Dani Collins's Blog, page 46

#SampleSunday - Vows Of Revenge (5)

How was your week? Ours was a little stressful when smoke filled the valley, but all is well again for the moment.

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In fact, last night I even got a fresh perspective of our lake and valley when a friend invited me for a Ladies' Night at her new house. Here's the view from her deck.

It was a little cool, however, which always makes me sad. I really love summer and don't complain (much) about the heat. When the nights begin to cool, I really feel the approach of fall.

I know some of you will already have children back in school. Ours (in BC, Canada) always start on the Tuesday after Labour Day, so we're still two weeks away. But my youngest is entering Grade Twelve this year. This time next year we'll be empty-nesters! It's hard to fathom.

Okay, let's get to your #SampleSunday.

SampleSunday

If you missed the previous posts, they're here:

Melodie arrives to plan a wedding
Roman doesn't plan to get married, ever
Roman realizes who she is and plots his revenge
Melodie has a fall from grace

Last week I skipped ahead a bit. Here's what immediately follows Melodie's tumble:

~ * ~

ONCE MELODIE REALIZED her fall was inevitable, she let it happen, only splaying out her arms and holding her breath. Above her, through the rippled water, three blurry faces stared. Roman was throwing off his jacket and looking as if he might dive in.

She let herself sink, waited until her foot tapped the bottom, then kicked herself back to the surface.

What an idiotic thing to do!

But that damned Roman had been throwing her for a complete loop, being all masculine and sexy, sending mixed messages of lust and disapproval, hovering next to her like a raptor, smelling tangy and male. She’d been standing next to him, admiring his build, thinking his voice was too hypnotic, when he’d reached toward her as if he knew she was there, as if he was a lover searching for the hand of his mate.

Her reaction had been startled fear that she’d betray how thoroughly he was affecting her if he touched her. She’d jerked back and…

“Pah!” she spat as she came up for air. “You might want to change the design of that grate before the wedding. Either that or we advise all the women to skip the stilettoes and wear flip-flops.”

Ingrid and Huxley laughed unreservedly. Roman wore a more severe look.

It wasn’t easy to tread water in a narrow skirt. Her second shoe came off as she kicked toward the edge.

Roman squatted as she reached for the lip of the pool. His strong hand grasped her forearm, dragging her closer whether she wanted his help or not. His other hand got hold of her opposite arm and he pulled her up and out of the pool as though she was a teensy ballerina, not a five foot ten mermaid pushing a hundred and thirty pounds. Soaking wet, she added with a private cringe.

Water sluiced off her and she rather wished he had let her take stock before landing her in front of him, dripping and plastered with wet clothes, not a single thing left to the imagination. Her make-up had to be running and— Okay, good. Her pearls were still here, but seriously. She felt absurd.

She crossed her arms to hide the way her nipples hardened and risked a quick sweep of her gaze around the faces goggling at her. Ingrid was still snickering, hand cupped over her mouth while her eyes danced with laughter.

“What on earth, Mel?” she asked.

“You left your shoe on the bottom, Cinderella,” Huxley teased, moving to where a large net lay against the low garden wall.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Melodie grumbled, mortified but able to laugh at herself. It was so ludicrous.

Roman didn’t seem to think it was funny, though. He was staring at her so hard her wet clothes should have been nuked off her body.

“May I have a towel?” she prompted.

“Of course.” He snapped into motion.

“Oh! I have a bathing suit you can wear,” Ingrid exclaimed. “I bought it yesterday and left it in my bag.” She disappeared into the house and Melodie shook her head. It was far too late for swimwear.

She followed Roman into the nearby cabana where he turned with a towel in his hand. His gaze raked down her again, making her acutely aware of how her clothes were suctioned to her like a second skin. She plucked at her knit top, which only stretched the neckline and ruined it.

Roman came forward, shaking out the towel and slinging it around her. He was so tall it was no problem at all for him to get it around her.

Her heart did another somersault and his musky scent stole through the air of chlorine as his wide chest filled her vision. Weakness attacked her.

“I—” It would be silly to apologize. She hadn’t fallen on purpose, but he looked so thunderous. “Thank you,” was all she could manage as he drew the edges of the towel to where her waiting fingers brushed his.

“When you sank like that, I thought I was going to have to come in after you.”

“It was quite refreshing, to be honest. I needed to cool off.”

She shouldn’t have said that. The sexual tension she was fighting became something they both had to acknowledge, like it was a real thing holding them in its vortex.

She found herself staring at his mouth, anticipating its feel against hers. Kisses were about as far as she went these days after losing her virginity for all the wrong reasons. Even kisses, however, always seemed to fall short of the hype. She always felt as though she was going through the motions, not really losing herself to the experience. If she couldn’t get caught up in that much, there was no use going further, she’d decided.

But she remained ever hopeful that she’d find a man who made things different. Today, at least, she wanted to be kissed. Deep longing filled her, making her ache to know how it would feel to kiss the man before her.

Distantly she was aware of his hand grasping her upper arm. He stepped closer. His head tilted.

She should have been startled, but it felt so natural. She dampened her lips. Parted them. And gasped when he branded her with the heat of his mouth.

So hot, so smooth and commanding, instantly hungry. Claiming her like a desert warrior stealing her for his harem. His hand splayed in a firm pressure behind her tailbone, bringing her imperiously into the wall of his muscled frame.

Heat burned through her wet clothing, sealing them tight with only the friction of dampened fabric between them.

He kissed her as though he meant it. As though he was making sure she’d never forget this moment. As though she was his and he was ensuring she knew it.

She kissed him back with the same passion, not thinking of anything beyond exploring this new pleasure. Letting him have her because what he was doing to her was fresh and exciting and incredible. His kiss made her feel desired. His tongue touched hers and shivers of delight stung her skin. A flood of arousal seared between her thighs, urged her to lean into him and let a moan of pleasure fill her throat.

“Here you are—oh!” Ingrid said on a breathless burst, then laughed with embarrassed hysteria.

Roman jerked back, keeping one hand on Melodie’s arm to steady her. His firm grip hadn’t hurt her, but his touch left a tingling impression. She massaged the spot, trying to dispel the odd vibration while she noted the front of his clothing wore her moist imprint.

“I’ll come back,” Ingrid offered, grin mischievous.

“No,” Roman blurted, brushing past Ingrid as he moved swiftly out of the cabana.

Ingrid, nearly doubled over she was laughing so hard, she stepped and pulled the curtain across. “O. M. G,” she said with exaggerated significance, eyes huge.

Melodie dropped her burning face into her damp hands, eyes closed in mortification. “I don’t know how that happened,” she groaned.

“Oh, please,” Ingrid chortled. “He’s Roman Killian. You should see what the office looks like when it’s announced he’ll be in. It’s like a red carpet event, there are so many women wearing push up bras and designer labels. I’m not the least bit surprised you—pun intended—fell for him.”

“No, I haven’t…” Melodie tried to protest, but her bones were still weak, and if Roman had walked back in and told her to come with him, she would have gone without a second thought.

“Don’t bother,” Ingrid instructed with a shake of her head. “If I hadn’t been crushing on Huxley my entire life, I would have fallen for Roman. He’s gorgeous. What intrigues me, though,” Ingrid lowered her voice to murmur, sidling closer with a little wiggle of excitement across her shoulders, “is the way he is falling for you.”

Melodie shook her head. “You’re mistaken—”

~ * ~

Next week is our last #SampleSunday for VOWS OF REVENGE. I'll start a new series mid-November for my Harlequin Presents Duet that will be releasing in January and February. I've been impatiently waiting for the covers for those so I can share them. Hopefully I'll have them for my newsletter going out Sept 1st.

Want to join my newsletter? Click here and get Cruel Summer, a free short story ebook, as a welcome gift.

As I said above, Vows Of Revenge is available (print version) on Amazon now. You can get the ebook on the Mills & Boon's website now or you can pre-order it here:

Amazon: US | CA | UK | AUS

Nook | Kobo | iBooks | BAM | GooglePlay | Harlequin | Mills & Boon

My plans for the rest of August involve writing some proposals for new stories. Then I'll spend the rest of the year hunkered down, writing them. How are you going to spend these last days of summer?

#SampleSunday - Vows Of Revenge (4)

Good morning! How have you been this week? I've been working on what will be my fourteenth Presents and when I'm this close to The End, I get tunnel vision. Emails, banking, housework... It all goes to the wayside. But I'm anxious to finish because I have lots of other things I want to start. It's the circle of life for a romance author!

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How has your summer been going? We've had some really worrisome fires here in BC the last few days. They've kept their distance from us, although one is burning in the pass that my husband drives to work every day. He's been taking his passport because there is a risk they might close the highway. The only way back would be to drive through the States and fingers-crossed he could because the US is having their share of wildfires too.

Don't panic. This is a sunset, not flames, but it looked so dramatic I couldn't help taking a snap. We were expecting thunderstorms last night (and got a little rain, thank goodness!) but the build of clouds with the smoke billowing beneath them was quite ominous so I thought I'd share here.

Some of you have probably seen the pictures of our lake that I post regularly on Facebook. this is the view off our back deck and on a typical day, that lake is a beautiful blue and we can see the mountains far into the distance. this red haze is the continuation of the cloud above. I just kept walking outside thinking, "Rain, already!" You can see how dry it's been.

But you're here for #SampleSunday, aren't you?

SampleSunday

If you missed the previous posts, they're here:

Melodie arrives to plan a wedding
Roman doesn't plan to get married, ever
Roman realizes who she is and plots his revenge

Here I've skipped ahead a bit. Melodie has returned to Roman's house with her clients, Ingrid and Huxley, to finalize details about the wedding:

~ * ~

The conversation moved on to contacts and wedding arrangements. Iced coffees replaced the white wine everyone had sipped with lunch. Huxley said something about the dock and took Ingrid to inspect it.

Melodie made no move to follow, choosing instead to shift forward slightly and remove her sweater, revealing a matching sleeveless top that clung lovingly to her breasts as she twisted to drape the sweater over the back of her chair.

“I didn’t expect it to be this warm. It’s fall at home. Quite wet and chilly.” She sat straight and, as if she felt the chill across the Atlantic, her nipples rose against the pale lemon of her top.

A base male fantasy of baring those breasts formed in his mind. He saw pink tips resembling cherries melting off scoops of ice cream. He wasn’t a breast man per se, but the languid image of caressing and licking the swells, working his way to the sweet, shiny niblet at the peak, was so tangible he had to part his thighs to accommodate the pool of erotic heat that poured into his groin.

At the same time he realized conversation had stopped. She was very still.

He lazily brought his gaze up and realized she’d caught him blatantly ogling her. A strange jolt hit him like an electrical charge, deep in his gut and far stronger than a zing of static. It was like a full current that reverberated in his chest, making his heart skip a beat and his abdomen tighten.

Her blue eyes held his, fathomless and not the least offended. In fact, her reaction to his masculine interest was arousal. He’d seen it in the tightening of her nipples and read it now in the confused shimmer of excitement and indecision expanding her pupils. Her lashes quivered, eyes shiny, and the tip of her tongue wet her lips.

The pull between his thighs became more insistent. He wondered if he had ever experienced a more carnal moment.

She swallowed and jerked her gaze from his as though it was a physical wrench of muscle from bone.

He mentally berated himself for letting her see his interest, highly irritated by how easily she had got to him. It was time to drop the ax.

“Does, um, he come around the office much?” she asked, gaze scanning restlessly toward the water. “Are you used to their displays?”

Who? he almost growled, then remembered two other people were here. Ingrid and Huxley. They held hands and bumped shoulders as they staggered, love drunk, across the sand.

Roman was behaving almost as inebriated, forgetting they were even here, manufacturing lurid fantasies of possessing a woman too lethal to imbibe. He tried to shrug away the strongest wave of sexual attraction he’d ever felt and almost wondered if she’d slipped him something.

“He might, but I don’t,” he replied belatedly, forcing his mind back to the conversation. “The whole point in being on the cutting edge of technology is to use it.” He chinned upward to his office, rebaiting his hook. “I often telecommute.”

“And Ingrid is your avatar in New York?” she guessed.

That took him by surprise. He almost chuckled, then caught himself, dismayed by how easily she kept disarming him. He eyed her, searching for the source of her power. “I hadn’t looked at it that way. I suppose she is.”

“Working from home always seemed so ideal to me,” she mused, propping her chin on her hand. “But now I’m doing it, I find I’m becoming a workaholic, never letting it go. I keep sitting down for one more thing and losing another two hours.”

“You live alone, then,” he said, picking up what he thought she wanted him to deduce. It shouldn’t please him to hear she was single. She was nothing to him, certainly not a woman he’d bed. Not in these circumstances. Perhaps his libido found her leggy build stimulating. That faint scent of citrus and roses emanating from her skin was pure seduction, but as much as he hated her family and wanted revenge, he wouldn’t stoop to grudge sex. He didn’t intend to touch her.

She could go ahead and offer herself, though. Rejecting her advances would make for a delightful twist. He wondered if she’d take this game of hers that far and decided he would make it easy for her to humiliate herself.

A pulse of expectancy tugged at him.

This was a chess match, not a flirtation, he reminded himself.

“I do,” she answered, fingertips grazing the pearls at her throat where he thought he saw her pulse fibrillating. Her glance went to the house. He suspected she was mentally recalling whether she’d seen evidence of a paramour in there. She hadn’t. He kept his companions out of his private space.

“Me too,” he provided.

Melodie’s flushed cheeks darkened with a deeper blush as she cut a glance toward him, perhaps trying to work out whether his remark was a signal of attraction.

There was no use pretending otherwise. She’d already caught him lusting so he let her see that, yes, something in him found her appealing. He didn’t understand how it could happen when he held her in such contempt, but he rather enjoyed the fact that she was so disconcerted by her own response as she read his interest. Her reaction was too visceral to be fake, which was probably why he was aroused by it.

It was a bad case of misguided chemistry. She certainly wasn’t desirable to his rational mind, but maybe it was the risk of the situation that he found compelling. He’d developed a taste for plundering in his early years. Not of women. He was actually very cautious with how he approached relationships, but he loved finessing his way past defenses, exposing closely guarded secrets. He liked to prove he could. It filled him with enormous satisfaction.

“Where is home?” he asked. He’d read the answer yesterday, but he liked seeing how his attention put her in a state of conflicted sexual awareness.

“Virginia,” she answered, smile not sticking. “For now. I’m considering a move to New York though.”

“Don’t bother,” he said instinctively, then closed his mouth in distaste at reacting so revealingly. “It’s a perfectly livable city, but I don’t care for it,” he said in explanation. “More than my share of unpleasant memories,” he added, to see if she’d pick up that the filthiest ones involved her family. Others were so heartbreaking he pushed them to the furthest reaches of his mind.

She only murmured, “I feel like that about Virginia.”

Her tone exactly reflected his feelings, as though she’d opened the curtain and stepped inside the narrow space where he stored his soul. It was so disturbing he bristled, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Her wrinkled brow relaxed and she forced a cheerful smile. “I need a fresh start. And you’ve inspired me now with your talk of telecommuting. Tell me how you manage it. Ingrid said you’re a global company, so I assume you travel a lot? I expect I will, too, as I become more established. What are the pitfalls and best practices?”

She was very smooth in her way of bringing the conversation back to his business. He had to admire her for her dogged stealth.

“The happy couple is returning,” he noted, avoiding answering by directing her attention to where Ingrid and Huxley had stopped at the far end of the pool, admiring the view of the beach.

Ingrid glanced at him and he inferred that a consultation was requested.

He stood and held Melodie’s chair, getting another eyeful of her breasts, not intentionally, but he was a man and they were right there.

Her sultry cloud of scent filled his nostrils, imprinting him with the image of marble and turquoise and sunlight off dishes so he would never forget this moment of standing here, her lithe frame straightening before him. She had a slender waist and hips he longed to grip so he could press forward, bend her to his will, cover and possess. He had to school himself against setting a proprietary hand on her back as they moved to where the bride and groom were debating logistics.

What the hell was it about her?

She moved with remarkable grace, he noted. Not so much skinny as long limbed. A thoroughbred. Not a mutt like he was. If he didn’t have so much contempt for her bloodline, he might have questioned whether he was good enough for her.

Instead, he was the one with ethics while her sort wore an air of superiority that was only a surface veneer of respectability provided by old money.

Perhaps she wasn’t overt about thinking herself better than those around her, not the way her father had been, and perhaps she didn’t act entitled, but she was among her own with Ingrid and Huxley. She took it for granted she was accepted. He couldn’t help but appreciate that confidence.

“Would the guests moor here overnight?” Huxley asked.

“That’s up to Mr. Killian,” Melodie deferred, turning to him.

“Roman, please,” he said dryly. She could use his first name until he made his position clear, which would be about five minutes from now. “There’s a shoal to be wary of,” he said to Huxley, stepping forward so he could point.

He was fully aware of Melodie’s proximity to his own. He had no intention of bumping her and actually reached out absently to ensure he didn’t.

Melodie was the one who recoiled in surprise, taking a hasty step backward.

He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, heard her squeak of shock and snatched again, more deliberately.

She was already tipping backward. He missed her, tried again. Their fingertips brushed, but he failed to catch her.

Her face pulled into a cringe as she fell backward into the deep end of the pool.

Roman stepped back from the splash and stared at her one shoe caught in the grate.

~ * ~

I wanted to get you to that part because it makes me laugh every time I read it. I don't know why, but I hope you enjoyed it, too!

The print copies of Vows Of Revenge will be available in a couple of days on Amazon, but you can grab the ebook now on the Mills & Boon's website or you can pre-order it here:

Amazon: US | CA | UK | AUS

Nook | Kobo | iBooks | BAM | GooglePlay | Harlequin | Mills & Boon

Have a great week!

#SampleSunday - Vows Of Revenge (3)

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How was your week? Mine was great! Not that anything big happened. It was typical routine which I think is why it made me so happy. I like to feel productive and I managed seven thousand new words on Vittorio this week. A nice win!

Available Now from Mills & Boon

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Actually, I tell a lie. There was a small drama this week when MrC pulled a muscle in his shoulder. Initially he didn't think it was a big deal, but when the pain became excruciating, he wondered if it was a heart attack. (It wasn't. He's fully recovered now.) But he had me drive him into the hospital and we saw this lovely sunset along the way. Yes, I pulled over to capture it. We were pretty darned sure it was not a heart attack.

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Let's get to your #SampleSunday!

SampleSunday

If you missed the previous posts, they're here:

Melodie arrives to plan a wedding
Roman doesn't plan to get married, ever

Here Roman discovers who Melodie's father is and begins to plot his revenge:

~ * ~

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Heat climbed up her chest into her throat.

“Nothing.”

She licked her lips and moved along the balcony toward the outer stairs, trying to escape the moment of silly make-believe, but now that it was in her head she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to live with this savagely beautiful man.

Hard, she thought. But the right woman might be able to soften him.

The stairs descended in a curve to the area beside the pool. She stopped at the top and waved behind herself.

“She’ll have a train. We’ll fan it out here.” She twisted as she indicated the puddle of imaginary silk and lace. Lifting her gaze, looking back over her shoulder at him like this, was a bad idea. She was too far into the dream, unguarded and vulnerable. She had accidentally left herself open to his reading her thoughts. Her entire body became paralyzed in a kind of thrilled panic, as though he’d happened upon her naked, but she wasn’t afraid or ashamed. She was a nymph caught by a god.

He went statue-still.

Her phone looked small in his hand, clicking, but practically forgotten as he looked past it and kept his eyes on her, taking his time as he toured her shoulder blades and waist and bottom and legs. The term ‘brutally handsome’ came into her head and she understood it for the first time in her life. Roman was so gorgeous it was an assault to the senses, squeezing her lungs and pulsing heat under her skin.

He frightened her, but she wanted him to pursue her. It didn’t make sense, but from everything she’d heard about hormones, they were never big on logic. They were the opposite and hers were responding unusually well to him. That was what frightened her. Not him, per se, but her reaction to him.

He abruptly glanced at his watch. “Ingrid has been delayed,” he said, touching the device. “She thinks she sprained her wrist. She’s at the clinic and asks if we can reschedule.”

*

He could have asked Melodie to stay for lunch, but he didn’t. He had his driver take her back to her hotel. He wanted time to consider how he was reacting to her before pursuing her openly.

Powerfully was the answer to how he was reacting. Taking her photo had been an excuse to study her and he hadn’t seen a single thing he didn’t like. And even though he was far beyond getting hot over photos of women, clothed or not, for some reason he’d been fixated as he had watched her pose. There was definitely a strong sexual attraction between them, but more than that, he’d found her magnetic.

Why?

He shook off his perplexity as he pressed his thumb pad to the sensor in his office and tapped the screen, bringing up the security report he’d ignored earlier.

He swore aloud as the contents became clear.

Apparently the experts were right. He was a security genius, if late to the party this once. The myriad details that his gatekeeper and even his own eyes had missed had been refined by his closed circuit camera and proprietary software, filtered against online content, then tagged to warn him of an attack even more insidious than the one he’d suffered all those years ago.

A handful of matches had come up. He glanced through them, stomach knotting. The surname comparison could be dismissed as coincidental. Melodie had given his guard the name Parnell, which had been tagged to Parnell-Gautier. Two and a half decades ago, a model named Patience Parnell had hyphenated to Parnell-Gautier when she married.

He flicked to a dated glamor shot from a defunct fashion magazine. Patience stared at him, young and nubile, her gamin face bearing a striking resemblance to Melodie’s big eyes and wide mouth. And there she was holding a baby girl named Charmaine. Not Melodie, but the date would put the baby into her early twenties today, precisely the age Melodie appeared to be.

Roman had met Patience once, very briefly, he recalled now. But he’d never considered her a direct threat because she’d gone into some kind of medical care several years ago.

His war, Roman had always believed, was with Anton Gautier and Anton’s father, Garner Gautier. Aside from one recent photograph, the daughter hadn’t been linked publically to either man since childhood.

He studied the photograph from a newsfeed dated two months ago. Melodie’s profile from her approach in the taxi today had been set against the profile in the news piece where a backlit woman, wearing a black hat with a netted veil, stood next to her American senator father as he bowed his head over a casket. Behind them stood Anton. The caption mentioned that Patience Parnell-Gautier was survived by her loving husband, stepson and daughter, Charmaine M. Parnell-Gautier.

How vile and just like Gautier to send his second spawn into Roman’s house like this. To use his PA’s mother to infiltrate his home.

He immediately dismissed any thought that Ingrid could be in on the scheme. She’d proven her loyalty again and again over the years. And it had been his idea to host the wedding, not hers. High society circles were small and tight. She had connections he didn’t. He wouldn’t care about being accepted at that level if it weren’t for the fact that it was the one area the Gautiers had an advantage on him. He’d volunteered his home to even the playing field.

What he couldn’t understand was how Melodie had captivated him to the point that he’d ignored the security alert rather than read it and ordered her off his property. He wasn’t so uncivilized he’d have had her thrown out the way he’d been physically expelled from her father’s campaign office twelve years ago. Battered and kicked so badly he could barely walk away. Anton had been the thief, but Garner had had the power to turn it around and call Roman the criminal. He’d had the power to ruin Roman, which he had.

A red haze of fury rose with the recollection. He would not allow the Gautiers to play him again. Rage urged him to hurt them, deeply, for daring to try.

Despite being a man who actively sublimated everything resembling feelings, he found himself able to taste delicious vengeance on the tip of his tongue. He’d been longing to get back at this family for years, biding his time, wanting to first overtake Gautier Enterprises in the arena that would cause them the most discomfort: financial.

For years, their two companies had been neck and neck in a two-horse race, both improving on the same software that he, Roman, originally had written and that Anton had convinced him his father would back. Instead, the men had stolen his product, finished it, then made a mint while Roman had scraped by for another five years, rebuilding everything he’d lost and finally entering the marketplace so far behind them he’d despaired of ever catching up.

Finally, early last year, he had begun to see parity. It wasn’t enough. Not for him. He’d risked everything and had thrown all his resources behind completely re-engineered software. The gamble had paid off. Corporations were dropping the dated, Gautier knock-off and stampeding to Roman’s new, far superior product.

Gautier’s bottom line had to be feeling the pinch by now. It followed that they would send in a scout, thinking to once again steal what they wanted and step back into the top position.

Like hell.

Roman wasn’t just going to win this time. He would send a message to the Gautiers they would never forget. He would crush them into nothing, starting by flattening their emissary without a shred of mercy.

His first instinct was to have Ingrid fire Melodie immediately, but he forced himself to more cool-headed contemplation. The Gautiers had let Roman believe he was on the path to success right up to the moment when they explained his services with the software design were no longer needed and they would be taking possession of his ticket to a better life.

Therefore, he would ensure he had another wedding planner in place, so there was no inconvenience to Ingrid. Melodie would lose her contract and any chance of continuing in that field. Nice of her to drop the detail that it was a new venture, he reflected. He didn’t think for a moment she was serious about making a career of wedding planning, but as with any con artist’s ruse, the Gautiers would have put funds behind making it seem real. He was glad to at least cost them their investment.

A few investigative keystrokes later, he saw that Melodie lived alone. Surprisingly modestly, he noted. So had he, back in the day, but he’d still lost his home and all he owned. He knew that his eye-for-an-eye retribution wouldn’t have the same impact. Melodie would simply run home to Daddy, but it was the right message, so he started the wheels rolling on getting her kicked out.

The final touch would be the simple, crystal-clear message that they’d failed. The sweetest retaliation of all.

~ * ~

Somehow I broke in weird places for the first two posts. If only I could blame an incompetent Virtual Assistant, but it's all me! The rest will be better, I promise.

If you're enjoying Vows Of Revenge, you can get it now fromMills & Boon or pre-order here:

Amazon: US | CA | UK | AUS

Nook | Kobo | iBooks | BAM | GooglePlay | Harlequin | Mills & Boon

Newsletter & Free eBook

My latest newsletter went out this week. If you haven't read it yet, I won't spoil anything, just let you know there are some exclusive peeks into my Jan/Feb duet in there. If you're not subscribed, I'm giving away this short ebook, Cruel Summer, when you subscribe. (You can unsubscribe any time.)

Get Cruel Summer!

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Have a great week!

#SampleSunday - Vows Of Revenge (2)

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My blog is back! I'm sorry if you've been getting that awful error page. In the words of my website designer, certain parts of the infrastructure took a 'dirt nap.' But all is good now! And I'm excited to report that Vows Of Revenge is:

Available Now from Mills & Boon

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I'm still unpacking from New York. It was a fabulous trip! I'll post your #SampleSunday in a moment, but first, I thought I'd share a few photos:

This was taken on our cruise around Manhattan. (MrC came along to see the Big Apple with me.) The day was so hot and humid. Being on the water was the only way to catch a breeze. We loved every minute!

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Here I am at the Literacy Signing. That's always a fun evening.

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And here I am with some of my Presents pals, Maya Blake, Tara Pammi and Jennifer Hayward. We had so much fun that evening. It started with making the cab driver laugh as we talked about our various secret baby plot twists. I tell the whole story in my next newsletter so please sign up! (You also get a free ebook. Details on the bottom of this post.)

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Let's get to your #SampleSunday!

SampleSunday

If you missed last week's post, you can read the opening pages from Vows Of Revenge here.

~ * ~

“Perhaps you could show me where she’ll dress?” Melodie suggested and showed him her smartphone. “I wouldn’t mind taking note of suitable photo locations. The bridal preparations and procession to the groom are always an important part of the day’s record.”

“Are they?” If he sounded disdainful, he couldn’t help it. He had lived hand to mouth for long enough that he didn’t see the point in extravagant ceremonies. Did he pay for top quality now that he could afford to? Absolutely. But weddings were already given too much importance without turning them into a Broadway musical—then filming behind the scenes footage for others to ooh and ahh over. As much as he appreciated Ingrid for her all the skills she brought to her work, he was hosting this performance strictly for business reasons.

“I take it you’re not a romantic,” Melodie said as though reading his cynicism. “Or is it just that you wish you hadn’t agreed to having your private space invaded?”

Both, he admitted silently, and realized he would have to work on controlling how much he revealed around this woman. She was very astute.

Or very attuned to him, which was even more disturbing.

“I’m a dedicated realist,” he replied, motioning for her to lead the way from the kitchen up a flight of service stairs to a breakfast room. “You?” he drawled.

“Hopeless optimist,” she confessed without apology. “Oh, this room is gorgeous.”

It was the second time she’d forced him to take stock of the choices he’d made in his surroundings. Part of him had been willing to go with the sort of design she’d said she expected of him: glass and chrome and clean, straight lines. But he’d spent enough time in an institution—juvenile, so not quite as stark as real prison—along with houses that weren’t his own. He’d wanted something that felt like a real home. Of course, it also had to be a smart investment that would fetch a tidy profit if his world ever collapsed again and he had to sell it. Which wouldn’t happen, but Roman was a plan B and C and D sort of man.

So even though he ate in this sunroom every morning, he wasn’t as charmed as she appeared to be by its earthy tones and view overlooking the lemon groves between the road and the fountain in front of the house. He had agreed with the architect that having the morning sunlight pour in through the windows made sense, as did the French doors that opened to the upper balcony that ran the side and length of the house facing the pool and the sea, but it could rain every morning for all the notice he took.

“I once had a fortune cookie that told me to always be optimistic because nothing else matters.”

Her remark caught him by surprise. His mouth twitched as he processed the irony. He quickly controlled it, but couldn’t help bantering, “They should all read, ‘You’re about to eat a dry, tasteless cracker.’”

“Ouch.” She mock frowned at him. “I dread to ask what you think of weddings if that’s your attitude toward fortune cookies. Dry and tasteless?” she surmised with a blink of her wide eyes.

She was definitely flirting with him.

Time to let her know that if she went down that road it would be for short-term amusement, not long-term commitment.

“The ceremony does strike me as a rather elaborate shell for a piece of paper that promises something about the future but ultimately has no bearing on what will really happen.”

His denunciation had her shoulders dropping in dismay. “That would be poetic if it wasn’t so depressing,” she informed him. “Weddings are as much a celebration of the happiness that has been achieved thus far as they are a promise of happily ever after.”

“You promise that, do you? Sounds like you’re taking advantage of the gullible.”

“Meaning that people who fall in love and make plans to share their lives are suckers? On the contrary, they haven’t given up hope,” she defended, lifting her chin with pretended insult.

“For?” he challenged, secretly enjoying this lighthearted battle of opinion.

“Whatever it is they seek. How far would you have come with your company if you hadn’t dreamed beyond what looked realistic? If all you’d done was aim low?” She gave him a cheeky smile as she walked past him into his private sitting room, meeting his eyes as though sure she had him. “See? Being an optimist, I believe I can convert you.”

“I’m not that easy to manipulate,” he stated, confident he’d maintained the upper hand. “But go ahead and try,” he added with significance.

CHAPTER TWO

“OKAY— OH.” THE sitting room took up the corner of the house facing the water. More French doors opened to both the side and front balcony. The rest of the area was clearly the master bedroom.

Melodie had been so caught up in trying to be clever she hadn’t realized where she was going. She blushed. “I didn’t realize.” Why hadn’t he stopped her?

“There’s a guest room down the hall that Ingrid can use to dress,” he said dryly.

She should have hurried to find it, but her feet fixed to the carpet as she took in the luxurious room in varying shades of blue. The bed was obscenely huge and was backed by mirrors to reflect the view. The wall on to the balcony was made of glass doors that doubled back on themselves so many times they ended up tucked into the corners. The partition between outside and interior had essentially disappeared.

Filmy curtains hung in tied bunches at the corners of the bed, presumably to afford some privacy to the occupant—occupants? Plural?—if they happened to be in the bed with the doors open.

With that thought Melodie became acutely aware of the fact that she was a woman and Roman a man. He was tall and broad and his bed would accommodate his strapping body easily, along with any company he brought with him. She swallowed, trying not to betray the direction her thoughts were taking, even as she felt heat creeping through her, staining her cheeks.

As far as what he might be thinking, it was hard to tell whether he was attracted to her or just amusing himself at her expense.

“Oh, that’s very beautiful,” she said, letting the view draw her on to the balcony and away from the intimacy of his bedroom. She set her purse near her feet and used two hands to steady her phone while she took a snap. Her faint trembles grew worse as Roman came to stand next to her.

“How do you know Ingrid?” he asked.

Uncomfortable remaining where she could smell the traces of his aftershave, Melodie moved along the upper balcony, trying to pretend her dazzled state was caused by the band of turquoise just beyond the white beach before the blue of the sea deepened to navy. An indolent breeze moved through her sweater and hair doing little to cool her. It was more of a disturbing caress, really. Inciting.

“Our mothers went to the same prep school in Virginia.” Looking for cool in the wrought iron rail, Melodie grasped only heat, but she let the hard cut of metal into her palm ground her as she added, “My mother passed away recently and Evelyn came to the service. It was auspicious timing, with Ingrid recently becoming engaged.”

Melodie’s father had been instrumental in this new job of hers, of course, not that she intended to broadcast that. After insisting they invite Evelyn to say a few words about Melodie’s mother—a request that had surprised the woman when she hadn’t spoken to her old friend in years—Garner had insisted Melodie go talk to her. Ask her about her daughter. Melodie had realized after the fact that Garner had been fishing for info on Roman through his PA, but she didn’t know why. She’d taken her time following up with Evelyn a couple of weeks after the service and kept it to herself. Her father and brother didn’t even know she was here. Heck, they didn’t know she was alive. She preferred it that way.

“Helping with the arrangements has taken my mind off things,” she provided with a faint smile. “Weddings are such happy occasions. Far better than organizing a funeral.”

A pause, then he asked a perplexed, “Are you saying the funeral was so impressive it prompted this woman to ask you to arrange her daughter’s wedding?”

Melodie chuckled, even though the subject was still very raw for her.

“Not exactly. It was a grand affair,” she allowed, trying to keep the disdain out of her voice. Her mother had wanted something small and private. Her father had wanted publicity shots. Melodie had wanted her mother’s ashes. She’d done what she had to and the urn was now in her home, where she’d keep it safe until she could complete her mother’s final wish, to have her ashes scattered in Paris. “But I think Evelyn was being kind to me, suggesting I get into this sort of thing as a career—”

Oops. She hadn’t meant to reveal that. Shooting a glance at Roman, she saw his brows had gone up with that detail.

“Which isn’t to say I’m not qualified,” she hurried to assure him. This wouldn’t be amateur hour with monkeys stumbling around his home overturning his life, if that’s what he was thinking behind that analytical expression. Melodie intended to repay Evelyn’s faith in her by ensuring each detail of her daughter’s wedding went off perfectly and with the utmost taste. “I’ve done a lot of this type of thing, just hadn’t seen it as a career possibility. After she said what she did, I contacted her and we came to an arrangement.”

“So you’re just getting your company off the ground. There must be substantial investment up front,” he commented. “Flying here to scout the location. That sort of thing.”

“Some,” she replied with suitable vagueness. Complaining about money problems would not inspire his confidence. But the small policy she’d managed to take out on her mother’s behalf had merely paid for the worst of her health care bills. Pretending she could afford a weekend in the south of France was pure bravado and something Melodie would build into Ingrid and Huxley’s final bill.

“Your office,” she assumed as she moved away from that topic and along the balcony, arriving in front of a fresh pair of open doors. The interior of the room held a desk free of clutter surrounded by large, clear screens she previously had thought were an invention confined to sci-fi movies. “You’ll want to secure this on the day, obviously.”

A door led off one wall back into his bedroom. The opposite wall was completely covered in large flat screens. A single image of his company logo took up the black space on them.

Melodie stepped into the room, drawn by its spare yet complex set up. A blip sounded and Roman followed to press his thumb pad to a sensor.

“You’re quite the secret agent, aren’t you?” she teased.

“I like to consider myself the man who stops them,” he rejoined dryly.

She bit back a smile at his supreme confidence and said, “This would be a stunning angle for a photo, with the water in the background. Would you stand in for Ingrid?”

“Not likely,” he dismissed. Then smoothly turned things around with, “You’d make a prettier bride. I’ll take the photo.” He held out his hand for her phone.

She hesitated, far more comfortable behind the lens than in front of it. She always had been, but she really didn’t want to cause even the smallest ripple in such a big commission.

“If you prefer,” she murmured with false equanimity and readied her camera app, walking back outside again as she did so. “We’ll do a series of shots from when the father of the bride fetches her from her room and all the way down the stairs. I had thought she’d come down the interior ones, but these ones are better. The guests will see her approach and all this wrought-iron is so gorgeous. We’ll take some couple shots on the inside stairs after the ceremony.” She was thinking aloud as she went to the rail and turned to face him.

He fiddled with her phone, then said, “Ready.”

After a few of the app’s manufactured clicks, he lifted his gaze and commanded, “Smile. You’re getting married.”

Caught off guard, Melodie laughed with natural humor, then clasped an imaginary bouquet and channeled her best bridal joy, as if the man of her dreams was awaiting her.

Despite being mocked mercilessly through her teens, and suffering a self-imposed disaster that had put her off dating into her adult years, she had been telling the truth about being a romantic. She liked to believe a real life hero existed for her. She needed to believe it, or she’d become as depressed as her mother had been.

Her mother’s illness had held Melodie back from looking for him, but now, despite the grief abrading her heart, she was open to possibility. Willing to take a risk. For just this one moment she let herself imagine Roman was the man made for her. Her soul mate.

Roman’s intense concentration lifted sharply from the phone, pinning her in the steely needle of his hard stare.

~ * ~

I should have posted all of Chapter One last week. I don't know why I didn't. Too distracted preparing for New York, I guess.

Are you wanting more than a peek into Melodie and Roman's story? If so, you can get it now fromMills & Boon or pre-order here:

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#SampleSunday - Vows Of Revenge

Welcome to a new series of #SampleSundays! This is a sneak peek at my next Harlequin Presents coming out in September.

I'm writing this before my trip to New York and will schedule it to post while I'm traveling home. I hope I have lots of photos to share with you next week! Please check back for those.

This week, I'm thrilled to share the opening pages of Melodie and Roman's story. This is one of those books that brewed in my head a long time, anxious to be told. I love a hot revenge story, don't you? And Roman is so filled with justifiable hatred for Melodie's father.

I'll jump right to it.

SampleSunday

SURROUNDED BY OLD money and cold-blooded cynicism for the first part of her life, Melodie Parnell wasn’t half as ingenuous as she looked. In fact, she actively tried to give off an air of sophistication by straightening her curly brown hair into a shiny curtain, adding a flick of liquid liner to downplay her round blue eyes, and painting a bold red lipstick over her plump, pink lips. Her clothing choices were classic business style: a pencil skirt, a sweater set and her mother’s pearls.

At the same time, she privately offered people the benefit of the doubt. She believed the best whenever possible and always sought the brightest side of every situation.

That attitude had earned her nothing but contempt from her half brother and more than once resulted in a sting from social climbers and gold diggers trying to get closer to the men in her family. Being softhearted definitely had been her mother’s downfall. But, Melodie often assured herself, she wasn’t nearly as fragile or susceptible as that. The fact that she’d lost her mother very recently, and kept slipping into a state of melancholy as she faced life without her, didn’t make her vulnerable.

Yet, for some reason, Roman Killian took the rug right out from under her—by doing nothing except answering the door of his mansion.

“You must be the indispensable Melodie,” he greeted.

She was supposed to be immune to powerful men in bespoke outfits, but her mouth went dry and her knees went weak. He wasn’t even wearing a suit. He wore a casually tailored linen jacket over black pants and a collarless peasant-style shirt, three open buttons at his throat.

Not that she really took in his clothes. She saw the man.

He had black hair that might have curled if he let it grow long enough, tanned skin and gorgeous bone structure. Italian? Spanish? Greek? He certainly had the refined features of European aristocracy, but Melodie knew him to be self-made American. His brows were straight and circumspect, his eyes decidedly green with a dark ring around the irises. He was clean-shaven, urbane and acutely masculine in every way.

He met her gaze with an impactful directness that stole her breath.

“Roman Killian,” he said, offering his hand and snapping her out of her fixation. His voice was like dark chocolate and red wine, rich and sultry, but his tone held a hint of disparagement. No one was truly essential, he seemed to say.

“I am Melodie,” she managed to say. She watched his mouth as he clasped her hand in his strong grip. His upper lip was much narrower than his full bottom one. He smiled in the way men did when confronted with a woman they didn’t find particularly attractive, but were forced by circumstance to be polite toward. Cool and dismissive.

Melodie wasn’t offended. She was always braced for male rejection and surprised if she didn’t get it. It wasn’t that she was homely. She had just inherited her mother’s catwalk build and elfin features along with her pearls. The attributes were fine for modeling, but came off as skinny and exaggerated in real life. Spider-like and awkward—or so she’d been told so many times she tended to believe it.

So his indifference wasn’t a surprise, but her skin still prickled and she warmed as though the sun had lodged in her belly and radiated outward through her limbs with a disarming feeling that she was glowing.

She shouldn’t be so nervous. She’d still had a pacifier in her mouth when she’d begun glad-handling and rarely suffered shyness no matter how lofty the person she was meeting. Presidents. Royalty. Such things didn’t affect her.

Yet she found herself surreptitiously fighting to catch her breath, aware that she was letting her hand stay in his too long. When she tried to extract it, however, he tightened his grip.

“We’ve met,” he said with certainty. Almost accusingly. His eyes narrowed as he raked her face with his gaze, head cocked and arrested.

“No,” she assured him, but her pulse gave a leap while a romantic part of her brain invented a fanciful in another life soul mate scenario. She was very good with faces and names, though, even when a person wasn’t nearly as memorable as he was. And he was too young to remember her mother, not that he looked the type to thumb through fashion magazines in the first place. There was an off-chance he’d seen her in connection to her father, she supposed, but she was carving that particular man from her life one thought at a time so she didn’t bring him up and only said, “I’m quite sure we haven’t.”

Roman didn’t believe her, she could see it.

“Ingrid and Huxley aren’t with you?” He flicked a look for her clients to where her taxi had dropped her next to the fountain in his paved courtyard.

“They’ll be along shortly,” she said.

He brought his sharp gaze back to her face, making her quiver inwardly again. Slowly he released her and waved toward the interior of his home. “Come in.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, disconcerted by everything about him.

He was so masculine, so confident yet aloof. Secure, she thought, with a twist of irony. He’d made his fortune in security, starting with a software package but now offering global solutions of all kinds. It was one of the few things she knew about him. She hadn’t researched him much, mostly relying on what Ingrid had shared, turned off by the idea she might wind up reading about her half brother if she had looked up Roman online.

But knowing he was Anton’s competition had made her predisposed to like Roman. He also seemed to have a streak of magnanimity, supporting causes from homelessness to dementia research to donating computers to libraries. And he’d offered his home in the south of France for his employee’s wedding. Surely that meant he possessed a big heart under that air of predatory power?

“I didn’t expect a security specialist to have such a welcoming home,” she confessed, trying to ignore the sense that his eyes stayed glued to her narrow shoulders as she took in a modern house built with old world grandeur. “I imagined something very contemporary, made of glass and stainless steel, all sharp angles.”

The high ceilings held glittering chandeliers. A double staircase came down in expansive arms of delicate wrought iron and sumptuous red carpet over yellowed marble. The tiles continued through the huge foyer to an enormous lounge where a horseshoe sofa in warm terracotta would easily seat twenty.

Did he entertain often? Something in the way his energy permeated this airy interior so thoroughly made her think he kept this all comfortable splendor to himself.

“The sorts of things that people want to protect are often attractive. Jewelry. Art,” he supplied with a negligent shrug. “Six inches of steel works to a point, but surveillance and alarms allow for designs that are more aesthetically pleasing.”

“Are we being filmed right now?” she asked with a lilt of surprise.

“The cameras are only activated when an alarm is tripped.”

So it was just him was watching her, then. Nerve-racking all the same.

A formal dining room stood off to the right. It could be useful for the wait staff, perhaps, since the four hundred wedding guests would eat in tents outside. And, yes, the property allowed plenty of room for the ceremony, tents, a bandstand and a dance floor. Arched breezeways lined the house where it faced the Mediterranean. In the courtyard stood a square pool with a quarter circle taken out of it like a bite for a small dining area. Beyond its turquoise water a half dozen stairs led to a long strip of sandy beach. Off to the right a tethered helicopter stood on a groomed lawn. Once it had been removed, that space would be perfect for the ceremony and reception.

Melodie had grown up in luxury, but nothing as extravagant as this. Roman Killian was a very rich man. It was difficult to hide how awed she was.

She brought her gaze back to the bougainvillea training up the colonnades, and smaller pots of roses and geraniums and flowers she couldn’t identify. They gave off scents of anise and cherry and honey, dreamy and adding to the magical atmosphere of the place.

“This is all so beautiful,” she murmured, trying not to see herself as a bride, spilling in a waterfall of white lace down the stairs, emerging to blinding light and a strikingly handsome groom. The sunset would paint their future in rosy pink. Candlelight would burn like their eternal love.

She met Roman’s gaze and found him eyeing her as if reading her thoughts, making her blush and look away.

“It’s very generous of you to offer it,” she managed.

“Ingrid is an exceptional employee,” he said after a brief pause, making her think that wasn’t his real reason for offering his home. “Why didn’t you all come together? Are you not staying at the same hotel?”

“They’re newly engaged,” Melodie said wryly. “I’ve been feeling very third wheel since meeting them at the airport.” It was only four days, she reminded herself.

“Job hazard?” Roman guessed with a twitch around his mouth.

She couched a smile, suspecting he had a much lower tolerance than she did for witnessing nuzzling and baby talk.

“It can be,” she replied, aiming for circumspect, because this was only her second wedding and her first international society one. Her business was still so new the price tag hadn’t been clipped off, but he didn’t need to know that. She’d organized state dinners in her sleep, and this was exactly the sort of event she was ready to build her livelihood upon.

“How long have you been living here?” She was highly curious about him.

His manner changed. Their moment of commonality evaporated and she had the impression he stepped back from his body, leaving only the shell before her.

“It was completed last year. What else can I show you? The kitchen?”

“Thank you,” she said, hiding her surprise at how quickly she’d been shut down.

He waved her toward the end of the house where he introduced her to his personal chef. The Frenchman was standoffish but had nothing on his employer. She was able to get a few details about the catering cleared up as Roman stood watch, keeping her on high alert.

~

Roman expected the single pulse from his silenced watch to be a notification that the rest of his guests had arrived. One glance at the face told him it was actually a request that he review an important security alert.

Given that security was his business, he didn’t take the request lightly, but an immediate threat would have been flagged as such and dealt with at the perimeter. And he had a guest. This wisp of a woman flickering through his home like sunlight and shadow through a copse of trees fascinated him. The conviction that she was familiar was incredibly strong, yet he’d sensed no lie when she’d assured him they were strangers.

Roman had a reliable radar for lies, one he listened to without fail. The one time he’d ignored his gut and convinced himself to have faith, he’d lost everything up to, and almost including, his life.

So even though he should have forced himself to the panel on the wall to review the alert, he stayed with his PA’s wedding planner, keeping her under observation—partly, he admitted to himself, because her backside was delightfully outlined by her snug skirt, proving she was round and perky in the right places. He liked listening to her voice, too. Her accent wasn’t heavy like Americans from the Deep South, but it had a lick of molasses, sweet and slow with a hint of rough darkness as she elevated and dropped each word. Very engaging.

She puzzled him at the same time. He was used to women being overt when they were attracted to him. He wasn’t so arrogant he thought all of them were, but he worked out, wore tailored clothes and was loaded. These were all things that typically appealed to the opposite sex. She was blushing and flicking him nervous looks, fiddling with her hair, obviously very aware of him, but trying to hide it.

She wasn’t wearing a ring, but perhaps she was involved with someone. If she wasn’t, that shyness suggested she preferred slow, complex relationships. She didn’t sleep with men for the fun of it, he surmised, which was a pity because that was very much a quality he looked for in a woman.

Roman had trained himself to keep emotions firmly at bay, but a blanket of disappointment descended on him. He was attracted to her, but apparently it wouldn’t go anywhere. That was a shame.

Melodie had noticed his glance at his watch and offered a wry smile. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have left the happy couple to their own devices. They’re quite late, aren’t they?”

“It’s not like Ingrid,” he allowed. If it had been, she wouldn’t be his PA. He wasn’t a tyrant, but he didn’t tolerate sloppy behavior of any kind.
At the same time, he was fine with having Melodie to himself for a little longer.

~ * ~

Next week we'll have a little more from Roman's point of view. If you'd like to pre-order Vows Of Revenge, your quick links are here:

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#SampleSunday - Cruel Summer (2)

Did you grab your copy of this FREE DOWNLOAD yet?

Cruel Summer is available exclusively to my newsletter subscribers. If you'd like to read Cruel Summer, all you have to do is subscribe. Click on the image or go here: Get Cruel Summer!

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SampleSunday

~ * ~

Last week I posted Chelsea boarding her flight to find she's been seated next to Gavin. In this week's excerpt, we see what Gavin thinks of seeing her again.

Leave it to Chelsea Parks to take him from vague boredom to nearly crying in public. Gavin tried to get hold of himself, swallowing a lump of grief that hadn’t faded much in the last year. Weird that it could be both better and worse when Chelsea offered up a heartfelt memory of the old man.

Actually, the worse came from guilt. Old and new. He hadn’t sent her a card. Not even an email. What would it have taken to text a few words? I’m sorry to hear about your mom. Hope she recovers soon.

He’d thought it, when he’d stood in the kitchen of his Chicago apartment, reading the first sympathy card he’d had the stomach to open. All the rest had sat on his counter for weeks, but the minute he’d seen Chelsea’s name and her New York address, he’d run his finger along the seal and read her apology for missing the service.

A tasteless kind of relief had struck him. He’d wondered if he was the reason he hadn’t seen her at the service, but he hadn’t had the guts to ask his sister or mom why she wasn’t there. Then his mom had mentioned her situation and he’d been worrying about the two of them ever since.

But he hadn’t reached out. Even though he’d been hoping to see her at the service. Certainty that he would finally see her again had got him through those days between hearing the news about his dad and struggling through the eulogy.

Chelsea had been seven years old when she’d lost her own dad. He’d been nine and it was his first experience with something like that happening to someone he knew. She’d spent a lot of time at their house in Santa Clara after that, mooning at him through high school, which hadn’t done his ego any harm. He’d been as protective of her as he had been of his sister, Amber, but for a completely different reason.

He always carried a mental picture of her sitting in his dad’s lap, crying her eyes out while they’d all been wearing their best clothes.

There had been a million reasons he’d wanted to see her at his own father’s service, but that was a big one. She would understand.

And she did.

But she didn’t want anything to do with him beyond that quiet expression of shared loss. Not anymore.

The plane’s engines began to whine as it prepared to take off. It rumbled forward, pressing him back into his seat, making the weight on his chest feel even heavier.

He looked at her hand. No ring, not that he expected one. He stalked her on social media now and again, checking up on her. Not trying to connect because, well, when a girl you’d finally hooked up with walked in on you making out with someone else, you didn’t come back from that.

Witness the disinterest she was directing at him now.

While he wanted to talk. Catch up. Touch her golden hair and watch her straight teeth flash as she spoke. And smile. Smile at me, damn it. Chelsea wasn’t glamorous gorgeous, more wholesome pretty, but when she hit a guy with direct eye contact, brown eyes warm and amused, welcoming laughter on her lips, well, it was a hit. A kick.

An irresistible tractor beam that drew you in.

An irresistible invitation to a young man sewing wild oats. I want it to be you the first time. I know I can trust you.

Not so much, as it turned out.

He sighed.

She turned a page.

The plane leveled out.

“Chels, I’m sorry,” he said. Blurted it, really, even though he’d said it once before. She hadn’t been in a mood to listen then, but she was trapped now.

“For—? Oh!” Her gaze came up and flickered away, but not before he saw the pang of old pain in them. “Forget it. I have.” Her nose went down and her book came up.

“I was young and stupid,” he said.

“So was I.” She flipped another page.

He winced, surprised how much that hurt. The one thing Chelsea had never been was stupid. She was not only book smart, but she didn’t make a lot of life mistakes. His sister made questionable choices, but Chelsea had always put thought into her future. If she had chosen him as The One, it had been because she really believed he could make her happy.

Which told him how much he’d disappointed her.

She was also the girl who could keep up with his sister, talking a mile a minute, making jokes, never backing down from a bit of hazing from a guy, and she was always the one to reach out with her heart pinned firmly on her sleeve.

For her to be this dismissive of him and his callous treatment, well, it told him exactly how far he’d been relegated to her past.

What had he thought, though? That they’d hook up this week while his sister got married?

Dinner. He’d definitely hoped for that much. He wanted to make up. He missed her. That card of hers had been so much more than a social convention. She’d reminded him how good, how really good she was as a person. Kind-hearted and thoughtful.

Everything he wasn’t?

Hell, what could he ever say to excuse his behavior? The freedom of university, the course load that had sent him down dual paths of self-destruction and extreme stress relief, a gift of looks and charm that had always given him his pick over the females around him.

By the time she’d caught up to him as an impressionable freshman he’d been well on his way to world-class douche-dom, conceited enough to think his three years of experience was wisdom. He had convinced himself that sleeping with Chelsea was a favor, that he was initiating her into the world of possibilities around them. Then a former paramour had made him an offer he should have refused, and he hadn’t. Because life was to be enjoyed, right? Opportunities were supposed to be seized.

How had he imagined he’d get through a dinner and somehow explain himself in a way that allowed him to come out remotely elevated in her eyes?

“For what it’s worth, I grew up after that,” he said, not even sure if she was listening. Not blaming her if she wasn’t, but he had to try. “I’m not such an arrogant a-hole anymore.”

“I’m sure your girlfriend appreciates that.” Flip.

“We broke up.”

“That’s a shame.”

He snorted at her insincerity, oddly encouraged by it even as he stung under a fresh lash of guilt. Maybe he hadn’t grown up as much as he claimed. Karen had jumped on the significance of one card being opened. One photo of a bridesmaid dress saved to his family album. One old girlfriend he kept trying to tell her was a friend. It had turned into a thing, which now made him wonder if she’d seen something he hadn’t.

At the same time, this milestone of his sister’s had also caused conflict between him and his live-in lover. He hadn’t been contemplating marriage at all. Karen had turned up the pressure in the last few months, though, using words like ‘intention’ and ‘future’ and ‘family.’ She had clearly been hoping she’d be wearing a diamond ring to his sister’s wedding. They’d finally had it out a couple of weeks ago, leaving their relationship a chalk outline on the sidewalk.

He’d called his travel agent sister to cancel Karen’s flight and change the time on his own so he’d have an extra day in Chicago to make arrangements with the movers.

This had been Amber’s revised itinerary: seating him next to her best friend.

“Did you ever tell Amb—”

“No,” Chelsea cut in sharply.

“Anyone?”

“My therapist.” Her smooth lips offered up a flat smile as her gaze cut up to his and quickly flicked away.

He snorted, not convinced finding him cheating on her had been so traumatic she’d sought professional help, but wondering. She’d been through some tough times.

“Is there anything I could say or do to earn your forgiveness?”

“Letting me read my book would be a good start.”

Yeah, he’d missed Chelsea Parks. Who else could tell him to eff off so politely?

~ * ~

Cruel Summer is available in Kindle and ePub format. If you'd like a PDF copy, email me off my contact page here. (Remember that I'm traveling! I'll try to answer promptly, but it may take a couple of days before I can send it.)

Hopefully next week I'll have some photos from New York!

#SampleSunday - Cruel Summer

I'm super excited to tell you about this FREE DOWNLOAD!

I wrote this short story as a thank you to my fans and gave it out to my subscribers in my July newsletter. Would you like to read it too? You just have to subscribe.

Click on the image or go here: Get Cruel Summer!

You can unsubscribe anytime and here's the opening so you know what you're getting:

SampleSunday

~ * ~

Chelsea Parks kept running all the way down the jet bridge, relieved to see the air hostess waving her into her connection, rather than locking her out.

Heart racing as she entered the galley, she breathlessly asked the woman to stow her bridesmaid dress in the little closet at the front. The jury was still out on whether her checked bag would make it to California, but she would be covered—literally—for Amber’s wedding.

Turning to find her seat, which was in First Class thanks to Amber being a travel agent and a generous friend, Chelsea caught sight of the man who would be seated next to her.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

She glanced with mild panic around the very full plane, all the way to the back of coach. That tight connection in Denver began to look highly suspicious.

Okay, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been mentally girding her loins to see Gavin Fairfield again. She had just thought it would be at the beach house, where she would have space to avoid him after a very brief, very civilized, very fake, Nice to see you again.

Not that she was still mad. It had been six years. She was so over it.

Over him.

“Your sister is hilarious,” she said as she came even with him.

He looked up from his tablet and—damn. Those eyes. They were like antique glass, translucent blue-green, sometimes fiery, sometimes cool. At this moment the color nearly disappeared into a halo as his pupils expanded in surprise.

“Chelsea.” His mouth formed her name in a way that was familiar and fascinating. Don’t look at his mouth.

But those lips.

The top one was thin, barely there, yet shaped with such exaggerated peaks and valleys she kind of tripped into the hint of the smile he projected. Then the bottom one, so full and sensual, reminding her of the times she’d kissed and nibbled and—

Oh hell, this was going to be a long week. And it wasn’t even a full one. Four days. But this flight was going to be less that four hours and it would be interminable.

“Can I get in?” she said, pretending the reason she was blushing and sweating was that run from across the concourse. “I think everyone’s waiting for me.”

“Yeah, of course.” He unbent, rising to his oh, so dominating height of six foot something. He’d filled out since university. His chest was wide, his shoulders powerful, his gray-blue shirt tight enough to accentuate all of him to perfection.

He held out his hand for her courier bag.

“I’ll put it under,” she said, ducking to the middle seat and catching a whiff of his familiar man products, taking her back to necking in his room that one semester she’d scrimped and saved and worked so hard to make happen.

Gavin settled back into his seat and did what guys his size did on planes: splayed his knee into her space.

Chelsea shrank in on herself, trying not to touch him as she belted herself in. Trying to pretend this was totally fine. They’d been kids. And he’d always been a player. She had known that going in. Becoming notch number one-hundred-and-whatever on his bedpost had been her choice. At no time should she have supposed she was special.

Even though she had kind of hoped and wished and convinced herself she was at least a little bit special.

Taking her romance novel out of her bag, she set the book in her lap and used her foot to push her bag under the seat in front of her.

“A paper book?” he asked.

She glanced at him, vaguely bemused that he wasn’t taking issue with her reading material so much as her medium. “I’m on computers a lot. I like to unplug.”

“Oh. Not just one of your charming, old-fashioned ways then.”

Yeah, she was old-fashioned. For instance, when she slept with a guy, she kind of expected him to only sleep with her. Without a word, she opened her book to the bookmark, shifting it to another page as she did.

“I got your card. Thank you,” he added.

Something in his voice made her throat ache. She moved the bookmark back to the spot it had been in and closed the novel on her finger. “How is your mom?”

He hitched a shoulder, eyes averting from hers as the rest of his expression fought to stay neutral. “You’ll see. It’s killing her and Amber that Dad won’t be there to give her away.”

Chelsea wanted to pat his leg and say something bland like, At least she has you, because she felt the loss of Mr. Fairfield very deeply and might cry if she opened up too much. She couldn’t do her surrogate father or any of his family the disservice of glossing over her feelings though.

“Whenever I think of your dad, I remember the time at soccer when the new coach thought I was his daughter and your dad just went with it. Pretended for a whole season I was his. I always thought I’d ask him to walk me down the aisle.”

That was supposed to come out light and self-deprecating, but to her horror, she started to choke up.

“He was always there for me,” she added fast. “Whatever I needed. I miss his dumb jokes.”

“Yeah.” Gavin’s laugh was strangled. His hand twitched and she realized she was staring at his fist on his thigh, knuckles white and stark against his tan. “Your mom was sick,” he said as a sudden recollection, glancing at her. “That’s why you didn’t make the service.”

“Yeah. Chemo.” Her voice went husky, but she kept her brave smile in place with superhuman effort. “She’s doing okay. Still run down, but her prognosis is good.”

They both needed a minute to collect themselves. She cleared her throat and opened her book, but could feel him looking at her.

The plane was taxiing, making a turn. Maybe he was just looking out the window, watching Denver go by.

She couldn’t concentrate on the words before her, too preoccupied with thinking maybe Amber had done her a favor, seating her next to Gavin for this final leg of the trip.

They’d made a kind of peace, she decided. Set the tone that the past was the past and they could be adults and have a conversation and, really, had nothing much to say to one another anymore.

~ * ~

Cruel Summer is about seventy pages long and is available in Kindle and ePub format. If you'd like a PDF copy, just email me off my contact page here.

Now I'm starting my conference prep in earnest this week so I might not be very active on social media until I get back. I have scheduled another #SampleSunday for next week, though, so please keep checking back and please let me know what you think of Cruel Summer!

Enjoy your weekend!

New Cover, New Price - Hustled To The Altar

Happy Fourth Of July to my American readers! I hope you're enjoying a wonderful weekend.

Today's news: I updated my cover for Hustled To The Altar and put it on sale! For a limited time, you can save $3.00 and get it for $4.99! Here are your quick links:

Amazon: US | CA | UK | AUS

Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay | Smashwords

Hustled To The Altar was a Golden Heart and American Title finalist. I indie published it because it was the manuscript I had on hand that was closest to publication quality when I sold. Everyone was putting out indie manuscripts at that point and I didn't want to miss the boat!

It's full-length at about 400 pages, is a stand-alone story and it's genuinely funny, according to my son. He read in Grade Nine silent reading, didn't skip any pages and wasn't being sarcastic with his compliment. If you can't trust a teenager to give you the truth without sparing your feelings, who can you trust?

My fingers are crossed that by next weekend I'll be providing you with a link to the free download I've been talking about. Here's the blurb as a teaser:

~ * ~

“Is there anything I could say or do to earn your forgiveness?”

Website designer Chelsea Parks grew up believing she would marry her best friend’s brother. In college, she gave him her virginity and he broke her heart. She knows she’ll have to face him, now that she’s maid of honor at his sister’s wedding, but she doesn’t expect to sit next to him on the plane to California. Good thing she’s so completely over him.

Architect Gavin Fairfield knows he screwed up, but he’s matured since then. Standing in as Father Of The Bride because his dad recently passed, he’s reassessing his future, realizing how short life is and how much he misses Chelsea. He can see now that they’re meant for each other. Too bad she’s so completely over him.

Staying at his family’s summer home, revisiting their old stomping grounds, burns Chelsea alive in old flames. Gavin is as easy to love as ever. She’d like to be friends again, might even succumb to a fling for old time’s sake, but real relationship aren’t built on a weekend of nostalgia. Are they?

~ * ~

I'll have a cover reveal next week too (hopefully!)

Meanwhile, I'll leave you with this shot from our back deck the other night. My daughter was home for Canada Day with her boyfriend. We were playing Pictionary and I noticed the brilliant colours outside. Not long after this, as soon as it was properly dark, it opened up with heavy rain for about half an hour. We were so relieved! The nights had been those hot ones that don't cool off at all, but it did that night.

Enjoy your weekend!

School's Out, Summer Is Here!

We're coming up to Canada Day (July 1st) so I put together a special prize package just for my Canadian fans!

Sorry, international fans. I just couldn't see spending overseas postage to mail something as big and awkward as that sand pail! (Entry form is at the bottom of this post.)

How is your weather? We're in a heat wave that actually warrants an extreme heat warning and a fire ban. I have family coming into town this weekend so guess what I'll be doing a lot of:

I know! I'm a very, very lucky girl.

I'm telling myself I deserve it because I've been working hard on a lot of fronts the last few weeks. At the same time, I feel like everything is in the middle stage, messy and disorganized, nothing quite completed, so it's a bit frustrating.

One of the items I'm trying to finish is my free download. I have one more beta reader turning in comments, then I'll finalize the files and ask a few volunteers to go through the process of downloading the short story off my site.

If you think you would have time to be a guinea pig, please email me this weekend through my contact page. You'd have to sign up for my newsletter, which might cause a duplicate next week when the newsletter goes out, if you're already a member. But my friends at Writerspace are pretty good about combing out duplicates on a regular basis. You'd also have to side load the file and let me know if there were any issues.

My goal is to have all the bugs worked out so my newsletter fans get first crack at downloading. My website developer is worried that it will crash my site, to which I replied, "I can dream of having so many people clamouring for my books that my website crashes within minutes of my newsletter hitting their in box. Let's make that a goal!"

This upcoming newsletter also has a sneak peek at my September Presents, Vows Of Revenge, so do sign up if you haven't already. The easiest way to sign up is to enter my monthly contest so two birds!

Giveaway

Here is the form for the Canada Day giveaway.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

No matter where you live, please enter my monthly contest here.

~ * ~

Okay, I'm writing this Friday evening--yes, I'm back to that! And it is too hot to cook. I have decided to place an order for pizza, then go for a quick swim until it's ready.

#SampleSunday - Seduced Into The Greek's World (6)

Two weeks in a row of writing this on Saturday morning! What's next? Publishing on Sundays?

I had a couple of guests last night for wine on the deck and dinner. My brother-in-law is working on a house about an hour from here and it's been going on for a few months. Occasionally I get a text that says, "What's for dinner?" Half the time MrC is working so my real answer is 'nothing,' because my son is happy with a sandwich, but I wind up cooking for my b-i-l.

It's not a chore. In fact, I usually come out ahead. Here's a couple of texts he sent me before he arrived:

My other guest was a friend who happens to be a teacher. She was kind enough to proof something for me in the last couple of weeks. I've written a short story that I'm going to offer as a free download. It's not ready yet, but if you're on my newsletter list, you'll get first peek!

Not on my newsletter? The easiest way to sign up is to enter my monthly contest here on my website.

I have a lot of irons in a lot of fires at the moment. If you read last week's post, you know I was a tiny bit burnt out. Well, I am bouncing back with a vengeance and reminding myself not to take on too much. But alas, that's who I am. So stay tuned for news.

Meanwhile, here is your final excerpt from Seduced Into The Greek's World. That went fast, didn't it? My next Presents will be Vows Of Revenge, releasing in September. I'll write more about it in the coming weeks, but if you want to preorder, all the quick links are here:

Amazon: US | CA | UK | AUS

Nook | Kobo | iBooks | BAM | GooglePlay | Harlequin

Sample Sunday

If you missed any of the previous excerpts, the links are below.

Demitri believes Natalie is flirting with his (married) brother-in-law
Natalie can't believe Demitri
Demitri invites Natalie for dinner
Demitri and Natalie chat over dinner
Natalie goes home with Demitri after dinner

Here's a teaser from in the apartment:

~ * ~

Don't, she thought.

But in the back of her mind, she asked herself, What’s holding you back? She had mentally allowed for something like this to happen. Heck, she’d actually bought condoms, thinking at the time that it was a ridiculous prospect, but secretly dreaming of being swept off her feet by a suave foreigner. Demitri was a prime example of the sophisticated man she’d hoped to meet. Plus, he actually knew how these situations worked.

But she hadn’t expected an affair to actually happen. She was normal, boring, run-of-the-mill Natalie. Not some irresistible, exciting woman who captivated a man.

Demitri looked at her as if she was that and more. He made her feel beautiful and alluring, as though she was the kind of woman who deserved a man to love and cherish her. That fantasy was as seductive as the genuine tingles of arousal he provoked in her.

When he closed his hand around hers and backed out of the elevator, drawing her with him, she let it happen.

Knees weak, heart pounding, lips still burning, she allowed him to lead her down the hallway, half convinced this was a dream because things like this didn’t really happen. Not to her.

They passed recessed doors that led to private suites. She’d only been in one Makricosta penthouse ever, to resolve a Wi-Fi issue for a client she hadn’t even seen. She knew of the family suites in each of the hotels, but hadn’t ever expected to see the interior of one.

Demitri let her in a door marked Private Residence.

She took in the overstuffed semicircle couch and round coffee table, the dining area and table for twelve, the marble mantle and matching accent tables. Table lamps provided soft light against the draped windows. The art on the walls looked expensive. The suite was tasteful and welcoming if cold. Not as generic as a hotel room, but not really lived in.

“Take your coat?” he offered.

She set her pocketbook on the chest beside the door and offered her back, nerves strummed by the brush of his fingertips as he lowered her coat off her shoulders. The brush of silk lining down her arms caused her to shiver, making her nipples pull tight. Everything in her tensed with anticipation while nerves had her heart hammering in her throat.

Was she really doing this? She ought to tell him that she didn’t do this. It wasn’t her. He’d be disappointed.

Working up her courage, she turned, hands clasped before her.

He was looking at her legs, coat suspended from his hand. As she turned, he lifted his gaze to hers, locking her in a heated stare, not looking away as he tossed her wet coat toward the leather sofa.

“You shouldn’t do that,” she protested, taking an automatic step to fetch it.
He stepped into her space. The air between them thinned like smoke, leaving a vacuum that pulled them into the space, energy sizzling and popping with sexual awareness.

He was so gorgeous. Not just that sculpted jaw and his intense dark eyes, but the kissable shape of his lips and the scape of his shoulders. His wide chest and flat abdomen and long legs.

I don’t know what I’m doing. She tried to find the words, tried to make her throat work, but he touched a fingertip under her chin.

The brush was feathery and gentle. She hadn’t expected finesse, but honestly, a man didn’t rack up a conquest list like his by being a brute. He was showing her all his best moves, she reminded herself, but she still felt deliciously branded by his fingerprint. Lifting her gaze, she wound up fascinated by his mouth again and it was coming closer…

Oh.

When had she even been kissed since having Zoey? Really kissed?

And so well?

He really knew what he was doing, persuading her with varying pressures and parted lips to follow him. Open. Let it deepen. Rock and soothe and moan involuntarily because it felt so good.

Seductive.

His arm hooked behind her and drew her into the hard wall of his chest. So good. And why? Why did the sheer hardness of him, the tension of strong muscles and flat breastbone and firm flesh, make her soften and weaken and melt into surrender?

So much strength harnessed and held in check for her.

He stroked his hands up and down her spine and she kept leaning closer and more fully, giving up more of herself until she was plastered to him, completely undone. Then he slid one hand down to clasp over her buttock and a heated zing of pleasure pierced deep in her belly, sending a flood of sexual awakening into her erogenous zones.

This was what she’d wanted. Sexual feelings. Womanly feelings. To be seduced so she wouldn’t have to think about right and wrong. Grateful to him for making this easy, she wound her arms around his neck and licked into his mouth, letting him know she was utterly receptive.

He grunted, hips jerking into her in a way that spoke of his excitement, which excited her in turn. With a bolder touch, he cupped her backside and found her breast, possessed it, stimulated her through the fabric of her dress so she wriggled against him with impatient desire.

They were breathing heavily, barely breaking to gasp before diving into another long kiss. She ran her hands over him, greedily taking her fill of his physique, not letting herself think about how to make this count. Rather, she steeped herself in the moment and savored every sensation, drinking in his heady scent, peppery and spicy, but musky and exciting at the same time. She bumped her thighs into his iron hard ones, liking the sense he was undentable. Impervious.

Their tongues tangled and she groaned in sheer luxury, letting herself burn alive in the bonfire of desire building between them. His implacable strength seemed to overwhelm her for a moment, making her stumble, then she felt something against her bottom.

He lifted her, dress riding up at the same time, and sat her on the cold marble of the table by the door.

Before she could decide what she thought of that, he pushed her legs apart and stepped between them so they were eye to eye, mouth to mouth…

Kissing again. Deeply. Unreservedly.

The fine lace of her new Parisian panties snapped.

~ * ~

Seduced Into The Greek's World will be gone from the shelves this week, but you can still order it online or get the digital copy from the quick links below:

Amazon: US | CA | UK | AUS

Nook | Kobo | iBooks | BAM | GooglePlay | Harlequin | Mills & Boon

It's Father's Day this weekend, isn't it? Then I should remind you that this bundle of joy is still available:

Amazon | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay | Tule Publishing

Enjoy your weekend!