Wednesday, April 10th, 2019
This is just a quick note to remind you to enter these three contests before they close!
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Tuesday, April 9th, 2019
Maybe you only know me as a writer of action-adventure/military heroes/cowboys — Uncharted SEALs, Montana Bounty Hunters, Texas Cowboys, etc. — but I also write paranormal romances. They are, in fact, what I love writing most. I began with my Night Fall vamps and weres, moved on the write more vamps, weres, and ancient demigods in the Dark Realm series, and have written witches coupled with various forms of shapeshifters for my Beaux Rêve Coven series, but the two stories I feel are my best in the genre are my Caitlyn O’Connell stories, Shattered Souls and Lost Souls.
Today, I’m introducing you to Lost Souls. Here’s what it’s about…
Private Investigator Caitlyn O’Connell is tapped by Memphis PD to discover who has been using a Memphis hotel as his killing ground. Women are going missing, and their bodies are found inside the walls of the hotel. But the bodies themselves? They appear to have been murdered in the distant past. With ghosthunters and cops crawling all over the crime scene, Cait and her detective ex-husband Sam Pierce race to find the demon responsible before he kills again.
Now, that doesn’t even begin to describe a book that delivers one of the biggest shocks I’ve ever written. Enjoy the excerpt below!
Comment for a chance to win a download of one of my
Caitlyn O’Connell stories!
Darkness sank as murky as the sultry summer air, as heavy as a blanket pulled over a child’s head to hide the monsters lurking in a shadowy closet. Street lamps popped and sizzled, darkening then lightening, but failing to flare bright enough or long enough to chase away deep pockets of inky black. Cait was creeped out, since all she had were glimpses of silvery light from a full moon rimming buildings and casting deeper shadows to cloak alleyways and doorway stoops.
Another full moon. An event she was acutely aware encouraged monsters, both human and supernatural, to come out and play. Edgy and beyond bored, she almost wished for something out of the ordinary to happen, but then quickly changed her mind. The last time her job had given her a real challenge she’d battled a demon in an attic while a wraith latched its freezing fingertips around the man sitting beside her, slapping him around like a rag doll.
For just a second, she relished that last memory. At least Jason had been awake.
For the umpteen thousandth time that night, Caitlyn O’Connell sighed. This time exaggerating the sound. Loudly. Actually, more of a groan than a sigh. A sound that invited Jason Crawford, lying back in the seat beside hers, to wake up and keep her company. She was bored as freaking shit. Surveillance was the one part of her job she truly hated. In fact, she thought she might like having her ingrown toenails cut better than sitting in a dark alley waiting for something to happen.
The weather irritated her even more. Although she’d stripped down to a tank top and jeans, the insides of her boots were damp from the oppressive summer heat. Not a trace of a breeze stirred, and they’d shut off the sedan’s engine to be able to hear vehicles approaching, so the AC sat silent.
What good was having magic if she couldn’t even muster up a spell to start a breeze? She’d tried waving, punching, wiggling her nose, but nada. Worse, she’d tried to come up with a poem to appease The Powers That Be, but hadn’t found a line that sounded even remotely elegant with “wheeze” tacked on the end.
She supposed she’d used up her last favor asking for intervention with Worthen’s monstrosity, the Civil War–era demon resurrected in his tomb, for which she’d had to beg The Powers and a certain sorcerer for help defeating. Or perhaps they didn’t like how she’d ignored Morin since she’d fought the demon and won. Whatever. She was a PI, not a witch. And right now, she had a job to do.
So why couldn’t she and Jason be watching the Peabody Hotel? Or any of the nicer hotels in the downtown area? The Deluxe Hotel was anything but deluxe. The marquee above the entrance was missing a few letters and read, DELUXE HO, which on second thought appeared apropos for the sleazy dive.
The whole area had an aura of neglect. Trash overfilled bins and cluttered the gutters. Worse, a small tattered sign was taped to the hotel’s glass door: AA MEETING, 9 PM SATURDAY.
Mocking her. The very thing her ex-husband, and now sometimes boyfriend, had been nagging her to locate.
And worse yet, the car she sat in reeked of stale onion-and-anchovy pizza. If she didn’t know him better, she might have thought her partner had ordered it on purpose. But he’d munched away happily, while she’d chosen to drag in the scents from the overfilled bin they’d parked beside. Better unknown trash than fishy-smelling onion breath.
Her cheeks billowed around another harsh exhalation. How the hell could Jason sleep through all the noise she’d been making? She aimed a scowl his way, caught the quick lowering of his eyelids and a twitch at the side of his lips.
She gave a grunt and turned back to watch the entrance of the seedy old hotel where Mrs. Oscar Reyes was scheduled to meet up with her boy-toy. Or so Mr. Reyes had informed them this morning after hacking into his wife’s Facebook account.
“Get me pictures of the bitch,” he’d said, clearing his throat when Cait had given him a narrow-eyed glare. “I won’ believe it ’til I see.”
She’d eyed his oily hair, brushy mustache, and stocky frame and wondered why he was so surprised his wife had sought the attention of a lover who called her his “mariposa rubia.”
“Blonde butterfly,” Jason had translated under his breath since Cait’s Spanish was limited to curses.
Oscar Reyes was the typical slimy client they attracted—spouses seeking ammunition for divorce court, employers wanting an employee followed for proof they hadn’t been injured badly enough to warrant workmen’s comp.
Since Oscar had already done the legwork and found cyberproof of his wife’s infidelity, Cait wondered why the hell he’d hired them to snap the shots. A $500 retainer plus their hourly fee would rack up quite a bill in no time. But she’d refrained from asking him.
The nice fat check they’d gotten from the Memphis PD for helping find her first partner’s killer and three young women who’d been kidnapped by a demon hadn’t lasted long. So she and Jason were back hustling for smaller fish.
Which reminded her again of the half-eaten pizza in the backseat.
Ready to pitch the box into the trash bin, she paused when headlights flared as a car turned onto South Front Street. A low-slung sedan stopped in front of the hotel.
Cait waited for the beams to extinguish, and then raised her camera with its night-vision lens and took a look. Just as Oscar had predicted, Sylvia Reyes stepped out of the car, her bleached-blonde hair neon bright in the viewfinder. She wore an ass-hugging mini-skirt, four-inch heels, and a top that rode the curves of her full breasts.
Cait clicked off a couple of shots of the woman entering the hotel, then reached out and backhanded Jason’s belly. “Time to move.”
“Mmm, wha’?” he said, pretending to waken from a deep sleep.
She rolled her eyes. “Like you’ve been sleeping? It’s Reyes’s wife. Let’s follow and see if we can catch her with her boyfriend.”
“Sound grumpy.” Jason flashed her a smile. “The anchovies gettin’ to you?”
She shrugged, pretending the stench hadn’t made her slightly nauseous. “It’s your car. The smell’ll be here for a week.”
With quiet moves, they opened their doors. Cait quickly replaced the special lens and hung the camera on her shoulder before jogging to the entrance. She pushed through the grimy glass, lifted her head in a vague nod to the clerk at the reception desk, and walked to the elevators, eying the red digital numbers above the doors. There were two elevators. Only one was moving, and it stopped and held at floor three.
She elbowed past two men and a woman laden with cameras and equipment bags. One held out a device Cait thought might be a light meter, but she changed her mind when a red light beeped on the top and it clicked like a Geiger counter.
“Do you see that?” the chubby man with a Fu Manchu said, elbowing the skinny dude beside him. “We’ve got something here.”
“Told you there’s lots of activity in this old place.”
Activity? She eyed them again, read the logo on their bags, and rolled her eyes. REEL PIS: PARANORMAL INVESTIGATORS. As if. She stuck her finger in the elevator button, doing her best to ignore the morons. She hadn’t heard so much as a whisper or a wail since she’d entered the hotel.
“Faster goin’ up the stairs,” Jason said, pulling her arm with one hand and pointing toward the stairway door. He flipped the door handle and pushed through. “After you,” he said with a flourish of his hand. His grin said he knew how much she disliked racing up three flights.
She gave him the stink-eye and started the climb. When she reached the third-floor landing, she glanced through the door’s rectangular window, saw no one in the hallway, and opened the door.
The corridor smelled as bad as it looked—urine to complement the yellowed beige walls, mildew to enhance the brown-and-green plaid carpet.
Gasping to catch her breath, she looked left, then right, and caught a flash of impossibly blonde hair a moment before Sylvia Reyes turned the corner farther down the hallway. Cait hurried after her, on the scent of a woman about to cheat on her husband. She turned the corner, entering a hallway marked by a door frame for a double door that no longer existed. The corridor was empty. No room doors along the short hall closed to indicate where their target had gone.
Jason drew up beside her, his eyebrows rising. “What now? Listen for moaning?”
Giving him a shove, she took a step past the hallway door frame, and then halted, some instinct keeping her from pushing forward. Or maybe what stopped her was the yellow police tape covering one of the doors. Not something she had time to ponder right that moment because a strange hum sounded. A bulb popped, plunging the hallway into darkness. The hairs on her arms lifted a second before electricity arced from a light switch, sending out a bolt like lightning that shot toward the ceiling, then turned, traveling toward her, hitting doorways as though searching for ground. The jagged dagger of electricity darted, then blinked out, but not before she saw a figure, one in four-inch hot pink heels, her eyes rounding in terror—a figure she could see straight through to the piss-yellow wall behind her.
Darkness took the figure. Then another hissing arc flared from the light switch, brightening the hallway again. Sylvia Reyes was gone.
Jason grabbed her arm, pulled her back around the corner, and flattened her against the wall with an elbow digging into her belly.
The white bolt flickered past the corner, then dove to the floor, sparking out with a fizzle.
“Bad wiring?” he whispered.
She shook her head, shoved away his elbow, and stepped into the hall again. The faint smell of something burning lingered in the air. The hall was once again empty. And dark.
Cait held still, listening, and then she heard the sound. A soft wail. Like a distant echo. “Hear that?” she whispered.
“No. What do you hear?”
She swallowed. “Not anyone living.”
Then the faint sound of whispers rose, maybe half a dozen voices joining in chorus. Her hand dropped to the camera at her side. She flipped off the lens cap, raised the camera, and looked through the viewfinder. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than a really sleazy flophouse. Still, she clicked off a couple of shots. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t want to wait around until she leaves? A shot of the lady kissing her boyfriend good-bye would close this case.”
Cait shook her head, not wanting to voice what she suspected. Not before she was sure of exactly what she’d seen. “No. Let’s get back to the office. I have to look at something.”
Jason knew her well enough not to ask any more questions. The fact she was cutting the surveillance short told him they had a problem.
This time they took the elevator. The sooner she got out of here the better. Well, she’d gotten what she’d wished for. Something out of the ordinary had definitely happened.
Back at the Delta Detective Agency, Cait slipped the memory card from her camera into the slot in her computer. With a couple of clicks, she found the file of pictures and opened it.
There was Sylvia Reyes outside the Deluxe, her small cat-like features coated in too much makeup, her coarse blonde hair flattened to rest limply on her shoulders. Her expression was furtive, but excitement sparkled in her dark eyes. Another shot caught her too-tight skirt hugging her J-Lo butt. Then Cait clicked on the last two shots, unsure what she might see inside the third-floor hallway. Maybe nothing. Maybe something she didn’t want to see.
The shot showed an empty hallway. The photo was blurred, but the differences between the hall’s actual appearance and what was on the computer screen was startling. Gone were the yellowed walls and crappy brown and green carpet. In its place was wallpaper—a foiled gold-and-wine-colored paisley. The carpet was a solid blood red. The fixtures—lights, switches, brass plates on the door—were shiny and new.
“Where’d you take that?” Jason asked, hovering at her shoulder.
“At the Deluxe,” she said, closing out the file. She suppressed a shiver of dread.
“No kiddin’? How come I didn’t see that?”
She didn’t dare look his way. He’d see her shock and ask more questions. Questions she didn’t have any quick answers for.
“Tacky as hell, but—”
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “That’s not the way it is.” At last, she shot an upward glance.
Jason pushed out his lips. His gaze settled on her, waiting.
She knew he wouldn’t let her up from the chair until she gave him at least a clue of what was going on in her head. “It’s the way the hotel was.”
His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”
She rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t know what I mean.”
A frown dug a line between his blond-brown brows. “I don’t think Reyes is going to pay us for those shots or our time since we didn’t get what he wanted.”
“Reyes is the least of our problems,” she muttered.
Jason groaned. “It was the anchovies, right? This is your revenge?”
Her mouth tipped up into a smirk. “You think this is all about you? Poor little rich boy.”
He shook his head, grinning, but the fine lines beside his hazel eyes deepened with worry. “Since this case looks like major woo-woo is involved, you have the lead. Where to first?”
Cait grimaced. Once again, she had no doubt they were headed straight down the rabbit’s hole. “I need to talk to Sam about that taped-off room.”
Monday, April 8th, 2019
Thank you for having me here, Delilah!
I’m Juno Rushdan and I write steamy romantic thrillers. My debut book, Every Last Breath, comes out April 30 from Sourcebooks Casablanca.
I first began writing while I was an intelligence officer in the Air Force. My husband, who was also in the military, had a tough round of deployments to Afghanistan at the same time we started a family. Handling two kids under the age of two with no support system was brutal, so I left the service. When we moved to the DC area and my eldest entered kindergarten, the idea for Every Last Breath came to me.
My time spent supporting special forces and poring over CBRN (chemical, biological, radiological, nuclear, and high-yield explosive) threat assessments and war-gaming response plans shaped the foundation for the Final Hour series. I tried to convey what it means to be called to serve and the sacrifices one makes through my characters. Readers will find themes that are dear to my heart, such as service before self and fighting for the greater good, along with plenty of action and a sexy romance.
Every Last Breath
48 hours
2 covert operatives
1 chance to get it rightMaddox Kinkade is an expert at managing the impossible for a clandestine agency. Tasked with neutralizing a lethal bioweapon, she must recruit the last person she ever expected to see again: her presumed-dead former lover. Cole Matthews can’t forget or forgive her role in a tragedy that ruined his life. Enlisting Cole’s help may be harder than resisting the attraction still burning between them, but Maddox will do whatever it takes. Soon they find themselves working side-by-side in a breakneck race to stop a world-class killer with a secret that could end everything.
The clock is ticking…
Read an excerpt.
Maddox crossed the room and crouched between Cole’s legs. “I never wanted you restrained, but they insisted.” The note of sincerity from her struck a sensitive chord in him he despised.
Holding his gaze, she patted down his legs, working toward his shins.
Her hand froze on the hilt of his knife. “Nice to see some things stay the same.”
She wriggled his pant leg up, pulled the Ka-Bar, and cut the flex-cuffs on his ankles. Casting a furtive glance toward the door, she hustled behind his chair and freed his hands.
Cole leapt out of the chair and whirled, pinning her against the wall with a hand on her throat, not hard enough to hurt her, only to compel a straight answer from her fork-tongued mouth. But an electric frisson skipped over his skin, stilling him. That magnetic pull to her revived. No matter how much time had passed, it’d never been extinguished.
Talk about fucked up.
“Don’t crowd me,” she said low and controlled, not a flicker of fear in her fiery eyes.
“Or what?”
Tapping on his inner thigh drew his gaze down. She had the tip of his Ka–Bar pointed at his groin. He glanced lower, noticing her shoes.
She wore black tactical field boots. The cushy, expensive kind.
Who had she become? “What’s going on, Maddox? Why are you with those men?”
“We don’t have much time before they come back.” Her gaze darted to the door. “You won’t be able to take the three of us.”
The words had an unexpected sting. “That’s the first time you said us not meaning you and me.” Damn, had that been his out-loud voice?
An unguarded look broke on her face, vulnerable and somber. “You’re the one who left and never looked back.”
She was the one who had wronged him. Every action he’d taken since had been justified. Still, there was a pathetic niggle of regret.
He forced his grip to slacken and stepped back.
She flipped the matte–black blade in her hand like a badass, handle pointing to him. A shimmer of pride and a hint of alarm seeped through him.
He took the knife and shoved it in the ankle sheath. As he stood upright, she handed him the key to his bike.
“I had them get your motorcycle. It’s parked on the west side of the house. Go out through the window. Lay low until nightfall, somewhere the Russians won’t find you.” Honest concern shone in her eyes. “Then come to my place. My address is written on a piece of paper in your pocket. You’ll be safe there and I’ll explain everything.”
She pressed her palms to his chest, her expression softening. He couldn’t help soaking in the bittersweet familiarity of her touch and the intimacy in her gaze. Emotions he’d buried in an unmarked grave in DC, where his previous life had ended, resurrected with a ridiculous kick.
“I need your help. It’s a matter of life or death. Please, come.” Her emphatic tone tugged at him, and he needed a swift boot heel to the head to snap out of it. “I’ll answer any question.”
“Any?” Just like that, she had him hooked. For him, any condensed to one. Why had she betrayed him?
She squeezed her eyes shut for a breath, the faintest quiver running through her, and nodded before glancing at the door. “Hurry, before they come back.”
He hesitated. Would she be okay alone with them?
It was insanity to be concerned for her. Then again, she’d always triggered his protective instincts. At one time, his entire world had revolved around Maddox, and her safety had been more important than his own.
He would’ve sworn by now he was immune to her, but she was an incurable disease out of remission and might put him six feet under for real.
*~*~*
“Every Last Breath is an electric combination of heart-stopping thriller and swoon-worthy romance.” -LEXI BLAKE, New York Times bestselling author
“A spine-tingling thriller you won’t want to put down! Rushdan is a talented new voice in romantic suspense.” -LAURA GRIFFIN, New York Times bestselling author
“Heart-pounding James Bond-ian adventure.” -Kirkus
“Intense and sexy—a must-read romantic suspense!” -CYNTHIA EDEN, New York Times bestselling author
“Rushdan’s fast-paced, gripping debut will…have readers eagerly waiting for the sequel to this arresting romantic thriller.” -Publishers Weekly (STARRED review)
Available for pre-order now:
Amazon: https://bit.ly/EveryLastBreath
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/BN_ELB
Apple iBooks: https://apple.co/2EF3MJv
One More Page Books (for autographed copy): https://bit.ly/SignedCopyELB
Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/AddEveryLastBreath
Learn more about Juno at:
Website: Junorushdan.com
Newsletter: https://junorushdan.com/mailing-list/
BookBub: https://bit.ly/BookBubJuno
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/junorushdan/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/junorushdan/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JunoRushdan
Sunday, April 7th, 2019
Motivation has been lacking, so I thought maybe I should list what I want to accomplish this week so the world knows what I’m SUPPOSED to get done. Maybe someone will nag or ask, “Hey, did you finish…?”
Something has to give me that KITA I need. So, here goes…
- Edit the rest of MJ’s story
- Edit remaining 4 short stories for the Stranded anthology
- Write 3 chapters of the next Montana Bounty Hunters story
- Write a short story for Stranded
Revise, format, & upload Flashpoint into D2D- Revise Gilded Cage & prep for publication
Looks like a ridiculous list, but it’s what needs to be done to catch up. So…your job, should you accept the onerous task, is to nag, nag, nag me this week! 🙂
Saturday, April 6th, 2019
UPDATE: The winner is…Karen!
*~*~*
Let me tell you what I’d rather do than write. I’d much rather go junk shopping. See the “treasure” above that I found at a flea market? It has a heavy glass/crystal base with a lovely tarnished metal adornment depicting cherubs affixed to the top. Yup, a paperweight. I paid a buck for it, and I love it. I’d much rather comb through stalls for little treasures than sit my butt in a chair to write.
Here’s another couple of clues about what I’d rather be doing…
Those are both items I recently completed. I’d much rather make some more just like them. In fact, I’ve been on a whirling dervish reorganizing my very crowded, hoardery art room so I can make room to lay out a dozen projects I’m itching to begin—some painted, some beaded—all not the most important thing I should be doing, but so much more attractive to me at the moment.
I have been editing. And yes, MJ, I’m nearing the end of your story. I’m also working through edits of the stories that will appear in Stranded, which releases at the end of this month. It’s not crunch time yet, but I do need to light a fire under my ass, because I have to write a story for it, too!
And yes, I know I have a gazillion reasons, good ones, why I’m unable to commit to filling a page with new words. Grief, emotional exhaustion—all those things weigh a soul down. But it is true that for months and months I neglected my environment while I whipped through work and family obligations. I do need to restore order for my own peace of mind. (See? I’m making excuses for not writing!)
In the meantime, I’m setting little goals. Edit one short story. Edit 20 pages of MJ’s lovely novel. Then return to the art room to sort through the chaos.
So, here’s a question for you…
Is there anything you’re dragging your feet getting done?
Answer for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!
Friday, April 5th, 2019
Long before Marie Kondo was touting the joys of downsizing and living more minimal, I was clearing out clutter.
When I was growing up, I was probably the only kid I knew who never had to be told to clean their room. And every spring (and fall), on a Saturday afternoon, I’d close myself in my bedroom with the vacuum, a dust cloth, and a garbage bag. When I came out a few hours later, everything had been moved and vacuumed under or dusted. I’d have gone through my closet and bookshelves. Even though my bedroom was only about eight by twelve, I’d have managed to move some of the furniture around.
As an adult, I’m still the same. I’ve already started going through cupboards and closets getting things together for the big family yard sale we usually have every year over at my brother’s place. The thing is, tastes change. Things I’ve enjoyed for a few years may no longer suit my style. And that’s okay. I’ve used and enjoyed them and now it’s time to let them go. That makes space for things I do love. The yard sale is a fun family day and gives me a few dollars to put toward something I might like. What doesn’t sell gets taken off to charity. Everyone wins!
If you need a break from your spring cleaning, why not check out Embroidered Fantasies, the next book in my Tapestries series.
Embroidered Fantasies
Tapestries, Book 5
With her abusive ex-husband safely behind bars, Roxanne Sykes is trying to carve out a quiet life for herself. Just as she’s beginning to feel free to explore her new possibilities, word reaches her that her cruel ex has been released from prison. When he shows up at her door bent on destroying her, it’s only through the magic of a well-loved tapestry that Roxanne is whisked away to safety—and into the world of a warrior she’s known only from her fantasies.
Radnor Craddock has known only a life of violence and brutality at the hands of his older brothers. Now that they have fallen in battle, Radnor and his twin brother Sednar can finally put their house in order. Just as their efforts are bearing fruit, fate smiles upon them again by delivering a potential tapestry bride to their doorstep. Well aware of what they must do to win her hand and her heart, the brothers dedicate themselves to granting Roxanne every imaginable pleasure, driving her to sensual heights unlike any she has ever known.
With each new erotic encounter stirring a loving bond between the three, Roxanne is tempted to accept the promise of the tapestry and make a new life and new home with the brothers. But she has trusted before and been painfully wrong, and she’s frightened by the whisperings of the brothers’ violent past. Unsure of herself and threatened anew when her merciless ex finds his way to her once again, Roxanne must trust her heart as the brothers vow to protect her and destroy her ex—and to give her a life and love she had never dreamed possible…
BUY LINKS:
Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07NLFVZYC/
Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/929612
Barnes & Noble:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1021397126
Kobo:
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/embroidered-fantasies-1
About the Author
N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
Visit me at:
Website: https://www.njwalters.com
Blog: https://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
Newsletter Group: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/awakeningdesires/info
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/N.J.WaltersAuthor
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/NJWalters
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/n-j-walters
Thursday, April 4th, 2019
I was one of those lucky children whose mother did not enforce gender specific activities. My brother and I, treated as equals, each participated in the same activities (with the exception of ballet, which my brother felt no interest in pursuing). I came home with skinned knees, ripped clothing (my poor mother, good thing she knew how to sew; a skill I never learned), and coated in dirt. While most girls my age were playing with dolls, I was building forts. However, I got to do the most interesting things; fencing, archery, rock climbing. I learned that I was capable of anything I put my mind to, that gender was not a hinderance. This independent spirit has followed me through life.
I was given a choice, a pinnacle moment in my life, when I decided to remain that way, instead of conforming to expectation. As a freshman in college, I lamented to my father that I was single (which really shouldn’t be the focus of a college freshman, but let’s be honest with each other). He gave me some fatherly advice. If you are interested in getting a boyfriend, you will need to learn to be less independent.
My jaw dropped. Learn to be less; less intelligent, less passionate, less of me.
I wrestled with that suggestion for a while. Could I be less of me?
In A Perfect Plan, I pose that question to my heroine, a tomboy who is struggling to fit into society. One of my favorite scenes is at one of those tedious society functions. Samantha is debating how to escape the party in which she finds herself trapped. What I love about her is that she doesn’t consider whether or not the activity is safe, but whether or not she could make it over the balcony railing before she is caught.
“May I ask you one question?” Lord Westwood gazed at her with a peculiar expression.
“Certainly,” answered Sam, tearing her eyes away from Wilhelmina’s glee.
“What were you concentrating on with such intensity when I threatened to tell the story of our first meeting?”
Sam glanced down, a red tinge crawling up the back of her neck, indicating the balcony with a slight jerk of her head. “Whether or not I could make it over the railing before Wilhelmina realized I was missing.”
“What did you intend to do once you climbed over the balcony?” asked Lord Westwood.
“I was planning to shimmy down the column, using the ivy as a rope.” Sam lifted her head, a tiny smile pulling at her lips. “She would never catch me once I reached the drive.”
Lord Westwood struggled to keep his face neutral. “Do you think about escaping ballrooms often?”
“More often than I would care to admit.”
“I suppose, as a gentleman, I would have to attempt to prevent you from injuring yourself even if that caused a public scene.” Lord Westwood clasped his hands behind his back, casting his eyes upward with a dramatic sigh.
“Dragged away from the balcony in full view of society by Lord Westwood—that would definitely be one more mark against me,” murmured Sam.
A PERFECT PLAN is available on all platforms and on sale this week
for 99 cents.
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling Author Alyssa Drake has been creating stories since she could hold a crayon, preferring to construct her own bedtime tales instead of reading the titles in her bookshelves. A multi-genre author, Alyssa currently writes Historical romance, Paranormal romance, Contemporary romance, and Cozy mystery. She thoroughly enjoys strong heroines and often laughs aloud when imagining conversations between her characters.
Website: https://alyssadrakenovels.com
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