Ack! I almost forgot to post! Who knew that having everyone stay at home would make life fast-forward? Okay, so maybe I should have known. However, let me describe my day so far…
Instead of getting up to see kids off to the bus and then enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee before I headed to my computer, I organized kids to take care of animals—scooping poop from litter boxes, feeding and walking dogs, feeding horses.
Just as I was settling at my desk, a kid came rushing down the stairs. “Hey, Nina? Whatcha making for breakfast?” Yes, I am now in charge of all breakfasts, because now that they are home, cereal isn’t good enough. So, yes, I caved and made breakfast. An hour later, it was, “Hey, mom,” from my dd. “Can you help the 16-year-old with her homework? She has an essay to write, and you’re the writer…” Then I had to organize the next round of taking care of animals, putting on a load of washing, etc.
An hour later, I sat at my desk but the morning was gone. I worked on editing someone else’s pages then turned to edit my own. Just as I was getting ready to start on new words, my dd said, “Hey, Amazon isn’t shipping for third parties any more,” and of course, I had to read up on the news, watch a conference Governor Cuomo conducted, because his information is so much better than what we’ve gotten out of our own state’s… And on, and on…
When I went outside to clear my head, I realized I’d forgotten something. A few somethings. Like blogging. Like changing my clothes. Like cleaning off my desk. Like making my bed. Like… There are not enough hours in the day. How long is this self-quarantine going to last, because I’m ready for a break!!!?
And I’m sure you’re feeling just about the same way, too, right? The thought that I might be doing this for longer than two weeks is enough to make me want to have a video-conference with some doctor to request sedatives.
But hey, I do have something to share. The opening pages of the next book I’m releasing, One Hot Night. I set the release on Amazon for April 14th, but I’m doing my best to get it finished for release at the end of this month.
One Hot Night
While investigating seemingly unrelated attacks against visiting dignitaries, New Orleans detective, Remy Cyr, spots a certain reporter trying to use a fake invitation to enter an exclusive nighttime event. Seeing a chance to give the persistent reporter a hard time, he pulls her aside to confront her. He’s distracted and amused by her excuses long enough that, once he heads back to the ballroom, he realizes it has been taken over by a group of armed men and that he and the reporter are the only ones who know…
Excerpt from One Hot Night
Detective Remy Cyr followed the slender woman with his gaze as she made her way around the convention ballroom. That she didn’t belong was obvious. That she was likely a reporter was also, although only to someone trained to observe.
Sure, she was dressed for the occasion in a knee-length, emerald green dress. She should have blended in well with the other well-dressed women. Her four-inch suede heels teased a man’s gaze to travel upward over lightly muscled, sleek calves. The jewels she wore weren’t fake. They were nice enough they might fool some of the men attending the event into believing she did, in fact, belong among the glittering NOLA socialites. But her earrings and bracelet were a classic design, likely passed down, not something purchased on a reporter’s salary. Likewise, the clutch she carried was a classic black quilted piece, probably Chanel.
Remy’s ex-girlfriend had been a social-climbing vlogger, who’d told other women how to dress to get the guy they wanted and would have traded all her followers for that clutch. He should have known when Isabelle had worn sweats and frayed jeans around him that she didn’t consider him “end game material” as she’d called the hapless guys she’d urged her devoted audience to stalk.
At first glance, Remy had thought this woman was cut from the same cloth as Isabelle. A lovely blonde with smoky eyes and a red-rimmed, diamond-bright smile. However, she wasn’t smiling to entice a man into taking her to dinner or even up to his room. One by one, she tried to draw them into conversation only to have the mostly foreign dignitaries raise brows and deflect her with a tight smile and tactical turn. Even now, she was beginning to annoy the man she’d latched onto—the Mayor of New Orleans, Hugo Benoit.
Unfortunately for the woman, it looked like Hugo knew her well because he arched a thick, black eyebrow at the woman, and then raised a hand and snapped his fingers.
In seconds, his personal security team converged. Hugo, always one to turn a moment into a flashy laugh, lifted the woman’s hand and bent over it to give her a kiss. Then he straightened and flicked his fingers over his lapel like he was brushing away dirt.
The woman gave him a narrow-eyed glare as she smiled, waved at the bodyguards, and as she turned away, snatched a flute of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray as she walked toward the exit.
One of the bodyguards spoke into a radio, likely ensuring an escort awaited the woman outside the door to remove her from the venue.
Remy grinned. He’d bet his last dollar the woman would be back inside within half an hour. That cheeky grin she’d given the mayor said she wasn’t a woman who conceded a battle—ever.
“Hey, bro,” his brother’s voice sounded in his earpiece. “We’re not bein’ paid to eye the arm candy.”
“Not arm candy, man,” he said softly as he glanced around the ballroom for any hint of further trouble.
“A reporter?”
“Yeah. This rich a target? They’re not just standin’ behind the velvet ropes along the red carpet. They’re hittin’ up the wait staff, hidin’ in bathrooms…”
“Wearin’ pretty green dresses and high heels…”
Remy’s lips twitched. “She’s made now. I’m wonderin’ what she’ll try next.”
“Think she will?”
“I’d bet money.”
“I won’t take that bet. I’m here to make extra cash, not lose it.”
“Better earn it then, Thibaut, instead of ridin’ my ass.”
“You call that ridin’? I’m just seein’ how much you like the girl. My question is answered,” his brother said, amusement in his voice.
“Don’t even know her name, so don’t go reservin’ the chapel. Just ’cause you and Amelie are tyin’ the knot doesn’t mean the rest of us are ready to tie a noose around our necks.”
“It’s a sweet noose. But damn, weddings are expensive.”
Remy chuckled. “What happened to ‘simple and just family’?”
“Have you seen the size of our family?”
“If you weren’t also countin’ SEALs and cops…”
“They’re family.”
“Well, there you have it. This gig is a sweet deal. Ballard likes you. He’ll give you as many engagements as you want.”
Thibaut sighed. “I barely see Amelie as it is—what with her shifts at the store and all this wedding shit. Do you know she wanted to hire someone to figure out all this stuff?”
“It’s a lot,” Remy murmured. As Thibaut’s best man, he had a front-row seat to the chaos surrounding his brother’s wedding plans.
“Thank God for Laure. She really stepped up after Amelie asked her to be her Maid of Honor.”
“Glad those two put their shit behind them.”
“Amelie had this crazy idea Laure was sweet on me. Said she was jealous.”
“Maybe when you two were kids…”
“Said it was why Laure was always a bitch around her.”
“Doesn’t she know Laure’s that way with everyone?”
They both chuckled. They loved Laure, but the girl had always been a handful. Remy felt sorry for any man who got tangled up with her.
“I feel sorry for any man who thinks he’s gonna put a ring on her finger.”
Remy’s grin stretched across his face when Thibaut echoed his own thought. “Yeah, he’ll have to be tough, or she’ll walk all over him.”
“Maybe I should introduce her to some of my SEAL buddies when they come to the wedding.”
“Thought you liked your teammates.”
They laughed softly.
Remy caught sight of Thibaut across the ballroom floor and gave him a two-fingered salute.
“Man, I’m glad I’m here,” Thibaut said, smiling.
“Me, too. I’m happy for you.” Thibaut’s road to his engagement hadn’t been an easy one. He’d left the SEALs, attended the police academy, and now was a rookie NOLA cop. “Do you miss it?”
“The Navy?” Thibaut drew a deep breath. “Yes and no. I hated losing folks around me, but there’s something about walking into a firefight with your closest buddies. You feel… Man, I don’t know…like you’re part of something big. Like you’re one…organism. If that makes sense. We can function without commands; know each other’s next moves.”
“If you make SWAT, you’ll feel pretty darn close to that. They work hard. Play hard.”
“Did you hate giving it up when you made detective?”
“I’m not lyin’; I did. But what I’m doing now… I like puzzles. Like figuring out who done it.”
“Don’t think I’ll be goin’ after your job, man. Interrogation was never my strong suit.”
“Breakin’ heads more like it?”
Thibaut grunted in his ear. Then he drew an audible breath. “Glad I didn’t take that bet. Check out the waitress. Your four o’clock.”
Remy glanced out of the corner of his eye and found her. The blonde. Only now, she was a brunette. The wig was chin-length. She’d wiped off the bright red lipstick and smoky eyeshadow. Gone were the heels and in their place were functional black loafers.
Remy smiled and began to make his way toward the table where she was removing some kind of shrimp finger food tray and replacing it with fresh entrees.
While he watched, she glanced around then slipped one of the shrimps into her mouth and closed her eyes. Must have been good. Now, he was hungry, too.
Remy had no doubts that what could have been a really boring night was about to get interesting…
Happy Almost Spring from North Texas! I’m Liberty Ireland – Book Wrangler, Aspiring Author, and Super Mom and Wife. I’m so grateful Delilah gave me the reins for the day and I’m glad to meet y’all!
I find that whether we are a reader, reviewer or author, one thing binds us all together – our great love of reading books. I can remember my parents reading to me at bedtime, my Mom always taking us to the library for their Summer Reading fun and choosing a family book to read on road trips. As a teen, I’d leave my door open while doing homework so I could hear my Mom read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing to my brother. I excelled in English throughout my schooling because of my reading and fell madly in love with Rhett Butler, Shakespeare, Atticus Finch and the like. Right about then I discovered Romances and Fabio but somewhere along the way of becoming an adult, reading became less and less of an escape and priority for me.
Eventually, along came Stephanie Meyer and Edward and Becca Fitzpatrick and Patch to whom I will be forever grateful for reinstilling in me that passion for reading. Now I read almost exclusively Romance with many favorite subgenres ranging from Historical to Western to Romantic Suspense to Dark and Twisty. I have hundreds of favorite authors and have learned that I have several favorite tropes as well. I have even rediscovered my desire to be an author.
What about you, Dear Reader? How did you become a reader and/or what are some of your favorites?
Leave an answer below, and on March 21st I’ll choose a random winner of a $10 Amazon or B&N gift card (US only)
From the unedited Prologue of my WIP:
…Jake took a deep breath and knew he had to follow through on what he’d planned. Coming over here today was for the last time. He knew how hurt she’d be when she discovered his deceit and that he wasn’t coming back but it was for the best. Her heart would heal in time and she would find someone who could give her all the things she deserved – a stable home life, a man that worshipped the ground she walked on and a bunch of kids just as beautiful as her.
She stirred as he leaned over and kissed her. He tenderly watched her as she relaxed again into a deeper slumber then he eased up off the quilt she’d
put down for them. As he put his shirt and boots back on, he knew he was doing the right thing. It just sucked that he had to hurt her in order to do it.
He trudged through the rain to his truck and started it up. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit redial.
“Mr. Sanders? Jake Peterson. I wanted to let you know that if your offer is still open, I’d love to join the PBR tour. Yes sir, I can leave right after I grab my trailer and put my horse in it. Yes, I know where that is. Okay, I’ll see you there.”
Jake hung up and put the truck in gear. He looked up to where his Panda was sleeping. “Go on and live your life Sugar, the way it is meant to be lived.”
He kissed his fingers and blew it in her direction then he slowly pulled out.
It’s release day!! Yes, my story, Brian released yesterday—but not because I was trying to get out ahead of everybody else. I was simply calendar-challenged when I selected my date. I thought I’d chosen a Tuesday. Which is really kind of stupid, because KDP gives you a little calendar to look at when you choose your date, but I had the 24th in my brain, so the 24th it would be.
Anyways, lots of great books to celebrate today: Mine (ahem, Brian), my sister Elle Jame’s (SEAL’s Vow), and the one I’m featuring here today, written by my friend and fab author, Reina Torres!
From Fab Friend & Author Reina Torres
Part of the challenge of setting a Romance in the early 1970s was giving it a different feel from the modern-day. The book didn’t qualify as a “historical” in the book sense, but since I was setting it back almost fifty years in the past, there were certain things that brought me back into the early 70s: Clothes and Music.
Clothes were fun: terrycloth, corduroy, denims—and all the fun that went along with those fabrics.
Music was a little more of a challenge…
I was born in 1973, and my mother has often told me that I sang before I spoke. I’m guessing she means in complete phrases or sentences, but she just repeats the same stories over and over. My mom and dad both worked for the United States Postal Service, so I think you can safely say that I’m a Postal Child. 🙂
My dad worked the day shift, and my mom worked the graveyard shift. So when my dad headed off in the morning to go to work, he’d put me in the passenger seat (remember, it’s the 70s), laid back and wrapped up in my favorite blanket. He’d put the radio on for the drive into downtown Honolulu, heading straight to the post office where my mother worked. She’d get in the driver’s seat, and my dad would climb in the back, and we’d drop him off at work before my mom turned toward home.
I’d doze the way there and back, singing to the radio the entire time to songs like this one…
When I started writing Jesse, I did a little brainstorming on the earliest songs I could remember, and then came the reality check while going through the songs and checking to see which ones were in the right time period and which came after 1973-1974. With a couple of “oops” choices, I actually managed to put together a list of songs that helped take me back in time.
Much like Richard Collier in the movie Somewhere in Time, surrounding myself with the music of the era helped take me back in time for the book. So, I hope you’ll enjoy a little trip back in time to see how Jesse Sutton and Etta Bradford met and fell in love.
The rest of the series will be the stories of their children as they continue The Suttons – An American Legacy.
The instant he said it, he tensed, expecting to feel her hand across his cheek.
When she didn’t, he gave her a curious look, doubling down on his stupidity, and a moment later he wished that she had cracked him across his jaw. It would have been better than the way her expression crumbled as she took a step back, breaking the hold he had on her hand, and her shoulders sagged.
He was an ass. That was clear.
What he needed to do was apologize.
Quickly.
But all the words he needed to say were stuck somewhere in the back of his mind along with the sense that should have helped him keep his mouth shut in the first place.
“I’ve been kissed before!”
What?
That wasn’t what he asked.
Not by a long shot.
But, then again, her answer was just as telling.
He wasn’t just an ass. He let his mouth get way ahead of his brain. A fucking stampede ahead of the stage.
“I’m not talking about the playground, Etta. I’m talking about a kiss.” His voice had dipped dangerously low, vibrating through him like a tuning fork and making him just as hard.
He took a step closer.
Etta countered by taking a step back. They danced that way across the sidewalk until he knew he had her exactly where he wanted her.
Against the wall.
She knew it too. Her palms flattened against the wall at her sides and her shoulders pushed back. She raised her gaze up to meet his as if she was trying to tell him that she wasn’t nervous, but he saw the way her breathing shallowed, her skin flushed, and her lips parted as he moved even closer.
And he continued until the toes of his boots were almost nudging the tips of her shoes. He raked his gaze up over her feet, the hem of her dress, over the tantalizing rise and fall of her breasts and back up along the flushed skin of her chest, neck, and face.
He lifted a hand and gently touched her cheek. “First,” he smiled at her, “one, or both people, have to move their nose out of the way. So, we’ll go with both here.” He put the tiniest bit of pressure on her cheek and tilted her head a little bit. “Next, we’ll keep teeth out of it, unless you want to bite a lip… that could be fun.”
She swallowed and he swore he could hear the soft sound echoing off the thick concrete walls. “Is that all?”
“All?”
Etta nodded, but he didn’t see the motion, he could only feel it against his fingertips. “The rules?”
The corner of his mouth lifted and he leaned in closer, bracing his free hand on the wall just above her shoulder. “Those aren’t rules, Etta. Just a few things to make it easier.”
“Easier?” She echoed the word with a tight, breathy voice. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t,” he sighed and trailed the hand against her cheek into her hair, enjoying the feeling of it against his skin, “but I’m going to show you.”
She blinked up at him. “Okay.”
If she didn’t stop looking at him like a sacrificial lamb, he was going to lose his mind.
“There’s a time and place for hard kisses, sweetheart.”
Etta nodded as if she was making a note in her head. So beautiful and if he was any judge, innocent in so many ways.
“But tonight,” he moved closer until his lips were close enough to hers to feel the heat of her skin, “we’re going to start with gentle.”
“Gentle…” her lips were so damn close and he could hear the curious plea in her tone, “okay.”
He couldn’t wait another moment. He touched his lips to hers and felt her tense. He waited until her body eased into the sensation before he moved away.
Her eyes fluttered open. And she looked into his eyes as her brow pinched ever so slightly.
He smiled at the curious question he saw in her eyes. “What is it, Etta?”
She swayed closer. “Was that… all?”
“You want more?”
She opened her lips to answer and he swept in to kiss her again. Press in closer until he could feel the way her lips pressed back against his. Plump. Plush. Made for this. Made for him.
Contest
Pick your favorite song from my list above, and I’ll select a random person to win a download of Jesse!
I love Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein II musicals. I grew up watching them as movies on television. While not all their storylines have held up over time, I’m still moved by songs like “Something Wonderful”, “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and “You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught”. I am grateful to this prolific team for their heartfelt lyrics and beautiful music, but my deepest thanks goes to R&H for introducing me to Juanita Hall.
Growing up in the sixties, I hungered for images of Black women on the silver screen whom I could name and admire. R&H let me see a Black actress strut her stuff in some of the earliest examples of casting without regard to race.
Hall had been performing on Broadway since 1930. She even took a turn at directing in 1936. By the time R&H cast her in 1949’s South Pacific, she’d performed in no less than eight Broadway plays including Green Pastures and St. Louis Woman. R&H decided they needed someone with the voice and acting chops to bring the character of the Pacific Islander Bloody Mary to life. Juanita Hall filled the bill. She reprised the role in the 1958 film, although I have to listen to the original Broadway cast album to hear her sing “Bali H’ai”. In 1958, R&H used her in a second instance of casting despite race. She created the role of Madame Liang in Flower Drum Song. Hall recreated her role for the movie in 1961.
For a Black kid growing up in the East New York section of Brooklyn, knowing this Black woman wouldn’t be pigeonholed because of her race was inspirational. I like to think there’s a bit of Hall in One Breath Away‘s Mary Hamilton, a woman hemmed in by society’s expectations, but with the potential to break through them if given the chance. Besides her stage and film career, Hall cut albums, performed in nightclubs and directed choruses and choirs. You can learn more about her here: https://www.blackpast.org/african-american-history/hall-juanita-1901-1968/.
Nowadays those movies are critiqued for not hiring someone of Pacific Islander or Chinese background to play these roles, and rightly so. It hurts to see someone not of your race or ethnicity representing you. Boys and girls of all races need role models in whom they can see themselves and be proud of the way I was able to see myself in and be proud of Juanita Hall. I can’t ignore or minimize the wounding caused by casting a Black woman to portray someone of another race. The pros and cons of this “colorblind” approach are passionately debated. What I can do is celebrate that in 1949, by casting Hall in a musical whose plot revolves around race prejudice, R&H helped make Black History. Juanita Hall not only won the 1950 Tony for her role but, by doing so, became the first African American ever to win a Tony award.
One Breath Away
Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.
Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.
“Because someone like you only looks at someone like me out of pity.”
Of course. His aunt put him up to this. Anger warmed Mary’s ears.
“Let me go.” She made to pull away. “I want to sit.”
“Please. Not before the music stops.” He timed his plea to the rhythm of the waltz. “I’ve waited all week for this moment.”
Mary gritted her teeth. Heart hurt joined her injured pride. She needed no one’s charity.
“That was cruel of you, sir. No one counts the days until they can ask me for a dance.” Tears pooled behind her closed eyelids. “Anyone in town could tell you that.”
The grip on her hand tightened, forcing her eyes open. The light in his gaze darkened. “Anyone who’d lie to me like that would be taking their life in their hands.” He leaned in so his mouth nuzzled her ear again. “And if you use that I’m-not-worthy tone of voice again, I’ll be forced to prove you wrong with a kiss.”
Alarm shuddered up Mary’s back. “Is—is that a threat?”
“A certainty.”
A chilly thrill replaced the alarm. She blew out a breath to steady herself. Threat or certainty, both treated her to a delicious revelation—she wanted that kiss. She eyed his lips, imagined their soft yet demanding press against hers. Once more the voice of caution repeated its warning.
Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
Oh, to be forced to flee from such a devil as he. She sighed. What a wonderful problem to have.
Hello all and many thanks for Delilah for having me on her blog.
February is the month of love…and Valentine’s Day, and chocolate!
Did you know there’s a stimulant in chocolate called Theobromine (spell and/or say that twice) a bitter alkaloid found in cocoa and chocolate that affects the central nervous system to release endorphins for pleasure? Incidentally, it’s also the ‘cousin’ to my other favorite stimulant: caffeine. A match made in stimulant heaven.
Sign me up!
In the quaint town of Havenport Rhode Island, the fictional backdrop of my stories, there’s a shop and bakery called Led Zeppoli. In almost all of my stories, I mention the bakery’s famous chocolate croissants and exotic blends of coffee. Caffeine fuels my creative genius…well maybe not genius, but it certainly helps me come up with ideas and stay awake.
Led Zeppoli is a play on words between a certain famous four-member English rock group from the sixties and another decadent treat: the Italian zeppole. Ah yes, the zeppole, a fried dough cookie covered in massive amounts of powdered sugar.
Have you ever tried one? No? Well then get to getting because they are heaven in a greasy bag.
Where I grew up in Staten Island, NY was a popular pizza place called Pizza Town, which was located in walking distance from my high school. Besides the best pizza on the planet, Pizza Town sold zeppole and man, oh, man were they delicious. When you opened the white paper bag the powdered sugar puffed a white cloud of sweet goodness into your face.
Many days after school, I would “hang out” with friends at Pizza Town. It’s where I groused about homework and boys, prom dates, and how much Aquanet we put in our hair. Yes, it was the eighties after all. And it’s where I had many conversations with my high school crush who was tragically unaware of my deep-rooted feelings for him. Incidentally, we are still friends but sadly, the old building that was Pizza Town was torn down years ago.
Good memories, indeed.
What makes you get up and go? Coffee? Tea? Soda? All three have caffeine and I find the older I get the more I need something to help me start my day.
One lucky commenter will be chosen at random
and win a $10 Dunkin gift card.
Rescuing the Ranger
Now onto my latest release: The hero and heroine in my latest story, Rescuing the Ranger are Gabe Preston and Francesca Montefiore. Francesca grew up in Little Italy, NYC and now lives in Havenport and owns the florist shop. She loves the small town, which reminds her of the old neighborhood she left behind. When she volunteers her time to help write letters to the troops, she finds an unexpected connection to Havenport and one sexy, former Army Ranger, Gabe who’s in for a visit. And, when her past comes back to haunt her, Gabe comes to the rescue.
Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite…
God, she hated making him feel any kind of stress. As much as this connection of theirs felt like a million bucks from the first correspondence, in her heart she knew it would cost him. Getting close to anyone again was dangerous. For him and for her.
How Pete had found her was anyone’s guess.
“Look, Gabe. You said it yourself, you’re decompressing after those tours of duty and I…” She stopped, shaking her head, wanting to warn him away. “I’ll destroy you.”
Her voice broke from exhaustion and worry and…damn it, caring and concern for him stuck in her throat. “My past will eventually annihilate this friendship we’ve built with our letters. It’s best if you don’t get mixed up in it, believe me. That’s one of the reasons I never sent you the email. You don’t deserve it.”
She felt compelled to warn him. Hell, he’d survived war as a Ranger, and she wasn’t about to be the person to bring him harm, not when Adele needed him.
His eyes widened before he let out a cynical laugh.
“You? Destroy me?” He crowded her, pushing her back and against the bedpost. His hands wound around her waist, but she couldn’t look up at him, so she fixated on the perfect vee between his pecks. “That’s not possible. My bike helmet weighs more than you.”
“Not physically,” she whispered. “Here, and here.” Frankie finally glanced up and traced his creased temple with her index finger before flattening her palm on his shirt above his heart. God, he was so solid. It would be easy to lean in and borrow his strength. “I know you went through something traumatic back in Afghanistan. I can tell. Those puckers on your hands feel like burns.” At her words, his face paled. “And, you don’t need more strife.”
He closed his eyes for a second and his jaw locked. “You’re so fucking sweet-natured.” He caressed the side of her cheek. She wanted to melt into his touch.
“Don’t you worry about me, and this isn’t just a friendship. You feel it. Don’t deny it. We’re good together, baby. And believe me, you can’t destroy me. Truth is—you kinda saved me.”
Get your copy of Rescuing the Ranger on Amazon. Available in Kindle Unlimited, too: https://amzn.to/2RstmrF
Have a fantastic February filled with love and lots of chocolate and coffee!
I am not a fan of Valentine’s Day. I think it forces people to proclaim their affection for others in rather commercial and materialistic ways. I find it ridiculous that we measure someone’s love by how widely they open their wallet on a single day.
Consider these numbers:
• This year, Americans are expected to spend $19.6 billion on Valentine’s Day.
• In 2018, the average consumer spent $143.56 on Valentine’s Day gifts. (Only $5.50 was spent on pets.)
• Approximately 144 million cards will be exchanged on that day.
That’s a pretty large investment in love, but I want to know I am loved 365 days a year.
So it may seem strange that my latest book, The White House Wedding, is considered a Valentine’s Day romance. However, my book focuses more on the intangibles of love, rather than on a holiday that celebrates love.
For me, all the chocolates, flowers, and jewels in the world won’t compensate for a tender kiss, a gentle hug, a whispered, “I love you.” A man who listens, who comforts, who supports, and who encourages is worth far more than truffles and champagne. He is priceless.
I don’t ask for and I don’t expect baubles and treats on Valentine’s Day. In fact, I don’t even want them. They have no real value. A man who feeds my soul, fills my heart, and stimulates my mind is all I need. You can’t buy love—though some may disagree. Love thrives on intangibles. It’s the million little things that wrap your life and your heart in a blanket of kindness, affection, contentedness, and peace.
I have been in love. I have thought I shared true love. I believed my love was everlasting. Only to have my heart shattered into a million pieces, the illusions held in the mirror of my soul obliterated. The anguish that followed was intense. The despair and denial. The utter hopelessness. Then the anger and the urge for revenge. And, finally the acceptance, the acknowledgment that it was time to move on. I can honestly say gifts or the lack thereof have never played a role in the failure of my relationships. The lack of intangibles did.
Because love isn’t a dozen roses on Valentine’s Day. Love just is.
An Interview with Seelie Kay
Q. Why do you write romance?
Because I am fascinated by the games people play to find and secure a lasting relationship, which is not always love. There’s the chase, the courtship, the falling, the surrender. That’s what I try to capture in my stories.
Q. Do you prefer a certain type of romantic hero?
I adore smart, dashing gentlemen who aren’t afraid to live on the edge. They can be a bad boy, a billionaire, a prince, or a secret agent. That hint of danger just hooks me! However, I also love strong, independent women who aren’t afraid to fight for what they want, even love.
Q. Why did you write The White House Wedding?
It was a bit of a romp, really. I wanted to play off all the craziness that is politics and Washington, D.C. The creatures in the great swamp have become so predictable, a story about the political implications and hijinks of a White House wedding just flowed from my pen. Plus, I always found it interesting that a country that intentionally broke away from the monarchy, goes crazy over royal weddings. Admittedly, I am one of them. I won’t get up at 4 a.m. to watch, like so many of my friends, but I will tape a royal wedding and watch it later. And yes, I did seek teacups from Diana’s nuptials. Unfortunately, none were to be found. At least stateside. I imagine once she dumped Prince Charles, their value went up dramatically! Unfortunately, White House weddings are rare and although we go crazy over royal weddings, I doubt things would proceed so smoothly here. Every aspect of the wedding would be dissected and criticized by the media and political opponents, making the wedding itself a pretty negative experience, which is probably so few occur here.
Q. The characters in this book also appeared inThe President’s Daughter?
Yes. The President’s Daughter is where the bride’s—Sarah Lee Pearson—story first began. She had been kidnapped at age five and raised by her nanny into her teen years. It was only after the people who raised her were killed in a paper mill explosion that she began to search for other relatives. A chance meeting with a presidential candidate, Jamisen Powell, leads her search in a new direction and she discovers that he is, in fact, her birth father. This is the continuation of that new relationship.
Q. I imagine in this day and age, being the president’s daughter would not be an altogether positive experience.
(Laughs.) As I observe the impact of the Trump presidency on his children, I am exceptionally happy I was never put in that position. It must be a horrible experience. We live in such negative times, a time when people seem to place high value on their ability to shred reputations and destroy people. All of the current chaos puts us one step away from anarchy. In fact, if you think about it, it would be a perfect time for the Monarchy to attempt to reclaim the colonies. We are so busy fighting each other, I question whether we would band together to fight an outside threat. That’s just sad.
Q. How does your former profession as a lawyer impact your writing?
In two ways. First, my knowledge of the legal system permits me to predict the outcome of certain events. Those events have played a key role in some of my stories. Second, my friends say I am obsessed with justice and I guess that’s true. After 30 years, the law and the legal world are so firmly embedded in my brain that I can’t flush them out. That has become the lens through which I view the world and that naturally guides my characters and plots. Injustice infuriates me, but it also leads me to great stories!
The White House Wedding
When politics interferes with love, can love survive?
Getting married isn’t easy when your father’s the President of the United States! After reluctantly agreeing to a White House wedding, Sarah Lee Pearson, the president’s daughter, finds herself swept into a political maelstrom of unimagined proportions.
The White House staff and the first lady see the wedding as a political event, a way to sweep the president into his next term. Congress is complaining about the collateral costs. The media is delightfully rehashing every aspect of Sarah’s life, even those events that have nothing to do with the impending marriage. And the American public? Visions of an American royal wedding have swept them into a frenzy and vendors take advantage, making a quick buck off of everything from limited edition t-shirts to commemorative teacups.
Sarah and her fiancé, Sam, fight hard to ignore the craziness, but after learning a bounty has been put on their heads by an anti-government militia group, they have to decide whether a White House wedding is indeed worth it. And given all the hurtful controversy, perhaps a better solution is to not get married at all.
Excerpt from The White House Wedding…
“How does my father feel about this?” Sarah asked.
“Your father wants you to do what makes you happy.”
Jamisen Powell entered his Chief of Staff’s office and nodded coldly at Jeremiah. He added, “He would never ask you to do otherwise.”
Sarah smiled and rose to kiss her father on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad. I knew you wouldn’t ask me to be a political stool pigeon.”
Jamie Powell chuckled. “No. That job apparently falls to staff.” He smiled at Sarah. “Look, hopefully, you only get married once. Make a memory that will mean the most to you and Sam. Nothing else matters.” He shook his head, “Maybe Jeremiah will get lucky and your sister, Melissa, will hook some poor sucker before the next election. She and her mother would be overjoyed planning a White House wedding.”
Jeremiah scowled. “I am only thinking about your re-election, Mr. President. Your first term has been a bit rocky. You need a solidifying factor, something that will grab the hearts and minds of the American public and provide a clear path into the next term. Your story, a daughter lost and found after twenty-five years, especially a daughter who just happens to be a stellar human being and a successful international law attorney, won their hearts in the first election.
“Walking that same daughter down the aisle, something you had never dreamed was possible? The ratings alone will rival a royal wedding. No offense, but Melissa’s marriage—if it ever happens—could never have the same impact. People don’t view her in the same light as Sarah. Melissa is a flighty socialite. Her deep-seated sense of entitlement offends. The ratings for her wedding would be nonexistent. But Sarah? She’s the golden child. The American public loves her.”
The president’s sapphire blue eyes, which mirrored Sarah’s, flashed with annoyance. “Be that as it may, I am not about to force either of my daughters into something they don’t want. Sarah has declined your request, and as far as I am concerned, that’s the end of it. You will have to find another solidifying factor, Jer. Surely I have done something that’s re-election worthy!”
Seelie Kay is a nom de plume for an award-winning writer, editor, and author with more than 30 years of experience in law, journalism, marketing, and public relations. When Seelie writes about love and lust in the legal world, something kinky is bound to happen! In possession of a wicked pen and an overly inquisitive mind, Ms. Kay is the author of multiple works of fiction, including the Kinky Briefs series, the Feisty Lawyers series, The Garage Dweller, A Touchdown to Remember, The President’s Wife, and The President’s Daughter.
When not spinning her kinky tales, Ms. Kay ghostwrites nonfiction for lawyers and other professionals. She resides in a bucolic exurb outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she shares a home with her son and enjoys opera, gourmet cooking, organic gardening, and an occasional bottle of red wine.
Ms. Kay is an MS warrior and ruthlessly battles the disease on a daily basis. Her message to those diagnosed with MS: Never give up. You define MS, it does not define you!
Thank you, Delilah, for hosting me on your blog today. I’m very excited to be here.
One question I get asked a lot is how I come up with my story ideas.Some are based on experiences, things I see or read, and some are based on my family.
I was so excited when my first book was published. I had worked hard on it with my editor. It was a very proud moment when I saw it on Amazon. It was a time travel romance with a handsome druid knight and modern history professor. Everyone loved the book except one reviewer. I read and re-read the critique and finally realized only a small part of the review was about the story, the rest was a personal attack. Devastated, I spoke to a good friend. A day later I had an email from a very well-published author who talked to me about reviews.
How did I turn that into a story? I used some of that review in the opening to my book Happily Ever After. Well-published author Beth Alexander has fallen off all the list and blames it on a bad review that has gone viral and the new author JD Watson, who has replaced her. She has no idea JD is the man romance covers are made of. He may have been the cause of her fall from literary stardom but only until he became her salvation!
One of my stories is about my brother and his wife. They had been married for ten years when they discovered their marriage had never been registered. Their second wedding was wonderful, but it got me thinking about what I could do with that storyline. You can find Alan and Eloise’s story—yes, I used their real first names—in How to Marry a Stuart Brother.
My most recent story, Heart of the Matter, also comes from a family incident. My mother left me her small bible that was handed down in the family. It had a beautiful mother of pearl cover. I was looking through it and found a letter. It was addressed to my mother but wasn’t in my father’s distinctive handwriting.
This was a story begging to be written. This is truly a love story that just in time for Valentine’s Day.
Heart of the Matter
Digging into the past can be murder…
Addison Moore, a well-known psychiatrist, is having difficulty coming to terms with the death of her grandmother Cookie. The woman was everything to her after her parents died in the plane crash over Lockerbie, Scotland. Little did Addy know that an old picture, tucked away in the family bible of Cookie with a handsome stranger would lead her to a discovery for which she is little prepared.
Ethan Taylor is an art historian. He’s lived with his Great Uncle Ben for a long time and would do anything for him. He never anticipated that Ben’s dying wish would introduce him to Ben’s biggest sacrifice.
Neither Addy nor Ethan are prepared for the lengths at which their families went through to keep Cookie and Ben apart. As they try to put the pieces together, they uncover a decade’s old unsolved murder implicating Cookie and Ben. Will Addy and Ethan’s blossoming love be able to stand the strain of finding the truth? Will they be able to overcome their own matters of the heart?
Excerpt from Heart of the Matter
Havenport, Rhode Island
September, 2019
The dull thud of earth hitting the casket again and again tore at Addy’s heart. Generations of Foxes filled the small family cemetery. Some died well into their old age while others died much before they ever lived, the youngest only nineteen days. Addison Moore looked out over the low wall surrounding the family graves, past the cliff, to the ocean beyond. The beauty of the day and the sailboats gliding across the water was lost on her. Addy gaped at the shovel in her hand then the half-covered casket. A movement to her right made her turn. She faced a lone man standing across the grave, bowed in reverence. She didn’t want to interrupt but couldn’t pull her gaze away. He straightened, raised his head, and she stared into the most compelling gray eyes she’d ever seen. The mingled expression of eagerness and tenderness momentarily blurred her pain, but nothing could ease her grief. Her chest tightened. She struggled for breath against lungs unwilling to operate. Beads of sweat dampened her forehead. Her pounding heart echoed in her ears. Again, she tried to take a breath. Nothing.
“Stay calm. Open your mouth,” the man demanded.
But nothing went in or came out. Breathe, damn it! The silent scream echoed in her head. Her lungs burned for air.
Her eyes flew open. Her breath stuttered. One gasp followed another. Addy gaped at the book in her hand, not quite comprehending what she held. A quick glance at the room and the cobwebs cleared. She was alone. Her body sank deeper into the overstuffed chair. Her tension eased. She took a calming breath and let the life-giving air fill her lungs. Home. Her panic subsided and details of the library came into view. The safety of her family’s old Victorian house, Fox Hole Manor, held her close.
The memory faded until it became a lost dream. Only fragments of the disconnected emotional panic permeated her psyche. She rose and put the psychology book, The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg, in one of the many boxes scattered around the room. The bookcase with several empty shelves stared back at her like a boxer’s smile with several missing teeth. She made progress, slow, but progress nonetheless.
The hint of ginger floating on the dusty air made her turn toward the hall. A smile spread across her face. Her grandmother. Many people would expect a robust woman with gray hair, and perhaps an apron and the aroma of freshly baked apple pie coming from the kitchen. Not Addy’s grandmother, who stood tall, sleek, a well-dressed woman with short light auburn hair streaked with silver, and sporting only a touch of make-up.
“Make sure the shelves are dusted and the floor swept. I don’t want the historical society to think I didn’t keep a clean house. Besides, you never know when company may arrive.”
Everything had a place in Cookie’s house, including the twist ties lined up in the kitchen drawer. The woman kept every book, note, piece of paper, everything. Cookie considered herself organized, not compulsive. More often than not, their ongoing discussion, with examples, brought them both to tears.
Fox Hole Manor was one of the oldest homes on Manor Road, an area where the old guard lived in their grand mansions, an extension of the magnificent estates across the causeway in Newport. The children of each generation found a closeness and a tie that lasted a lifetime. They were civic-minded and politically active, with Havenport at the heart and soul of it all.
All those years ago, Edythe Emerson, of the annual Halloween Masquerade Ball fame, and Cookie rallied the other residents on Manor Road and established the Manor Road Christmas Cookie Exchange. One hundred percent of the proceeds went to the Havenport Historical Society.
Nothing was done small on Manor Road, not even the annual Christmas Cookie Exchange. Cookie and Edythe decided on the themes for their houses and each year added touches and refined the décor. The Emersons decided on an elegant Victorian Christmas. Her grandmother branded her event Cups and Cookies at Cookie’s, which brought peals of laughter from everyone. Her grandmother put her heart and soul into decorating the house and handled this event with the same attention. Each meticulously decorated room on the tour represented a different faith’s winter celebration.
Hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon and pungent ginger cookies greeted each visitor entering the Garden Room. The cups and cookies were always arranged on the table with precision. Yes. Everything had its place. No one would ever accuse her grandmother of a messy house.
The outside of the house, with its welcoming front porch and strategically placed flowerpots in place of railings, was just as important to Cookie as the inside and made Fox Hole Manor at Christmas a mecca for tourists. A must-see stop during the holidays. People came to watch the live deer that magically stayed on the lawn, the 1936 red Cadillac convertible filled with wrapped gifts parked outside the front door in the circular drive, and hear holiday music playing from strategically hidden speakers.
“I’ll make sure everything is neat and clean,” Addy said. “Is there anything else?”
“Concerning yesterday,” Cookie said.
She gave her grandmother a withering glance.
“There’s a finality in shoveling dirt onto the casket. The task takes a lot of love. I’m proud of you. All-in-all, the funeral was well-attended.”
Addy shuddered and searched for her cup of tea without success. “Please find another topic. This one creeps me out.”
Cookie raised a finely shaped eyebrow. “Should we discuss you finding a husband?”
Addy’s eyes welled up.
“So you made a bad choice. Live and learn. I think you should have waited. Neither of you knew each other very long.”
“We lived together for two years. I thought we knew each other very well.”
Another of Cookie’s stares meant to intimidate almost comforted her.
“You came to your senses before the wedding.”
Addie came to her senses a year ago. Her grandmother had it right, as usual. Don’t settle. Wait for the right man.
“It’s time for you to move on. Find your destiny.” Cookie leaned against the door frame. “What’s-his-name was an okay guy. I even liked him until you rushed here and cried in my arms. Afterwards, I pretty much hated him. Has he stopped calling you?”
“Yes,” Addy lied.
Cookie gave her a stink eye.
“Why the evil eye?” she asked, sounding like a high school teenager.
“You are aware Kenneth doesn’t believe the two of you are over. He doesn’t think sleeping with his secretary for the last year of your relationship has anything to do with you. The very obtuse boy thinks you have cold feet, not a cold heart, and doesn’t believe you’ll ever find a better man than him.” Her grandmother’s voice was quiet, but deadly. “I’m holding you to your promise. You’ll wait for the right man. Are you listening to me? Not just any man, not an okay man. The right man. Your destiny.”
Addy nodded. The words were etched in her brain, Cookie said them so often, even well before Kenneth Kendall made it into her diary.
“Was Grandpa Sky the right man?” She could play the deflect game, too.
Cookie smiled one of those wistful smiles loaded with silent meaning, said nothing and headed down the hall.
Addy followed, intent on getting an answer. She entered the kitchen. Empty. Her heart sank. Last Friday’s paper sat on the table next to her cold half-empty cup of tea.
“This is the story of Dr. Jessica Fox Jordan. Jessica was a wonderful woman who was loved, is missed, and will always be cherished. Called “Cookie,” by her only granddaughter, Addison Moore and a privileged few close friends, “Honey,” by her husband Skylar, and Jessie to everyone else, was an amazing wife, mother, grandmother, psychiatrist, and baker of the most amazing cookies. No one could bake a better ginger cookie than Jessica. Attendance at Fox Hole Manor for the Manor Road Christmas Cookie Exchange proves my point. Jessica Fox Jordan was the only child of Madison and Mildred Fox. Madison Fox was the colorful and flamboyant founder of the privately-owned Fox Brewery. Jessica is predeceased by her husband, Skylar; her daughter, Agatha Jordan Moore; and son-in-law, Phillip Moore. She is survived by her granddaughter, Addison Moore.”
The sense of loss hit her hard all over again.
“I miss you, Cookie.” A nervous laugh sounding more like a croak escaped her lips. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
Hall had been performing on Broadway since 1930. She even took a turn at directing in 1936. By the time R&H cast her in 1949’s South Pacific, she’d performed in no less than eight Broadway plays including Green Pastures and St. Louis Woman. R&H decided they needed someone with the voice and acting chops to bring the character of the Pacific Islander Bloody Mary to life. Juanita Hall filled the bill. She reprised the role in the 1958 film, although I have to listen to the original Broadway cast album to hear her sing “Bali H’ai”. In 1958, R&H used her in a second instance of casting despite race. She created the role of Madame Liang in Flower Drum Song. Hall recreated her role for the movie in 1961.
February is the month of love…and Valentine’s Day, and chocolate!
Seelie Kay is a nom de plume for an award-winning writer, editor, and author with more than 30 years of experience in law, journalism, marketing, and public relations. When Seelie writes about love and lust in the legal world, something kinky is bound to happen! In possession of a wicked pen and an overly inquisitive mind, Ms. Kay is the author of multiple works of fiction, including the Kinky Briefs series, the 
One question I get asked a lot is how I come up with my story ideas. Some are based on experiences, things I see or read, and some are based on my family.
