Archive for 'Friday Feature'
Friday, March 14th, 2008
Yes, it’s me. I’m my own feature this week. It’s my blog – I can do that if I want to.
I run across discussions about book covers from time to time. Everyone seems to agree that they want a cover that accurately depicts some aspect of the contents of the book. If there is a dog on the cover, there better be a dog somewhere in the story. Otherwise, the discussion seems to divide into two camps:
Some people like covers with a people – a sexy clinch or a hot man. A lone woman seems to be the last choice. Having sexy people on the cover is seen as a guarantee that the story will indeed be a romance.
Others don’t particularly care for people on the cover. They find those sorts of covers embarrassing and don’t want to be seen carrying them on the bus / train while they commute to work and they don’t want to leave them out around the house if they have small children in residence.
I’m lucky enough at the moment to be with a publisher who lets me have some say in what sort of cover I get for my books. Take a look at my three covers and you can probably guess into which camp I fall. In spite of the fact that I’ve heard some say that covers that depict generic scenes with no people at all are the most boring of all, I love love love my covers. How could I not? The colors are so pretty!
And just so you know, the car on my cover does play a big part in the story.
Don’t be shy. Tell me what you think about covers and I’ll enter in a drawing to win a copy of my book All The Way Home. Can’t wait to hear your opinion.
And if you want more chances to win, visit me at Shelley Munro’s blog and at Liz Jasper’s Pink Fuzzy Slipper’s blog. I’m all over the place this weekend! If you’re really feeling lucky, check out the Cerridwen Spring Contest (the link to the rules is in the sidebar) – you could win an e-reader FULL of great books.
Good luck!
Blurb:
Maggie Dean and Sam Callahan grew up in the same town, knew each other in school, admired each other from afar, but never dated. She was just a little too straight and narrow for this bad boy. Now they’re all grown up and back in their hometown – she to deal with a family crisis, he to prove that he’s changed his ways.
After enduring her parents’ loveless marriage and coming home to help her sister pick up the pieces of her broken one, Maggie isn’t interested in relationships. Sam Callahan is not only still gorgeous, but he’s still available. Neither Maggie nor Sam can deny their attraction but they’re still at odds. Maggie’s down on family life – can Sam be the one to convince her to settle down?
All The Way Home
Available Now from Cerridwen Press
Excerpt:
“Melanie! Where are you?” Maggie called as she stormed into the kitchen, letting the screen door slam behind her. Even the scent of freshly baked blueberry muffins didn’t soothe her temper.
“I’m here, hang on,” Melanie answered as she came down the stairs. “Where were you? I made breakfast for us.”
“I took the dog to the vet. By the way, did you know that Sam Callahan — Sam Callahan from high school — was the vet?” Maggie demanded.
Melanie didn’t bother to suppress a smile. “I did actually, yes.”
Maggie gaped at her. “Then why didn’t you tell me, for god’s sake? You could have at least warned me.”
“I thought it would be more fun this way,” Melanie answered. When she saw Maggie’s scowl, she laughed. “Oh my god, you don’t still have a crush on him do you?”
Maggie stared. “What are you talking about? I never had a crush on Sam.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I was just surprised to see him. So surprised that I couldn’t remember how to speak properly and made a fool of myself,” she complained.
“Maggie at a loss for words, now there’s a first. You do still have a crush on him,” Melanie said as she got down two coffee mugs from the cupboard.
“I do not! And why are you saying ‘still’? Who said I ever did?” Maggie asked as she paced.
“Oh, come on, Maggie. I read your diary. Why else were you writing ‘Mrs. Maggie Callahan’ over and over and over?”
Maggie felt like she’d been hit in the head with a brick for the second time that morning. “You read my diary? My private and personal diary? How could you?”
Melanie shrugged. “Isn’t that what little sisters are for?”
Maggie was so angry couldn’t speak. She left the kitchen and let the screen door slam behind her, stalking across the driveway back to her room over the garage.
Melanie followed her. “Come on, Maggie, it was years and years ago. Don’t be mad.”
“It may have been years ago, but I only just found out that all of my private thoughts weren’t so private after all. So, did you have fun? Did you share them with all your friends?” Maggie fumed.
Melanie bit her lip. That told Maggie all she needed to know.
“Try to understand what it was like for me, Maggie. I was the little sister always two steps behind you. I just wanted to see what it was like to be grown up. I’m sorry if you feel like I invaded your privacy. I didn’t do it to hurt you.”
Maggie harrumphed. “Well, I guess it’s no good denying I had a crush on Sam. But ‘had’ is the operative word. As in past tense.”
Melanie held up her hands. “Okay, whatever you say. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about him. I never thought you would get so worked up about it. He’s still pretty hot, huh?”
Maggie only glared at her in reply.
Melanie moved toward the boxes that were still stacked up near the small bookshelf. “Hey, you didn’t unpack your books yet. Need some help?”
“What? Oh, no, thanks. I’ll do it later on sometime. I’m not really in the mood to read that stuff right now anyway.”
Melanie sat down in the reading chair. “Okay, now I know something is wrong. You don’t want to work? What gives?”
Maggie sighed and sank down on her bed. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I guess I’m just burned out at the moment. I’ve been working so hard to finish up my degree and have been focused so long on writing and then defending my dissertation that I just don’t even want to think about any of that stuff for a little while.”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to be a professor anymore?” Melanie asked incredulously. “It’s all you’ve been working for all these years.”
“What do you care? You always thought what I was doing was boring anyway,” Maggie replied.
“That’s not the point,” Melanie answered. “I can’t deny I couldn’t see the appeal of studying all those long dead artists and all the dull and dry history that went along with it —“
“Thanks a lot.”
“Let me finish. You obviously saw something in all that stuff that I didn’t. So why are you just tossing all that aside now? Do you want to just quit?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Maggie answered. She fell back and lay on the bed. “At least I don’t think that’s what I’m saying. Hell, I’m tired. I don’t know what I want to do anymore. But what I do not want to do is read those books. Not now anyway.”
“I have an idea.”
“This ought to be good,” Maggie muttered.
“Smart ass. I should just let you lie there and wallow,” Melanie said, preparing to leave.
Maggie sat up. “Okay, I’m sorry. What’s your idea?”
“Why don’t you paint? You were so good at it, and it’s what got you interested in studying art in the first place. Why not get your hands dirty again? It might be just what you need to get over this rough spot.”
Maggie smiled. “You know, you’re pretty smart for a bratty little sister. Thanks.”
“Now that your problem is solved, it’s my turn. I need a favor,” Melanie said, suddenly looking a little pensive.
“What is it?”
“I’ve been reading those books you brought me and I was hoping, that is, I wanted to ask you… if you’ll be my labor coach,” Melanie said in a rush. “I won’t have to start birthing classes for a while yet, but you’re supposed to have a coach to help you practice your breathing exercises and to help you during delivery. So? Will you be my coach, Maggie?”
“But, but — what about Adam?” Maggie asked. “I’m not sure I —“
Melanie nodded. “I know how squeamish you are, but I really need you there, Maggie. As for Adam, at this point, I don’t know where he is, how can I count on him being back in time for the baby’s birth? What do you say? Will you do it?”
Maggie closed her eyes. She couldn’t stand the sight of blood or other… stuff. She even waxed her legs so she wouldn’t have to worry about nicking herself shaving. She didn’t know how she was ever going to get through childbirth herself. But she’d made Melanie a promise and she intended to keep it.
“Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll be your labor coach,” Maggie agreed.
“Okay, great. Thank you,” Melanie answered with a relieved smile. “Now let’s go eat, I’m starved. After breakfast, we’ll go to the library and get you a couple of big juicy romance novels. That should clear the cobwebs out,” Melanie said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Sure,” Maggie said half-heartedly. But she didn’t think she’d get any romance novels. That was the last thing she on her mind right now.
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Friday, March 7th, 2008
 I’m pleased to have Cerridwen author Dorothy McFalls here this weekend talking about her historical romance, Lady Iona’s Rebellion – it sounds wonderful. Leave a comment for Dorothy and you might just get lucky and win a copy for your very own.
When Regency and romantic suspense author, Dorothy McFalls, isn’t writing or reading, she can be found training her Papillon puppy (Iona) for the dog shows or riding the waves on her boogie board. She’s always wanted to learn to quilt and swears that it will happen as soon as she finds the space in her tiny beach cottage for a sewing machine. In the meantime, she watches all the quilting shows she can find and enjoys seeing works in progress like the ones featured on this blog.
Dorothy enjoys writing historical romances. They sweep her away into different times and places where the women are glamorous and the men are dashing and strong. Lady Iona’s Rebellion is Dorothy’s second published Regency romance. She says it was an especially fun book to write because the spirited Lady Iona often seemed to have a will of her own. The heroine sometimes took over the story while Dorothy was writing it, and led the way to sometimes harrowing (for the writer) scenes of mischief. While the writing experience was a daily adventure for someone used to pre-plotting her books, the Lady Iona character kept Dorothy on her toes. Dorothy constantly found herself writing herself out of corners.
The effort seemed to have paid off.
The Romance Studio gave the book 5 Hearts, saying, “This is a meticulous novel in which Ms. Dorothy McFalls showed her vast talent in the expansion of this book. I literally could not put it down. I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone who loves regency romance. This book will go well on your “keeper” list!”.
And Fallen Angels Reviews wrote, “Lady Iona’s Rebellion is top rate on all fronts and I am sure whatever follows will be just as good. Well done!” and awarded 5 Angels.
Dorothy blushes as she admits to also writing naughty erotic romance tales. In February, her latest paranormal erotic suspense Neptune’s Lair was released by Whispers Publishing. You can read more about that book and her other works at www.dorothymcfalls.com Blurb:
She was looking for freedom….
When the always obedient Lady Iona is pressured into accepting a husband of her father’s choosing, she seeks out the notorious rake, Lord Nathan Wynter, for his help in learning how to standup for herself.
He was looking for respect…
While Iona is seeking adventure, Lord Nathan is doing his honest best to reform his ways in order to repair his reputation and his disastrous relationship with his family. Winning the very proper Lady Iona for a wife would go a long way to achieving that end.
They found each other.
The more Nathan tries to protect Lady Iona from running head-long into disgrace, the more he admires her daring spirit and unpredictable antics. Instead of returning her to the obedient world to which she was raised, he encourages her blossoming passions. Such a move is surely going to lead them both to ruin.
But for love he is willing to risk everything.
Lady Iona’s Rebellion
by
Dorothy McFalls
Excerpt:
Lady Iona licked her lips. “I have less than an hour before I am missed. I hope that will not be a problem.”
“This first lesson in debauchery shouldn’t take very long at all, my lady,” Lord Nathan replied. She could have sworn she heard a soft laugh hiding under his curiously formal tone.
She gripped his arm tightly as he led her in silence through the Bath streets. He kept them cloaked in the darkest shadows near the buildings as they hurried past several familiar faces. She hadn’t realized how many people promenaded the streets after dark. She lowered her head and touched her hand to the brim of the hood. Her heart thundered in her chest.
This was madness. She would be caught. Her father would glower in silence. Her mother would shriek. And she would forever lose her status as their dear, obedient daughter.
Cecile, her older sister, was the lucky one, happily married and producing heirs for her husband. Lillian, her younger sister, was the beauty of the family. Stuck in the middle, Iona had forever been relegated to playing the part of the good child, the quiet child and later, the pliable young lady.
Lord Nathan pressed a finger to his lips as he led her past Abbey Street and toward the King’s Bath. Light reflected from the streetlamps sparkled in his eyes like stars. A smile tugged on the corner of his lips.
“In a moment we shall test your mettle,” he whispered. He clamped his warm, gloved hand over hers.
They came upon a man with a tweed cap atop his greasy head slumped at the King’s Bath entrance. He perked up at their approach. Without a word Lord Nathan slid a handful of coins into the man’s outstretched palm.
“I ‘ad the place opened up, just as you requested, my lord,” the stranger drawled.
Lord Nathan gave the man a friendly pound on the back as he passed into the front room of the King’s Bath. His grip on Iona’s hand tightened. He led her into a dimly lit passageway.
“Have you ever taken a dip in the waters?” he asked.
“Not in a public bath.” She had once dipped her toes in Bath’s sulfuric waters when keeping her mother company at one of the private bathing facilities.
The King’s Bath, however, was open to all who could pay the fee and the bathers were on display for anyone strolling on the terrace or visiting the Pump Room.
He guided her down a few steps and opened a door. Moonlight poured into the corridor. The fine mist rising off the green waters appeared to glow.
“You don’t expect me to actually step into the water?” Panic fluttered in her belly. “I-I would be dripping when you returned me to my family at the Assembly Rooms. And I would ruin my evening gown.”
He chuckled and then removed the cloak from her shoulders. “I don’t expect you to wear your gown in the water, my lady.”
A scorching blush pricked her cheeks.
“You-you expect me to strip in front of you?”
“It is what any rogue would do.” He proved his words by shrugging out of his evening coat and pulling off his cravat. When he started to unbutton his shirt, she whirled around.
“This isn’t proper.” Her legs suddenly turned watery.
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. He lightly touched her arm. “Teaching you to be more like me is more than improper, Lady Iona. It is wrong.”
She drew an unsteady breath. Her gaze latched onto the dark waters. Was her freedom waiting for her in the bath’s shadowy depths? Tossing off her dress and diving into the steaming puddle wasn’t something she’d ever dreamed of doing. Perhaps that was the problem in her life.
“Very well,” she said.
He breathed a deep sigh. “I will escort you back to the Assembly Rooms, then.”
She spun back around. “No.” She grabbed his hand before he could button up his shirt. Her gloved fingers brushed against the hard plain of his broad chest. Touching him so intimately nearly unraveled her resolve. “I will do as you instruct.”
“You’re not serious.” He peeled her fingers from his hand. “You fail to understand what you seek to learn.” His nimble fingers worked the buttons on his shirt.
She blinked. Had he chosen this task knowing she’d be too shocked to try it? Did he truly believe she lacked the spirit to…to…?
Jumping in the King’s Bath in the middle of the night was foolhardy. Her heart pounded as if it was about to burst from her chest. She closed her eyes. Drew a deep breath. Then peeled off her gloves. And with several quick twists and turns, managed to untie her pink ribbons, kick off her slippers and wiggle out of her gown and corset.
“Iona, wait!” he shouted a moment before she charged down the steps into the bath wearing nothing more than a thin linen chemise that hung no lower than her knees and a pair of pink stockings.
The blistering water stung every inch of her body.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling more alive.
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Friday, February 29th, 2008
 Cerridwen Author Anita Birt is back with me again to share her book Isabelle’s Story with us, the pre-quel to Isabelle’s Diary. As a bonus, leave a comment for Anita this weekend and you could win a copy of Isabelle’s Diary!
For Anita, writing romance novels is like having a love affair with words. Characters emerge. Plots develop. Crises erupt. Her historical novels are set in England, Scotland and Wales, countries she knows well.Anita trained as a human relations therapist in Toronto with a special emphasis on Neuro-Linguist Progamming which she studied to the Master Practioner level. Given her interest in human behavior she finds it immensely satisfying to resolve conflicts between the characters in her books and to untangle the many threads woven through her stories leading to happy satisfactory endings. That’s the way of romance.
Anita is a writer, an avid reader, and a knitter. She lives on Vancouver Island with her husband, three African violets and a Christmas cactus that never blooms at Christmas.
by
Anita Birt
Available from Cerridwen Press
Llandrindod Wells, Wales.
1900
Isabelle Linden’s parents insist she wed a suitable man. The man they have in mind, Isaac Witherspoon, a curate in a nearby parish is eager to marry. He lusts after nineteen year old Isabelle.
But she has a mind of her own and flaunts society’s rules to meet secretly with Sir Harry Manderlin. The lovers vow to remain true to each other while Harry is on an extended business trip to America. He will speak to her father on his return and ask for her hand.
While he’s away Isabelle discovers she is pregnant. Harry apparently ignores her letters pleading with him to marry her. Her father orders her out of the house. Abandoned, alone and penniless, she writes a farewell note to her mother and on a dark, rainy October morning makes her way into the hills above Llandrindod Wells determined to end her life.
Excerpt
Isabelle stepped aside when she heard horses coming up behind her. Two beautiful young women elegantly turned out in green velvet riding habits, rode towards her. They cast withering glances at Isabelle and one turned to the other, laughing.
“C’est linfirmiere du Spa. Imaginez! Elle se promene toute seule sans chapeau. Elle est affreuse avec cette coiffure.”
Her companion nodded. “Et lavez-vous entendu parler? C’et accent Gallois terrible!”
Isabelle understood every insulting word and threw her stick at one of the horses, whacking it firmly on the rump. The startled animal reared and took off in a tearing gallop with the girl clinging to the reins. Isabelle burst out laughing.
“You should not have done that.” A man’s voice startled her. She spun around to confront him, lost her footing on the muddy path and tumbled down the hill, skidding to an awkward stop when her skirt caught in a patch of thorny blackberry bushes. He vaulted from his horse and slid down the grassy slope after her.
“Are you all right? I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”
Isabelle scrambled to her feet. Embarrassed and well aware of her muddy, disheveled appearance, she straightened her skirt. “I am quite all right, please join your friends.”
She kept her gaze firmly fixed on the ground and waited for him to leave before climbing up to the path. Throwing the stick at the horse had been childish. What if the girl had fallen? Isabelle forced herself to look at him.
He smiled, very likely enjoying her predicament. His riding jacket stretched taut over his broad shoulders. Momentarily at a loss for words, Isabelle blinked and stopped staring at him. A lock of auburn hair had fallen across his forehead and laughter lurked in his eyes. Was he laughing at her?
“I said, you may go and join your friends, I do not require your assistance.” There. She would not apologize for throwing that stick, let him think what he liked.
“But I must know your name. It is not every day I frighten young ladies into falling down hills.”
“I am not the least bit frightened and see no reason for you to know my name.” With a haughty toss of her head, she started up the slope only to slide back and flounder awkwardly on her knees.
He gripped her arm. “You must allow me.”
Isabelle bit her lip, furious at herself for slipping on the wet grass. The steely strength of his arm pressed against her side unnerved her. Feeling light-headed, she accepted his help to the top.
“Thank you.” She tugged her arm away and started down the path, desperately trying to hold back tears.
“Wait!” He caught her hand. “You still have not told me your name.”
He towered over her and for seconds she gazed helplessly into the depths of his dark blue eyes. Her knees trembled.
“I am Harry Manderlin.”
Isabelle died inside. His mother was her patient at the spa! Why did he wish to know her name? Fearful of some punishment for throwing the stick, she refused to answer. Her behavior might reflect badly on the clinic.
“Surely, my name is not important, neither to you nor your friends.” In a rush of anger, she snatched her hand from his and glared defiantly at him. “Please tell them this. Although they find my Welsh accent deplorable, their French accent leaves much to be desired.”
She raised her chin. “Vos amies parlent Francais comme des vaches espagnoles. What is more, they have the manners of the gutter!”
Blinded by angry tears, she fled down the path. To be seen by such people, looking like a muddy gypsy girl was mortifying. Then to be insulted! She was glad she’d thrown the stick. Glad. As for him, he probably thought helping her up the hill was a great joke, a wonderful story to tell his companions.
Harry watched her until she disappeared around a bend in the path and into the shelter of some trees. A rueful smile tipped his lips. She wanted nothing to do with him. He swung into the saddle and cantered up the path. When he caught up with his friends, Sylvia fumed at him.
“That girl! That bedraggled, half-witted gypsy hurled a stick at my horse and it very nearly threw me. I hope you spoke sharply to her and gave her a piece of your mind.”
“We recognized her.” Mary Anne declared. “She gives treatments at the spa. You must have her dismissed.”
“Dismissed, because she was so offended by your rude remarks, she threw a stick at you?”
They gaped at him. “She speaks excellent French and suggests you both mind your manners and take lessons to improve your accent.” He did not mention the girl thought they spoke French like Spanish cows.
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Saturday, February 23rd, 2008
Karen McCullough joins me this week to talk about her paranormal novella Vampire’s Christmas Carol, which is included in the Cerridwen anthology Beneath a Christmas Moon.
Karen McCullough has published six romantic mystery/suspense novels, two romantic fantasy novels, a Middle-earth RPG tie-in book, and most recently a paranormal novella, Vampire’s Christmas Carol in the Christmas paranormal anthology from Cerridwen Press, Beneath a Christmas Moon. Karen invites readers to learn more about her at her website and her Myspace home.
Why a vampire story?
When the idea of a paranormal Christmas anthology first came up, I started to think of what kind of story I could do. I thought about Dickens’ classic novel, “A Christmas Carol” and all the versions it had inspired. The story obviously already had paranormal elements with those ghosts, but was there another twist left in it?
A title popped into my head: “A Vampire’s Christmas Carol.”
I’ve never been a fan of vampires. As far as I’m concerned the traditional vampire is, as my son so eloquently put it, a giant human-shaped mosquito. I’ve always seen vampires as monsters, murderers who steal others’ lives to extend their own.
But with the title and that view, the entire plot of the story popped into my head. A vampire who’d been turned unwillingly, who’d resisted drinking blood for many years, and was near death as a result. He prefers to die rather than steal someone else’s life.
A young woman driving home on Christmas Eve is forced to take a detour and ends up skidding off an icy road. The only shelter anywhere close belongs to that desperately hungry vampire. He’s prepared to die at dawn if he doesn’t drink blood, but now she’s conveniently close at hand, pure temptation.
I saw how it could make for an unusual and interesting Christmas Eve!
Vampire’s Christmas Carol
by
Karen McCullough
included in Beneath a Christmas Moon
Excerpt:
Michael’s head lolled back against the pillow as though it took too much energy to keep it upright. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to six.”
“Not much longer. Fill the time for me. Tell me about the family you hope to have some day when you finally meet your fantasy hero.” He barely had strength enough to get the words out. She didn’t know how anyone could look worse and still be alive. Little flesh covered his bones. Hollowed-out cheeks made his face look skeletal and his lids drooped over his eyes as if holding them open took more energy than he had.
Carol shrugged. “I don’t know what there is to tell. I’d like to have a few kids, maybe a couple of boys and a couple of girls. A nice house, a yard with a garden, you know… the standard things. I’m not really very extraordinary, even if I do like science fiction and fantasy stories.”
“I suspect you’re much more unusual than you think,” Michael responded. “Most other women would have already locked themselves in that room upstairs and barricaded the door. Or run back to the car to take their chances there. I think there’s a lot more heroine in you than you realize.”
“I don’t think so. It seems to me adventures are generally more fun to read about than to live. I wouldn’t choose it. But what about you? What did you want from life?”
He shrugged, barely and painfully. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Family. Friends. Success in my job. Thought about maybe going into politics eventually, but I don’t really know.“
“Why politics?”
“I saw so many things that were wrong with the government that I wanted to fix. So many injustices. I thought I might be able to get elected and do something to right them. You think some of the laws we have now are bad. You should have seen what it was like in 1900.”
“And you wanted to— Oh, drat.” She spotted the mist first time this time because it was just a couple of feet from her.
“This is just so sweet,” Antoine said as soon as he’d fully coalesced. “I’m almost in tears.”
“Don’t waste the effort,” Michael told him.
Antoine shook his head. “You’re looking bad, Michael. Seriously bad. Hey, look at me, guy. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
Michael refused to look him in the eye, keeping his gaze focused on Antoine’s chest. “Yes, it does. This is how I want it.”
“It’s almost six. Sunrise in an hour and a half. You really think you can hold on that long? I don’t think so. You’re in bad shape now, mon galant.”
A strained smile crossed Michael’s face. “I’ve held out this long. I can manage another hour and a half.”
Antoine’s eyes narrowed and took on a brilliantly red glow. Carol backed away from him and looked down as he turned toward her. “Even with this succulent invitation standing here, waiting for you to take her, you stubbornly hold out.” He drew a deep breath, let it out on a dramatic sigh and turned toward the other vampire again. “Michael, I’ve underestimated you. It was a mistake. But there’s still time to right it.”
He moved so fast Carol couldn’t follow. She had no time to react. Antoine was beside her before she even realized he wasn’t where he’d been in the previous second. She hadn’t seen him draw out the knife or pick it up, nor did she see what he did, exactly. It happened so quickly, her eyes couldn’t track it.
She only knew he’d injured her when a violent, burning pain raced along her left arm and she glanced down. A long slice began two inches below the elbow and ran down to just above her wrist. He’d cut through her sweater and the skin below. Blood already stained the edges of the blue knit fabric, and as she watched, a thin stream emerged from beneath it at her wrist.
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Wednesday, February 20th, 2008
I’ve taken the week off writing to catch up on a few projects that I’ve had on the go. Like this queen sized triple Irish chain quilt in autumn colors which I was commissioned to make by a friend for an October wedding:
and this baby quilt I made because I liked the fabric and I need to replenish my dwindling stock:
I’m going to Dubai for the weekend to visit friends, talk quilting, and yes, buy more fabric. A quilter can never have too much you know.
I leave for the airport at dawn Thursday to arrive in Dubai mid-day. Today I’ll do some pre-trip organizing and packing. My son has a pow-wow at school Thursday – of course, because it’s not convenient timing for me and life is that way. He’s supposed to go dressed as a Native American and the moms have to supply the food! (the memo the school sent home was very excited about that announcement – me, not so much) The teachers very kindly sent home a recipe for me to make – a casserole that calls for four cups of wild rice, broccoli and cream cheese. It just so happens that I have wild rice but you know – it’s expensive and not available in Egypt. I don’t think that I’m going to waste four cups worth of my supply on kindergarteners who won’t appreciate (or even eat) it anyway. And cream cheese? Tell me where Pocahontas got cream cheese. I’m making some alterations to this recipe and will send a wild rice pilaf instead – white rice with a handful of wild rice for decoration and texture cooked in broth and tossed with dried fruit. Not only will it taste better at room temp I can make it tonight.
Fortunately his costume is all sorted out and he will look adorable.
So you won’t miss me too much while I’m away, Karen McCullough will be here this Friday to talk about her story “A Vampire’s Christmas” – she’s even going to give a copy to one lucky commenter. Whatever else you have planned for the weekend, make sure you stop by and leave a comment for Karen!
Ta-ta!
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Saturday, February 16th, 2008
 I’m pleased to have Cerridwen author Charlene Leatherman with me this week. Take it away, Charlene!
My name is Charlene Leatherman. I love stories about strong women and find historical women like Catherine the Great, Queen Elizabeth and Deborah, Judge of Israel, to be fascinating. In my stories, my heroines are strong willed as well as physically and mentally strong.They are faced with problems that demand as much as they can give, and they always rise to the occasion. It’s not surprising I’m drawn to strong characters as I myself am a strong woman!
I live in Desert Center, California. It is a tiny town founded by gold miners in the early 1920s, in the exact midpoint between two towns, fifty miles from each town – hence the name! The population is about 150 people and swells to about 1000 during the winter with tourists.
I am the caregiver for my quadriplegic husband of 35 years. I have two wonderful sons and two marvelous daughters-in-law. I have two grandbabies, one from each son. I love being a wife, a mom, a grandmother, and a writer. I have been writing since I was old enough to hold a crayon, but never tried to get published. I am thrilled to be working with Cerridwen Press. I visit exotic worlds with my characters. I reach for the stars with them. I fight the good fight, defeat the bad guy and win the love of my life. I hope you enjoy reading my stories as much as I enjoy writing them.
Charlene’s tag line really says it all:
Defeating the villain, destroying the monster, delivering the hero, and never breaking a nail!
Prophecy of Vithan
by
Charlene Leatherman
Morgan had the life she had always dreamed of. Although still a brothel slave, the king and queen treated her like a free woman and the prince she was training was like a son to her. Then everything goes to hell. Morgan is forced into a marriage with a man she cannot respect or admire. Her prince is missing and the king and queen are killed. Morgan is blamed for the murder. Morgan’s primary concern is to find Prince Khai.
The only thing slowing Morgan down is the prophecy about her saving the galaxy, remaining a virgin and that damn electric attraction she feels every time Len touches her.
Len had his orders. The ones everyone knew about and the other ones. Marry his soul mate and consummate the marriage, and determine if his new wife was the original Morgan Taj Zephyrain. The first he looked forward to. The second he preferred to ignore. Obviously Morgan Taj Zephyrain is the criminal Len is seeking. It is Len’s job to bring the murderer to justice.
Excerpt
“Going somewhere?” The man in white, Len Braxton, stood leaning against the door jam, arms crossed over his chest.
Morgan put her hand to her chest. “Need alcohol.” Morgan gasped. “Low blood alcohol level.”
“Really? Hildai 37 zeta 845 beta delta 599 unit 2, what is Morgan’s blood alcohol level?”
“I prefer Hildai, only. The rest is so pretentious.” A mechanical voice said from inside Len’s pocket.
“Answer the question, you annoying piece of junk.”
“Ninety-eight percent.”
“Does she need a drink?” Len asked.
“Only if she wants to forget you, you pompous ass.” Hildai said. “Sorry, Morgan. He overwrote my programming.”
“Where did you get her?” Morgan demanded.
“Your room. I met the technician there. Very clever getting him out of the way. I’m not clear how you shut down the shield without setting off the alarms.”
“I know the codes.” Morgan lied. “I’m an escaping Sonij slave. Quite a reward. Are you going to turn me in?”
“No. I’m not interested in rewards. Seems the Royals are having a dinner party tonight. Some bigwig coming and you’re to be extra special pretty tonight.” Len looked Morgan up and down. For some reason, Morgan felt self-conscious in her jeans and leather jacket. “I came to escort you to the harem.”
Harem?” Morgan’s throat constricted. She tried to keep the alarm out of her voice. She failed.
“Is this fear I see on your face? I thought all female Sonij slaves are comfortable in brothels or harems.” Len said sarcastically.
Morgan swung at Len. He stepped out of reach and held his hands in surrender.
“I’m not fighting with you again. I have several badly bruised ribs to mend before I do. If you get nasty, I’ll simply put you out.” Len pulled a phaser from his pocket.
Morgan shrugged. “Get the med-tech to heal you. You have your disk, don’t you?”
“The ribs will heal on their own. Besides, I don’t have a disk.”
“A Protector without a disk?” Morgan shook head in disbelief. “Tell you what. I’ll be good. But,”
“OK,” Len interrupted. “Let’s go to the harem.”
“But,” Morgan continued, “First I want to check on Khai. I’m concerned about him.”
“No. You were accused of trying to kill him.”
“I was exonerated.” Morgan said firmly.
“The answer is no. Let’s go to the harem.” Len said. He waved the phaser in the direction he wanted Morgan to go.
Morgan raised her fists. “Do you know anything about Sonij physiology? We are a strong race. Phaser shot does not affect us as it does others.” Morgan lied. “When I reach you, I’ll hammer your ribs. I don’t know much about human anatomy. Do the ribs house anything vital?”
“Okay, you win, but I stay with you and the boy at all times.” Len agreed.
Morgan lowered her hands. “Call him and ask him to meet me in the armory workout area. I promised him a lesson.”
“Call him? Why should I call him? You’re linked to him.”
“Only in emergencies.” Morgan lied. She did not want this man to know she could not touch Khai’s mind. “I prefer to give him his privacy.”
“Cat told me she interrogated you. Any residual effects, like being unable to link with Khai?” Len asked.
“Unlike you Protectors, I will not invade someone’s privacy.”
Len looked at Morgan. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not.
“Back against the wall.” Len motioned with the phaser. “I want to check for weapons.”
“You know I don’t have any weapons on me. You searched me before you put me in here.”
Len motioned with the phaser again. Morgan sighed. She backed away from the Protector. She put her hands behind her head and spread her legs, her back against the wall. Len pocketed the phaser. He walked to Morgan. He put his hand behind her neck, searching for a knife. Morgan breath came a little quicker. Len stood slightly taller than she did. She could smell the cologne he wore. Len stood close enough for his cheek to brush hers. Morgan closed her eyes to keep from going cross-eyed. Fantasy images of her and Len drifted in her mind. Len edged himself between her legs, forcing her feet wider. Morgan, startled, opened her eyes. The Protector pinned her against the wall, holding her wrists against the back of her neck.
Len leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. Hard. Morgan struggled to get loose. Len tightened his grip on her arms. He kissed her again. Morgan’s knees weakened after the second kiss. She wanted to wrap her arms around Len and keep him there. She felt desire rising in her. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Her mind swirled with emotion.
With his other hand, Len slipped a black collar around her throat. The collar snapped on.
Rage curled in Morgan’s mind, pushing every other emotion. She wanted to scream. She let herself be caught by the mind control of a Protector, so he could put a slave collar on her. Morgan glared at Len.
Morgan saw the look in his eyes. The kiss affected him, too. Len looked visibly shaken. He swallowed and composed himself.
She shut off her emotions. She willed her eyes to blank. He’s a Protector, she reminded herself. She wanted nothing to do with Protectors, especially this Protector. Her only concern must be Khai. She needed to talk to him. The broadsword lesson would be good cover.
Gaining control, Len grinned lewdly. He released Morgan and stepped out of punching and kicking range.
“I’m a slave.” Morgan said, irritated with the man. “You’re a freeman. You could have told me to put on the collar. You could have ordered me to kiss you, or fuck you. Was the kiss enough? Do you want to have sex? You can have me before the guest arrives. I am a Sonij slave. I am used to brothels and harems. Isn’t that what you said? Well, Protector, do you want to fuck before I check on Khai, before I’m ordered to pleasure the guests?”
“Knock it off.” Len said, angrily, coloring with embarrassment.
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Saturday, February 9th, 2008
 I’m pleased to have Cerridwen author Marcia James with me this week. Marcia writes
hot humorous romances. She finaled in eleven Romance Writers of America chapter contests before selling her first comic romantic suspense, At Her Command. And mark your calendars – a short story of hers will appear in a Berkley charity anthology in June 2009.
By day, Marcia is an advertising copywriter and PR consultant. In her eclectic career, she has shot submarine training videos, organized celebrity-filled nonprofit events and had her wedding covered by People Magazine.
Enjoy the excerpt for At Her Command. As a special bonus, leave a comment for Marcia and you could win a free download of At Her Command for yourself!
At Her Command
4 Stars, RT BOOKreviews
DEA agent Domino Petracelli is chasing a career-making promotion and nothing will keep her from getting her man. Okay, so she’d rather infiltrate a Columbian drug cartel than go undercover as a dominatrix at D.C.’s Xecutive Branch sex club. But she’s up to the task. As the leather-clad Mistress Bella, Domino investigates the club’s drug ring while juggling a surreal roster of kinky submissives—and resisting one sexy client who’s not what he seems.
Police detective Dalton Cutter is a man with a mission—avenging his partner, who was murdered investigating the Xecutive Branch. Retracing his partner’s steps, he goes undercover as a club client. Dalton ’s handled killers, junkies, and pimps, but can the Alpha-male cop act submissive long enough to fool Mistress Bella? And will their sexual chemistry, crackling louder than Bella’s whip, derail Dalton ’s investigation?
At Her Command, a comic romantic suspense, pokes fun at the alphabet soup of D.C. law enforcement agencies. When the DEA, the FBI and the DC police unknowingly put operatives undercover at the same club, sexy sparks fly. Rated R for Risqué
At Her Command
By
Marcia James
Detective Dalton “Bull” Cutter sat slumped on the leather couch, drinking his third beer and staring into the eyes of a large Siamese. Chi, the sleek, blue-eyed tom cat, could have been fashioned from marble for all his stillness and unblinking gaze. Despite the open can of cat food Dalton had placed on the kitchen floor, the animal sat on the coffee table directly in front of him as though demanding an explanation.
“Jason’s not coming back, big guy.”
Dalton’s voice sounded rusty so he tried to clear his throat. But there was a lump he just couldn’t wash down with the Budweiser. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, and he wished he could find a way to turn off his brain. One thought kept repeating in his head: Jason Walters, his partner and best friend, was dead.
Twenty-four hours had passed since he’d received the call…heard his captain break the news, but the pain was still fresh and razor-sharp.
Dalton resisted tossing his beer bottle against the wall of Jason’s living room…his living room, he corrected. Jason had named his partner his beneficiary, a fact Dalton had learned from a lawyer today. The cozy Cape Cod home complete with cat now belonged to him. He’d give a billion Cape Cods for the chance to go back in time.
“It should have been me.”
Chi leaned forward as if to make out the muttered words. Instead of continuing the one-sided conversation, Dalton let his head fall back on the couch and his eyes shut. That night two months ago played like a movie behind his closed lids.
*
“Hey, Dalton , heard about your spanking new assignment.” Laughing, Jason walked into Dalton ’s apartment with a six-pack of beer and two pizza boxes. “Maybe we should change your nickname from ‘Bull’ to ‘Mouse.’”
Several inches shorter than Dalton and leaner, Jason looked more like a college fraternity pledge than a cop. “Very funny. Besides it’s not definite yet,” Dalton grumbled, unwilling to think about the possible undercover job. Assigned to the Metro Police Department’s Special Investigations team, Jason and he worked whenever and wherever needed. They’d been involved in everything from homicide to vice cases.
Recently the Metro PD had received a tip that underage girls were working at the Xecutive Branch sex club. Dalton had heard through the grapevine his name had been suggested for the undercover role of a club client-–a submissive wimp who got off on pain and humiliation.
Damn. Probably retribution for some of the hot-dogging he’d done recently. Maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so disrespectful to the police chief when he was being chewed out for wrecking his third unmarked in a month.
Grabbing two beers, Jason put the rest in the fridge. While Dalton watched, his friend made himself at home, getting out bags of chips and placing them on top of the pizza boxes. Balancing the items, he carried them to Dalton ’s second-hand kitchen table. Unlike Jason’s sunny home, there weren’t many cheery spots in Dalton ’s apartment. The breakfast nook with its bay window was the best bet.
“I hear Captain Bennett thinks you’re the right man for the job.” Jason laughed at his partner’s glare.
Dalton cursed fluently. “Yeah, I’m 6’4” and wear a size 46 jacket, but I’m the perfect choice to go undercover as a bondage and discipline junkie?”
Jason snorted. “Haven’t you heard? Size doesn’t matter. And maybe the captain thinks you need a vacation from always being in charge.”
“If it’s such a cushy assignment, why don’t you volunteer for it?”
“And rob you of the chance to get in touch with your softer side?” Jason dodged Dalton ’s half-hearted punch.
“Maybe we should draw straws on this one,” Dalton suggested.
“No way, José.” Jason shook his head emphatically before taking a long swig of his beer.
“Didn’t I draw the short straw on that homeless shelter job?” Dalton laid on the guilt as he opened the chips and took a handful. “You think it was fun wearing flea-ridden clothes and sitting in the gutter all day?”
Jason rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together. Dalton frowned. Years ago, his partner had explained the gesture represented the world’s smallest violin playing “My Heart Bleeds For You.” Obviously he was getting nowhere fast with the “who’s had the worst assignments” guilt angle.
Dalton changed tactics. “Of course, if you don’t feel like you owe me for saving your life at the warehouse in October…”
Jason pointed the neck of his bottle toward his partner. “That was payback for saving your sorry ass in that 7-11 on Penn Avenue last June.”
As they fell into their familiar banter, Dalton raised the stakes. “That punk’s gun wasn’t even loaded. Now if you want to talk life-saving debts, what about that bullet I took for you when you were too busy hustling that working girl to watch your back?”
Jason denied the allegation, and the good-natured argument continued until he finally agreed to draw straws over the Xecutive Branch undercover job. The horrified look on his partner’s face when he drew the short straw made Dalton laugh.
“I appreciate your handling this assignment, pal.” Dalton laughed and saluted Jason with his beer bottle.
“Investigating the Xecutive Branch isn’t like busting some massage parlor.” Jason deliberately took the last slice of pepperoni pizza before Dalton could reach for it. “I’m the best damn partner you’ve ever had, so you better hope nothing goes wrong with this case.”
“A bossy woman, black leather, whips,…what could go wrong?” Dalton smirked. “The only thing you might die of is embarrassment.”
*
The only thing you might die of is embarrassment. Dalton’s words came back now to haunt him as he tried to breathe under the weight of his regret and guilt. Thanks to him, his partner had convinced their captain to give him Dalton ’s Xecutive Branch assignment.
Thanks to him, Jason was dead. And the loss was sharper, deeper than anything Dalton had ever experienced.
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Thursday, February 7th, 2008
When I’m not surfing the internet, writing, or being a mom, my other passion is quilting. I love working with the colors and patterns. I listen to music and sing as I sew. Often my mind drifts to my story and characters and stumbling blocks disappear and the next bit of the action reveals itself. All in all a very satisfying process.
I personally own a lot of quilts. I started making quilts to sell because 1) I work fast and can only use so many, 2) by selling them I earn fun money to buy more supplies / toys / and travel money. I’ve bought myself a pretty snazzy sewing machine and financed many mom’s getaway trips with my earnings.
Lately, I’ve been concentrating on making baby quilts. Not only are they small, manageable projects but there are always lots of babies being born in the expat populations in which I’ve lived. I’ve toyed with the idea of finding a shop where I can have a selection on permanent display or at least putting up a few fliers to advertise that I’m here. But lately word of mouth seems to be doing the trick.
I sold two baby quilts this week. One when I went to pick up a ticket to Dubai from my travel agent (mom’s getaway trip coming up soon!). She’s got a new grandchild and was thrilled to hear I make baby quilts. The other I sold to my downstairs neighbor. I never keep more than six “in stock” because I don’t have the space and actually I’ve been busy enough as it is working on two large bed-sized commissions. But I had another request last night for a “girl” baby quilt so I guess I better get busy whipping up a few more.
It’s going to be a busy weekend for me so I may not be around much. But don’t despair. Marcia James is my featured Cerridwen author this weekend. She’ll be talking about her book “At Her Command”. If you like your romance with a bit of heat, this is the book for you!
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Thursday, January 31st, 2008
**Due to intermittent internet problems on my side of the world, I’m posting this a bit early**
 I’d like to introduce Anita Birt, another great author with Cerridwen Press.
Anita says that for her, writing romance novels is like having a love affair with words. Characters emerge. Plots develop. Crises erupt. Her historical stories are set in England, Scotland and Wales, countries she knows well.
The writing gene is in Anita’s blood as well. Her mother, Elsie Bell Gardner, wrote adventure stories for girls. Although The Maxie Books are out of print they can be tracked down at ABE Books.
Anita is an avid reader and knitter. She lives on Vancouver Island with her husband, three African violets, a Christmas cactus that never blooms at Christmas and a demanding computer that sulks when neglected.
Blurb:
On a sunny June morning in Llandrindod Wells, Sally Carter stops for coffee at the Celtic Café. She notices a beautiful young woman dressed in somber Victorian black sitting at a window table weeping over the pages of a diary. When the girl disappears without a trace and the waitress insists the table had been vacant all morning, Sally is compelled to discover the girl’s identity.
Unraveling the mystery leads Sally on a wild goose chase with the assistance of Dr. Dan Conway, a handsome Welsh history professor. But it’s not until she returns home to Toronto that the final pieces of the puzzle fall into place.
Even then the question lingers. Why was Sally the only person to see the girl?
by
Anita Birt
Excerpt:
Sally was brushing her teeth when the phone rang. Spitting out foaming toothpaste, she rinsed her mouth and dashed to answer it.
“Dan Conway, Ms. Carter. Are you free this afternoon?”
“Sure, any time you are.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Where shall I meet you?”
“In the lobby.” Before leaving the bedroom she scanned her reflection in the bathroom mirror and hoped the dear old professor wouldn’t be shocked at her short shorts and clingy T-shirt. After sending her hiking clothes to the hotel laundry, her wardrobe choices were limited. She had one summer dress too pretty to waste on detective work.
She freshened her lipstick, picked up her handbag with her notes, hurried downstairs and dropped into a chair facing the entrance. He arrived within five minutes looking very professorish. About five eight, slightly stooped, gray hair, thick glasses perched on the end of his nose. Sally hurried over to greet him.
“Dr. Conway, thank you for coming.”
The man backed away. A worried frown creased his brow. “Oh dear me, you’ve made a mistake. I’m looking for my wife. She’s supposed to meet me here.”
“Ms. Carter?”
Sally recognized the voice and whirled around. Momentarily speechless, she stared at Dr. Conway. A solid six foot and then some with broad shoulders, a strong, well-muscled neck and dark brown curly hair. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, more like a street fighter than a history prof. The sleeves of his faded blue denim shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He had a sports watch on his left wrist.
Sally pulled herself together, smiled and held out her hand. “Dr. Conway, I presume? I’ve frightened that elderly gentleman. I mistook him for you.”
“Please drop the doctor, I’m Dan.”
Humor lurked in his green eyes. He held her hand for a few seconds and the Earth shifted under Sally’s feet. Unreal.
She withdrew her hand and dropped her gaze to the safety of his denim shirt. His touch had triggered an aftershock, probably from surprise when she’d expected a musty old professor.
“I’m Sally. I hope I haven’t dragged you here on a wild goose chase.”
“Not at all, your story interests me.”
His matter-of-fact comment reassured her. “I’ve made some notes,” she said. “Let’s sit in the garden behind the hotel. It’s pretty back there.”
In her sexually deprived condition Dan was too overpoweringly male for her to cope with, but he’d changed his plans to accommodate her. She could hardly fall ill, plead a headache and retreat to her room. That would be cowardly. But two years as a single woman had made her wary of men’s intentions. Dan Conway wasn’t on trial. Not yet. Depended on whether he kept his hands to himself while they solved the mystery of the girl in the café.
All the same she wished she hadn’t sent her loose cotton shirts and jeans to the hotel laundry. Her navy shorts were too short and her white T-shirt hugged her breasts leaving nothing to the imagination. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
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Friday, January 25th, 2008
 I’m my own feature this week. It’s been exactly one year since the release of my first book, Here to Stay, and coincidentally it’s also one year since I started this blog.
What a lot can change in a year.
I’ve been busy writing other stories, but I’d like to take today to revisit Here To Stay. To commemorate the date, I’d like to share a fresh excerpt with you. And because I’m in a celebratory mood, leave a comment by Sunday January 28th and I’ll enter you into a drawing to win your own copy of Here to Stay.
Blurb:
All Julia Sullivan wanted was a fresh start in a new place. But she was finding out that cutting ties with the past and starting over can be a difficult thing to do.
After leaving her husband and quitting her job, Julia was emotionally spent. She needed a quiet place to recharge and to think about what she wanted from life. She thought she had found just that when she inherited her aunt’s ocean front Victorian house in Haven, New Jersey. It wasn’t going to be that simple, however. In addition to her new house being a complete shambles, her charming soon-to-be ex-husband Patrick, who she discovers she still loves, arrives with the intention of winning her back. To complicate matters further, it seems as if her aunt’s death wasn’t an accident after all. And there’s just something about her new house that everyone seems to have an interest in…
There are many twists and turns and the kind suspense that keep the reader on edge and very much involved. The many truths are revealed slowly, in completely logical, well-plotted fashion. The sense of danger is palpable.[...] This kept me turning pages until the very satisfying ending. Jenyfer Matthews is a skillful writer. She has crafted a tale of romantic affection within a superb suspense story. Recommended.
The Romance Studio
A rollercoaster ride of suspense makes HERE TO STAY a gripping story from beginning to end. {…} Gripping intrigue and likable characters make HERE TO STAY a fine debut from author, Jenyfer Matthews.
Romance Designs (Suspense)
HERE TO STAY was chalk full of adventure and suspense. The many characters and subplots made the story intriguing. Just when you thought the drama was over, another exciting and dangerous event occurs. The characters of this story were so well-written; each so distinctly different that you could picture them in vivid detail. An excellent read!
The Romance Readers Connection
HERE TO STAY
Julia closed her eyes and brought the broom handle down as hard as she could. She aimed for the intruder’s head, but instead of connecting, she could feel it overshooting the target and swishing uselessly through the air before slamming into the wall with a crash. She’d lost the element of surprise now, she thought wildly.
“Jesus! It’s me! It’s Patrick!” he cried as he dodged to one side, holding up the book in his hand as a shield against the splatter of plaster and the possibility of another swing.
She was preparing for another swing when she heard his cry. She opened her eyes in disbelief. “Patrick! What are you doing?”
“I might ask you the same thing,” he snapped. “Are you trying to kill me or what? Isn’t it enough I’m down to one good arm?”
Julia ran down the hall and flipped on the lights. “I heard a noise. I thought you were a prowler.”
He looked at the broom in her hand. “And what were you planning to do if you found one? Sweep him out?”
She set the broom down. “It’s all I could find in a hurry. Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, I’m fine. Not that it wasn’t a near thing,” he answered. “Didn’t you think to check who you were attacking first?”
She hugged herself. “How was I supposed to know it was you? I didn’t know you’d be up. Your door was closed and you usually sleep like a log. You never get up at night.”
He couldn’t believe that she had come downstairs to face a prowler alone. What could she have been thinking? What if he had been a dangerous criminal? A broom handle would hardly have been an effective weapon.
He looked at her. She was shaking like a leaf and her eyes were more than a little wild. More than just the thought of an ordinary intruder had brought her downstairs armed with only a broom. Something else had scared her.
“This is about what your aunt wrote in her journal, isn’t it? You still think that she heard someone in the house and that someone was involved in her death.”
She nodded.
He put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a little shake. “And did you think that you could intimidate such a person with a broom? Jesus, Julia, promise me that you won’t ever do something so stupid again.”
“What was I supposed to do? Just let them come up and find me?”
“How about lock your door and call the police? If someone did break in, they’d no doubt be better armed than you,” he answered.
“I don’t have a phone in my room.”
“Well, I know something we’re going to take care of in the morning.” He looked down at her. “I’m sure it was just me you heard, but I’ll take a quick look around if it would make you feel better.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said, picking up her broom. “You only have one good arm—this might come in handy.”
They searched the remaining rooms quickly. They ended up where they had started, in the foyer outside of Patrick’s room.
“Nobody here and all the doors and windows are locked. Feel better?”
She nodded. “Much.”
He looked at her for a minute. “You know, I don’t think you’ll really feel better until you get some answers about your aunt’s death. Have you thought about my suggestion? About going to see the coroner? Maybe he could answer some questions for you.”
“I was just about to call this morning when you had your accident.” She gave him a weak smile. “I sort of got sidetracked. I’ll call tomorrow, first thing.” She paused. “If you didn’t hear anything, what woke you?”
“Nothing.” He held up the book. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Are you in pain? Do you need something?” she asked stepping closer to him.
“I don’t need a pill,” he answered.
She could see the tightly controlled desire in his eyes and was mesmerized by it. She could feel herself responding in kind. She knew he wanted her and she knew something else.
She wanted him too.
She licked her lips and took a step back. Her dream was still too vivid in her mind, her body too revved, her emotions too exposed. This wasn’t the right time to give into purely physical desires, she reasoned. There was too much at stake. If they were ever to have a chance together, she had to proceed with caution.
“If you have everything you need, I think I’ll go back to bed,” she said taking another step back.
“Wait,” he said. “Could you help me get this shirt unbuttoned? It’s a little awkward with only one hand.”
Julia hesitated before approaching him, her eyes widening. Things were getting a little too close to her dream for comfort.
“Julia? Is something wrong?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “No problem.”
She worked on the buttons swiftly, taking care not to brush his skin with her hand. She was afraid that the magic of the dream would sweep her away if she didn’t do something to break the spell.
As she unbuttoned his shirt and the expanse of his chest was exposed, the reckless and passionate side of her nature surged forth. She couldn’t help herself. Her whole body ached with unfulfilled desire. She reached out and touched his skin. It was warm to her touch.
She could feel the strong beat of his heart on her palm.
Ever since he had shown up at her door that first day, he had been on her mind. The air was charged with the connection between them whenever they were together. She’d missed him over the last year, missed his smile, his laugh. His touch. She had finally admitted to herself that she still loved him, that she still wanted him in her life, that she wanted him.
She wanted to tell him, too.
She told herself it was completely crazy, they were divorced, but somehow it just didn’t seem to matter. She was beyond caring what it might mean to their relationship or how it would change things between them. She wanted to leave those things behind for one night. Just one night. There were no guarantees in life and tonight she wanted to take a chance on the two of them.
She wanted to give herself to the man she loved.
“Julia?” There was an uncertain smile on Patrick’s face. “What are you doing?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago.” She stood on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. His stubble was rough under her lips. Just like her dream, she thought. Just the same.
She smiled up at him before turning and starting toward the stairs. She paused at the foot, her hand on the railing. “I want you to stay the night. With me.”
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