Desiree Holt is one of my favorite people. I met her when I lived in South Texas. Her appearance is deceptive. She looks sweet, like everyone’s favorite milk-and-cookies mama—until you get closer and note the maniacal gleam in her eyes. 
I met her before she ever published and I had not idea she’d be such a powerhouse! I’m prolific, but she’s a human dynamo—and she just published her 100th book! Give her a warm welcome! ~DD
What do The Kingston Trio, Tex and I have in common?
The Kingston Trio recorded a centuries-old Irish air called The Gypsy Rover, about a whistling gypsy whose music is so seductive that the daughter of the castle’s lord runs from her home, her lover and her upcoming wedding to follow the gypsy rover. Her father “saddles his fastest steed and searches the valleys all over” in order to find her.
Texas is where I live-and breathe—so whenever possible I set my stories here. It seems the perfect backdrop for a story of a runaway bride, a wealthy and powerful rancher and a cowboy minstrel who isn’t quite what he seems. I love the song so much that I just had to write the story—and of course listen to the song while I was writing.
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Erin Braddock, daughter of wealthy and powerful rancher Rance Braddock, has been to hell and back. So has wandering cowboy minstrel Grady Sinclair. But the moment they meet chemistry ignites between them, erasing everything else. The sex is scorching, explosive, addictive. They can’t get enough each other. The same talented fingers that coax seductive music from his guitar coax powerful orgasms from her body. Seduced by his music as well as the sinfully sexy man himself, Erin runs away with him. Nights she sits in the bar listening to his come-to-me voice promising her the erotic delights he delivers on when they’re back in their room. But will the past follow them or can they build a future together, in and out of bed?
Gypsy rover come over the hill, down through the valley so shady
He whistled and he sang til the greenwoods rang and he won the heart of a lady
Erin Braddock slipped into the dark bar through the back door, squinty against the darkness and found her way to a tiny booth in the corner. The area was so small a second person would be hard pressed to find room in the space but that suited her just fine. She hadn’t come here looking for company. Unless it was the cowboy up on the postage stamp sized stage, alone in the spotlight with his guitar and his smoky voice. Ebony black hair curled down to the nape of his neck and a work shirt and worn jeans clung to his lean body like a second skin. The muscles in his arm flexed as he picked at the strings of the guitar, coaxing a tune from it.
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