Merry Farmer's Blog, page 12

Trail of Aces – Coming Tomorrow!

It’s almost here, folks! The book you’ve been waiting for, Trail of Aces, book 8 in the Hot on the Trail series! If you’ve read Trail of Redemption or Trail of Passion, you know that Olivia and Charlie had a sudden and unexpected trail marriage. But how did that happen, and can it possibly last? Find out tomorrow when Trail of Aces releases! It’ll be 99 cents for a few days only, just for you, so you’ll want to snatch it up in a hurry. But why wait? You can start reading it now….

Chapter One

 

Wyoming Territory, 1865

 

She never should have married him.

Olivia Garrett balled her fists at her sides as she marched up the line of parked wagons. Her delicate brow was furrowed with fury and determination. Her gentle heart ached with betrayal. After everything she had been through, after everything they had been through together, after all the promise that had been shown, she’d been betrayed. Her eyes stung with tears she was determined not to shed. She may have been heartbroken, but she was still a woman of honor. She would not break down into the fit of weeping that she was certain would be expected of her. She would not wilt like a daisy. And she most certainly would not let Charlie Garrett get the best of her.

She never should have married him.

“Olivia, is everything all right?” her dear friend, Estelle Ripley, called as Olivia stormed past the wagon train crew’s camp.

Olivia kept her eyes straight forward, zeroing in on the target of her erstwhile trail husband, chatting with Graham Tremaine and Pete Evans, the trail boss, several yards ahead of her. Heaven only knew how difficult it was for her to speak her mind. If she stopped to answer Estelle—and now Josephine Lewis, who had hopped up from her camp at the sight of Olivia’s march—she would only lose her nerve and back down. She couldn’t back down. Not when she’d just learned that the man she’d married, the man who had likely tricked her into marrying him, was a thief and a liar.

“How dare you?” she hurled at Charlie when she came to a stop a few yards away from him. She could feel the deep flush on her cheeks, feel the fire in her eyes. She could also feel the trembling deep in her soul, her heart weeping. Things had been going so well. They had come to an understanding. Charlie’s kisses had become so wonderful, increasing in fervor to the point where she found herself longing to be his wife in every way. “How dare you drag me into your nefarious schemes?”

Estelle and Josephine caught up to her, one on either side, flanking her with support. Olivia’s other friends, Lucy Haskell and Gideon Faraday, lifted their heads from the campfire where they were laughing over something to see what was going on. Charlie broke away from his conversation and faced her.

“Sweet Pea. What’s the matter?” He put on a charming smile, but Olivia was no fool. She could see the panic in his dark eyes, the tension in the lines of his face. She’d seen that look on the faces of countless naughty little boys she’d taught, both at home in Ohio and in her trail school. It was a look of pure guilt.

“I won’t let you call me Sweat Pea anymore.” Her back was straight and her chin tilted in defiance, but her voice shook in concert with the crumbling of her heart. Even now, Charlie stood before her, a perfect picture of everything dashing and forbidden. She’d found him handsome beyond compare from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. Handsome with that air of wickedness that had sent spirals of longing through her body.

She shouldn’t have trusted those feelings, should instead have paid more attention to the wickedness.

Still trying to maintain his rakish smile, but slipping, Charlie took a step toward her. “Tell me what’s upset you, Olivia. I’m certain we can work through this together.”

Olivia swallowed, closing her eyes to fight back her tears. How many years had she waited to hear a man say they could work through their problems together? But all that meant nothing when the man in question had just been outed as a criminal.

Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia spotted the tall, well-dressed form of Chet Devlin ambling into the scene. He wore a sly smile on his face—a face that was arresting, though not quite as handsome as Charlie’s. Charlie scowled at his old friend for half a second before his attention returned to Olivia. Olivia wasn’t as dismissive.

“If Mr. Devlin hadn’t informed me of—” She paused, sending a quick glance around to the assembly of her friends. “—of the means by which you acquired your wealth, would you ever have told me?”

Understanding, and something far more devastating—confirmation—glowed around Charlie. He dropped his shoulders in defeat. “You knew when you married me that I was a gambler by trade, Olivia. You may not consider those sorts of winnings as an honest living, but—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She lowered her voice, leaning toward him. She waited—waited for him to tell her that the things Chet revealed were lies, waited for a cleaner, more wholesome explanation of the treasure that lay hidden in Charlie’s wagon.

He didn’t say a word. He closed his mouth and pressed his lips together, staring hard at Olivia. But Charlie knew exactly what she was talking about. While the rest of their friends stood around confused, the harsh light of truth and understanding glared between Olivia and the husband she never should have consented to marry. He met her eyes. It didn’t matter how much sadness and regret they held. The admission was right there for her to see. His silence screamed guilt.

Charlie Garrett was a thief and a shyster.

“I never should have married you,” she hissed. Her tears threatened to flow and drown her hurting heart. “I should have gone against my sense of honor and ignored the obligation to deal fairly with you. I know now that there is no such thing as honor or fairness in you. You’re a low-down, dirty cheat, Charlie Garrett, and I don’t want anything to do with you ever again.”

She spun to go, catching a glimpse of Chet with his hand covering his wide, sneering smile, his eyes bright with victory and spite. Before she could take a single step, Charlie was by her side, clasping a hand around her arm to hold her to her spot, close to him.

“Sweet Pea, this isn’t fair,” he murmured, loud enough for her to hear, but not for the others watching. “Let me explain.”

“What kind of explanation is there?” She turned in his arms, looking up at him. The rich, spicy scent of him—so familiar now, and yet still such a mystery—filled her aching heart with needles of regret. She hadn’t set out to befriend him. She hadn’t expected she would marry him. Most of all, she never, ever intended to fall in love with him.

No, she wasn’t in love. She couldn’t be in love with a lie. So why was her heart burning now?

“There is always an explanation,” Charlie told her. “For everything that happens. There is always a reason that things turn out the way they do.”

He didn’t say more, didn’t rush to deny the things that Chet had told her. He didn’t even ask her what those things were. He must have already known, known because they were true.

Still, her tender heart held on to hope. She relaxed in his grip, gazing up at him, longing softening her features. “What explanation? Please, tell me. Please, Charlie.”

She held her breath, waiting for him to brush the whole nightmare away with a few words and a laugh, and to kiss her, once again the man she had let herself come to care for. A cool breeze ruffled the air between them, sending tendrils of her blond hair fluttering. If he could just come up with some sort of answer, banish the suspicions Chet had raised, she would fall into his arms and hold onto him forever. If he would just tell her he was an honest man, this was all a misunderstanding, then they could continue the dance they had begun weeks ago.

Charlie rested his hand against the side of her face. “I’m not the man you want me to be,” he said, simple, heartbreaking. “I am the man that I am, sins and all. I may have been a thief and a scoundrel in my past, but I am not that man now.”

The lump in Olivia’s throat tightened. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She pushed away, heartbroken. “So you admit that you are a thief?”

“I admit that I was a thief,” Charlie answered. He sent a nervous glance to Pete Evans and the others watching. “That life is behind me.”

Once again, Olivia clenched her fists at her sides. “So tell me, then. Explain to me how you got…” Even now, she couldn’t betray Charlie’s secret, even if his old friend had just revealed the origins of that secret. “Explain where your wealth came from.”

Charlie went still, staring at her, face stoic. His gaze darted over her shoulder to Chet. “I’m a gambler,” he said, then looked to Olivia once more. “I took a chance, placed my bet, and I won.”

It wasn’t the answer Olivia was looking for. Heaving a breath, she shook her head. “You’re lying to me, I know it. I won’t be married to a liar and a fraud.”

She turned and began to march away. Estelle followed her.

“Where are you going?” Charlie stopped her with words, but without touching her this time.

“I’m taking my things and going back to the Hamiltons’ wagon,” she said, turning to walk backwards for a few steps. “I never should have married you in the first place. If I could go back and undo it, I would.”

“Olivia,” Charlie began, but she wouldn’t let him continue.

Instead, she turned to face forward once more and broke into a jog, fleeing from the greatest joy and most bitter disappointment she’d ever known. At last, her tears broke with a mournful sob.

If only she could go back and stop this madness from ever happening….

 

Intrigued? Come back tomorrow for the second half of chapter one, and for links to buy Trail of Aces on Amazon for 99 cents for a few days only!

Being in the Now of Publishing

image courtesy of goXunuReviews via flickr commons

Earlier this week, I had a near confrontation with another author (and it was totally my fault, I own up to that 100%, this fellow author is a great person) about Amazon’s subscription program, Kindle Unlimited, or KU. Yes, this is what authors talk about and get all worked up about behind the scenes. The reason it was a near confrontation was because this fellow author made a statement to the effect of “I just don’t understand what the benefit of KU to authors is. I don’t get it, so I won’t be part of it.” And why did that make me see red? Other than the fact that I was sleep-deprived and PMSy?

Because I am really tired of one set of authors raging and frothing and gnashing their teeth while they scream at other authors to stop enrolling their books in KU because it’s ruining publishing for everyone.

Because I’m tired of other authors who are in a much more solid position with their careers telling me how I should be running my career.

Because removing the books that I have in the KU program (and it’s not all of them by any stretch) would constitute me taking a 60% pay cut and not being able to support myself with my writing.

It’s really easy to point fingers at someone else and tell them they should take a 60% pay cut when you’re making 6-7 figures a year. It’s far too easy to feel justified about personal career choices that work well for you at the point you are in with your career without stopping to consider that not everyone’s career is in the same place.

So here’s my take on KU as an author. 90% of my income comes from two series, Montana Romance and Hot on the Trail. Both are historical westerns. Montana Romance is much, much steamier, and the books are longer. (Yes, I have a few other books/series that sell well, but these are my series that pay the rent…literally). Montana Romance is in wide distribution (Amazon, iBooks, Barnes & Noble, etc.) and does very well out there. Hot on the Trail is currently exclusive to Amazon, i.e. part of KU. It does very, very well in KU (meaning I get a lot of page reads/borrows every month).

Now, the decision to pull Hot on the Trail from wide distribution to put it into KU was made very thoughtfully. I looked at a lot of sales figures and data over time. I compared. I kept spreadsheets. What all those numbers told me was that Hot on the Trail was not making even close to the kind of money at iBooks and B&N that Montana Romance was making. In spite of intense promotion (including BookBub) directed at those other sites. After nine plus months of being in wide distribution, it was like I couldn’t even give those books away. I agonized over the decision. I crunched numbers, worried, drank a lot of coffee, and fretted. Then I decided to put the books in KU for 90 days to see what happened.

What happened is that my income on those books shot up over 300% in borrows alone. What happened is that I started making more money in KU borrows from Hot on the Trail than I was making in straight sales from all of the rest of my books combined. What happened is that I was able to pay off some lingering debt, put money in my savings account, and breathe easy for the first time since becoming a full-time author.

The folks who like to go around pressuring authors to pull their books from KU and go wide because “it’s a better business decision” and because “Amazon could pull the rug out from under authors at any time and only pay them a fraction of a fraction for exclusive books” are, without realizing it, trying to take that cherished feeling of security away. They’re denigrating the months of research and the agonizing that went into making the decision in the first place.

Dude, this is my career, not yours. You don’t understand my numbers, so stop trying to pressure me and every other author like me to do what you think is best based on how your books sell when my career is an entirely different story with different rules and different moving parts. I’m not going to shoot myself in the foot so that your career can prosper.

courtesy of francois schnell via flickr commons

Here’s the thing. Enrollment in KU/exclusivity with Amazon is not a permanent thing. Enrollment periods last for 90 days. You can put books in KU and you can take them out. Nothing is permanent. A lot of doom and gloom predictions are out there about all the ways Amazon plans to cheat indie authors and pull the rug out from under them. It’s like Code Red level panic.

But that hasn’t happened yet.

I’m not saying it won’t happen, but right now, today, in this 90 day enrollment period, this month, this week, things are okay. KU is working for me. It’s paying the rent and getting my books in the hands of more readers than they would be in otherwise. I know this because I did the math, remember? I tracked sales on other outlets, and even a first grader can tell you that the numbers I have now in KU are bigger than the numbers I had in wide distribution earlier.

Right now, things work.

They might not work next year, next 90 day period, next month. Yep. I fully accept and recognize that. But my participation in KU is not permanent. I continue to do the math, I continue to track sales, I continue to market strategically. I am in the now of publishing. I’ll worry about the tomorrow of publishing when it gets here.

It’s basic zen philosophy, really. Live in the moment. Yesterday is gone, you can’t change it. Tomorrow hasn’t gotten here yet, you can’t control it. The very best thing an indie author like me can do is pay attention, keep track of numbers, watch trends, and be prepared to change things when things need changing.

But they don’t for me. Not yet. Right now, what I’m doing works for me. For me. I’m not implying it works for anyone else. I won’t try to direct your career and you shouldn’t try to direct mine. For me right now, where my career is, where my personal life is, where my books are, KU works for the books I’ve enrolled in it.

Tomorrow, everything may change and all the apocalyptic predictions may come true.

I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, because the bridge I’m on now is nice and sturdy, whether you like it or not.

Excerpt Wednesday – Trail of Aces, a First Look

It’s Excerpt Wednesday! And you know what that means? Time for a look at my next release. In this case, the next release is book 8 in my Hot on the Trail series, Trail of Aces. Trail of Aces is Olivia and Charlie’s story. We already know something fishy happened early on the trail journey that led to them suddenly getting married from reading Trail of Redemption and Trail of Passion. Now we get to find out what that was!

“I’m heading west to become a teacher at a school that truly needs me,” Olivia answered, focused more on her cards than the conversation. She didn’t really care to remember her other reasons for fleeing home anyhow. She had two queens, and if she drew the right cards on the next play, she could have an impressive hand.

“And you’re going by yourself? No young men following you in search of your hand?”

She peeked up over the top of her cards with a look intended to set him down. Instead, it made Charlie chuckle, the spark in his eyes bright enough to light the heavens.

“I’m dedicated to teaching,” she said.

Charlie shrugged. “Couldn’t you teach as a married woman?”

“It simply isn’t done. Two cards, please.”

“Fair enough.” Charlie dealt two cards from the top of the deck.

Olivia bit her lip in disappointment. A four and a nine. Not particularly useful. She sorted them into place, then glanced up at Charlie. He was watching her with that tricky fondness of his.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head, smile wide. “Just admiring the view. And your prowess with cards.”

Was he joking? Worse still, could he be serious?

Of course not.

“You’re trying to break my concentration,” she scolded him, sitting straighter. “My friend, Nancy, used to do the same when she had a poor hand.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. She always assumed that if she could convince me not to pay attention, she could bluff her way into a win.”

His brows flickered up with something between surprise and delight. “You know about bluffing, then?”

“Of course. I have played cards before, Mr. Garrett.”

“Charlie.” Now he was laughing. He slid a nickel into the pot to match hers. “I call.”

With a smile that was more confident than she really felt with her cards, she tipped her hand. “A pair of queens.”

“Impressive.” Charlie showed his cards, a pair of nines. “You win.”

Delighted, Olivia handed her cards back to him and raked her winnings closer. Charlie continued to stare at her, expression unreadable. His eyes narrowed, giving him an even more rakish look. More rakish and more attractive, but she wasn’t about to admit she was attracted to a gambler.

Charlie gathered the cards and began to shuffle them with such speed and dexterity that it send a tingle down Olivia’s spine. No one back home in Fairfield was even remotely like Charlie. She wondered what her mother and half the ladies in town would have said if Charlie had been the one pursuing her instead of Silas. Likely they would have fanned themselves in shock and begged her to go west to teach instead of accepting his attention. Olivia rather liked that idea. It made Charlie even handsomer.

“One more hand and then we’ll call it a day,” Charlie spoke into her thoughts, dealing the cards.

Quick as lightning, five cards skittered across the table to her. She waited until they were all dealt, then picked them up. As soon as she did, she had to hold in a gasp of excitement. One, two, three aces. Just like that. She pressed her lips together to keep herself from showing her luck, sliding a nickel into the pot as her ante. Charlie did the same, whistling as he sorted his cards.

“Any bets?” he asked.

Olivia hesitated, then slid two quarters into the center of the table. “Fifty cents.”

Charlie’s whistled song slipped into one long note. “Well I’ll be.” He matched her fifty cents with fifty of his own. “How many cards, madam?”

Something about his teasing formality, the respect with which he addressed her, tickled Olivia. “Two, please,” she answered with matching formality.

With a nod, Charlie dealt two more cards to her, then three to himself. Olivia nearly choked when she picked up the cards. Another ace and the queen of hearts. She had four aces. Her skin prickled with excitement.

“Well now, would you care to open the bet?” Charlie asked, as calm and smooth as if they were enjoying a quiet afternoon with nothing out of the ordinary.

Of course, from his point of view, nothing was out of the ordinary.

Olivia checked her coins, counting them up as fast as she could. Holding her cards close to her chest with one hand, she pushed the entire contents of her coin collection into the center of the table. “Whatever amount this is, this is what I bet.”

“Ah.” Charlie nodded. “You’re going all in.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“It most certainly is.” His eyes flashed like balls of lightning.

“Then that’s what I’m doing. Does that mean I win?” She rushed to count his coins. “I have more money than you do, after all.”

“Not so fast.” Charlie shook a finger at her. He reached into his pocket and drew out another handful of coins, adding them to the pile he already had on the table. “I see your fifteen dollars and ninety-five cents and raise you another six dollars.”

Olivia’s jaw dropped. “That isn’t fair.” Not that much else in her life thus far had been any more fair. “You can’t bring more money to the table after bets have already been placed.”

“Indeed, I can,” Charlie answered with a shrug. “It’s done all the time.”

Olivia humphed, not sure if she believed him. She was ready to throw her cards down when Charlie said, “You could always do the same, you know.”

“Bring in more money?”

He nodded. His mischievous grin was as sharp as ever.

“I don’t have six dollars.”

“Hmm.” He tapped a finger to his lips. Something about the gesture, about the way he drew attention to those lips, sent a shiver down Olivia’s back. She wondered what it would be like to touch those lips, what it would be like if those lips touched hers. “You could always wager something else.”

It took her a few seconds to shake herself out of her staring. “Something else?” Whatever it was, it would be worth it. Her hand was unbeatable.

“Absolutely.” He leaned closer to her. “I’ll tell you what. Do you think you’re going to win?”

“I know I’m going to win,” she replied without hesitation.

His grin grew downright sly. “They why don’t you bet the most precious thing you have.”

Olivia sat back in her chair. She ran through the inventory of everything she’d brought from Ohio. She didn’t have much—her clothes, a few books, the necklace her mother had given her. The necklace was the most valuable thing she had, but she would rather die than part with it. It was the only memento she had of her mother, troublesome though she was.

“How about your hand in marriage?”

Charlie’s suggestion was so quick and made with such a casual shrug that Olivia almost didn’t hear him. Once she did, she blinked and shook her head as though she had water in her ears. “My what?”

“Your hand in marriage,” Charlie repeated as if he heard such things all the time.

“Meaning that if I lose, I’ll marry you?”

“Now you’re catching on.”

She could see that he was laughing at her, but with four aces in her hand, it was hard to care. He would be the one who looked like a fool in the end.

She sat closer, leaning into the table. “And if I win, even though I’m playing with your money, you’ll let me keep it all?” The total in the pot was almost forty dollars. That much money would go far to help her set up a new life at the end of the trail.

Charlie straightened, putting a hand over his heart. “As a gentleman of honor, I swear that I will. It would be worth the price to play with such a lovely companion.”

Olivia’s heart stood still. She didn’t dare to breath. Nearly forty dollars against a promise of marriage—a promise she would never have to keep, not with four aces. Fortune was smiling on her that day. Her life was made.

“You have a deal, Mr. Garrett.” She smiled, stretching out a hand to shake his.

“Charlie,” Charlie insisted, catching her hand and gripping it firmly. He had large, warm hands with long, graceful fingers.

“I hope you can afford to lose forty dollars, Charlie,” she said, fanning out her cards before him with a smile so broad she nearly giggled. “Four aces.”

“And a queen of hearts,” Charlie added, looking pleased as punch.

Olivia clasped her hands together in her lap, grinning from ear to ear, ready to take her winnings. Then Charlie spread his cards out on the table. His grin was so satisfied it was downright wicked. And with good reason. All five of his cards were spades—king, queen, jack, ten, and nine.

Only a few hands beat four aces. A straight flush was one of them.

Olivia had lost.

 

Uh oh. That’s how it happened, but what happens next? Can a marriage that starts as a trick ever last? Find out on November 10th when Trail of Aces releases! Be sure to sign up for my newsletter to be notified when this and other releases happen….

Catch a Falling Star – Release Day!

It’s here! It’s finally here! Catch a Falling Star, the third book in my Second Chances, contemporary romance series is now here! You can purchase it for only 99 cents UNTIL SATURDAY ONLY at Amazon! Sunday, the price goes up to $3.99. So zip on over! In the meantime, you can continue reading Chapter One right now….

The barista continued to stand beside the table, wringing her hands and biting her lip. “I’m sorry, Mr. Paul,” she burst at last. He turned to her. The barista’s eyes shot to Jo. “I didn’t mean to let someone sit at your table. I was busy when she came in otherwise I would have—”

“It’s fine, Kelly,” he reassured her.

Kelly breathed a sigh of relief and rushed off.

Jo’s insta-lust deflated to disappointment. She started gathering her things. “I didn’t realize this was your table. I can move.” Handsome, rich, and if he thought he was entitled to his own table in a crowded coffee shop—along with his own blonde to wait on him—a total prick. Of course he was too good to be true.

“It’s not really my table,” he laughed, waving for her to sit. “It’s just that I come down here a lot, and being a creature of habit, I sit in the same place so often that the staff likes to reserve it for me. It’s sweet of them.”

“Oh.” Jo hesitated. Was he a jerk or not? It would have been a crying shame to waste so much sex-appeal on an entitled douchebag. “Well, if you don’t mind me sitting here, then I hope you don’t mind if I get some work done.”

“Not at all.” He nodded. “I came here to work myself.” He opened his bag and took out a handful of bound pages, manuscripts of some sort.

Jo slipped back into her warm smile. “Don’t tell me you’re a writer too.”

“No, I’m not.” He matched her grin.

“Then please, please don’t tell me you’re an editor.”

He laughed. “Are they the enemy?”

“Some of them.” She smirked, remembering the hassle over her last book.

He took a sip of his coffee. “No, I’m a director.”

“Movies or television?” Not that it mattered. She had work to do.

“Theater, as it happens,” he answered. “Although I’ve been known to do an episode of television here and there. Ever heard of the show Second Chances?”

“Oh. Yes. They film it at an old nursing home about twenty minutes from my house.” She reached for her coffee, suddenly feeling more like she was talking to a friend than a character from her books.

“You’re from Maine?” For a brief moment, he relaxed to something more genuine than the leonine smile he’d been using to mentally undress her. At least, she assumed that’s what he’d been doing with eyes like those.

“Born and raised,” she answered with a nod, then looped the subject back around to him. “I love the theater.”

“Do you?” He still wore that expectant grin, as if waiting for her to realize he was Stephen Spielberg or something. “What was the last show you saw?”

She winced as she took a sip of coffee. “To be honest, I haven’t had time to see a show in ages.”

“Right.” He nodded as though she’d been stretching the truth to butter him up.

Not to be outdone, she asked, “What was the last book you read?”

His lips twitched again. Those lips were sensual and kissable. They held infinite potential for very naughty things. Jo wondered if he would let her kiss him so that she could describe the way they felt in a future book.

“I’ve been too busy to read anything other than scripts,” he said, bursting her fantasy before it could spin out of control. The sparkle in his eyes told her she’d been too obvious with her imagination anyhow.

“Oh, of course.” She let her appreciation show as she sipped her coffee. And why not? It was too fun to flirt with the man. Well, Diane had told her to have fun while she was in town. Flirting with a random stranger in a coffee shop was as fun as she got. “I’ll let you get on with your reading then.”

“And I’ll let you do your writing.” He met and held her eyes for a few delicious seconds before reaching for the manuscript on the top of his pile. “Let me know if you need some help when you get to the juicy bits.”

Jo laughed…and her unmentionables tingled. She adjusted her laptop on her knees and scanned over the last words she’d written. It didn’t help that she was close to one of the juicy bits. Her hero and heroine were about to find themselves alone, dripping with desire, and unable to control themselves. She felt her cheeks go pink and stole a peek at the delightful Mr. Paul. He was sipping his coffee, but his eyes snuck up to meet hers. He smiled as though it was a game. Jo snapped back to her work, wondering if she should change the description of her hero to be a tall, elegant man with blue-green eyes that crinkled when he smiled.

He was too delicious to resist. She clicked to open another document. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she recorded every aspect of her handsome stranger’s appearance and personality with the paintbrush of prose. Mr. Paul leafed through his script. His tempting spark was replaced by a serious frown of concentration that was almost as seductive as his smile. Jo stopped typing and lost herself in studying her companion.

The rain picked up outside, drumming against the windows. Dozens of wet New Yorkers scrambled in and out of the shop. Mr. Paul caught her staring. He closed his script, marking his place with one long finger.

“You’ve reached the naughty part, haven’t you.” He flashed back to majestic charm.

“Maybe I have.” She played coy and typed a sentence about the rich cadence of his chocolate voice.

“Care to read it aloud?”

Jo swallowed, way, way more turned on than she had a right to be. But the man had asked her to read her work aloud. No self-respecting author in her right mind would fail to feel the compliment there. Giddy with confidence, she glanced up at him from under her lashes, like her heroine would. “I’m afraid, Mr. Paul, that you’ll have to go to your local book store like anyone else to read one of my love scenes.”

“Call me Ben.”

A shiver pulsed through her. She bit her lip, arching a brow in challenge, refusing to back down.

He blinked. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“What?”

“You really are a writer.”

Jo burst into giggles, breaking character. “Yes, I am. Are you really a director?”

His lips twitched with the same mysterious joke from before he’d sat down. “You’ve really never heard of me? Benjamin Paul?”

She shrugged. “You’ve never heard of me.”

“I don’t read romance novels.”

“Well maybe you should.” She rested one elbow on the arm of the chair and gave him her best coquettish smile. “Men could learn a lot from romance novels, you know.”

“Oh really?” He leaned back, settling into his chair with hip movements that set Jo’s blood on fire. “Do tell.”

“You could learn what really turns a woman on.”

“Is that so?” He purred each word.

“You could learn about gallantry and seduction.”

“I’m very good at seduction.”

His interjected comment sent another tremor slithering through Jo, landing hard in the most inconvenient places.

“I bet you are.” Her smile warmed and her pulse pounded. “But do you know what a woman is thinking when she’s in bed with you? Do you know what her deepest expectations and fantasies are? What finally pushes her over the edge and makes her c—” She pulled back from the edge of too far, biting her lower lip. She hadn’t had this much fun or been this turned on by a conversation with a stranger in…ever.

He stared at her, eyes dancing with white-hot mischief, as if he was reading her thoughts to glean the answers to her question. She needed to fan herself.

“Alright, what’s your name?” He leaned forward to reach into his messenger bag, seduction replaced by purpose.

“It’s Josephine Burkhart.”

“Josephine Burkhart,” he repeated, making her name sound like pillow talk. If that wasn’t toying with her she didn’t know what was.

He drew his smartphone out of his bag and tapped it. With a scintillating arch of his eyebrow he tapped the screen several more times. His wicked expression dropped to genuine surprise. “Well look at that. Josephine Burkhart.” He slid his finger across the screen. “You’ve written twelve books!”

“Fourteen,” Jo corrected him with a triumphant shrug. “One is coming out in two months and I’ve just turned another in to my editor. Not to mention the one I’m working on right now.”

“I’m impressed,” he admitted.

He tapped the phone’s screen a few more times. It was fascinating to watch him slip out of his initial persona. He was still gorgeous and charming, but the wolf had been tucked away in favor of the man. Normal Benjamin Paul was somehow even more of a turn-on than rakish Mr. Paul. Jo’s heart did a whole new kind a flip in her chest, one that left her far more unsteady than she wanted to be.

“I suppose every day brings its own surprise.” He lowered his phone to focus on her. Just like that, the sexy beast was back.

“Did you think I was lying?” The warm buzzing in Jo’s stomach took on a more sinister hum.

“No,” he answered, unconvincing. “But we artists like to exaggerate our accomplishments.”

He handed her his phone over the top of her laptop. On display was a list of links in a web browser for Benjamin Paul. The cluster at the top was a series of articles about his recent theater award. Not just any award either. According to the phone, he’d won Broadway theater’s most prestigious award for directing only a few months ago.

Jo laughed. “Trying to prove that you’re not exaggerating?” She handed the phone back.

“Just providing context.”

Their eyes met as he slid his phone into his back pocket. An impromptu pelvic thrust accompanied the movement. Well then. The man knew how to fill out a pair of jeans. The tingling in Jo’s stomach spread through her entire body, certain areas in particular.

“Congratulations on your award,” she said. Her cheeks felt as pink as could be.

“And congratulations to you on your book release,” he answered. “I’ll be sure to line up for a signed copy. And in the meantime I’ll pick up some of your other books as soon as I can to learn about what women think when they’re about to come.”

Her heart thumped to a stop, then sped up a thousand times over. “Of course you could always just ask.” What? Where did a comment like that come from? Had the rain waterlogged her brain?

“Oh really?” Ben sprawled back in his chair, once again oozing sexuality. His lips and his eyes were the only part of him that still glowed with humor. The rest? Well, the rest of him made her reckless.

“That’s the reason women have to resort to reading romance novels, after all. Men rarely ask what’s going on in their heads. They’re usually too busy thinking of their own. Heads. One in particular.”

Heat infused his look from head to toe. “You’ve just been with the wrong men.”

“You’re probably right.” Her eyebrow flickered up. “But I have yet to be convinced that the right men exist outside of the pages of a novel.”

The intensity of his stare set the hairs on the back of her neck on edge. The coffee shop would have to turn the AC on in a minute in spite of it being forty degrees outside. He watched her, perfectly still, like a wolf. She met his gaze with equal intensity. If he thought he could out-smolder her he had another thing coming. She wrote romance for a living, dammit.

At long last he took a breath and leaned forward. He surged halfway across the table, forearms coming to rest on his knees. She leaned closer to him.

“I live in this building, just upstairs. Would you like to come up and do some research?”

Jo’s heart hammered against her ribs, making her short of breath. She was sure he could see temptation pumping under her skin. He was close enough to smell his cologne. His lips were relaxed, begging to be kissed. His eyes still danced with mischief, utterly focused on her. Her. She’d never wanted anyone so hard so fast.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous, picking up strangers in a coffee shop in the middle of the afternoon?” It was a miracle that her voice didn’t crack.

“You’re not a stranger,” he murmured. “I’ve Googled you. You’re Josephine Burkhart, Romance Novelist.”

“My friends call me Jo,” she hummed in reply. Dear God, she was actually considering it. She, Jo Burkhart, with her overactive imagination and reclusive ways, easily forgotten and pushed aside, was considering an afternoon delight with an award-winning Broadway director she’d met in a coffee shop.

“Well then, Jo.” He pushed her along with his deep, sultry voice. “Shall we go upstairs?”

Her mind went blank. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart and her shallow breaths. She couldn’t think. Nothing came to her. Nothing but unadulterated lust and the urge to take a chance.

“You know, I think I will.”

 

Whoa! Is Jo actually going to go through with it? Continue reading by hopping over to Amazon and purchasing the book for only 99 cents, but ONLY UNTIL SATURDAY. Not that I’d say no to you purchasing the book for the regular price of $3.99.

And be sure to check out the first two books in the series, Summer with a Star and One Night with a Star. Each book in the series stands alone, though. You don’t HAVE to have read the others to be right at home in any of them. Both books were given rave reviews in InD’Tale Magazine!

Catch A Falling Star – Almost Here!

Tomorrow is release day for Catch a Falling Star, the third book in my Second Chances, contemporary romance series! I’ll let you know as soon as the links are live at Amazon. Keep in mind, you’ll be able to purchase Catch a Falling Star for only 99 cents…THROUGH SATURDAY ONLY! As of Sunday, it goes up to its regular price of $3.99.

But why wait? Why not get started reading now….

Chapter One

 

Spending the day in Manhattan was not exactly Jo Burkhart’s idea of a good time. Spending the day in Manhattan in the rain in January was a unique form of torture.

“No, I understand, it’s fine,” she sighed into her phone as she ducked into the nearest coffee shop to avoid the icy downpour. “It’s an honest mistake.”

“Thanks for being willing to reschedule,” Diane, her agent, answered on the other end of the call. Like Jo had a choice. “You wouldn’t believe the problems I’ve been having with this assistant. Double-booking meetings is one thing, but the other day….”

Jo lost Diane’s complaint as she lowered her phone to collapse her umbrella. She would have shaken the umbrella out if the coffee shop hadn’t been so crowded. As fast as she could, she returned her phone to her ear.

“…string her up by her neck.” Diane growled. “But at least I’ve got time around lunch tomorrow. Is that doable?”

Tomorrow. That would mean a hotel in the city, pricy meals, missing a day of work. Jo’s stomach clenched as she answered, “Sure. Tomorrow is fine.” She slipped in line for coffee, fretting over how she would have to do to rearrange her world. At least her brother, Nick, wasn’t out on a photography assignment and could keep the lid on their family house in Maine. “I’ll come to your office around noon.”

“Eleven thirty would be better.”

Jo clenched her jaw, chest tight. “Okay, eleven thirty it is.” She forced a smile into her voice. Nice girls always smiled.

“Perfect. You’re a peach, Jo. And hey, as long as you’re in the city you should get out, maybe even meet some people,” Diane cooed.

Jo cringed. Why was everyone always pushing her to be a big, old social butterfly? “Yeah, maybe,” she said. “I’ve got my laptop with me. I might just find an obliging coffee shop and continue wrestling with the next book.” In fact, she was already scanning the crowded shop for a quiet table.

“You’ve got to stop squirreling yourself away, Jo. You know what they say about all work and no play. Go out and have some fun.”

Yes, Mother. “Fun is expensive,” she said aloud. She arched an eyebrow and stepped up to the counter, slipping her hand over her phone. “I’ll have a small caramel cappuccino and a plain croissant.”

“Still having trouble with the house?” Diane asked.

Jo sighed, plopping her messenger bag on the counter, wet umbrella under one arm. “The taxes are going to kill me this year.” She fished in her bag for her wallet. “The list of renovations I need to make is as long as my arm.” Not to mention the cost of maintaining the property itself. She was still waiting for the bill from the tree company after two huge oaks fell in the last ice storm.

“Sorry to hear about that.”

“I’m going to cut back on the garden this year. Maybe that will make the rest of it easier to handle. I can feel my great-grandfather rolling in his grave because I’m not keeping the roses where he put them. But seriously, Diane, I need this next book to be a bestseller. I need it.”

“Well you write it and I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen, okay?”

“Thanks. Really.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jo hung up and slipped her cell phone into her pocket. The barista behind the cash register watched her with typical New York impatience. “How much?”

“Eight ninety-five.”

Jo’s heart flopped. She pulled a twenty out of her wallet. It wasn’t all that significant in the short-term, but how many cups of coffee and croissants could she get away with before the house slipped away? She could hear her mom’s lecture from beyond the grave. Waste not, want not.

With her order paid for and delivered, Jo slung her bag over her shoulder and searched for a seat. The coffee shop was packed. Everyone and their brother had come in to get out of the rain. People stood along the bar at the back of the room and by the windows. They huddled like sharks, waiting for a table to free up. There was only one spot that hadn’t been touched—two leather chairs on either side of a low table by the window. It was a minor miracle no one else had nabbed it. Jo made a bee-line to one chair. A few of the shop’s patrons gave her funny looks when she sat down, but she ignored them.

There she was, stuck in Manhattan, given the brush-off by an agent who knew she couldn’t afford overnight jaunts, a mountain of expectations in the form of a hundred-year old family house sitting on her shoulders. She settled her snack on the table between the chairs and opened her bag to unpack her laptop. At least she could work. When all else failed, work never did. Now, if she could just figure out how to make her next book the financial juggernaut it needed to be, it wouldn’t matter how dismissive Diane was or how much everyone ragged on her for spending too much time in front of her computer and not enough “getting out there.”

She sipped her coffee, took a bite of her croissant, and slid her laptop onto her legs. Bit by bit, the gnawing tension rolled off her shoulders as her fingers flew over the keyboard. She relaxed and lost herself in the story. It was a new book, one she’d only started a few days before, but the characters were familiar—minor players in her last Regency romance who were now getting their own book. Nothing beat the bliss of building a world, forming characters to live in it, then making their lives miserable. At least until they had their happy ending. And really, when all was said and done, Jo would have gladly put up with society scandals and reversals of fortune if it meant she could be swept off her feet by a handsome duke. Especially one who was as dynamite in bed as her heroes tended to be.

A grin tweaked the corner of her lips as she typed away, banging out a particularly heated exchange of dialog between her hero and heroine. She would put up with a lot to have her own sizzling love scene. God only knew it’d been long enough since her last one. But what she lacked in real life, she certainly knew how to make up for in fantasy. Now, if she could just figure out a way to get her duke to—

“Excuse me.” A deep male voice interrupted her creation. Jo blinked fast and glanced up. “Is this seat free?”

An unexpected flush of raw attraction hit Jo right in her gut. The man addressing her was shamelessly gorgeous. He was tall and well-built, with dark hair that showed just a touch of grey, and blue-green bedroom eyes. He was dressed impeccably, in jeans that had to be designer, a black button-down shirt, and a sweeping wool trench coat, glistening with raindrops like diamonds. His eyes flashed with the kind of mischief that made her toes tingle. He set a leather messenger bag, not unlike her own, on the table as if he owned the whole coffee shop.

“Um…” She was staring. Great. With a smile, she said, “Sure, go right ahead.”

The gorgeous man chuckled as if he knew a fabulously funny joke that she didn’t get. His grin formed delicious crinkles around his eyes. He shrugged out of his coat, hung it on a hook in the wall behind the table, then sat. He watched her, waiting, his enigmatic expression making his lips twitch.

Jo’s fingers itched over her keyboard, torn between work and play. She’d been on a roll. The words were writing themselves. It was painful to stop when the words were writing themselves. She ducked back to finished the sentence she’d started. Those words poured into another sentence. Before she knew it she had polished off a whole paragraph.

The man continued to stare at her, mouth hitched in a lop-sided grin. “Do you mind if I ask what you’re writing?”

Under any other circumstance in the full extent of the universe, Jo would have snapped an unequivocal ‘yes.’ But how could she say no to a man with eyes that danced like his did?

“I’m writing a novel,” she replied.

“Oh. That’s nice.” His answer was a shade condescending. Her gut tightened in defense. “Are you an author?”

It was her turn to try a haughty smile. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“What do you write?”

“I write Romance.” If she had a dime for every time she’d had this conversation she would never have to worry about paying for coffee again.

“Romance,” the handsome stranger’s brow rose. His eyes glittered. “Really?”

“Yes,” she replied with a saucy smile, arching one eyebrow and waiting for him to ask her about BDSM and hardware stores—which couldn’t have been further from what she wrote.

“Fascinating.”

“I think so.” She tossed him a flirty look, like one of her heroines would. And why not? The man sitting across the table from her, lounging in his chair as if he owned it, could have walked straight out of one of her novels. All he needed were breeches and a cravat. And maybe a rapier and his own pirate ship.

Her musings—in all their heated glory—must have been painted vividly on her face. His smile widened to something downright wicked. He opened his mouth, and Jo braced for the BDSM comments.

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted as a young barista skittered up to the table. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Paul.” She presented the man with a large, steaming mug and a biscotti. Her eyes shone as she stared at him, cheeks pink.

“Thank you, Kelly.” He reached into his back pocket and took out a billfold, handing her a twenty. “Keep the change.”

Jo shifted back in her chair, tilting her head to the side. So the handsome Mr. Paul was rich on top of everything else. Definitely a romance hero. Flashes of billionaires with secret babies came to her mind.

The man—Mr. Paul—caught her expression. His eyes went crinkly with mirth and flirtation. Jo wanted to laugh. Editors were constantly complaining about manuscripts loaded with ‘insta-lust’, but there it was, in the flesh. Hot was hot. There was nothing you could do about that….

 

Come back tomorrow to read the second half of Chapter One and for the link to the book on Amazon. And remember, it’s 99 cents for FIVE DAYS ONLY!

Excerpt Wedn– Um, Thursday – Catch a Falling Star

Okay, yesterday got away from me just a little bit. But I still have an excerpt for you this week! We’re so close to release day for Catch a Falling Star that I can practically taste it. So here’s a little sampling of the stakes my hero, Ben, is working with….

“So this is our mystery guest?”

Ben’s warm, fuzzy, and far too vulnerable mood was popped by the broad-shouldered man with long hair and a beard who sauntered into the room.

Jo got up. “Ben, this is my brother, Nick. Nick, this is Benjamin Paul. Be nice.”

“As if I would be mean?” Nick shot a teasing look to Jo, who returned it with a sisterly scowl. Nick chuckled, then stepped over to the table and held a hand out. “Hi. I’m Nick.”

“A pleasure.” Ben took the offered hand, making sure to put some strength into his grip. No sense giving Jo’s brother the idea that he was a loser. Although these days, most media outlets would tell him that much.

“Hey, Nick,” Jo started, tipping her head to the side. “Do you think you could loan Ben some clothes?” She turned to Ben. “I noticed that you didn’t have any luggage with you, or if you did, that cabbie has it now.”

“Sure,” Nick agreed readily. “I’ll take you up and show you what I’ve got.”

“Any cast-offs you’re willing to throw my way will be fine.” Ben stood and followed Jo’s brother as he started out of the kitchen.

“You can use my bathroom to clean up too,” Nick went on. “I’ve got a few disposable razors in the medicine cabinet, if you can stand to use one of those.”

“I’m sure anything will be fine.”

As soon as they were out of Jo’s sight, Nick rounded on him, backing him a few steps toward the wall.

“I don’t know who you are, other than a big shot director,” he said, full of outright threat, “but if you cause my sister any trouble or hurt her in any way, I’ll tear your balls off.”

Ben blinked. There was nothing like being threatened with castration while still suffering the effects of a hangover brought on by career implosion.

“Sorry,” he drawled. “My balls were torn off yesterday. You’ll have to check with 42nd street if you want to find them to tear off again.”

Nick grinned, though Ben had the feeling it was in spite of himself. “Okay. Glad that’s understood. Now let me show you where you can clean up.”

Forty-five minutes later, Ben was washed, shaved, and dressed in clothes that fit his frame but not his style. Nick’s jeans were too loose, and his shirts were more appropriate to the frozen north than the Great White Way. At least his head was beginning to clear.

Although one look at his phone, after fishing it out of his coat pocket, changed that.

Fifteen voicemails and eight unanswered texts. His stomach squeezed. He ignored the voicemails and scanned through the texts. All of them were variations on a theme: WTF.

He turned to leave the bedroom Jo had given him, hoping to find her and ask if she had a charger he could borrow, when his phone rang. Only this time, the name that flashed on the screen didn’t turn his bowels to butter.

Yvonne Plummer.

Ben tapped to accept the call and yanked his phone to his ear so fast it made him dizzy. “Yvonne.”

“Ben,” she answered without hesitation. “Where are you?”

He hesitated. “Maine. Where are you?”

“Manhattan.” Her voice brooked no nonsense. “So, you want to tell me why you just committed professional suicide? Because I’m pretty sure ‘You’ll never work in this town again’ is more than just a cheap cliché for you now.”

 

Catch a Falling Star is coming on October 27th. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter to be alerted when it comes out! Just a hint, it will be available at the low, low price of 99 cents for the first three days only, so you’ll want to act fast!

Life Imitates Art – Writer’s Block Edition

I wouldn’t believe it if it wasn’t happening to me right now. Life really does imitate art, and in the most inconvenient ways.

So as it happens, my next release—book 3 in my contemporary romance series, Catch a Falling Star—includes a heroine who is a romance writer. One of the challenges this heroine faces is that when outside forces affect her life, she comes down with a bad case of writer’s block. Worse still, she doesn’t even have the benefit of time to work it out. Oh no, she has a deadline, and is expected to produce a bestselling book in a short amount of time. But when everything else in her life gets turned upside down, she has trouble getting the words out.

Well, since the beginning of the month, I’ve been in a slow process of moving, which has included cleaning and painting my new apartment. It has involved hauling all of my earthly belongings across town, getting things set up just the way I want, and paying people like movers. It has not involved a lot of writing, although I tried to keep at least a drip coming from the tap in the process.

Now that I’m moved in? Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Okay, well, not exactly nothing, but even though things have started to calm down (and the cats are back!), I’m finding it extremely difficult to get my brain back into normal, everyday writer mode.

Writer’s block happens, even to those of us who insist that we never get blocked. How could we get blocked? We have more ideas than you can shake a stick at? It’s not as if the well is dry, it’s just that we can’t figure out how to access the water now that the bucket has been changed. In a way, it’s the cruelest kind of writer’s block, because we can see what’s there, see what needs to be done, but rediscovering the will to do it is like turning on a rusty tap after a decade of not being used.

So what are some strategies we can use to overcome these annoying phases of our career?

My new work space…about 90% complete. I need art!

I think the first and most important is developing patience. Not necessarily patience with our work. The words are the words. They will come when they come, even on the best days. No, the patience that we need to develop is with ourselves. I feel blessed because I was firing pretty much on all cylinders for the entire summer, in spite of traveling. Blessedly, it means that I’m actually a bit ahead of schedule in the writing department, although I would always love to write and publish more. So I need to take a deep breath and tell myself that unlike my heroine in Catch a Falling Star, I have time to figure this out.

There are also other things we can do within the realm of writing that will kick-start the muse and invite her to come back. I’ve written several times before about my practice of writing about my writing, or writing notes on the things I’m working on. So last night, I sat down and filled up four pages about the backstory of my characters in the novel I’m working on now. In the process, I discovered things about them that I wasn’t consciously aware of that will help to make the plot and their love story richer. You can never go wrong when you get out the old pen and paper and write about your writing.

The other big thing that I’m in the process of doing is following some of the best advice Stephen King gives in his book On Writing. He advocates creating a writing space and a specific writing time in your day and sticking to that routine in order to make the muse come. Well, moving, by its nature, has destroyed the writing space I formerly had. But I have a new space now, and I’m determined to sit in it at my old writing time and do at least some work. If that’s not hollering for the muse to come back, I don’t know what is.

At the end of the day, the most important thing you can do to bust through writer’s block is to write. I like to use a football analogy, of all things, to describe it. No matter if it’s inches or yards, every time you sit down to write, move the ball forward. Sometimes it’s only a few inches before first down, but if you give up and get paralyzed, you’ll never make it those last few inches. Write something, only if it’s a paragraph or a page.

So there we go. Writer’s block is real. It happens. But it doesn’t have to be a long illness. It’s something that you can break through with the right environment and a little determination. So what are your techniques for busting through the block?

Excerpt Wednesday – Catch a Falling Star – First Kiss

It’s Wednesday! And I thought I’d spice it up today with the first kiss scene from Catch a Falling Star, coming to Amazon on October 27th. Of course, the unusual twist to this story is that that first kiss is a lot more than just a kiss. Here’s a taste of it….

Their fingers touched, the feeling electric. His hand was large, with the perfect combination of masculine smoothness and strength. His grip was commanding. He whisked her out through the door, popping open his umbrella with perfect timing, then dashed around the corner of the building to a short, covered walkway.

“Afternoon, Mr. Paul,” the doorman greeted them with a respectful smile.

“Thank you, Roger.”

Ben collapsed his umbrella as they crossed through the lobby. His stride was long and graceful, his fingers twined through hers. Jo’s insides fluttered at the madness she was considering. Not just considering, doing. They reached the elevator, he punched a button, and the doors slid open. He dropped her hand long enough to reach for a card in his pocket, swishing it across a sensor then pushing a button. The penthouse button.

Good lord. She’d stepped right out of reality and into one of her own books.

Jo stomach was left far, far below her feet as the elevator whooshed up. Ben angled his body toward her, inches taller than she was. The twitch of humor in his lips was as familiar as if she had known it, known him, for years. He took her hand again, and his fingers played with hers, a prelude of what was to come.

Jo caught her breath as the elevator door slid open, straight into the foyer of a chic apartment. It was decorated in dark reds and blacks, masculine colors. The art on the walls and the table in the hallway was modern and angular.

“Home, sweet home.” Ben tugged her out of the elevator and through the foyer to a wide open living room.

Jo’s jaw dropped as she took it in. The apartment was all open space. Floor to ceiling windows displayed a spectacular view of the rainy city. A spiral staircase made of black metal led up to a mysterious second floor. Leather furniture and high-tech audiovisual equipment was so precisely arranged that Jo got the feeling every inanimate object in the place was judging her for her beat-up sneakers.

“Don’t let it fool you,” Ben said, the note of honesty in his voice at odds with the purpose of her visit. “I rent, not own.”

“Yeah, but still.” She would have cringed at her comment, the way it cut the mood, if she wasn’t so overwhelmed by opulence.

Ben chuckled, and let go of her hand long enough to shrug out of his coat. He hung it and the soaking umbrella on pegs that were part of a strip of black metal against the wall beside the foyer. It was more art than coatrack.

“Here, let me take that from you,” he hummed, back in the sexy spirit of their earlier banter. He took her bag. The weight leaving her shoulder took her breath with it. She started to remove her coat, but as soon as her bag was hung on a peg, Ben slipped behind her to take it. Like a perfect gentleman. Except for the teasing brush of his lips against her neck.

Deep, exciting shivers zipped down Jo’s spine, settling insistently in her core. She stretched her neck to give him more room to play, but Ben stepped away to hang her coat. Face flushing at her enthusiasm, Jo hid her amateur move by fluffing her hair, hands shaking.

What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? I can’t have random sex with a man I met at a coffee shop. It’s dangerous. It’s crazy. It’s—

Ben stepped back to her and swept her into his arms without a moment of hesitation or warning. One large hand splayed across the small of her back, pressing her close. He lowered his mouth to hers, closing those delicious lips over hers in a kiss that was powerful and possessive. He knew just how to tease the line of her lips with his tongue, and when she relaxed with a helpless sigh, his tongue invaded, sliding sensually along hers. He smelled so good that Jo’s mind went blank, her misgivings vanishing. He was warm, the fabric of his shirt like butter covering a muscled back.

Crazy. Stupid. Wildly out of character. But hey, she argued as his hand lowered to squeeze her backside and as he sucked on her bottom lip. People have one-night stands all the time and no one gets hurt or robbed or murdered. I’m an adult. The barista seemed to like him, and the doorman smiled like he trusted him. And—

Her thoughts stopped short with a squeak of pleasure as he circled his hand low on her backside, fingers reaching right where they would do the most good, jeans or no jeans. Jo gave up arguing and circled her arms around his sides. She dug her fingers into his back, moaning with giddy madness over how good he felt.

He responded with a hum of his own. His lips tensed in a smile as he traded one deep kiss for several shorter, lighter ones, eyes meeting hers between each.

“This is my apartment,” he said, as if taking her on a guided tour. Instead he shifted his embrace to lift her off her toes and kissed her again. Thoroughly. Passionately. The way a hero would. He kept one hand firmly on her backside while the other held steady at her shoulders.

“It’s nice,” she answered between breathless kisses, already hazing over to the point where she had no idea what she would say or do.

 

Want more? Catch a Falling Star will be available October 27th. But catch it as soon as you can. The special release price of 99 cents will be available for less than a week! To be alerted to the release, be sure to sign up for my newsletter!

Excerpt Wednesday – Catch a Falling Star – First Look

It’s Excerpt Wednesday! And now that I’m back from traveling to the ends of the earth, meeting people at conferences and planning new and exciting projects to share with you all, it’s time I got back into the groove of posting tidbits from upcoming work. So here it is, the third book in my contemporary series (Second Chances), the story of Benjamin Paul, who you met in One Night with a Star, and his heroine, who just happens to be a romance novelist. She’s not autobiographical! Although I wouldn’t say no to a hunky director like Ben! Here you go, a sneak peek at Catch a Falling Star….

Ben got up to search for his jeans and to fish his cell phone from the pocket. Sure enough, there was a missed call. Speaking of people who had him by the balls…. He tapped the phone to call the Pollard twins back.

“Ben, where are you?” Jett Pollard answered. He was irritated, pissy, but not pissed yet. It was as good a start as Ben was going to get.

“Sorry, Jett. Something came up.” It certainly had. It had been coming up again until this particular slice of reality reared its ugly head.

“Can you make it to Café Lunch by four?” Ashton Pollard’s voice asked through speakerphone. Ben wasn’t surprised. Where there was Jett, there was always Ashton, over-styled hair, loud suits, fake-gay lilt, and all.

Ben glanced to the bathroom door, to the strip of light shining at the bottom. “Actually no. I’m going to have to cancel on you. Can we reschedule for tomorrow?”

Jett sighed. Now he was pissed. “Seriously, Ben? Broadway Snitch comes out with a salacious tell-all about how you slept your way to that award, and you’re too busy to talk to the only people who can stop your career from going into a tailspin?”

Ben’s gut clenched. He rubbed the sudden kink in his neck. He would not admit to fear. He would not panic. To convince himself as much as the Pollard twins, he heaved a stern sigh. “Jett, Ashton, it’s time to get real. Broadway Snitch is a two-bit gossip rag that would call Little Orphan Annie a twenty-dollar a night whore if they spotted her with a button undone. They’re a tabloid.”

“Do you know how many people read tabloids, Ben?” Ashton chirped.

I’m probably talking to two right now. “It’s meaningless,” he said aloud. “Let them titillate a few people. The award is mine, it’s a done deal. I’m more interested in looking ahead. Tomorrow I’ll explain to you all the reasons why this new musical, Last Closing Time, will be the next big smash hit, and why we’ll all make an obscene amount of money if—”

“We’re not going to make or do or pay for anything,” Jett cut him off. “We are going to sit patiently and wait for what had better be the best explanation of a rumor that we’ve heard in our lives. Otherwise you are going to be short one production team and an ass-load of cash.”

Ben ground his teeth. He stared out the tinted windows at the dreary Manhattan skyline, the gloomy view of Central Park. It wasn’t the first time he’d stood staring at the view while stark naked, but it was the first time he felt so goddamn exposed.

“It’s nothing.” He feigned nonchalance. “People always go after the top dog once he’s got the bone. That’s all this is.” Nothing to panic about, nothing to lose his head over. Keep telling yourself that, Benjamin.

Both Pollard twins clucked and hummed with doubt.

Ben pushed a hand through his hair, wondering where all that lovely, sexy confidence he’d felt minutes before with Jo had gone.

“Café Lunch, noon sharp tomorrow,” he said, taking charge. “I’ll answer all your questions, put all the rumors to bed, and we can go back to doing what we do best.”

“Making cheap, fluffy TV shows?” Ashton drawled, then burst into hissing laughter at his cheap shot.

Ben’s face tightened into a glare in spite of the fact that the twins couldn’t see it. “There’s nothing wrong with Second Chances.” His voice was too hard, too hurt. “It’s one of the top-rated programs on tv right now.”

“Oh, come on, Benny. Television is for plebeians with bad teeth and beer-breath. Any schmuck can make television,” Ashton said.

“Television is a 32 ounce soda from the convenience store,” Jett seconded. “Broadway is fifty-year-old scotch and a penthouse view of Central Park.”

“Unless you’d rather guzzle that soda with the unwashed masses,” Ashton finished.

Ben let a long, tense silence go by while he took a breath and bit back his instinctual reply. Okay, Second Chances wasn’t high art, but he enjoyed filming. He liked the talent involved. Spencer Ellis and Simon Mercer were among his closest friends. And there were far worse places than Maine to spend a few months out of the year shooting, even with all that wilderness.

He glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom. Maine. Jo lived in Maine.

 

Catch a Falling Star will be available at Amazon on October 27th! Stay tuned to find out exciting information about a special deal for my fans!

Things I Learned at the Ind’Scribe Conference 2015

Me near the middle with the amazing and talented InD’Tale crew!

I had such a good time at the InD’Scribe conference for indie romance writers in Palm Springs, CA, that I almost don’t know how to put it into words. A good time was had by all, a lot of super talented writers came together to share knowledge and laughter, and even though there were only a few workshops and panels, I learned SO MUCH that will be incredibly useful from them. 

I think the first and most important lesson that I learned is that above all else, story is the most important part of any writing process. Sounds obvious, right? Well, this year’s conference and my experience judging the RONE Awards really drove that home. The actual prose itself could have problems (although another lesson I learned is that we must always, ALWAYS work to improve out craft), but at the end of the day, it’s the story you’re telling that will grab the reader.

We’re all storytellers. That’s why we got into this gig in the first place. Or at least it should be the reason why we got into this gig. We can try to chase trends and follow the market and write from a financial-type motivation all we want, but at the end of the day, it’s our deep, deep desire to tell stories that’s going to push our careers along and take us to the next level.

That being said, one of the key elements of storytelling is to have characters that are likeable. They don’t have to be good, they don’t have to be nice, but they do have to make the reader want to know more about them. Again, pretty obvious, right? But one thing that our first keynote speaker, Anne Perry, said that really stuck with me is that to make a character likable, sometimes you have to know a whole lot of backstory about them. Backstory that may never come out in the book. 

I don’t know about you, but when I have written some of my brightest and best characters, I’ve known far more about them than hits the page. In fact, I’d say that the characters of mine that have resonated the most with myself and with readers have rich inner lives that sort of just came to me whole. But after listening to Anne, I think that I might start investigating those backstories more and writing things down. These characters deserve a chronicle of their lives, even if it’s just in my head. And the net result, as Anne said, is that the characters will appear richer on the page with more of a real sense of why they do the things they do. So backstory. Yay! But don’t dump it all on the page. 

My view from the spot where I sat to work!

The other things that Anne Perry mentioned that hit home and that I really want to investigate more is the idea of plotting from the middle of the story, as she said she learned from James Scott Bell. Apparently he wrote a book about it. I NEED to go find this and read it. The concept is that in every book, your main character has a moment—a moment that usually comes right in the middle of the plot—where they stop and take stock of themselves, reflect, and then change direction mentally. Everything they do after that point is different. That’s the center of your plot right there. I want to read this book and explore more about it, because, well, heck. It just sounds awesome and right and true! So I’ll report back once I read that book. 

But for me, perhaps the biggest lesson of the conference is the thing I suffer with the most when it comes to writing and navigating my way through a world of author friends who are, in some cases, more successful than me. I was a finalist for the RONE Award in the American Historical category, but I didn’t win. That’s generally when the demons of self-esteem and comparison come after me. I’m terrible at comparing myself to other authors—heck, I am and always have been terrible at comparing myself to other PEOPLE and coming up feeling less than nothing—but that way lies madness. 

We are all on this journey of life and writing for different reasons. The world is a diverse and vast place. There is definitely enough room for all sorts of different talent, and at times, reaching any given audience takes a little more patience than at other times. One thing Catherine Bybee said in her keynote address (and let me tell you, I actually got to hang out with her a lot and go to dinner with her, and she’s FABULOUS!) is that it takes a huge amount of patience, time, and persistence to make it in this business. Actually, Tina Folsom said the same thing in her keynote. Patience is the key, but so is writing the next and the next and the next book. And so is being really energetic and aggressive about going after what you want from your career. 

So I KNOW I need to stop constantly comparing myself and my career trajectory to other authors around me. I also know that I’m utterly incapable of doing that, because that urge to compare is so deeply ingrained in my personality and has been from such a young age that it’s not going to ever fully go away. But the most mature thing I can do is to see it, accept it, let it be, and move on. There is no power in this business greater than writing the next book. 

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg of all the things I’ve learned here during InD’Scribe 2015. I’m sure I’ll come up with a few more excellent ideas for blog posts and whip those off at some point. If you ever get a chance to come to this conference, DO! And it you aren’t already subscribed to InD’Tale Magazine, please zip on over and sign up. It’s free!