Aven Ellis's Blog, page 2

Rediscovering Jane

I have a confession to make.  When I was seventeen years old, I had to read classic literature novel and write a research paper on it. Despite being an aspiring author myself, I had no desire to read an old work and try to break down confusing-and almost foreign-like language. With despair that only my...

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Let the Royal Research Begin!

These are just a few of the royal family books from my collection… Every author has a different process for research. Some are light researchers. Others immerse themselves. Some do everything upfront before writing a single word while others research as they go along.  Me? I do it before I begin. I do it during...

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Release Day

This is my 17th published novel. I still can’t believe it! Yesterday was the five-year anniversary of the publication of my first novel, Connectivity. Today marks the publication of my 17th book with The Bottom Line. I’ve been publishing books now for five years. And release day never changes. I am one.freaking.mess. Don’t believe me?...

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The Return of the Blog

  The Return of the Blog   I’m at my laptop, and I’ve just blown the dust off my blog. Gah. I don’t think I’ve blogged since 2015. Let’s see, what was going on in the world the last time I blogged? Empire debuted on TV. Adele released 25. “Netflix and Chill” entered our lives....

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The Aubrey Rules-Chapter One

So you can’t wait until Wednesday when the first book in the Chicago on Ice Series, The Aubrey Rules, is released? Or you are curious to know more? Well today is the day, I’m revealing Chapter One right here for you! I’m so excited about this series, and I absolutely loved writing every minute of Aubrey and Beckett’s story. So without further delay, here is Chapter One of my newest release. Enjoy!

Chapter One

The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #1: Never, ever, be late for anything.

I sprint toward the elevator in complete panic mode. This is not happening. I must be having one of those nightmares, and any second I’ll wake up.

Because if I’m not dreaming, I’m awake. Obviously. Which also means I overslept this morning. I couldn’t sleep last night due to anxiety, and I accidentally turned the alarm off on my phone instead of hitting snooze this morning. Which began a domino effect: I overslept. I didn’t have time to get my red curly locks under control with a flat iron, and I’m not going to arrive on time for a job interview with one of the chicest social media firms in Chicago.

I frantically jab the elevator button. This is my first professional interview since I graduated from the University of Washington last month. I have to get this job. I need this job.

I want this job.

I press the button again. “Come on, come on!” I begin pacing. I feel as if I want to throw up. I’m never late. I’m the girl who is ten minutes early to everything. Even for meeting a friend at Starbucks. So the fact that I’m late to the most important interview ever makes me absolutely sick to my stomach.

Ding!

The doors open and I run in, but my boot heel catches in the crack. I fly forward, and my purse swings over my shoulder in a loop. I land flat on my face, and the entire contents rain down on the floor. Then I hear a clink. Like something falling down the crack between the hallway floor and the elevator.

“Miss, are you okay?” a male voice asks me. “Are you hurt?”

I immediately push myself up to my hands and knees. My curly hair is blocking my vision, and I shove it out of the way so I can see. There is a stranger kneeling in front of me.

A very handsome stranger.

One with dark-brown hair and the loveliest chocolate-brown eyes I’ve ever seen.

Who has just seen me trip, fall flat on my face, and—oh my God—is his shoe on top of one of my tampons?

I quickly begin grabbing my things and throwing them back into my Tory Burch tote. “I’m fine,” I say, keeping my eyes down, praying he somehow moves and I can swipe the tampon before he notices it. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure? You hit the floor really hard,” he says.

“Um, I’m good.”

“Here, let me help you,” he says, reaching for my lipstick case.

“No!” I cry, mortified, sticking out my hand. “Don’t!”

His large brown eyes widen in surprise. “No? You’re saying no to me helping you?”

“Yes,” I say, willing him to move his foot.

Okay, so mental telepathy only works on TV because it sure as hell isn’t working now.

I go back to scooping up the millions of receipts I had squirreled away in my purse, along with my huge collection of drugstore mascaras, lipsticks, and Tic Tacs.

“Why?” he asks, a bewildered expression on his face.

I glance up at him as I toss my wallet back into my bag. Oh, wow, he’s super cute. I’d have to say he’s in his mid-twenties, and I can’t get over how expressive his handsome face is.

I grab my iPhone and cast my eyes back down. “It’s my mess. You shouldn’t have to help me clean it up.”

“A planner?” he asks, holding up my gold polka dot Kate Spade planner toward me. “Aren’t these out of style? Don’t you use your phone for stuff like that?”

I pause. He’s Canadian. I know he’s Canadian from the way he said “out,” with a sort of lilt at the end of the word.

“That’s not a planner,” I say, taking it from him. “It’s my rule book.”

“Rule book?”

“Yes.” I drop it into my tote as I continue to pick up stuff off the floor. “Life is chaos. I like jotting down rules for my career and love life and use them as a guide to keep me organized. Some are serious, some are funny. But they’re all designed to keep me from wasting time. So I don’t make mistakes that will hurt me and it’s fun to do an—”

“You write rules for your love life?” he interrupts.

I stop speaking. I realize he’s staring at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

Then a slow smile spreads across his face. “You have an odd idea of a good time.”

Oooooooooh my. He has a gorgeous smile.

Suddenly I realize I don’t have my keys. “Keys,” I say, frantically searching around. “Where are my keys?”

He looks down. “Uh,” he says, picking my tampon up. “Um . . . here.”

GAAAAAAAAH! All of a sudden my face is burning hot.

I have a feeling it matches my hair.

Which is flame red.

I gulp. “Um, thanks,” I say, wishing I could fall down the crack in between the hallway and the elevator.

The crack.

The clank.

No keys.

“Oh my God!” I cry, standing straight up in a panic. “My keys! My keys fell down there!” I point frantically.

“Are you sure?” he asks, standing up and peering down the gap.

“Shit! I’m screwed! I’m late for a job interview and I look like crap and you picked up my tampon, which is mortifying, and now I have to deal with the keys and who knows if I’ll get there on time and I’m so pissed off and why isn’t this elevator moving?”

And before I can stop myself, I kick the side of the elevator wall in frustration, leaving a huge scuff on my boot. Perfect.

“And now I’ve ruined my boot and this is the worst day ever!” I yell.

I glance at him. Now that I’ve had my outburst, I notice that the cute Canadian is big. 6’3 or so. His chest is massive and is hugged by the navy-blue sweater and white T-shirt he’s wearing underneath his gray overcoat. My eyes skim downward, and holy hell his thighs are huge in those jeans and—

“I stopped the elevator with the emergency button to make sure you were okay,” he says simply, snapping me from my thoughts. His voice is soothing, as if he’s trying to calm me. He walks over to it and hits another button, and the doors close and we start going down. Then he turns to me. “We can have someone call the elevator service company to get the keys.”

I throw my hands to my head. “I don’t have time for this! I have a very important job interview. Do you know what my job is right now? I stage condos for sale. I live in other people’s homes with strange furniture and I’m practically a freaking nomad because I move all the time. If I don’t get this job, I’m still a nomad with no belongings other than my rule book!”

I glance over at him. Now his brow is creased. Oh, this keeps getting worse and worse. Now I’ve blown up, kicked a wall, and told him my only form of employment is moving from condo to condo out of a suitcase.

And I’m sure the cute Canadian is desperate for this elevator to hit the lobby so he can run out the doors as fast as he can to get away from the lunatic hothead otherwise known as Aubrey.

“You could start with letting the front office know your keys fell down the elevator shaft,” he suggests. “Then I could take you to your interview. By the time you’re done, they might have your keys.”

“Whoa,” I say, putting my hand out and taking a step back. “I don’t know you. Why would I get in a car with you? You could be some kind of pervert serial killer kind of guy.”

“You think I’m a serial killer?” he asks, an amused tone in his voice.

“That’s not what I said. I said you could be.”

Suddenly he bursts out laughing. “Trust me, I’m not.”

“Why should I? I don’t know you. Just because you’re cute and say ‘trust me’ doesn’t mean I should,” I say.

Then I realize I told him he was cute.

Shit, shit, shit.

The elevator doors open, and I flee, praying the cute Canadian goes on his way. I don’t even look backward. I hurry to the front desk of the luxury high-rise.

“I have a serious problem,” I blurt out. “I dropped my keys down the elevator shaft and I-”

“You what?” the girl asks, wrinkling her brow.

“I dropped my keys down the shaft,” I repeat. “I need someone to get them. Right now. My name is Aubrey Paige and I live in 14F. And I need to have someone get them and I’ll pick them up later but I have to go and this is critical because I need them back so I can—”

“I’m sorry, you’re talking too fast,” the girl interrupts. “Aubrey Paige what?”

“Aubrey Paige! Paige is my last name. And I need to go—”

“Hold on, Ms. Paige. I need to call maintenance to see what we need to do. Now you say they fell down the elevator shaft?” she asks as she picks up the phone and punches a button.

Hold? I don’t have time to hold! I’m about to say more when suddenly the Canadian steps forward.

“Excuse me,” he says.

Another desk person glances up. “Oh, hey, Beckett,” the man says, his eyes shining. “Great game last night in LA. That’s your third hat trick of the season, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have happened without some great passes from my teammates.”

I freeze. Teammates?

“Um, could you verify who I am for this lady, please?” he asks, nodding in my direction.

The guy grins. “This is Beckett Riley, none other than captain of the Chicago Buffaloes.”

“What?” I say, confused.

“The professional hockey team,” the man continues. “This is our captain. And one of the best players in the National Hockey League.”

I know my mouth is hanging open. This cute Canadian is a professional hockey player?

“I told you I wasn’t a serial killer,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at me.

For once, I don’t ramble. I keep my stupid mouth shut.

“So, since I’m not a criminal, I can drive you to your interview, and with James here as my witness, I promise to bring you back alive. If you’ll let me drive you, that is. But it’s your call. So what is it going to be, Aubrey?”

 

The Aubrey Rules will be released on August 26 but you can order your copy right now at myBook.to/aubrey

Fairytale Beginnings by Hollly Martin

 

HAPPY RELEASE DAY TO HOLLY MARTIN!

As you all might already know, Holly is one of my absolute dearest friends. My writing twin. And I’m so excited to talk about her latest work today here on my blog. Fairytale Beginnings is a gorgeous book, one I couldn’t put down, and I utterly fell under its magical spell. So without further delay, here’s my review:

REVIEW

For every woman who has fallen under the magic of a Disney spell, believing in true love and majestic castles and finding your prince with a happily ever after ending, then Fairytale Beginnings is going to be one of your favorite reads of 2015.

Holly Martin has once again provided readers with a gorgeous, sparkly-filled and unique journey to finding true love, told in only the way Ms. Martin can. In Fairytale Beginnings, we meet Milly, a sweet, intelligent young woman who works for Castle Heritage, a historic preservation trust that will help restore properties it deems worthy of restoration. Milly is her own woman-down to the sparkly Converse shoes she wears and the pink tips of her blonde hair. She views the world through rose-colored glasses, and her positivity energy and happy spirit leap right off the page.

Milly’s destiny is forever changed when she’s called to evaluate a castle owned by Cameron, a best-selling author who has inherited the falling down castle and is none too thrilled about it.  Cameron doesn’t have the money to fix all that is wrong and if Castle Heritage doesn’t take it on as a restoration project, he’ll have to sell it, as a messy-and expensive-divorce has taken a lot of his money.

When Cameron and Milly meet, the attraction is instant. Signs start appearing that Milly landing there might be more than an assignment but rather by fate. But with Milly there in a professional capacity, and Cameron done with serious relationships, the path to true love is complicated. And this road becomes more difficult when you throw in some ghosts of the castle, some hilarious town residents, some dangerous situations and misunderstandings.

The chemistry between Cameron and Milly is beautifully written, and I wanted them to be together since their spark-filled introduction on the grounds of the castle. I fell in love as Milly did, appreciating her view of the romance and castle through her rose-colored glasses. Cameron is everything you want in a leading man-strong, determined, and of course, sexy as hell.  And a lush romance with the backdrop of a castle? You’ll want the fairytale to never end.

Now, when I write up books, I have to cast the characters:

Justice Joslin as Cameron:

And Julianne Hough is Milly:

And you can get your copy of Fairytale Beginnings here:

MyBook.to/FairytaleBeginnings

 

 

Leave Yesterday Behind-Casting Call

Lauren Linwood is one of my critique partners, and I’m so excited to talk about her newest release, a romantic suspense called Leave Yesterday Behind!

In this story, we meet Callie Chennault, a famous soap opera actress who has played the multi-married, bad girl with a glimmer of vulnerability, Jessica, for ten years. She’s mulling over the direction of her acting future when she is attacked by a stalker on the streets of New York. The attack changes everything for Callie, as she not only needs to heal physically, but emotionally, from what has happened. She returns to Louisiana to recover and determine the direction of her future.

Meanwhile, Nick La Chappelle is a sexy former baseball player recovering from a messy divorce. He has turned his attention away from the broadcasting booth but to writing novels, which he does from his home in Louisiana. And when these two meet-and get beyond some initial wrong impressions-the chemistry is off the charts hot. But happiness is fleeting as danger lurks in the background. Another stalker has appeared, this one intent on getting Callie. But is she is only target? There are some twist and turns you don’t expect, and when you combine this with the chemistry of Nick and Callie, you’ve got a home run. (Like my sports analogy?)

I decided it might be fun to cast Callie and Nick, so here’s my pick for Callie: Amanda Seyfried

My casting call for Nick: David Gandy

 

And you can buy the book here:

amazon.com/dp/B00WXJIXP0/ 

 

 

Chapter Two-The Definition of Icing

Yay! I can’t wait for the release of The Definition of Icing tomorrow, but to hold you over, here’s Chapter Two.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

Sin Bin: Same thing as the penalty box — Nate

Shit. Shit. The room goes silent—well as silent as it can be with DJ Snake and Lil Jon’s “Turn Down For What” blaring in the studio—but Nate has brought the room to a screeching halt with his threat.

I hold my breath as I watch Todd and Jillian stare at Nate, completely gobsmacked by his involvement in my situation.

“So do we have an understanding?” Nate asks. “Kenley, the outfit of her choice, and her chocolates are part of my photo shoot. I’m the eye candy on this one. Oh, and if you don’t agree, I walk. And I’ll be sure to tell the Demons I bolted because of your sexist attitudes, don’t you know.”

Boom! Nate might as well have thrown a physical punch at them from the panicked expressions now filtering across both their faces.

“You shouldn’t need even a second to discuss, but I’ll let you have it,” Nate continues, his brown eyes still locked on Todd and Jillian. He bends down and picks up his silver and black jersey that is on the floor and strides away.

I immediately follow him.

“Nate,” I say quietly, falling into step next to him. “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem adequate. But thank you for saying that.”

He stops, and I take a moment to study him. He’s got rich dark-brown hair and espresso-colored eyes, with a hint of stubble shading his jawline. There’s no doubt about it, the man is attractive. Very attractive.

“I hope you don’t feel like I overstepped my bounds. But that was fucking bullshit. Those two belong in the Sin Bin for how they were treating you.”

“Sin Bin?”

Nate smiles, and lord, he’s gorgeous when he does.

“Sorry. Hockey slang for Penalty Box,” he explains, raking a hand through his thick, dark hair.

Okay, I’m still clueless but obviously Nate’s inferring they should be punished for being such jerks to me.

“I appreciate you stepping in,” I say softly.

“You don’t have to thank me. It was the right thing to do.”

I’m so surprised by his words I don’t even know what to say. And despite my efforts, I find my eyes taking a quick detour to the full sleeve tat on his left arm. Interesting. It’s an intricate pattern, and I see a fish—

“It’s a Japanese Koi fish.”

I blink and turn my attention back to him. “What?”

“The tattoo you were studying. Japanese Koi fish.”

My face instantly feels hot. Apparently nothing gets past Nate Johansson.

I clear my throat and try to ignore the inferno spreading across my stupid face. “Um, right,” I say. “But please don’t feel like you have to do these pictures with me—”

“I wouldn’t say anything I didn’t mean,” Nate interrupts, pulling his jersey back over his head. “Besides, I do these all the time. It would be fun to do something different for a change.”

Damn. It would have been nice if he had kept his jersey off longer, but that would be more humiliating for me if he caught me drooling over his completely cut core, wouldn’t it?

What am I doing?

I’m totally checking him out. I hate when men do this to me, yet here I am doing it to Nate. Okay. Note to self: Give men a little more slack in the future when it comes to first impressions.

But regardless, I’ve been on a self-imposed man sabbatical since I don’t trust men to say what they mean or their reasons for getting to know me. My last relationship—that I naively thought was based on me, the inside me, wasn’t.

That was two years ago. My trust still hasn’t returned.

And I haven’t met anyone I’ve been interested in dating.

So why can’t I keep my eyes off Nate?

Harrison comes up from behind and slaps Nate on the back, breaking through my thoughts.

“Such a badass, Johansson,” he says, grinning. “Well done.”

Nate laughs in response. “If you call me a knight-in-shining-armor I’ll punch you,” Nate says. “Because this lady is no damsel-in-distress.”

Then he looks at me knowingly.

My pulse suddenly leaps in response to his gaze.

“I’m glad you did it, Nate,” Kylie says. She turns to me. “Why do you have to dress like a slut to promote chocolate?”

“And I doubt they’d ask a male chocolate consultant to do a shoot in his boxer-briefs,” Harrison adds.

If he was as gorgeous as Nate they might.

Then I’m horrified by my thought. Shit, what is my problem today? Maybe it’s the heat. It’s clouding my judgment. That must be it.

Suddenly I hear heels clicking against the concrete floor. I turn over my shoulder and see Jillian coming toward us, an anxious expression plastered across her face.

When she reaches me, she nervously clears her throat.

“Um, Kenley, first I want to apologize for any misunderstanding that happened back there. It was never our intention to make you uncomfortable in any way. We were simply trying to find the best way to promote your business.”

Riiiiiiight.

I don’t say anything because she’s full of crap. And when I don’t, she clears her throat again.

“So,” she says, forging ahead, “we’d love for you to wear the outfit you brought. And to appear with Nate.”

I glance at Nate. “Is your offer still good?”

“Of course,” he says.

Jillian smiles broadly. “Fantastic. Now, Nate, we need to get Kenley to hair and makeup, so I hope that works okay with your schedule as we’re going to be behind.”

“No problem,” Nate says easily. Then he lifts an eyebrow at Jillian. “So do you want my shirt on?”

Jillian appears flustered. “On is fine.”

“Good,” Nate says, nodding at her.

Jillian quickly directs her attention to me, pushing her oversized glasses back up on the bridge of her nose. “Kenley, if you’ll come with me, I have a hair stylist and makeup artist ready to work on you.”

“Okay.” I quickly turn to Harrison and Kylie. “It was a pleasure meeting both of you.”

“Would it be okay if I emailed you about a class or private lesson?” Kylie asks. “Because I’d love to do that.”

Happiness zips through me. “Yes, just email me from my website, and we’ll set something up.”

“Great,” Kylie says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Then she and Harrison say goodbye and exit the studio, with Harrison tugging Kylie to him and kissing the top of her head as they walk out the door.

He adores her, I think, watching them.

And again, I can’t help but wonder what that would feel like, to be loved in that way.

“Kenley?” Jillian asks, snapping me from my thoughts. “Are you coming?”

I refocus and turn back to Nate. “Are you sure you’re okay waiting on me?” I ask. “I don’t want this to ruin your afternoon.”

“Nah, you’re solid,” Nate says. “Now go before they change their minds and try to shove you in that slut sack again.”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, Nate is laughing, and Jillian is turning a bright shade of red.

So I follow Jillian back and prepare for the shoot. I change into my navy dress, which is both feminine and fitted. Next I’m draped with a cloth and hair and makeup people flitter about me. My hair is twisted up into a loose chignon, my makeup is done with smoky eyeliner but a nice neutral lip to balance it out. Of course, the makeup is applied heavier so it will show on camera, but I appear pretty and professional.

Next I put on my large stone statement necklace, the one with abstract shapes and chiseled cuts, which adds a nice contrast to the softness of my dress and pink cashmere sweater. Sweater, I remember. Yes, even though it is hot outside, I’m supposed to be thinking soft and cozy and romantic. I go to my garment bag and get it, slipping it on.

“You look fabulous,” Ashley, the makeup artist, says.

“Thank you for all of your help,” I say. Then I laugh. “And just so you know, my makeup will never be this good again.”

Ashley grins as she slides her powder blush back into her case. “You’re very welcome. You were fun to work with, Kenley.”’

I smile and move past her, picking up my cooler. I sling it over my shoulder and make my way back to the studio.

Nate is standing on the set, and Todd is adjusting the light. His head is cocked to the side, his arms folded across his chest. And while I know the heat has to be impacting my brain, there’s no denying that Nate is one hell of a sexy man.

Nate must feel my gaze because he glances over at me. His eyes lock on mine, and I feel my stomach tingle in response.

Todd turns around. “Oh, hi, Kenley. Are you ready?”

I nod. “Yes, I am.”

“And you brought some props?” Todd asks, coming over to me.

I put my bag on a table and unzip it. “I brought some exotic candy bars, which I figured would hold up well under the lights. And I have chocolate-dipped strawberries that spell out ‘I love you.’”

“Fantastic,” Todd says.

“And I talked about both of these to the reporter as ways to celebrate Valentine’s Day with your significant other,” I add.

Todd picks up the candy bars, and I explain what he’s studying.

“I call this my ‘Passport Collection,’ and how you can travel the globe through chocolate,” I say. “There’s a milk chocolate bar infused with curry spice, a dark chocolate bar with wasabi paste, dark chocolate with Hawaiian sea salt—”

“Chocolate with curry?” Nate interrupts, coming closer to us. “I’m sorry, but that sounds horrible.”

Oh, this is the part of my job I love the most. Convincing people to step outside their comfort zones to discover an unexpected pleasure.

“You have to try it,” I assure him. “It’s a delicious combination.”

“No,” Nate says, holding out his hand. “That’s gross.”

“You have to open your mind to the experience of tasting,” I say, having had people similar to Nate in every single lecture I’ve given.

“I already have a favorite chocolate. That’s Marabou. I don’t need to try anything else.”

“Wait. You know Marabou?” I ask, surprised. That’s a famous Swedish chocolate, not easy to locate in the States, and certainly not well-known.

Nate rubs his hand along the stubble shading his jawline.

“As a native Minnesotan of Swedish ancestry, you betcha,” he says, making the “betcha” sound super Midwestern.

The he flashes me this grin, one that makes my breath catch in my throat the second I see it.

“Okay,” Todd says, interrupting us, “I know what I want to do. Let’s start with you two standing together, facing each other. Kenley, you fan the chocolate bars out like a deck of cards, and Nate, you select one.”

We move over to the set, and now I’m facing Nate. And it’s hard to focus when I have to stare directly into his gorgeous brown eyes.

“You look nice,” Nate says softly.

I smile. “Better than the slut sack?”

Nate laughs. “Yes.”

Suddenly I hear the click of a camera.

“You two seem to be comfortable. Fantastic,” Todd says. “Now Kenley, fan out the chocolate.”

I do as I’m told and smile at Nate, who acts like he’s trying to select the lesser of all evils presented to him.

“If I pick it, do I have to eat it?” he asks.

“No, you’re already going to try the curry one,” I say.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you the chocolate dictator or something?” Nate teases.

Now we’re laughing, and Todd tells us to keep it up.

“The only one I’d be willing to think about trying is the salt one,” Nate declares, selecting that bar. “And that still sounds weird.”

“It’s not,” I promise, smiling at him.

“It is,” Nate counters.

“We’ll see,” I challenge back.

“Will we?” Nate asks, cocking an eyebrow at me.

Whoa, is this flirting?

I shouldn’t be flirting.

He’s a hockey player.

Which means a player.

And I’m on a man sabbatical.

Besides, it’s a photo shoot. We’re pretending, right?

Right?

“Okay, now we’re going to have Nate introduce you to hockey,” Todd says, stepping onto the set. “You brought your sticks, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve got ‘em,” Nate says.

“So here’s my thought,” Todd explains. “Kenley introduced you to exotic chocolate, so you’re going to introduce her to how to shoot an imaginary puck.”

Nate goes to retrieve a hockey stick and comes back with one.

“Kenley, would you move here, please?” Todd asks.

I nod and move to the spot where he wants me to be.

“Now Nate, come around and stand behind her,” Todd says. “Then put your arms around her and show her how to hold the stick.”

What?

Suddenly my throat goes dry. Am I going to have to be held by Nate Johansson for this picture?

Shit, shit, shit.

This does not bode well for me keeping any thoughts of a man-sabbatical in place.

“Sure,” Nate says easily.

He moves behind me and places the hockey stick in my hands. I take it and then Nate leans to me, wrapping his hands around mine.

Suddenly every sense I have is flooded with Nate—the way his hands feel warm on my skin. The way I can smell his cologne because he’s pressed up against me. The way his native Minnesotan accent is now becoming a familiar sound to my ears . . .

“Fantastic,” Todd says excitedly, moving back to get his camera. “Now Kenley, can you pretend you’re concentrating?”

Concentrating? Is Todd kidding? I’m supposed to concentrate when Nate Johansson is pressed up against me?

The thought is so absurd I burst out laughing.

“What?” Nate asks.

Now I’m dying. I can’t stop laughing, which makes Nate laugh, and then I’m laughing because I would sooner die than Nate know why I was laughing.

“Great,” Todd says, snapping away. “Keep acting like you’re having fun.”

“What,” Nate manages to ask, “are we laughing at?”

Oh, that you respect women and stand up for them, you’re incredibly handsome, and I’m supposed to concentrate when you have your hands on me. Like that is going to happen.

“I don’t remember,” I lie.

We continue to move around and take different shots, and then we take a few quick ones of us holding the dipped strawberries on a tray, with Nate on one side and me on the other. But since the light was causing the chocolates to start to melt, we finished up after that.

Nate and I both go back to change, and when we return, I see that Nate is now wearing a white T-shirt and shorts. The white T-shirt outlines his sculpted shoulders and broad chest, and once again the tattoo sleeve on his left arm is visible.

Todd shows us the pictures, and I can’t help but notice how happy I appear in them. I’m smiling, I’m laughing, and I’m having fun.

With a man.

This hasn’t happened in so long I forgot what I looked like when I was happy around a guy.

Then I bite my lip. Or have I ever appeared this happy with a man?

Of course, it’s all pretend.

For Nate, that is.

After reviewing the pictures, Jillian hands us each a sheet of paper as Nate and I gather up our things. I skim it briefly as we head to the elevator together. Ah, yes, the quick fire career definitions we have to answer to accompany our photos. Mine has questions such as, “What is a soufflé?” Out of curiosity, I glance at Nate’s to see what career terms he has. The first word I can make out is Sin Bin before Nate folds his paper in half. Then I quickly file the paper with my stuff as we step into the elevator.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Nate says as the doors close.

“It was fun,” I admit.

“Yeah, I thought so, too. But I’m still not trying your weird chocolate,” he declares, lifting an eyebrow at me.

“How can a man who faces flying rubber pucks for a living be afraid of chocolate with curry?”

“I’m not afraid. I just know I won’t like it.”

I laugh. “Stubborn doesn’t scare me. I will get you to try it.”

Nate grins. “Really? You think I’m stubborn? I think you are.”

“No, no, I’m the most flexible person ever,” I declare, adjusting the strap on my purse. “I’m only stubborn when people try to cheat themselves out of a fantastic chocolate experience.”

“Here, let me carry one of your bags,” Nate says, lifting the garment bag from me.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome.”

The elevator ride is over far too quick. Nate lets me step out first, then he moves next to me, his bag of hockey sticks slung over his shoulder. We return our visitor badges to the front desk and head to the parking garage.

He opens the door to go outside, letting me go first.

And immediately I’m greeted with a blast of hot, humid air.

“Christ, is it ever not 5,000 degrees here?” Nate asks.

“Is this a little too warm for a guy from Minnesota?” I ask, smiling.

“Yes,” he says, pausing as we enter the parking garage. “It’s stupid hot here.”

“Hang on a few more months,” I assure him. “Usually toward October it starts cooling off. Maybe.”

Nate groans. “Great. I’ll eagerly await 90-degree days.”

I laugh. “Oh trust me, you will.”

“Where did you park?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m right here,” I say, pointing to my car, which is in sight. “The red Volvo.”

Nate escorts me over to my car and helps me load up my stuff. Then I shut the door and turn around, and we’re face-to-face again.

“I’m over on the other side,” he says. Then he clears his throat. “Thank you for making that photo shoot fun today.”

“No, no, I need to thank you,” I say honestly.

We’re silent for a moment.

But Nate isn’t leaving.

An idea hits me. I can’t believe I’m about to do what I’m going to do, but I sense this will be my only opportunity, and I blurt it out before I change my mind.

“Um, Nate, I know it’s a little early for dinner, but would you like to go somewhere around here and grab something to eat? As my way of saying thank you for saving the shoot for me today?” I ask, my words flying out in a nervous rush.

Nate’s expression completely changes. An awkward expression passes over his face, and he rakes a hand through his dark hair.

And I instantly know I’ve made a mistake in asking him to dinner.

“Um, Kenley, that’s nice of you to offer, and I mean that, but I’m going to have to decline,” Nate says softly. He pauses for a moment and then continues. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but I’m not interested in dating anyone right now. Hopefully I’ll see you around, okay?”

And then he turns and walks away.

 

Wanna know the rest of the story? You can order your copy here myBook.to/Icing

 

The Definition of Icing-Chapter One

We are now only THREE DAYS from the release of my second Dallas Demons Hockey Romance, The Definition of Icing! I’m so excited to bring you Nate and Kenley that I’m going to share Chapter One with you all today to get you ready for Wednesday. Enjoy!

 

 

 

Chapter One

Soufflé: A light, airy, fluffy dessert that is perfection—unless it falls and collapses while baking — Kenley

 

I think I’m melting.

I have my car air conditioner going full blast, but the temperature never feels comfortable. My back is sweaty against the leather seat of my car, and the outdoor temperature reading I’m getting is 107F. Ah, another delightful August afternoon in Dallas, with clear blue skies and the ever present sun beaming down on the city.

High rises surround me as I navigate my way to the office building I’m seeking. And I hope I find it soon. I’m not sure my cargo will last much longer when my car feels like the inside of a convection oven.

Finally, I locate the address I need. I swing in through the parking garage and push my sunglasses up on my forehead so I can see in the dark light, and wind around and around until I find a spot. Nerves get the better of me as I arrive at my destination, so I reach for my phone after I put the car in ‘park’ and dial Lexi, my best friend and roommate.

“Okay, I’m here, Lexi,” I say. “Tell me I can appear cozy and romantic when I’m sweltering. Tell me I can pull this off.”

Because the brutally scorching day is not in the least optimal for the Valentine’s Day photo shoot I’m doing for the Dallas Details magazine February issue. But it’s hard to think of cozy winter nights wrapped in a sweater in front of a fire and being romantic when it’s so hot outside that you feel as if a hair dryer is blasting you the second you open your car door.

“Kenley, you’re going to be fantastic,” Lexi says confidently. “Now how are the chocolates?”

I reach across the passenger seat and lift the lid of my cooler. My cargo—exotic chocolate bars, truffles, and chocolate-dipped strawberries—are in pristine, chilled condition.

“They’re good,” I say, relieved. “The Confection Consultations woman will not display melted, warped chocolates in this photo shoot.”

Thank God for that. I started Confection Consultations six months ago, and my business of teaching people about the art of chocolate confections and elegant desserts is beginning to grow. Someone on the editorial staff took one of my classes on chocolate tasting last month, and I got this phone call out of the blue to be featured in Dallas Details. Getting to showcase my business in Dallas Details—in a Valentine’s photo shoot with some Dallas Demons hockey players, no less—will be a huge publicity generator for Confection Consultations.

I bite down on my lower lip as an anxious feeling sweeps over me. I hope they see the chocolate, I think, gripping my steering wheel as I peer at the tall glass building where the shoot is taking place. Please let them hear what I’m saying. I want them to ask about my background, how I’ve spent the past year of my life studying chocolate making in Europe and that I’m educated—

“Hey,” Lexi says, interrupting my thoughts, “don’t worry about things you can’t control. They’ll see your intelligence. They will.”

I smile. Lexi Stewart knows me inside and out. She knew what doubt was running through my head before I could even say it aloud. Apparently being friends since we were six does that to people.

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Well, I’m going to go in now.”

“Good luck. Call me the second you’re out. And if you get to see Harrison Flynn with his shirt off, I will hate you forever,” Lexi declares.

I laugh. “He’s the ginger one, right?”

“Seriously, Kenley, how do you not have him memorized?”

“Because I’m not into hockey players,” I say. “Don’t they have missing teeth?”

“Arrrgh! You’re wasting the biggest opportunity ever,” Lexi declares. “I’m sitting here working on a graphic design for a boring bank, and you get to spend the afternoon with hockey players. And you don’t even think they’re hot. This is a tragedy of epic proportions.”

I can’t help but laugh at her dramatic interpretation. “Um . . . I’m sorry?” I offer.

She laughs with me, and I end the call. I drop my cell into my tote and pull down the visor, checking my appearance in the mirror one more time.

My appearance, which has been a blessing and a curse throughout my 24 years.

I see the light-blue eyes, the long, golden-blond hair with the natural beach-style waves, the warm skin that appears sun-kissed even when it’s not.

Ever since I was a little girl, people have fixated on my appearance. “Kenley is such a beautiful little girl,” they would say when I was small. As I grew older, the attention came from boys and men, and I was always noticed for my appearance.

The beautiful girl.

The flawless girl.

And that was where a lot of people stopped.

Nobody wanted to know what I thought. What my talents were. I couldn’t possibly have a brain because I had beauty. I was the girl the guys wanted to get with, to claim as a trophy, to show off that they had. But I wasn’t the girl they wanted to have a conversation with or truly get to know on a meaningful level. And this pattern repeated itself over and over, right down to the last relationship I had two years ago.

Yes, I know I got lucky in the genetics lottery. But I have flaws, plenty of them, as a matter of fact. And a lot of people assume that life is problem-free if you’re blessed with what others perceive as beauty, and nothing could be further from the truth.

Yet what draws people to me is also an obstacle as far as seeing the person who exists under the surface.

However, when I talk about chocolate and get people to taste it, they suddenly hear me. They get lost in the pleasure of chocolate, the sensation of eating it, the way it makes them feel. They don’t see me as the beautiful blond girl, but rather the woman who knows about chocolate and can teach them about it. And that is why I love my business and want to make it successful.

I get out of my Volvo, and oh, yes, we’re at hair dryer level high today, and shut the door. I go to the passenger side and retrieve my cooler and my tote, as well as the hanging garment bag I had in the backseat. Now that I’m saddled down like a mule, I head toward the building.

I’ve lived in the Dallas area my entire life—and only went as far as Fort Worth to go to TCU for college—but today’s heat is bad even for a native. I can’t imagine what someone new to Dallas must think of it here. Other than the heat rivals that of the sun. Ugh.

I’m sweating by the time I reach the door, and a businessman sees me struggling and holds the door open for me.

“Thank you so much,” I say, flashing him a smile.

“You’re welcome. Do you need any help?”

“No, thank you, though,” I say confidently.

And I make it to the reception desk before my tote bag oh-so-elegantly drops right off my shoulder and to the crook of my elbow. Of course, I can’t fix that until I put down my garment bag and cooler. Shit, I totally should have taken that guy up on his offer, as everything is about to land on the lobby floor.

“Hi,” I say, smiling at the receptionist while I try to keep from dropping one of my bags. “I’m here for—”

“The Dallas Details photo shoot?” she says knowingly, grabbing a visitor’s badge.

I wrinkle my brow and rest my garment bag on the countertop.

Okay, for all she knows I could be here to have a podiatrist check out a hideous wart on my toe.

“Yes,” I say, ignoring her instant—yet correct—assessment of me. “Kenley Hunter with Confection Consultations.”

She nods and verifies my information in her computer. I sign in, get my visitor’s badge, and she directs me to an elevator bank across the marble lobby.

I reload my stuff and walk across the tiles, my heeled sandals clicking against the floor and echoing loudly. Okay, this is it. Huge career opportunity. I need to go in there and be myself. I’ll present my knowledge as a chocolate consultant in the photo shoot the best way I can.

I reach the floor for the photo studio and get off. I check in again, and a woman greets me. She’s in her late-40’s, I’d guess, with short pixie hair and huge, round oversized glasses. She’s wearing a simple white shirt, but accessorized with a giraffe-print scarf. A pair of designer skinny jeans and high heels complete her outfit.

“Hi, I’m Jillian Daniels, creative director,” she says, smiling at me. “We’re so excited to have you take part in our shoot today. Come on back.”

“Nice to meet you, Jillian. And I’m happy to be involved,” I say.

I follow Jillian back to the studio, where a photo shoot is going on right now. First, I notice it’s freezing in here. Music from the band Muse is blaring loudly. And then I realize who I’m watching. The photographer is taking pictures of Harrison Flynn. I know it’s him because of the infamous red hair and the jersey he’s wearing. Lexi is going to totally freak.

A pretty brunette with a black sheath dress and a vintage-style red and pink hearts apron is with him, her tape measure wrapped around Harrison as she pretends to pull him closer to her.

“As you can see we’re shooting Harrison and Kylie Flynn right now,” she says. “They’re our Valentine’s Day couple for the spread. Kylie is an apron designer, so we thought this would be a cute photo for them to do.”

I nod as I watch them. Harrison has his hand around his wife’s waist, and they’re laughing and joking and I can see how much he loves her when he looks at her.

For a moment, I wonder what that’s like. To have a man gaze at you with nothing but love in his eyes. I thought I’d experienced that before, but not really. Not love for the real me, the inside me—

“Kenley, if you’ll come this way, we have some outfits for you to try on,” Jillian says, interrupting my thoughts.

I follow her to an area and see a few other people milling around, no doubt other participants in the shoot.

“I brought an outfit,” I say. “It’s a pink cashmere cardigan, very Valentine-ish, and—”

“Oh, we have something special for you,” she says breezily, moving toward a rack and flipping to a tag that says ‘Kenley’ on it.

“Hey, Jillian, after you review the Flynn pictures, do you want to do Nate Johansson next?” the photographer yells out.

Jillian reaches for a hanger. “Yes, Todd, that sounds excellent.” Then she turns to me. “While you go into wardrobe and makeup, we’ll shoot Nate, and then you’ll be up.”

I nod, although I have no idea who Nate is other than some hockey player. I remember Lexi being very excited about him being traded here two months ago. But I couldn’t pick the guy out of a lineup if I had to.

I wonder if he has all his teeth, I muse.

“Here’s the concept,” Jillian says, whipping out a miniscule black slip dress. “You’re going to be the Seductress of Chocolate.”

“W-What? What do you mean?” I ask.

“Kenley, you’re gorgeous woman. When we first heard of you, of how breathtaking you were and how you worked with chocolate, we immediately knew we wanted to play that up as part of our feature.”

My hopes—of being seen as something other than the hot girl—are folding like a soufflé gone wrong. Collapsing all around me as I realize they want me to be sexy and slutty and nothing more than a pretty prop.

“Excuse me, I have to see these pictures for a moment,” Jillian says, thrusting the dress in my hand.

I put down my cooler and tote, then hang the garment bag up on the rack. I hold out the dress.

Christ, it’s miniscule. Who could fit into this?

Claire could, I think, visualizing my niece. But she’s four.

I stretch it out, and there is no way my boobs are going to stay in place in this thing. And I’m only a B-cup!

The music changes to DJ Snake and Lil Jon and Jillian returns.

“I don’t think this dress reflects who I am as a businesswoman,” I say, using the calmest, most rational voice I can muster. “I do, however, have a pink cashmere cardigan from J. Crew that would work perfectly with my Trina Turk dress with a flared skirt.”

Jillian twists her lips in thought. “Well, that’s not the vision we had in mind. Let me have Todd explain it to you.”

“No, I understand perfectly fine,” I say, my voice growing firmer. “I’m simply telling you I have reservations about this dress.”

Or lack of it.

Jillian acts as though she doesn’t hear me, and we walk over to Todd, who is showing pictures to Harrison and Kylie.

“Todd, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but this is Kenley Hunter of Confection Consultations,” Jillian says, her voice taking on a soothing tone.

“Ah, the chocolate lady,” Todd says, grinning at me. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I say, shaking his hand.

“You’re Kenley,” Kylie suddenly says, her brown eyes sparkling at me. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Suddenly I’m distracted. “Me?” I ask.

“She’s been stalking your website,” Harrison teases.

“Please don’t scare her,” Kylie says, grinning at Harrison. Then she extends her hand to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And I seriously think you have the best job in Dallas.”

I feel a blush sweep across my cheeks. “Thank you. I have to admit it’s a lot of fun.”

“My gorgeous wife is slightly obsessed with chocolate, so she was psyched you were going to be here. I’m Harrison Flynn, by the way.” Then he holds out his hand to me.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking his hand, and I’m still surprised that they know who I am.

And they know who I am because of my work.

“If y’all can excuse Todd for a minute, he’s going to talk to Kenley about her shoot,” Jillian says. “Now, Todd, please give Kenley the vision we have for her picture.”

“Here’s what I see,” Todd says, his eyes popping open behind his glasses, “a super sexy blond who is the seductress of chocolate. I see you in that LBD, with a mixing bowl of melted chocolate and you lifting it up with a spoon, licking it off, you know, that kind of sex kitten meets chocolate vibe.”

Bam! My soufflé just collapsed right in the middle.

They don’t want to show me as a serious business woman.

They want me to be a piece of eye candy.

Well they can’t have me that way.

I won’t do it.

“I came here prepared to be shown as a Confection Consultant, here to give tips for Valentine’s Day,” I say, my voice now taking on an angry edge. “I did not come here to be the Good Slut of Chocolate.”

Suddenly I’m aware of people watching me, but I don’t care. I’ve worked too hard and too long to be shoved back into that box again.

And I won’t let them do it.

“Now, Kenley, nobody is implying you act like a slut, oh, no, no,” Jillian says, trying to diffuse me.

“Then why can’t I wear something professional?” I challenge.

“But the vision is for you to bring sexy to Valentine’s Day,” Todd interjects.

“Chocolate is sexy in itself,” I counter. “You don’t need me to sell it.”

“But you’re a sensual woman. Why don’t you use that to your advantage?” Todd appears confused as to why I’m not going along with this plan.

“My knowledge,” I say, “is my advantage. My year studying chocolate making in Europe is my advantage. My beauty is not. So I won’t do this shoot in that dress. And that’s non-negotiable.”

“Now, Kenley, maybe you should try it on. See how you feel in it,” Jillian coaxes.

“Is eye candy what you want from her?”

I turn around and see that a Dallas Demon is walking toward us.

“Is it?” he repeats.

I stare at him in shock. Is this player, a complete stranger to me, coming to my defense? He stops in front of them, his eyes locked right on Jillian and Todd.

“Nate, um, we’ll be with you in a moment,” Jillian says, giving him a fake smile.

“That wasn’t my question,” Nate says. “Do you want her for eye candy? Is that why you’re trying to force her to do something she is making very clear she doesn’t want to do?”

Wait a minute. This is Nate Johansson. Superstar hockey player. And now he’s standing up on my behalf?

“I’ll tell you what,” Nate says, stopping right in front of us. He reaches for the bottom of his jersey and jerks it off, revealing the most ripped abs I’ve ever seen, along with a tattoo sleeve up his muscular left arm. “I’ll be your eye candy if that’s what you want, but Kenley is now going to be a part of my shoot. She’s free to dress as she pleases. But if she goes, I go with her. So what’s it going to be?”

 

You can preorder The Definition of Icing here: myBook.to/Icing

Casting Call-Tied Up With Love by Amelia Thorne

 

 

 

 

Okay, you all know how much I freaking love Tied Up With Love. AS IN LOVE IT WITH THE INTENSITY OF 1,000 SUNS. Seriously. This book is funny, sweet, emotional and best of all, DIFFERENT. I can always count on Amelia Thorne to give her books twists that no other author can, and having Ethan Chase run a sexual fantasy company-well, that’s one of those twists!

The other thing Ms. Thorne brings to the table are characters you can’t forget. Ones that stay in your brain and in your heart long after you finish the last page. So in honor of the FABULOUS characters in Tied Up With Love, I bring you my cast list:

 

Aidan Turner as ETHAN

He’s dark. He’s brooding. He’s sexy as hell. Yes. He is ETHAN.

 

Mila Kunis as IZZY

She’s bright, professional, and beautiful. Just like Mila in this picture.

Justin Timberlake as GIZMO

I totally think he would be hilarious in this role.

Jared Padalecki as KYLE

The cute younger brother? How about Jared? Nice.

Emma Stone as BEX

And this beautiful blond I totally see as Izzy’s BFF

So this is my cast list for Tied Up With Love. So who would you cast for this brilliant book?