Dani Collins's Blog, page 64

#SampleSunday – Proof Of Their Sin

This is likely to be my last #SampleSunday for Proof Of Their Sin. However, I keep thinking I should write the scene that causes all this commotion–that’s right, the love scene.

Time is always my nemesis. I recently read this quote by Michelangelo, “I hope that I may always desire more than I can accomplish.” I’m not comparing myself to him, but I can relate to that level of ambition.

And to that ambitious end, among my many goals is starting a Street Team. I want to go to National first and attend some workshops on doing it right, but I’m pretty sure a scene like what I’ve suggested would would make a nice bonus for dedicated followers. If you’re interested in being involved in my Street Team, please subscribe to my newsletter at the bottom of the page or subscribe to my blog at the right and you’ll be notified when I’m getting it off the ground.

In the meanwhile, we have #SampleSunday. I’ve been doing a lot of guest blogging lately so if you’re visiting from one of them, Hello and Thanks for dropping by! If you’ve missed some of my #SampleSundays for Proof Of Their Sin, I’ve compiled all the links into this post, in the order they appear in the book.

Ironically, this is posting on Father’s Day and one of the main conflicts in this story is Paolo’s stubborn refusal to believe he is the father of Lauren’s baby–even though he desperately wishes he was.

Bonus Scene! This prologue is not in the book. Lauren has been waiting for news on her husband (whom she has asked for a divorce.) In desperation, she calls his best friend, Paolo, asking him to intervene for answers. Paolo arrives with bad news.
Paolo has been caught in a paternity lie before, but Lauren is still surprised he refuses to believe her.
In this Mother’s Day post, Paolo continues to disbelieve he is the father.
Here she’s come around from her faint and they try to work out their next steps.

Below, Lauren and Paolo have been having words about who has been chasing who all these years and Lauren loses her temper. Paolo reacts.

~*~

Before she knew what she was doing, the yellow tomato left her hand and was flying at his head.

He fielded it like a pro, his reflexes catlike. His reaction of astonished disbelief came more slowly as he looked at the orb smashed into his palm. Very deliberately he set it aside and wiped his hand on his shirt, lifting his head in a way of a predator locking onto his prey. Retribution was a ferocious light in his outraged expression.

Lauren’s heart stopped. All her blood drained into her toes and a cold sweat chased it. She was as flabbergasted as he was and the way he seemed to gather and glow with challenge melted her into a puddle of apprehension.

“I-I-” she stammered.

He began walking toward her and she tried to retreat, backing into the fridge door and knocking condiments over in their trays while her nerveless fingers lost their grip on the cloth bag. It fell to the floor. More tomatoes rolled out toward his menacing steps while she managed to shuffle around the door and clatter it closed, taking refuge at one end of the island, putting it between them as he came up to the other end, threat in every line of his aggressive stance.

Part of her knew this standoff was insanely childish, but he looked not just furious, but intent. She was trapped and a frisson of something unidentifiable went through her. Not real fear, but the kind that chased you through a haunted house, making you want to laugh while you were screaming your head off.

“What are you doing hiding behind furniture? You wanted a fight didn’t you?” he taunted in a voice that sent a sensual slither down her spine. “Or were you inviting something else?”

“I was inviting you to get lost, but you can’t stand for a woman to resist you, can you?” she threw out.

“If you at least tried to resist, cara, we might not be in this situation.”

“Who is chasing who right now? I don’t want anything to do with you. You’re behaving like an idiot.”

His head went back in insult while a hint of desperation shadowed the eyes that stayed fixed on her. “Do I really have to chase a woman who wants to be caught?”

Her heart did a back flip while she protested, “Get over yourself!”

At the same time, her heart raced with something more like anticipation than fear, even though she was very scared how she’d react if he touched her.

He made a sudden fake to her left. She feinted in a mirror dodge that started him down one side of the island. She took her chances running down the opposite side.

Paolo was not only competitive, but strong, athletic, and ruthless. Before she’d taken four steps, he had vaulted onto and slid over the island, landing before her so she would have crashed into him if he hadn’t caught her by the arms to cushion the impact.

“You—”

He smothered her cry of anger with his mouth.

Proof Of Their Sin goes live on all digital platforms this week, on June 19th. Print copies release on July 1st. I cannot wait to visit myself in the stores. If you happen to see Proof Of Their Sin ‘in the wild’, please send me a snap via Twitter, Facebook or through my Contact page. I’ll enter you in a draw for a signed copy and include some swag.

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Sunshine Award

I was thrilled to open an email off my contact page the other day and find that the lovely Sharon Buchbinder had nominated my blog for a Sunshine Award.

It’s a little like a chain letter–and I have hard and fast rules about those things (never)–but this is such a nice gesture and, since there were no threats about my computer getting herpes or book sales plummeting, I am delighted to participate. Here are the rules:

Post the photo
Thank the person who presented you with the award and link them in your blog post. (Thanks, Sharon)
Do the Q and A that comes with the award (see below).
Present the award to 10-12 other bloggers and link them to your blog (see way below)

Favourite colour: (spelled with U’s, ’cause I’m Canadian) Depends on the purpose. Kitchen walls? Bathroom? Clothing on me? My husband? Speaking of MrC, he is known to be a real bear when asked a question like this. If you ask him, What’s your favourite movie, he’ll say, ‘What genre?’ And when you start suggesting genres, like, say, action, he’ll say, what subgenre? Invasion? Political? Superhero? We don’t like to play favourites in this house.

Favourite animal: Here we are supposed to say, Why of course it is our cat, Buddy, but he is a complete pain the behind. He demands to be let out at 11pm and wants to come in at 4:10 am. Go ahead, ignore him. He CLIMBS TO THE BALCONY WITH MUCH SCRAPING AND THUMPING AND MEOWS AT THE BEDROOM’S FRENCH DOORS. We’ve tried putting up blockades, taking down the lattice. He’s a ninja and always turns up with an insistent yowl and a scratching of claws on the door. Seriously want to drop him off the balcony at that point, but who said the kids could have a pet in the first place? This is our punishment and we are paying our debt to society.

Favourite number: Um, what was my last advance? Times it by itself.

Favourite non-alcoholic drink: I’m writing this on a Friday night. What a silly question. I very much love coffee and my body keeps telling me to cut back on it. So far it tolerates wine just fine so I am focusing on that.

Facebook or Twitter: You can choose? I thought you had to do both, like it was law or something. Truth is, I love the Twitter. It’s my social media of choice, but now that I’ve got the hang of Facebook, I like it, too. Don’t look at my Pinterest boards. I keep begging my daughter to take over that account and apparently she’s too busy. Ungrateful…

Getting or Receiving presents: I’m lousy at both. Please lower your expectations.

Favourite pattern: I’ve never been asked this, but have to say the less busy the better and something soft, like clouds or rainbows that are not harshly delineated. That’s if we’re talking visually. My ultimate favourite pattern would be the recurring themes in astrology. They make sense to me.

Favourite day of the week: Friday. Right now, Friday night is my only ‘off’ time and I’m writing a blog. But this is a fun one so I don’t mind

Favourite flower: Okay, now I’m being asked to choose between my best friends. I LOVE flowers. What genre of flower are we talking about? Favourite flower that reminds you of someone? Flowers you can eat? Flowers that deer don’t eat?

Favourite blogs: I’m sure some of these blogs have received the Sunshine Award before. They’re awesome peeps. Here goes:

The gals at Moody Muses
Jennifer Crusie’s Blog, ArghInk
Peter at HowToWriteFast
Lucy Monroe (I recently rediscovered her Career Plan articles. They are GOLD)
Wonk-o-mance
Alma Katsu at Endpaper Notes (tons of good info on social media)
Under The Abaya (fascinating blog that I stumbled on doing research for a book)
Lisa Pietsch (more good stuff on social media)
Kristen Lamb at WarriorWriters
Paloma Beck at Romance Beckons (has an incredibly loyal band of followers)

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WOTI Wednesday – LT Getty

I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date! Due to unforeseen circumstances (writers on both sides dropping the juggling pins) my interview with LT Getty from Worlds Of The Imagination is going up at the end of Wednesday night.

I don’t want to post a Thursday Thirteen on top of it so I’ll be skipping that again this week. Expect all my posts to be a bit off kilter as I finish up some projects and family comes to town for my daughter’s graduation. I’m aiming for the July 1st long weekend to start herding my kittens back into their baskets.

In the meantime, I’m delighted Leia has joined me here today.

Leia, what makes your fantasy world different from ours?

Tower of Obsidian is set in the 10th century of our world – the difference, of course, is that magic exists, if only a very small amount, however I gave a good reason for it to go away towards the end of the novel.

What inspired this book?

There were a good many inspirations – I had previously tried to write a collection of short stories where I was essentially retelling the same story again and again, but it just wasn’t jiving. I was watching my niece a lot around the time I was forming Tower of Obsidian’s story, and I started to notice how the new versions of cartoons I grew up with differed from the versions I knew – not only in art style, but how much more educational and safety-sanitized the new versions tended to be. So when I wrote ToO, I basically wanted tell a fantasy story about the nature of story, and retell the tale within the text, meanwhile, considering how interpretation of story changes.

Cool! Are your characters human? What talents do they have?

For the most part they are human – Kale one of the main characters, becomes “cursed” with immortality and bound to the aforementioned tower halfway through the novel.

I already want to know more. Is this part of a series?

No, Tower of Obsidian stands alone, and I have no intention to revisit the story at this point in time.

What’s your process like when it comes to worldbuilding? Any tips for other fantasy authors?

I usually come from an idea for a plot, then I work out the characters. When I create characters, I usually think of their personalities, then think about the world that they would need to come from, then, after I’ve developed the world, I go back and make them a product of their world.

For example, I might come up with someone who I’m going to say is spoiled from a life of privilege and I want this character to be adventuresome as well. So I develop the world – are they of a higher social or wealth class? What would be these defining factors? Let’s say I wanted to write a story about a young man who commands his own ship, but he thinks he’s better then the men he commands – I’ll make this character of a merchant class, wealthy but not necessarily royalty. I’ll consider trade and what their family might deal with – the opportunities are endless, but a family that deals with something more refined like spice or manufactured goods denotes a different social class then one who is dealing with the slave trade or shipping raw ore or lumber. I’ll come up with what that port is known for – what the rules are, what the people eat, what day to day life is, and develop that character – at this point, I might say to myself, “I want him to be ignorant of what most working people go through – but still kind of outdoorsy and strong.” So I’ll make him come from a wealthy family of shipmakers – now, this is important if the society denotes only certain classes can make boats, or handle whatever materials or whatever – I need to figure out what kind of ships we’re dealing with, and what sort of education his family would require of him. If he’s the heir – he needs to know his father’s business and his life is probably very planned out. If he’s the spare – he might have some freedom but no inheritance – perhaps this society makes second-sons enter the priesthood or he receives a ship from his father to start his own business. So let’s assume I want my character to come from relative wealth, education and freedom – I’ll make him the third-born in a society where women inherit, so he’s not essentially needed unless disaster strikes. I’ve now developed a system that explains why a relatively young and ignorant character would own a ship, and I can use that world-building I’ve done to give him individual characteristics. In addition to his own dreams and goals, how does he see his family? How does he see society? Is he resentful of his older sister gaining the family business, or is he happy to make his own way in the world?

So I guess my advice is regardless of wherever you start in your story – whether you create the character first, or you come up with the world and plunk a character in it, is to ask some questions as to how they came to be the way they came to be – it might not match your original vision and you might do a ton of work that no one will ever see, but it’ll help you develop more rounded characters that feel authentic to whatever world you dream up.

Every good author should probably follow this back and forth refining of world and character to help develop believability, regardless of genre. Can you share an excerpt?

“You’d think you were a princess, the way you carry yourself.”

“Don’t talk to him,” said Ruairí. He stood directly above the grating and graced his captive with a downward glance before speaking in their mother tongue. “You look like a thief, not the husband of a princess.”

“We will see who appears princelier by voyage’s end.”

Ruairí laughed, bending down. “There’s a skin–thief in Wizeo. He specializes in teeth. You’ll have no need of them—many masters like to feed their slaves only broth, knowing if their property flees they’ll starve. I may keep your teeth for Aoife and string them into a necklace for her.”

“Say what you’d like, Ruairí, but you and I both know you will be a favored exile at best,” Kale said. “Aoife is beyond your grasp.”

“I’ll keep you around long enough to prove otherwise,” Ruairí said, but looked away when a man shouted. Ruairí opened his eyes wide and sprinted away from the hold’s grate.

Kale tried to see, but all he could see were the stars, bits of sail, and the bottoms of the boots from the men walking above the grating. The men shouted in alarm. Kale remembered Ruairí’s earlier words to slit Kale’s throat before letting him be rescued, but in the chaos of battle, the men would be more worried about their own skins than any lingering orders.

He thought of the men above, those like him who were unused to sailing, and suddenly he was thrust forward. The ship leaned and creaked, and he heard a terrible, foreign crunching. His cell filled with water. He was not experienced in nautical tactics, but he assumed their ship had been rammed. Someone yelled, “Sea serpent!”

Perhaps mercy, Kale thought as the cold water quickly filled his hold. He was cold already but the large space filled slow enough that he could tread water which lifted him to the grate. He heard the sounds of dueling and the screams of men dying.

Once he could grasp the metal bars, he thrust out an arm. He shouted that he’d drown, but no one seemed to care as the men panicked above. How much water was the ship taking on?

The icy water was near his shoulders when someone smashed the lock to his prison with their blade. “Up and fight, damn you,” the corsair ordered, helping him out and handing Kale a blade.

He took the blade and was about to say he would never aid pirates when he saw the creatures before them and joined in the fray.

At first, he thought they were Vikings. Their attackers were large men with broad faces and full beards. He did not recognize their dark leather and metal dress or their pale, grayish skin painted white. It was late in the battle so their true color was easily seen underneath the smeared segments which weren’t spattered with blood. Braided into their hair and beards were the teeth and bones of both men and beasts.

Despite the chaos, he could see their ship, and then he heard a reptilian chortle from above. Not a sea serpent, but a great silver dragon, smaller than the ship he was on.

It rained down fire toward the sails. Several warriors from both sides were caught in the flames; some of who leapt into the waves. Kale took cover but was instantly dry; his back burned, for the corsair’s ship was already on fire, forcing him toward the ship’s stern. He had talked with Vikings before, their merchant allies, and even some captured enemies. He had tried not to listen to their pagan stories but became interested when they spoke of their ghosts.

One large, pale warrior was struck by a corsair’s blade, and he bled as dark as any man. Ghost or mortal, Kale had no idea, but the word draugr burned into his mind as he fought. He tried to remember the stories, but with what seemed like death battling him, his mind was of survival, not folklore.

The dragon then dove beneath the waves. He barely had time to parry the attack from a one–armed draugr. Parrying, Kale caught his scent. The warrior was no ghost. He’d received a cut to his head.

He knocked Kale backwards, only for a corsair to shoot him from behind.

“Show them no mercy,” shouted the corsair. “I thought you were a great swordsman. Fight!”

Their ship was sinking faster now, smashed midway, and water lapped at Kale’s heels as he fought alongside the corsairs. Someone lanced his shoulder, rendering his right arm slow, so he fought with his left, defending his patch of deck like a mad man. Were they driving them into the sea, to feed the monster?

When the dragon emerged from the deep, it knocked the ship onto its side, sending men from both armies into the water. Kale managed to clutch the railing, though he almost let go when the dragon swooped down and picked off one of the corsair archers who had been shooting the draugr from the crow’s nest.

The ship slowly careened back onto its proper side, and as the flames threatened to encircle the survivors, the draugr no longer advanced. Instead, the pale men formed a line and stomped their feet.

A horn sounded from behind their line, and they skittered backward.

The patch of deck Kale stood on began to sink, but a talon snatched him, and he was thrown forward onto the draugr’s ship. It was a craft not like a Viking long ship, but larger, with sails and a hold, such as a merchant vessel.

He was grabbed and disarmed, but rather than be killed, he was forced to his knees with several other survivors. Kale looked at the dragon, which descended a final time to the corsair’s ship and dug its massive claws into the hull, forcing it to sink even quicker.

The dragon leapt to the air once again, but in the darkness, changed.

He strained to watch the creature while he was held down, but he saw the dragon descend to the draugr’s vessel as a man.

He was possibly the largest man Kale had ever seen, almost built to a different scale; his features were too angular and his movements fluid, feline, intentional. He wore black armor, not with bones or white paste of the draugr or the mail of the Vikings, but something which felt like it radiated heat when he walked past Kale.

“Take the survivors to the hold,” he instructed the warriors.

Ooooh, trouble. Where can readers find out more about you and your books?

My Blog: http://ltgetty.wordpress.com/ or Amazon | Nook | Champagne | Goodreads

 

 

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#SampleSunday – Proof Of Their Sin

I’m losing track of the excerpts I’ve posted. At some point I want to add links to each book page so you can click into all of them, but that’s pretty far down my To Do list. I need an assistant, one who doesn’t mind being paid in romance novels.

The working title of this book was Kidnapped For Keeps. Paolo hustles Lauren into his car as she arrives off the plane in Milan. He’s come home for Christmas and doesn’t fancy having her parading herself around his town where all his family might see her. She just saw him in New York the night before so she’s pretty surprised he got there ahead of her.

~*~

“I thought you were living in Quebec?” he said.

“I am. Was. Paolo, how?” She opened her palms in bafflement, wishing away the skip that plucked at her heart when she looked at him, but he was so masculine and sure. His sunglasses obscured his eyes, setting off his blade straight nose, his stern jaw, his mouth with its narrow upper lip and the squared off, but full, bottom one.

That mouth had travelled everywhere on her, tender and wicked and determined to draw forth every last ounce of pleasure. Her stomach contracted in a clench of desire remembering the way he’d devoted himself to kissing the arch of her foot, the backs of her knees, her inner thighs…

Flushing, burning in a hell of sins, she jerked her gaze back to streets she didn’t see. “You didn’t say anything about coming to Italy last night,” she said in a strained voice. “Your assistant said you were leaving town after the benefit and gone until the New Year, but she didn’t say where you were going. How are you here ahead of me? Were you on my flight, too?”

“No, I arrived ahead of you.” He pursed his lips with dismay before saying, “I didn’t wish anyone to know we were associating beyond our brief conversation last night. You have put me in a difficult position. You understand that, si?”

She had put him…? Defensive anger poured through her. She’d grown up with step-siblings who had always pointed to her as being at fault and she didn’t take that sort of blame any longer.

“I didn’t rape you and steal your sperm, Paolo.”

“Who knows you are pregnant?” he demanded.

“Just my doctor.”

“Who else?”

“No one! All the books said to wait three months before telling anyone.”

“They don’t mean the father, Lauren. Or did you try telling him and things didn’t work out? Is that why you’ve come to me? What happened with the real father? Tell me. I’ll help you.”

Lauren stopped thumbing the clasp on her pocketbook, annoyance making her heart ring and come out fighting. “The real father didn’t believe me and is behaving like an ass.”

He shot her a sharp glance until he read her meaning in the withering look she offered. His sexy mouth firmed into a hard line.

“You are being an ass,” she asserted. “I needed time to figure out what my life would look like as a single mother so I kept it to myself. Why didn’t you call?” she challenged. “You knew we hadn’t used any condoms.”

A muscle twitched under his eye. “I believed you were unable to get pregnant so even though I didn’t mean to take that risk, the likelihood of conception didn’t seem high enough to follow up on.”

All she heard was the first part and it caused her a sensation like a knife had been thrust into her throat. Another one turned slowly about eight inches lower, deeper in her chest.

“Ryan told you I couldn’t get pregnant?” she strangled.

~*~

Remember, I’m giving away a copy to my newsletter subscribers. Scroll to the bottom of this page to sign up now.

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TGIF

It’s not quite Friday. For me it’s only Thursday night, but I’ve been falling down on the blogging lately and thought I should catch you up with all that I’m up to–not that it’s earth shattering. I’m writing of course.

What am I writing? Well, I just sent off what will be my fourth Harlequin Presents. I may have a few more revisions on that one before all heads are nodding. It’s a revenge premise, my first, so I’m struggling with whether I made my hero likable enough. He’s really mad.

I’d like to have a partial to my editor in the next few weeks for my fifth. That way it’ll be full steam ahead on that manuscript through the summer when some of the promotional commitments back off.

Promo! I’ve been blogging everywhere about Proof Of Their Sin. I’m planning a Thursday 13 recap soon so if you’ve missed some and you’re bored at work, you’ll have some light reading to look forward to.

I’ll keep up the #SampleSunday, but I’ve been thinking that I’d like to do a serial here. I was going to write a novella, but it just occurred to me that I have a pair of perfectly good manuscripts I want to rework anyway…  Hmm. Something to think about after conference.

I’m attending the National Conference of Romance Writer’s of America in Atlanta this July. My friend Cathryn Parry and I will be giving a workshop called: The Joy Of Writing, With Or Without A Contract. Fun for all stages (of a writer’s career.) Cathryn has been a stalwart friend through a lot of tough rejections and other heartbreaks so I’m really looking forward to sharing some of the coping strategies we’ve developed (sometimes more like interventions) to keep each other positive. Of course that means I need to write them down so that’s another item on the To Do list in the next few weeks.

I’ll be attending the literacy autographing at the conference as well–something I’ve always envied other writers so I’m very much looking forward to that. Of course I’d like to offer a few giveaways so that means getting my swag in order. (Bookmarks and adhesive note pads at this point.)

Something else I’m very stoked about is my first opportunity to meet my editor with Harlequin Presents/Mills & Boon Modern, Megan Haslam. We’ve chatted on the phone and emailed plenty, but in person is always better for getting to know someone, right? I expect it to be a mostly social thing, but I don’t want to be caught unprepared if she asks, “So what’s next?” That means getting my next projects out of my head and sketched onto a napkin at the very least. (Feel free to send me a wishlist of your favourite tycoon/setting/premise combo. I’ll see what I can do.)

I’m also working on another pair of books that I’ll talk about when the time is right. There’s some conference prep to do for that project as well.

And what if the agent of my dreams walks up and says, “I can get you a six figure deal. What do you have?” Hint, the correct answer is not, Duhhh. So I want to know what I’m going to say if that happens.

Along those lines, I’ve been making notes for a career plan and I’d like to gel that into something more formal before I’m surrounded by industry professionals. It includes a book trailer, but I need to write the script before I can go anywhere with that.

So, as usual, my plate is full, my hands are full, my mouth is full. I think I’ve dropped some down my T-shirt into my lap and if we had a dog, he’d be cleaning the floor. Did I mention that contest season is starting and I have books to enter? Plus I’ve been promising to post a printable book list which seems like nothing, but it’s One More Thing.

I’ve made one solid decision, though: to learn all I can at conference about Street Teams before I dive headlong into starting one.

I know, I know! I was planning a post for The Writer’s Vineyard about over-committing. I was going to post it on my day last Wednesday, but if you can believe it, I got the dates mixed up and had already missed my slot by a week. No, I don’t know how it happened. Weird, right?

Have a great weekend and let me know what you think about my serial idea.

 

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#SampleSunday – Proof Of Their Sin

Proof Of Their Sin has gone live on the Mills & Boon UK and eHarlequin, I just discovered!!. I’m so excited. I loved Lauren and Paolo from the second they arrived in my imagination. She’s always been a wallflower, but starts to sparkle from page one, when she takes control of her life. As for Paolo, what can I say? He’s Italian. Swoon.

Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite.

~*~

“So?” he demanded when the elevator doors enclosed them. “Whose is it?”

She dragged her gaze from his magnetic reflection and looked scathingly up at the man himself, mortified to acknowledge that desire still gripped her. It had always been there of course, sublimated, rejected, and ignored. That’s why she’d so rarely stood near him or held a real conversation with him. That’s why, after trying to speak to him at Ryan’s thirtieth birthday and receiving nothing but disparagement, she’d told herself she hated him.

She had convinced herself she would never see him again, but three months ago she’d had nowhere else to turn. At best she’d hoped for a civil phone call that might or might not have shed light on Ryan’s disappearance.

Twenty-four hours after the pleading message she’d left on his voicemail, however, he had walked into the Bradley’s cold, silent mansion like an avenging angel, eyes only for her. It was the last thing she had expected and inexplicably, despite all the turmoil around her, her inner freeze had thawed into a flood of warmth and relief. Her heart had begun to beat again.

Let me take you out of here, cara. He’d been like a mug of cappuccino, all coffee tones in a fawn leather jacket over dark chocolate pants. His jaw had been sprinkled with a sexy, overnight stubble and his brown eyes had been liquid with empathy and sorrow.

She’d gone with him because she had trusted him. The painfully awkward interactions in the past had fallen away and they’d been two people in the same crisis willing to cling to each other to survive it. She hadn’t gone to his penthouse because she was sexually attracted to him. She hadn’t wanted—

Well, that wasn’t true. She had always wanted on some level. Involuntarily.

She dropped her defiant gaze from his, swallowing back embarrassment over the way she hadn’t stopped herself reaching for him in the dark.

Forget it, she commanded herself, trying to ignore the clamor in her that said, I don’t want to forget. It was over. If he’d had a weak moment of randiness then it was her good fortune. She had the baby she’d longed for. Every time she thought of the life growing in her, her heart expanded to fill her chest with the sweetest ache. All she was really concerned with now was proceeding with life as a mother.

“It’s yours, Paolo,” she said in a husky voice aimed at his shoes, then realized she was doing it again, hanging her head like she had something to be ashamed of. Jerking her chin up, she set her jaw and braced herself against the feeling of teetering like a plate on a stick. “I don’t care whether you believe me,” she declared.

“Good,” he said as the car floated to a halt and the doors opened. “Because I don’t.”

She choked on offended fury. She cared. Of course she cared. This was their baby. All the maternal instincts she’d kept in stasis for years rushed forward to stand up for their child.

“How dare you call me a liar over something so important?” She made no move to exit the elevator.

He put out a hand to hold the doors, his scornful gaze flaying her into sandwich meat.

“I’ve been down this road. How could you think I’d take your word for it?”

~*~

If you like what you see, it’s available for preorder in N. American on Amazon, Amazon Canada, Nook, Kobo, and eHarlequin.

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WOTI Wednesday – R.J. Hore

R.J. (Ron) Hore joins me from the Fantasy Folk at Worlds Of The Imagination this week. R.J.’s novel, The Queen’s Pawn, is a medieval-style fantasy available in print and ebook.

How long have you been writing? How does it fit into the rest of your life? What are you besides a writer?

I have been writing fiction for over thirty years, piling up unpublished manuscripts. Wrote a lot of non-fiction in my day job. When I retired I went back to spending more time on the fiction and have published two short stories, co-authored a history book, and then linked up with Burst Books. So far I have published two novels and a novella in the medieval-fantasy style, and two fantasy detective novellas in a series (the Housetrap Chronicles) that will see two more issued in 2013.

Spare time? Very little. Family, photography, travel, and a sailboat. Oh yes, and attending writer’s conferences.

What is your process like? Did this book give you any trouble or flow better than others?

I have no problem coming up with ideas. The Queen’s Pawn grew out of a single scene, an innocent young man in a fallen city about to be overrun. From there the story flowed, adding a wizard, a sensuous Queen, and her spoiled daughter. Our hero has to rescue them and get them to safety. Lots of flirtations, bits of humor, and plenty of villains. It was fun to write and readers seem to enjoy it.

What can readers look forward to next from you?

I’m just wrapping up two more novellas in the fantasy detective series: The Housetrap Chronicles. My first medieval-style fantasy novel, The Dark Lady came out in February 2012. I have written two sequels and they are now sitting on the publisher’s desk awaiting judgment. There is also a novel about a bickering couple swept away to an alternative universe sitting in the wings. While the smoke clears from these, I plan to go back and re-visit an earlier novel, a tale of a lady archeologist, her teenage daughter, and an alien who looks like Harrison Ford. I originally stopped at 70,000 words and thought I was finished. I have since decided it needs something more, so the next major project will be adding 30,000 or so words.

What’s The Queen’s Pawn about?

On his way to study for the priesthood, Harow is mistaken for a bold and infamous duke. Instead of study, he finds himself thrust into action to rescue a beautiful queen and her spoiled daughter, as they flee the city. Now, a rebel army is hot on their heels and Harow must keep his wits about him as he leads the small group of survivors to safety.

Will you share an excerpt?

“Well, I’m not going anywhere!” came a sharp voice from the crowd. “And I’m certainly not leaving the Palace with that pair of ruffians! Did you say the Usurper has been slain?”

A girl of about fourteen summers stomped out to stand beside the Queen, hands on slender hips, glaring first at Harow, then at Machia. Her black hair, tied with a blue ribbon, hung halfway to her waist. A high necklace of gold and pearls bound her pale neck. Before he turned his face away, Harow caught a blaze of fire from her grey-green eyes.

“You come here unannounced, looking like street beggars. You tell my mother that the King is dead, and then you calmly expect us to fling ourselves into your protection and rush off, saints know where!” Her nostrils flared and she stamped her silk-clad foot. “I will not allow it!”

“Ah…”

“I, for one, do not care if you are the Duke of Asturas, Castor, and the Whatever Plains.”

“Ah… I …”

“Have you no manners?” Her voice rose a notch or seven, venturing into what Harow would have described as shrill. “I am speaking! I am the Royal Princess! You will not interrupt!”

Queen Reginee placed her arm gently around the girl’s shoulder. “Duke Rickard, I would like you to meet my daughter, the Princess Desiree-Rose. She is normally a bit high-strung, I’m afraid, and the events of the last few days have us all on edge. And now… with the death of the King…” A tear glistened on the Queen’s cheek and her giant companion quickly offered a silk handkerchief from within her ample bosom.

Where can readers find you and your books?

You can find me at:

www.ronaldhore.com

www.facebook.com/RonaldJHore

Books are available through the usual on-line outlets such as Amazon or directly through the publisher: www.burstbooks.ca.

Thanks for visiting, Ron!

 

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#SampleSunday – Hustled To The Altar

I decided to switch things up and offer an excerpt from Hustled To The Altar. I lowered the price to $2.49 so if you’re in the mood for a comedic beach read over your Memorial Day weekend, check it out.

This scene is from late in the book, but it’s one of my favorites. Con, the irrepressible game player, and Renny, the reformed con artist, are trying to get to the root of their failed relationship. They wind up in an elevator with a bunch of drunk therapists.

~*~

It was crowded with people wearing sloppy grins, suggesting they had enjoyed the martini specials at the hotel bar.

“Where did you get that lame plan, anyway? The pot-head cameraman? I expected better of you,” Renny muttered.

“Like what?” he asked with irritation. “Because I’m having trouble figuring out what your expectations are. Do you want me to be sensible or a super-hero?”

“Marital problems?” one of the strangers asked. He offered his card. “I’m a thamily ferapist.”

Renny plucked the card out of the man’s hand and smiled a dismissing thanks. She turned to Con. “I expect you to be what you are: a man who finds a way to win.”

“I did win. You’re still alive.”

“Trauma survivor?” A woman dug in her purse.

Renny accepted another card with another stiff smile.

The elevator stopped, but no one left. The doors shut and it began to rise again.

“So I’m alive,” Renny said. “Big deal! How am I supposed to live with this kind of failure?”

“Depression,” the group agreed with a nodding of heads. Several people reached for pockets and purses.

“I don’t need help. I know what I’m dealing with,” Renny insisted, refusing the cards. Con took them, amused by the group.

Breathing deeply, Renny faced him. “What I’m saying is, I know you have to be one step ahead all the time, that it gives you a sense of control. I’ve figured out how to live with that aspect of your personality—”

“Co-dependent. That’s you, Charlotte.”

“Oh, right.” The elevator stopped as the woman extracted her card.

Renny snatched it and held the door, shooing all the people off the elevator.

“But I’m three floors up,” a heavyset man complained.

“Ask one of your friends to help you get over it.” Renny pressed the button to close the doors and leaned into the wall, scowling at the red dots on her inner wrist.

Con took her hand, frowning at her marred skin.

“Authority figures give me hives,” she explained.

“That explains your rash behavior.”

“It’s not funny.”

It was, but she obviously needed help to laugh about it. Handing her a couple of the business cards he still held, he fanned out the ones he’d kept.

“I’ve got a pair of substance abuse counselors,” he said in an inviting tone.

She let her eyelids droop in disdain, like she was going to ignore him.

“Can’t beat it? Too bad,” he mused.

She peeked at her cards. “Three family therapists. I win.”

“Wait. I’ve got a child welfare. That’s like an ace.”

“Is that how we’re playing? ’Cause I’ve got an aroma therapist, which would be a joker.”

“You do not. Tell me you’ve got a sex therapist and I’ll fold.”

She showed him a card. “Trauma. Same thing.”

They both laughed. He couldn’t wait any longer and pulled her close to kiss her. It was heaven.

Click here to get it on Amazon, iBooks, Kobo, Nook… and have a great weekend!

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Era Lo Prohibido (It Was Forbidden)

Excuse my freak out, but I LOVE this cover. But, um, where exactly is her hand?!

This is the Spanish translation of No Longer Forbidden? It releases in November in paperback and digital. My first foreign edition! How cool is that?

If you’ve read the book, you know that Rowan and Nic get caught in a rainstorm and wind up necking in his convertible. Here’s a teaser from the scene this cover evokes:

They slammed themselves back into the car as the sky opened up. The drumming became a wild rush of sound.

As the windscreen blurred with heavy rain, Rowan glanced at him, expecting him to start the car and pull out. In the muted light, his blue eyes were charcoal, his body a mass of gathered energy.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I can’t wait.” He leaned across, one hand cupping her cheek as he slanted his mouth in hot possession over hers.

Rowan gasped, parting her lips. Nic took devastating advantage, thrusting past the games and hesitations of their past kisses and slamming them into a new reality of raw seduction. His arm came behind her shoulders, gathering her up and providing a pillow as she yielded. So much had changed between them in the last twenty-four hours, Rowan couldn’t do anything but give herself over to the flood of desire.

When his tongue touched hers, lust struck with blinding ferocity, lighting a fire of aggression in her that made her kiss him back with equal fervor, lashing at his tongue with her own, fueling the blaze of need expanding around them.

She was dimly aware of a soft growl in his throat, that his fingers moved in a gentle caress of her jaw and throat, but she wouldn’t give up their kiss. Her hands went into his hair, holding him so she could harden the press of their mouths, inhibitions demolished by how instantaneously he inflamed her. She needed this more than air.

If you haven’t read this one, don’t worry! It’s the one that comes out in December as a 2-4-1 with More Than A Convenient Marriage?

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WOTI Wednesday – Audra Middleton

Audra Middleton is my third interrogation, I mean interview, of my Fantasy Friends from Worlds Of The Imagination. She’s here to talk about her fantasy, The Watcher.

Hi Audra. Thanks for joining me today. How long have you been writing? How does it fit into the rest of your life? What are you besides a writer?

Thanks so much for having me here today, Dani!

In a way I’ve always been a writer, because I’ve always been a daydreamer, and that’s how it starts. After college I went into teaching and then started a family, and really didn’t write any of my daydreams down until a few years ago at the encouragement of friends. Once I started writing again, I couldn’t seem to stop. Mostly I write in between loads of laundry and little league games, because first and foremost I am a mother of three boys.

What is your process like? Did this book give you any trouble or flow better than others?

I am a character-driven ‘pantser,’ which means I tend to develop my characters in my mind first, put them in a problematic situation, and then let them take me where they will. Watcher took me years to write, because it was my first novel and it was a fantasy, so I had a lot of world-building to do. My second novel took me a year to complete, and my third even less, partly because I have more experience now and partly because they had a contemporary, real-world setting.

What can readers look forward to next from you?

I have a humorous paranormal thriller coming out in November, called The Hitchhiker. I am also finishing up a romantic comedy and am nearly done with my first draft of the sequel to Watcher. The ideas keep coming; I’m just trying to keep up.

I can totally relate! Would you share an excerpt?

“She blocks her thoughts,” he whispered, surprised.

“Yes. I’ve no idea what goes on in that fool head of hers.”

Ben became flushed with anger. It was rare to find someone he could not read. To have constant knowledge of others’ thoughts was maddening, tedious, and altogether lonely. He had been living in near seclusion on the farm for almost three years, escaping the thoughts of men, resting from the war. He would have appreciated the company of someone he could not read.

“Why have you kept her from me?” he asked, angrily.

Goran laughed.

“You assume I have some sort of influence on that creature. I tried to find a proper home for her in the village throughout her childhood. Every time I tried, she hid in the woods for days. I finally decided God put this kernel in my teeth for a reason. She comes and goes as she pleases, but she has never left Willowbrook Wood until now,” Goran explained.

Benaiah let go of Goran’s arm. Watcher was now several paces ahead, determined to show them she was not crippled by her embarrassing fall.

“I did not give you permission to wear my cloak,” he taunted her, knowing from the flashes of pink he saw as she fell, she had nothing on under.

Watcher glared back at him and walked toward the edge of the woods again. She walked face first into the first tree she came to, dropping the cloak as she became bark, then trunk wood, then bark again on the other side. Watcher called softly to her pet, hoping he did not get hungry and wander off. Having smelled the man in the water, it made him uneasy when she left toward the clearing. He was not far off when she called.

“Thank you, Kitty. Off you go, I’ll be all right for a while,” she whispered, as she grabbed her pack, slipped on her own cloak, and returned to the clearing.

Ben once again stopped in his tracks.

“How did she do that?” he asked.

Goran shrugged. “Her gift.”

“What sort of creature walks through trees?”

Goran shook his head. “I am afraid you are about to find out.”

He thought for a moment about warning Benaiah not to become distracted, not to lose focus of his duties soon to come, but he had grown weary of being the messenger of such foreboding. She would most likely be gone within the week, after all.

Where can readers find you and your books?

Readers can purchase my book at Burst Books (a division of Champagne Books), Amazon, B&N.com, Kobo, iBookstore, & Sony.

Follow Audra via her website & blog or http://www.facebook.com/AudraMiddletonAuthor.

Thank you so much for being my guest today, Audra. We’ll all be watching for The Watcher.

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