Let’s Get it On

 

 

A lot of writers use music to set the scene. Especially when it comes to those scenes. A little musical accompaniment as you try and get your freak onto paper.

True confessions! I don’t write to music. I need absolute silence or I start singing lyrics into my hairbrush. Then the fantasy starts in my head and I’m rocking the power ballad to over 20,00 people at Madison Square Gardens. The book lies forgotten and unloved as I am suddenly adored by thousands of slathering fans as they stand enraptured by the power of my thrilling vocals.

All in all, best to turn off the Spotify and let me do this in silence. But fear not. I asked my good friend and fellow Wordy Woman, Cynthia St. Aubin for her top 10 songs to write sex by.

In no particular order she came up with this.

 

 

 

 

Make it Rain by Ed Sheehan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnhaKUBgJSE

Cry to Me by Solomon Burke https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPWCbthc9tw

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And what musical list would be complete without:

 

There you have it. Cynthia’s top ten grooves to get her in the mood.

 

What would be on your list?

 

Sample Positively Pippa

Sample Positively Pippa

 

Just a Taste of my upcoming release, Positively Pippa #1 Ghost Falls Series. The book releases at the end of the month and I’m so exciting to share it with you. I am running a number of exciting giveaways prerelease.

 

  1. I am offering a custom made downloadable coloring book for any preorder of any of my books. All you need to do is send along proof of preorder to sarah@sarahhegger.com
  2. Watch out for the blog release tour starting May 19th, I’m offering free books as well as three Ulta gift cards so you can give yourself a makeover a la Pippa. More details on my website.
  3. I am also hosting a Facebook release party on May 30th (release day!) and just for attending you might win a $400 gift card to StitchFix for a wardrobe makeover – your very own Pippa. Click the link to take part.
  4. And finally just by subscribing to my newsletter I am offering a chance to win a custom made bracelet from local Colorado jeweler Sima Gilady

And having chewed your ear off about all of that, let me give you that threatened excerpt:

 

“Shit, Isaac. If the plumber needs quarter-inch pipe, get him quarter-inch pipe.” Matt threw open the door to his truck as he half listened to another lame excuse. He could recite them by heart at this point anyway.

“No, I can’t get the pipe. I’m at Phi’s house now.” He sighed as Isaac went with the predictable. “Yes, again, and I can’t come now. You’re going to have to fix this yourself.”

He slammed his door and keyed off his phone. Smartphones! He missed the days of being able to slam a receiver down. Jabbing your finger at those little icons didn’t have the same release.

When God handed out brains to the Evans clan, he must have realized he was running low for the family allotment and been stingier with the youngest members. Between Isaac and their sister, Jo, there could only be a couple of functioning neurons left. And their performance, like a faulty electrical circuit, flickered in and out.

He grabbed his toolbox from the back of the truck. This had to be the ugliest house in history, as if Hogwarts and the Addams family mansion had a midair collision and vomited up Philomene’s Folly.

His chest swelled with pride as he stared at it. He’d built every ugly, over-the-top, theatrical inch of this heap of stone. He’d bet he was the only man alive who could find real, honest to God, stone gargoyles for downspouts. Not the plaster molding kind. Not for Diva Philomene St. Amor. Nope, she wanted them carved out of stone and mounted across the eaves like the front row of a freak show.

“Hey, Matt,” a kid called from the stables forming one side of the semicircular kitchen yard.

“Hey, yourself.” He couldn’t remember the name of Phi’s latest rescue kid doing time in her kitchen yard. Kitchen yard! In this century. Diva Philomene wanted a kitchen yard, so a kitchen yard she got, along with her stables.

“I want a building to capture the nobility of their Arabian ancestors thundering across the desert.” She’d got it. Heated floors, vaulted ceilings, and pure cedar stalls—now housing every ratty, mismatched, swaybacked nag the local humane society couldn’t house and didn’t want to waste a bullet on. A smile crept onto his face. You had to love the crazy old broad.

He skirted the circular herb garden eating up the center of the kitchen yard. A fountain in the shape of a stone horse trough trickled happily. He’d have to remind her to drain it and blow the pipes before winter. He didn’t want to replace the piping again next spring.

The top half of the kitchen door stood open and he unlatched the bottom half before stepping into the kitchen. The AGA range gave off enough heat to have sweat sliding down his sides before he took two steps. He opened the baize door to the rest of the house and yelled, “Phi!”

He hadn’t even known what a baize door was at nineteen, but the Diva had educated him because she wanted one and it became his headache to get her one.

“Mathieu!” The Frenchifying of his name was all the warming he got before Philomene appeared at the top of her grand, curving walnut staircase. Thirty-two rises, each six feet wide and two feet deep leading from the marble entrance hall to the gallery above.

The soft pink of the sun bled through the stained-glass windows and bathed the old broad in magic. Her purple muumuu made a swishing noise as she descended, hands outstretched, rings glittering in the bejeweled light. “Darling.”

She made his teeth ache. “Hold on to the railing, Phi, before you break your neck.” It had taken a crew of eight men to put that railing in, and nearly killed the carpenter to carve a dragon into every inch of it.

She pressed a kiss on both his cheeks with a waft of the same heavy, musky perfume she’d always worn. She smelled like home. “You came.”

“Of course, I came.” He bent and returned her embrace. “That’s how this works. You call, I drop everything and come.”

A wicked light danced in her grass green eyes, still bright and brilliant beneath the layers and layers of purple goo and glitter. She’d been a knockout in her youth, still had some of that beautiful woman voodoo clinging to her. If you doubted that for an instant, there were eight portraits and four times that many photos in this house to set you right. Or you could just take a look at Pippa—if you could catch a quick glance as she flew through town. He made it his business to grab an eyeful when he could.

“I am overset, Mathieu, darling.” She pressed her hand to her gem-encrusted bosom.

“Of course you are.” The Diva never had a bad day or a problem. Nope, she was overset, dismayed, perturbed, discomposed and on the occasion her dishwasher broke down, discombobulated.

“It is that thing in the kitchen.” She narrowly missed taking his eye out with her talons as she threw her hand at the baize door.

Her kitchen might look like a medieval reenactment, but it was loaded for bear with every toy and time-saving device money could buy—all top of the line. “What thing, Phi?”

“The water thingy.”

“The faucet?”

She swept in front him, leading the way into the kitchen like Caesar entering Rome in triumph. “See.” He dodged her hand just in time. “It drips incessantly and disturbs my beauty rest.”

He clenched his teeth together so hard his jaw ached. He ran a construction company big enough to put together four separate crews and she called him for a dripping faucet. “I could have sent one of my men around to fix that. A plumber.”

“But I don’t want one of your men, darling.” She beamed her megawatt smile at him. “I want you.”

There you had it. She wanted him and he came. Why? Because he owed this crazy, demanding, amazing woman everything, and the manipulative witch knew it. He shrugged out of his button-down shirt and pulled his undershirt out of his jeans. He was going to get wet and he’d be damned if he got faucet grunge all over his smart shirt.

Phi took the shirt from him and laid it tenderly over the back of one of her kitchen chairs. “This is a very beautiful shirt, Matt.”

“I’m a busy and important man now, Phi. A man with lots of smart shirts.”

She grinned at him, and stroked the shirt. “I am very proud of you, Matt.”

Damn it all to hell, if that didn’t make him want to stick out his chest like the barnyard rooster strutting across Phi’s kitchen yard. He turned the faucet on and then off again. No drip. “Phi?”

“It’s underneath.” She wiggled her fingers at the cabinet.

He got to his knees and opened the doors. Sure enough, a small puddle of water gathered on the stone flags beneath the down pipe. Good thing Phi had insisted on no bottoms to her kitchen cabinets. It had made it a bitch to get the doors to close without jamming on the stone floor, but right now it meant he wouldn’t be replacing cabinets in his spare time.

“You should be out on a date,” Phi said from behind him.

“If I was out on a date, Phi, I wouldn’t be here fixing your sink.”

“Yes, you would.”

Yeah, he would. He turned off the water to the sink. “Have you got some towels or something?”

She bustled into the attached laundry and reappeared with an armload of fluffy pink towels.

Wheels crunched on the gravel outside the kitchen and Phi dropped the towels on the floor next to him. She tottered over to the window to stare. A huge smile lit her face and she gave off one of those ear-splitting trills that had made her the world’s greatest dramatic soprano. Everyone, from the mailman to a visiting conductor, got the same happy reception.

He leaned closer to get a better look at the pipes beneath the sink. Were those scratch marks on the elbow joint? Neat furrows all lined up like someone had done that on purpose. He crawled into the cabinet and wriggled onto his back. They didn’t make these spaces for men his size.

“Mathieu?” Phi craned down until her face entered his field of vision. Her painted-on eyebrows arched across her parchment-pale face. “I have a visitor.”

“Is that so?” What the hell, he always played along.

“Indeed.” Her grin was evil enough to have him stop his tinkering with the wrench in midair. “I thought you might like to know about this visitor.”

The kitchen door opened. A pair of black heels tapped into view. The sort of shoes a man wanted to see wrapped around his head, and at the end of a set of legs he hadn’t seen since her last trip to Ghost Falls—Christmas for a fly-by visit. His day bloomed into one of those eye-aching blue sky and bright sunlight trips into happy.

Welcome home, Pippa Turner.

 

You can preorder your copy of Positively Pippa from any of the following places:

 

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2g19kUQ

iBooks: http://apple.co/2fUzwkR

Nook: http://bit.ly/2fo0T27

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2fhes62

 

Just a taste of Between Venus and Mars

Just a taste of Between Venus and Mars

Between Venus and Mars is my latest release. I consider it a science fiction romantic comedy.

Here’s just a taste from the opening of the story:

 

Chapter 1

 

Zana Starchild banked the rickety TRS-90 quinjet, as a photon torpedo detonated off her port thruster. The explosion rocked the tiny starship, and it was all she could do to hang on.

“Okay, maybe I should have used the fuckin’ seatbelt.”

The instrument panel lit up with bright red whatcha-ma-doogers, flashing like the ancient neon sign hanging in front of Paddington’s Pastry Shop.

She grunted. “That’s probably bad.”

It would have been really nice to have someone with her who actually knew how to fly this junk-heap, or could at least tell her what the hell those flashing things meant.

It was kind of hard to check the instruction manual while these shitheads were firing phase cannons and photon torpedoes up her ass.

Not that she actually had an instruction manual.

“Shit.”

Just her luck to find deep-space pirates waiting at this jump point.

Bastards.

And these had to be the dumbest pirates in the entire galaxy. Sure, it was a convenient place to surprise travelers, but this jump point didn’t go anywhere anyone wanted to be.

Well, except her, and that was completely irrelevant to her argument. Even she didn’t really want to go to Old Earth. She just had to.

A command crackled through the speaker of her ship com. “Surrender your ship, rim rat, and we’ll give you a life pod back home.”

Maybe I should be civil for a change? You know, so they don’t get all mad and blast me out of the sky?

Zana jammed the reply button. “Up yours, jack-off.” It just spilled out of her mouth. So much for civility. “You don’t want this piece-of-shit ship anyway. Have you even scanned me?”

Well, not that bad. She’d only sworn once.

Convincing them she was worthless was her best option. If she surrendered, they’d probably drop her ass out an airlock and let her float off into space. Fuckers!

A laugh was followed by a mocking voice. “By the galactic gods, rim rat, how is that ship even flying?”

Ha!

“Told you, dumbass. You going to let me go or what?”

Mmm. Maybe I should have left out the dumbass part. Her father always said her mouth would get her into trouble someday.

Her gaze darted around the control panel. There had to be weapons onboard somewhere, though it was anyone’s guess if they worked. She’d put up a helluva fight, if she could find the stupid controls.

By the galactic gods, who was she kidding? She was completely screwed if they didn’t let her go. She barely knew how to fly this ship, let alone fight in it.

***

THE SOUL MATE TREE, BOOK THREE:

BETWEEN VENUS AND MARS

AUTHOR: S. C. Mitchell

GENRE: Science Fiction Romantic Comedy

HEAT LEVEL: Steamy

Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.com/Between-Venus-Mars-Soul-Mate-ebook/dp/B01N7OXSND/

 

Thanks for tasting,

http://spiceaisleromance.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Steve.jpg

Batting 1000

Batting 1000

1113998_1346967573593_full It appears as though the popularity of makeup only seems to be growing recently, and particularly in my home as my girls embed themselves in the dreaded teens. They’ve launched a makeup revolution and dragged me with them. And why not – makeup is fun, it’s transformative and it requires skill and practice to perfect. It can change not just the way you look but the way you feel, even the way you view your surroundings. I’ve recently become obsessed with false eyelashes. I’m blaming my girls—let’s go with that. When I look out from underneath long, luxurious lashes I see a rose-colored world before me. I’m inspired to seek out beauty and loveliness wherever I can. And bat my lashes, there is definitely a lot of batting going on.

 

Makeup and beauty are related, but I don’t want to conflate the two—they aren’t synonymous. Beauty has different meanings across cultures, over different time periods, even from one individual to the next. Makeup, although a tool to achieve certain beauty standards, holds its own place. If you think of beauty as a city, makeup is a building in one neighborhood of that city, perhaps an adorable two-floor walk up with bay windows and excellent lighting. Using makeup is just an incredibly personal act. Anyone who does or has done it, probably remembers with a certain amount of warm, happy sentiment, learning to apply and wear it, and, like a tattoo or a keepsake, a particular beauty product carries with it an immediate recollection of certain feelings and experiences.

 

Our attitude about makeup and beauty changes over the course of our own lives. What we may have loved about makeup in our teens and twenties, the fact that it makes you look older, more mature or more rebellious, is no longer something that appeals to us. But the intensely personal nature of makeup, the fact that it markedly changes how we look and feel, affects our level of confidence, and how much or how little to wear is such an individualized choice, that it infuses each tube of lipstick, fluffy brush and eyeshadow pot with a deeply touching degree of meaning.

 

 

In my upcoming contemporary release, Positively Pippa, the heroine is a girly-girl, who loves makeup, fashion and everything flirty, frilly and fun. She is based on TLC’s Stacy London (host of What Not To Wear and Love, Lust or Run.) Her appreciation for aesthetics has in part inspired me to experiment with makeup. When I apply false lashes, which is by no means an easy feat and requires a steady hand and a delicate approach with the glue (that crap gets everywhere), I can’t help but think of Pippa and my time with her. When I brought her to life in the book, she appeared at my side as an exciting, bubbly BFF, inspiring me to push my boundaries and explore new parts of myself. From this point forward, whenever I put on, or even see, a pair of jaunty eyelashes in their little purple box, I’ll think of Pippa and her affect on me. The way she exhorts her “clients” to be the best version of themselves.

 

Famous makeup-fan Tammy Faye Baker is known for saying “Honey, I am going to my grave with my eyelashes and my makeup on.” That’s a woman who knows who she is! The way you feel and think about makeup, your relationship to it, defines who you are in so many ways. Your makeup is a narrative of your own individual, unique truth. At the end of the day when you take off your makeup and lashes, make sure that you’ve written the story you want to tell, because that’s all that matters.

 

sarahsig

 

 

 

That Minimal, Criminal, Sinful LBD

That Minimal, Criminal, Sinful LBD

While surfing the internet looking for a topic for today’s blog I happened across this:

Now even I know that no matter what her shape, size, or age, every woman needs this all important garment in her closet. This isn’t just a dress. This is a statement. It needs to be you.

Beautiful young woman in black dress

Find that shape, length, and exposure you’re comfortable in, but keep it on the daring side. Little means little.  A side slit, a little cleavage, or some lace can make a big difference. And make sure it highlights your best assests.

Believe me, every guy, straight or gay, notices a woman in an LBD on one level or another. So shop, shop, shop until you find the right one, because a mistake here can be disastrous.

punk screaming in theatrical mode

Once you’ve found the right dress, you are not done. No way.

Female bag, shoes and accessories isolated on white

It’s now all about the accessories. Bag or clutch, sunglasses, jewelry, and those all important shoes. Accessories are the frame to that perfect picture. Just enough to enhance without taking away from the artistry of the dress and that amazing woman within.

So…have you got one? Do you own it?

 

Sophisticated woman holds a blank tablet computer.

Oh, girl! I like how you accessorize.

So is there a guy equivalent to the LBD? Let me know in the comments below.

I may need to go shopping.

Steve

Just a taste of Son of Thunder

Just a taste of Son of Thunder

promio1

“Son of Thunder,” its voice reverberated throughout the room—low, guttural, almost a growl. “We knew you would come.”

Jord raised his sword in readiness.

The giant chuckled.

“You are no longer in the safety of your university, Jord Thorson.”

The giant raised its axe to strike.

“And you are no longer in Jotunheim,” Jord answered as he danced back from the giant’s swing, then countered with a swipe of his sword.

“There is no need to endanger the mortal. Surrender yourself and the belt to me,” the giant grunted, batting aside the sword with its axe.

The mortal?

Now Meghan knew she was dreaming. She’d probably laid her head on her desk for just a moment and fallen asleep. It had been a long, trying day. Any moment now she’d wake up and the real Jord Thorson, the old, gray-haired scholar, would stop by and tell her the strange belt was all just a hoax. It was too bad, she was becoming quite fond of the Fabio-like, sword-wielding college professor she’d dreamed up. Not the Fabio of today, but the Fabio of the past, when he really was Fabio . . . lous.

“I don’t think so,” Fabio-Jord said. He charged at the giant. The big creature swung its axe, but Jord’s sword deflected the blow. Meghan watched in fascination as the man and the giant fought their battle with archaic weapons in the accessioning room of her museum.

Well, if this was all a dream, she might as well enjoy it. The way Jord’s body moved—fluidly dodging and striking at the giant. Watching this man move was a slice of sensual heaven.

 

Son of Thunder is available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Son-Thunder-Heavenly-Series-ebook/dp/B00BJ64GPY

 

Steve

Just A Taste of “Tyranny” Bk 1 of The Goddesses Of Delphi

Just A Taste of “Tyranny” Bk 1 of The Goddesses Of Delphi

tyrannyfinal-fjm_low_res_500x750

About a year ago, I decided to try writing in a different genre. I’ve always written contemporary romances, but I was so intrigued by the idea of writing about Muses, gods, and goddesses that I just had to try. I’m biting my nails waiting on the release of this story. Here’s a little taste from the first meeting of immortal librarian Clio, Muse of History and Jax Callahan, a new professor:

Now she just had to figure out the best spot for the wet-floor warning. As she pivoted, the heavy wooden entry door swept inward again. A sudden gust of wind caught the door and propelled it toward Clio’s head. The dull thunk of the door connecting with her forehead rebounded in her ears. Glittering stars burst behind her eyes.

She stumbled backward, arms flailing. The safety cone flew from her grasp.

“Mother goddess!” The epithet burst from her lips before she could bite it back. Tears watered her vision as a large man reached for her. His big, warm hand wrapped around her arm and steadied her. A barrage of tiny, invisible arrows traveled from his fingertips up her arm.

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” When he spoke, his husky baritone voice vibrated through her chest.

She rubbed the tender spot on her head and blinked to clear the moisture from her eyes, bringing the man into focus.

Set under a pair of slashing brows, deep amber eyes reflected warmth and concern. A sexy scruff of midnight black whiskers covered a square jawline. His lips thinned and turned down in a frown. She took a step away, breaking the hold he had on her arm, and immediately missed the heat and comfort.

His broad shoulders, encased in a blue oxford cloth shirt, were wet from the rain. Drops of water sparkled on his cheeks and eyelashes. He probed his thumb over her forehead, gingerly testing the sore spot and rising lump there. When she flinched, he did as well.

She pushed his hand away. “I’m okay. I keep asking the administration to install glass entry doors to avoid things like this happening. Perhaps if I have a concussion, they’ll listen.”

“Oh, hell! Did I hit you that hard?”

She shook her head cautiously to make sure her brain didn’t rattle around. “No, I exaggerated.”

As much as it grieved her to do so, she turned from the man’s gaze and stooped to retrieve the wet floor sign. A moment later, she’d settled the bright yellow cone over a damp spot on the floor. Her thoughts still on the man next to her, she spun around to return to her work area. As she slipped on a slick spot, the stranger reached for her once again. One arm around her waist, the other grasping her arm, he kept her upright, balancing her against his solid body. He saved her from a mortifying tumble to the floor. Although, if he were a cushion, she’d gladly take a fall if landing on him was part of the cost. Preferably straddled on his lap.

And where in Zeus’s name had that thought come from?

Tyranny releases October 4, but is available for pre-order on Amazon

 

Fine Dining in Paris

Fine Dining in Paris

Nope, I’ve never been to Paris, but I’ve visited it many times in my head while reading romances set there, and someday I’d love to visit. Nothing goes together better than food and romance, and Paris is the most romantic city in the world.

So I’ve done a bit of research, because when I do go, I want to sample the best in French Cuisine.

I’m using TripAdvisor.com’s list of top 10 Best Paris Restaurants.

The first stop on our culinary tour of Paris is Epicure.

Can I just say…yum.

But save some room because we’re moving on to number 2 on our list: Cezembre.

Reviewers call it Delicious, Simply Remarkable, An Amazing Discovery. And they rave about the food.

AAA

Still hungry?

Our third stop is at Le Clos Y

One excited reviewer call this the “Best Meal In Paris.

AABAre we having fun yet?

Well, I’m full, but if you’d like the rest of the list go to: https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurants-g187147-Paris_Ile_de_France.html

Then, um, go to Paris!!!

Steve

Just A Taste of “Conquering William” #3 Sir Arthur’s Legacy

Just A Taste of “Conquering William” #3 Sir Arthur’s Legacy

ConqueringWilliam - SarahHegger2If she lived to be a hundred, Alice never wanted to attend another wedding, particularly not as the bride. The odor of roasting meats almost undid her, and she took a long draught from her water goblet. A bride did not vomit all over her wedding feast.

Her father, face ruddy with wine, sidled up and pinched her side. “God’s teeth! Smile, you stupid wench. I have found you a good ‘un this time. Far better than a butter-face like you could hope for.” Goblet held high, he strode away, sprinkling wine across the heads of those he passed. His forced laughter grated on her ear.

To her right, her groom drank from his goblet. In a deep, smooth voice, he murmured to his mother on his other side. As he shifted, his muscular thigh pinned her skirt to the bench.

Loathe to draw his attention, Alice tugged the dull brown wool.
He inclined his head with a smile, moved his leg, and freed her skirt. “I beg your pardon.”

God save her from her beautiful husband. “No matter.”
“May I serve you more water?” Eyes deeper blue than the lake beneath the castle twinkled at her. Candlelight gleamed off his dark hair and clung to his finely etched face.

“Thank you, but nay.”

With another smile, he turned back to his mother.

She would prefer if he did not smile so much. Or did not smell so appealing. His subtle woodsy-sweet spice teased her every time he leaned nearer. He did quivering things to her innards. How could she hope to hold a man such as this? Atop the scarred table, their trencher sat between them, still full of mutton, gravy oozing into a brown puddle on the table. It couldn’t be worse. Her father had outdone himself this time. Three husbands he’d chosen for her and this one, by far, the most daunting.

Aye, but William of Anglesea would make fine children. Tall, strong boys, broad and powerfully built like their sire, and girls to take after his mother and sisters. A child of her own. A downy head nestled against her breast, a tiny body cradled in her arms. She touched her palm to her flat, empty belly, and put her hand back on the table before anyone could notice. Even butter- faces had dreams.

A jester before the dais capered about, ringing his bells and doing his best to enthuse the assembly with joviality. Poor man raised only titters of amusement. He must have come with her father for the wedding, for they had no resident jester at Tarnwych. A few determined souls cheered the jester on his way, and a band of minstrels took his place. The cheery pipes led the lutes into songs praising the bride’s beauty and the groom’s virility. Could they not spare her those? She’d wager the minstrels would change their songs when they left for the inn tonight.

The bawdy ballad of Alice of Tarnwych and William of Anglesea. She made up her own words to the cheerful wedding song the minstrel band warbled.

The peacock ruts with a dull, brown wren,

A dull brown wren, a dull brown wren

The peacock ruts with a dull, brown wren,

Fa, la, la, la la.

William, the peacock, with his striking looks and finery had stood beside her in the chapel, and the top of her head had only reached his shoulder. How the ladies in attendance had sighed as he dipped his dark head and recited his vows to her, the dull, little wren in her brown wool dress with her atrocious hair confined to a wimple. Both William’s sisters boasted glorious flaxen hair the hue of summer wheat, not brazen red. Willowy and graceful they glided in rich, silk slippers like butterflies, whilst she stomped around in her sensible clogs.

Sister Julianna leant in and kept her voice low. “This is a bad business. This family is sown with wild, spoiled seed.”

Then there was that. Whispers of the taint on Sir Arthur’s beautiful family carried even this far north.

“It is time.” Gracious and lovely, Lady Mary of Anglesea rose with a sweet smile for Alice. “Shall we?”

“Aye, let us get to the meat of the matter.” Smug grin eating his face, her father thumped the table.

Rising too, Sir William offered his hand to her. Grip warm and sure, he helped her climb over the bench, then straightened her skirts for her. No fault could she find with her groom’s manners. As far as she could see, he had no faults at all. Men like William should marry their faultless equals. How different would this be if she looked like his mother and sisters? If she could enter his bed with her head held high, confident in her groom’s delight in her beauty.

The other women stood with her. Lady Faye, flawless and serene in her pregnancy, golden hair framing her enchanting face. Her second new sister-in-law, Beatrice. Bea, they called her, and on occasion Sweet Bea. Not as fair as Faye, but her pretty countenance made more so by the lively march of humor across it.

God mocked her by surrounding her with all this overbearing comeliness.

“Come along, then.” Beatrice’s smile stretched false with forced good cheer. Nay, they no more welcomed this match for their brother than she did.

Another wedding night and she would endure.

 

Conquering William releases August 30th:

Amazon

iBooks

Kobo

Barnes & Noble

Dishing the Dirt on Vegas.

Dishing the Dirt on Vegas.

Yes, I know, what happens in Vegas and all that. But I’m going to break that rule right now. Last week the annual RT Book Lovers Convention took place in Vegas, and I attended for the first time. First off, most writers I know are pathologically introverted (myself included), which is not to be confused with being shy. The best definition I’ve heard of introvert vs extrovert, is that an introvert is drained by people, whereas an extrovert feeds on other people’s energy.

So, it was a double whammy. Because first off—Vegas! I don’t really have to say too much about that. Secondly, about 3000 readers and writers all clustered together and talking romance novels. The energy was incredible. I met so many wonderful people, readers and writers alike. It was really good for me to emerge from my writing pit and be forced into actual social engagement with people who exist outside of my head.

Highlights for me were meeting so many of the writers I interact with on a daily basis in person.

Me and Jami Denise

Me and Jami Denise

I also met some of the nicest people in gorgeous packages, the cover models. I got to sign my books, which was a blast.  And most of all, meeting and getting to chat with readers.

I’ve always believed that the relationship between readers and writers, especially in the romance genre, is a very intimate one. We write the words, but they come to life in the readers imagination. So, really, we build the story together. Vegas brought this home to me with such clarity. Speaking to readers, getting their input, and seeing their passion for what I do, was like a shot of adrenaline.

Back into the writing pit I go! And I’m taking all those people I met with me.