I won’t give you any spoilers but I have read this book and given it a five star review.
Evelynn is a worthy heroine and I fell hopelessly in love with Stephen.
Barbara Bettis does an amazing job bringing the reader along on this couple's journey as they discover danger, secrets and love.
Giveaway: Barbara is offering an ecopy of her book and a $5 Amazon Gift Card for one commenter
Some call him a ruthless mercenary; she calls him the knight of her heart
Lady Evelynn’s childhood hero is home—bitter, hard, tempting as sin. And haunted by secrets. When Evie offers friendship, Sir Stephen's cruel rejection crushes her, and she resolves to forget him. Yet when an unexpected war throws them together, she finds love isn’t so easy to dismiss. If only the king hadn’t betrothed her to another.
Sir Stephen lives a double life while he seeks the treacherous outlaws who murdered his friends. Driven by revenge, he thinks his heart is closed to love. His childhood shadow, Lady Evie, unexpectedly challenges that belief. He rebuffs her, but he can’t forget her, although he knows she’s to wed the king’s favorite.
When his drive for vengeance leads to Evie’s kidnapping, Stephen must choose between retribution and the love he’s denied too long. Surely King John will see reason. Convict the murderers; convince the king. Simple. Until a startling revelation threatens everything.
A former health insurance claims adjuster, a former journalist, a former journalism teacher, Barbara Bettis plans never to be a “former” author. Currently, she supports her writing habit as an adjunct English instructor at a community college near her home in Missouri.
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I asked my guest today, Louise Lyndon, to share something about herself and I have to admit I totally relate to how she feels about the dreaded high school reunion.
I’VE BEEN INVITED TO MY 25 YEAR HIGH SCHOOL REUNION! NOW WHAT?
High school reunions. We’ve all seen the movies. The unpopular girl works up the courage to attend the reunion, and to face the popular girls who made her life unpleasant. The popular guy she once had a crush on has turned out to be a jerk, or worse still, hasn’t changed since high school. And the guy who secretly had a crush on her declares his love and they live happily ever after.
The writer, and romantic in me, would love for this to happen.
But, then the realist in me pops up…
You see, I’ve just received an invite to my 25 year high school reunion. And you guessed it, I was the unpopular kid. I spent the majority of my lunchtimes in the library. Alone. I wasn’t invited to the parties and I wasn’t popular with the boys. And I should point out here that my high school was small. In my year level (or grade) there was only about 30 kids. For the entire level. So, there wasn’t enough kids to branch off into different groups. You were either in. Or you weren’t. And I wasn’t.
I’ve done a lot since I left high school. I’ve been in love a few times. But never married. And have no kids. I’ve become an aunt six times, and a great aunt once. I’ve had loads of jobs. Some great ones. Some I am trying to forget. I’ve lived interstate and I’ve lived overseas. I’ve seen the world. And I’m a multi published author. By rights, I should be walking in to that reunion, full of confidence.
Yet, the exact same insecurities I had at high school, insecurities I haven’t felt since leaving high school, have suddenly come flooding back.
It’s as if the invitation was a time machine and I have traveled back twenty-five years. My achievements and accomplishments have suddenly evaporated, in their place, the fear of being found out, and being left on the sidelines. But worst still, of no one remembering who I am!
I don’t have the need to ‘rub’ anyone’s noses in anything. I don’t want to go back there and stand in the middle of the room and yell, ‘see, look what I have become!’.
What I do want is to be able to stand tall and proud and say, ‘this is who I am - like me or hate me, no skin off my nose’. Words that I longed to have been able to say way back when.
I’m not one of these people who think their high school years were the best years of their life. Hand on my heart I say the years I’m living now are the best - and I know things are only going to get better. But I just find it interesting that eight small, seemingly inconspicuous words, ‘You’ve Been Invited To Your High School Reunion’ can suddenly revert you back to the person you once were.
I haven’t decided if I’m going to go to the reunion. I’m not sure if I want to go backward - I’m a going forward kind of gal. But I have to admit, there is a little part of me that wouldn’t mind seeing the old gang. But, shrug, I just don’t know if I truly want to go. Is that wrong of me to say? Out loud?
If you’ve been to your high school reunion, how was it for you? Were you the popular kid? Or not? Did all your insecurities suddenly come flooding back as soon as you opened the invitation? I would love to hear your experiences. Please leave a comment!
Aveline de Bondeville is on the run. Determined to keep out of the hands of the cruel Raimbaut de Blois she will do whatever it takes to stay alive. And so when she finds herself in the company of Troy de Gysborne she must quickly decide if she can trust him. But can she confess to murder knowing it would mean her certain death?
Troy de Gysborne did the unthinkable; he tore the bonds of brotherhood and left a path of destruction in his wake. And now Troy must face those he betrayed, including the father who long ago renounced him. But to confess to the crime he committed will cost him everything. Including Aveline. But can he remain silent if it means losing the woman he loves?
Aveline’s scream burned her throat; she tasted blood. Eudes staggered forward, his eyes wide. He looked at her as he fell to his knees and then slumped forward. Bright red blood rushed from his wound and pooled on the ground. She looked at Raimbaut.
“This time you shall not escape.”
She picked up her skirts and ran headlong into the forest and did not slow her speed as branches slapped her in the face and tore at her arms. The ground beneath her feet was icy and uneven. She risked a glance over her shoulder and did not stop even though Raimbaut was nowhere to be seen. He may not have been behind her, but it did not mean he was not stalking her.
Sweat trickled down her face and burned her eyes. Her heart pumped, her lungs gasped for air. She came to a skidding stop and looked wildly around. Should she keep running straight, go left or right, or make her way back to Gysborne? She turned in a circle and shoved her hair from her eyes.
A twig snapped behind her. She stilled and held her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blur rush by. Was it an animal? Was it Raimbaut?
She ignored the pain in her chest and her sudden need to loosen her bladder. But she could not ignore her trembling. She clutched her arms to her chest. A sour taste flooded her mouth as she did not see how she would be lucky enough a second time to escape from Raimbaut.
Louise grew up in country Victoria, Australia, before moving to England, where for sixteen years she soaked up the vibrancy of London and the medieval history of England. She has since returned to Australia and now lives in Melbourne.
In 2013, Louise won first prize in the historical romance category of the Crested Butte Sandy Writing Contest for her story, The Promise, which has since been retitled and is now known as, Of Love & Vengeance.
When not writing, Louise can be found covered in mud, crawling under barbed wire and hoisting herself over twelve foot walls!
Looking in a Writer’s Toolbox or The Whiteboard that Ended the Honeymoon
I visual stories before I find them in words. This usually means a lot of outlining and jotting down notes when inspiration strikes. I use Scrivener to manage my drafts, character sketches, research and more. But while Scrivener’s a great tool for writers, I find there are times when I need a bigger map.
This leads me to the infamous whiteboard.
For a time in my wild and crazy youth, I moved from apartment to apartment as my career and education took me to new and exciting places. Organizing my current WIP on a larger scale meant sticky notes on my fridge, arranged and rearranged as the story took shape in my mind.
But what I coveted more than anything was a giant whiteboard. I coveted whiteboards. I would go to office supply stores just to stroke the whiteboards with a loving caress. Sticky notes and fridges are great, but whiteboards give you erasing abilities and endless colors of markers. It was the ultimate way to map out a story.
But my nomadic lifestyle made a giant whiteboard unrealistic. My apartments were usually small and frequent, and the idea of dragging a whiteboard back and forth, around and around, just seemed impractical.
So when I grew up, got married and settled down, the first thing my husband bought me as a Christmas present was a giant whiteboard. Story mapping exploded in brilliant colors. Whatever my mind could draw escaped from the tip of the markers. I would draw and write and erase and do it all over again. It was euphoria. It was nirvana.
It was unsettling.
I couldn’t decide what was the best location for my beloved whiteboard now that I had it. Which leads us to why it’s known as the infamous whiteboard in our house.
I made my husband rehang it four times. Four. Within the first three months of moving into our house. This is not a little tool you can hang up with some duct tape or a single nail. This sucker has giant brackets and wall anchors. I even got a separate holder for the markers. It’s a serious business to move this thing.
But like any creative artist, my moods change. My office gets rearranged as the mood strikes me. Perhaps I feel better writing under the windows, or maybe it’s better writing in the corner. Where ever I move, it means the whiteboard gets moved as well. But in the end, the infamous whiteboard remains the ultimate story mapping tool, despite how my husband feels about it.
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His latest problem is her newest assignment.
Shannon Wynter has it all figured it. Abandoned by her mother and left to care for her agoraphobic father, Shannon focuses on building her career as a journalist to the detriment of all else including her love life.
Ian Darke has his own problems. Battling past failures, Ian sets his eyes on launching a new factory for his father’s defense firm. But it’s the very father he failed that will do anything to sabotage Ian’s progress.
And when Shannon follows an anonymous tip that leads her to Ian’s factory door, the last thing she expects to discover is what she already knows
"But fraud for a defense contractor is serious. You don't want to defend your reputation as a provider to our armed forces?"
It took him a minute to realize that clicking noise was her following him over the pavement. He spun around, his arms coming up once more to gesture his acquiescence, only she was standing too close, and instead of gesturing with authority, he ran into her, his arms striking her shoulders and knocking her against him.
He froze, feeling the length of her body collide with his, the scent of her shampoo invade his senses, her breath fall across the exposed skin above his shirt collar. He felt her hesitation, the hitch in her breath, before she shoved against him, pushing herself away.
"I'm very sorry," he said, his hands moving uselessly in front of him as if to help her regain her balance.
She stood with her pad held against her chest like some sort of shield, and he felt his anger drain into annoyance.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, much more carefully, "I don't have a comment, and I need to get back to work. Please excuse me."
He turned slowly this time, resuming his walk to the loading dock door.
"What is it that you're using this factory for, Mr. Darke?"
He didn't answer. No matter how much he wanted to turn around and rail about his stupid brother's stupid decisions, he did not. He kept walking.
"Fraud, I mean, come on, that's-"
And then he did turn.
"If you want a comment, you can call our PR department."
"Great!" she said, and he almost smiled at her enthusiasm as she pulled up a clean page of her notebook. "What's the phone number?"
He shook his head at her and let his feet carry him back to where she stood on the pavement, notebook poised for the phone number.
"Shannon, was it?" he said when he was close.
He had felt her breath hitch when she had bumped into him, and now he dared to step a little closer than politeness would have dictated. He saw it again, the slight hitch in her chest, and he felt a smile spread over his face. He leaned in, dropping his voice to a soft, rich level.
"Have you heard of the Internet, Shannon?"
"Yes," she whispered softly, her eyes locked on his.
"Use it," he said and walked away, leaving her standing in the parking lot, her pen completely still.
About the Author:
In the second grade, Jessie began a story about a duck and a lost ring. Two harrowing pages of wide ruled notebook paper later, the ring was found. And Jessie has been writing ever since.
Armed with the firm belief that women in the Regency era could be truly awesome heroines, Jessie began telling their stories in her Spy Series, a thrilling ride in historical espionage that showcases human faults and triumphs and most importantly, love.
Jessie makes her home in the great state of New Hampshire where she lives with her husband and two very opinionated Basset Hounds. For more, visit her website at jessieclever.com.
Social Media Links:
A Woman of Love goes on sale today for $0.99. If you haven’t already picked up a copy now would be the perfect time.
The day before her planned escape, Lady Annabel Peters is forced by her abusive husband to bed James Drake, a man she considers a criminal.
James, a scarred war hero, has manipulated events so he can interrogate Annabel, a woman he believes to be part of a ring of thieves.
Neither of them count on an instant and overwhelming desire.
Despite her attraction Annabel knows that James is not to be trusted and yet how can she escape a man who has the ability to control her with a gentle kiss?
Today I’m happy and honored to have the amazing K.L. Brady here, and she has kindly allowed me to interrogate…er…I mean interview her.
Over to you Karla
1. Have you always has a vivid imagination?
Oh my goodness yes. I’ve always had a flair for embellishing true stories. When I was a kid, I endured some difficult situations that might break most kids. But I took my pen to paper and wrote in my diaries and this helped pull me through my most difficult times. And I would always begin with the true a story, embellish it, and then write my own happy ending. I have no doubt this is why people who read my stories connect with the characters on a real, honest level. My stories are always grounded in truth, but my endings are where the imagination comes in.
2. Karla, I know you write adult fiction as well as YA Fiction, do you see yourself writing any other genre?
Yes, I plan on stretching my talents wherever I can find a story to tell that I think my audience wants to read. I started my career writing romantic comedy for adults and young adults because I believe in tackling serious relationship issues, familial or between men and women, with heavy doses of humor. Writing funny stories is very natural for me. But I’ve also stepped the world of romantic suspense/spy thrillers, which has been a challenge for me. The story structure is different from what I’m used to writing, but I love trying new genres that fit within my world and yet still stretch my capabilities.
3. When you're reading for pleasure, do you find yourself researching the craft of that author as well?
Usually, I don’t read for research, but as an author it’s hard to read for pleasure and not also see the story elements that helped make a story successful or unsuccessful. But any author writing stories today understands that they are not doing anything “new.” None of us has invented a new way to tell stories or new tricks. What we do is take the tried and true and then put our personal spin on it to make it our own. But I think reading books is imperative for authors to understand how to become and stay successful and is just part of the business of writing books.
4. Do you have a favorite author? Or favorite book?
My gosh, yes. I have too many favorite books. Too many favorite authors. It would be very difficult for me to pin my favorite down to one because I like authors for different reasons. For example, Toni Morrison is a literary genius and reading her books really stretches the bounds of my comprehension skills. I’m so not a deep thinker. I’m very much a left-brained, logical, analytical person with a few right-brained creative abilities. She forces me to step outside of my logical boxes and expand my thinking. I love Terry McMillan because she was the first author to affirm for me that “my voice” as a writer, which is very colloquial and non-literary, was okay. I don’t have to be Toni Morrison to write books people love. I love Jane Austen because Pride & Prejudice made her the queen of the romantic comedy in my eyes, and she’s proof positive that romantic comedies and humor are timeless. Without question, the author I’d most like to emulate in terms of work ethic is the late L.A. Banks. She is a writing hero for me. I only met her once in person, but she had such a profound impact on me and my view of the publishing industry. I could add so many more authors to this list, but I won’t. It’s safe to say I’m inspired by any author who works hard, respects their craft, and tells great stories.
5. How do you manage working full-time, being a full-time mother and writing?
I don’t know. By the grace of God and with lots of patience on some days, and with a belt and a mojito on others. (lol) I think it’s a difficult balancing act that most writers have to contend with, and somehow we just make it work. It helps that I love writing so much that it doesn’t feel like work, and I look forward to the moments I get to spend in my writing space. I’m usually up at 5 am writing or marketing. Then I do more work during my lunch break and then still more after my son goes to bed in the evenings. I’m usually up until 11 pm to midnight working on projects, and I work most weekends. I usually don’t get out a lot to socialize, but, again, I love what I'm doing, and I want to bring as many of my stories as possible to readers.
6. What is one tip you would give aspiring authors?
If I could give writer’s one piece of advice, it would be to write your truth, whatever that may be. Stay true to yourself and your writing voice. Don’t try to follow trends. Don’t try to write in another author’s style because it’s not a sustainable way to build a career. You may not zoom to the top of the NY Times Bestseller list this way, but you can rest assured that when you get there, you’ll know how to stay there. Through your work and toil, you stayed true to who you are as a writer, and you know how to build stories. Along with this piece of advice, it’s so critical to learn the craft of writing and storytelling. Read books, take classes, and remember that learning is a continual process that should never end. The minute you think you know everything is probably the moment you will fail miserably.
On sale $0.99
Miki Vincent's entire life stalled because she's addicted to the beginnings of things, especially relationships. She relishes in the emotional highs, first hugs, first kisses that new love brings. But sex always ruins it. That's why abstaining during the first three months of a relationship—following the 90-day rule—was supposed to help land her down the aisle with Mr. Right. Miki finds out the hard way, Mr. Wrong can wait that long, especially if his ultimate prize is her inheritance.
One assault charge and depression later, Miki devises the Honeymoon Plan, guaranteeing her a lifetime of firsts and zero heartaches. But following her own rule sends her life into an out of control spiral in which she's sentenced to more than perpetual break-ups. A new pursuit and a string of sexy suitors offer her the opportunity to jumpstart her life and test her new strategy. The only problem? It just might work.
Miki's best friend Pam, a repressed artist, struggles to keep her honeymoon alive but she can no longer ignore the blatant evidence staring her in the face: Her husband is having an affair. A different kind of "honeymoon plan" designed to free her from her troubles, and a chance meeting with a handsome artistic stranger, help reignite her passions. But will they destroy her marriage in the process?
A Friday in April that year…
Crushing fear and chronic romantic failures taught me in a single hour what my mother tried unsuccessfully to teach me in twenty-nine years: If I wanted to be truly happy, I needed to think like a woman—a smart one. And if I emerged from this courtroom with my freedom, that’s exactly what I planned to do. As my glance traveled across to the prosecution’s side and zeroed in on the bogus victim, four numbers seared into my brain: 90—15—3—6. Thinking like a man and following the 90-day rule was about 15 minutes and 3 strikes from landing me in jail for 6 months.
“Your Honor, I’d like to cite Pena versus the Commonwealth—” I started before he gave me the hand.
“There is no burden to prove intent in a simple assault case, Ms. Vincent. Nice try.”
Strike one. On to Plan B.
“S-S-Sorry, uh, sir…your honor,” I stammered. “I swear to you...I did not unjustly harm Mr. Wiggins.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
K. L. Brady is a D.C. native but spent a number of her formative years in the Ohio Valley. Her writing career started in the pages of diaries when she was 7 or 8 years old. But it wasn’t until her 40th birthday and an Oprah “Live Your Best Life” moment that she finally answered her calling and wrote her first novel–The Bum Magnet. The originally self-published novel was picked up by Simon & Schuster in a two-book deal, and K.L. hasn’t looked back since, penning the follow-up, Got a Right to Be Wrong and self-publishing the first books in two young adult series and a spy thriller series based on her 20+-year career in the U.S. Intelligence Community.
She has a B.A. in Economics, an MBA, and is a member of the Maryland Writer’s Association, Romance Writers of America, Sisters In Crime, and International Thriller Writers. She’s addicted to writing and chocolate—not necessarily in that order—and currently lives in the Washington D.C. area with her son. She is hard at work on several projects, including the next installment of the series.
The author will be awarding $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner, and a Kindle Fire HD (International Giveaway) to another randomly drawn winner.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
I’m happy to announce that a month from now, on 13th November, my third and final novella, A Woman of Courage, will be released.
The wonderful Debbie Taylor of DCA Graphics has designed all of my book covers, but this one is my favorite.
When an injured Fianna Byrne turns up at Connell O’Neill’s gate twelve years after their separation he knows this could be his last chance to find happiness with the woman he loves.
False accusations against Fianna had strained relations between their clans and forced Connell, under Irish law, to divorce her. Their disastrous three-month relationship left Fianna pregnant and heartbroken. She has avoided Duncarraig and her ex-husband ever since.
But with her home obliterated by the Vikings, Fianna must face her past in order to save her son, and prove once and for all she is a woman of courage.
As the mother of an allergic child I always worry. My daughter is allergic to peanuts, one of the allergens known to cause an anaphylactic reaction. I started worrying on that first day in kindergarten and haven’t stopped. And although her school has trained their teachers in allergy awareness and how to use auto injectors they have not eliminated peanuts from the building. I have to admit this really bothered me when she was in the younger grades because little kids are messy. They can get peanut butter on their hands and then go out on the playground and spread it over the equipment.
My focus has changed now that she’s a teenager. These days I worry about the other kids. Will someone bring a peanut butter sandwich to school and sit next to her to eat it? Would a mean kid use it as some kind of twisted joke. (Okay, maybe no one would do that, but I’m a writer whose imagination is always running wild.)
I really thought that as she got older I would worry less, but I don’t see that happening. In September a young woman in Ontario, Canada died of an anaphylactic reaction when she ordered a smoothie on campus. My heart goes out to her family and I am very sorry for their loss.
The story that I read on Allergic Living.com stated that the highest rates of food allergy fatalities are among young adults.
This week I received an email from Food Allergy Canada they have developed an eBook for teens with allergies it costs $0.99.
I wanted to share this important resource with you, because if your anything like me you’ll purchase a copy today.
Let’s talk about a perfect day.
My perfect day would be just about me. It would be quiet and relaxing on a white sandy beach with just the right amount of breeze cooling my skin and a long glass of iced lemonade and the most intriguing romance book I could find to read.
It would likely be a contemporary romance as I enjoy writing in that genre. Why contemporary romance?
I’m drawn more to the contemporary romance stories more than others. I write in this genre because while I like it, I can use any issue in today’s culture, and society and build my story. In the case of my latest release, Desperate Decision, the notion that love can transcend any barrier floated out to me after a real life experience. One day I was at a picnic in the park with my family and while there I saw an inter-racial couple nearby who appeared very devoted to each other. The idea took hold that this could be my next book. I came home started plotting and that’s how Desperate Decision came to life.
But often it’s hard finding a romance that will tickle all the right places, so I like to share with readers the ones that have truly made an impact on me as a writer. The one piece of advice I can give aspiring writers is to read, read, read! Read books from writers you admire. Luckily, reading is something that I enjoy doing, so that piece of advice reinforced my effort. I constantly try to improve my craft and take good advice seriously.
So as for me, here are my top books in the contemporary romance genre:
Mirror Image and Two Alone by Sandra Brown (I would say everything from Sandra Brown, but I think that’s cheating!)
Dicesare’s Pregnant Mistress by Chantelle Shaw
The Virgin’s Seduction by Anne Mather
Never Say Goodbye by Suzanne Carey
What books have influenced you as a reader or a writer?
Allison North’s flight to freedom is dangerous and desperate. As she scrambles into the stranger’s car crying “drive,” she prays to God this is not her last day on earth. Usually not a gambler, this move is high-stake gambling. Bruised, battered, and with no money, she needs a place to hide and heal until she finds work as a pastry chef. When the stranger offers her shelter, she takes it even as fear rushes up her throat and threatens to choke her. Would she live to regret her decision?
Mason Franklin cannot believe his eyes but, with her urgent cry ringing in his ears, he presses the gas and the car leaps forward. What had possessed her to do such a dangerous act? He intends to find out. But no amount of probing loosened her tongue. Just when he decides to let her go, he accidently sees her bruised body. Angry that someone did that to her made him want to meet the coward. He offers her shelter. Under his roof, he discovers she is the pastry chef who could not only lift his business to the top, but who built up a need in him that only she can satisfy. The wild passion they share can only lead to one conclusion.
The cold November air hit Allison hard, chilled her bones, and caused instant goose flesh to rise and cover her skin. She hunched over momentarily trying to ward off the chill. Her eyes scanned the train station as a possible place to hide, but she discarded the idea immediately. It was too open. The streets across from the apartment were busy and not easy to cross. Estimating her chance of crossing them before being captured, the odds were against her. She would not have the time or the strength to do it before they caught up with her. Moving as fast as she could, she walked across the courtyard, down the embankment to the sidewalk.
Several cars and other vehicles waited at the stoplight. Making a desperate decision, she stepped up quickly to a car and yanked the handle. The door opened and she scrambled inside, slammed the door shut, and locked it. The light changed from red to green. The driver, startled, pressed the gas. The car leaped forward only to stop abruptly. Several horns blasted behind him instantly.
“What the fuck!”
“Drive! Please drive,” she begged.
The sound of her voice carried a desperation that commanded him to obey. The car leaped forward as two people, a man and a woman, dashed into the courtyard. They hurried through the wrought iron gate onto the sidewalk looking up and down the street, peering into cars as they drove by. Allison eased down on the floor of the car until the stranger’s car circled the green and headed toward South Street. Her heart pumped furiously, and she swallowed with difficulty. Lifting her shaky hand, she eased herself upon the seat. She had no idea what she would say to this stranger when he stopped his car. He must think she was insane or had escaped from somewhere. She hadn’t. This was the first time in her life that she’d ever done anything like this.
He pulled into the parking lot at the supermarket, flung his door open, and walked around his car to the back right door. His long strides reached it before Allison got out. As she pushed against the door, he pulled it open. He was furious with her for not only scaring the living hell out of him, but for doing this unthinkable act. What could have possessed her to do it? She’d better have a damn good reason.
With both feet firmly planted on the blacktop, she was ready to stand, but she could not lift her body. He stood solidly in her path, one arm resting on top of the door effectively cutting off her escape. Dressed in black jeans, cream polo shirt, and light black jacket, his body allowed little room for her to move.
Allison looked up at him and swallowed nervously. He was lean and taller than Douglas, so she would say he was over six foot tall. His face was deeply tanned, his blond hair shaped his head perfectly, and straight brows enhanced his cold blue eyes that were not looking at her in a friendly way. His nose was straight, jaws firm and square, his lips slightly full and sensual. His hard eyes concentrated on her steadily. A strong current of anger radiated from him. She felt it, and cursed Douglas fervently in her mind. There was a leached control about him that frightened her. Most of all, she needed to be on her way. The quicker she apologized, the faster she could leave, she decided.
“I’m sorry, very sorry, I startled you back there,” she said sincerely. “Thank you for helping me. Again, I’m truly sorry. I’ll leave you now.”
“Like hell you will! Not so fast,” he stated, not moving an inch as he continued to look at her. Despite the anger that ran through him, the sound of her voice drew his attention. It reminded him of warm honey. He liked it, and he could hear genuine regret in her tone. She was also very nervous, and she should damn well be, for the stunt she just pulled. He wasn’t ready to let her walk away from him. Her skin was light brown, and he wondered what her eyes looked like. The huge dark glasses she stared at him through hid them very well.
His eyes on her were unnerving. She couldn’t help but move restlessly in her seat. If only he would move. Each minute he delayed her was making it easier for Douglas’s friend to find her.
“What made you do such a foolish thing?”
“Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn’t have done it.” The thought of how close she came to involving him in an accident made her stomach turn.
“Care to describe the circumstance?”
About G.E. Taylor
I became hooked on reading romance novels during my teen years and my attempt at writing began in high school. All of my manuscripts were mailed under my bed. Eventually, I threw out most of them. That was painful especially since I’d hand written them first, then typed them on my old typewriter.
In college I majored in English but ended up with a Master in Social Work and a Master in Education.
Though I had these different career paths, I never gave up my passion for writing. Now I’m much more committed to it and writing full time. I’ve drawn on my years of practicing social work to give my work authenticity and realism.
I live in New Jersey with my family.