ebook of the month...the idea

First published June 2007BILLIONAIRE ON HER DOORSTEP ::  ebook
The idea:Iwas sitting on a train heading into Melbourne to do lunch with the MelbourneMobsters - a fabulous, witty, brilliant group of romance authors who lunch oncea month at a ridiculously posh hotel – when an image just popped into my head.
Aramshackle house perched perilously on the Sorrento bluff. A lean,paint-smattered woman standing at the window looking like the slightest breezemight blow her away.  And the gorgeoushandyman - with a toolbox, a Ute, and muscles to match – who has no idea whathe is about to stumble upon as he walks through her warped front door.
I thought I'd jot down some notes on my Alphie (AKA Alphasmart)  and 2000 words later my next book was born.
The excerpt: Tom duckedout of the way of a low hanging vine, watched his step for fear of turning anankle, and slowed as a magnificent ten-foot-high wood-carved double front doorloomed amidst a shower of hanging ferns. The right door was ajar, but guarded by a sizeable old red-brown houndwith a great big smiley-face charm with the word 'Smiley' written upon ithanging off his thick collar.
'Smiley,hey?' Tom said.
The doglifted its weary head and blinked at him, its floppy ears and sad expressionnot changing a lick to show that he felt any pleasure at the unexpected company.
Tomreached down and gave the poor old soul a rub on the head. 'Is the lady of thehouse about?' 
A suddencrashing noise followed by a seriously unladylikespray of words told Tom that the lady of the house certainly was about.
'Hello,'he called out, but he was met with silence as sudden as the previous verbalspray had been.  Not finding any evidenceof a doorbell, he stepped over the melancholic guard dog, and walked furtherinside the entrance to find himself face to face with a square stain on thewall, evidence that once upon a time a picture had hung there, a garden bench thathad a mildewed look about it as though it had been relegated from outsidecovered in a pile of unopened mail, and yet another fern living its sadbedraggled life in a bright new ceramic pot.
Anothercurse word, this one softer than the last, caught his hearing and he followedit like a beacon to find himself in a huge main room with sweeping woodenfloors in need of a good polish, lit bright by a series of uncurtained ceilingto floor French doors through which he had a thicket-shrouded view of the sunglinting off glorious Port Phillip Bay.
Imagespiled up in his mind of what he could do with this place if given half achance.  And the whole summer, and anopen cheque book, and his old team at his side, and a time machine to take himback ten years...  He shook his head toclear away the wool gathering within.
The room hewas in was empty.  No furniture.  No pictures on the walls.  Nothing. Well, nothing bar a twisting cream telephone cord snaking across themiddle of the room to the far wall where a large grey drop cloth, buckets ofpaint, several flat square structures draped in fabric, a rickety old tablewhich held numerous jars of coloured water and different sized paintbrushes,and an easel with a three-by-four foot canvas slathered in various shades ofblue.
And infront of it all wearing no shoes, paint-spattered jeans, a t-shirt that might haveat one time been white, and a navy bandanna covering most of her biscuit blondehair was the lady in question.
Tomcleared his throat and called out, 'Ms Bryce?'
She spunon her heel with such speed paint from her brush splattered across the all-bluecanvas.
Tomwinced.  It was red paint.
'Holy heck!'she blurted in a toned down version of the language from earlier.  Her voice was husky, her high cheekbones pink,and her pale grey eyes aglow.
Well what do you know? Tom thought.  Mylucky day.  For Lady Bryce was a knockout.  He wished his cousin Alex was there with himnow so he could poke him hard in the side and tell him, this is why you never say no to a damsel in distress.
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