers-Lover-Audiobook/B07Z9Q1Q89

Australia

https://www.audible.com.au/pd/The-Lightkeepers-Lover-Audiobook/B07Z9QRWBV

Audio versions of these books and the following are also available from all online bookstores and also libraries:

Claimed by the Sheikh

Love Me As I Am

The Italian Billionaire’s Christmas Bride

The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage.

Flight of Passion

Finding A Husband

Forever and Always

In less than 15 minutes you could be listening your way to love!

Latest freebies and limited-time offers

 

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Claimed by the Sheikh is one of my favorite books. I loved writing my first sheikh story and learning more about the things that unite us—rather than divide. I love that in this story, as with all my romance, love wins.

As I shared in the Author’s Note:

This book was inspired by the sassy brilliance of Dame Zaha Hadid. (DBE RA) She was an Iraqi-British architect and the first woman to receive the Pritzker Architecture Prize, in 2004.

Tragically her life, her love, and her brilliance was cut short when she was in the prime of her career, aged 65.

Claimed by the Sheikh was also inspired by the tragedy in 2015 that took the lives of former New Zealand All Black legend Jerry Collins and his Canadian partner Alana Madill in France. They died instantly, and their baby daughter was taken to Montpellier hospital in a critical condition.

I cried such tears thinking of that baby being left an orphan. It really worried me that she would be left in the world with no parents to love and care for her. So I wondered—what if her parents weren’t really dead? What if the two people that died were the baby’s adoptive parents? What if her biological parents were very much alive?

And then, as writers are want to do, I thought, what if the biological father was an extraordinarily wealthy sheikh who was unaware that he had fathered a child

And I also dedicated this book to the survivors of the 2019 Christchurch mosque shootings in New Zealand—and to those around the world who know that only love can bring peace.

Discover The Secret She Kept From The Sheikh

50 percent off until midnight 16 Feb.

Purchase

To grab your copy from Amazon, click here>>getbook.at/ClaimedByTheSheikh

To grab your copy from iBooks, Barnes & Noble and other great bookstores, click here>> https://books2read.com/u/brVjdZ

To grab your copy from  Kobo, click here>> https://www.kobo.com/nz/en/ebook/claimed-by-the-sheikh-8

Free Love: An All-Romance Short Story, Novella, and Novel Giveaway”

https://storyoriginapp.com/to/TrrNdiF

 

Much love,

Mollie

 

xxxx

Love and Murder Amongst The Butterflies

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Dear friends,

I woke up today to some very upsetting news. Workers at a monarch butterfly sanctuary are being murdered. While it may not seem like a tragedy on a massive human-scale (two workers have been murdered so far) these passionately, purposeful people are protecting our ecological balance. Every time man destroys a forest, burns habitat, pursues profit over protection humanity dies.

The western state of Michoacán has experienced escalating violence in recent years, and the region around the monarch butterfly reserve has been rife with illegal logging, despite a ban imposed to protect the monarchs, which winter in the pine- and fir-covered hills. If you are curious, read the article in The Guardian here>>https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/feb/03/mexico-second-monarch-butterfly-sanctuary-worker-found-murdered

 

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Love amongst the butterflies

When I wrote Flight of Passion several years ago I never dreamed that the beautiful monarch butterflies who incircled the lovers in the proposal scene would be under the threat of extinction. The photo above originally inspired this story. I love writing stories that spotlight critical issues—to me, that’s the power of creativity.

Flight of Passion is a rapturous tale of beauty, obsession and the transformational power of unconditional love.

Billionaire property investor Oliver Hart is used to getting what he wants. Single, thirty-five and a committed bachelor, he plays by his own rules. On a personal quest to discover a rare, elusive and very valuable butterfly, he’s unwittingly distracted by a former flame, Ruby Diaz—a woman who callously abandoned him eight years earlier.

Deciding he wants to reclaim the beauty as his own, in his mind, it’s as good as done.

But Ruby is not his for the taking. Due to marry the son of a wealthy landowner, she refuses to succumb to his charms. On a quest to save her family’s land, Ruby knows she must put duty first, and silence the passionate stirrings of her heart.

 

But Oliver’s not taking no for an answer. Risking everything to help the woman he loves to gain her freedom, Oliver entangles himself in an emotional net that alters his life forever.

 

Sacrificing his own selfish pursuit to help Ruby, he realizes that you may be able to own something, but you can never own someone—especially the women you love.

This is a standalone clean & wholesome romance novel. It contains a guaranteed HEA, and a tale of romance that will capture your heart. As an added gift, it also includes the first chapters of Claimed by the Sheikh—this time, saving giraffes and endangered wildlife is the theme. I love a man who cares for the planet, and uses his wealth to make a difference to those most vulnerable, don’t you?

If you love reading contemporary women’s fiction, clean romance, and true love stories you’ll love Flight of Passion.

One of my readers summed up how fleeting life is:

“I fell in love with Ruby and Oliver, they are so good for each other, but both are so filled with garbage that their families filled them with, that they can’t see what’s in front of them. And when they finally realize that diamonds don’t have a hold to what they had, they are about to lose it. The butterflies remind me of how ethereal life is and it is up to us to not waste it, but live the fullest and best we can.”

Sometimes, humanity doesn’t realize what treasures nature holds until it has been destroyed. I hope and pray Mexico finds a solution before it is too late. 

 

OTHER READER REVIEWS

“This book is a carefully crafted, truly original story. Mollie’s wonderfully descriptive narrative paints a picture in which it is easy to lose oneself—I really felt like I had been to Mexico by the time I had finished. Her butterfly theme echoes throughout the book, both literally and figuratively. The main characters, Oliver and Ruby, are each conflicted in their own ways. Despite facing challenges, both ultimately find the strength to work through their difficulties to emerge better people, and most importantly, triumph over adversity together. A touching and heart-warming book, well worth a read.”

~ Cathy Rioran

“Fast-paced, heart-wrenching completely unexpected twists, excellent storyline, and a hell of a good read. You just gotta love Mollie’s imagination and expertise in her writing.”

~ Rae Waterhouse

Enjoy a wee excerpt by reading the first few chapters or watching a video I made last Christmas—let’s keep our love for butterflies alive.

 

 

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PROLOGUE

 

GROWING UP OLIVER WAS LEFT WITH THE impression he wasn’t worthy. First by his parents who at the age of four sent him to the bottom of the world. It was as if they didn’t know what to do with their infinitely curious and energetic child. It was as if sending him to the most prestigious boarding school in New Zealand absolved them of their responsibility, the responsibility which was every parents’—or should be, he thought bitterly—to love their child unconditionally.

After his run-in with a box of matches, they told him he would amount to nothing. He proved them wrong. At sixteen, he left New Zealand and headed for New York. It was true. If he could make it there, he could make it anywhere. With the ruthless determination that he was both admired and feared for, like King Kong on steroids, he quickly climbed to the top of the property acquisition tree.

He was king of the beasts, the man everyone wanted at their dreary New York parties, full of checkbook philanthropists who would never stoop to get close to the people their showy donations benefitted. Parties, like the one where he’d first met Ruby Diaz

Ruby had fluttered into his life like a breath of fresh air. She had lit up the room with her illuminating presence and dazzlingly rare beauty—not just on the outside but the inside too. Her authenticity had the scent of violets—too guileless for pretense.

His darling Ruby. Oliver swallowed hard, refusing to succumb to the wave of angry hurt that swum from his heart to his throat.

For three blissful years, they were inseparable. But no matter how much success Oliver acquired, how extraordinarily wealthy he became, Oliver wasn’t good enough for the Diaz’s darling Ruby. He never knew why she flew from his life, disappearing as quickly as she’d arrived. She had said nothing, given him no explanation, not even the courtesy of a call.

The Diaz family and the way Ruby had callously abandoned him reminded Oliver he would never be worthy—he was unlovable. Perhaps he should thank them for sparing him further hurt. Thanks to them and his hopeless parents, he swore never to love again.

And that suited him just fine.

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CHAPTER ONE

WOULD SELLING BUTTERFLY LOVERS REALLY free him of painful memories he’d rather forget?

Common sense told Oliver Hart that Butterfly Lovers was just a painting. An inanimate object, incapable of controlling him. But that was the trouble—it did control him, seducing him with its beauty, twisting his heart with bittersweet memories.

He’d intended to keep it . . . her . . . forever. His heartbeat seemed to almost stop as he thought of Ruby Diaz, the woman who had inspired the painting’s commission. He rubbed his powerful chest, trying to ease the painful tightness that constricted his lungs as he surveyed the crowd gathered for the charity art auction.

It was time to let them both go. But would Oliver ever be free?

His gaze swept over the minimalist, exquisitely designed interior, lingering over the priceless abstract by Rothko adorning a charcoal-black wall, at Hillcrest, his newly acquired mansion, and New Jersey’s most expensive country estate.

Tonight, though, it was Butterfly Lovers which held in its grip women dripping with diamonds, and men clad in Armani. Locked in shared awe, they clustered around the painting, studying every line, every pulsating color.

Oliver wondered if their eyes ached as his did with a heady mix of pleasure and pain just to stand in its spellbinding presence. Or were they trying to decode the painting’s hidden secrets?

Like a moth to a seductive flame, his eyes drifted to the bottom of the painting. Nobody, but one other person, would ever be able to decipher the graffiti-style line of poetry scrawled in throbbing orange along the bottom of the painting.

Painful memories bled into his consciousness. Why the hell couldn’t he shake her?

Butterfly Lovers. The painting was aptly named, he mused, forcing his mind from the woman who had inspired the purchase. The dancing kaleidoscope of color reminded Oliver of his collection of exotic butterflies—his hobbyhorse and quiet obsession.

Dazzling sapphire blues, glistening watermelon pinks, pulsating canary yellows with shimmering oranges—flew from the canvas, and ricocheted off the marble floor which had been polished to a mirror-like gleam.

He had commissioned the painting in a move of uncharacteristic impulsiveness eight years earlier when he was 22 and madly in lust with Ruby. A 20-year-old exotic beauty, she’d fluttered into his life, bringing with her eternal sunshine, and air so fresh it seeped through the iron fortress he’d built around his heart.

Butterfly Lovers encapsulated the vitality, optimism, and positivity she exuded. It was a rare piece which the serious art connoisseurs who gathered here this evening would die to possess. Oliver’s brow furrowed, aware many were drawn here not by the desire to possess the contemporary art world’s finest paintings, but insatiable voyeurs hungry to glimpse the inner world of one of America’s wealthiest and most elusive bachelors.

Immensely private, he’d never opened any of his palatial homes to the public before. Not homes, houses, he corrected. He congratulated himself as he glanced around the clinical, museum-like surroundings. The dark walls and sophisticated lighting, spotlighting priceless works of art, created a sophisticated, yet austere, facade. If a building was truly a reflection of its owner, as many designers believed, the interior aptly reinforced the stereotypes perpetuated in the media—moody, dark, mysterious and strictly hands-off.

There was some truth to that, but it was not the whole truth.

Oliver’s eyes drifted to the spiraling staircase and the heavy gold braided rope barricading the entrance to the upper level. He never let anyone get beyond the ground floor of his psyche. Some tried, but few persevered. No one, other than Ruby had ever penetrated his fortified armor. And that was a mistake.

He was complicated.

No doubt someone here tonight would go home and tweet that he was something of a social outcast, and arrogant to boot, Oliver thought as he hovered in the background. The fact was that he preferred his own company than engaging with his guests—predominantly wealthy financiers and bankers.

He knew his contempt was hypocritical, given he didn’t care who reached into their pockets. But there was something decidedly unpalatable about bankers and the merciless way they preyed on the vulnerable. Tonight, he would gladly encourage them to part with their millions.

As he glanced at his reflection in the floor-length window it struck him how far he had come from the days when just finding money to support himself and his little sister had been a struggle. Resplendent in an immaculately tailored Dolce & Gabbana tuxedo cut from the finest Italian wool, he looked like he belonged.

Oliver rubbed his hand over his pecs, powerfully aware of the Maori-inspired tattoo coiled over his shoulder that the crisp white linen of his shirt concealed. His hands pulsed with renewed conviction. It was his touchstone—a symbolic reminder that he was fierce and untouchable—a warrior businessman and an impenetrable lover.

On a good day, he even fooled himself.

But no matter how easy it was to make millions, no matter how many things he acquired, he’d never found a sense of contentment.

Except with—

Oliver bit down on his teeth, grinding them together in a futile attempt to crush memories he was determined not to revisit.

He glanced at his Rolex. 7:03:02. Irritability coursed through his veins. What the hell was the auctioneer waiting for? He fixed him with a piercing look, firing his unspoken annoyance through the crowd.

Tardiness was something he abhorred, and doubly-so tonight, he thought as he locked on the important call he had to make. In one hour it would be 8am in New Zealand and his sister, as punctual as he was, would be anxiously waiting.

As though feeling the pointed tip of Oliver’s anger the auctioneer looked up. His relaxed smile quickly shattered as he was forced to confront the aggressive glint in Oliver’s eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders, the brutally hard line of his jaw.

The auctioneer banged his hardwood gavel on the sounding block with short urgent thuds, his florid face ballooning as the chatter continued.

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention?” More insistent hammering. “Attention! Attention!”

The chatter fell to an orderly whisper, extinguished finally by the auctioneer’s solemn voice.

“As you know, tonight is a unique opportunity to savor the extraordinary passions of Oliver Hart. Renowned as an astute businessman, Oliver Hart is also an obsessive collector,” he said.

“He has one of the most significant collations of contemporary art in the world. Not only a man of significant wealth, Oliver Hart, founder of Hart Luxury Hotel Consortium, is a man of outstanding generosity. All the funds raised by tonight’s art auction will provide relief for those affected by last month’s devastating earthquake in New Zealand, where he spent much of his childhood.”

Oliver studied his feet as a thunder of applause quaked through the room, amplifying as it echoed off the walls.

Childhood.

The word was like a vicious punch to his stomach. Oppressive memories pounded his brain, and this time there was no silencing them.

Suddenly he was four years old again. Four years old and frightened. Lonely. Abandoned. Trapped in a jungle of strangers. Abandoned by bickering parents into a boarding school, neither one willing to let the other have custody. Selfishly caring more about winning against each other than the needs of their own child. And then there was his father.

His jaw locked as he bit down hard, swallowing a toxic cocktail of grief and anger. The brutal beatings hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the verbal abuse and discouragement he’d suffered when he told them he wanted to be like his grandfather and study butterflies. The abuse had only intensified when he turned his back on the legal career his father had wanted. ‘You’ll never achieve anything. I wish you’d never been born. How dare you defy me you worthless piece of shit,’ the pain of these beatings had long healed—but those words still hurt.

Freezing sweat clung to Oliver’s body in a vice-like grip, as he recalled the scorn his father rained upon him during his few personal visits. He paced across to the open window, inhaling deeply as he struggled to rip himself free from the shards of the past. Jesus, what sort of father tries to have his son institutionalized?

To some, it might seem ironic that he should be so generous to a country where he spent such an unhappy childhood, but Oliver didn’t like to think of others suffering.

He forced his mind back to the present.

“Tonight’s opening painting Butterfly Lovers is a significant artwork,” the auctioneer continued, glancing down at his notes.

Oliver didn’t have to read his words to know that what he would reveal was a shallow rendition of the truth. Only two people in the world truly knew just what Butterfly Lovers meant.

He glanced around the room thinking Ruby might have come, hoping with all his willpower she hadn’t.

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

HE FORCED HIMSELF NOT TO BETRAY THE turmoil of emotions jack-knifing through his body as the massive painting was carried to the makeshift podium.

The butterfly theme had held so much promise. He’d never really bought into Ruby’s tales about the transformative power of art to heal. But back then privately he’d hoped her optimism might rub off. With her by his side, and by owning the painting, perhaps he could shed a skin, free himself of his deformed past, re-emerge in a new skin. Undamaged. Someone nearing perfection. A better man. The sort of man Ruby deserved.

He’d been a fool.

Oliver’s spine stiffened. He’d intended to keep it . . .

her . . . forever. But even good intentions couldn’t make up for a lifetime’s inability to commit. He moved towards the terrace, widening the distance between him and the painting. He would no longer succumb to the painting’s potent power to remind him of his failings.

“Created specifically for Oliver over seven years ago by struggling contemporary artist CG Tombly—only Oliver could have foreseen its financial potential.”

Oliver’s brow furrowed. The suggestion he had acquired the painting for commercial gain, rankled him. If he wasn’t such a private man he might have told the crowd the truth. He’d made the mistake of talking candidly once before—a mistake he wouldn’t be making again.

In its place, he’d created a new habit—a habit of keeping his emotional life to himself, one he wasn’t about to break. Soon the painting, and the painful memories of the only woman capable of making him feel, would be shed and he could devote himself to less painful obsessions.

“As always, Oliver’s timing is impeccable. The painting’s value has rocketed in the same soaring capacity as the palatial hotel Oliver’s company has recently constructed in Dubai–so high it almost touches the gods.”

The auctioneer flung his hands into the air to accentuate his point. “Oliver Hart,” he said, nodding in his direction and pointing to his towering 6-foot, 2-inch frame, “never does anything small.”

Oliver thrust his hands in his pockets and glanced out the window refusing to look at the painting as the bidding began.

In a few fist-clenching minutes it would all be over and he could get on with his life.

His gaze drifted to the sculpture garden, lying beyond the pool, alighting on a solitary bronze sculpture by Brancusi. The modernist interpretation of Hercules holding the world on his shoulders, with its roughly hewn egg-shaped sphere symbolizing earth had always appealed to him.

Balanced precariously on a towering sculpted wood base, the odd shape and the large crater severing the middle of the sphere challenged conventional notions of perfection and reminded him of humanity’s rawness.

As his gaze lingered over the sculpture it occurred to him that repairing his scars, so deep that no relationship he started ever endured, required a Herculean effort.

No wonder the painting had failed.

But he still wanted to believe, as the ancient Greeks had, that art had a powerful ability to transform lives. He only hoped that selling the painting finally fulfilled this purpose. Perhaps then the painful memories that still haunted him could be turned to good.

He turned and fixed his gaze upon the audience. Who would be its new owner he wondered as the opening bid of one million was made. Would it go to Don Hermes, the impotent pharmaceutical giant, standing just ahead of him, or some other equally innocuous purchaser? Or would some anonymous bidder calling from China, Europe or the Middle East be the lucky buyer?

“$12 million? Do I have $12 million?” The bags under the auctioneer’s eyes shifted as he tilted his head forward, and peered under his glasses.

“A small price to pay,” he continued, his gaze briefly flickering to Oliver, “for a painting personally commissioned by a man who defies every category and transcends every cliché: a man with tremendous gusto and creative generosity.”

The auctioneer’s eyes flew to a scantily dressed blonde hovering hopefully next to Oliver. “A man who has yet to be pinned down.”

Oliver caste her a dismissive look and moved further toward the back of the room.

“$12 million we have,” cried the auctioneer’s assistant, nodding vigorously as he pressed his iPhone firmly to his ear.

Oliver’s heart lurched as the bidding began.

“$13 million,” the assistant taking telephone bids shouted, raising his hand.

“$13.2 million.” The auctioneer’s eyes darted between the phone bidder and two men determined to claim the painting as their own.

Explosive tension hovered as one of the two remaining bidders turned their attention away.

“$13.5 million! At $13.5 million the painting will be sold,” the auctioneer warned. He suspended the gavel in the air, pausing as he scanned the room.

“$17.4 million,” came a guttural, low growl from the front of the crowd.

A record price!

The room fell silent under the weight of the bid, then buzzed with irritatingly discordant voices, their murmurs of awe and envy a rising tide of white noise.

Oliver’s eyes darted to the front row. Over $14 million? The price was ridiculous. Someone must want it desperately. But who and why?

He was acquainted with the deep pockets of unbridled obsession. He understood intimately the seductive power of the painting.

But this was crazy bidding.

There had to be a compelling reason surpassing the usual appreciation of any art-lover. At that price it could hardly be an investment buy.

So that left . . . what?

Oliver paced the back of the room in agitation unable to see the face of the man who had placed this latest bid. He caught a glimpse of the woman next to the anonymous bidder as she shook a sexy spill of sun-kissed curls down her back. The familiar gesture sent shockwaves to his heart.

It couldn’t be.

Her head turned slightly.

Oliver stood still as if turned to stone.

Ruby Diaz.

His Ruby.

 

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Did you enjoy this excerpt?

To grab your copy from Amazon, click here>>getBook.at/FlightofPassion

To grab your copy from iBooks, Barnes & Noble and other great bookstores, click here>>https://www.books2read.com/u/bpp0LJ

To grab your copy from Kobo, click here>>https://www.kobo.com/ebook/flight-of-passion-3

Flight of Passion is also available in audio—narrated by me:)

 

Much love

 

Mollie

Are you sick of bad news?

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Dear friends,

Do you feel as I do? Are you tired of toxic, demoralizing, negative news?  Do you want to read something uplifting, fun, light, and colorful? Then you’ll love my Valentine’s Day new release Sex With Strangers. Read to the bottom for the first chapter—yours free:)

“I absolutely enjoyed this story. I loved the storyline, I loved the characters, I loved the humor. I couldn’t put it down. The descriptions were perfect. I loved everything about this book especially the humor. It was funny, sad at times, and I loved it.”

~ Patricia Quinn

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In love, the most dangerous enemy is saucy secrets 

 

44-year-old Ruby Evans doesn’t want to be a ‘leftover girl.’ But finding a ‘forever’ man is proving impossible.

Suddenly single after 20 years of marriage, her husband is the only man she has ever slept with. But the one bit of security that she always thought she’d hold onto for the rest of her life is brutally ripped from her.

Humiliatingly and cruelly ex-ed when her husband trades her for a younger model, Chanel Zest, a long-time friend and motivational life coach, comes to Ruby’s rescue. Together they embark on a quest to reclaim and rebuild Ruby’s shattered life and begin the grueling process of dating again.

But, once in a pink moon, Ruby has to play dirty. . .

If you loved Brigette Jones’s Diary and enjoy romantic comedy, you’ll love Sex With Strangers.

Full of quirky humor and the promise of a happily ever after.

Sex with Strangers is a clean romance with a few spicy bits.

 

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“A really good, hip, fun book. It was a riot. Great fun!”

~ Robyn Donald

“I thoroughly enjoyed it. Just lovely.”

~ Daphne Claire

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CHAPTER ONE

GET A LIFE COACH

 

New York, December 2005

 

People start over all the time. Why can’t I?

My friend Chanel’s a life coach here in New York. She’s one of the best. She even has her own column in The New Yorker. Chanel has generously offered to help me. To be honest I really think I’m beyond help.

11 months ago my husband, Jon, left me for a younger woman. I’m still feeling lost, betrayed and empty. When she turns up at my place unexpectedly, Chanel tells me she thinks I have abandonment issues. No kidding! It’s 3 pm on Sunday and I’m still in my pajamas, sprawled out on the sofa reading romance novels.

“What on earth are you reading, Ruby?” she says, screwing up her nose. She picks up several paperbacks from the stack beside the sofa. “The Virgin Bride? As if! Husband For Hire? Why bother? Why on earth are you feeding your head with this stuff?”

“Princess Diana read Barbara Cartland novels and she married a prince,” I say crossing my arms defensively.

“Yes, and how did that work out for her?” Chanel asks.

With my left foot carefully slip Joan Lust’s recent novella Cuddle Up With A Prince under the sofa. “Besides, they’re not mine,” I lie. “They’re Millie’s. I figured seeing as I’m not getting any romance I may as well read about people who are.”

“These aren’t your daughter’s,” Chanel says tossing the books back on the sofa. “J.K. Rowling is more her bag. You’d be better off reading books about wizards and magic than you would this stuff. People who can—date, and people who can’t—write about it,” she says dismissively. ”Reading these—these fairy tales is not going to help.”

I want to tell her that reading love stories helps hugely. That reading romance makes me feel less lonely. That reading romance lets me escape. That reading romance gives me hope. But I don’t bother.

“The truth is you fear abandonment and this explains your reluctance to start dating again,” Chanel continues. “Think Meghan Markle.”

I stare at her blankly.

“What would her life be like if she clung onto her dead-beat ex?”

“Crap.”

“Exactly. It’s time you went looking for a new husband,” Chanel says when I confess I haven’t been out for months.

Well, that’s not strictly true of course. Every weekday I go to my job in a towering office on Fifth Avenue where I work as a trainee public relations adviser for The Miss America Pageant. Believe me, there’s a lot of work to do as we work to rebrand the organization. But I love that finally women are being appraised on more than big boobs and hairspray. And, after, the mass exodus of lewd members of the leadership team, finally, women are running the show.

I have other non-paid jobs too. Like walking my dog Snoutts in Central Park and running Millie, my fifteen-year-old daughter, around.

“I don’t have time,” I lie. “Besides I’m quite happy sitting here at home. Honestly,” I protest, picking the anchovies off last night’s pizza.

“Nonsense,” she snaps as she brushes the dog hair from her expensive skirt. “Every woman needs a man. Especially you, Ruby.”

I mumble through a mouthful of cold pizza, “But I’m enjoying my spare time—reading books, doing what I want, not having to race to get my make-up on before my husband got up and saw the real me. You don’t care what I look like though do you, Snoutts?” I say, reaching down and patting the Dalmatian-cross I rescued from death-row.

Snoutts looks up at me adoringly.

I’m lying of course. The truth is I’m miserable. I miss my husband. I shouldn’t after what he did, but I do.  I miss being married. I miss having someone make decisions with me and dealing with things I don’t want to, like taking the rubbish out and doing our accounts.

Actually, I miss sex the most. We had great sex, even after 18 years and 13 days. What if I never have sex again! That’s my greatest fear. I don’t know how I would even begin to meet a man, let alone have sex with a stranger.

“It’s easy when you know-how,” Chanel says. “Not only am I the queen of dating but in my professional role I’ve helped masses of women reclaim their sexual freedom.”

I wish I had her self-esteem I think as I look at her. Chanel isn’t the world’s greatest beauty. She’s got a prominent Jewish nose that would give Barbara Streisand a run for her money. But she has charisma like Jeff Bezos has money. She only has to walk into a room and men practically trip over themselves.

I’ve always admired the carefree way she flicks her vibrant orange hair, smiles demurely, and regales men with a mix of witty banter and sexual innuendo.  I don’t think self-consciousness even exists in her vocabulary. She wears clothes that leave little to the imagination, though she’s not exactly Twiggy.

“I’m voluptuous, darling. Voluptuous. Men love women with curves,” she says proudly.

I know her real secret, though, it’s her confidence. I’d do anything just to have a smidgen of it. It’s hard to feel confident when your husband’s done a runner.

Chanel’s also an expert when it comes to breaking up. From what I can remember she’s never dated any man for longer than three weeks, and women pay her hundreds of dollars just for an hour of her time, eagerly drinking the wisdom she dispenses and coming back for seconds.

She’s promised to give me her top get-over-a-break-up-quick tips. I tell her plenty of people have been giving me dating advice. It’s just left me confused.

“A guy at work told me ‘the best way to get over a woman is to get under another,’”  I tell her.

Chanel rolls her eyes and groans. “Men have a different way of working through their grief, darling.”

I tend to agree. For starters, everything I’ve gleaned from scanning men’s magazines suggests they don’t have an issue having sex with strangers.

“I can’t imagine stripping off and being naked with anyone other than my husband,” I confide. “Maybe the reason men are so untroubled is because there’s a worldwide shortage of eligible men.”

“Don’t let statistics scare you,” she says, when I tell her that in New York, women outnumber men three-to-one.

“That’s not what scares me,” I say. “For over 18 years my husband was the only man to see me naked. We always had sex with the light off. What if I meet someone who’s into. . . well, you know, kinky stuff like doing it with the light on, or in car parks in broad daylight? I’ve read about things like that.”

Fear clamps my stomach. “God, I couldn’t bear it. They’d only have to see my stretch marks and my rolled-up tummy and they’ll do a runner, too. My belly still hadn’t bounced back,” I say, pressing my palms firmly on my stomach. “In fact, the only thing it does is bounce.”

Chanel’s finger rests on her lips as though she is savoring diplomacy. “Breaking up is hard to do, Ruby. Everyone knows that but crying over spilled milk isn’t going to bring him back,” she says, her voice thick with intensity.

“I think 18 years of marriage is a bit more than a puddle of  milk, Chanel.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Ruby. Of course, I am sensitive to the fact that you’ve been together a long time, but to be honest, you are rather dragging out the healing process.”

She crosses to the shelf over the fireplace and picks up several framed pictures of Jonathon and me on our wedding day.

“Hanging on to happy-couple photos is definitely not the way to go. Never let yesterday consume today, Ruby.” Chanel strides to the mahogany sideboard at the end of the room and throws the photos in the bottom drawer.

As she closes the drawer I fight back tears. Perhaps Chanel is right, hanging onto memories only pulls me back into a past that is no longer my future.

“If you can help me get over the humiliating fact that my husband abandoned me for another woman and got his PA to send me a text confirming my marriage was over, you’re a miracle worker. I just can’t let go. I just can’t move on. I just—“

“You just want your old life back,” Chanel says, finishing my sentence. “Never gonna happen.”

The truth knifes through me, jolting me to a stop.

“The text thing was pretty low. I know. I feel it. But don’t worry. Have faith. Life is about to get a whole lot better. I am a miracle worker,” she says confidently. I hear that from my clients all the time. Trust me, darling. Before long you’ll be thanking that vixen for taking him off your plate.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” I gaze nostalgically at the mahogany sideboard, then turn to her and force a smile. “Still I’m willing to be convinced.”

“I’m going to share a few of my miracle cures with you. Are you ready for number one of my hot tips? “

I nod enthusiastically. Chanel’s passion for her work and life is infectious. I’ve never, ever seen her down despite the fact that life has dealt her some pretty tough cards. I knew her when she was Zelda Abromovich. She changed her name to Chanel Zest when she was twenty. Chanel after her muse Coco Chanel, she told me, and Zest to better reflect her personality.

It all sounded plausible at the time but I knew the real reason was that she wanted to emancipate herself from her past. I wouldn’t mind being able to liberate myself from my entire family—but we’ll get to that later.

Chanel’s come a long way since those troubled days. I figure if she can reinvent her life after all she’s been through then she can help me too.

“Start keeping a journal. It’s a wonderful way to start your day,” she continues enthusiastically. “Early each morning pour out your feelings onto the page. Empty the horrible stuff out of your head onto paper, then write some positive intentions about how you want to feel. This will free you up and allow you to enjoy the rest of the day. I promise you.”

“Hmm, sounds wonderful,” I say, nibbling my nails. “I’d love to stop going over and over and over all the things that I must have done wrong to make Jon leave, and wondering about all the ways I could’ve have tried to make him stay. Things like if only I’d dressed more sexily, given him blow jobs—”

Chanel thrusts her hands in the air. “Stop! Blow jobs don’t determine a happy marriage.”

“According to Barbara Cartland they do,” I say glumly. “She says that’s why Charles left Diana.”

“Camilla is why Charles left his marriage,” Cheryl says firmly. “Cheating spouses are why marriages end.”

“Perhaps if I hadn’t been crabby when I had my period or been more understanding when his favorite team got thrown out of the World Cup. Or if, let’s be really honest, Chanel, I’d be younger.”

“You’ve got to stop with the terrible self-talk Ruby. Do you have any idea what power your words and thoughts have over you? What are you feeling in your body right now?”

“In my body?” I look down at my chest and then my feet. All I can see is Mickey Mouse running up and down my flannel pajamas. “I’ve got no idea. It’s not saying anything to me.  Should it be?”

“Your body is your temple, Ruby. It speaks to you all the time. You just haven’t been tuned into it before now. Notice what your body barometer does when you start going on and on and beating yourself up like that. It makes you feel depressed, doesn’t it? No wonder when you start affirming that kind of rubbish.If only. If only. Start saying some kind, loving thoughts about yourself and see what happens. Getting rid of that processed food would help too.” Screwing up her nose Chanel picks up the remaining pizza and gives it to Snoutts who looks at it with disinterest.

“It’s not even really suitable for the dogs,” she says turning back to face me. “Now, tell me right now five things that are great about you.”

“Um. . .er . . .” I trawl through my memory bank and draw a blank. “Gosh, you’ll probably think I’m a real sad-sack but I can’t even think of one. You don’t think I’m a lost cause, do you?”

“Of course I don’t, darling.  No judgment, Ruby. It’s quite, quite normal. You wouldn’t believe how often people struggle to think of anything nice to say about themselves. You do know there’s a global self-esteem virus. Why else would so many people be popping Prozac?”

I avoid Chanel’s gaze and wonder if I should be canceling my prescription of antidepressants.

“Well, there’s your first bit of homework,” Chanel says. “Keep two journals. One for recording all the sad-sack stuff—things like how you’re feeling, times when you feel blue, angry, etc. Then get yourself a fun, funky journal. We’ll call it the passion journal. Start collecting positive things people say about you, and record things that inspire you or make you feel good.”

Chanel reaches into her bag and pulls out a small spiral-bound notebook. “Here’s your first bit of feedback.”

She rips out a page, and hands it to me, along with her favorite citrus-orange Shaeffer fountain pen. “Write down what I am about to say and then transfer it to your passion journal. You are a kind, generous, loyal, intelligent and resilient woman.”

The pen crawls across the page. I feel like such a fraud. Tears bleed across my eyes as I write each word. But then I start to feel better. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear someone say something nice about me.

I stand up and give her a hug. “I don’t think anybody has said anything quite so nice to me in a very long time.”

“I’m sure they have, darling But words are like photos—unless we record positive memories we forget them. It’s amazing how memorable criticism is though. Which leads me to my next top tip for getting over a break-up fast. Learn how to meditate. Meditation is the biggest thing since gluten-free bread.”

“I don’t know, Chanel. I really don’t think I could handle shaving my head and I can’t see myself wearing a yellow robe any time soon either.”

“Don’t be silly, Ruby.  You don’t have to go all weird and new age to meditate. Just saying some simple things over and over is enough.”

“Like what?” I ask her.

“Like baaaa, lamb, sheep. . .”

“Sounds pretty weird to me, Chanel.”

“I’m joking, silly. But the truth isn’t too far away. Any word can be a mantra. Mastering the art of meditation is simply disciplining yourself to repeat the same word over and over again. By concentrating on only one thing you can gradually silence the thousands of random thoughts that are spinning around and around in your head.”

Saying one thing over and over sounds easy enough. I decide to try meditation tomorrow. I’m keen to start feeling better and Chanel must know what she’s doing because she’s the life coach and has qualifications coming out her ears.

“The next tip is fabulous. I know you’re going to love it. Eat loads of chocolate ice-cream,” she suddenly looks serious. “The ice-cream has to be Mövenpick.”

I’m starting to wonder about Chanel. Her advice doesn’t sound very normal. But then Chanel is quite possibly the zaniest person I know. I do like ice-cream, and Mövenpick is exquisite.

“The next tip is in the same box as getting rid of photos,” Chanel says.

I brace myself.

“Delete lovey-dovey emails, bin the heart-wrenching texts and burn old love letters.”

I bite my lip pensively. I’m a romantic at heart and asking me to throw away my love letters is like asking Linus or Baby Bop to throw away their comfort blanket.

I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.

“Hanging onto old emails is seriously bad relationship feng shui,” Chanel insists. “Change the energy flow in your home. Change your life.”

“It sure would be great if all I had to do to get over Jonathon was press delete, and whammo he would be gone,” I say.

“Believe me it is,” Chanel says. “. . . that and dating and time. Of which, might I say, I think you’ve had quite enough. Grieve any longer than 11 months and you’ll head down the slippery slopes of depression. Believe me, that’s the last thing you want. It’s a steep climb once you’ve plummeted. Besides, you don’t want Jonathon to think he’s dated you, do you?”

I shake my head.

“Good. I can tell you, both as your friend and life coach, that there is no way I’m going to let that cheat come out of this break-up better than you.”

I suddenly feel self-conscious sitting around in my pajamas. Perhaps I am sliding toward the icy slopes of depression.

“I guess I can store my letters at my parent’s and retrieve the emails back from the trashcan if I don’t feel better,” I whisper tentatively.

Chanel’s brows furrow into a scary frown. “What’s the point of holding onto them?” Chanel says impatiently. “They’re only words. Words from the scum that left you for another woman.”

Ouch, that hurts. But it’s true. I resolve to push delete as soon as I get to work.

“The next tip is a no-brainer but you’d be surprised how frequently people don’t realize how unhelpful some of their friends can be. To really move forward it’s important to surround yourself with friends who make you laugh – and who will introduce you to other single men.”

“Other than you, Chanel, I can’t think of anyone. Most of my friends were Jonathon’s friends and those who have stuck with me don’t laugh anymore. They’re working ninety-hour weeks and are so stressed out that all they do is come home and blob out in front of the telly. Gosh, now that I think of it that’s why so many of my girlfriends are like me—shagless and single. As for my married friends— well, it turns out they weren’t really my friends at all.”

“It’s incredible how invitations to dinner parties dry up when you’re single and dateless,” Chanel says.

“I know. And when I did go to a few I got the distinct impression some of the women thought I was threatening. As if! To be honest,” I say,  “I just end up feeling miserable. They’re married and I’m not.”

“Which brings me to the next rule. Stay away from married friends.” Chanel wags a manicured finger at me. “And stay well away from anyone who looks even the teeniest bit like they might get married.”

“Okay,” I mumble.

“Definitely don’t go to any weddings. You’ll only get stuck on the singles table, and believe me,” she says solemnly, “that’s dating suicide.”

“Really? I thought that would be a great way to meet someone.”

Chanel lowers her chin and looks at me over the bridge of her nose, “Are you kidding me? Only the desperate go to weddings on their own. Far better to buy a date rather than go it alone.  Desired people are desirable, “ she says. “Which leads nicely into tip seven: Be glad that you were loved and that you had that person in your life. Some people live their whole lives never being loved.”

I sniffle as tears loom again. “I was glad. Really glad.  I was happy loving my husband. I thought he’d be in my life forever.”

“Don’t be sill, Ruby. That’s irrational,” she says, handing me a tissue. “Nothing lasts forever. But,” she says, her voice softening, “tip eight is relevant here: give it time. Grief does have its own sense of timing.”

This doesn’t sound like Chanel. “Are you sure?” I ask uncertainly, wiping my eyes.

“Just don’t grieve too long. No one likes a sad-sack.”

That sounds more like Chanel.

“On that note, and concluding today’s lesson, is tip nine: find some fun! Book a holiday. Have a makeover. Spoil yourself rotten. Have something to look forward to or do whatever gives you a buzz. Which leads me to the next point,” she says, reaching into her bag. “I’ve got just the cure. Do you remember my cousin Julie?”

“The pretty one who left her husband and ran off with a surf instructor from Malibu?”

“She did? Oh yes. . .that was ages ago. A year at least. She’s been single since then and having a fantastic time. But we’re keen to take our loving offshore and have some European fun. We’re already booked,” she says, passing me a travel brochure, “and the best part is, there’s room for you!”

I take the brochure tentatively and thumb through it before returning to the cover page and reading, Contiki for 18-35s. European Inspiration Tour: 19 days from London to Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague, Munich, Venice, Rome, Florence, Lucerne, Paris and more. “I’ve always wanted to go to Europe. But Contiki? Don’t you think we’re getting a little old for this?”

“Don’t be silly, Ruby. We’re the perfect age.  We’re 35 -“

“We’re over forty, Chanel.”

“Don’t say the “f” word, Ruby, it’s not polite. Besides, we don’t look a day over thirty. With our wisdom, experience and mature outlook on life, we know who we are and what we want. We’re an asset to the young.”

“We are?”

“Yes, we are! Men love confidence, and confidence comes with experience. Which Julie and I have. . . and you will soon. We’ve got it all mapped out, and Contiki is just the company to help us realize our dreams.”

“What dreams, Chanel?” I ask nervously.

“We want sex,” she replies matter of factly, “and lots of it.”

“We do?”

“Absolutely. I read an article in The New York Times the other day that said one of the biggest regrets people had was not having enough sex. That and not marrying the right person. And you know about that already. I for one don’t want to die with regrets. Do you, Ruby?”

“I guess not.”

“You guess not? How many lives are you planning to have, Ruby?”

“Don’t be silly, Chanel. Everyone knows you only get one.”

“Not everybody believes that,” she corrects me. “But for simplicity’s sake let’s assume it’s true. Do you really want to use yours up crying over a disloyal prick of a husband or are you going to join our race?”

“What race?”

“Our race to conquer Europe.  Julie and I have set each other a dare. We’ve got to bonk a guy in every city we go to. The winner gets to have fabulous sex with a bevy of European lovers.

“And the loser?”

“The loser gets to have sex—only with less strangers.”

“I don’t know, Chanel. This sounds a bit desperate and dangerous. I mean, gosh, we’re middle-aged, and you already have a head start when it comes to picking up strange men. To be honest, it’s not really my thing.”

“Come on, it’ll be good for you. A fresh start. A chance to sample some of the stuff you’ve been missing. Maybe have a fling with a younger man. Haven’t you heard that old Chinese proverb about being as old as the last guy you screwed?”

“I can’t say I have, Chanel. I think we must read different books.”

“Yes, darling, we do,” Chanel says, glaring at Roberta Lust’s novel stuffed under the couch. “Think of it as sexual healing, Ruby. The point is to have fun flings, not full-on relationships. Besides, having one night stands has been scientifically proven to boost your chances of finding love again. Not only do they broaden your sexual repertoire, but they also boost your self-esteem. And let’s face it, darling, yours is pretty deflated. So what’s to lose?”

“Scientifically proven?”

“Absolutely! 100 per cent guaranteed. Knowing you may never see your conquest again allows you to practice the one thing that will stand you in good sexual stead forever.”

“Which is?”

“Saying what you want in bed.”

For a moment I’m sure my breathing has stopped

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re mortified right?”

“Have I gone a pale shade of white?” I hope my laugh sounds less self-conscious and more, ‘this is going to be so much fun.’

“Grinding your teeth together kind of gave you away,” she says putting her arm affectionately around me. “Relax! Believe me—I know. Asking for what you want is the key to a happier life. One-night stands are the perfect way to practice. Oh and news flash. Sex outside of marriage is not a cardinal sin. This is the new millennium, the era of female empowerment, freedom, and choice. Don’t waste your life making the wrong ones my sweet. Life’s too short and too precious for that.”

I do like the idea of getting away, and coming from a family of seven sisters has instilled a competitive streak in me. But racing to take European men to bed isn’t exactly the same as grabbing the last potato at dinner. And everyone knows that European men are a lot less uninhibited. They’re bound to want to do it with the light on.

I clench my hands over the cushions on the couch. “It’s a bit of a stretch, Chanel. I mean, it’s all right for the two of you—you’re experienced. I wouldn’t know where to start. Gosh, I think I’d fall over if any man other than Jonathon looked at me in an amorous way.”

I twist my gold wedding band. The divorce isn’t finalized yet and wearing his ring still gave me comfort. It was like a neon sign telling the world someone had picked me. I was wanted.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you up to speed. I’m a life coach after all. Helping people with relationship issues is my specialty.”

Suddenly I’m more nervous than when Millie tricked me into going on the world’s biggest, oldest, and most rickety rollercoaster. I’m half excited and half out of my mind with fear. Mostly it’s fear I feel as I say, “It all sounds great. When do we start?”

Feel the fear and go dating anyway, right? Although in Chanel’s hands at least I won’t die.

Will I?

DID YOU ENJOY THIS EXCERPT?

 

Sex With Strangers —available for Valentine’s Day pre-order now!

 

To grab your copy from Amazon, click here>> getbook.at/SexWithStrangers

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Audio coming soon!

 

 

 

 

DID YOU ENJOY THIS POST?

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The inspiration behind Sex With Strangers

Why I write love stories

How Trauma Can Fuel Your Life Purpose

 

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Can a life coach change your love-life forever?

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Dear friends,

Did you know that Princess Diana read Barbara Cartland novels?  It was news to me and inspired a scene in my new release, Sex With Strangers.

This story began many moons ago at a romance writer’s retreat, facilitated by Mills and Boon authors Robyn Donald and Daphne Clair. The feedback from these wonderful passionate and experienced writers, and others on the writer’s retreat, was so encouraging:

“I love it!”

“We thoroughly enjoyed it”

“You’ve got the beginnings of a really good, hip, fun book”

“The chapter heads are just lovely”

“It was a riot. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Great fun!”

“I can see the movie now.”

“When are you going to finish it?”

I decided it was time for it to air!

Many of the events are inspired by true stories—both my and others’ experiences. I’ve encountered so many people over the years who are looking for love again, and just don’t know how or where to start.

I hope you giggle and laugh from deep in your belly as you read this story. Like I did, remembering and rewriting some of these scenes (and flashing back to events that were true.)

And my hero Fergus O’Farrell? A few people told me that you can’t have an Irish hero that wears green pants and is called Fergus. The Fergus I met once, told me a different story.

He was so hunky, he could wear anything—or nothing at all! Think Jamie Dornan (better known as Christian Grey), Colin Farrell, and Pierce Bronsan (the only ever Irish James Bond), the alpha Irish sexy men who rock our world.

Talented, hot-looking and super sexy.

I hope you enjoy a wee excerpt.

 

Chapter 1 

Get a life coach

 

New York, December 2005

People start over all the time. Why can’t I?

My friend Chanel’s a life coach here in New York. She’s one of the best. She even has her own column in The New Yorker. Chanel has generously offered to help me. To be honest I really think I’m beyond help.

11 months ago my husband, Jon, left me for a younger woman. I’m still feeling lost, betrayed and empty. Chanel tells me she thinks I have abandonment issues when she turns up at my place unexpectedly. It’s 3 pm on Sunday and I’m still in my pajamas, sprawled out on the sofa reading romance novels.

“What on earth are you reading, Ruby?” she says, screwing up her nose. She picks up several paperbacks from the stack beside the sofa. “The Virgin Bride? As if! Husband For Hire? Why bother? Why on earth are you feeding your head with this stuff?”

“Princess Diana read Barbara Cartland novels and she married a prince,” I say crossing my arms defensively.

“Yes, and how did that work out for her?” Chanel asks.

With my left foot carefully slip Joan Lust’s recent novella Cuddle Up With A Prince under the sofa. “Besides, they’re not mine,” I lie. “They’re Millie’s. I figured seeing as I’m not getting any romance I may as well read about people who are.”

“These aren’t your daughter’s,” she says tossing the books back on the sofa. “J.K. Rowling is more her bag. You’d be better off reading books about wizards and magic than you would this stuff. It’s common knowledge that people who can, date, and people who can’t, write about it,” she says dismissively. ”Reading these—these fairy tales is not going to help.”

I want to tell her that reading love stories does help. That reading romance makes me feel less lonely. That reading romance lets me escape. That reading romance gives me hope. But I don’t bother.

“The truth is you fear abandonment and this explains your reluctance to start dating again,” Chanel continues. “Think Meghan Markle.”

I stare at her blankly.

“What would her life be like if she clung onto her dead-beat ex?”

“Crap.”

“Exactly. It’s time you went looking for a new husband,” Chanel says when I confess I haven’t been out for months.

 

About this book

 

In love, the most dangerous enemy is saucy secrets 

44-year-old Ruby Evans doesn’t want to be a ‘leftover girl.’ But finding a ‘forever’ man is proving impossible.

Suddenly single after 20 years of marriage, her husband is the only man she has ever slept with. But the one bit of security that she always thought she’d hold onto for the rest of her life is brutally ripped from her.

Humiliatingly and cruelly ex-ed when her husband trades her for a younger model, Chanel Zest, a long-time friend and motivational life coach, comes to Ruby’s rescue. Together they embark on a quest to reclaim and rebuild Ruby’s shattered life and begin the grueling process of dating again.

But, once in a pink moon, Ruby has to play dirty. . .

If you loved Brigette Jones’s Diary and enjoy romantic comedy, you’ll love Sex With Strangers.

Full of quirky humor and the promise of a happily ever after.

Sex with Strangers is a clean romance with a few spicy bits.

 

Reader Reviews

“A really good, hip, fun book.” 

“Hilarious.”

“I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

 

Enjoy Bonus Excerpts from my other full-length love stories:

Married by Christmas and Claimed by The Sheikh

Sex With Strangers is available for pre-order now. Releasing 14 Feb 2020—Valentine’s day!

To grab your copy from Amazon, click here>>getbook.at/SexWithStrangers

 

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Would you protect a murderer to save your family?

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Three women. Three lives. And the lies that bind them. Why is everyone afraid of the truth?

When a lonely young American woman inherits a painting she discovers her whole life was a lie. Desperate for the truth, she goes in search of her true identity. The painting is her only clue. But everyone is determined to keep its secret past repressed, including Vitaliano Rossi, the Italian gold tycoon, unnaturally suspicious of her motives, who wants the painting vanquished. How can she discover who she really is and convince him that his love means more to her than gold?

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Praise for Book Two in the Gemstone Billionaire’s series—The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage

Reader Reviews:

“I loved the premise that she needs the hero to unlock the secrets to explain her past—it’s great conflict.”

“I really enjoyed this story, your writing, the characters and the kiss. Thanks!”

“What a blinking good read—more please. I was hooked from page one.”

“I want to know the secret in the painting.”

If this is the first time you have read a Gemstone Billionaire story, you can easily read each book as a standalone.

To grab your copy from Amazon, click here>> getBook.at/ScandalousMarriage

getBook.at/ScandalousMarriage

To grab your copy from iBooks, Barnes & Noble and other great bookstores, click here>>https://books2read.com/u/mVNdn5

 

EXCERPT

Prologue

‘You should never have responded to that email. I don’t understand you, Alexandra.’ Bitterness bled from her mother’s words.

Alex Spencer pressed her lips together, momentarily fixing her gaze on the desolate New York sky as snow began to fall. ‘Okay, so an email arrives out of the blue telling me the man who I thought was my father isn’t,’ she said, shoveling summer clothes into a well-traveled leopard-print suitcase. ‘And then I find out my real father is dead and he’s left me some valuable paintings—and I’m supposed to ignore that?’

‘Why do you insist on digging up the past? I’ve told you no good will come of it.’

Alex knew they would never agree. She wanted to say, “Mom, why are you making everything so difficult? Why won’t you talk to me about my father? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” But she’d already tried, and every time her mother evaded answering. Despite what her mother had done, for the sake of their tie of blood, which was the only thing left between them, she had to keep the peace.

‘Why do you have to go back to New Zealand? What more do you hope to achieve that wasn’t settled six months ago? What point is there?’ Elizabeth Spencer pressed, fixing disapproving eyes on her errant daughter.

‘You know why I need to go back, Mother,’ Alex said quietly, careful to stop exasperation creeping into her voice.

Her mother’s brown eyes turned a chilly shade of black. ‘After all Charles and I have done for you,’ she spat. ‘He’s been more of a father to you than that man ever was.’ Although she would never say it, the accusation whistled through her mother’s pursed lips. Why would you want to do something so selfish?

Alex forced herself to count to ten. It was as if her mother thought keeping something so important a secret from her own daughter all these years was no big deal. It was as though she thought that replacing a real dad with a surrogate dad gave her a stable identity.

How could Alex possibly explain without severing their relationship for good? Finally, she knew why she had never felt understood, never felt accepted, never felt she belonged. And while everything was such a mystery she knew that she could never find peace until she understood her past.

‘Mom, I told you when I came back for Christmas that I’d only be here for a few weeks. Please don’t let us spend our last moments arguing.’ Alex forced an uncertain smile hoping it would melt her mother’s iciness.

Her boutique travel business meant she was never home for long. She was like those dandelions; settling for a spell then drifting away. She was no longer a child. Yet in this matter she longed for her mother’s approval.

‘Why can’t you let go of this thing you’ve got about your father?’ Her mother fired. ‘What more do you have to know, for heaven’s sake? He was an artist. He left you a few paintings. End of story.’

It wasn’t the end of the story. Far from it. In fact of the six paintings her biological father had left her in his will she knew with gut-churning clarity that only one would unlock buried secrets. Secrets her mother seemed resolute never to divulge

‘I want to know everything. I want to know about the man whose blood courses through my veins. I want to know who I am. Why can’t you understand that?’

‘There’s nothing more to say. I was young. Impulsive. He was a mistake.’

Alex’s stomach clenched. She was a mistake. Her mother didn’t have to say it but her tone made it clear.

She was the girl nobody wanted.

 

Chapter One

Alex pressed against a pillar beneath the cavernous ceiling of the Auckland art gallery, suppressing a yawn as she fought a wave of jet lag. Clutching the exhibition catalog to her chest she swept her gaze over the crowd gathered for the opening of the dazzling retrospective exhibition of her father’s lifeworks. Only yesterday she had been in icy New York and now here she was in the heat of the New Zealand summer, surrounded by Veuve Clicquot, popping corks and intoxicating works of art.

At the center of the gallery stood Clive Gacos, the art dealer who had discovered the man she now knew was her father, exchanging air kisses and handshakes. Impeccably armored in a steel-grey designer suit that complemented his trademark helmet of silver hair he looked in his element as he enthusiastically greeted a procession of art collectors and socialites.

Alex crossed her arms protectively over her chest as women flashed him far too-enthusiastic smiles, and fluttered acrylic nails in shallow waves. She hated crowds at the best of times and tonight, surrounded by so much pretense, she felt doubly out of her comfort zone. Nausea crawled through her stomach as she wondered if Clive’s insistence that she exhibit the painting had been one giant mistake.

Would tonight flush out someone intimately connected to the powerful, yet haunting image? Someone who would help her unearth the past her mother and step-father were so determined to keep buried?

Her gaze drifted to the vast landscape her father had painted running the length of the far wall. Lost Love. Two words that tore her heart apart. Looking at the painting now she wondered if the name she’d given it still fitted. For some inexplicable reason, unlike all her father’s other artworks, he’d left this one unnamed. Why did he leave so few clues to its meaning?

Barely conscious of the crowd pressing around her Alex’s heart quickened as she scanned the craggy Southern Ranges, their soaring peaks troughed on the canvas with a hurtle of blue and ochre and gold. Her gaze honed in on the hauntingly beautiful face of a woman, infused within the rocks. Why had her father painted a woman’s face into the landscape? And whose was it—so beautiful?

The woman seemed to reach through time and space, lifting agonized eyes, calling Alex’s name, drawing her deeper and deeper into the painting’s mystery. Instinct told her something deeply personal had happened to inspire the painting, something that could shed light on her past? For twenty-five years her life had been a lie. Months of searching for clues to her past had ended in granite walls of silence.

Yet the way her heart pounded, her eyes pooled with tears, and every hair on her body stood on end each time she looked at the painting, told her that there was a deeper reason her father wanted the painting to remain in her possession. Alex was sure her father was enticing her to discover the painting’s secrets. Why else did he leave this particular painting in his will to the daughter he’d never met?

She tore herself away from Lost Love and stood at a distance observing people’s reactions in the hope that she would discover someone who found the painting as meaningful as she did. An older woman stared at it the longest, her eyes pooling as she fingered the elaborate gold locket at her throat.

A young man and woman holding hands stopped in front of it, and the woman slipped her palm from her partner’s as she stepped closer to study the face of the woman. A middle-aged man’s body grew hard and tense as he looked, and he passed quickly by. Another man with a receding hairline flinched as if someone had punched him in the gut. He reached a hand out to the painting, not quite touching the velvet plains of golden tussock and Rātā trees clinging fiercely to craggy rocks.

Dread wormed through her. The strange and enigmatic image evoked powerful reactions in them all, but none of them betrayed the fact they held the missing piece to her painful puzzle. She pressed her lips together, holding her face tight, as tears pricked her eyes. Showing Lost Love was a hair-brained idea, like searching for a needle in a field of grass. What real chance did she have of discovering someone who knew anything truly intimate about her dead father? Yet what else could she do? All her other inquiries had come to nothing.

Alex heaved a sigh of frustration and turned away. From across the gallery, Clive Gacos caught her anxious gaze. His fluttering fingers flourished a greeting across the room as he slithered to her side. ‘Lost Love. I still think the title’s morbid.’

He cocked his head to one side as his gaze darted from the catalog to the painting before resting on Alex. ‘Couldn’t you have come up with something more commercial?’

Alex wanted to cry out, “It’s how I feel.” Instead, she said, ‘You may be right, Mr. Gacos,’ painting a mask of detached aloofness on her face. Instinct told her Clive was only interested in his fame and glory—not her own painful story. She took his outstretched hand and felt a shiver snake through her spine as cold, steely fingers shook hers.

‘It’s a fabulous turnout, my dear.’ Bleached white teeth flashed a self-satisfied smile. “I’m absolutely delighted.’

‘Are you sure that this is the best way to unearth someone who may know something about this painting, Mr. Gacos? You know how firmly my father was against it being exhibited.’

‘Field of Dreams or Secret Passion would have been better. The right title can really boost sales,’ he said glancing at the painting.

‘That’s interesting’, Alex said flatly. ‘But Lost Love is not for sale.’

Eerie, pale eyes looked right through her. ‘My dear, everything is for sale.’

‘No, Mr. Gacos. It’s not. I’m looking for answers. A sale won’t achieve that.’ Had she been wrong to trust him? Was he just another person in a long line of people to deceive her? ’Besides you told me yourself, my father made it quite clear that the painting must never leave my possession.’

‘My dear, 40 years in the industry has taught me one thing, what an artist says and what an artist means are quite different things. If you gave me ten dollars for every time I’ve heard, “This is my favorite work, I’ll never part with it,” or some other nonsense, I’d be a hundred-fold richer.’ His reptilian eyes scanned her face as though searching for a weakness in her resolve. ‘Of course, none of this matters now that your father is dead.’

Dead.

Alex’s eyes misted as the finality of the word hit her. It was ridiculous. Eleven months ago she hadn’t even known geologist, turned painter, Ted Carr, known in art circles as Jimmie Goldie, was her father and since then she’d had plenty of time to accept the fact that he was gone. But she couldn’t help feeling regret.

If only she’d known her father. If only he was by her side now. Although in a strange way he was, she mused, her eyes misting as she gazed at the painting. Infused with his energy, his passion, his spirit, Lost Love was her only link. It was as though the painting was his voice—allowing him to speak through time and space. But only to those with eyes that could see and ears that could hear, and Alex still had no idea what he was saying.

Maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe it was just a painting. But why did her father demand it never be exhibited in public? And why did he want her to have it?

‘I expect this exhibition to arouse even more interest in Jimmie’s work, and the longer we hold off the more the painting will appreciate in value,’ Clive blabbered on, oblivious of her raw grief.

Alex clenched her teeth, shutting back a retort at his thoughtless remark. This wasn’t the time to be emotional, nor to incite conflict. She hated disharmony and discord. And although she’d been continually teased because she always chose the peaceful route, putting him in his place would only get him offside.

‘Remind me again Mr. Gacos, just how well did you know my father?’ she said gently.

‘I told you—I discovered him. Made him a sell-out success.’

‘Yes, but what was he really like?’

‘I don’t know. We never met.’

‘But you were his dealer?’

‘I deal in works of art, Miss Spencer. Not people. Besides, your father liked his privacy. I respected that.’

‘Didn’t you wonder why he hid his true identity?’

‘My dear, half the celebrities in the world use fake, made-up names. Careers live and die by people’s memorability. It’s all part of the game. Do you really think Andy Warhol’s paintings would sell for astronomical sums if he went by his real name, Andrew Warhola? Your father was smart. Jimmie Goldie, or Ted Carr—ask yourself, who’s the better investment?’

Tension knotted her shoulders. She was getting nowhere.

‘Want some advice?’

No.

‘Take it from me. There’s no mystery—just a finely executed brand strategy. And you are the lucky beneficiary. So what? He left you this painting. Maybe his conscience got the better of him. In my opinion, it’s an exceptional piece of work, one of his finest, and tantalizingly one that the art world has never seen before. If I were you, I’d sell it. Realize the cash. Return to New York. Go live your life.’

Go live your life. She would—but not before she had her answers. Alex’s gaze drifted back to the crowd. Her only hope was that someone would reveal something in their reaction to the painting. Surely if anyone was connected intimately it would hit them with the same power-punch to the gut as it did to her every time she looked at it.

Suddenly she was distracted by a blaze of rustic color as the most ridiculously handsome man Alex had ever seen strode toward her.

 

Chapter Two

His six-foot frame wore an immaculately tailored camel jacket, cut from the finest Merino wool and fashionably faded jeans gracing a powerful physique.

His skin was deeply tanned, his hair rich dark chocolate with golden highlights—wavy and slightly tousled. Not a classically handsome pasty metro-sexual like the American suitors her mother continually threw in her path. But a ruggedly handsome man, who looked as though he would be equally at home in a New York boardroom dressed in a sleek Armani suit as he would be rustling cattle in a tough New Zealand Swandri. The man oozed passion, purpose—and danger.

She watched entranced as his gaze swept the room, standing rigidly in the archway with a presence that emanated command. He had a strong, arresting face, coldly handsome with no lines of weakness. A disturbingly primitive tug of attraction quaked through her body. She could imagine this man commanding a Roman Legion, or leading a charge of Templar Knights.

He oozed the power of a leader who made his own rules, ruthlessly sweeping aside anyone who stood in opposition. A smile fluttered to her lips as she imagined the shock on her mother’s face if she married a man so raw and rugged. To her discomfort, she found the idea thrilling and quickly sanctioned her recklessness.

Whether the Adonis had read her mind Alex had no idea, but as he carved his way through the crowded gallery he slowed his stride. He paused opposite her and looked at her, a flicker of recognition glancing across his face as though he wondered if he had met her before, perhaps even bedded her.

His gaze narrowed with the level unwavering gaze of a ravenous lion. Whatever he was thinking Alex’s heart raced. It was as if he could see right through to the essence of who she really was. It was as thrilling as it was intoxicating and disturbing. Near them people glided around the paintings, the vacuous height of the vaulted gallery ceiling amplifying people’s voices, but she was trapped with him in exploding silence.

Usually, she dismissed such attention. But this was more than a fleeting appraisal of desirability, more than an appreciation of the curvaceous femininity of her figure. It was an arrogant assessment projecting the confident knowledge that he could have her if he wanted. The only question appeared to be could he be bothered?

A frisson of danger scuttled down Alex’s spine. Under his penetrating gaze, she felt like a naked model posing for a ravenous sculptor. She picked at the black sequins of her dress, immediately regretting wearing the figure-hugging cocktail number she’d purchased for the formal opening night.

She never wore dresses ordinarily and hated wearing black, but she had wanted to blend in with the art-gallery-noir that she knew everyone else would be wearing. It was the only suitable dress she’d found at the second-hand store on Queen Street in the few hours she had to spare since arriving in Auckland. As her face flared with humiliating heat Alex tugged the bottom of the clinging dress, cursing the shimmering sequins and the above-knee length for attracting his attention.

His piercing green eyes rested for long, uneasy moments on Alex’s quivering lips. The perfect lushness of his mouth quirked dangerously as his gaze inched with leisurely thoroughness before dropping to where her dress clung to her chest.

Every whisper of hair on her body stood like sentries armed for defense. Yet to her intense humiliation she found her barriers weakened. Was it pleasure? Longing? Or desire she felt flood her body with warmth? She couldn’t be sure. It had been years since she’d been with a man, and never with anyone certainly so virile. For the briefest moment, she found herself wondering what it would be like to be taken by him. Every remnant of her rational mind fought the dangerous feeling, but the more she struggled the more her body betrayed her.

Suddenly, with an air of explosive tension, the weight of the stranger lurched forward. His face spun away from her. Alex followed the direction of his fixed gaze, piqued that his interest in her had been so totally diverted. She couldn’t see his expression but she could sense his undiluted fury.

In the next instant, he propelled himself through the crowd, a dozen lithe strides bringing him within a foot of Lost Love.

Her pulse rate ricocheted as she watched transfixed as the stranger froze as if in shock, then shook his head in disbelief. After several tense moments, he rifled through the catalog he carried. His shoulders tensed as he read the small caption, then scrutinized the painting again. He thrust his arms out as if to wrench it from the wall. His hand tightened into a closed fist crumpling the catalog, then thrust it into his pocket.

Alex’s heart pounded then took a dive. Her mind raced ahead as she struggled to understand the intensity of his reaction. Could he unravel her mysterious past?

He swung around, his face set in determined purpose, his gaze scanning quickly over the people in the room. They passed over Alex without a flicker of recognition, every muscle of his face taunt with savagery.

‘Who is he?’

‘I don’t know, but he looks important—and very wealthy.’ Clive said in a low voice. ‘Let me handle this.’

Clive was off and moving with the silent speed of a cobra toward the stranger before Alex could object. Tension jack-knifed through her chest. What should she do? Run after Clive and risk getting in the way? The stranger had dismissed any interest in her with the aloof detachment of a man who would never cede control. Instinct told Alex where she was concerned he was untamable. Like a wild wolf, the wrong move would send him running. Besides, Clive’s reputation for netting the elusive was legendary.

She reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and took tiny gulps as she hovered anxiously. Would Clive find out what had incited such a powerful reaction? Would the stranger reveal why he had responded so strongly?

Perhaps the painting incited something deep within his soul, she wondered. No that was impossible. The brute didn’t appear to have a soul or he wouldn’t have dismissed her so coolly. Her heart pulsed with the sting of his rejection. He was clearly a collector like many others in the gallery. A numbers man who no doubt prided himself on his many conquests and the number of artworks he possessed.

Alex gripped the stem of the glass as she watched the scene unfold. As Clive tried to beguile him with his charming smile the stranger’s shoulders tensed. Fear rumbled through her as cataclysmic as an earthquake. Was Clive failing? She cursed herself for allowing him to take the lead. A woman with a beehive hairdo, her long neck over-saturated with Opium perfume paused in front of her obstructing her view.

‘Excuse me,’ Alex said, inhaling a heady mix of cinnamon and spice, as she pressed past the woman. The stranger was no longer in front of the painting. Her heart hammered as she stood on her tiptoes and scoured the room. Where had he gone?

A slice of golden caramel moving like a bullet caught her eye as the stranger strode toward the exit. Then, like the sun setting over the ranges in Lost Love in a blink he was gone.

 

Did you enjoy reading this excerpt?

Book One in the Gemstone Billionaires series available now

To grab your copy from Amazon, click here>> getBook.at/ScandalousMarriage

getBook.at/ScandalousMarriage

To grab your copy from iBooks, Barnes & Noble and other great bookstores, click here>>https://books2read.com/u/mVNdn5

Top Romances on Audio

Did you know you can my most popular and successful books on audio?

Check out the following written and narrated by me.

Love Me Forever

USA

https://www.audible.com/pd/Love-Me-Forever-Audiobook/B081QRGJV8

UK

https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/Love-Me-Forever-Audiobook/B081QQVRV4

Australia

https://www.audible.com.au/pd/Love-Me-Forever-Audiobook/B081QQW4N8

 

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Twist of Fate

USA

https://www.audible.com/pd/Twist-of-Fate-Audiobook/B07YL93YYV

UK

https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/Twist-of-Fate-Audiobook/B07YLBN32S

Australia

https://www.audible.com.au/pd/Twist-of-Fate-Audiobook/B07YL9ZTLJ

 

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The Lightkeepers Lover

USA

https://www.audible.com/pd/The-Lightkeepers-Lover-Audiobook/B07Z9PX3NY

UK

https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/The-Lightkeepers-Lover-Audiobook/B07Z9Q1Q89

Australia

https://www.audible.com.au/pd/The-Lightkeepers-Lover-Audiobook/B07Z9QRWBV

 

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Audio versions of these books and the following are also available from all online bookstores and also libraries (I’m still waiting on Audible to publish the below):

Claimed by the Sheikh

Love Me As I Am

Married By Christmas

The Italian Billionaire’s Christmas Bride

Flight of Passion

I’m currently narrating The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage. Great fun!

In less than 15 minutes you could be listening your way to love!

 

 

 

Sexiest Irish Men

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Dear friends,

Over the past few weeks, I have been thinking over the years left behind and the ones to unfold.  I have plans to increase my exposure and get more people reading my books.  And I also want to take you behind the scenes, revealing my process and how I work, my inspiration and more about my background.

So, as well as sending out my newsletters which will tell of new release updates, I am going to start sharing more on my blog and my Youtube Channel.

What will be I be sharing?

Video’s of me reading
Writing stories, showing the evolution of a romance story
What inspires me
My background and experiences that have led me to who I am today, and why I do what I do
My beliefs, values regarding creativity and life…
Insights in my characters

 

I thought I’d begin by sharing the inspiration and research for my Valentine’s Day new release, Sex With Strangers.

This story began many moons ago at a romance writer’s retreat, facilitated by Mills and Boon authors Robyn Donald and Daphne Clair. The feedback from these wonderful passionate and experienced writers, and others on the writer’s retreat, was so encouraging

“I love it!”

“We thoroughly enjoyed it”

“You’ve got the beginnings of a really good, hip, fun book”

“The chapter heads are just lovely”

“It was a riot. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Great fun!”

“I can see the movie now.”

“When are you going to finish it?”

I decided it was time for it to air!

Many of the events are inspired by true stories—both my and others’ experiences. I’ve encountered so many people over the years who are looking for love again, and just don’t know how or where to start.

I hope you giggle and laugh from deep in your belly as you read this story. Like I did, remembering and rewriting some of these scenes (and flashing back to events that were true.)

And my hero Fergus O’Farrell? A few people told me that you can’t have an Irish hero that wears green pants and is called Fergus. The Fergus I met once, told me a different story.

He was so hunky, he could wear anything—or nothing at all! Think Jamie Dornan (better known as Christian Grey), Colin Farrell, and Pierce Bronsan (the only ever Irish James Bond), the alpha Irish sexy men who rock our world.

Talented, hot-looking and super sexy.

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Check out some Irish hunks we love to love here>>

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Sex With Strangers—A story full of mystery, intrigue, and love, it should be at the top of your must-read list for 2020. Available for pre-order now.
To grab your copy from Amazon, click here>>getbook.at/SexWithStrangers

 

I hope you enjoyed this wee insight into the inspiration behind this book.

 

Here are some other ways to stay in touch:

 

1. Follow me on BookBub, – https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mollie-mathews

2. Stay in touch on Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/molliemathewsnz

3. Follow me on Twitter – https://twitter.com/Molliemathewsnz

4. Be inspired on Pinterest – https://nz.pinterest.com/molliemathews and Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/molliemathewsauthor

5. Follow my blog –  https://molliemathews.wordpress.com

6. Watch me on Youtube – MolliemathewsYouTube

Sex with Strangers? You’re going to love 2020. . .

I’ve got so many treats in store for you this year. First up, my Valentine’s Day feel-good new release!

In love, the most dangerous enemy is saucy secrets 

44-year-old Ruby Evans doesn’t want to be a ‘leftover girl.’ But finding a ‘forever’ man is proving impossible.

Suddenly single after 20 years of marriage, her husband is the only man she has ever slept with. But the one bit of security that she always thought she’d hold onto for the rest of her life is brutally ripped from her.

Humiliatingly and cruelly ex-ed when her husband trades her for a younger model, Chanel Zest, a long-time friend and motivational life coach, comes to Ruby’s rescue. Together they embark on a quest to reclaim and rebuild Ruby’s shattered life and begin the grueling process of dating again.

But, once in a pink moon, Ruby has to play dirty. . .

If you loved Brigette Jones’s Diary and enjoy romantic comedy, you’ll love Sex With Strangers .

Full of quirky humor and the promise of a happily ever after.

Sex with Strangers is a clean romance with a few spicy bits.

 

Reader Reviews

“A really good, hip, fun book.” 

“Hilarious.”

“I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

Enjoy Bonus Excerpts from my other full-length love stories:

Married by Christmas and Claimed by The Sheikh

Available for pre-order NOW!

getbook.at/SexWithStrangers