Congrats Danette! Please write me at firstname.lastname@example.org with your address information.
On another note, I’m leaving Orlando today. Had a terrific time at the RT convention. Oh–and Martha, thanks so much for stopping by and saying hello at the booksigning. So nice to put a face to the name. Hope you had a great time.
I’ll announce Ann Aguirre’s winner this evening. (It seems I’ve been saying Ann’s name wrong in my head all this time. (You say it like a-gary not a-gwire.) Yep, just one of the many fascinating things you learn at RT.
Hi all! Ann Aguirre is here to tell us about her hot latest release Blue Diablo. Leave Ann a comment, and you’ll qualify to win a signed copy of Blue Diablo on Sunday evening!
Right now, I’m a redhead. I’ve been blonde and brunette as the situation requires, though an unscheduled color change usually means relocating in the middle of the night. So far, I’m doing well here. Nobody knows what I’m running from. And I’d like to keep it that way…
Eighteen months ago, Corine Solomon crossed the border to Mexico City, fleeing her past, her lover, and her “gift”. Corine, a handler, can touch something and know its history—and sometimes, its future. Using her ability, she can find the missing—and that’s why people never stop trying to find her. People like her ex, Chance…
Chance, whose uncanny luck has led him to her doorstep, needs her help. Someone dear to them both has gone missing in Laredo, Texas, and the only hope of finding her is through Corine’s gift. But their search may prove dangerous as the trail leads them into a strange dark world of demons and sorcerers, ghosts and witchcraft, zombies—and black magic…
Right now, I’m a redhead.
I’ve been blonde and brunette as the situation requires, though an unscheduled color change usually means I need to relocate in the middle of the night or face people burning crosses on my lawn. I’ve set a new record, going on eighteen months in the same city, no consequences, no demonstrations, and for the last year, I’ve been a respectable business owner to boot. Maybe I should knock wood.
So I do.
But right now, a redhead. I tell myself it goes with the blue eyes, even if my skin is a little too olive for the carpet to match the drapes. And sure, I get a few looks because it’s a true red, Garnier Nutrisse 64R to be exact, not the plum that most women here favor, but I may as well please myself because I will never, ever blend in entirely. The best I can do is to make sure nobody reckons me any crazier than anyone else.
Around here they do call me la Americana loca, but I figure it’s affectionate, as it doesn’t stop them from coming to my shop. Unlike many of the open-air tiendas, I have a front door and a bell that chimes softly when anyone enters my domain, a dim and shady store piled high with junk or treasure, depending on your definition. I have handmade pots and broken radios, alleged religious artifacts and rare books in sixteen languages.
A ceiling fan stirs sluggishly overhead, but it never gets hot inside. The buildings are heavier, solid rock covered with plaster, so it’s cool and shady when the mercury rises and even the lizards are too lazy to move. Sometimes people step in, wanting a break from the sun, or to get out of the deluge during rainy season, but they never leave without buying something. That’s part of my unique gift (and why I always work in retail). At one point I sold furniture on commission but it just wasn’t fair, fish in a barrel.
Ostensibly, I run a pawn shop marked by a simple red and white sign that reads Casa de Empeno, but anyone who lives in Los Remedios along the road to Atizapan will tell you it’s more. They’ll also offer you a fuchsia candy tortilla at the stoplight just before you come to my store; it’s the intersection where a man with a mime’s face juggles fire and a monkey-less organ grinder plies his trade dispiritedly (how he lost the monkey is another story). Don’t eat the tortilla, don’t tip more than twenty pesos, and make a left turn. You’ll find me, if you really need to.
I’m an expert at staying hidden. More than once, it’s been the difference between life and death, so I live lean and keep my head down. So far as I know, I’m doing well here. Nobody knows what I’m running from.
And I’d like to keep it that way.
Unfortunately, our pasts have a way of coming back, time and again, just like our shadows. Oh, there are ways to sever your shadow, and I know a guy who did, but it was a really bad idea. He took sick afterward, died the slow death of a consumptive, and last I heard, his shadow was making a killing in Atlantic City. Literally.
These are dark times, and I just want a quiet place to ride it out.
Unfortunately, things never seem to work out the way I want them.
My first inkling that I hadn’t covered my tracks completely came on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. I was sitting behind the glass case in my shop, eyeballing a pair of hand painted porcelain miniatures I’d bought for two hundred pesos maybe twenty minutes before. Nice, they looked Dutch, and some tourist would buy them by next Friday.
Foretelling isn’t really my thing”“well, only as an adjunct to my real gift and only as relates to the object I’m handling. When I touch something, I know what’s happened to an item, who’s owned it, and to a lesser extent, what will happen to it in the future, although that’s less sure, as any diviner could tell you. Such prediction isn’t much use, unless you’re breathless with wondering about the fate of hand painted Dutch miniatures. Most people aren’t.
History, though…yeah, therein lays the magic. And the reason folks never stop trying to find me. If this could talk, people say dreamily, peering at a piece of antique jewelry. In truth it’s generally pretty boring; the item gets worn, and then it goes in a box. Repeat. But once in a while, once in a while an item passes across my palms with a real story to tell.
And that’s where the trouble starts.
Trouble smells like singed horsehair. I’ll never get past that. When I was ten, my pony burnt up in our barn, and I’ll never forget the way Sugar screamed. That was my first look at an angry mob, but not my last. If you think they don’t burn witches anymore, you never lived in Kilmer. And that’s the damnedest thing; those same folks will come creeping after dark to your back door, one by one, begging for the moon, but get them all together, talking, and they start lighting torches.
To this day, when life is about to get rocky, I smell the burning all over again, one of two legacies my mama left me. And on that Wednesday, the shop stunk to high heaven as someone pushed through the door, jingling the bell. I put down the miniatures, already braced to make a break for the door off the alley.
But I didn’t want to leave, dammit. Thanks to the second gift my mama gave me, I made a good living here and sometimes I even went out on Saturday nights. Nobody brought me tiny pierced earrings from dead babies or soiled mittens from missing children. Nobody expected me to do anything at all, and that was exactly how I liked it.
I don’t know if the dark-haired man who walked into my store that day has a name, other than Chance. I’ve heard he came by the tag from the silver coin he likes to toy with, rolling it across his knuckles, tossing it for a hundred and coming up tails every time. Regardless, his presence in my humble shop in Los Remedios, two thousand miles from where I’d seen him last, could mean nothing good.
“You’re a hard woman to find,” he said, leaning up on my counter like he thought I’d be glad to see him. “I could almost be hurt by that, Corine.”
Well, I couldn’t really argue as I’d left him sleeping in my bed when I took flight. “What’re you doing here?”
“I need you to handle something for me, just one job. I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.” Pleading, he fixed his eyes on me, striated amber, knowing I was a sucker for that look.
Or I used to be. I wasn’t anymore.
And Chance wasn’t my manager any longer either. I didn’t want to handle, didn’t want to tell people their loved one had been strangled while wearing that sweater. I didn’t want to do that anymore.
My hormones gave a little kick. After all this time, he still had the power to make my pulse skip. Some genius genetics had gone into Chance’s making: long and lean, chiseled face with a vaguely Asian look, capped by uncanny eyes and a mouth that could tempt a holy sister to sin. I wondered if he’d felt the last kiss I brushed against that mouth, eighteen months ago. I wondered whether he’d missed me or just the revenue.
To make matters worse, he knew how to dress, and today he wore Kenneth Cole extremely well: crinkle-washed shirt in Italian cotton, jet with a muted silver stripe, dusty black button-fly jeans, polished shoes and a black velvet blazer. I didn’t need his sartorial elegance to remind me I’d gone native, a sheer gauze blouse with crimson embroidery around the neck and a parti-colored polyester skirt with an elastic waist. I was even wearing flip-flops. They had a big red silk hibiscus on each toe, but flip-flips nonetheless. It was amazing he could look at me with a straight face.
But then, he’d been raised well. His mother, Yi Min-chin, was a nice lady who made great kimchi and pulgoki, but he’d never say who his daddy was, claiming such knowledge granted too much power over him. And his mom went along with it. I figured it was just more of his bullshit, but with Chance, you just never could be sure. He had the devil’s own luck, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Lucifer himself someday came to claim him.
“It’s never just one job with you,” I said then with a trace of bitterness. “I’m a show pony to you, and you never get tired of putting me through my paces. I am out of the life now. Retired. Get it? Now get out and if you ever felt anything for me, don’t tell anybody where I am.” I hated the way my tone turned pleading at the end.
I’d built this life. I didn’t want to have to parlay to keep it.
Without a word, he flattened his palm on the top of the glass case that housed my rare treasures. When he lifted his hand, I expected to see his coin because the item glinted silver. But as I leaned in, I saw something that sent snakes disco dancing in my belly.
“Ann Aguirre proves herself yet again in this gritty, steamy
and altogether wonderful urban fantasy. Outstanding and
delicious. I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next.”
““NYT Bestselling author Patricia Briggs
“Rising star Aguirre moves from outer space to the Southwest in this new first-person series. Corine Solomon peers into a dark world filled with ghosts, demons and sorcerers. With murder, magic and romance, this is an enticingly dangerous journey. Don’t miss out!”
“An authentic Southwestern-flavored feast, filled with magic, revenge and romance, spiced with memorable characters and page-turning action. Â¡Muy caliente!”
““Rachel Caine, author of the Weather Warden series
Read more about Ann and her fabulous stories here.
Congrats, Lynda. Write me at email@example.com, and I’ll forward your information to Michelle.
Remember if you enter to come back and check if you are a winner (you have 48 hours, or I draw another name.) Not trying to be punishing, but I’m just being honest–no time to track down winners with new contests everyday.
Hi guys. So, the weekend contest is a copy of my May 5 erotic time travel…Daring Time along with some fantastic Romantic Times giveaway STUFF. I’ve collected a bag of goodies–pens, bookmarks, keychains….I can’t even begin to tell you the STUFF from your favorite authors. You swim in it at the Romantic Times convention.
So leave a comment on my Daring Time weekend feature and you’ll qualify to WIN on Sunday! Your comment doesn’t have to be about Daring Time, but also about Romantic Times or any other convention you have attended, would attend, or thought about attending for two seconds. (It would be great if I could successfully download photos, but I’m having extreme difficulty with the connection here. Everything is a trial. Sigh. Sorry! But I am going to bring some fun stuff…JUST for this winner. So have fun!
Daring Time is a “paranormal light”–but it’s most defintely an erotic romance. As with all my books, it’s very heavy on the romance.
Also–just as an aside–people keep asking me how Ryan could fall in love with a ghost. But Hope is every bit as alive as you and me…something Ryan knows intuitively from the very moment he sees her.
He sees her, wants her, needs her…
Chicago Detective Ryan Daire has many secrets: a love for Shakespeare, an appreciation for the all the finer things in life, and an absolute lack of restraint in the bedroom. Now he has an even bigger secret. In every shifting shadow of the sprawling mansion he’s recently inherited he can see her—tempting, ethereal, and untouchable. Hope Stillwater inhabited that mansion in 1906. Raw desire has formed a conduit between these two passionate souls who are separated by the barrier of time.
Now he has to have her.
Intoxicated by each other’s presence, Ryan and Hope are closer than ever to crossing that inviting boundary between two worlds. But there is one grave danger: Ryan’s job has put him on the trail of a depraved criminal in an investigation that’s risking Hope’s eternal fate and happiness. Now he must do whatever it takes to change history, protect Hope from harm, and set his own desires free.
“This professor guy must have liked you a hell of a lot to leave you a mansion,” Ramiro muttered, a hint of envy flavoring his tone.
“I was knocked flat on my ass when Alistair told me what he planned, but there was nothing I could say to change his mind. He insisted I was doing him a favor by taking it. The value of the house is appreciating hugely because of the real estate development in this area. Alistair’s lawyers advised him to reduce his taxable estate with a gift.”
“Some gift. Better he’d left you some cash, though.”
Ryan stepped into a room and flipped on a light. He studied the large spacious bedroom suite, the plaster ceilings and intricately carved mantel. Alistair knew Ryan loved Chicago history. He must have guessed how much Ryan would appreciate the mansion.
“Cash’s got nothing on this place.”
Ramiro snorted. “They broke the mold when it comes to you, Daire. Six foot and four inches of pure pushover. At least to little kids and stray animals. Can’t say the same about you when it comes to assholes like Jim Donovan.”
“You wouldn’t want me any other way.”
“Who wants you? I’m shackled to you,” Ramiro grumbled.
They stepped into the bedroom. Ryan ran his hand admiringly over the carved mahogany mantel. Unlike the majority of the house, this room retained some furniture—stuff that looked to be the same vintage as the house, Ryan realized with a sense of amazement. The green and white floral wallpaper beneath the wainscoting had faded but still retained a fresh, feminine charm. Obviously the bedroom had once belonged to a woman.
The foot and headboard of a brass bedstead leaned against the wall between two antique mahogany tables. Ryan fingered the cool metal thoughtfully. The brass needed to be cleaned but the bed was perfectly intact. An image of himself polishing the brass and putting together the bed for his own mattress flashed vividly into his mind’s eye.
He’d be nuts to even consider moving into this place.
“Look at this. Looks like something you’d have your nose buried in.” Ramiro held up an old leather bound book that he’d found in one of the table drawers. The color of the once crimson leather had faded to a dull dark red.
“Shakespeare’s sonnets,” Ryan murmured. He owned a copy of his own, nearly as well read as this old tome. Ryan had cultivated a love of Shakespeare from his father that had been nourished by Alistair. The book parted to a well-worn gold-leafed page when he opened it. He immediately recognized the one hundred and sixteenth sonnet.
He raised the book toward his face and inhaled. His brow furrowed at the scent of gardenias mixing with the odor of leather and mildew.
“I’ll bet you can get a couple grand for this old chest, Daire. People pay out their asses for antiques. Holy shit, check it out.”
Ramiro moved aside from the opened door of the massive mahogany wardrobe so that Ryan could see the full-length mirror attached on the inner side of the door. The frame had been carved into a meticulous iris design beneath the gilt. Time had taken its toll on the mirror itself. Six or so inches all along the exterior had gone foggy with age. Only the center portion reflected true. Still, the mirror was so huge that Ryan didn’t have to stoop his tall frame to see his face in the reflection.
Only it wasn’t his face that he saw. He started in surprise.
He whipped around so fast that Ramiro jerked back in alarm.
“What?” Ramiro asked. The whites of his brown eyes showed as his gaze shifted warily around the room and then back to Ryan. “What’s wrong, man?”
Ryan turned back to the mirror, this time seeing his own bloodless face and greenish-blue eyes staring back at him.
“You didn’t see her?”
“That woman. She was just right here, standing in front of me. I saw her in the mirror.” He quickly inspected the empty wardrobe, scanned the bedroom and rushed to the door.
The hallway stood empty and silent, the dozens of closed doors along both walls reminding him of watchful eyes.
“There’s no one here but us, Daire,” Ramiro said from just behind him.
Ryan shook his head. He knew what he’d seen with his own two eyes: a stunning, lithesome-limbed beauty with pale, flawless skin and a long mane of soft, curling dark hair hanging loose down her shoulders and back.
The same woman he’d imagined briefly in the ballroom, he realized. But this had been different. In the ballroom it had just been like a super-vivid flash of his imagination. This had been real.
Realer than real.
Laughter had curved her lush, dark pink lips. She’d worn a sheer negligee, the bottom of which barely covered the dark nest of hair between her slender thighs. She might as well have been standing there naked for as much good as the nightgown did. The only other thing that adorned her flawless skin was a locket hanging around her neck. Ryan could still see perfectly with his mind’s eye the detail of the filigree carved into the silver and the throb of the woman’s pulse at her throat.
“No. I definitely saw her,” Ryan insisted firmly, but even as he said it, he began to question himself.
He’d seen the front of her in the mirror…as though she’d stood directly before him with her back to him.
His breath froze on an inhale.
There hadn’t been anyone standing in front of him. She’d just been in the mirror, staring out at him as if the space between the gilded frame had been a doorway not a pane of glass. He crossed the room and touched the surface of the mirror. Despite the bizarreness of what had just happened, he didn’t really believe he’d feel anything but the cool, smooth surface of the glass.
Shock jolted through him for the second time that evening when the molecules of his fingers seemed to meld with those of the mirror. He wondered if it hadn’t been his imagination when a second later he pressed his fingertips against a solid pane of glass.
“You really didn’t see anyone?” he asked Ramiro as he turned around.
Ramiro shook his head.
There was no way in hell Ryan wouldn’t have noticed the back of that woman if she stood in front of him. That flimsy excuse for a nightgown wouldn’t have completely covered her bare ass.
Uh uh—not a possibility. As a healthy, red-blooded male, Ryan knew for a fact he would have noticed that.
“Dios, Daire. I think you saw a ghost.”
Ryan shot Ramiro an annoyed look. “I didn’t see a ghost. She was perfectly solid.”
He recalled the startled expression in her velvety black eyes. “She looked as surprised to see me as I did her,” Ryan said.
“What’d she look like?”
A pair of full, shapely breasts and succulent, fat nipples pressing against transparent cloth that did nothing to hide their rosy hue flashed into Ryan’s mind’s eye. The potent eroticism of the recalled image made his cock jerk in his boxer briefs.
What’d she look like? Edible. Delicious. Like an angel on a mission of sin.
“Dark hair. Dark eyes,” he muttered. For some reason he felt hesitant about sharing even a basic description of the woman with Ramiro.
“You saw a ghost all right. This house is haunted,” Ramiro declared as he glanced around, his feet shifting nervously.
Ryan couldn’t help but grin. “I thought you were a big, bad vice detective. Since when are you scared of a little tiny female?”
Ramiro gave him an insulted look. “Ever since the “˜little tiny female’ is dead.”
“She’s not dead.”
Ramiro looked a little taken aback by Ryan’s hard tone. “Whatever, man.” Ramiro shivered and started toward the door. The image of his brawny partner shuddering reflexively struck Ryan as markedly odd, not to mention alarming for some reason.
“The only time I saw you get so pale was when you got shot,” Ramiro said. “Take my advice and sell this place quick as you can. I’ll take the likes of a slimy rat like Anton Chirnovsky any day versus a haunted house. Come on. Crenshaw will be waiting for us at Bureau Headquarters. We’re making sure Chirnovsky has his story straight and is in good voice before we strap the wires on him for Donahue’s downfall this weekend.”
Ryan closed the heavy wardrobe door with a brisk bang, perhaps hoping to shatter the fey spell wrought by the vision of the stunning woman. He didn’t believe in ghosts and he was every bit as eager to nail Jim Donahue for human trafficking as Ramiro was.
Still, he lingered in the doorway, casting his gaze around the empty bedroom warily before he shut out the light.
Hi guys! I’m at RT in Orlando and having a great time so far. However, I’m having a real problem with my internet connection. Hopefully they can fix it in the a.m. but in the meantime, bear with me. I’ll get things up one way or another!
And Michelle’s winner is Patricia! Congrats Patricia! Write me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I’ll pass on your info to Michelle! Please give me a bit more time than usual, because of the hotel internet issues. We’ll get you that book, Patricia!
Michelle, thanks so much for joining us and telling us about Lilith Enraptured. It really sounds fabulous.
Please help me in welcoming talented author (and delightful person) Elisabeth Naughton!
Elisabeth is here to tell us about her upcoming sequel to her popular romance Stolen Fury, Stolen Heat. If you’re not familiar with Elisabeth’s blend of action, adventure and romance, you’re going to love this. If you leave Elisabeth a comment or ask her a question, you’ll qualify to win a signed copy of Stolen Fury Tuesday evening! (Contest open internationally.)
Book 2 ““ Stolen Trilogy
Available July 28, 2009
His past tore them apart. Her lies thrust them back together.
Now a killer’s out for revenge, but the biggest threat for both may just be the heat they thought they’d already lost….
Antiquities dealer Peter Kauffman walked a fine line between clean and corrupt for years. And then he met the woman who changed his life—Egyptologist Katherine Meyer. Their love affair burned white-hot in Egypt, until the day Pete’s lies and half-truths caught up with him. After that, their relationship imploded, Kat walked out, and before Pete could find her to make things right, he heard she’d died in a car bomb.
Six years later, the woman Pete thought he’d lost for good is suddenly back. The lies this time aren’t just his, though. The only way he and Kat will find the truth and evade a killer out for revenge is to work together—as long as they don’t find themselves burned by the heat each thought was stolen long ago…
“Naughton deftly distills deadly intrigue, high adrenaline action, and scorchingly hot passion.”
“A fun, sexy, page-turning romantic adventure.
This debut sizzles.”
–NYT Bestselling Author, Allison Brennan on STOLEN FURY
“A rock-solid debut…Naughton’s intelligent adventure plot is intensified by the blazing heat that builds from [the] first erotic encounter.”
–Publisher’s Weekly on STOLEN FURY
BK: Thank you for joining us, Elisabeth!
What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?
EN: Oh, there are so many things. My 4-yr old is probably the biggest distraction. Followed by the DH, who works from home, and finally, the Internet. Facebook, Twitter, blogs…all those social networking promo aspects writers are a part of to promote themselves really suck up my writing time.
BK: Promo is such a big part of this career, isn’t it? What are you working on presently? What about upcoming releases?
EN: I just finished a new romantic adventure proposal, which I’m very excited about. This one deals with a lost Mayan city most in the academic world don’t really believes exists, but which is rumored to be filled with priceless treasures and the key to several Mayan secrets that will impact the way the world views history. It’s a true treasure hunt/quest book replete with danger and mystery, high action and adventure and steamy hot romance.
EN? Right now I’m starting my second “˜Eternal Guardians’ book for Dorchester. The first book in my new paranormal series ““ MARKED ““ is set to release May 2010. I’ve really only just begun writing the second book in the series, which centers around a race of super-buff hero-warriors, all descendents of the heroes from Greek Mythology, but I’m already having a blast with these sexy Argonauts and can’t wait to really get cooking on this second book.
EN: As for other releases, STOLEN HEAT, the second in my Stolen Trilogy, releases July 28, 2009. After that, the final Stolen Book ““ STOLEN SEDUCTION (Shane’s book) ““ hits the shelves in January 2010.
BK:I remember you mentioning that Argonaut premise on the Bradford loop and being so jealous I didn’t think of it. It sounds so awesome. What’s the best compliment you ever got on your writing or a book?
EN: I have to say, the best compliment I’ve gotten came from my husband. He’s not a big reader, and honestly hadn’t read more than a few chapters of my work even after I sold. Last August we went to Hawaii and he asked me to bring STOLEN FURY with us so he could read it on the beach. The book had already been through production, so I knew if he hated it, there was nothing I could do about it. Reluctantly, I printed the book for him and had it bound (didn’t have arcs yet) and gave it to him.
EN: Now, my husband loves the beach, but he’s not a big swimmer. He prefers to soak in the sun, drink a good beer and read a magazine or two. Several times over the course of our vacation while he was sitting on the beach reading my book, he’d put it down and head off to swim in the ocean. All I could think was, “What the heck?” Finally, after angsting over his obvious dislike of my work until I wanted to scream, I followed him into the water and said, “Okay, buddy. What gives? You don’t even like the water and you keep going swimming. Do you hate the book THAT much?” He got a funny look on his face, pulled me close and said, “I can’t help it. We’re here with friends. And your book is HOT! I have to keep going swimming to cool off!”
Best compliment I’ve ever gotten.
BK: *Laughing* That’s a great story, Elisabeth, and you’re right–high praise, indeed.
If you could time travel to any time or place—the past or future—where and when would you go to, and why?
EN: Fun question! I’d go to Ancient Greece and the site of the first Olympics. I have a real fascination with all things Greek, and the thought of being able to stand in Olympia, to watch the games and see which myths are true and which simply became legends really floats my boat.
Thanks for having me here today, Beth!
BK: My pleasure, Elisabeth. It’s always refreshing visiting with you. 🙂
Find out more about Elisabeth here. And if you haven’t entered the Daring Time Contest yet–go on! Read the rules, you don’t have to have a blog or do anything ‘techy’ to enter, and you could win big!
Shelli Stevens is a fabulous author and one of the warmest women I’ve met since wandering cluelessly into the romance arena. I was very excited to hear that she signed with Laura Bradford, who also represents me, and that she sold her first book in the New York market! Take Me comes out from Kensington in July of this year (OMG Shelli–it’s coming up!) and you can read more about Take Mehere.
Today she’s here to tell us about her upcoming release Anybody but Justin. PLUS, she’ll be giving a free copy (print or download) of Tempting Adam to one very lucky commenter. (Same rules for international residents.)
Read more about Tempting Adam.
Anybody but Justin (releases May 12)
Gabby is serious about her search for Mr. Right, but no one can say she hasn’t had a good time looking. She enjoys her numerous dates and the sex that comes with them. Until she finds herself falling for the one man she vows to never love. Her best friend and roommate, Justin. A player in every sense of the word—and a reminder of her awful past.
One night, with the help of a bottle of tequila, things get a little too hot for comfort. She moves out, intent on removing him from the line of temptation.
Justin has different plans. The tequila did more than just change how he sees his good friend. It made him realize he doesn’t want to be just friends any more. He’s ready for something more intimate, and he’ll do whatever it takes to find out why she’s running. And convince her to stay.
This is an exciting time for you. So many delicious books on the horizon and on your bookshelf. What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?
SS: My kid. It’s hard to really dive right into to a deep writing mode with a preschooler running around.
BK: Too true. What are you working on presently? What about upcoming releases?
SS: I’m currently working on a proposal for my option book at Kensington. An erotic shifter, with hints of suspense/action.
BK: Ooh, sounds intense. What’s the best compliment you ever got on your writing or a book?
SS: Gosh…I love it when someone tells me they start my book with the intent just to read a few pages, and can’t put it down. Like burn dinner or stop working to keep reading. Makes me all kinds of happy!
BK: The best of kind of compliment, to be sure.
If you could time travel to any time or place—the past or future—where and when would you go to, and why?
SS: I think I would love to travel to the medieval times. I’m fascinated by that period. Of knights. Of the lifestyle. But I’d want to come back after a few days. I’m a creature of comfort and am addicted to the internet.
BK: I hear you, Shelli. I’d want to see it, but then be able to easily access my magical portal for internet forays and a bath.
This was a real pleasure, Shelli.
Be sure to check out Shelli’s website for lots of hot reading and gorgeous covers. Leave her a comment to win a copy of Tempting Adam Monday evening!