Ros Clarke's Blog, page 18

Entangled in Love

It’s Valentine’s Day next week and the Entangled authors are celebrating with a ton of giveaways. Click here for a list of participants.

I’m giving away a copy of my Valentine’s Day Flirt: Table For One.

When food critic Claudia Thomas gets dumped on Valentine’s Day, she finds herself occupying a table for one at London’s hottest new restaurant. If her job wasn’t on the line, she’d skip the whole affair, but her editor’s waiting for a review—and with luck, an interview with sexy chef Ward Nicholls.

Ward, intrigued by the single woman in a restaurant full of couples, sets out to tease her palate. Claudia has never tasted anything so luscious as the special meal Ward prepares for her, but when the seduction moves from the restaurant to his bedroom, Claudia discovers the only thing more tempting than his food is the chef himself.

Their connection is instantaneous, sizzling, and spicy—until Claudia comes clean about her job, reopening a wound Ward had thought long-healed. Could one accidental lie of omission end a delicious relationship before it even has a chance to start?



All you have to do to enter is leave a comment on this post telling me your favourite food. Entries close at midnight on February 15th.

There will be lots more chances to win at the twitter party. Here’s the info you’ll need.

Date : February 8th, 2013.

Time : 9pm EST.

Hashtag : #EntangledInLove

What : We’ll be asking Valentine’s day related questions and each question has prizes to be won! Answer right for a chance to win some of the many awesome prizes!

Where : Follow the instructions below!

1. Go to http://tweetgrid.com/party

2. Fill in the hash-tag as #EntangledInLove

3. Fill in the hosts

@entangledpub

@totalbookaholic

@babsbookbistro

@anjanavasan

4. Enter your twitter handle, follow the tweets, answer the questions and you may just get lucky!

Don’t forget to mention the #EntangledInLove hashtag in your replies!

Indulge yourself!

The Entangled Indulgence line is one year old and they are having a HUGE party to celebrate – and you are all invited! As with all the best parties, there are prizes, chat and games. There are chances to win ALL the Indulgence titles, meet some of the authors and generally indulge yourself.

Here’s all the info you’ll need:

 

Yep, Indulgence turns one on February 12th!

There’s no way we’re keeping it down, we’re going all out with the celebration!

We have a ton of fun stuff planned for everyone, including numerous chances to get your hands on all of our Indulgence books and interact with the authors.

Join theIndulgence Party on Facebook to talk to the authors, answer questions and win some pretty cool prizes! The schedule is as follows (Links & Prizes will be updated soon!):

Time:Noon – 4pm EST.

February 5th

Inara Scott & Ros Clarke

February 7th

Nicole Helm, Nina Croft, & Rachel Lyndhurst

February 11th

Barbara DeLeo & Michele de Winton

February 13th

Amy Andrews, Stephanie Draven, & Annie Seaton

February 19th

Addison Fox, Victoria James, & Nicola Marsh

February 21st

Christine Bell & Bronwen Evans

February 26th

Marisa Cleveland, Robin Covington, & Robyn Thomas

February 28th

Diane Alberts & Jennifer Probst

Want to get your hands on ALL of our Indulgence books? Well, this month you can!

When : February 4th – February 28th (Weekdays)

Time : 9pm – 10pm EST.

Where : Twitter! If you’re not following us yet, follow now at @indulgencebooks !

Hashtag : #IndulgeYourself

How : Starting February 4th, follow the #IndulgeYourself hashtag on Twitter! We’ll be tweeting clues, you need to figure out which Indulgence book the clues refer to and a random winner gets a copy of the book!

These clues will be related to any of the following:

Book Cover
Blurb
Quotes

For reference, you can find a list of all our Indulgence titles here! You can refer to this list when we give out the clues.

Sounds fun, right? We hope you join us!

Wait, there’s more!

On February 12th, we’ll be hosting a Grand Prize Giveaway full of Indulgent Goodies, over on the Entangled blog! Don’t miss it!

Twitter: A Beginner’s Guide

I don’t know if this is useful or not, but it seems to me that there are quite a lot of people (especially authors) who feel like they should be on twitter, or even want to be on twitter, but don’t quite know how to make it work for them. When I first joined twitter, I left after a couple of days because I didn’t get it at all. A year later, I tried again and loved it. It can seem weird and daunting at first, and I would have liked some hints on how to start. So I thought I’d write some.



1. Understand what Twitter does really well

It’s all about the instantaneous connections. You can talk to anyone any time. You can find people talking about the things you’re interested in and talk to them.



2. Understand what it doesn’t do well

Complicated debates – 140 characters is just too short for nuance.

Advertising – people will tune out and turn off.



3. Where to start

Choose an easy username to remember. Your own name/pen name is a good place to start. Upload a userpic. You can’t go wrong with a picture of yourself.

Find people to follow. Start with your existing internet connections. Check email signatures for twitter names – and follow them. Check the websites you like to visit for twitter accounts – and follow them.

Think about what you’re interested in – you can follow breaking news, film critics, craft collectives, whatever. These sort of accounts often won’t interact with you, but will provide great content for you to talk about.



4. Where next

Have the twitter account for the job you’re aiming for. If you’re an aspiring author, follow editors, publishers, and the authors you love. If you’re a debut author, follow book reviewers, readers, local media outlets. If you’re already a bestseller, follow whoever you want!



5. Don’t autofollow

You do not have to follow everyone who follows you.

You DO NOT have to follow everyone who follows you.



6. Do check your @ replies

It’s polite to reply to people who tweet @ you specifically. You do not have to follow them unless you want to.



7. Do use lists to keep your twitter stream manageable

You can separate out personal friends, news feeds, industry contacts, etc. Then decide which lists only need occasional glances, which need a regular skim, which you want to follow everything. Using a twitter client such as TweetDeck or HootSuite can really help to keep this under control.



8. Do unfollow

If you are overwhelmed by your twitter stream, it’s totally okay to unfollow people.

If you followed someone and then realise they only tweet about their cats, it’s totally okay to unfollow them.

If your interests change, it’s totally okay to unfollow twitter accounts.



9. Use hashtags

Hashtags are effectively labels for tweets. If you click on a hashtag, you’ll see a stream of all the tweets using that label. This can be a great way to find people you want to follow. It’s also a great way for other people to find you. See what hashtags are common among your followers and use them.



10. Do not schedule tweets

I once followed an author who had a promo tweet scheduled for the same time every day. Once every 24 hours. You’d think that wouldn’t be too much, right? Except there was a typo in the tweet. Every single day. Which made it absolutely clear that she wasn’t tweeting live. I unfollowed.

Remember twitter is about connections and conversations. Scheduled tweets don’t enable either.

And while we’re at it, Triberr is the work of the devil.



11. Do talk about your books

Especially when they first come out. That’s part of who you are and what people want to know about you.



12. Don’t advertise your books

That’s not a conversation. That’s not squeeing about a glorious review.

People are not stupid. They can tell when they are being advertised at.

Most of all, have fun, make friends, be yourself. If you’re not being sociable on social media, you’re doing it wrong.

Oh, and obviously, follow @ros_clarke. That goes without saying.

ETA: Two slightly more advanced things

1. Be cautious about RTs

Retweeting (RT) allows you to send someone else’s tweet to your followers. Be cautious about this. If they want to follow that other person, they will. You should not be RTing from the same account more than once or twice a week. Obviously there are exceptions at specific times but err on the side of caution. I have unfollowed people who regularly RT someone else I’m not interested in.



2. Know who you are replying to

If you are in a conversation, your tweet can begin with the other person’s @ name. This tweet won’t be seen by all your followers, only the ones who are following both of you. Sometimes, you’ll want that tweet to be seen by everyone. Put a . before the @name to make this happen.

DO NOT use the . when you don’t need it. Your followers will see half a conversation. It’s like listening to someone on the train using their phone. Meaningless and irritating.

What’s on my Kindle

I am officially throwing in the towel as a book reviewer for the moment. I just don’t have the mental energy for it. But what I thought I would try and do instead is a weekly round up of what I’ve been reading: what I’ve loved, what I’ve hated, what I’m looking forward to, and so on.

This week I’ve been reading:

Pushing the Limits by Katie McGarry

I bought this ages ago when it was 20p at Amazon. I have not really understood the current fashion for adults reading YA books but many people had raved about this one, so I thought I’d give it a go. I almost gave up halfway through, bored of all the teenage angst. I did eventually finish it, but I will not be reading any more (especially since the next book in the series features my least favourite character from this one). Two major reasons I did not like this book: it’s written in 1st person and the heroine is called Echo. YMMV.



Three Nights with a Scoundrel by Tessa Dare

I really loved the first in this series, I quite liked the second, and then I put off reading this one for ages. But I’m glad I did get round to it. There are some beautiful moments and both main characters truly deserved their happy ending.



The Mischief of the Mistletoe by Lauren Willig

Could not get past the first chapter. Regency young ladies did not generally go round saying, ‘No worries’.

Thursdays in the Park by Hilary Boyd

Another 20p bargain. I’m struggling with it, to be honest, and wish I hadn’t been seduced by the pretty cover. It’s women’s fiction, rather than romance, about a couple in a miserable marriage, who are on the point of retirement. It’s going to be an adultery and divorce novel. But there is an unexplained event in the first chapter and I admit I am curious to know what prompted it, so I will probably finish it.

How to Misbehave by Ruthie Knox

Here is the plot of this book: unlikely couple have great sex; unlikely couple decide they aren’t a good match; they change their minds. Here’s why you should read it: great banter; cute characters; a gorgeous builder in well-fitted jeans. For 69p, what more could you want?

I also downloaded Control by Charlotte Stein because it was free and people were saying good things about her. I read two chapters then deleted it. Cute hero, but the book is in 1st person and I really didn’t like the heroine enough to listen to her going on about sex (real and imagined) for a whole book. I wished she’d think about something more interesting for at least a few minutes every day. I may not be the target audience for this book.

In the next week I’m looking forward to new releases from several autobuy authors: Sarah Morgan, Kate Hewitt and Caitlin Crews all have February M&B Moderns out on the 1st and Anne Gracie has a new historical out on the 5th.

What have you been reading, loving or loathing this week?

Lying for the Camera: chapter 7

He insisted on driving her back to London, despite the train ticket she waved at him. She had a large suitcase and several smaller bags, and there was no way she could carry it all with her shoulder. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so awkward. Ever since he’d met Hattie, she’d barely stopped talking. He liked her when she was blunt, open and disquieting in her honesty. He didn’t much care for the silent companion in the passenger seat as they travelled along the M6.

“Is your shoulder still hurting? Do you need more painkillers?” he asked, with a quick glance across at her.

“It’s fine.” She turned to study the passing countryside.

“We can stop in about half an hour or so. Stretch our legs. Have something to eat.”

No reply.

Tom sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I obviously misjudged the situation. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Something has, and I don’t see any other likely candidates.”

Hattie shook her head but didn’t turn her face towards him. “I’m not upset. I’m angry.”

His fingers clutched the steering wheel. “Angry. Right. Well, you’d better let it out because I’m not having you stewing next to me all the way home.”

Silence. For pete’s sake, what did it take to get the woman to talk? He took one hand off the wheel and poked her thigh. She wiggled away, so he did it again. And then he slipped his hand inside her shirt and began to tickle her. Hattie squirmed and gasped, and finally a reluctant laugh escaped her.

“Don’t do that.”

He kept up his minor torture. “Tell me what’s up.”

She slapped his hand away. “Fine. Just remember, you wanted to hear it.”

“I’ll remember.”

He manouvred the car around a slow-moving lorry and back into the inside lane. “Whenever you’re ready,” he prompted.

“I’m just deciding where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

“Ha ha. You already know the beginning.”

“Help me out a little.”

“You know I fancied you from the start.”

“Ah, that. Yes, I had my suspicions.” He glanced over to see her rolling her eyes at him. Still she looked happier than she had all morning.

“Should I call you Inspector Morse?”

“I prefer Sherlock Holmes. Though admittedly, even Dr. Watson might have worked that one out. Subtlety isn’t your greatest strength, Hattie.”

“I’ve never seen the point of subtlety.”

“I’ll show you sometime.” He hadn’t meant to say that. Clearly there wasn’t going to be a sometime. He’d thought Hattie might be the kind of woman to stay friends with, but it didn’t look like that was going to work out.

“Right. So, I fancied you and you fancied me, but you were all about keeping a professional distance. Which made it more fun to chase you.”

He tried to stop the grin which sprang to his lips. “I noticed that, too.”

“And then you told me about Lianne, and why it wasn’t just about professional distance. And we had sex.”

“We had fabulous sex.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Just checking you had all your facts straight.”

“So then I began to think maybe it might be more. You’d told me stuff you obviously don’t tell many people. I’d told you about some of the things I’m not proud of, too. And the sex was fabulous. So it felt like… I don’t know, more.”

“More.”

“More like a relationship than a one night stand.”

“Oh. I see.”

“You know there’s a bit in Jane Austen where she says how women’s minds jump from admiration to love and love to matrimony in an instant. She’s not altogether wrong.”

He blinked. Forced himself to focus on the road again. “You were expecting a proposal?”

Hattie let out a laugh. “No. Not yet. But I’d begun to wonder. To imagine. You know, if it worked out, what would it be like.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“No, why should you? You’re a guy. A guy with commitment issues. I said I wasn’t angry with you.”

“Then who?”

“Me, you idiot. For letting myself believe the dreams. For being disappointed they weren’t going to become a reality. It’s fine. I mean, I’ll be fine. Back to the office on Monday and you’ll be in Milan with all the pretty girls.”

He changed lane again and signalled for the exit to the service station. “They’re not pretty girls, Hattie. They’re sulky teenagers. You know that.”

“Whatever. Your life does not suck.”

He pulled up in the car park and switched the engine off. “Neither does yours.”

She shook her head. “How would you know?”

“Hey, you just spent a week being shot by a world famous photographer. That’s your dream, right?”

He got out of the car and waited for Hattie, who emerged, smiling despite herself. “Right. That was pretty awesome, actually.”

“And once you get your new portfolio together, your career is going to skyrocket.”

He’d chosen to stop at a privately owned service station with a farm shop and a half-decent restaurant. There was already a queue forming at the cafeteria.

“Do you really think I have a chance?”

Her vulnerability was a surprise. She’d always shown herself to have massive self-confidence. “You know you do.”

She loaded her plate with lasagne and garlic bread. Tom had the same, with a salad.

“I’m trying to be sensible about things. Dreaming hasn’t got me anywhere good.”

“It got you here. If you hadn’t been a dreamer, you’d never have come to my audition,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but I still haven’t decided if that’s a good thing or not.” She grinned at him and he automatically returned her smile. It was good to have her laughing at life again.

“The exhibition might flop.” His stomach did a little flip as he considered that possibility. The fear he’d felt had more or less vanished during the last few days but now, on his way back to the city, it came rushing headlong back in to his mind.

Hattie pursed her lips. “It might. Art critics aren’t known for their rational ability to make judgments.”

Oh God, she was right. It was going to be a disaster.

“On the other hand…” She pointed her fork at him. “You’re a genius behind a camera and any sane person will see it as soon as they step into that gallery.”

“Do you really think so?” And why did her opinion matter so much to him? It wasn’t as though Hattie was an expert on the art world. How would she know if his work was up to scrutiny?

She took another forkful of lasagne. “Of course. And if they don’t see your genius, at least they’ll see my tits. That’s sure to impress them.”

He burst out laughing. “They are very impressive.”

She grinned back at him. “I know.”

His smile faded. He pushed his empty plate away from him and shook his head. “God, Hattie, I’m terrified of it. What if they all see straight through me? It’ll make me a laughing stock. Pretensions beyond my ability.”

“So what if they hate it?” She spread her hands wide. “It won’t be the end of the world.”

“It feels like it will.”

“Now who’s being melodramatic? You’ll still have a great career, and you’ll have given the other thing your best shot.”

He picked up his fork and began to scratch patterns in the sauce left on his plate. “I’ll have failed.”

“Depends what your goal is. If it’s to be adored by the rest of the world, then yes, you’ll have failed. But that’s a stupid goal. You can’t control what other people think, and even if they like you today, they might have forgotten you entirely by the end of the week.”

She picked up the last piece of garlic bread and bit into it enthusiastically.

“That’s not my goal,” he protested.

“Well, good. So what is your goal?”

“To make good art that other people appreciate.”

“No good.” She waved the bread at him. “You’re still focussing on other people.”

“Other people matter.”

“Not as much as you’d think.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Not like that.” She winked at him. “Other people matter individually. But not when you’re thinking about your work. You have to do what you’re proud of and not worry what anyone else says. That’s all that counts.”

“It’s easier said than done.”

She shrugged. “Not really. Like this week, I wasn’t worrying about anyone who’ll see the pictures of me at the exhibition. I’m sure there’ll be some who will just dismiss me as any old fat woman. And some who won’t like the look of me for other reasons. But I’m proud of what I did, and that’s all that counts.”

“Don’t my opinions count?”

She gave him a speculative look. “A bit, I suppose.”

“What if I’d been disappointed with the shots?”

“Then I’d have told you to stop being a pretentious prat.”

“Oh, Hattie… I wish you were coming to Milan.” What? What? He didn’t mean that. He definitely hadn’t meant to say it. But it was true. He was going to miss her. A lot. There wouldn’t be anyone in Milan half as much fun as she was, in or out of bed. And no one who would dare call him a pretentious prat.

Right now she looked as though she had a much worse epithet in mind. Those were genuine daggers in her eyes.

“What the hell? You were the one who was all ‘one last night’. And now you want me in Milan?”

“I didn’t mean it…”

She cut him off as she pushed her chair back and stood up. “No, I don’t suppose you did. I’m not sure what you mean half the time, but perhaps when you’ve made your mind up, you’ll let me know?”

“I just thought we were friends.”

“Friends who have phenomenal sex and tell each other their most shameful secrets? Yeah, right.”

“Damn it, Hattie, that’s not what I…”

“I’m going to the toilet. And then you can drive me back to London. And if you’re very lucky, I won’t tell you exactly what I think of you at the moment.”

“I’m sorry.”

He was waiting by the car. Hattie gave him a brief nod and went to get in her side. Tom climbed in next to her but didn’t start the engine.

“I’m not normally so insensitive.”

“Lucky me.”

“Look, I’ve got a suggestion for you. You know I’m away for the next two weeks.”

“You did mention it, yes.”

“If I call you when I’m back in London, will you come out for dinner with me?”

That was it? He really thought she was a pushover, didn’t he?

She looked at him and saw the tension in his jaw and the fear in his eyes. No, this wasn’t what he thought of her. It was all about Lianne and his own hangups.

“I was hoping for more than just dinner.”

“Dinner and a play? Musical? Sing-a-long Sound of Music?”

She laughed. “Will you be the Mother Superior?”

“If you’ll be the Nazi guard.” His eyes were twinkling again and she was glad to be the cause of it.

“Dinner, a musical, and sex. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

He took a deep breath. “We’ve got a deal.”

Four and a half hours later, Tom parked his car expertly in a spot Hattie hadn’t thought was big enough. He carried her suitcase up to her flat and made sure she hadn’t left any random possessions in his car.

“Keys?”

“Check.”

“Purse?”

“Check.”

“Phone?”

“Check.”

“Lacy underwear?”

She peered down her t-shirt. “Check.”

“You’ll be careful with that shoulder?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Fine. Then I guess I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“I guess so.”

He leaned forward awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to aim for cheek or lips. Hattie took his face firmly in her hands and kissed him thoroughly on the mouth.

“So you don’t forget,” she explained. “Friends don’t kiss like that.”

“No. Right. Good.”

“Have fun in Milan.”

“And New York.”

“And Morocco. But then you’d better come back to London and sweep me off my feet, or there’ll be trouble.”

“Got it.” He slid his hand into her hair and bent his head to take another kiss. “That one’s so you don’t forget. I might be an idiot most of the time, but I like you, Hattie Bell. I like you a lot.”

She watched him disappear down the stairs before retreating into her flat. Small, untidy, and with a faint smell of something that probably should have been thrown out before she went away for the week, it felt like the loneliest place in the world. Hattie grabbed a bottle of wine and her emergency stash of chocolate. She was going to need some serious cheering up over the next two weeks.

How do you read?

Ten years ago, maybe even five, this wasn’t even a question. Books were books and you read them. Now people read via ereaders, tablets, phones and all sorts of other techy ways. And paper, of course.

My medium of choice is my kindle. I really, really love it. It’s light, small, easy on the eyes, and doesn’t have the inbuilt distraction of the internet. If you desperately need the internet, it does include an experimental browser, but it’s hard work. It’s like reading a paper book but much more convenient.

My second choice option is my phone. Mostly I only use this if I’m waiting somewhere and didn’t bring my kindle. I can access all my kindle books and read them on it. The screen is small and bright. It’s easy to use for short periods of time but not as a primary reading device.

Third choice is paper books. I am shocked by this. I thought I would be a die-hard paper book fan, and indeed there are a fair number of paper books in my house. Almost all my new purchases are digital, though, and I actually find reading on the kindle easier. I only need one hand and turning pages is less intrusive if I’m knitting or something.

What I don’t have and don’t want is a tablet. I have a laptop for work and a netbook that I like to use for travel or in bed, and so on. It’s small enough to fit in my handbag, but has a proper keyboard and all the normal software that I use. I often use it, rather than the big laptop, for writing on, because it doesn’t require me to be sitting at a desk.

Sadly, it seems likely that both the ereader and the netbook are going to become victims of the tablet’s success. And in theory, I can see why. It would fulfil many of the functions that my kindle and netbook have. But I can’t see myself enjoying using one as much as I enjoy them. The kindle is designed for only one thing – reading books – and it is brilliantly designed for that. The netbook is multi-functional and more useful to me than a tablet. I don’t want the compromise option that does everything a little bit worse.

What about you? How do you prefer to read?

Lying for the Camera: chapter 6

He returned with painkillers, a glass of water and a camera. Hattie swallowed her pills and sank back into the pillows, praying for swift relief. It was a few moments before she realised that the clicking sound she heard was Tom taking photos. Of her. Stretched out in agony.

She could just about raise an eyebrow without pulling any angry muscles. “Huh?”

“Just lie there.” He knelt by the bed, trying a different angle. He flicked the duvet over, covering her breasts.

“Can’t do anything else,” she grunted.

“Perfect.”

Hattie closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly, in an attempt to soothe the nerves in her shoulder. In the background, Tom was still playing with his camera. Surely he didn’t mean to put these pictures in his exhibition? No make up, bed hair, face screwed up in agony. Maybe that was it. He’d said he wanted to break her. He wanted the vulnerable side of her that she buried so deep she barely admitted it existed. Perhaps the pain had brought it out.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

She levered her eyelids open and raised her eyes to Tom. He winked and continued snapping away, but the painkillers were beginning to do their job and she relaxed into it.

“Gorgeous.” He laid the camera aside. “I’ve got an idea.”

“So have I. Mine involve you, me, and this bed. All day. With more painkillers at regular intervals, obviously.”

He laughed. “You are insatiable.”

She laid her hand on his chest. “You like me like that.”

He put his hand over hers. “I like you every way. Now do you want to hear my idea or not?”

“Go on then.” She sighed dramatically.

“Advertising.”

She frowned. “Huh?”

He lay down beside her. “Think about it, sweetheart. You’re never going to make it as a fashion model.”

“Kick a girl when she’s down, would you?”

His eyes were smiling and he pinched her bum. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Idiot designers are too mean with their fabric.”

“Quite. And brilliant though you are, there’s not enough work as my muse to keep you in false nails.”

“You could pay me more.” He was right, though, and it was past time that she admitted it. She was never going to make a living as a model.

“Shut up and listen.”

She mimed a zip across her lips.

He rolled his eyes. “There’s a huge industry out there just waiting for you, Hattie. That smile of yours, the way that you captivate people with your eyes, the warmth of your expression – that could sell ice to Eskimos.”

He was serious. He’d really thought about this. “Advertising, huh?”

He leaned in to kiss her temple. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Not really. My agent once sent me for a knitwear audition. The sweaters were too small. Indecently small, when they were stretched across my bosom.”

He grinned. “I’d love to see that.”

“I’ll show you the pictures one day. It’s not pretty.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” His eyes darkened and he slid his hands into her hair. She tilted her face up for his kiss. “Smile.”

“Kiss me.”

“Good plan.”

Each time Tom kissed her, the addiction grew stronger. It wasn’t about the way his lips fitted against hers, or the sparks that followed each stroke of his tongue. Maybe it was the way his eyes held hers right until the moment their lips touched and then slid closed as though he was overcome by his desire.

Or maybe it was just him.

He pulled away, leaving her with lips parted and eyes half-lidded. “That’s it.”

“Mmm?”

“You’re smiling now.” He held her chin and examined her closely. “Perfect. Any fillings?”

“What are you, my dentist?”

“It matters. The less photoshopping they need to do, the better.”

“One. Back molar. Top left.”

“That’s not going to be a problem. Look, let me take some pictures today. We’ll make a different portfolio. Show me your fingernails.”

“What sort of things?” She held out her hands for him to inspect.

“Everyday activities. Cooking, cleaning, reading. These are fine for now. You’d need more work to be a hand model.”

“I don’t want to be a hand model.”

“It would be a waste of your best features, certainly. Wear ordinary clothes.”

“I don’t own ordinary clothes.”

“Now you’re just being difficult. You own a pair of jeans and you can borrow one of my shirts.”

“Sexy.”

He laughed, but shook his head. “I’ll tell you when I want sexy.”

“Now?” she asked hopefully.

“It’s your career on the line,” he pointed out. “Not mine.”

“My career can wait ten minutes.”

“Half an hour.”

“You’re on.”

Half an hour later, Hattie stretched out luxuriously in the ancient rolltop bath while Tom strategically arranged the piles of soapy lather around her.

“Just act naturally,” he told her.

“Right. Because I always have people photographing me in the bath. I feel like Elizabeth Taylor.” She pouted and blew him a kiss.

“We’re not doing Anthony and Cleopatra. Act like a normal person.”

She grinned. “You got the wrong girl for that. Are you sure I shouldn’t have done my make up?”

“Completely. The agents want to know what you really look like. They need to see what they’ll have to work with.”

She lifted a sponge and let it drip over her face. “Red-faced and prune-fingered?”

“Glowing and glamorous. Put your good arm up as though you’re shampooing your hair. That’s lovely. Smile at me. Stop sticking your tongue out. Hattie, I am not taking any more pictures of your breasts.”

She giggled. “Fine. I’ll be good. Shall I pretend to wash something?”

“Wash your arms. Keep your body underwater. That’s it. Now point your toes out. Perfect.”

“Are you coming in soon?”

“Do you want to work as a model or not?”

She sat up and reached her hands towards him. “I do, I do! I’ll be good now.”

“Huh.”

“I am grateful. Really.” If it worked, it would be brilliant. She could go on doing jobs until she was eighty, advertising stairlifts and Werther’s Originals.

“Turn round. Can you lift the sponge over your shoulder? That’s enough.” He rearranged her hair, tucking it forward over the other shoulder. “Beautiful. Now look back at me. Smile. Wink. And we’re done.” He put the camera safely away in the bedroom, stripped off his bathrobe and returned. “Need any help, sweetheart?”

“Please.”

He took the sponge she held out to him and began to soap her back. “There are still some bruises here, but I can shop them out.”

“Thanks. Can you help me wash my hair?”

He washed her hair, helped her out of the bath and sent her to get dressed. She’d taken his invitation and helped herself to a blue and white striped cotton shirt. Rolled up over wrists and hanging down to mid-thigh, it was possibly the sexiest thing he’d seen her in yet. Not to mention the way it stretched over her cleavage.

“Put a t-shirt on. And jeans.”

“Yes, sir!” She gave a mock salute and disappeared to find some clothes from her own room. He should have fetched her suitcase.

Dressed, he went down to the kitchen. The milk was off, but there was coffee and bread. He put a couple of slices in the toaster and examined the contents of the fridge.

“I think there’s enough for a picnic,” he said as Hattie joined him. “So long as you don’t mind cold sausages.”

“I adore cold sausages.”

“Excellent. Now I need some domestic shots. Try to look as though you’re enjoying making breakfast.”

She picked up a butter knife and pointed it at him. “I see your game. This is all a clever plan to get me to do the work while you lounge around taking photos.”

“You got me.” He tilted his head towards the window. “Move round a bit. I want to get more of that light.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. Certainly not on a shoot. Admittedly, going out for a walk with Hattie and eating a picnic lunch on the moor hardly felt like work. She’d begun the day posing and pouting, but as he kept the camera on her, she fell into her natural self. The sweet smile when she glanced back over her shoulder at him, the wide grin as she drank in the view from the top of the hill, the moments that were pure, unadulterated Hattie. He shot them all and hoped that the magic was somehow encapsulated in pixel form.

“I have to get back to London tomorrow.” They’d ordered an Indian takeaway and were eating it cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire in the grand drawing room. Two prawn baltis so they could both pick out the prawns. Lots of naan bread and poppadums. A gloriously fragrant chicken dish, the remnants of which Hattie was scraping onto her plate.

“This is seriously yummy.”

“Yes, it was good.”

She reached for the last of the bread and used it to mop up the curry sauce.

“I’m flying to Milan on Monday morning.”

“Oh. Right.” She grinned. “Jetset fashion photographer.”

His lips twisted. “It pays the bills. I have to go onto New York, after that. Then I’m doing a few days in Morocco for a magazine shoot.”

Hattie gave a loud sigh and pushed her empty plate away. “You poor thing. Meanwhile, all I have to do is turn up at the same boring office and do the same boring photocopying every single day. Lucky me.”

“I’ll send on the portfolio pictures. And I’ll pass on your details to a friend of mine who works in that side of the business. Maybe you won’t have to spend much more time in the office after all.” He stacked up the empty takeaway dishes onto a tray and put it on the coffee table.

“Thanks.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “You didn’t have to do all that, and I appreciate it.”

“Anything for my muse.”

Hattie cocked her head thoughtfully.

“Almost anything,” he revised swiftly. “Legal, sane, ethical.”

She pouted. “Well, you’re no fun.”

He shrugged. “That’s hardly a secret.”

“I can think of one place you’re fun.” Her eyes narrowed and his breath shortened.

“One last night, then.”

“For now, Mr Milan, New York and Morocco.”

“Hattie.” He held out a hand to stop her. “I think it would be better if this is the last night full stop.”

“Better?” She shook her head at him. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”

He couldn’t help the smile. She could always make him laugh. “Seriously, Hattie.”

“I’m never serious. You should know that by now.”

“Right. That’s why I’m being serious for both of us. I’m not looking for a relationship, Hattie, and especially not with a model. I spend far too much time travelling and frankly, I’m not ready to settle down.”

“Who said anything about settling down?”

He almost laughed again at the outrage on her face. But he needed to make sure she understood. “You know what I mean. Find someone who’ll have fun with you any night you want, Hattie, not just on the one day a month he’s free and in town.”

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t know me at all, do you? I’ve only just realised that. How strange.”

“We agreed on one night.”

“But you want to extend it to two?”

“Only if you want.”

“Oh, I want. I’ve never made a secret of that. I just don’t think I’ll be satisfied with two nights.”

“That’s the deal.” Any more than that and he was in serious danger of wanting everything. He couldn’t do that to Hattie. He daren’t trust himself with her.

“But tonight you’ll do anything I want?” Her eyes were twinkling. They might only have one more night, but they were sure as hell going to enjoy every minute of it.

“Try me.”

She leaned back on the cushions they’d taken off the sofa. “Come here and kiss me.”

He didn’t need asking twice.

They made love in the firelight, taking their time to savour every moment. Afterwards, he bent over and picked her up.

“You can’t carry me up the stairs,” Hattie protested.

“Are you saying I’m a wimp?” He grinned down at her.

“I’m saying I know how heavy I am. You’ll put your back out and then neither of us will be in a fit state to drive home tomorrow.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead and set her on her feet. “No romance for you, then.”

“Romance is extremely uncomfortable sometimes. I’d rather be happy.”

She was one of the happiest people he knew. He envied her talent for seeing the positive in any situation and letting the negative wash away.

“You can’t always choose to be happy.”

She turned to him and slid her arms around his waist. “Actually, you can.”

“I’m sorry about Milan.”

“I don’t mind Milan. It’s New York and Morocco that were the killer blows.”

He tucked her hair behind one ear. “It won’t be any fun, you know.”

“I know. You’ll get all serious and you won’t let anyone flirt with you.”

“I don’t want anyone to flirt with me.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Not even me?”

He cupped her cheek with his hand. “You are a special case. Hattie, what did you mean when you said I didn’t know you at all?”

She pulled away. “Just that. It’s only been a week, and for most of that time we’ve been working.”

“I know you’re scared of horses, heights and spiders. I know all about Miss Community Service. I know how you feel about your mother. I know about the abortion.”

“Right.” He’d never seen her angry like that before. Cold ice in her eyes. “You know all of those things about me, so you think you know me. But you don’t. You really don’t know me at all.”

He caught her hand. “Then tell me. Make me understand. I thought you’d be happy with a short fling on location, and then back to the city to find someone new.”

He could see her trying to control herself. Deep breaths before she could bring herself to speak to him. “I’m not going to have this conversation naked in the middle of the staircase while I’m getting goosebumps.”

She turned and stalked up the stairs to their bedroom.

She’d been sure he was different. Sexy, yes. Clever, of course. But more than that, when he’d told her she was his muse, she’d thought that meant something. She’d assumed he understood her. That there was a deeper connection.

Idiot.

He was just like all the others, assuming that she was just another good-time girl. Only interested in casual sex and an easy goodbye. Which sometimes she was. She liked sex, she liked men, she liked flirting. But that wasn’t the sum total of who she was.

That was what hurt most. She’d thought Tom was interested in more. He’d fancied her from the start, but he’d wanted more from her. As it turned out, all he wanted were the photos. Which was what he’d said all along. Her fault for reading more into it.

His fault for being a bastard about it.

She dragged clothes on at random, ignoring the stabbing pain in her shoulder. One of his t-shirts. A pair of knickers. Enough that she was covered by the time Tom appeared.

“Get dressed,” she told him.

He picked up an old pair of jeans and slid them on, buttoning the fly. He didn’t bother with a shirt.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

“And yet you did.”

“I liked you. I like you,” he corrected. “We’d finished the main shoot. We agreed on one night. It was fun. I didn’t know you were hoping for more.”

She shrugged. “Ow.”

“You need more painkillers.”

“I know.”

“Hattie, I’m sorry.”

“Fine. You’re sorry. I’m hurt. I need some painkillers.” Why did anyone think talking about things ever helped?

“Where are they?”

“No idea.” If she knew, she have taken them by now.

“Bathroom?” He went to check. “Here. Take two.”

She’d take as many as she damn well wanted. “Thanks,” she muttered ungratefully.

“Get into bed.”

“I’m going back to my bedroom.”

He set his hands on his hips. “If that’s what you want, fine. Personally, I was hoping for another round of phenomenal morning sex tomorrow.”

It was tempting. He was tempting.

But she couldn’t do it. Not now it was just sex for the sake of it. With some men that could be fun. With Tom it would be heart-breaking. And she wasn’t sure she had enough heart left to break.

Reckless Runaway at the Racecourse

In a dramatic encounter at the racecourse Fliss Merrick erupts into the calm, orderly life of racehorse trainer, Luke Caldecott. While he attempts to hold her at arm’s length, Fliss charms her way into his home and his heart. Now, if only he can work out how to persuade her to stay…

What readers are saying

“This short little book is delightful. …It is a warm, frequently funny romance. Overall, a nice light read!” – Barb at Sugarbeats Books

“This book was a thoroughly enjoyable light read, perfect for traveling. Felt like I was reading Dick Francis, without the dead body.” – sylviagrace on Amazon

“To much sex. I coulld not finish this book, the story linne is sex” – Anonymous at B&N

Excerpt

There was someone on the track.

Luke’s blood ran cold.



There was someone on the track.

A slip of a girl in a vivid cornflower blue dress and long chestnut brown hair flying around her shoulders was stuck right in the middle of the bright green turf with nine tons of thoroughbred horseflesh galloping straight at her.

Including the top horse in Luke’s stable. The Derby horse. The one that would finally set the seal on his already glittering career.

Devastating images flashed through Luke’s head in a brief, nightmarish instant – horses rearing, jockeys tumbling, hooves kicking, ambulances, vets, big white screens to hide the horror from public view…

She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t running to safety.

She was going to ruin everything he’d worked so hard for.

Luke wasn’t going to let her.

He shouldered his way through the heaving crowds, ducked under the white fence and sprinted out onto the grass. He didn’t bother to stop as he hoisted the girl over his shoulder and flung them both to safety on the far side of the track. Just a few feet behind them, nine horses with their tiny jockeys perched high on top thundered past at over thirty miles an hour.

Breathe.



Breathe.

Luke held on to the rail as if it were a lifebelt while he struggled to get air back into his lungs.

Stupid. So stupid.

He’d known it since he was a small child: never, ever cross the track while the race is on. Never.

He could have been killed.

Luke felt the blood throbbing in his veins as he stared down the course, each pulse a rhythmic reminder that he was still here. Still breathing. Still alive.

Gradually, he became aware of something beating against his back and a weight hanging over his shoulder. A woman. The one who’d nearly ruined everything. Luke had one arm around her thighs and the other down by her ankles, holding her firmly in place. Nicely turned ankles, he noticed with the tiny part of his brain that was still functioning normally. Soft thighs. Loud voice.

‘Let me go, you bastard!’

Loud voice yelling right in his ear.

‘Put me down right now or I’ll.. I’ll…’ She hit him again, hard enough to hurt.

The sheer elation of survival quickly subsided, giving way to deep anger as Luke began to comprehend the full extent of her folly. Did she even realise how many lives she’d put in danger? He let her slide down to the ground, automatically taking note of her hourglass waist. Her perfectly rounded bosom. Her tousled hair. Her wild face, red with rage. Or possibly red from hanging upside down for the last few minutes.

Luke shook his head dismissively. It didn’t matter that she looked like an angel. She’d acted like an idiot. Luke had a few things to say to this woman and he wasn’t letting her go until she’d heard them.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

Luke blinked. Wasn’t that supposed to be his line? But the girl in front of him was stamping her foot and looking decidedly disgruntled at having been rescued. Oh God, she wasn’t a protestor, was she? Mind you, she didn’t look like a typical Animal Libber, not in that short clingy blue dress and those spiky black heels.

‘That was a Manolo Blahnik!’

She was still shouting at him and Luke still had no clue what she was talking about. ‘That was a what?’

‘My shoe!’ She held up her right foot to show him. The heel dangled by a thread. Typical woman, Luke thought, with vicious fury, only worried about her precious designer accessories. ‘It was caught in the grass and I was pulling it free when you came along with your Neanderthal manoeuvre.’

‘So it’s Neanderthal to want to save lives, is it?’ Luke gripped her arms even more tightly. Someone needed to shake some sense into this woman and he was quite happy for it to be him.

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Don’t be silly. I had plenty of time to get out of the way.’

‘Funnily enough,’ he bit back, ‘it wasn’t your life I was worried about.’

‘Well, no one asked you to come running out onto the track.’

Luke gritted his teeth and spoke very slowly and clearly. ‘There were nine horses out there. Any one of which could have been spooked by the sight of you, or swerved dangerously to avoid you. At the speed they travel, those kind of incidents can easily be fatal to the horses. Not to mention the jockeys.’

‘The jockeys?’ Her voice was thin and she had begun to shake visibly.

Luke held her firm. ‘Imagine being trampled underfoot by nine horses running at thirty miles an hour.’

Her eyes widened at the realisation of what she had done began to sink in. As they gleamed in the pale spring sunshine, Luke saw that they were the most extraordinary green-gold colour.

‘I didn’t think…’ she began.

‘No,’ Luke interrupted savagely. ‘You didn’t think at all, did you? This is all just a playground to you, isn’t it?

A place to drink and flirt and have a good time and show off your expensive designer shoes. Not a place where people’s lives and livelihoods are at risk. It’s all very well being sorry,’ he went on, determined to drive the lesson in, her wide-eyed guilt notwithstanding, ‘but you should never have done it. It was thoroughly irresponsible and…’

Fliss listened with shivery detachment to the cut-glass upper-class accent, accepting the tirade her rescuer was throwing at her. Deep down she knew she deserved it. She had been irresponsible. Reckless. Impulsive. All the things her school reports had always accused her of and all the things her mother had tried to stamp out of her.

If she’d taken even a moment to think about it, the last thing she would have wanted was to endanger the horses or their jockeys. But when Jack had touched her, she hadn’t been thinking at all. Pure terrified instinct had made her dash forward and duck under the rail, born out of a desperate impulse to get as far away from her lecherous boss as she possibly could. Even now she didn’t know what else she could have done. Was she supposed to have stood there quietly and just let him assault her?

Oh God. As if the thought of him had conjured him up, Jack appeared out of the crowds. Fliss watched him crossing the track, not looking happy. It was obvious to her now just how drunk he was, with a half-empty plastic beer glass waving in one hand and a torn race card in the other as he stumbled across the turf.

Drunk or not, he was still bigger and stronger than Fliss. And he was still her boss. Though not for much longer, Fliss decided. Her temporary contract finished at the end of the month and she wouldn’t ask for an extension.

He had trapped her. In the middle of a crowd of thousands gathering to watch the next race, he’d pressed up behind her, his breath hot and acrid against her neck. Fliss jabbed her elbow in the direction of his stomach and tried to get away but there were too many people and she couldn’t force her way through the mass of bodies quickly enough. Jack caught one hand around her waist, dragging her back against him. Fliss opened her mouth just as he bellowed into her ear, loud enough for her to hear over the roars of the crowd.

‘No one will hear you scream, darling.’

For Fliss, the world had shuddered into slow motion. She could sense every one of Jack’s fingers separately crawling up the inside of her thigh as his words sank in and his intentions crystallised into perfect clarity. Calmly, deliberately, she stepped backwards, stabbing the sharp stiletto heel of her precious Manolo Blahnik into Jack’s foot.

And then she’d spotted a gap in the crowd and made her run for it.

Fliss hadn’t thought about the horses, hadn’t even noticed that the race had started. She hadn’t thought about anything until her heel caught in the grass and she’d been thrown ignominiously over someone’s shoulder.

Someone who was now taking great pleasure in tearing strips off her for her behaviour. It was never fun being told off with such caustic incision, but Fliss was used to it. She’d spent her whole life falling into trouble, and she’d never worked out how to extricate herself without impunity. Still, she’d rather take any amount of censure from a man who wouldn’t try to stick his hand up her skirt than deal with the alternative. Even if it did feel as though she’d jumped out of a frying-pan and into a funeral pyre.

Jack was only ten yards away now. Near enough for Fliss to see his reddened cheeks and the wild eyes of a man who had drunk himself out of control. A tiny part of her felt pity as she watched him come closer. Most of her was angry and afraid.

Her instinct was to run away again, to find somewhere to hide. She looked around her but there was nothing on this side of the track, no buildings, no crowds, no ladies loos with comforting locks on the insides of the doors.

She took a deep breath. There was only one thing left to do. One way to make sure she would be safe. Desperately, she turned to the man in front of her, ignoring the irate lecture he was continuing to give her, and urgently interrupted him.

‘You’re right. I was stupid and thoughtless and an idiot, and I’m really, really sorry.’ He didn’t look as though he was impressed with her apology, but Fliss pressed on. ‘But this is serious. I need you to rescue me.’

Briefly, she checked his left hand. Bare, with no telltale tan line round his fourth finger. Nothing that could make Jack suspicious.

He was tall and lean but Fliss had felt the ease with which he’d lifted her up over his shoulder. She’d been in close proximity to his broad, muscular back under his elegant dark grey suit. He’d already risked his life once to save hers. This wasn’t the sort of man to stand aside while Jack did whatever he wanted with her, she was sure of it.

He raised an arrogant eyebrow and curled his lips mockingly at her. ‘Didn’t I already do that?’

‘Not like this,’ Fliss told him and took her chance, crossing her fingers that he would respond as she hoped. She reached up on her tiptoes, slid her arms about the man’s waist and pressed her mouth to his.

She was completely crazy, Luke realised. Certifiable. And he was still angry with her. But she was a beautiful girl and a damn fine kisser, and he was a red-blooded man who had just survived the most reckless few minutes of his life: kissing her back was no more than a reflex reaction.

Her lips were soft against his, but not tentative. She kissed as though she meant it, demanding that he give as good as he was getting, meeting his every move and matching it with her own. There was no slow, deliberate exploration and exchange, only violent clashes of teeth and tongue and the raw emotions of relief, anger, and euphoria at having survived.

Luke’s hands slid savagely down her arms, then curled around her deliciously curved waist as he pulled her roughly towards him. If she wasn’t going to listen to his words, he’d make her listen to his body. Her eyes darkened and for an instant Luke’s breath was taken away by an image of this woman sprawling wantonly on his bed, her incredible golden eyes rendered dark with passion as he made love to her.

He killed the image as soon as it arrived. He didn’t need that kind of distraction. It was one thing to kiss a foolish, gorgeous woman in the heat of his rage and the relief of survival, but there was no way he was taking her home to his bed. Luke never took women home. It was easier to keep them at arm’s length that way.

One kiss hardly constituted a mistake. One kiss couldn’t do any harm.

Luke nipped at her bottom lip and heard the ensuing sharp intake of breath with satisfaction. He wanted her to know exactly how he felt about her. All his anger poured out into his kiss, untempered by any tenderness. But there was unexpected alchemy in the lips of this reckless, impetuous girl, who could take his rage and return it as red-hot passion.

She was utterly intoxicating. Luke groaned, recognising the danger but unable to stop himself from pulling her closer, and falling deeper into her temptation.

Oh.

Oh.

Fliss hadn’t bargained on this at all. Posh boy could kiss. Really kiss. What she had taken for haughty arrogance in his cool blue eyes now sparked with heat as he responded to her sudden kiss with blazing fire in his wide, mocking lips. She had planned to stay in control of the embrace, to make it convincing enough to fool Jack but no more than that. But the instant her lips met his, he took over and she willingly gave herself up to him.

Strong, shapely hands slid down her arms, leaving a hot trail of goose-bumps in their wake. Such clever hands, instinctively knowing the precise amount of pressure that would send Fliss’s nervous system skyrocketing. She sighed with sheer pleasure, closing her eyes and melting deeper into his embrace. If only all her impulsiveness led to consequences like this.

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This book is currently FREE at Amazon US and B&N!

July 2011

Self-published

40,000 word category romance

The Tycoon’s Convenient Wife

Fifteen years ago, Emily Standish and Guy Munro were friends. Until she fell in love with him and he married someone else. Now Guy needs an enormous favour from his old friend and Emily has a chance to see if love can strike twice.

 

What readers are saying

“This is a really sweet story about second chances and true love. Truly enjoyable.” Evie at In Love With Romance

“Tycoon(?) says”no strings” but spends too much time trying to get her in the sack! She’s a stupid woman. I would’ve taken the money & run! Really, don’t bother.” – Kathleen Bursaw on Amazon

The first page of this book featured on Dear Author’s First Page Saturday some years ago. Read what Laura Kinsale and Sarah Mayberry (among others) made of it here.

Excerpt

‘Em? Emily, is that you?’

Emily Standish sat down hard on the little wooden chair with its faded floral needlepoint cushion. She barely registered the small cloud of dust it gave out in protest. Her heart was racing and her breath was short. It couldn’t be. It must be nearly fifteen years – and this really wasn’t the moment for the kind of complex mental arithmetic needed to work that out. If someone had asked her, Emily would have claimed she barely remembered him. She certainly wouldn’t have expected that she could recognise his voice on the end of a crackling phone line in just five words.

‘Hello? Can you hear me?’

She could hang up, of course. For all he knew, she was on a train heading through a tunnel at just the wrong moment. Right moment. Whichever.

Or perhaps she could pretend he’d got the wrong number. He wouldn’t be able to tell if she changed her voice a bit, would he?

‘Emily, it’s Simon.’

‘Yes.’ She knew that. She didn’t have a clue what else was going on but she did know who it was who had got her phone number from somewhere and called her out of the blue.

‘It is you! For a moment there I wondered if I’d made a terrible cock-up and phoned some other Emily Standish.’

Simon sounded just like he always had. Charming and confident with a deep humour always lurking just beneath the surface. Emily couldn’t help herself: she smiled.

‘Hello Simon.’

He laughed. ‘Hello darling! God, it’s good to hear your voice again. You don’t sound as though you’ve changed a bit. Have you? No, don’t tell me, I’m coming to see for myself.’

Emily clutched at the phone more tightly and hoped that Simon couldn’t tell she was shaking. ‘You’re coming to see me?’ Wildly, she looked around the piles of magazines, the not-quite-abandoned knitting, and the tulips that were out of water and dropping petals all over her front room. She closed her eyes and prayed that he’d at least give her time to tidy up a bit.

‘Yes. There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

‘Well, I suppose…’

‘Great. Are you free on Saturday? I’ll pick you up at seven, shall I?’

‘Simon, I…’

He paused. ‘Is something the matter?’

Emily swallowed, wondering how her mouth had suddenly got so dry. Simon Lennox had phoned her. Was talking to her now, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Wanted to come and see her. To take her out for dinner on Saturday.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

This was only supposed to be a pleasant daydream to while away an odd lonely hour or two.

She took a deep breath. It was just dinner with an old friend. Nothing to get too excited about. ‘No. Saturday’s fine. Do you need directions?’

‘You’re still in the cottage, aren’t you? Park in the lane and come round through the back gate. I remember.’

And that, thought Emily, summed up her life over the last 15 years. Still in the same tiny village, in the same tiny cottage that her landlord had never bothered to have modernised. Still doing the same dead end job and still waiting for Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet.

‘Yes. I’m still here.’

‘Great. See you on Saturday, then.’

She listened to the empty buzz at the end of the line for a moment before replacing the phone on its base.

Simon Lennox.

Fifteen years ago, she had loved him.

Fifteen years ago, he had married someone else.

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August 2011

Self-published

45,000 word category romance

Pretending it’s not winter

At least in this corner of my house, it’s spring. The vases were 49p each from IKEA a couple of weeks ago. I’d intended to buy fabric, but they had sold out of the purple velvet I was after. But IKEA is one of those places I find it impossible to come home empty handed from. These vases were irresistible. They are curved so they form a lovely shape when you stand them next to each other. They were a bit plain, but I have tarted them up by gluing ribbons and buttons on, and now they are gorgeous. I think they will be excellent for tulips which, though beautiful, do tend to droop a bit.