Will They Or Won't They?

One of the big complaints people seem to have about TV relationships is that the chemistry is "ruined" when the couple actually gets together. Moonlighting is often cited as an example - once Dave and Maddie hooked up, the delicious sexual tension between the two of them disappeared.

And yes, I can name shows where bringing the two characters together takes away something special about them, changing the dynamic of the show for the worse.

But it can be done right, as well. One of my favorite pairings on TV was Chandler and Monica on Friends. Their hook up in London, though shocking when it happened, really did build on the friendship they'd had all along. And the "who knows?" storyline that wove through the first half of that season was delicious.


The best part of their romance, in my mind, was how it didn't change who they were at the core. Monica was still Monica, Chandler still Chandler, and their foibles and issues complemented each other in a way that made their relationship just work.

I'm feeling the same way about Castle and Beckett this season on Castle. Though I'm a latecomer to the show, I love the dynamic between those two, and I think the writers are hitting all the right notes with their blossoming relationship. Even though they're together, there's still enough sexual tension to keep the connection humming for the viewer.

So despite the "Moonlighting Curse", I think it's definitely possible to bring two characters together without destroying the delicious tension between them - and without losing the viewers' interest. And on the flip side of the coin, there's only so many obstacles a writing team can throw up between two characters before the audience gives up altogether.

It's a tightrope, to be sure, but it can be done right. Who are your favorite couples on TV, together or apart? And what makes a "connection" work for you on a show?

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Kelly Thinks About BDSM - Part One

Like many others, I've been thinking about BDSM and romance novels a lot recently. I've read some great blog posts explaining BDSM and dispelling myths about it. Many have dissected the popularity of FSOG (yeah, don't worry, not going to do that here) with much discussion about feminism and female passivity and male power and how we don’t want the power we’ve gained through equality, we just want to submit blah blah blah.

Judging from my Amazon sales, there are a lot of people who probably don't even realize I write BDSM stories. I don't know if I do them particularly well, but I've gotten quite a few good reviews for them, in particular, Power Struggle probably garnered me the most rave reviews of any of my books.

I enjoy writing BDSM stories and I enjoy reading them — some of them. We all have personal tastes, and I will admit that when I read a book where the Dom hero told the sub heroine she was going to eat healthy food or else she'd go hungry, that kinda put me off a little.

So what’s the appeal of BDSM romances? Here's my theory.

Sex makes a woman very, very vulnerable. This is true for several reasons — physically, of course, she is vulnerable —getting naked with a man who is bigger and stronger than she is puts her in a very vulnerable position. On top of that, there are STDs which women are more at risk of acquiring, plus pregnancy and the consequences of that which can lead to long term child rearing responsibility. Then there's the emotional vulnerability. Yes, women can have no strings attached sex, but the reality is that sex often causes an emotional response in women (there is a scientific, hormonal explanation for it) which results in feelings of attachment that may or may not be shared by the man.

For all of these reasons, it is important that a woman trust the man she is having sex with.

As I said, these things don't just apply to BDSM relationships but to all relationships, and this is a good part of the reason the books I write include sex — because putting characters at their most vulnerable tests them the most, creates the most tension, and creates the most intimacy.

BDSM can range from some kink in the bedroom, to a total power exchange or 24/7 D/s relationship. It can range from a little bondage and spanking to some pretty extreme (and potentially dangerous) fetishes.

For this reason, the issue of trust becomes even more important. If getting naked between the sheets makes you vulnerable, being naked and tied up makes you even more vulnerable. This heightened need for mutual trust and respect intensifies the relationship, and in a romance, means the author has to really develop that part of the relationship between hero and heroine. Nobody wants to read about a woman who is clearly TSTL by letting an asshole she doesn’t trust tie her up. And since a romance is all about the relationship, this deepening relationship can result in a more powerful and moving story.

(Note:  the Dominant person in a relationship can certainly be a woman, and the submissive a man — I'm generalizing this way mostly because all my books have dominant heroes.)

For the woman to put this kind of trust in a man, literally putting her life in his hands, this has to be a man worthy of such trust. I enjoy romances which feature heroes who are strong, honorable, courageous and loyal. Consider how important those qualities are when a woman is trusting him with her life.

Now this can happen in, say, a romantic suspense novel, or even a historical novel set in times of war, or where there are dangers like highwayman and pirates — there are definitely other ways to create situations where the hero has the heroine's life in his hands. But I write contemporary romance and like most people, my day to day life is pretty safe and I don't really need a man to protect me from dangers all around.

On the other hand…safe, sane and consensual BDSM includes the use of a safe word…meaning the woman is assured she will never truly be hurt. Having sex with a stranger, with no negotiations, maybe even drunk sex, is far more dangerous than consensual bondage with a safe word. In a vanilla life, how many women have that assurance that they will never be hurt? Which really means, in a BDSM relationship, she’s not helpless--she’s powerful…

So writing a romance that includes BDSM and the complex needs of each character that potentially could include putting the heroine's life in the hands of the hero, means that hero has to be especially heroic. This creates characters that are larger than life, truly heroic heroes that we want to fall in love with too.

My brain runneth over with thoughts about BDSM, but this post is long enough, so you can read Kelly Thinks About BDSM Part Deux at my own blog this weekend

Also I'm sharing a smutty  sexy excerpt from my BDSM book Rigger at The Good Smut Event on Tuesday May 22 - stop by to check it out, and I'm posting more about why I write BDSM there on Tuesday May 29. 

Message to reviewers...

This past weekend I came across a blog at a review site that got me thinking (again) about the issue of authors commenting on reviews. Mary at Mary’s Naughty Whispers (ETA:  Mary has removed her original post and the comments but you can still read some of her thoughts there) presented a different perspective on the issue. In her opinion, it is courteous for authors to thank the reviewer for reading and reviewing their book. She said: “My main problem is when some author contact me, ask me to review their story and once my review is published on my blog, never feel bond to even acknowledge the time I spent to give a review.”

Some authors responded in the comments at Mary’s blog, trying to explain their point of view. There was reference to a recent post at Dear Author “Is there room on the internet for authorial interaction?”. That post and the ensuing comments talked about different kinds of interaction—more than just saying “thank you” they also talked about authors who try to explain points of their story to the reviewer, or defend their story, or even authors who defend each other. The general consensus was that authors should not do that by commenting on a review, but should use a different platform such as their own blog to explain their perspective. The post included a comment from Meljean Brook: “I think there’s room for author interaction in the comments of a review, but it’s very limited room. In general — unless the reviewer has notified the author directly about the presence of a review and invites a reply — I think that it’s best not to comment at all. We all know that many authors are online, seeking reviews of their work and looking in on discussions; there’s no need to tap the readers on the shoulder and say, “Hey, I’m here,” because it’s likely to have a chilling effect…and for good or bad, the best thing for an author is for readers to talk about her book. Why shut that down?”

Comments on the post came from readers, authors and other reviewers. Las said “But I don’t want to seem the responding to reviews in the comments, even to post something as simple as “Glad you liked it,” or “Sorry it didn’t work for you.””

Donna said: “The minute I see an author’s comment appear below a review, no matter how gracious or insightful, it has a chilling effect. It changes the nature of the discussion. I suddenly feel called upon to put politeness before honesty, and I either refrain from commenting, or refrain from commenting honestly.”

Mandi, who is a reviewer, said: “I’m not necessarily against author interaction in certain circumstances, but overall I don’t think their comments on reviews helps the discussion. When I get into discussions about books on Twitter, I realize that the author of the book I’m talking about can read my discussion, but I don’t really like it if they pop-up into it. … There are so many factors that play into online interaction, I don’t have a conclusive answer, but I do lean towards less involvement from authors.”

Jane from Dear Author, who is of course a reviewer, commented on her own post to someone else: “Thank yous have always made me feel uncomfortable because I didn’t write a positive review for the author, but because I loved the book. Thanking me implies I did the author some kind of favor.”

Commenters at Mary’s Naughty Whispers pointed out that thanking a reviewer for a positive review can be seen as sucking up to the reviewer, which is the point Jane makes above.

Although I’ve been a published author for a few years, I feel like I’m still learning my way in this business. When I first got reviews, I was careful to thank every reviewer who reviewed my books. I said, “Thank you for taking the time to read and review my book.” I was not thanking them for a good review; in fact there were times where I wasn’t all that thrilled with the review and still sent that message. If the review was really positive, I would sometimes add “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” In a couple of cases where the review wasn’t so great, I added, “I’m sorry the story didn’t work for you.” 

Looking back at that, I cringe a little that I did that, but in one case it turned out to be a positive thing. The reviewer appreciated my comment and because of it chose to read another of my books which she very much enjoyed.

After reading the Dear Author post and comments noted above, I had to rethink whether it was appropriate to thank reviewers for taking the time to read and review my books. I still think it is. But I have stopped doing it on the actual blog post and rather usually email the reviewer privately.

Mary likes to see thank you comments from authors on her blog whereas others do not. Mary says: “I am very humble when an author decide to leave a comment when the review was not requested by her. I find it very (VERY) nice and it is appreciated as it should be without double meaning.”

Mary also says: “I must be in the rare portion of reviewer thinking that without an author, I would not fulfill my reading passion.” She thinks there is a mutual gain to be had when a reviewer posts a review and an author comments on it or quotes it on their blog, website or newsletter, or re-Tweets it. And I agree—there is benefit for both of us. While Jane at Dear Author doesn’t like the implication that she has done an author some kind of favor by reviewing their book, the truth is…she has (positive or negative review). 

Here’s my message to reviewers:

Even if I don’t comment on your blog or email you to thank you for the review, please know that I do appreciate you taking the time to read my books and the time it takes to write and post a review. Every review of my book brings attention to it in a way I can’t do myself. There are so many books out there, when a reviewer reads one of mine, I am very grateful. Authors need reviewers to help spread the word about our books. Of course we always hope it’s going to be positive, but we know it’s not always going to be. Even so, it is appreciated. 

It’s a fine line to walk for authors. Do you comment and risk making the reviewer uncomfortable because they feel like you’re sucking up to them? Do you not comment and risk offending the reviewer for not appreciating the time they spent reading and writing the review? Will posting even a simple thank you prevent other readers from commenting about the book because they know the author is present there? What do you think?

Release day for POWER SHIFT!!

I'm so excited about the release of Power Shift! This book wasn't easy to write. A flawed and wounded hero, and a power shift - or should I call it switch? - that I've never written before made it difficult. But I'm so happy with how it turned out in the end.

For those of you who’ve read my book Power Struggle, you may remember Gabe, the Master Dom from le Château who helped Tori and Dev figure things out when their “power struggle” threatened to end their new relationship. So many people commented about wanting Gabe’s story, and I really wanted to write it, but it took a while! Turns out Gabe is a very complicated man. 

Okay, getting off topic for a moment - don’t you love it when writers talk about their characters like they’re real people? As if they “discovered” this character and put him in a story? I mean, really. I invented Gabe. I created him. I’m the one who made him complicated. Let’s be real here. But that’s how it feels, for me anyway. Yes, I created him, but he became so real to me, I believe in his background and all the things he went through and why he is the way he is.

It was also difficult to find the perfect woman for Gabe. I actually rejected several. They even had names. But they just weren’t good enough for him. (Go ahead, roll your eyes at my craziness, believe me - I understand. Writers are nuts.) Reagan is a woman who’s had to overcome some struggles of her own and has become a strong, independent woman. She’s strong enough for Gabe—strong enough to stand up to him but also strong enough to submit to him. But...is Gabe strong enough for her?  

I also want to mention that if you’ve read Taming Tara, you will meet up again with Tara and Joe in Power Shift. And if you’ve read Taming Tara and Power Struggle, I think you’ll like the Epilogue at the end of Power Shift, which I did not include in my original version of the manuscript. During edits, my editor suggested an epilogue. At first I had no idea what I was going to say! Should I tell you that the characters spoke to me and told me what to write? Really, I’m sane! I am, I am!  

As usual on release days, I give away a copy of my book to one of my newsletter subscribers, so I you’d like to enter, you can sign up here:

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Here's a little excerpt from Power Shift:

Sparks once again danced in the air around them, making her skin warm and tingly.

“What happened to your marriage?” he asked softly, leaning closer.

She moved her head from side to side. “You didn’t answer my question. What makes you think I’ll answer yours?”

“Fair enough. My wife...” He hesitated and she sensed he was about to tell her something he hadn’t told many people. Her chest tightened. “My wife didn’t like to have sex.”

She choked on her wine. “Oh.”

He grinned and once again, the genuine smile lit up his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled up appealingly. “You asked.”

She licked her bottom lip. She wanted to look him up and down and say, “Was she crazy?” because he was gorgeous and so damn sexy she was having a hard time concentrating on business every time she was with him, lust rolling inside her. But instead she looked down at her hands holding the stem of her wineglass.

“Sex can definitely ruin a marriage,” she said.

“Speaking from experience?” he asked softly.

“You know, this is an entirely inappropriate conversation for two business colleagues,” she said, unhappy with the breathless quality of her voice. But when she looked up at him and saw the way he was looking at her, pretty much the up and down, I-want-to-eat-you-up look she’d wanted to give him a moment ago, with an added layer of power, her entire body went hot.

“We can’t be friends, too?” he asked softly.

She tried to ignore the inferno in her face. “Mr. Pejovic.” She leaned across the table. “Are you flirting with me?”

Flirting? He didn’t know how the hell to flirt. His relationships had involved seeking people out in the club, women with needs that matched his own. The feeling that Reagan had those needs kept growing every time he saw her. And yet she didn’t seem aware of it at all.

Aware of him, certainly. He wasn’t oblivious to the sexual tension arcing between them every time they met. He’d been amused by her distraction earlier in his office, knew she was feeling it too. But the subtle cues that told him what she needed were at odds with her determination to appear assertive and in control. Her innocence and gentleness, the way her gaze dropped sometimes, not with uncertainty― she was clearly confident and assertive―but rather just a subtle deference in her tone and body language. The way she tried so hard to keep control. It was annoying. Frustrating. Sexy as hell. And a challenge.

He sipped his beer, watching her, and he thought of Tori. How her strength had appealed to him. How an easy conquest no longer satisfied. And he had to admit, despite the hints of submission, Reagan was strong. But what the hell was he thinking? He’d already decided he was taking a break, no matter how appealing the sub.

On the other hand, flirting―just flirting, with a woman, not in the club―was...fun.

She waited for his answer and he shook his head, smiling in spite of his internal battle between the decision he’d made and his attraction to her. Between his certainty that he could give her something and his suspicion that she could make him feel things he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel.

“You know what?” He too leaned forward, voice low among the other people on the patio, feeling like he was stepping off a scaffolding into thin air. “I think I am.”

Release day for Taming Tara!

My latest book from Ellora’s Cave, Taming Tara, is out today!

I’ve been blogging around the interweb about how I based this story on Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. (If you’re interested you can read more here and here). If you haven’t read those other posts, I got the idea for this story when I saw a similarity between how Petruccio tamed Kate and how a Dom would train a submissive.

But I’m not going to talk about Shakespeare here today. Instead I thought I’d share the naming anguish I suffered with this story.
The first version of this book was titled “What She Really Wants”. But I didn’t think it conveyed enough of the D/s aspect of the story and I also thought it would be nice to link to my last Ellora’s Cave book Power Struggle. So I renamed it “Power Exchange”. It was perfect! I sent it off to my editor and was thrilled when she offered a contract. Only one problem: Ellora’s Cave already has a book named “Power Exchange”. I had to change the title.

The Naughty Nine will tell you how I sweated over that, and I thank all of you for the title brainstorming! Eventually I came up with a title I liked, “A Sense of Place”. In the book, Tara’s family business is running an olive ranch which produces olives and olive oil, and at one point when Tara and Joe are in the olive groves she explains the concept of “terroir” to him:

     “...up here, it feels…good.” He shrugged.
     “You’re feeling it,” she said. “The romance of it.”
     He looked askance at her.
     “It’s the terroir.”
     “The what?”
     “It’s the land. Terroir is the influence of the land on the quality of the oil, the romantic part nobody can quite put their finger on. When the oil is good, people often say it is because of the land—the ideal soil, wonderful  climate or whatever.”
     “And when it tastes bad, it’s because of something else,” Joe murmured with amusement.
     Her lips curved up. “Of course.” She lifted a shoulder and his hand trailed down her cheek to touch her collarbone, revealed in the open V of her T-shirt. “There’s a lot of science involved in olive productions—you’ve seen that. But there’s something else too…things difficult to pin down. I know all that stuff like irrigation and soil quality are really what matter, but there has to be heart and soul and…love.” She lowered her eyes in embarrassment.


There is no exact English word for terroir, but in translation it would loosely mean “a sense of place” and I thought it was nicely metaphorical for how Tara finds her place in the world.

But my editor nixed that title because it didn’t given enough of an “erotic romance” feel. So it was back to the drawing board. I thought up and rejected countless titles, none quite right.

Not only did I have to change the title, I couldn’t use the name I’d picked out for the hero because it was considered an overused name. I won’t tell you what it was because I ended up using it for a minor character in the book! Once again I turned to the Naughty Nine for naming help. It had to be an Italian name because Joe’s family ran Italian restaurants. Special thanks to PG Forte for making me cry with laughter by suggesting Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo and Raphael.*G* In the end, the name I used was already in the book, and my hero switched names with a minor character.

And since the only title I could come up with that I liked involved the word “Taming” and my heroine’s name was Carina, and “Taming Carina” didn’t flow off the tongue, Carina became Tara. And my title became “Taming Tara” which thankfully my editor approved of!

Can I tell you how painful and traumatic that was to rename the characters? My characters become real people to me, and it was as off-putting as if I’d had to rename both my teenage children. They are who they are, their names are an integral part of them, and though I knew someone reading the book for the first time would have no idea, it really threw me. I’m still not used to it.

Despite all the naming angst, Taming Tara is now out in the world!

Why Do Women Read Romance

A few weeks ago Meg Benjamin wrote a great blog article here “If women like it, it must be stupid”. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately.

It started with the Jennifer Weiner/Jodi Picoult/Jonathen Franzen story and the fact that “The New York Times really does review more fiction by men than by women. Far more. Over about two years, from June 29, 2008 to August 27, 2010, the Times reviewed 545 works of fiction—338, or 62 percent, were by men. During that period, 101 books got the “one-two punch” of a review in both the daily Times and the Sunday Book Review—72 of them were by men.”

They do point out that this doesn’t take into account how much of all published fiction is written by women versus men, but as we all know, romance is the biggest selling genre and I’m pretty sure women publish more fiction than men. Not only that, when women writers do get reviewed by the NYT, it’s never romance (someone mentioned Nora got reviewed there once).

Picoult and Weiner made several points not just about reviews by the NYT but that in general fiction written by women does not get the same respect as fiction written by men. It also interested me that the article noted “Nick Hornby, Jonathan Tropper, Carl Hiaasen, David Nicholls...all of these guys write what I'd call commercial books, even beach books, books about relationships and romance and families. All of them would be considered chick lit writers if they were girls.”

Then I read another blog article by Katherine Buetner which referenced Janice Radway’s Reading the Romance, a sociological study of romance readers published in 1984. She conducted interviews in a midwestern town with forty-two romance readers, asking them about their reading motives, habits, and rewards. Radway found that the women she studied devoted themselves to nurturing their families, but received insufficient devotion or nurturance in return. In romances the women found not only escape (remember that word) from the difficult and boring routines of their lives but also a hero who supplied “the tenderness and admiring attention that they have learned not to expect. Specifically, she suggests that romance novels teach their readers to create fantasies that will render their unsatisfying marital relationships more satisfying by applying the rules of the hero’s “transformation” to their husbands: he rarely shows me tenderness, but because he does show it occasionally, he must secretly feel it all the time; those moments are the only moments when he allows himself to show it, but knowing that tenderness exists should be enough.”

Holy crap. Okay, that was 1984 but still, it seems to be saying that romance teaches women to create fantasies to escape from real life – from real, unsatisfying life.

First of all – WTF? Is that a fantasy? Do we expect men to show tenderness and affection all the time? Jeebus. I know my husband loves me, pretty sure he loves me a lot – but hell yeah, he doesn’t show his tenderness and affection all that often. Though I do get a kiss goodbye every morning, without fail. I’d say that’s more like teaching reality, rather than teaching a fantasy.

Second, not all readers of romance are married. And the ones who are, aren’t necessarily unsatisfied in their marital relationship. And...well I could go on and on about the flaws in this research but that’s already been covered elsewhere.

And third - what's wrong with escaping from real life for a while?

What I don’t understand is all this fascination with the reasons women have for reading romance. I Googled “why women read romance” and found pages and pages of hits. Then I Googled “why men read science fiction” and found – nothing. I searched “why men read westerns”, and “why men read adventure” and again – nothing. I Googled simply “why men read” – nothing. Perhaps they don’t. If they do, nobody cares to analyze why or what they’re reading. Ha! Then I Googled “why men read fiction” and the second thing that came up was a blog article by Jason Pinter called “Why Men Don’t Read”. It seemed to prove my point, however when I read the article, he’s discussing a publishing bias against men and the difficulty publishing books that men would read, which leads to a dearth of books that would interest men. Hmm. Interesting. Considering most of the books the NYT reviews are written by men.

In fairness I also Googled “why women read mysteries” – again, nothing.

So...the preoccupation with why women read romance seems to be based on the assumption that romance is unworthy and romance readers (primarily women) are intellectually inferior. In the 18th and 19th Centuries, there was a cultural belief that women were intellectually inferior to men and men believed women would be harmed by reading fiction. And here we are in the 21st Century and it seems that things haven’t changed all that much.

Why do women read romance?

There are two main reasons I read anything: to be entertained, or to learn something. In many cases, reading serves both purposes.

I noted the word “escape” above because romance novels are often called “escapist”, with the idea that the reader needs to escape her world by retreating into the world of the novel. Yet literary fiction isn’t described this way, which implies that readers are getting something more out of it than just “an escape.”

But what’s wrong with escaping your real life for a while to immerse yourself in a different world? That’s entertainment. It’s watching a movie or television show or listening to a concert. But the term is pejorative. It implies there is no learning.

I believe there can be much more than just escaping when women read romance. As I say on my blog, “I believe in the power of romance stories to portray strong, loving, romantic, sexual relationships that succeed, and to celebrate strength, courage, honour, and love. I believe love, romance and sex teach us about ourselves, about each other and about relationships, and break down barriers and boundaries.” So I believe that reading romance does serve the purposes of both entertaining and educating.

Furthermore, why does romance get knocked as a form of escapist entertainment? And this applies not just to books, but to movies – ever hear the term chick flick? Readers of mysteries, crime thrillers, watchers of those types of movies don’t earn the same derision as those who read romance or watch chick flicks. Could it be because they’re primarily...women?

I am deeply interested in the study of romance as literature — but I am NOT interested in the question of why women read romance. I don’t even want to hear that question any more. Nobody is asking “What do readers get out of reading Steven King?” or “Who are the people who read Nicholas Sparks and why do they read his books?” so why do they ask it about the books that women write (and read)? We need to explore romance as a fiction genre without cultural stereotypes and biases about who reads it and why.

Bad Girls

This particular musing has its origin in a couple of blog posts here a while ago. First, M.J. Fredrick blogged here about her love of bad boys, and judging from the comments that followed, she wasn’t alone. Then my fellow Niner Kinsey Holley blogged about her discomfort with heroines who are promiscuous, and I’m with her on that too. So my question is this: Do we feel the same about bad girl heroines as we do about bad boy heroes? I don’t think so, or at least not exactly.

In my case, I’m willing to accept bad behavior in a hero (provided it doesn’t last very long), but I’m less likely to be understanding with a heroine. I don’t think this is the result of sexism. It’s more because I can’t identify with that kind of heroine so readily. It’s one thing, for example, if the heroine has been forced into a situation where she has to be promiscuous (like the occasional courtesan heroines in regencies, who are almost always victims), but it’s different for me if the heroine sleeps around because she doesn’t feel she deserves anything better. Maybe it’s cultural conditioning, but I want my heroines to value themselves.

This isn’t to say that sexually active heroines aren’t acceptable. Kerry Greenwood has a wonderful series of historicals set in twenties Melbourne about a detective named Phryne Fisher. Phryne has more lovers than Sam Spade, but we know she’s smart and very much in charge, and we know she has a very clear sense of who she is. She may have a long list of exotic men in her life, but she doesn’t seem damaged in the least.

I have to admit that occasionally a bad girl heroine can be appealing, provided she’s on her way to something better. Susan Elizabeth Phillips has several, although her bad girls are more spoiled than slutty and they’re usually trying to change (which makes them sort of reformed bad girls). There’s the heroine in Ain’t She Sweet, for example, who tries to make amends for having been a bitch on wheels in her youth. You know she’s been awful because Phillips shows you just how awful she was, but you can’t help rooting for her because she isn’t awful anymore.

And sometimes I find myself even liking a bad girl heroine who isn't yet ready to save herself, like Grace Hanadarko, the heroine of TNT’s Saving Grace. I have to admit, I didn’t much like Grace at first. She’s all the things I usually object to: promiscuous, alcoholic, frequently self-destructive. But she’s also brave, forthright, and a very good cop. And she’s a damaged person trying to find herself, much like some bad boys. Like the classic bad boy hero, she slips under your defenses until you end up caring about her in spite of her bad behavior.

So maybe that’s the point in the end. Bad boys and bad girls can be heroes and heroines, but only if they’re not really bad. Somewhere in that welter of bad deeds, there has to be a good person trying to worm her way out. In fact, I doubt that we love real bad boys and girls—they’re usually the villains. What we love are the bad boys and girls who have the potential to be good. And given that we’re talking romance here (with the mandatory HEA), that potential has a very good chance of being fulfilled.

So what do you think? Do bad girl heroines work for you?

Coming out of the closet

Last week I came out of the closet.

My family knows I write, and friends know I write. But I don’t tell acquaintances, even if someone asks what I do, and I have NEVER told ANYONE I work with about my writing. But last week I was at a one-day workshop, no one else from my work was there, just total strangers, and when we had to do that usual “icebreaker” introduction at the beginning and tell everyone what we do when we’re not working, I told them “I’m a writer. I write fiction.”

Note, I didn’t say I write romance.

I was waiting all day for someone to ask me about it – what do you write? Are you published?
I’m proud of what I write, but I know romance has a certain reputation and is looked down on by many people. And I wasn’t sure how I was going to answer that if someone asked. I’m prepared to defend the romance genre, but so far I’ve never had to do that face to face with someone who disapproves of it.

Well, nobody asked, and in the end I was kind of disappointed. Especially when, during one group discussion, talk turned to books people are reading. A couple of intimidatingly intelligent sounding girls were talking about going on vacation and taking Warren Kinsella’s book with them. Light reading? Oy. But then one of the girls said, “I’m taking some trashy romance novels, too. I like those.”

Well, I was just thrilled! I still didn’t get a chance to tell her that’s what I write but it all felt okay. And next time when someone asks me I won’t be so worried about how to answer.

So who's out with me? And who's still in the closet?

Excerpt Thursday - First Scenes

Meg Benjamin

First scene from Venus in Blue Jeans

Cal Toleffson saw the love of his life for the first time at 5:47 p.m. in the Dew Drop Inn, downtown Konigsburg, Texas.

He wasn’t exactly dressed for the event.

He’d spent the forty-five minutes preceding Happy Hour tending to a sick goat. “Tending to” was the polite way of describing it. The goat was large, sturdy and attractive from a goat’s point of view. From a human’s point of view, even a vet like Cal, it smelled like, well, a goat. And so did he, after about ten minutes in the goat’s company.

He’d cleaned up, sort of. Washed his hands and face, dropped the jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing into his clothes hamper (his housekeeper would probably be asking for a raise by the end of the month), and put on his last clean denim shirt.

His desire for a Dos Equis outweighed his need for a shower. And the Konigsburg male population wasn’t too fastidious anyway. He doubted somebody like Terrell Biedermeier would even notice a little eau d’goat, given Terrell’s personal ripeness.

Terrell, a lump on a barstool, didn’t notice. But Steve Kleinschmidt, also known as “Wonder Dentist” for reasons Cal wasn’t clear on, moved a few inches down the bar after Cal took his seat on the stool beside him.

“Trying to make a point there, Idaho?”

Cal grinned. “Nah, just thirsty. And it’s Iowa.”

“Idaho, Iowa, same thing.” Wonder had spent most of his life in Texas, and he wasn’t interested in moving. “You do realize what you smell like, right, Toleffson?”

“Might be goat, might be sweat. What’s your opinion, Wonder?” Cal rubbed a hand through his beard, scratching. Dried beard sweat was a bitch.

Wonder snorted. “If I had to guess, I’d say bullshit. But then I’m a dentist, not a vet.”

Hank Ingstrom, the bartender and owner of the Dew Drop, pushed a bottle of Spaten in Wonder’s general direction and made a half-hearted sweep at the bar with a grubby rag.

“Dos Equis, Ingstrom.” Cal leaned against the bar, ignoring the slightly sticky surface under his elbow, and scraped his boot sole against the brass rail.

Ingstrom frowned as he headed back down the bar, tucking his rag in his back pocket. “That’d better not be goat crap.”

“See?” Cal grinned at Wonder, nodding in Ingstrom’s direction. “Ingstrom knows his animals.”

“Not surprising. Ingstrom is an animal.” Wonder sucked down a quick swallow of beer, wiping the foam from his upper lip with his index finger.

Read the rest of Chapter 1

PG Forte

First scene from Sea Change

Bodies have memories and hers remembered every touch; even the ones her mind could not recall. Especially those. And that, Cara thought, as she stared out the car window at the swiftly passing landscape, was precisely the problem.

"You’re awfully quiet this morning," her boyfriend Liam observed, taking his eyes from the road long enough to shoot her a worried glance. "Is everything okay?"

"Mm-hm," Cara lied. She smiled at him reassuringly. "I was just thinking." Certainly, everything should be okay. After all, they were on their way to LA where later today they’d board a cruise ship for their first vacation together since they’d started dating, six months earlier. The prospect of the trip––four days at sea with stops in Catalina and Ensenada, culminating in a New Year’s celebration aboard ship––should be making her ecstatic. But her happiness was marred by one small problem: Her body. And those goddamned memories.

Read the rest of the scene.

Erin Nicholas
first scene from No Matter What

One-night stands were a lot like apple pie as far as Jaden Monroe was concerned.
The notion of having sex with someone just for the sex had honestly never appealed to her. Like apple pie. Jaden had believed her whole life that she didn’t like apple pie simply because she’d never seen or smelled one that tempted her. But the truth was, her senses just hadn’t been introduced to the right one. Once she tasted the apple pie, she couldn’t get enough.
Especially à la mode.
The man now sitting at table sixteen near the front door of Big Billy’s Bar and Grill was the one that could change her mind about one-night stands. He wouldn’t even have to talk. He’d just have to be there, completely naked—of course—with those eyes that had been on her all night.
This guy didn’t just look at her, he didn’t just watch—he seemed to be studying her, even appreciating her, like someone did a painting in an art gallery. He took in every detail of how she moved—and breathed for that matter. She could feel it.
It wasn’t creepy, though it probably should seem a little stalker-ish. It made her hot and tingly and a bunch of other things she hadn’t been in a long time.
Looking at him now, Jaden couldn’t think of one reason why ice cream and sex couldn’t go together too. But with this guy it couldn’t be just vanilla. It would have to be something much more decadent. Double Fudge Brownie, maybe. Or Peanut Butter Passion. Spread all over him. And she definitely wouldn’t need a spoon.

Read the rest of the scene!


Kelly Jamieson
Opening scene from Sexpresso Night
I decided to use the opening scene from my latest release, and it's pretty short! And oddly, reading it now, I realize I never identified Danya by name in this opening scene...hmmm.

How long was he going to just lie there?
Not that she minded being on top, but dammit, she just wanted him to take charge for once!
Chris looked up at her, his mouth curving into a lazy smile. “What?”
The softness of his touch, his erection brushing her hip, his gentle smile, made her want to weep with longing for more—forceful hands, demanding kisses, the weight of a hard body pressing her down. She closed her eyes against the dark hunger rising inside her, the craving to be pushed, taken to the edge.
And he had no clue. She searched for the words to tell him how she felt. Her eyes fell on the silk neck tie he’d discarded earlier, draped over the night table. She reached across him for it.
The cool silk slid through her fingers as she held it up. “Here.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“Tie me up. Do whatever you want.”
His body jerked so hard she actually tumbled off him. He sat up, his eyebrows pinched together, mouth a tight line. “What the hell? Tie you up?”
She swallowed and pushed her hair off her face. And laughed. “I’m joking. A joke.”
He subsided back onto the pillows. “Oh.” Not laughing. Not even smiling. Well, that had been a genius move.
Cheeks scorching, stomach tight, she flopped to her back and stared at the ceiling.

Skylar Kade

opening scene from the novella Lawful Pleasures (final edits incomplete; out in 2010 from Parker Publishing)

Lia Delgado moaned in ecstasy. Tired eyes fluttering in satisfaction, she reached out to the passenger seat of her car and fumbled around until she struck gold – there was another French fry hiding at the bottom of the grease-stained brown paper bag that had just held her salvation. Yep, definite proof that God is a woman – crispy French-fried goodness. She popped the fry into her mouth like an addict taking the next hit and let out a contented groan, the sound encompassing not only her cheeseburger-fries-and-shake-filled stomach, but her TGIF bliss.

As the secretary for Brantforth Walker Kensington III, Esq., Lia was constantly buried under paperwork, legal briefs, and dry cleaning for His Royal Hiney, the District Attorney. And if working for the arrogant bastard wasn't a huge gold star on her resume, she wouldn’t have been able to stand him.

But despite the craziness of the week, it was Friday, and Lia had a date with her sweatpants and Denzel Washington DVD collection. Maybe also with that gallon of truffle chocolate chip ice cream in her freezer. She shook off her In-N-Out-induced food coma and finally got out of her worn Civic. Lia snagged her briefcase before kicking the car door shut and hitting the button to close the garage door. Trudging to the door of her condo, she fit her keys to the lock and reached for the knob. On the verge of pushing open her door, she felt an eerie tingling on the back of her neck. She’d learned early on to listen to those instincts. Backing up a step, she looked at her door. Nothing was off. She replayed the last two minutes – car locked, keys out, cell phone in hand, door unloc… The door lock hadn’t clicked open when she’d turned her key. The door hadn’t been locked at all.

Look for the novella next year in Parker Publishing's Curvalicious anthology.

Kinsey W. Holley

First Scene from Kiss and Kin

***Warning: This Excerpt Is Rated R***

Lark inspected her reflection in her antique full-length mirror. Applying final touches to her makeup, she pursed her lips and smudged her gloss just a bit. She pulled her auburn chestnut hair into a carefully messy chignon, touchable stray wisps framing her face the way Taran liked it.

Dressed in a purple lace bra, boyshorts and four-inch stilettos, she struck a little pose. Which dress to wear?

They both showed off her legs. The chic black cocktail number featured a fun little twirly skit, and she fancied herself a fun twirly kind of girl. On the other hand, she liked to look like a bad girl sometimes, which she did in the lavender sheath with the plunging neckline and the slit up to mid thigh.

She held up each dress beneath her chin, one at a time, and eyed herself critically. Lavender, black. Lavender, black.

She heard Taran getting ready in the bathroom, but when he suddenly appeared behind her—a werewolf could move so swiftly and silently it seemed he teleported—he wore nothing but skin.

Taking a hanger in each hand, he tossed the dresses aside. He laid a large, warm hand on her stomach and pulled her tightly against him while his other hand cupped her breast. His thumb rubbed circles around her nipple through the thin lace.

“What are you doing here?” he growled softly. His stubble tickled her neck as he nuzzled. It made her laugh.

He rolled her nipple between two fingers and she sighed, reaching back to run her fingers through his dark gold hair. His other hand now cupped her mound, barely touching, and she ground her hips, silently urging him to press harder. He chuckled.

“I’m trying to choose a dress,” she smiled. “Which do you like?”

“Neither,” he replied. “I vote for naked.” He nipped her shoulder and slid his hand inside the boyshorts.

Their gazes met in the mirror, the only way she could maintain eye contact with him. Lust glittered in his eyes, making them shine like emeralds. Her dark blue eyes melted in submission. In heels, she stood almost as tall as he did, but she looked petite against his much larger body.

“I can’t go to dinner like this, and neither can you,” she murmured.

“True.” He ran his tongue lightly down the back of her neck. “Anthony’s has a dress code. Reservations at eight, right?”

“Yes.” She shivered.

She gasped as his middle finger sank into her folds and stroked.

“So…” he smiled against her neck, “…I’ve got ten minutes to make you come. I can do that with one arm tied behind your back.”

He took his hand out of her panties, spun her around and pinned one of her arms behind her. She moaned in anticipation as his mouth came down on hers, and she woke up.

Damn it. Shit. Damn, damn, damn, shit.

Lark rolled over and slammed her head into the pillow.

She couldn’t even manage a decent sex dream about him—she always woke up when it got to the good part. Her subconscious just rolled its eyes and said, “This is too farfetched for me to handle, kiddo. Dream about someone in your league—like George Clooney, maybe. He’ll ask you out before Taran notices you’re grown, much less shows any interest.”

She showered, trying not to think about Taran as she did it.

Want to read the rest of Chapter One?

Kate Davies

Opening Scene from Challenging Carter

"You have got to be kidding me."

Carter looked up and smiled. "And good morning to you too, sunshine."

Dani narrowed her gaze at him, jaw set. "Don’t try to sweet-talk me, you spendthrift."

Ah, so that was the issue du jour. Carter leaned back in his ergonomic chair, fingers laced behind his head. He kicked one foot onto the desktop. "Spendthrift. I can never remember—does that mean stingy?"

"You know damn well what it means." She slapped a computer printout on the desk next to his foot. "Reckless with money. Extravagant. Wasteful."

"Hey, now." Carter shifted his sports-sandal-clad foot slightly to the left. "Watch the prototype."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion for just a minute before she glanced down at the sandal and rolled her eyes. "New product?"

He nodded, lifting his foot off the desk. He tilted it to the right and back again. "For the spring line. This new closure we’ve developed is going to knock Velcro on its ass."

"If you say so." She looked dubious, which was pretty much her daily facial expression. Then she scowled again. "And don’t try to distract me."

"Ah, but it’s such a lovely sandal," he crooned, waving his foot back and forth, back and forth, in a soothing motion. "You’re getting veeeerrry sleepy…when you wake from this trance, you will no longer be concerned with the bottom line…"

Read the rest of the scene here!

D. McEntire
Opening scene from Midnight Reborn

"Here’s the last box from the van, Mom." Robyn Andrews walked into the small, one-bedroom apartment and dropped the box on the floor in exhaustion. She had been helping her mother, Rachel, lug boxes of their belongings from the rental van up two flights of stairs all morning.

There weren’t that many boxes since they didn’t have much in the way of belongings, but it was exhausting nonetheless.

Robyn was fourteen, or fourteen and a half as she liked to remind everyone. She and her mother had lived alone since her dad walked out on them two years ago. Now, Robyn and her mother had to get by with only her mother’s salary as a cashier at the local Wal-Mart. Unable to continue paying the high rent for their house, they had to find cheaper housing, thus the move to the small apartment.

Robyn understood the reasons for moving and the situation they were in, and it broke her heart to see her mother struggle. She wished that she could help somehow, but she was only fourteen.

Most places required the minimum age of employment to be sixteen.

They would persevere just as they had for two years, giving each other little pep talks every step of the way, but Robyn had found herself having to play the role of cheerleader more and more these days.

Out of the blue, it seemed their prayers were answered. Her mother was taking a lunch break from her shift at Wal-Mart when a friend of hers began talking about a waitress job at Chester’s, a bar and grill located in a small town just outside of Houston. Robyn’s mother didn’t hesitate to make a trip there to ask for the job. Chester Roy, the owner, hired her on the spot to work nights and weekends. She had come home excited about the new job and the prospect of good tips, especially on Friday and Saturday nights.

The waitress position at Chester’s was what launched the search for rental property in the small town. As luck would have it, there was an available apartment only blocks away from the bar.

Although the apartment was extremely small, her mother called it a blessing and assured Robyn that everything would work out fine.

Robyn believed her mother, that was until her mother brought home Jake Carter, a man whom she met at the bar. They began spending more and more time together, which concerned Robyn. Not because she was feeling left out or that she was losing the attention of her mother to her new boyfriend. In fact, she would have been totally happy for her mother if the man had been anyone but Jake.

Jake made Robyn feel uneasy whenever he was around. He was nice looking with his long, dark hair kept pulled back into a ponytail, and his dark, sun-baked skin. But Robyn couldn’t see any positive qualities beyond his looks. She was a firm believer that beauty was only skin deep. What you saw on the outside was not always what was on the inside.

It was his eyes that caused Robyn the most concern. He watched her every move like a predator searching for weaknesses in its prey and the perfect time to strike. She had never seen such cold, calculating eyes before. Saying that the man gave her the royal heebie-jeebies was an understatement. Jake frightened her. So much so she found excuses to leave the apartment whenever he came around.

The day she feared finally came. Her mother walked into the apartment after her shift at the bar with Jake on her heels as usual. They were laughing but quieted when they saw Robyn sitting at the table, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Robyn could see the look of uncertainty in her mother’s face and alarm bells started blaring in her head.

"Hi, sweetie. We’ve got something wonderful to tell you," her mother said with a bright smile.

Oh please, please don’t say you’re getting married!

Click here to read more from Midnight Reborn and the other novels in the Watcher Series

Sydney Somers

Opening scene from Primal Hunger

“What are you going to do, fire me?”

Bold words for a woman who adored her job, even if she was the one holding the hose, and Kennedy Beaumont knew it.

Drops of water from the warning shot she’d fired glistened on the bar between her and the two men who looked ready to tear each other’s throats out. Despite the pounding beat of music—courtesy of the house band—more than a few heads had swiveled in her direction the second she’d snatched the hose from beneath the counter and promised to drench the pair if they didn’t knock it off.

Not that the threat would have been a problem if both men were drunk or hassling her. Unfortunately, the quiet regular with dark blond hair and a wicked-looking scar that curved from the corner of his mouth to his ear had never uttered a disrespectful word to her, never even needed to be cut off and dumped in a cab.

The other guy was her boss—sort of.

Read the rest of the scene HERE!

How do you like your coffee?

Hot, dark, steamy...? Sounds like a good romance!

Most of us probably drink coffee in some form. Coffee is a highly traded commodity and one of the most popular beverages in the world. My preference is a cup of quality dark roasted coffee freshly ground and brewed, and I drink it straight up - black. I occasionally like a latte or cappuccino, but for me, those are a treat, like candy. We buy our coffee from a small independent roaster (Here, Trevis, a plug for you Black Pearl Coffee) and that’s partly what inspired my two stories about coffee.

As I researched, I realized the incredible story of what happens between the coffee grower (coffee is grown in over 70 countries, primarly in Latin America, Southeast Asia and Africa) and the barista who hands you your steaming cup in the coffee shop. What rich potential for story telling!

Someone who’s the very best at what they do always inspires me and I find that sexy, so I was fascinated to learn about barista competitions, and my barista hero was born. But Carter in Sexpresso Night is more than just a barista. He owns his shops and seeks out quality coffees direct from the growers. I learned more about how that happens and the contrast between that business model and the big multi-national companies who buy boatloads of coffee beans. I learned the difference between direct trade and fair trade. I learned about the difference between arabica coffee and robusta coffee, which is bitter and has less flavor, but is more disease-resistant and can be grown in areas where arabica can’t. Often it’s the robusta coffees that are turned into those flavored powders you mix with water (and I will admit to drinking that on occasion!). I learned a bit about the science of roasting coffee and some crazy roasters who use popcorn poppers to roast their own beans to the exact right degree of darkness, and about cuppings, or coffee tastings, and what a sensual experience that can be. I incorporated a coffee tasting into Sexpresso Night.

I invented the fictional South American country of Matagalpa. In Sexpresso Night, both Danya and Carter have spent time there. In my other book involving the coffee business, not yet published, my hero and heroine travel to Matagalpa and get involved in a dangerous escapade there in pursuit of an exquisite, unique coffee bean.

Here’s a short excerpt from Sexpresso Night. This is part of the coffee tasting scene:

“Let’s talk about some of the characteristics of coffee,” he said. “Acidity could be described as the brightness or sharpness of the coffee. Acidity can be intense or mild, soft or edgy, subdued or wild—like sex.” That got some laughs.
“Body is sometimes called mouthfeel. It’s the weight or heaviness of the coffee in your mouth. Think about thickness when you taste, the physical feel of the coffee in your mouth.”
Christ, he couldn’t stop making sexual comparisons tonight, and as he caught Danya’s eyes he knew she was thinking the same thing.
“Then we have sweetness. Sweetness eases the acidity of a coffee. You need the balance of the two to appreciate both. Just like the balance between pleasure and pain.” He caught another wide-eyed look from Danya and grinned. “And finally, there’s finish. As I mentioned, there’s an aftertaste that lingers and it should be clean and sweet.
“Make mental notes as you taste,” he encouraged, walking behind his guests. “Really think about what you’re tasting. Which one do you find sweeter?”
Most of the people made a face of uncertainty. Danya pointed to the Columbian. “This one.”
He nodded approvingly and she beamed. “Yes, that one is sweeter. What else did you notice about it?”
She took another delicate slurp, making him smile, then said, “Um…chocolate?”
“Very good! I also think there are hints of caramel in it. You might perceive it as burnt sugar. But it’s not burnt.”
She nodded, hanging on his every word. Sexy as fucking hell.
“This Ethiopian coffee has a nice fruity cup.” He indicated which one. “And the Costa Rican is full bodied and spicy—you might taste hints of cinnamon and cloves. The Sumatra is intense, earthy and aromatic.” He inhaled deeply over the cup, eyes closed to deepen the sensory experience. When he rose and opened his eye to see Danya staring at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted, heat sizzled through his veins. “This Arabian bean is wild and exotic. And our French roast, which is our darkest roast, is smoky and intense.”
He clamped down on the arousal that was threatening to derail his cupping.

So...how do YOU like your coffee?

Nine Questions for Meg

Okay, y’all, today it’s my turn. Meg Benjamin, formerly of South Texas, currently of the Front Range in Colorado. I write books about the Texas Hill Country, particularly about a town called Konigsburg (of which I’m sole owner and proprietor).

1. If you had to choose only one form of chocolate for the rest of your life, what would it be?

I’m not a big chocolate lover (salty stuff is more my weakness—cheddar cheese Lay’s Potato Chips, anyone?), but I’m found of the little Ghirardelli chocolate-raspberry squares.

2. What author got you started reading or writing romance?

Linda Howard got me out of reading the mysteries I’d been focused on (fortunately, the library shelved her stuff with the mysteries). I read her Dream Man, and thought, “Hmm, this is different!” It made me realize, little by little, that I was really more a romance writer than a mystery writer since the mysteries I’d been working on concentrated more on the romance than solving the murder.

3. What's the naughtiest thing you've ever done?

Hey, I’m a former teacher. “Naughty” for me involved sneaking tea and cookies into the University of Washington Graduate Library.

4. What do you like best about the heroine in your latest book?

Jess is my first sort of thriller heroine. She’s in a really tough spot, trying to protect her infant son from a very powerful family, but she doesn’t cave. She figures out how to get away from them and how to hide out successfully. But when the time comes, she’s also willing to accept help when she recognizes that she needs it.

5. What is a must have in your writing routine?

I set goals for myself—I have to or I get anxious. I have a certain number of pages to do every day (three, usually), and most days I make it. Actually, most days I go beyond it, but at least I know I’ve made my minimum. This is probably a great example of neurosis, but, hey, it works for me!

6. What was the most interesting thing you learned in researching your most recent release?

I had to find out about Tasers, particularly about what it felt like to actually be Tasered. I found a few descriptions, along with a lot of medical research about the effects. Suffice it to say, if somebody has a Taser, I’m going to do my best to make them like me!

7. You're marooned on a tropical island (yay!!!), what sexy celebrity and comfort reads would you want with you?

I’m not big on celebrities, actually. With a few exceptions (George Clooney, Paul Newman), they don’t seem like people who’d be very interesting to be around in real life. Now fictional characters, hell yeah! Indiana Jones, for example, could probably figure out a way to get us off the freakin’ island. As for reading matter, I’d go with the big three—Linda Howard, Elizabeth Lowell, and Nora Roberts. Between them, they’ve written enough books to keep me occupied for a couple of years at least.

8. Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what's your favorite, or does it change from book to book?

I so wish I could listen to music while I write, but I can’t—it’s just too distracting for me (I have to listen to the words). I do have my characters listen to music, though, and I have them dance a lot. In Wedding Bell Blues, the hero first decided the heroine was hot when he saw her dance to James McMurtry’s “Red Dress” and the heroine of “Venus in Blue Jeans” dances around her shop to Joe Ely’s “Cool Rockin’ Loretta.”

9. What's your favorite writing procrastination trick?

Besides the entire Internet, there’s always Ultimate Solitaire. Just a couple of quick games to shake loose the cobwebs, honest.

My newest release is Be My Baby, due out on December 8. It’s the third in my series about Konigsburg, Texas (after Venus In Blue Jeans and Wedding Bell Blues), and my first mystery/thriller. Although since it’s me, and since it’s a Konigsburg book, there’s also some humor involved. Here’s the blurb:

There’s no room in her life for love. Love has other ideas…

Konigsburg, Texas, Book 3

If Jessamyn Carroll had only herself to consider, staying in Pennsylvania after her husband’s death would have been a no-brainer. Her vindictive in-laws’ efforts to get their hooks into her infant son, however, force her to flee to a new home. Konigsburg, Texas.

Peace…at least for now. She’s even found a way to make some extra money, looking after sexy accountant Lars Toleffson’s precocious two-year-old daughter. She finds it easy—too easy—to let his protective presence lull her into thinking she and her son are safe at last.

Lars, still wounded from enduring a nasty divorce from his cheating ex-wife, tries to fight his attraction to the mysterious, beautiful widow. But when an intruder breaks into her place, and Jess comes clean about her past, all bets are off. Someone wants her baby—and wants Jess out of the picture. Permanently.

Now Jess has a live-in bodyguard, whether she wants him or not. Except she does want him—and he wants her. Yet negotiating a future together will have to overcome a lot of roadblocks: babies, puppies, the entire, meddling Toleffson family—and a kidnapper.

Warning: Contains Konigsburg craziness, creepy in-laws, a conniving two-year-old, a lovelorn accountant, a sleep-deprived Web developer, and lots of hot holiday sex.

Meg Benjamin

Romance on Wry

http://www.MegBenjamin.com/