Harper Bliss's Blog, page 24

NEW RELEASE: This Foreign Affair (Pink Bean 4)

[image error]Hello from Chiang Mai, where the weather is almost as hot as the new Pink Bean book. I guess you could say I’ve kind of gone back to my roots, because the ‘orgasm density’ (it’s a thing now) is more French Kissing-esque than Pink Bean-ish.

Preview ‘This Foreign Affair’

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My new novel This Foreign Affair (Pink Bean – Book Four) will be out next Friday (on 12 May 2017). Here’s a preview. Enjoy!

This Foreign Affair

© Harper Bliss



CHAPTER ONE

“You’re here bright and early this morning,” Josephine says before I can even place my order.

“Walk of shame?” Micky butts in.

“Christ, ladies. I’ll have a coffee first, we can talk after.”

Micky looks at her watch. “I’ve never seen you here this early.”

Josephine elbows her in the biceps. “A large black coffee for Zoya, please.”

“Coming right up.” Micky gets busy with the coffee machine.

“How are you today, Jo?” I ask.

“Very well, thank you.”

“I suppose it’s out of the question for me to call Caitlin at this ungodly hour and ask her to join me?”

“You can try, but she wasn’t awake when I left.” She quirks up her eyebrows.

I wave my credit card over the terminal to pay for my coffee. “I won’t bother then.” I check my phone in case I missed a text message while ordering. The screen is blank. “Myrtle is sick and there appears to be a bit of a problem in my Airbnb down the street. The new occupant arrived late last night and is complaining the smoke detector is beeping every few seconds. I promised to change the batteries first thing.”

“Here you go.” Micky hands me my coffee.

“If I lived in Darlinghurst, I could have stopped by last night.”

“Such a pity you don’t know anyone in the area.” Micky smirks.

“Very funny. They arrived after midnight. I wasn’t going to rouse any of you because my caretaker was sick, was I?”

“Thank goodness for that,” Micky replies.

Rebecca used to deal with all of this, I want to say but swallow the words, because I don’t want to talk about my ex. It’s too early in the morning for that particular kind of grievance.

“I’ll become your neighbor soon enough.” I sip from the coffee. “Just need to sort out some stuff first.”

A sudden break-up from your partner of sixteen years is emotionally harrowing enough even without all the practical things to arrange: assets to divide, and figure out who gets which souvenir from that trip to Tasmania. As far as I’m concerned, Rebecca can have it all, as long as I never have to see her face again. My lawyer disagrees.

“One of the houses in my street is for sale,” Micky says.

I perk up my ears. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you the number of the agent. You should check it out.”

“Maybe I will.” My phone buzzes. “Ah, here we go.” I check the message. “Time to go.” I drain my coffee, give Micky and Josephine a wave, and make my way to the apartment I own but haven’t set foot in for months.

* * *

The apartment is above a hair salon, which is still closed. I suppose no one wants to get their hair cut before eight o’clock in the morning. I take the stairs to the first floor and knock gently on the door, shuffling my weight from foot to foot. I never wanted to own a bloody Airbnb. Another thing I resent Rebecca for. Just add it to the pile.

The door flies open and a woman stands in front of me. She’s tall and has cheekbones for days, but what I notice most of all are her eyes. Not the color, but how they sparkle with something. I hope it’s not rage. I think it best to immediately launch into an apology.

“I’m so sorry about this.” I give her my widest TV smile and hold out my hand. “Hi, I’m Zoya. Your smoke detector battery replacer for today.”

The woman looks at my hand for a split second, then takes it in hers and gives it a quick, firm shake, her fingers squeezing tightly. “Camille.” She steps aside to let me in.

I look around. A high-pitched beep startles me.

“It’s been like that all night,” Camille says with a heavy French accent. Her hands are on her hips. “Not exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep.”

“I can imagine. Let me take care of this.” I look up at the fire alarm. A red light blinks. I don’t remember the ceiling being so high. Is there a ladder somewhere in this building? This whole scene is making me feel extremely inadequate. Rebecca was always the handy, super-organized one—a skill that allowed her to organize her affair around our life together for more than a year. I was just the fool who didn’t have a clue.

Just when I think I’m putting the whole sordid ordeal behind me, something like this happens to remind me of it. This apartment was Rebecca’s project from the start. Why it is up to me to deal with it now remains a mystery.

I scan the kitchen for a chair. I step out of my shoes and balance on it precariously. Camille scrutinizes my every move. I raise my hands but I can’t reach the ceiling.

I climb off the chair. “Looks like we’re going to need something higher.”

She gives me a look I can’t decipher. “I’ll try. I’m taller than you.”

“Thanks.” Why don’t we keep spare batteries in this apartment? I’ll have to talk to Myrtle. Or just sell the damn place. Then I wouldn’t be standing here in bare feet in front of a woman who is probably pretty pissed off at me. Although she hides it quite well.

I watch her clamber upon the chair. She does it gracefully, as if balancing on a piece of furniture is all she does in life. She stands on tiptoe and can just reach the outer shell of the smoke detector with her fingertips.

“Careful.” I steady the chair for her.

She has already screwed off the outer casing. “Hand me the batteries.”

I try to pull the package open but, as always with these things, it’s hard to find a spot to pierce it and I have to tear at it with all my might. I finally manage to pry out two batteries. Our fingers touch when I hold them up to her.

She drops the old batteries in my palm and, all the while balancing on the tips of her toes, replaces the batteries and screws the lid on again.

I hold out my hand to her for support when she climbs back down and she takes it. At least I’ve done something.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she says.

I shake my head. “I’m mortified. Really. I will reimburse you for the night. The person who usually takes care of this is indisposed at the moment and, as you’ve clearly noticed, I’m not very good at any of this.”

She waves me off. “Just an idea. Keep some spare batteries in a kitchen drawer, perhaps? I could have done this myself last night if I’d had the necessary equipment.”

“I can’t apologize enough. You must be so tired. How about I take you out for coffee? Show you what’s where in the neighborhood?” My earlobes flush. I don’t even know the area that well. The best I can do is take her to the Pink Bean and hope Kristin is there to tell her all about Darlinghurst’s best spots.

Camille ponders my question. “Okay,” she says. “Give me five minutes.” She heads into the bathroom.

I put the chair back and leave the remaining batteries on the kitchen counter.

Maybe when I see the real estate agent to view the house Micky was talking about, I can ask her to come and take a look at this place. Or maybe I should just move in here. I glance around. No, I couldn’t. Rebecca’s touch is all over the decor. That turquoise contrast wall in the living area. The photograph of an outback road in Queensland to my right. It used to hang in our house, until she redecorated it and relocated it here.

“I’m ready for that coffee.” Camille exits the bathroom with a smile.

CHAPTER TWO

The Pink Bean is too busy for Micky and Josephine to ask me prying questions so they have to content themselves with inquisitive stares, which I ignore. I buy coffee and a couple of croissants and Camille and I sit.

“How long are you staying in Sydney?” I ask.

She chuckles. “I’m staying in your rental apartment. You should know.”

I shake my head. “It’s a long story why I don’t have a clue about any of this.”

“So, I can stay as long as I like.” Camille tips her cup back. “You wouldn’t even notice.”

“I probably wouldn’t.” I push the plate with croissants in her direction.

“Thanks. I’m famished.” She picks one up and tears off a corner. Before she puts it in her mouth, she says, “Croissants in Sydney are surprisingly not disappointing.”

“You’re the expert, I guess.” I look at her as she chews. She seems so at ease. So unperturbed by what happened. “Are you here for work or pleasure?”

“Definitely pleasure.” She nods slowly. “I flew in from Brisbane last night. I’ve spent the past two months in your beautiful country. Sydney is my last stop before I go back to France.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re so Zen.”

She slants her head. “Perhaps. Only a week left to relax.” Her cheeks dimple when she grins.

“Where in France are you from?”

“Paris.” She pronounces it the French way. “Born and bred. But as much as I love it, sometimes you just need to get away.”

“If you can, then, yes, I guess.” I wish I could have run away from Sydney after Rebecca told me she was leaving me.

“I believe that if you really want to, you can.” She rips off another piece of croissant. “Are you sick of Sydney?” Her eyes bore into me.

“Not Sydney so much as certain people who live here.”

She purses her lips together and nods. “I think I know exactly what you mean. But let me guess. Your children and your job prevent you from going away for a longer time. And your Airbnb property, of course.” She follows up with a chuckle.

I laugh at her dig. “No children, but my job is pretty demanding.”

“Whose isn’t these days?” She sighs.

It’s refreshing to talk to an interesting woman, who, at first glance, looks like she could be the perfect demographic for my TV show but doesn’t have a clue of who I am. “What do you do?”

“I work for the CNRS, the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. I advise the French government on scientific matters.”

“That sounds important.”

“It’s a big responsibility. Of course, my advice gets ignored half the time, but I take my position very seriously.” She curls her lips into a smile. “But one of my mantras for this trip was to talk about work as little as possible. Even though it’s inevitable when you travel alone, meet people and make casual conversation. It’s usually the first thing that comes up.”

“That’s the world we live in. We’re defined not by who we are but what we do.”

“Very true.” She holds up her hands. “So please excuse me for asking, but what is it that you do?”

“I’m a television presenter. I interview people.”

“Like a chat show?” Not even a cool Frenchwoman can resist perking up at finding out she’s sitting across from someone who gets her face on television.

“A bit more in-depth than that. My show is not a promotion vehicle for actors and the like. We have one guest per week and the actual interview takes hours to produce. The research takes weeks.”

“You must know a whole lot about many people then.” She leans back in her chair.

“Too much at times.” I smile at Camille. I like her. There’s something very disarming about her.

“Do you get recognized all the time?”

“Not that much, actually. This is not America. People are still pretty discreet. And my show doesn’t have a big viewership among the selfie generation.”

Camille jots out her lip and nods. “Looks like I have some googling to do.”

“There should be complimentary wi-fi in the apartment,” I say. “I hope it’s working.”

“It is.” She cracks a smile. “Don’t feel too bad about the smoke detector. Your place is really nice. This is coming from someone who has sampled a vast array of accommodation all over the country the past couple of months. I wanted a really nice place to stay for my last stop and I’m not disappointed.”

“Thanks for saying that.” I make eye-contact for a brief moment.

“So please explain to me how a TV personality is sitting here having coffee with me this morning after trying to change the batteries in the smoke detector. Somehow, it doesn’t compute.”

“I’m a very down-to-earth kind of girl who likes to get her hands dirty.” Camille seems like the sort of person who can appreciate a joke.

“Right.” She nods, her face serious. “I could tell as soon as you climbed onto that chair. Such confidence.”

We both chuckle. “The person who usually deals with all of this for me has pneumonia. Poor thing.”

“Good morning, Zoya and friend.” Kristin appears next to our table. “Can I get you anything else?”

I jump at the opportunity to introduce Camille to Kristin, who knows everything there is to know about Darlinghurst—where to drink, where to eat, and where to have coffee, of course.

While they chat, I consider asking Kristin if she wants to buy the flat. She is the kind of person who would have everything in perfect working order all the time. And she and Sheryl only live three feet away. Then my mind wanders to this afternoon’s mediation meeting with Rebecca and our respective lawyers. If only I could send someone else to sort that all out for me as well.

Kristin asks Camille to stop by after the morning rush so she can give her some more information, and says goodbye. We both follow her with our eyes as she heads to the counter. Just then Sheryl appears for her morning coffee before she heads to work. She kisses Kristin fully on the mouth.

“Oh,” Camille says.

“If you hadn’t noticed yet, Darlinghurst is extremely gay friendly.”

“I only arrived late last night.” Camille has suddenly lost some of her easy conversation skills. “I didn’t really get a chance to notice.”

I hope I’m not sitting across from a homophobe. She may look like the nicest woman on the planet, it wouldn’t mean a thing. I’ve heard the vilest things come from the mouths of the most educated, cultured-looking people. Hatred comes in all sorts of disguises.

“You seem to know the owner well. Do you live around here?” Camille has apparently regrouped.

“Not yet, but I plan to. Sheryl, Kristin’s partner”—I nod in the direction of the counter where Sheryl is waiting for her takeaway cup—“and I have a good friend in common, who moved to Darlinghurst six months ago and I’ve been jealous ever since. It’s time for a change of scenery for me, anyway.”

I think of my—our—house in Balmain. How empty and big it feels when I come home these days.

“I can recommend taking a few months off. It does wonders for your perspective,” Camille says. “It helps that Australians are possibly the friendliest people I’ve come across.”

“We do our best.” I give her a wide smile.

“Have you lived in Sydney all your life?”

“I grew up in Perth, where most of my family still live. My great-grandparents immigrated here from India.”

“I went to Perth,” Camille says. “At the beginning of my trip, which feels like two years instead of two months ago.”

My phone starts ringing in my bag. “Sorry, it’s probably work.”

I check the screen and the name of my lawyer comes up.

“Zoya, can we do two instead of three this afternoon?” She’s a matter-of-fact woman who has no time for pleasantries. “I’m asking on behalf of Miss Firth’s lawyer.”

I exhale a deep sigh. “Sure. Let’s get it over with as quickly as possible.”

“Okay. See you then.” She hangs up.

“Typical,” I murmur under my breath.

“Everything okay?” Camille inquires.

“All part of that long story I hinted at earlier. My ex driving me up the wall.” I try to block out the negative thoughts by folding my lips into a big smile. It doesn’t really work, but the story of my separation from Rebecca is not something to impose on my Airbnb guest. “I should probably leave you to it now.” I took the day off so I could mentally prepare for this meeting. I haven’t seen Rebecca in months. “You have my number. Please call me if you need anything at all.”

I rise and so does Camille.

“Thank you for the coffee and croissants. I appreciate the gesture.”

While we shake hands, I say, “Maybe I’ll see you around before you leave. If not, I hope you have a wonderful stay.”

Our hands linger. I glance at her face—so pleasant and relaxed—one more time, then head out the door.

<>

This Foreign Affair will be available on 17 March 2017

NEW RELEASE: Everything Between Us

[image error]Hello from Christchurch, New Zealand, where I’m having an excellent week because two days ago I finished the first draft of Pink Bean 4 and today Pink Bean 3 is out!

Preview ‘Everything Between Us’

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My new novel Everything Between Us (Pink Bean – Book Three) will be out next Friday (on 17 March 2017). Here’s a preview. Enjoy!

Everything Between Us

© Harper Bliss



CHAPTER ONE

 

“I’ve got this one.” I all but shove Micky out of the way with my behind.

“All right, all right,” she says. “No need to get physical.” She leans her hip against the counter, watching me—making me more nervous than I want to be for this.

“Hi,” Caitlin James says on a sigh, as though ordering coffee has become a big chore, even though she gets the same thing every single day. She looks at the board above my head. I try not to stare while her gaze is fixed elsewhere, but it’s hard. Although Micky scrutinizing my every move keeps me in check. “A large flat white, please,” Caitlin says.

“Have here or takeaway?” I ask, out of habit.

Caitlin cocks her head and waits a beat before saying, “Have here.” Her glance skitters to Micky, who is just standing there, doing nothing. “How’s it going?”

“All is well on the barista front,” Micky replies. It’s not that long since she started working at the Pink Bean, and I was the one teasing her about having a crush on one of the regulars. Not that I have a crush on Caitlin James. Not that kind, anyway. She’s too much of an icon for me to have something as mundane as a crush on.

“Still a lady of leisure?” Micky asks.

My ears perk up while I prepare Caitlin’s coffee, but I can’t hear what she says over the hiss of the machine steaming the milk.

“—my new neighborhood,” is all I can make out from her reply.

“Here you go.” I hand Caitlin her flat white.

“Thank you.” She looks me in the eye briefly, then turns her attention back to Micky. “I’ll be at my usual table.”

Micky and I both watch her strut to her table by the window.

“What was that all about?” Micky asks. “Have you got the hots for her or something?”

“No, of course not.” I bring my hands to my sides. “But, you know, that’s Caitlin James.”

“Ha.” Micky stares at me for a moment. “I take it you’ve read all of her books, whereas I have read zero.”

“I have a couple in my bag. You can borrow them if you like.” Argh. I could kick myself for blurting that out. I don’t want Micky to borrow my Caitlin James books. I’ll happily lend her any others, but not those.

“Why are they in your bag?”

“Just… no reason.” I immediately feel put on the spot.

“Come on, Jo. You can tell me. All the time you and I spend behind this counter together. Don’t you consider me a friend?”

You’ve certainly gotten a lot of lip since you and Robin started shagging, I want to say, but bite back. I only sigh.

“I may only be a hausfrau turned barista, but I can put two and two together.” Micky keeps going. “I’m rather sharp for my age, you know?”

I wish she would just let it go.

“Since she moved to Darlinghurst, Caitlin has been coming here every day,” she says.

“Would you please keep your voice down,” I whisper. I feverishly wish for a customer to walk in.

“You’re a fan girl, or whatever the kids call it these days?” She draws her lips into a pensive pout. “So you carry her books around in case…” She pushes herself away from the counter and leans toward me.

I don’t give her a chance to finish her sentence. “Yes. You sussed me out. I’m the kind of nerd who wants her books signed by the author. So what?”

“Then what are you doing standing here while she’s sitting right over there?”

“I can’t just go up to her and ask.”

Micky raises one eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s disrespectful of her privacy. She came here for a cup of coffee, not to be harassed by the barista.”

“Oh, come on. She’ll love it. She’s the type who gets off on that kind of attention.”

“And you know her so well, do you?”

“What are you two whispering about?” Kristin asks.

I was so wrapped up in this ridiculous conversation, I didn’t even hear her approach.

“We have a dilemma on our hands, boss,” Micky says. “Perhaps you can help.”

“Happy to.”

Now both Kristin and Micky are staring at me. A blush creeps up my neck.

“Josephine here is a big fan of Caitlin and she wants to get some books autographed. Whatever can she do to make that happen?”

“Hm, I don’t know. If only Caitlin were a regular at the Pink Bean. And a friend I’ve known for twenty years. These things could help, I guess. But alas,” Kristin says.

I shake my head. “Once you’re done mocking me, I’d like to get back to work, please.”

“Come on, Jo.” Micky elbows me in the biceps. “Take it in jest and just go over to her. Get your bloody books signed already.”

I look to Kristin for support, or perhaps, for a clear sign that it’s okay for me to do so. She’s the boss, after all. “This is beginning to sound like workplace harassment,” I say, when Kristin remains silent as she’s wont to do.

Kristin takes a step in my direction and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Trust me. You’ll make Caitlin’s day. She’s not all that famous here in good old Oz. She must be getting attention-starved by now. You’d be doing her a favor.”

I glance over at Caitlin and see her looking over at us. What must the three of us look like whispering like this behind the counter?

“Fine.” It is why I put the books in my bag in the first place. Why they’ve been in there for days—days without me mustering up the courage to approach her. And now my boss has given me permission. “Just don’t stare at me like I’m an attraction in the zoo.”

“We have work to do,” Micky says, shooting me a wink.

“I’m expecting Sheryl back any minute, so you’d better hurry,” Kristin says.

“Okay.” I fetch my bag in the back, take a deep breath, and walk over to Caitlin James, my feminist heroine.

“Sorry to disturb you, Miss James.” I can’t keep the shake out of my voice.

“Miss James?” The lift of her eyebrow makes something coil tightly in my belly.

“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “I’m a big fan of yours and you’ve been coming here for a while now and Kristin said it would be okay if I asked you to sign a couple of your books that I own and have read many, many times, if I may add.” I’m blabbering like a two-year old who’s just discovered the sound of her own voice.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Her big brown eyes sparkle up at me.

“Er, yes.” My hands have forgotten the required motion to pull a chair back and my body—huge and looming over Caitlin—doesn’t want to obey.

“It’s Josephine, right?” Caitlin says, snapping me out of my daze. “Lovely name.”

I pull myself together and sit down. “Thank you.” Micky and Kristin’s teasing has drained the confidence I need to ask Caitlin James for her autograph, let alone sit with her and have a conversation. Part of me wishes Sheryl would arrive before I make an even greater fool of myself.

“Which books do you have?” Caitlin puts her elbows on the table and leans close enough so that I can smell her perfume. Something earthy and sensual.

I pull my bag onto my lap and reach for the three books that, dramatic as it may sound, changed my life. I display them on the table.

“Well thumbed I see.” Caitlin’s lips draw into a smile. She takes one of the books and leafs through it. “And you love using a highlighter.” She looks back at me. “There’s more to you than the girl who makes excellent flat whites, isn’t there?”

“I study with Sheryl. I mean, Professor Johnson. I’m one of her graduate TAs and she got me this job because a PhD doesn’t exactly pay the rent in Sydney these days.”

“Good for you.” She drops the book and intertwines her fingers. “You’re in good hands with Sheryl.”

“She’s been very nice to me.”

“She must have picked you for a reason.” Caitlin opens the cover of one of the books. “Do you have a pen, Josephine?”

“Oh, er, yes.” I dig in my bag, my fingers frantically feeling for the pen I put in there with the books. “Here you go.”

I try to watch as Caitlin signs three of her books that I’ve owned for almost ten years, but it’s hard to keep my gaze trained on her. It feels like too much of an intrusion. She holds the pen gracefully and is scribbling away when I sense a presence behind me.

“Am I interrupting?” Sheryl asks.

I nearly jump out of my skin. Sheryl puts a hand on my shoulder. She knows all about my admiration for Caitlin James, yet in all the time I worked for her, she never mentioned that she and Caitlin go way back. I only found out when Caitlin returned from the United States and walked into the Pink Bean one day.

“Just signing some books for Josephine.” Caitlin sounds merry.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Sheryl turns to me. “Could you stay behind for a bit after your shift? I’d like to discuss Naisha Turner with you. We can have lunch, if you like.”

“Sure.” I can’t say no to Sheryl, though I don’t have the spare cash to go out for lunch. As usual, because Sheryl knows about my sister, she’ll offer to pay, but I have too much pride to let her.

“Come upstairs when you’re done,” she says, as though she can read the anguish right off my face. “I’ll rustle something up.”

I nod and heave a small sigh of relief as she heads over to the counter and slings an arm around Kristin’s waist.

“She really does take good care of you.” Caitlin leans over the table conspiratorially. “But if you ever need any gossip on Professor Johnson, I’ve known her since she was an eighteen-year-old tomboy,” she jokes.

This is one of those moments in which I wish so very much I was the sort of girl who has the confidence to say something clever back, but not even on my best days—and certainly not when I’m sitting opposite Caitlin James—am I skilled at coming up with witty repartee.

Caitlin goes back to signing the books in silence.

“All done.” She hands me back the pen. “Thank you for reading my books.” She looks me straight in the eye. Another round of blushing starts at the base of my neck. “It was an honor to sign them for you.” She leans against the back of her chair. “What’s your thesis on? Anything I can help with?”

Oh no. I will happily discuss my thesis subject with anyone but Caitlin James. “Body positivity among different gender identities and sexual orientations.”

She nods. “Interesting.”

My cheeks feel like two scorching balls of fire.

“Maybe you can tell me all about it some day.” She must have sensed the discomfort of a girl clearly at odds with her own body researching body positivity. “I’ll let you get back to work before I have Kristin on my case.”

“Thank you so very much, Miss James,” I manage to mumble.

“Please, call me Caitlin.” She gives me a wide smile.

I don’t need a mirror to know my face is the color of a very ripe tomato.

<>

Everything Between Us will be available on 17 March 2017

Valentine’s Week Big Lesfic Sale!

Kia Ora from New Zealand! I’m feeling very romantic, adventurous and nomadic because I’m typing this from the backseat of a car, on Valentine’s day. Caroline and I left Hong Kong last Sunday and are now traveling through New Zealand, where we will stay until Easter. (I know I should be looking out of the window, but I have something great to share with you so I will avert my gaze from the rolling green hills for a few minutes.) Anyway, that’s enough about me, let’s get to the juicy subject of this email: pages and pages of lesfic on sale!

I’ve teamed up with TB Markinson and Clare Lydon, both excellent lesbian romance authors and great fellows to have on this crazy lesfic journey. All three of us have box sets on sale (only available until 19 February!). Here’s the info:

TB Markinson – A Woman Lost (Books 1-3)

[image error]This box set normally sells for $4.99 and is now available for $0.99!

– Amazon US

– Amazon UK

– Amazon CA

– Amazon AUS

– Amazon DE

Clare Lydon – All I Want (Books 1-3)

[image error]This box set normally sells for $9.99 and is now available for $1.99!

– Amazon US

– Amazon UK

– Amazon CA

– Amazon AUS

– Amazon DE

– iTunes

– Kobo

– Barnes & Noble

– Smashwords

Harper Bliss – French Kissing (Seasons 1-3)

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This box set normally sells for $8.99 and is now available for $2.99! (That’s the same price I usually sell only Season 1 for.)

– Direct from author

– Amazon US

– Amazon UK

– Amazon CA

– Amazon AUS

– Amazon DE

– Apple

– Kobo

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This boxed set contains ALL current seasons of French Kissing, totalling at 300.000 words (almost 1000 pages) of the most dramatic lesfic you can imagine.

And… here are two extra reasons to get on board the French Kissing train if you haven’t already:

1) This summer, I’m going to write the 4th Season! (Too many readers have begged me to check in with Dominique Laroche. Your wish truly is my command.)

2) I’m planning a Pink Bean/French Kissing crossover. I’m currently writing Pink Bean 4 and it’s leaving the door wide open for a visit to Paris in the (near) future. So, if you’ve been enjoying the Pink Bean series, you may want to give French Kissing a try for this bargain price and get yourself in the mood for a Sydney/Paris lesbian drama extravaganza.

GUEST BLOG: Fenced-In Felix by Cheyenne Blue

Please welcome my friend Cheyenne Blue who is here to talk about her latest novel Fenced-In Felix!

Felix Gallops In

Here I am once again, muscling my way on to Harper’s blog. Thank you, Harper. She’s obviously not sick of me just yet.

I was here in November to talk about my Aussie outback romance Not-So-Straight Sue. And now, only a month later due to the vagaries of publishing schedules, the third and final story in this series, Fenced-In Felix is now available.

We met Felix briefly in the previous book, when Sue stopped on a whim at her trail riding place to go horse-riding. Sue and Felix hooked up for a steamy encounter, and Felix was the one who broke Sue’s long Sapphic drought. Three years down the track, Felix is expanding her outback tourism business. Horses, camping and cabins. She works hard, loves where she lives, has good friends—but no lover, and no chance of one, living as she does in outback Queensland. Enter Josie, a peripatetic casual worker, and her horse, Flame. For the first time in years, Felix has a chance at love. Or does she?

While this is a series, the books all stand alone. You don’t have to have read the first two to enjoy this. Characters interconnect but you don’t need prior knowledge. Indeed, Sue and Moni play a strong supporting role in this book as Felix’s good friends. And Nora and Ger from Never-Tied Nora make a cameo. That was one of the most enjoyable parts to write.

I hope you take a moment to check out Fenced-In Felix and spend some time with Felicity (“Felix”) and Josie and their lives in outback Australia. Felix is not just about horses though. It’s a romance through and through. As well as the lesbian love, there’s a mystery surrounding Flame that pulls Felix out of her comfort zone. Also too, there are horses, kangaroos, snakes, goannas, and dogs. It’s a story of friendship, rural living, horse riding, hard work, moving on versus staying put, racehorses, mauve pants, campfires, billy tea and damper and, at the heart, whether love and trust go hand in hand.

I hope you’ll give Felix a red hot go.

Blurb

Felix Jameson is working hard to get her outback hospitality business off the ground. Building cabins, leading trail rides and enticing tourists means she hasn’t much time for distractions—and that includes romance. But when she meets Josie, a drifter who picks up casual work as she goes, Felix is intrigued and attracted.  Josie asks Felix to board her horse, Flame, and Felix is delighted. Not only can she use the extra money, but it means she will see a lot more of Josie. Felix finds Josie fits in well into her life, and for the solitary Felix there’s finally the possibility of romance. But there’s something suspicious about Flame, who bears an uncanny resemblance to a valuable stolen racehorse. Felix knows she is falling hard for Josie, but is Josie all she seems, or is she mixed up in shady dealings?

Excerpt

I had two horses to do to Josie’s one, so she finished first. She came over and rested her arms on the edge of Smoke’s stall.

“You’ve got plenty of space here. You could have half a dozen more horses.”

I bent to brush dust from Smoke’s foreleg. “Barn space, yes, but the land is poor. It barely supports the six I have now.”

“How many have you had in the past?”

“Nine was the maximum, back in the days when I took youngsters for breaking. But that was during the good years, when we had proper wet seasons.”

“Word is this year could see some good rains.”

“Let’s hope. Can never rely on it though. I’ve seen the land go for years without real rain, and I’ve seen it under a metre of flood water.”

I straightened. Josie leant on the door, fiddling with the thong on her hat.

“I want to ask you something,” she said. “Not sure what you’ll say.”

“Oh?” I tried to appear open. In truth, I had no idea what she wanted.

“I like it in Worrindi. The pub’s a good place to be. Nice people.” Her mouth crooked up at one corner. The motion was fascinating. “Believe me, that is not always the case.” Her fingers worried at the thong on the hat. “Anyway, I thought I’d stay around. A while. Maybe a lot longer, if it works out. I told you I have a horse?”

I nodded, my gaze on the restless movement of her fingers.

“I’d like to have her near. I was given her. Otherwise there’s no way I’d have bought a horse, not with my lifestyle. But she’s mine, and I’d like to have her somewhere close. Her name’s Flame.”

Flame. It conjured up a picture of a delicate, feisty horse, quick as lightning with movements of fire. But as tempting as the picture was, I knew I had to say no.

“She sounds like a beaut horse. But honestly, Josie, I don’t think I can have her here. I just don’t have the grazing. Most likely, I’m going to have to buy hay before long, and that’s very expensive.”

“I’ll pay for her agistment—I didn’t mean for you to keep her for nothing. I’ve thought about what I can afford.” She named a figure that was generous.

The money was tempting. With the extra, I could finish up the second cabin.

I shook my head. “That’s a good offer, but it’s more than you’d pay at other places. But I still don’t think I could do it if I have to buy hay.”

“If it comes to that, how about I purchase the hay for her?”

I ducked down to Smoke’s forelegs again to give myself time to think. The dollars marching through my head beat a compelling rhythm, but before I fell on Josie’s neck shrieking “yes!” I had to give this more thought.

“I’m a thirty-minute drive from Worrindi. It would cost you to drive out here, and you may not be able to come that often. I’m sure there is somewhere closer to town where you could keep her. If you want, I’ll ask—”

“No.” She leant forwards, and her face took on a strange intensity. “I want her to be here with you. If you’ll take her, that is. She’s special. I don’t want to trust her to just anyone. I can pay, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not. I trust you.” And I did. I wasn’t just saying the words. For all her nomadic ways, Josie seemed like someone I could rely on. Maybe I’d wake up one morning with a horse that didn’t belong to me and no way of contacting the owner and no money coming in—I’d heard of that happening to others—but I didn’t think so.

“I can give you a month up front. I’ll transfer it to your bank if you agree.”

It was a lot of money for someone earning minimum wage less board in a pub. Maybe she had money put aside.

“If you take her, I’ll know she’ll be well looked after. Cared for. So many places just throw a horse in a paddock and forget about it until the next bill’s due.” Her head ducked, and she glanced at me from under her hat. “And it would give me an excuse to come out here. To see you.”

It wasn’t fair of her to play the flirtation card with someone who was obviously interested.

I stood up again, with Smoke between us, and rested my hands on her withers. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay? I can’t give you an answer now. I need to think about grazing, hay, and things like that.” And about you wanting to see me again. “Will Flame be okay in with the others? I don’t think it will work if she has to be by herself.”

“I’m sure she will be. Thanks, Felix, for at least thinking about it.”

“I’ll let you know.”

She nodded, and with a quick smile, she walked off.

I watched her go, watched the sway of her backside under those mauve pants, and tried not to think about the fact that she wanted to spend time with me.

Fenced-In Felix is available now from Ylva Publishing and other retailers including:

– Amazon US

– Amazon UK

– Amazon AUS

– Amazon CA

– Smashwords

BIO

Cheyenne Blue’s fiction has been included in over ninety erotic anthologies since 2000. She is the editor of Forbidden Fruit: stories of unwise lesbian desire, a 2015 finalist for both the Lambda Literary Award and Golden Crown Literary Award, and of First: Sensual Lesbian Stories of New Beginnings.

Her collected lesbian short fiction is published as Blue Woman Stories, volumes 1-3, with more to come. The romantic Girl Meets Girl series, Never-Tied Nora, Not-So-Straight Sue and Fenced-In Felix are out now from Ylva Publishing.

Cheyenne has lived in the U.K., Ireland, the United States, and Switzerland, but now writes, runs, makes bread and cheese, and drinks wine in rural Queensland, Australia. Check out her blog at www.cheyenneblue.com and follow her on Twitter at @IamCheyenneBlue and on Goodreads at goodreads.com/CheyenneBlue

No Strings Attached is on sale!

Seeing as this is my first blog post of 2017, I would like to wish you all a very happy new year! May you always be treated with respect and find a lot of joy in reading lesfic.

NEW RELEASE: Beneath the Surface

I’m very excited for two reasons! First: to have one final release before the end of the year. Second: that the book in question is Book #2 in my Pink Bean series! Not only do we return to Sydney, but we also go back in time in this book… to the very beginning of Kristin and Sheryl’s relationship. This kind of makes it a Pink Bean origin story, if you will.

One of the questions I get asked the most is to write a story about a long-term couple who have withstood the test of time and Kristin and Sheryl gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. This makes the book a complete standalone (and the Pink Bean only gets founded quite late in the story) but it was very entertaining to delve into these two ladies’ pasts.

A word of warning: this book is not as light-hearted as No Strings Attached (Pink Bean – Book One). If you read No Strings Attached and look at the cover of Beneath the Surface it’s pretty easy to put two and two together and guess at the theme of this book. Kristin and Sheryl have a rough ride but, of course (mild spoiler alert ;-p), as always in my books, a happy ending is what it’s all about.

This book is all about the sacrifices we make for love and how it sometimes, almost unnoticed, can begin to slip away.

Here’s the blurb:

The path of true love never did run straight.

Twenty years ago, Kristin Park and Sheryl Johnson were brought together by wine. Is wine also what will tear them apart today?

Beneath the Surface goes back in time to the moment Kristin and Sheryl first meet, and offers a revelatory glimpse into the ups and downs of their seemingly perfect relationship.

Grab a cup of coffee—or a glass of wine—and find out what really happens behind the closed doors of The Pink Bean.

Don’t miss this brand new instalment, and origin story, of best-selling lesbian romance author Harper Bliss’ much-loved Pink Bean series.

Available as ebook from

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon CA

Amazon AUS

Amazon DE

Available as paperback from

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Add it to your Goodreads shelf >>

P.S. A few days ago I finished the first draft of Pink Bean – Book Three! (It’s one of those books that just tumbled out of me.) This means you won’t have to wait very long for the next instalment in the series. Yay!

Limited Time May/December Lesbian Romance Box Set

Early Christmas treat alert! We’ve put together a very nicely priced boxed set of my two May/December romance novels Seasons of Love and In the Distance There Is Light, plus four cougar-themed short stories!

When you count up the words, this boxed set totals around 140.000 words (442 pages) and you can get it for the crazy Christmas price of $3.99 (or the equivalent in your currency.) The current retail price of Seasons of Love is $4.99 and $5.99 for In the Distance There Is Light so even if you’ve read either one, it’s still a pretty great deal.

There is one big caveat: this boxed set will only be available for one month! On 15 January 2017 it will disappear from Amazon (but will, of course, remain on your Kindles or other eReaders!)

You have one month to fill up your Kindle with a whole lot of May/December romance!

Here are the Amazon links (the bundle is FREE in Kindle Unlimited!):

– Amazon US

– Amazon UK

– Amazon CA

– Amazon AUS

– Amazon DE

– Amazon FR

Enjoy!

P.S. Don’t forget: this box set will disappear forever on 15 January 2017. Don’t wait to snap up your copy!

Preview ‘Beneath the Surface’

My new novel Beneath the Surface (Pink Bean – Book Two) will be out in 10 days. Here’s a preview. Enjoy!

Beneath the Surface

© Harper Bliss

PART 1: 1997

CHAPTER ONE

Sheryl checked her watch. She’d told Aimee repeatedly she didn’t have time to chat, but Aimee, her boss, never listened. She just talked. And when Aimee talked, Sheryl had to listen. But Sheryl could hardly be holier than thou about running late. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a very persistent tendency to be tardy for many appointments, no matter how hard she tried to manage her time properly. But this was not an appointment to be late for. When Sterling Wines agrees to sponsor your fundraising party, you have to show your gratitude by, at the very least, showing up before the delivery guy arrives.

Sheryl rounded the corner and jogged into the laneway that held the back entrance to the party venue for the next day. She didn’t see anyone waiting for her. She relaxed her pace to a brisk walk and felt for the door key in her pocket. She breathed a sigh of relief: she’d made it on time to accept the generous wine delivery. The other women on the organizing committee would be there soonish to help stock the refrigerators with the about-to-be delivered wine, but Sheryl was in charge of smooth acceptance of the goods. She, Sheryl Johnson, who didn’t drink a drop of alcohol, who didn’t know the faintest thing about wines and their grapes of origin and what made them palatable, had been in charge of procuring the sponsorship.

Just as she inserted the key into the lock, a white van pulled up at the entrance of the laneway. She looked as a man dressed much like herself—jeans and a T-shirt—jumped out, followed by a woman whose pale gray skirt suit didn’t exactly indicate she’d come to help unload the boxes.

Sheryl had only spoken to Miss Park on the phone. She had no real reason to be present for a simple wine delivery. Sheryl straightened her posture as the woman walked toward her while the man opened the side door of the van and started unloading boxes onto a trolley.

“Miss Johnson,” the woman said, hand extended. “I’m Kristin Park.” She gave Sheryl a quick once-over and followed up with a smile that seemed to show a little appreciation for the way Sheryl had clinched a sponsorship deal worth a few hundred dollars—a fortune for the LAUS.

“Very nice to meet you, Miss Park,” Sheryl tipped her head and took Kristin’s hand in hers. Very nice indeed. She let her gaze linger a little longer than was perhaps socially acceptable in a situation like this. Sheryl couldn’t in good faith claim her gaydar was alerting her to something, but of course Miss Park knew exactly what kind of event her company was sponsoring.

“We’re trying to make inroads with the lesbian community as well as with the gay one,” she’d said when Sheryl had first called up the marketing department of Australia’s largest wine distributor. How very advanced of you, Sheryl had thought, while her eyes rolled all the way to the back of her head. But she knew she had to be grateful because, even though things were slowly shifting—and Mardi Gras was turning into a celebration more than a march for rights every year that passed—not every company would be willing to sponsor this Mardi Gras fundraising party that the university’s lesbian association was throwing.

“And you,” Miss Park said, “please call me Kristin.” Was she responding to Sheryl’s glance? To the way she narrowed her eyes and pulled the corner of her mouth into a hint of a smile—not too much so as not to offend?

“How very nice of you to come all the way down here.” Sheryl tried a full-on smile now.

“It’s no trouble,” Kristin said. “Just a good excuse to get out of the office on a Friday afternoon.”

“Would you like to inspect the venue where your wares will be served?” Sheryl gestured at the open door. Meanwhile, the delivery man had piled boxes onto his trolley and was rolling it in their direction.

“Sure.” Kristin followed Sheryl inside.

Sheryl flipped on the lights. The venue was small—especially compared to where the boys partied—and Sheryl hoped it would be packed tomorrow. She eyed the room. They had a lot of work to do before then. But Sheryl got that tingling feeling deep inside her belly that it would be good. Excitement mixed with a sense of contributing to her community. The concept of Gay Pride wasn’t foreign to her. If anything, it was the only thing she hadn’t struggled with throughout her formative years. When everything else was going to hell, Sheryl always had that to hold on to. That and the fact she wasn’t born ten years earlier. That she had come of age in the eighties, when LGBT youth groups started popping up in Sydney—an agonizing one-hour bus ride from Campbelltown where she lived with her father, who didn’t much care what she was up to, anyway.

Sheryl had found her community early on and it had made her thrive, of that she was sure. Now it was time to give back. Out of gratitude for the people who had come before her and battled for her rights in a way she would never have to, and for everyone who was less fortunate than her. The women’s studies department of the University of Sydney where she was doing her PhD was a veritable paradise for lesbians.

“I can see the potential,” Kristin said, snapping Sheryl out of her reverie.

Sheryl plastered the most seductive grin on her face she could muster and turned to Kristin. “Your name is on the guest list, of course. You’re very welcome to come see for yourself how Sydney’s lesbians are enjoying your wine.”

Kristin gave a nervous laugh—the first sign of her being nervous at all. “Maybe I will,” she said.

“I’ll look out for you.” Sheryl had to stop herself from winking.

“Where do you want these?” the delivery man asked.

“Just over there by the bar, please,” Sheryl said, and the moment had passed. Though she had a sneaking suspicion Kristin might very well show up tomorrow night. “I’ll give you a hand.” Sheryl helped unload the boxes from the trolley so the man could go for the next round in the van while, from the corner of her eye, she watched Kristin walk about the venue. She stood where the dance floor would be, and Sheryl tried to picture her dancing under the pulsating light, wondered if she danced at all. Maybe she would find out tomorrow. Maybe.

* * *

Kristin paced in front of her bedroom mirror. She hadn’t planned to go to this party. She hadn’t even planned to escort the wine delivery yesterday afternoon. Sterling Wines sponsored many events. If she accompanied every delivery, she wouldn’t get any actual work done. But Sheryl Johnson had sent her a leaflet with the Lesbian Association of the University of Sydney’s mission statement and a group picture of the women who ran it. She’d read the names underneath the picture with great interest, hoping she’d come across Sheryl, whose deep, warm voice she’d only heard on the phone.

When she reached Sheryl, crouching in the bottom left corner of the picture, she’d found herself uttering a little appreciative sound in the back of her throat. That wide, confident smile. Those light blue eyes. Kristin didn’t really know what her type was, although, as she approached thirty, she was quite certain her type was female and not male. The image of Sheryl combined with her voice had convinced her to call up Ari in the warehouse and ask him to wait for her so she could tag along on the delivery for the LAUS.

And now there she stood. Kristin didn’t like parties with loud, thumping music. Places where people were ogled and scored for how they looked. She had plenty of suitable attire for the many work receptions she had to attend, but what on earth did one wear at a lesbian party? And would there only be women? She’d felt a warm rush of something travel through her when Sheryl suggested she come to the party, as though she had somehow known that Kristin was only there that afternoon to meet her in the flesh.

Goodness, she was being silly. She wasn’t going to that party. She really didn’t have anything to wear. This was not what she did. Which was exactly the reason Kristin hadn’t extensively tested her newfound self-awareness—or was it acceptance?—that no man would ever do to her what a woman could.

She’d gone on a couple of dates with women who had advertised in the classifieds’ section of Lesbians on the Loose. One of them had been quite nice. Maybe not exactly what Kristin was looking for, but really, how could she possibly know what she was looking for? She and Petra had gone out a couple of times, had sort of hit it off, and Kristin had—foolishly—believed that was it.

She was sleeping with a woman for the first time in her life, and even though the sky didn’t come crashing down, it was infinitely more pleasurable to be touched by a woman’s hands than by a man’s. Because Kristin didn’t know any better, she believed she had found The One. Until, only five dates into their short-lived affair, Petra told her it wouldn’t work out. Kristin’s heart wasn’t broken, but the rejection stung enough to have her retreat. She even, if only for a split second, considered going back to men because it would be so much easier. Her parents would be happy, for one. Now they—almost silently—tolerated that Kristin wasn’t even engaged to be married on the cusp of her thirtieth birthday.

Kristin looked at herself in the mirror again. She had to go. She could call Cassie and ask her to join. Kristin knew Cassie would do that for her. Apart from the women Kristin had furtively dated, Cassie was her only friend who knew about her wanting to be with women.

“Don’t be such a coward,” she said to her reflection. “You’re not like this. You’re not like this at all.” Kristin had found that saying things out loud to herself worked toward spurring her into action. It wasn’t enough to think it or whisper it. The thought had to be voiced as loud and combative as possible. She conjured up Sheryl’s smile. Had she known that Kristin was a lesbian? Kristin didn’t think she looked like one at all, though it was starting to dawn on her, perhaps lesbians came in all shapes and sizes. Ha. What a novel idea. So what had given her away? The way she carried herself? Just her being there? Or perhaps Sheryl was just guessing. Perhaps she had even been engaging in some wishful thinking?

“I’m going to this party,” Kristin said out loud. “I’m a grown woman. Four measly days away from turning thirty. I am going to that lesbian party.” She took a deep breath, dug out a pair of jeans she didn’t often wear and a red blouse from her closet, applied a minimal amount of makeup, and went on her way.

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Beneath the Surface will be available on 23 December 2016