Ros Clarke's Blog, page 23

Book reviews: US Political Edition

I used to review books quite regularly, but I seem to have stopped doing it in the last year or so. Instead of maintaining a separate review blog, I plan to include occasional reviews here from now on. Starting with two category romances I’ve read recently which have a background in US political life. This is not actually a subject which thrills me. I did watch a couple of series of the West Wing, but I don’t really understand politics and I especially don’t understand primaries and caucuses and electoral colleges. It is amazing to me how such a modern democracy is so arcane. They don’t even have the excuse of a thousand years of tradition. Anyway.

The first book I read was One Final Step by Stephanie Doyle. (The other thing these books have in common is that the authors have extremely similar names). This is a Harlequin Superromance. I don’t think it’s available in the UK yet, but I have never had a problem buying ebooks from the eharlequin website with a UK credit card. Our heroine is a former political aide (I apologise now for the fact that I am going to get the terminology wrong throughout this post) who had a Monica Lewinsky moment with the President and has basically lived in hiding ever since. She gets her groceries delivered so that she doesn’t have to go to the shops, she never sees her family, she works extremely hard never to be seen in public. She is really screwed up about sex.

Her hero is an ex-con, former racing driver, who has now designed an electric car. He needs to get the backing of a big car manufacturer but thinks his playboy image is putting them off. I am not sure I buy this plot. It gets used a lot, but really, is that how business works? Anyway, he hires our heroine to run his image-transformation campaign. He is really screwed up about sex.

They set up some stuff that makes him seem like a reformed angel. They get together. They find out how screwed up about sex they both are. It causes problems. There is a miracle cure and a happy ending.

I didn’t love this book but I loved some parts of it a lot. The politics is not front and centre, but the incident with the President does cast a huge shadow over the heroine’s life. I wished there hadn’t been a miracle cure. I think that the author tackles a big romance taboo in this book and does a good job of it. She could have pushed just that little bit further and done a great job of it.

Then I read In Bed With The Opposition by Stephanie Draven. It’s an Entangled Indulgence (sort of Presents/Modern equivalent). Heroine works for an aging senator who is a longstanding family friend. She ends up managing his campaign for re-election. Hero is managing the campaign for one of the senator’s opponents, a one-issue guy raising awareness about flu epidemics. They were at college together, where they had a relationship which involved semi-public sex and exchange of West Wing box sets (that’s how he knows it was serious). That relationship ended very abruptly and the hero never knew why. Now he wants to find out, and he still wants the heroine. Only they are on opposite sides…

This is lots of fun. Very West Wing in its style. Draven acknowledges lots of influences from things like the Daily Show and the Colbert Report, as well as West Wing and some stuff I’ve never heard of. I’m sure I missed a ton of allusions that readers who are more familiar with the political scene would pick up, but even without that, I laughed out loud several times while reading this book and thoroughly enjoyed it all. It’s light and frothy, without the sort of emotional depth that Doyle’s book has, but sometimes that’s just what I want.

So if you can’t bear any more of Obama/Romney, maybe you need a little light political romance in your life.

Lying for the Camera: Chapter Five

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Of all the ridiculous things Tom had made her do, this was the one she felt self-conscious about? Hattie knew she was being stupid. All he’d asked her to do was straddle a chair backwards and lean on her arms.

“Relax,” he said.

“Can’t,” she told him.

He stood up and looked at her directly. “Is your shoulder hurting?” There was concern in his voice, but mostly guilt. Hattie was getting a bit fed up with the guilt, to be honest. He was in charge of the shoot, so technically it was his responsibility. But if she could recognise that it had been an accident, why couldn’t he just let it go?

“No.” It was, a bit, but that wasn’t why she was tense.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“This.” Hattie stood up and gestured at the studio he’d rigged together. “It’s not me. It’s not what I wanted.”

“Studio shots, you said. For your portfolio. This is what we agreed.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want pictures that try to make me look like every other model in town.”

“Hattie.” He took hold of her elbows and gazed down at her. “You could never look like every other model.”

“Well, that’s true, I suppose.” She was three times the size of most of them, for a start.

“But you need head shots. Front and profiles. Full body. Standing, walking, posing. Agents need to see the range.”

He was right. He knew the industry inside out and that was exactly what bookers wanted. She’d had no success with her current portfolio, but it wasn’t just the photos that were the problem. “Maybe I should just admit that this isn’t going to work after all. No one’s going to book me unless I lose a ton of weight, are they?”

“I did,” he reminded her softly.

She met his gaze, remembering that first day in his studio. The heat which had sizzled that day flared between them again. “You said I was your muse.”

“Yes.”

“Am I still?” The shoot hadn’t been successful. Even before the accident, he’d been disappointed. Maybe he’d made a mistake with her.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowed on her face. Hattie held still while he examined her with emotionless detachment. Then he sighed. “Damn it, but you are.”

“Right. So be inspired. And don’t ask me to sit on the stupid chair again.”

They got on much better after that. He chucked the chair away and got Hattie to curl up on one of the ancient sofas with a book while he distracted her from reading it by telling silly jokes. She giggled and grinned and glanced over her shoulder to catch his eye, and all the time his finger was on the shutter, snapping everything.

Eventually he announced, “We’re done.”

Hattie stretched, careful of her injured shoulder. “Can I see them?”

“I need to sort through, pick the useable ones, and edit them first.”

“Now?”

“Now I need dinner.”

“You sent the chef away,” she said with accusation in her voice. “And you know I can’t cook.”

“Actually, I don’t know that. You make excellent shepherd’s pie, for a start.”

“I’m not cooking tonight.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you. I’m taking you out.”

“Are you taking me on a date?” She already knew exactly what she planned to wear. The polka dot blouse which gave every impression of being modest and sensible. Until she leaned forward and her entire cleavage was on view. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

“I’m feeding you dinner.”

“And then you’re bringing me back here for hot sex.” She winked.

He scowled. “Hattie…”

“We had an agreement, remember?”

“As I recall, our agreement was for careful sex.”

She laughed. “I’m hoping for both.”

“Go and get changed, Hattie. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes. It’s only the pub down the road. Nothing fancy.”

Jeans ought to be outlawed. Well, maybe not all jeans. But the kind that moulded themselves around a woman’s backside so that you could see every curve definitely ought to be illegal. The kind where you couldn’t help wonder if her legs would look as amazing without the denim as they did with it. And then you remembered exactly what her legs looked like without anything on them and forgot everything else in the world.

“Tom?”

“Sorry. Miles away. Are you ready?”

Her lips curved into a smile that told him she knew just where his mind had been. “Yes, I’m famished.”

“Good. It’s the sort of place where they think they’ve failed if you manage to clear the plate.” He held the door for her and locked up behind them.

“That’s my favourite sort of place. I can’t bear those restaurants where they serve a spoonful of food on half an acre of white china, and charge you a fortune for it.”

“The kind where you have to stop for pizza on the way home because you’re still hungry?” He pressed the car remote and walked round to the driver’s side.

“With anchovies?” Hattie suggested as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Not a chance. Pepperoni and extra cheese.”

She sighed and shook her head in disappointment. “So conventional.”

“There’s nothing revolutionary about anchovies.”

“There is if you have them with pineapple.”

He swung round to look at her in horror. “You don’t?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Want to find out?”

“I’ll order it one night and make you eat it.”

“Great. A second date.”

He winced. He’d walked straight into that one. It was just so easy to imagine hanging out with Hattie, ordering pizza, laughing over her ridiculous topping combinations. Insisting she cleaned her teeth before he kissed her so that she wouldn’t taste of anchovies. Kissing her. Kissing her a lot.

“This isn’t a date, Hattie.”

“Okay. But you’re paying, right?”

“The only reason you’re here is because I was careless yesterday. So yes, I’m paying.”

“Cool. I’ll have the most expensive thing on the menu, then. That should help to get rid of some of your guilt. And then you can tell me why you have such a hang up about sex. That’ll be fun.”

He pressed his lips tightly together. He did not have a hang up about sex. He had a perfectly valid reason not to have sex with models, based on previous experience. But he had no intention of discussing it with Hattie over dinner.

The doctor had told her no alcohol while she was still on the high dosage painkillers, so Hattie regretfully ordered a coke.

“I should have driven,” she said. “Then you could have had a drink, at least.”

He frowned at her. “You are in no state to drive.”

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Do you want a packet of crisps while we order?”

“Cheese and onion.”

She found a table near the log fire. If they were going to freeze back at the house tonight, she might as well get warm now. Tom brought their drinks over and a large packet of crisps, with a couple of menus under his arm. He ripped the bag open so that they could share.

“I’ll have the beef and stilton pie with chips.”

Tom raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought you were going to choose the most expensive thing on the menu.”

She shrugged, then winced as a flash of pain shot through her. Best not do that again. “I decided I’d rather pick what I actually want to eat.”

He nodded. “Very sensible.”

“You’ll have to get over the guilt on your own.”

“Hattie.”

“Tom. It was an accident. I’m fine. It’s really not the big deal you seem to think.”

“I’m going to order the food.”

Running away. She watched him lean against the bar while he waited to be served. Tension simmered in every line of his body. He really needed to get laid. To kick back and just enjoy the moment. Hattie tugged her blouse down and slipped the top button undone. He was toast.

If he’d thought the jeans were bad, that top was positively wicked. Surely she hadn’t been so… on show before? She was leaning over to pick up a crisp, taking her time, and he… God, he wasn’t actually drooling, was he? She had the most fantastic breasts. He’d known that for weeks. He’d imagined holding them. Stroking them…

Stop. Now.

He cleared his throat. “They said it would be about twenty minutes.”

“Fine.”

“The food here has a good reputation.”

“You said that earlier. Quantity as well as quality.”

“Right.” Twenty minutes was plenty of time. He could drag her into the ladies loos. Or out to the car. She’d be ready and willing.

“So, what on earth will we do to pass the time?” Her lips pouted suggestively.

Tom pushed his chair back and dragged his mind away from the vision of Hattie squirming naked beneath him. Or on top. Or anywhere she damned well pleased.

“Talk,” he managed. Talking was good. Talking was not ravishing a woman in a public place.

“Excellent. Tell me about your hang ups. You said it hadn’t gone well when you’d had relationships with your models before. Several models or one in particular?”

She had him well and truly cornered. He didn’t have enough control of his mind left to divert her. And he couldn’t jump her in the middle of a pub. Before their meals had arrived.

“One. Just one.”

“What happened?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, giving him some semblance of privacy.

Tom reached for his glass and wished it contained something stronger than ginger ale. “It didn’t work out.”

“Okay. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work with someone else.”

He took a deep breath. “It wasn’t like that. It was my fault.”

She took hold of his hand. “Do you always blame yourself?”

“Only when it’s my fault.” He pulled his hand away and took another drink.

“So what did you do to her that was so awful?”

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch while she heard him. “I killed her.”

He heard the intake of breath. Felt her move away. Knew he’d done the right thing, even if it had killed him to say it.

“What happened?” The same soft voice, but without the trust he’d come to expect from her.

“She died.” He could still see Lianne’s body. So frail that he’d hardly dared breathe near her, for fear of breaking her. “She died and I couldn’t stop her.”

“What did she die of?”

What did it matter? Why did she keep asking? Why hadn’t she run away already? “She had anorexia. She starved herself to death.”

A long pause. “Oh, Tom.” Hattie’s hand took hold of his again, with a firmer grip.

“I didn’t even know. I should have seen. Should have stopped her.”

“It’s an illness, Tom. You couldn’t have stopped her.”

He opened his eyes and looked into Hattie’s blue ones. “Oh, but I could.”

“Tell me.”

It was years since he’d talked to anyone about Lianne. Even then, the only person he’d confessed the whole, horrible truth to was his counsellor. She’d nodded and listened and all the while the guilt had been congealing into a hard, dark mess within him.

“She was just starting out. I took some photos for a teen magazine. She was cute. Full of ambition.” Beautiful. Slim but curved. The kind of perky breasts that only teenagers had. He’d fallen for her straight away.

“What was her name?”

“Lianne. Lianne Price.”

“Was she successful?”

He sighed. “Not at first. She did catalogue shoots. A few magazines, but nothing spectacular. She wanted runway work but they never booked her. And one day she asked me if I knew why.”

Hattie didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hand gently.

“I told her. They wanted the Kate Moss look. Hollow-cheeked, bones showing.”

“Oh, Tom.”

“I thought she was still growing up. She was only eighteen. Of course her body was changing. A couple of months later she got booked for Paris Fashion Week. She was so excited. I was excited for her. It was what she’d always wanted.”

A waiter brought two plates of food. Hattie let go of his hand and he bit his lip to stop himself asking for it back. She picked up a chip and ate it with her fingers.

“Go on,” she said.

He stuck his fork into the lasagne he’d ordered and pretended to concentrate on that.

“She was away a lot after that. New York, Paris, Milan, fashion shoots all over the place. My career was just taking off and I travelled a fair bit too. We didn’t get to see each other very often.”

“I see.”

“I should have made more of an effort. Worked my schedule to fit in with hers. Been there so I could have noticed. Helped. Done something.”

“When did you notice?”

“After she collapsed in the middle of the runway at London Fashion Week and was rushed to hospital. I’d been on a shoot in Egypt and by the time I got back she was conscious and hooked up to a dozen drips and machines. But she looked like a skeleton in the middle of it all.”

“Poor girl.”

“Yes.” He took a mouthful of food. Chew. Swallow. Try not to remember how it felt when Lianne had smiled at him.

“She was proud.”

“Proud?” Hattie paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Proud of what?”

“That she’d lost so much weight. The designers had all been happy to book her because she fitted into their smallest samples.” He laid his fork down. He hadn’t any appetite for food. “I took her home. Tried to feed her. Tried to tell her she would be more beautiful if she weren’t so skinny.”

“It’s a disease, Tom. She wasn’t thinking rationally. There’s nothing you could have said.”

He shook his head. No. He’d loved Lianne. She’d loved him. He should have been able to make her understand. “A month later, I found her unconscious in the bathroom. She’d eaten the dinner I made for her, then gone upstairs to vomit.”

Hattie looked down at her half-empty plate, then set her knife and fork neatly together.

“I took her to a clinic. She agreed to the treatment. But…”

“It was too late?”

He nodded. “Two weeks later, she died. She weighed four and a half stone.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “So you see, I killed her.”

“The disease killed her.”

“I told her she needed to be hollow-cheeked to get her dream job.”

“You weren’t the one booking skeletally thin girls, were you? Did you make the tiny samples they had to squeeze into? Maybe you gave her the ambition to do something she didn’t have the figure for? No, I didn’t think so.”

“I didn’t notice when she was putting herself at risk. I could have stopped her earlier.”

“She was an adult, Tom. She made her own choices. You didn’t take food away from her.”

“I loved her and I didn’t protect her.”

Hattie slid out of her chair and came to kneel in front of him. She laid one hand on his knee and the other cupped his cheek. “You did everything you could. It was not your fault.”

He wished he could believe her.

“You were her lover, Tom, not her doctor. Not even her parent. Or her agent. What the hell were they doing while this was going on?”

He shrugged. He’d never thought about it much.

“There were a whole lot of people who had a duty of care to Lianne. A whole industry that had a duty of care to a generation of vulnerable girls. She was a victim, Tom, but it wasn’t your fault, do you hear me?”

Tears slid down his cheeks but he shook his head again. “I can’t risk it, Hattie. You’ve already been hurt because of me. I daren’t let it happen again.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“You think I’m going to starve myself because of you?”

“I think you’re more vulnerable than you realise, Hattie.” He’d thought that from the beginning, though he still hadn’t broken through to the source of her fragility.

She stood up and glared down at him. “That is the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me. I can take care of myself, Tom Metcalfe. And don’t you think you can hurt me, because I promise you, I’m stronger than you think.”

Lying for the Camera: chapter four

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Hattie didn’t sleep well. Tom’s cold, emotionless voice telling her he planned to shatter her kept ringing in her head. She’d brushed it away in the moment. She had no intention of letting him know how vulnerable he made her feel. He did not need to know that when he looked at her, she felt as though he saw straight through her carefully constructed image to the inner workings of her heart.

He made her want to confide him, to trust him with all the secrets she barely admitted even to herself. On that first night, she’d told him about her miserable office affair and its consequences. She’d never told anyone about the pregnancy—not even her mother.

The way he got her to open up scared her more than any spider. Which was a good thing because there were definitely spiders in the dusty old bedroom here. She hoped it was an urban myth that people swallowed spiders in their sleep. Just in case, Hattie clamped her lips tight and closed her eyes, taking deep, long breaths to help her relax. She needed sleep tonight. She needed to be alert tomorrow to cope with whatever Tom had planned.

She woke abruptly, when one of the assistants banged on her door. “Shooting in ten!”

Ten minutes later, she’d washed and dragged a comb through her hair. There were shadows under her eyes. She shrugged. Tom might think that added to her fragility. And if not, that’s what the make-up artists were for.

Oh God, there was a horse.

She’d hoped he was joking about that. Or at the very least, she had assumed he meant for her to be out in a field where there would be lots of nice soft muddy grass for her to land on. She hadn’t anticipated the giant stallion who towered above head height right in the centre of the grand entrance hall.

Hattie paused on the staircase, clutching the banister rail. Black, shiny, and huge. Humungous. Twice the size of a normal horse, or maybe he just looked that way. Definitely too big for her. He couldn’t expect her to ride it. He knew she couldn’t ride.

She tried to look on the bright side. If he was shooting inside the house, Tom couldn’t be expecting her to gallop through the countryside, jump over hedges or chase innocent animals. Maybe she could manage to perch on top of it in here. Just so long as it didn’t move.

She sidled around the horse towards the costume team.

“Another nightie?”

Inge grinned. “Not today.” She held up a shot silk ballgown which shimmered black and fuchsia in the light.

“Ooh, I like that. I like that a lot.”

Inge fitted her with the kind of industrial underwear which sucked Hattie’s stomach in and pushed her breasts out.

“I look like Marilyn Monroe,” she decided.

“With a better bosom.”

“Of course.”

Hattie stepped into the gown and waited while Inge fastened it at the back, then shook the skirts out. The bodice fitted like a glove, smooth around the shape Inge had created with the underwear. The skirt fell to the floor and trailed behind as Hattie twirled and preened.

“It’s stunning. Can I keep it?”

“If you have a spare five thousand pounds you can.”

Hattie froze. “I can’t wear a five thousand pound dress.”

Tom looked over his shoulder. “Relax. It’s insured. But please don’t spill tomato ketchup down this one.”

“Right. No ketchup. I’ll try.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on then. Let’s get you mounted.”

Hattie stood behind Tom as he checked the side saddle. “I don’t like horses. They kick.”

“Can’t kick you when you’re sitting on top.”

“But they move.”

“The handler’s holding his bridle. He’s very well trained. Give me your foot.”

Tom boosted her up into the saddle. Hattie peered down. “It’s a long way to the floor. What if I fall off?”

“Don’t fall off. Here.” There were pommels on the saddle to hook her legs around. It didn’t feel at all secure. She gripped the reins for dear life.

“Feel safe?”

“No.” She waggled her stilettos at him. She was absolutely sure that they weren’t safe for her. Or the horse, come to think of it.

He grinned at her. “You’ll be fine. Just remember the reins aren’t handles, Hattie. Let go of them.”

She gritted her teeth and unclenched her fingers from the leather straps. “I’m going to fall off.”

“Sit up straight, face forward and don’t panic.” Tom wandered off to speak to the lighting guys and make sure the props had been set up how he wanted. Hattie was left stranded on top of approximately a ton of horse. Better on top of it than underneath, anyway.

So long as she didn’t look down.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

She looked down. Her stomach lurched and the horse skittered in response to her. She squealed. Only a little squeal. She wasn’t a total wuss.

“Hold on, Hattie. We’re not ready for you yet,” Tom said before immediately turning back to continue his checks. Heartless bastard.

She’d told him last night that he wasn’t going to break her. No matter how much he made her face her fears, she was going to show him that she was a strong, confident woman. Hattie Bell wasn’t going to be photographed cowering with fear on top of a horse. She picked up the reins and pretended she did this all the time.

Sit up straight, face forward. Don’t panic. Easy. Just as long as she remembered not to look down.

The shot silk looked amazing against the sleek dark coat of the horse. The black disappeared into the background but the pink sparkled with life. Tom signalled that the lights should be moved a little closer, then checked his viewfinder again. Hattie’s spine was rigid and she’d grasped the reins again, transmitting every spark of tension to her mount. The handler was holding the bridle, murmuring soothing noises to the horse and keeping it quiet.

“Clear the shot.” He waved the handler away. Hattie’s mouth tightened and her knuckles gleamed white. “Perfect.”

He took several shots with the pale sunlight streaming into the room. There was a delicious incongruity between the raw strength of the stallion and the refined beauty of the house. And Hattie, strong and brave, beautiful and fragile was the perfect embodiment of the contrast.

“Turn this way,” he instructed. “Glance over your shoulder, Hattie. That’s it. Drop the reins. Hitch up your dress.” Throughout, he kept the camera clicking, capturing as many moments as he could, hoping that just one of them would have the magic he needed.

“We need more movement.” Tom nodded to the handler. “Walk him across the hall.”

Hattie squeaked.

“Sit up, Hattie. Shoulders back, chest out.”

She glanced down at her cleavage. “I don’t think my chest goes any further out.”

He grinned. It was extremely tempting to take some close ups of her bodice. Maybe later. For now, he needed a way to inject more drama into the shot.

“Can the horse climb the stairs?”

“Of course.” This was a specially trained horse for film and television. No doubt they were hoping for a remake of Black Beauty. The handler mounted the stairs and held out her hand to call the horse to her.

“You’ll need to stand aside,” he warned her. “I need a clear shot up the staircase.”

Obediently, the stallion climbed up two steps towards his handler. Tom nodded that it was enough and the woman moved out of shot.

Hattie was still just about upright in the side saddle. She’d dropped the reins and was gripping the saddle with one hand while the other was twisted into the horse’s mane.

“Lean forward,” Tom told her.

She leaned and wobbled a bit, but twisted just enough to regain her balance. As she twisted, her sharp heel dug into the horse’s side like a spur. He caught his breath as the stallion reared up. Hattie flew backwards, hands waving helplessly in the air and her scream electrifying the room.

It was the perfect shot. Nature asserting its brute force over the attempts of human civilisation. Hattie hanging helplessly in midair, lit from behind so that her silhouette was clearly outlined. Tom kept his finger on the shutter, watching the scene unfold in slow motion. Every shift of light on the shot silk gave a new drama.This could be the money shot of the whole exhibition.

Then, as if he was waking from a dream, the screams pierced through the camera. Hattie’s screams. The horse’s wild whinnying. Other people yelling in fright.

Damn it, this was no dream. This was real and that was Hattie, lying on the ground, white as the marble tiles beneath her. Too late, he dropped his camera and ran towards her.

“Unconscious,” his assistant muttered grimly. “I’ll call an ambulance. Don’t move her.”

The life had seeped out of her. Hattie, who was so vivid she could transform a room with her smile, lay still and silent. Tom rested his hand gently on her throat just to reassure himself that the blood was still pumping in her veins. Still warm, still pulsing, still breathing. She was going to be okay. She had to be okay.

By the time the ambulance had arrived, her eyes were open. They checked her over and strapped her into a terrifying neck brace and spine support so that she couldn’t move. He watched as they carried her into the back of the ambulance and drove away.

“We’re done here.” The team were standing around uncertainly. He shook his head. “You’ll be paid for the full week, but the rest of the shoot’s off. Can’t continue without her.”

“She might be back for tomorrow,” someone suggested.

Tom ran his hand over his face. “No. That’s it. Thanks for your work, everyone.”

He’d have to go and see her. She didn’t deserve to be in hospital alone. And he needed to explain. But hell, it was the last thing he wanted to do. Since Lianne he’d managed to avoid the agony of the waiting room and the disinfectant smell of the wards.

What he wanted was a stiff drink, but that wasn’t allowed if he was going to drive to the hospital. He’d just have to face up to it and be damned if it hurt.

“I brought your suitcase.”

She was awake. Alive. Extremely lucky, the doctors said. No internal injuries.

“Thanks.”

“They say they want to keep you in overnight.”

She nodded, then winced. “Sorry.”

Tom flinched. “I’m the one who’s sorry. It was my fault.”

“You said you wanted to shatter me.” She winked.

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like this. You know that.”

“It’s only a dislocated shoulder. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You’ll be bruised and sore for weeks.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m so glad you came to cheer me up.”

“God, Hattie. I thought you were dead.”

Her hand lay on top of the hospital sheets. She opened her fingers and crooked them towards him. He half-lifted his hand, then dropped it.

“I could have killed you.”

“I expect you still could if you want to.”

“Of course I don’t want to.” He took a deep breath. He shouldn’t be shouting at her. “Sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know that. Accidents happen.”

“Accidents happen when idiots like me are allowed to get carried away with our irresponsible notions without caring about who gets hurt along the way.”

“Right. Well, don’t do it again.”

“No danger of that. I’ve cancelled the rest of the shoot.”

Hattie glared at him. “I’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

“You dislocated your shoulder. You can’t work tomorrow.”

“Back in the saddle. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you come off a horse?”

“No.” He was never letting her anywhere near another horse. He’d be happy if she spent the rest of her life wrapped up in a thick blanket of bubble wrap.

“You didn’t get the shots you wanted.”

Bile rose in his throat. “I got plenty.”

“So you don’t want me to be your model any more?”

“Sorry. I’ll do the studio pics I promised when we’re back in London.”

“No, I want you to do them at the house. Tomorrow.”

“I sent everyone home. There’s no one to set up the lights. No costume, no make up.”

“We’ll manage. I want pictures that don’t look like everyone else’s. Something to make an agent sit up and take notice.”

He owed her that much. “Fine.”

“And after that, there won’t be any reason for you not to sleep with me.”

His mouth dried. “Hattie.”

“Tom,” she mocked. “Are you turning me down again?”

“This is a very bad idea.”

“It’s just sex, Tom. I want it, you want it. We should just do it and enjoy it.”

“Your shoulder…”

“We’ll be careful. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

One night. He’d be careful. She’d be fun. He couldn’t say no.

Today

So, today has been exciting.

After Reckless Runaway went free yesterday, it’s been rapidly climbing the Amazon UK charts and is currently at #53 overall, and at #20 in the contemporary romance list. #20 is a significant barrier because the first page of each bestseller list includes the first twenty books. It’s had over 700 downloads in 24 hours!

Also today I discovered that I am eligible to enter the Harlequin So You Think You Can Write competition after all. I thought all published authors (I am a published author!!!) were excluded, but it turns out that only Harlequin (Mills and Boon) authors are ineligible So I have uploaded a chapter here. I’ll tell you when you can start voting! The very scary thing is that the 28 who go through to the next round have to send in a full manuscript by mid-October. I don’t ezackly have a full manuscript yet. I have one chapter. So I’m not sure whether I’m hoping to make it through or not!

Try for free!

Reckless Runaway at the Racecourse is free at the moment. Enjoy!

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Smashwords

Diesel eBooks

B&N

I am non-internet famous!

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Isn’t that fab? I am officially ‘Living the Dream’!!

To read more about it you’ll need to buy the October issue of Staffordshire Life magazine which is available from all good newsagents in Staffordshire. Or buy a digital copy online. As well as me, the issue also features a woman who holds the world record for knitting on the largest needles, and Staffordshire’s own Olympic gold medallist, Anna Watkins. What are you waiting for?!

I am weak at the knees

…for a guy who likes a girl who reads:

Sometimes you need a happy-making review

And this one is just lovely.

Here are some of my favourite bits:

…an intelligent love story with two mature characters

Khaled and Olivia actually kept their integrity intact, for which I give Ros Clarke great kudos!

Don’t let the cliché and a bit tongue in cheek title scare you off, this is a well written, intelligent romance with two three-dimensional characters who step off the pages and some stunning locations…

IMO you can’t go wrong with a Ros Clarke story.

I think I shall make that last one my by-line! Or at least print it out and put it over my desk. Thanks so much, Stella and Jackie, for taking the time to read and review The Oil Tycoon and Her Sexy Sheikh.

Lying for the Camera: chapter three

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

“Hold it there. Just a bit more. Eyes on me. Focus, Hattie.”

She fixed her gaze on Tom and tried to concentrate, but it was easier said than done, what with the carpenter hammering nails into a board just inches from her head.

Hattie hadn’t known quite what to expect of the shoot but it certainly wasn’t this. Tom had whisked her off to a crumbling stately home on the Northumbrian coast where it rained every single day and the windows didn’t shut properly. She’d been cold for the past forty-eight hours and not just because of the ridiculous outfits she’d been given to wear.

Today, he’d set up one of the most dilapidated rooms with all kinds of DIY tools and traps for her to fall into. Earlier, she’d been attached to the wall while the electrician worked in the space around her. Hattie had barely dared breathe for fear of electrocution. It wasn’t until after they’d finished the photos that she’d realised none of the cables were live. Right now she was lying on a trestle table while a wooden box was built around her. She had a horrid feeling it was a coffin. And the hammer which flashed past at the edge of her vision definitely sounded real as it thudded into the nail. She flinched.

“That’s it. Give me more. Eyes ahead.”

The hammer caught her hair as it banged down. Hattie screeched.

Tom put down the camera and sighed. “Take a break.”

She let out a long sigh of relief.

“You okay?” He came over and held out a hand to help her up.

She sat up cautiously and checked that all her limbs were still attached. “I think so.”

He nodded. “Good. Have a coffee. We’ll start again in ten minutes.”

Tom went to talk to the lighting guy. Hattie slid off the table, grabbed a cardigan to put over the ridiculously flimsy nightdress she’d been given to wear, and went in search of something more sustaining than a coffee.

In the kitchen, she blagged a huge mug of strong tea and a bacon sandwich off the chef. She took a grateful sip of the hot drink and cradled the mug in her hands, grateful for the warmth. Presumably Tom had chosen this location because it was falling down. Personally, Hattie preferred accommodation with reliable hot water and windows that actually kept the cold air outside. She’d complained about the chiffon nightie but Tom had merely shrugged and said that he wanted to see her goosebumps.

Huh. It was all right for him, wearing three fleeces and a scarf. She’d like to see him wandering half naked around Croxfield Hall’s draughty corridors. Well, okay, she’d just like to see him half naked. Or fully naked. She wasn’t fussy. Unlike Tom, who was proving irritatingly good at resisting her.

He still fancied her. She was sure she wasn’t reading the signals that badly wrong. But they were already two days into her week-long contract and so far he’d all but avoided her. Even when he was shooting, his instructions were brief and impersonal. She’d done her best to flirt with him, but it was hard work when he was so determinedly not giving her anything back.

Hattie wasn’t one to give up on a challenge. He’d said there would be no shagging. He must have known she’d go all out to prove him wrong. She just had to find the right moment to catch him.

“We’re waiting.”

Hattie turned to grin at the object of her desire. “I’ll be there in a second. Want half?” She lavishly squeezed tomato ketchup on the salty bacon and soft white bread that the chef had put out, then cut the sandwich in half and held out the plate towards Tom.

“Thanks.” He took the plate and picked up his half neatly.

Hattie took a large bite. Tom shook his head and waved in the direction of her bosom. She looked down.

“Oops.” A dollop of bright red ketchup had landed on the white nightgown.

“It’s fine. You can take it off.”

“Here?” She winked. “Or shall we go upstairs?”

“We’ll get back to work. But I think we’ll try some nude shots next.”

“You know, on some film sets, when they’re doing nude scenes, everyone gets naked. Including the director.”

Tom looked at her steadily. “They do that when the actors are nervous.”

Damn. “I can be nervous.”

“Not because you’re naked.”

“Well, no.”

“So stop trying to get me out of my clothes.”

She finished her tea and followed him out of the kitchen. “Spoilsport.”

Tom uploaded the day’s shoot onto his laptop and scrolled through the pictures. He earmarked a handful of potential shots, but none of them had the spark he was looking for. The fragile vulnerability he’d detected at Hattie’s audition was missing, despite the fear in her eyes and the precarious positions he’d put her in. The nude shots were no better. He should have realised that she didn’t wear clothes as armour or disguise, the way so many women did. She dressed for adornment, but she was equally comfortable in her unadorned state and the photos showed that.

“Any good?”

He couldn’t help the smile that sprang to his lips at the sound of her voice. She’d been brilliant over the last couple of days. No whining, no complaining. Despite everything he’d put her through she was still cheerful.

“Hopeless.”

“Really? I thought it went rather well today.”

Tom swivelled on his office chair to see Hattie leaning against the doorpost. “Did you?”

“Well no one was seriously injured, and I was gorgeous. What more could you ask for?” She winked at him.

He laughed. She was irrepressible. “Nothing.”

“Have you eaten?”

He checked his watch. “No. I must have lost track of the time.”

“There are leftovers. I’ll bring you a plate, if you like.”

“I can raid the fridge myself later.”

“Can I see the pictures? Are they really hopeless?”

He hesitated. Would it help Hattie understand what he was after? She might just look at the pretty images and think everything was fine.

“Better not.”

“They’re that bad?” Her voice was light but there was a note of genuine uncertainty underneath.

“I’m sure you’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

He hated hearing the dejection in her voice. It wasn’t fair to let her believe it was all her fault. But if it worked… “You’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s just lack of experience.”

She chewed her lip. “Should I just go back to London? You could find another model, I expect.”

Instinctively, Tom reached out to put his hand on her arm. “Stay.” He might find another model but he wouldn’t find another Hattie.

She nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“I told you before. I want you.”

“Am I still your muse?”

“Apparently.”

“Good. So what are we doing tomorrow?”

“How do you feel about horses?”

She shuddered dramatically. Just what he wanted.

“Excellent. What else scares you, Hattie?”

“Apart from power tools being used within inches of my brain? My hair when I’ve just got out of bed is utterly terrifying.”

He tugged a lock of said hair. “Be serious for a moment.”

“Um, I’m not brilliant with spiders. Or high places. Ghosts. Horror films. I’m just your all round basic wuss, in fact.”

“You’re not a wuss.” Why had he said that? He wasn’t supposed to be reassuring her.

“Thanks. You know what really terrifies me?”

“Tell me.”

“Well.” She stepped closer. “I’m absolutely, utterly petrified–” She ran her finger down his cheek. “—that I’m losing my touch.” And then she bent over, so that her cleavage filled his vision and her lips came to rest on the corner of his mouth. “What do you think? Have I still got it?”

Thinking was well beyond his capabilities in that moment. Tom tilted his head, his lips automatically seeking hers. Warm, soft and oh so good against his mouth. Hattie kissed like a goddess demanding worship, and he was her obedient slave. She dragged every last second out of that kiss, every touch and taste and lingering pleasure.

“That’s enough,” he said, though his hands in her glorious hair didn’t seem to hear him, and his mouth was already returning for another taste of her deep velvet lips.

“Mmm,” she murmured into the kiss, which didn’t help his self-control at all.

“Hattie,” he tried again. “We have to stop.”

“You stop.” She knelt between his legs and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, pressing kisses on his chest as she went.

“No. We both have to stop.” He removed her hands firmly and did his shirt up again. He took a deep breath. “I warned you about this in London. I don’t get involved with my models.”

Hattie sat back on her heels and surveyed him. “We don’t have to get involved. We could just have sex.”

He gave a curt laugh. “It doesn’t work like that.”

She tilted her head and smiled wickedly. “I thought that’s exactly how men like it to work.”

“Don’t believe everything you read in the magazines.”

“There’s never anything about you in the magazines. Just the photos.”

“That’s the way I like it.”

“So, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment.”

“But you are into women?”

“Yes, Hattie. I think the last ten minutes have established that I am into women.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

He pushed his office chair further back. “Stand up. You look ridiculous down there.”

Hattie glared at him. “You’ve been making me look ridiculous all day. I don’t know why you’re so worried about it now. And don’t think you can avoid the question.”

“I’ve told you before. I don’t get involved with my models.”

“I’m offering you no-strings-attached sex and you’re turning it down?”

He shrugged. “The strings are always there, even if you can’t see them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Someone really did a job on you, didn’t they?”

“I’m not talking about this any more. I’ve got work to do.”

Hattie’s gaze slid across to the laptop. “Wow.”

He’d forgotten to close down the image he’d been working at when she came in. The best picture of the day, it was one of the nude shots, showing Hattie stretching up to the chandelier, strewn with cobwebs and dust. Sunlight reflected on the crystal drops and glowed on the spider’s web, giving the illusion that Hattie was trapped in a glittering prison of light.

“You like it?”

“It’s amazing. It felt so ridiculous, standing like that earlier, but now I understand.”

“What do you understand?”

She’d moved nearer the desk and her head was near Tom’s as they both studied the picture.

“The light… the cobweb… they’re so fragile and yet there, in that moment, they make me look powerless.”

He drew in a sharp breath. She’d got it. She’d really got it. “Show me what you mean.”

“Here.” She traced the ray of light which curved over her breasts. “It’s like it’s holding me back. Stopping me from doing something. And here.” Her finger moved up to the network of light which criss crossed her face on the screen. “It looks like I’m afraid of it. Like something in a horror film.”

“Science fiction.”

“Yes, maybe. I didn’t know my eyes could look like that.”

“So pale? I played with the exposure a little bit.”

“That’s part of it, I suppose. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like looking at myself in a nightmare.”

“Look at this one.” He scrolled through until he came to the image of her in the coffin. “What does that make you feel?”

She stared at it for several minutes. “Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“It’s ridiculous. I look like the Bride of Dracula, only fat.” She gestured at the red lipstick and the white nightgown. “The props are silly.”

He nodded. She was right. “How about this?” He skipped ahead a couple of photos.

“Oh.”

It was the same set up. She was still in the coffin but this time he’d taken a close up of her face with the hammer and changed the lighting. He could feel her tense up as she looked at the picture.

“You were a total bastard making me do this.”

“I know.”

Hattie drew a deep breath. “But it was worth it.”

“I think so.”

“Is this what the whole week is going to be like? A living nightmare?”

“Only while I’m shooting.”

“Oh, great.”

He grinned. “Be thankful I could only afford this place for a week.”

“Next time, pick somewhere with central heating.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“The fun would be in having someone else to warm my bed, but apparently that’s out of the question. What’s a girl supposed to do?”

“Hot water bottle?”

“I could use a hot toddy.”

“Come on then, I’ll make you one while I’m having dinner.”

She cradled the warm mug between her hands and watched Tom as he assembled a plateful of leftovers and nuked it in the microwave. His movements were always quick and deft. He wrapped the remains of a chicken pie in foil and replaced it in the fridge. Collecting knife and fork, he brought his heated dinner to the big scrubbed pine table where Hattie was sitting.

“This is the only warm room in the whole house. I think I’ll bring my duvet down here and sleep in front of the range.”

“Sorry you’re cold.” Tom forked up another mouthful of food. “I didn’t know it would be this bad.”

“I’ll live, I suppose. Maybe I’ll find one of the crew who wouldn’t mind warming my bed.”

He raised his eyes and contemplated her for a moment, before returning to his food.

“What, you don’t think they’d want me?”

“I think you’re trying to provoke me into sleeping with you.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“Pity.” She smiled and sipped at her hot toddy. “Carl, you know, who does the lights?”

“I know who Carl is.”

“He’s cute.”

“He’s married.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t going there with a married man ever again. “What about Pavel?” The electrician wasn’t to Hattie’s taste, but Tom didn’t know that.

“Gay.”

She laughed. “I don’t think so.”

Tom tilted his head to one side. “Well, maybe he goes both ways. But he certainly has a boyfriend he was giving a very loving goodbye to at the station.”

“Tom Metcalfe, are you telling me that you are the only available man on this shoot?”

He shook his head. “I keep trying to tell you that I’m not available.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Hattie.” He laid down his fork and his face filled with weariness. “Please just leave it, okay?”

She’d had no idea he was under such strain. During the days he was efficient and calm, patient with other’s mistakes and laughing at his own. She knew the exhibition was important to him but she had no doubts it would be a huge success.

“Okay.”

They sat in silence while Tom finished his meal and Hattie drank her toddy.

“Look, I know today wasn’t brilliant, but I’ll do better. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

“You were fine. It’s me that’s the problem.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s all very well you doing everything I ask of you, but I still have to ask the right questions.”

She frowned. “But I thought you had it all planned. The props, the shots, everything.”

He sighed. “I wish it was that easy. I have ideas, sketches, storyboards. But it doesn’t guarantee the magic.”

“Magic?”

“I don’t know a better word for it. You saw it upstairs. The difference between those two shots of you in the coffin. It’s lighting and placement, expression and focus. But it’s more than that.”

“It’s chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” he said with a faint smile. “You think so?”

“I have A-level Chemistry. So I know.”

Tom laughed. “And what did you learn in A-level Chemistry?”

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a grin. “I learned how to make Jamie Taylor want to kiss me behind the bike sheds.”

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I know.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Of course it was. That’s why you picked me for this job, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly.”

“Why then?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Because you were the only woman I’d seen all day.”

She frowned. “What? I was sure you’d have had hundreds of models lining up to work for you.”

“I did. Hundreds of them. Teenagers, mostly. And the ones who weren’t, doing everything they could to look as if they were. Size zero, stinking of cigarette smoke, with dark circles under their eyes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They were girls, Hattie. Kids. Fabulous clothes hangers, but no life in them. No experience. Not women. None of them spilled over with their life story before I’d even got the camera out. They stood where they were told and went through the poses they know.”

“That’s what the agencies teach them.”

“Right. That’s what sells clothes. But I’m not in the business of selling clothes in this shoot.”

“What are you selling?”

He leaned back and Hattie held her breath. She wasn’t at all sure he was going to tell her. Eventually, he closed his eyes and spoke just one word. “Myself.”

Himself? He was selling his work. His photographs. His vision of the world. Oh. “That’s scary.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s the rest of the exhibition like? You said it was mostly ready.”

“Landscape. Urban landscape. Some macro shots.”

She shook her head. “That tells me nothing.”

“Right. It’s, um, well it’s about fragility.”

Fragility? And he’d picked her to model for him? “So, I’m the contrast? Strength? Size? Weight?”

“No!” He slapped a hand on the table. “No. No, you’re part of it.”

“You looked at me and saw fragility?” She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I looked at you and knew I could shatter you.”

She sucked in all her breath. “You are a total bastard.”

He shrugged, but there was guilt in his eyes. “That’s what being an artist does to you.”

“You were wrong, though, weren’t you? I’m still here and I’m still in one piece.”

He stood up and cleared his plate. “There’s still four days, Hattie. And I’m getting closer all the time.”

“Not any more. Now I know what you’re after, I’ll be on my guard.”

More on digital book covers

There’s a terrific post at Dear Author today about digital book covers and the importance of the thumbnail. Thumbnails are the most important marketing tool for digital books. That’s what people see when they are browsing through online bookshops, that’s what they see in links on Goodreads, that’s what they’ll see when they are shopping on their ereader (and the article makes a very good point about making sure your cover works in greyscale because of this).

Here are some ancient posts of mine about making good covers:

Judging book covers (Mostly about typography)

More on covers (In which I talk about thumbnails and greyscale!)

A worked example

I am available for hire, for consultancy or design of book covers! Use the contact form or leave a comment if you’d like to get in touch!

Here are the covers I’ve designed for my books:

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You’ll see that two of the books got makeovers. I really liked the original covers, but I don’t think they signalled the genre clearly enough to romance readers, which is why they got new covers with couples on the front.