Monday, 19 December 2011


So, my lovely bloggers, I hardly need waste time on introducing my guest today as every romance author worth their pen and PC knows the delectable Jimmy Thomas, the millennium’s answer to Leonidas {only without the leather underpants} For those of you who have been hiding under a rock, his official bio can be found here

But ladies, do we really know him? I set out to discover the true Jimmy Thomas

So, Mr. Thomas, what to ask you? I am sure you are so bored with the same old so let’s make this fun. Twenty short, sharp questions to give my readers and your loyal supporters an insight into what makes Jimmy tick. Here we go….

1. Tea or Coffee - Coffee at home or office, passion fruit tea or raspberry tea when eating out

2. Beer or wine - Whichever she is drinking

3. Dogs or cats - Both :)

4. Blondes or Brunettes - Both :)

5. Rock or R and B - Both (rock for rocking out, R and B for rocking in ;)

6. Mariah or Whitney - To just listen to or have sex with? ;) Neither for listening; too slow... either for the

7. Beach or mountains - MOUNTAINS - waterfalls, hiking trails, camping, nature; that's my thing! :)

8. Team Edward or Team Jacob - Shame on you... Team Jimmy Thomas ;)

9. Boxer or briefs {or none} - boxer-briefs or none.

10. Gollom or Dobby - Gollom

11. Football or Basketball - NFL Football: New England Patriots!

12. Nadal or Federer - Do I look like I watch tennis? ;)

13. McDonald's or KFC - Either, but only a few times a year

14. Gaga or Katy Perry - Both

15. Angelina or Jennifer - Angelina

16. Armani or Ralph Lauren - Armani

17. De Niro or Pacino - Both, but if I had to pick one... Pacino

18. Baths or showers - Alone: showers, with a girl: both

19. Batman or Superman - Batman (Prefers super hero abilities to be of one's own skills, not powers given to them)

20. Marriage or Bachelorhood - Marriage

Thank you so much for your candor and good answers - diplomatic at times. Lol.

So there you have it. ladies. Feel free to comment and let's see if we can get Jimmy to drop buy and comment on your comment. I will ask him to chose the most humorous and the winner will receive a free copy of my Dreamweek.

Thanks for dropping by and stay tuned for next week's Men at Work.


Romance Novel Cover "Hero" video montage:

2011 Romance Novel Cover Model Calendar:

Romance Novel Cover Model (2,202 covers)

Jimmy's Favorite Quotes:

"Don't think you are, know you are" - Laurence Fishburne, The Matrix

"One who lacks courage to start has already finished" - Unknown Author

"Nothing is real unless you believe in who you are" - Sylvester Stallone, Rocky III

"It's not how many people you know, it's how many people know you." - Jimmy Thomas

"Knowing is not enough, we must apply. Willing is not enough, we must do." - Bruce Lee

"If you always do what you've always done, then you'll always be what you've always been." - T.J. Jakes

"Tell me and I will forget. Show me and I may remember. Involve me and I will learn." - Chinese proverb

“It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.” – Paolo Coelho, The Alchemist

"Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people." - Eleanor Roosevelt

"It's the magic of risking everything for a dream that nobody sees but you" - Morgan Freeman, Million Dollar Baby

"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience." -
Theologian Pierre Tielhard de Chardin

Thursday, 8 December 2011


Good evening, folks, from a fairly warm Corfu, Tis the season to be jolly or is it? So many people I have spoken to this year have told me the same thing. Christmas no longer holds any meaning for them. Leaving the religious issue aside, Christmas, for most, used to mean a time of joy, families getting together, good food and the sharing of gifts as symbolic representation of the birth of Christ. As a child, I used to adore Christmas. I reveled in the smells wafting from the kitchen. All homemade in those days, folks. My mother made her own cake, mince pies, puddings, own stuffing, fresh turkey. Of course, a few French delicacies where added. My mother made the most scrumptious liver pate and a salmon mousse for which she is renowned on four corners of the globe. Long after I believed in Santa, it was still a thrill waking up to exciting packages under the tree. As children growing up in the 60’s and 70’s, Christmas and birthdays was the time for receiving that gift you’d longed for all year. There was none of this, don’t worry, dear, mum will order it on Amazon – all-year-round spoiling that goes on today. The amount of money spent nowadays on unnecessary food and mountains of gifts is, quite frankly, in my opinion, obscene.
Oh I hear the battle cry go up – but you would do the same if you had the money. I beg to differ. I do not share this modern obsession with collecting ‘stuff’ just because I can. And where is the joy and thought that used to go into Christmas shopping? Again, back to my youth. Walking through the town with my sisters, to the background chorus of Christmas carols, choosing one totally useless but straight from the heart present for our mother – usually a gift box of Yardley soap and talc but she loved it. Now, I have even heard of folk calling each other up, Next catalogue open on their knees while they tell each other what to buy for themselves. Oh tidings of great joy – not!
Christmas should be about {again, I am not getting into a religious discussion} sharing quality time with friends and family, enjoying good food without excess and raising a glass {or two} to the promise of a better year. So folks, I dare you. Fill your kids’ stocking with a tangerine and a handful of walnuts, cancel the enormous Toys R Us and Amazon order, snuggle up with a mince pie and a glass of mulled wine and shove in a dvd of It’s a Wonderful Life.

Saturday, 3 December 2011


Hello, folks. I see it has been a while since I participated in this great blog share. All I can say in my defense is, for months I lost myself in my now completed saga romance but – hey 160k of passion, angst, betrayal will do that to you. Time to come down to earth and what better way than to present you with a Christmas six sentence teaser from Cold, Cold Heart – my contemporary romance. “Alexander Thompson! How many times have I told you not to open the door toFather Christmas?” The man standing on her porch was indeed dressed as Santa Claus, complete with wig, beard, rounded specs and a huge bulging sack slung over his shoulder. Rachel peered at him, wondering if they did You've Been Framed on Christmas Day. She drew in her breath. Behind the Benny Hill glasses, two beautiful blue eyes stared at her. “Daniel.” Want to find out why a mega star of the music industry dresses up as Santa Claus? Read on…..
Blurb: Who is Daniel Hayes? Why does a man who has everything - fame, fortune and the world at his feet feel so empty? What is his interest in Rachel Warner, a girl from a quiet Home Counties English town? Why does she hold the key to his happiness? Daniel Haynes is the man we have all dreamed of; the pop star we all wanted to marry when we were 16 but he only has eyes for Rachel. Rachel Warner - Why does Daniel's interest in her threaten her ordered yet unsatisfying life? Why does she have to live with the shadow of her ex-father-in-law breathing over her shoulder? Excerpt…. “I'm crushed.” The eyes crinkled. “Okay, you got me. And to think I paid a fortune for this crazy gear.” “Aw.” Alex's face dropped. “So you're not Santa?” Gaze drifting to the huge sack, the frown turned to a grin. The goody bag this stranger carried looked promising. “No, I'm not. Sorry.” Daniel crouched down. “But I bet you're Alexander. Your mother has told me all about you.” “You know my mum?” Alex pulled himself up to his full height of four feet and went into Man of the House mode. “In that case, I suppose it's safe for you to come in. He can come in, can't he, Mum?” He looked to Rachel for guidance. Rachel nodded, lost for words. Closing the door, she leaned against it, trying to catch her breath. Alex proudly led their visitor into the room, her parents looking on, their curiosity bouncing across the room. She could hardly blame them. Rachel put her hand on her heart, a heart pounding so wildly she thought she might faint. This isn't happening, she told herself. But underneath the shock, butterflies of joy beat their wings in her stomach. Excitement flowed through her veins. He came back! She glared down at the apron. Oh but what a time to turn up. She looked like a housewife from Take a Break magazine. Counting to ten, she went over to him. He'd removed the wig, beard and glasses. Her stomach plunged into deep space. He was so bloody sexy! Sensing her scrutiny, Daniel turned to her, his eyes reaching into her very soul. He smiled, bathing her in a shower of light. How did she think she was ever over him? “Rachel.” The way he said her name sent shock waves reverberating through the room. Rachel heard her mother's sharp intake of breath; she’d figured it out. “Daniel.” Rachel swallowed. “It'sit's nice to see you.” Lynn, now back downstairs, threw Rachel a look of disgust. “Pathetic,” she mouthed. Rachel ignored her. She and Daniel were locked in their private world. Daniel broke free first. “Uhdo you think I could get out of this suit?”He unbuttoned the heavy red coat. “It's real hot in here.” “I'll say,” Lynn muttered. She gave Rachel a sly pinch. “Don't just stand there like a zombie.” Rachel couldn’t move. “Aren't you going to introduce us, dear?” Mum to the rescue. She beamed up at Daniel, who, without costume, wore the familiar closefitting jeans and black polo necked sweater. Daniel held out his hand. Her father took it. He didn't seem quite as eager to welcome this stranger as her mother did. But then, fathers were naturally more suspicious. Before Daniel said another word, Tanya tugged on the back of his leg. Hands on hips, she scrutinized him with deadly intent. “I've seen you on MTV,” she proclaimed. “You're that Daniel Haines. My mum says you're hot. She says you've got the cutest—” “Thank you, Tanya.” Lynn fixed her with an if-you-know-what's-good-for-you-you'll- shut-yer-gob glare. “Daniel, how nice to see you again.” Grabbing hold of Daniel's hand, she tossed back her red mane for maximum effect. “Remember me? The show?” “How could I forget?” He took her hand and kissed the back of her fingers.”You were sensational.” Rachel watched in fascination. Daniel had rendered Motor-Mouth Lynn speechless. Lynn being Lynn, made a quick recovery. “Let's all sit down and have some wine, shall we? You are staying for lunch, aren't you, Dan? May I call you Dan?” Daniel winced. “To be honest, I kinda hate Dan. Daniel is good.” “Whatever.” Gripping Rachel's shoulder with all the finesse of a pterodactyl, Lynn pushed her towards the kitchen. “Rachel, your help please?” At the kitchen doorway, Rachel froze. Tanya was on a mission. “Do you know Rhianna??” Tanya blew a bubble the size of a football. Alex giggled. “Who? Oh, no, sorry, I haven't had that pleasure yet.” “Can you do rap? Do you know 50 Cent?” Tanya continued with the relentless interrogation. “Rap is for morons.” Alex pretended to be sick. “Be quiet, you two, and leave the poor man alone.” Her mother shooed them away. “Now, Daniel.” She fixed him with her what-do-you-want-with-my-daughter-and- when's-the-wedding wide smile. “Why don't you tell us all about yourself?” Rachel cringed. Bloody hell, he’d be safer with the kids. Before she could go and rescue him, Lynn yanked her into the kitchen. “You just had to go down and answer the fecking door, didn't you?” Lynn confronted her, the proverbial smoke coming out of her ears. She pulled the wine from the fridge. “You've ruined everything.” “You cow.” Lunging for the cork-screw, Rachel waved it close to Lynn's face. “You knew he was coming. But how—” “Brian.” Lynn extracted the corkscrew from her fingers. “It doesn't matter now. Pull yourself together. I'll see to this while you get up those stairs pronto. A major salvage job is required, I think.” She stopped in the doorway and sighed. “It's so not fair. He is so fecking shaggable.” Rachel hastily removed the awful apron. Hands still trembling, she opened the oven door to check on the slowly browning bird. The mundane action helped calm her nerves. Casting a quick glance around the now pristine kitchen, she thanked God for her mother's efficiency. “Right, Rach.” She closed her eyes. “Up those stairs before Lynn kills youoh!” “I came for more glasses. Apparently the kids are real partial to Chablis.” Daniel stood so close his warm breath fanned her face. With the slow, boyish grin that turned her insides to jelly, he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her even closer. “Are you mad at me?” His gaze probed hers, thumb stroking her cheek, sending sparks shooting all the way down to her toes. She almost imagined them curling up. “Mad?” She barely got the words out. She found it hard enough just concentrating on standing. “Why should I be?” “Becauseyou said you didn't want to see me again.” “I ..l lied.” She felt him aroused, pressing against her. She recalled the feel of him in her hand – inside her. “I've missed you.” His mouth hovered close to hers. “Daniel...” Arms around him, she buried her face in his neck, breathing in the heady scent of him and wanting so much more. “None of that in the kitchen, please. It's mucky.” Tanya stood in the doorway, balancing on one leg, so obviously delighted to catch her prim old Auntie Rachel doing something rude. Rachel drew back from Daniel and made a hasty escape. Heading for the stairs, she heard Tanya say, “You're wasting your time with her, you know. My mum's much more fun. For more information about me, my work and where to purchase my books, please check out my brand new website

Thursday, 21 July 2011


 Yes, folks, despite the too hot and humid temperatures, despite the 7 day a week working shift, I am joining in with this week's blog hop. And what a great question it is.
Of course, you writers amongst out there know there is a part of us in all characters we create {yes, even the nasty ones.} I ran through all of my female creations in my head and decided, I wouldn't want to be any of them - even though they end up with a great guy. Too much angst and hardship on the journey. I don't do pain. So, I turned to books I have read and still had problems.
   I quite fancied being the Bride in Kill Bill because she is so kick-arse but too much slicing and cutting involved. Scarlett O Hara - one of my favourite heroines but, hell no; I couldn't handle the corset. So then I came up with the perfect character. one that could have complete freedom to be what they wanted, when they wanted and, most important, if anyone pissed them off big time, they can simply leave. Yes - I want to be a ghost.

But one of those ghosts that can take on human form from time to time and then I could possess Rachel Weiss and have a raunchy time with Daniel Craig. Oh - and I would definitely take over Anna Kournikova for a few nights. Enrique wouldn't know what hit him. Oh the possibilities are endless: Gerard Butler, Russell Crowe. Oh wait  -this question was about fictional characters. Hey - I am writer. I can change the rules. Oh - here's a good one.

I would possess the bodies of all the world leaders {sort of a collective haunting} and get them to stop wars, save the environment and ban Justin Beiber and make Lady Gaga overall Presidentess of the world. At least we would have some fun.

Oh - I nearly forgot. As a ghost I could realize my dream and get to play guitar with AC/DC. I am sure Angus wouldn't mind me filling his shorts for a day.

BUT - most of all, as a ghost, I would team up with dear Michael Jackson and we would haunt every single person who made his time on earth a living hell and all while we were dressed in Thriller costumes. We'll get them yet, Michael.


Thursday, 23 June 2011


Great question and one that could apply to my hotel guests. They come in all shapes and sizes:most good, some bad {you know the kind - complain because they don't have a jacuzzi even though they only paid 17 euros for half-board}. And then we have the downright ugly. I suppose I can't elaborate on that or I will have the EU politically correct police on my back. Sigh - the world is no fun anymore.
Oh well, back to my characters. In most of my novels, I begin with my main female character being slightly spoiled, a little cold and cynical and then I watch as she thaws out under the direction of a cool, often equally tough guy. Occasionally, my hero will be so kind and gentle he is verges on gay but then, he will prove he is strong and ready to fight for his love. I like to keep a balance. I believe people are multi-layered and even if, for example, my secondary characters{i.e bullying ex-husbands, intransigent fathers} appear as evil as Hitler, I like to provide a little insight as to why they behave the way they do. The secret to believable characters is to keep it real.
And now a sneaky promo example. My soon to be released single title, Cold, Cold Heart stars one luscious, cool, kind-hearted, generous, so gentle Daniel Haines. He would die for his love, give up everything for her but then...she hurts him so much, something inside him snaps. Read on......

* * * *

“My my, don’t we look a pretty picture?”
Samantha stood in the loft apartment doorway of, arms folded, and her usually soft eyes laden with censure.
She breezed past him. “My god, Daniel, this place is a hovel.” She wrinkled her nose. “What is going on with you? What are you doing to yourself? You're fast becoming notorious, you know, according to what I've read in the papers.”
“I’m having fun,” he replied glibly. He crossed to the bottle-strewn coffee table and poured himself a whisky. “Want one?
Samantha knocked the glass from his hand, sending the Waterford crystal crashing onto the hardwood floor.
“For God's sake, it's only ten in the morning!”
“Is it?” He glanced at his watch, confused because he had been out of it for the best part of the weekend. Those Aerosmith boys sure did know how to throw a party.
“Look at you. You are a mess!” Sam studied him, expression one of exasperation. “Oh but I'd like nothing more than to grab you by the scruff of your neck and slap some sense into you. “
“I'm fine, Sam.” He stared at the whisky bottle longingly. “… just a little hung over, that's all.”
“Hung over? You look as if you've been hung, drawn and quartered.” She pushed him in the direction of the master bathroom. “Go and get yourself cleaned up and I'll fix us some breakfast. And then you and I are going to talk. But first, by the looks of you, you need some clean clothes. It is safe in there, isn't it?” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the bedroom. “Or do I have to step over a pile of nymphets?”
Daniel couldn't help but smile. So Samantha did read the tabloids. “Sorry, clean out of nymphets these days.”
Twenty minutes on, showered and shaved and dressed in faded jeans and a ‘Beethoven Rocks’ T-shirt, Daniel felt halfway human again. “Mmmm...” He sniffed the air appreciatively “That coffee smells good. I haven't drunk a decent cup in weeks.”
“No, I don't suppose you have.” Sam fixed him with her most intimidating schoolmarm stare. “All I could find in the kitchen was some milk masquerading as yogurt. Not to mention the pile of empty whisky bottles I tripped over. I had the doorman order up some bagels. I hate New York, but at least I can indulge in one of its famous delicacies.” Holding a rancid dishcloth at arm’s length, Sam wrinkled her nose. “Why don't you hire a maid? Because it doesn't look as if you gave your string of thoroughbred fillies much time to be domestic.”
“Now now, Sam.” He licked the cream cheese from a bagel. “It's not like you to be facetious and for your information—although I must say it’s none of your business—there have only been six 'fillies' in as many months. The press does tend to exaggerate. They see me talking to a woman and right away I'm f…sorry…sleeping with her.”
Sam sat next to him, looking totally out of place perched on the retro eighties-style chrome barstool. Her classic-cut Chanel suit was not quite up to the job.
“Being crude doesn't suit you. Stop trying to be something you're not. In this day and age six partners is irresponsible.”
“No worries there.” Daniel gave her a sardonic smile. “I bought shares in a rubber company.
Samantha's face reddened.
Daniel noted her discomfort with this foray into the dark and devious world of promiscuity. “That was uncalled for. I’m being a jerk, I know. I shouldn't joke. But I must confess, dear stepmother, my sexual reputation is nothing more than one big media hype. I haven't slept with anyone in months.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to judge you.”
“Not as sorry as my 'stable of bimbos.'“ Lifting the mug to his lips, he grinned. “Of course, now the word on the street is that I must be gay. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—or women in my case. So be it. Who cares? Maybe I am. Now wouldn't that be one in the eye for dear old Dad—a homosexual son. It's almost worth considering just to see his face. Or maybe I could do transsexual?”
“Stop it.” Samantha gave him a playful swat. “Now you're being ridiculous. Of course you’re not gay. This is about Rachel, isn't it?”
Daniel slammed the mug down on to the green granite counter. “Rachel! I wondered how long it would take you to bring her up. Why does it always come back to her? If it's not Mai, it's Ralph, and now you? You're all on my case. Get over her. I have.”
“You can't fool me, dear.” She caught hold of him by the sleeve as he made to get up and walk away. “Your excessive behaviorI think it’s your way of punishing
“How perceptive of you, and so early in the morning, too.” Daniel put up his hands. “Okay, you've got me. I stand guilty as charged. I admit it. I'd hoped that Rachel did see those pictures—God knows I put enough energy into posing for them—because I wanted her to hurt as she hurt me. I wanted her to die inside every time she saw me in the arms of another woman. I hope it killed her when she imagined me making love to them. I wanted“ He struggled to compose himself. “But now, Sam? I don't know what I want. I feel so numb inside. For so long she's all I thought about, all I craved. I put her on a pedestal. I worshiped her. But in the endwellI realized she wasn't so perfect. Then that's good, isn't it? Because it means I'm free of her.” He ran trembling fingers through his hair.
Sam's dubious frown made him laugh. “And I'm so full of crap, aren't I? I'll never be free of her. Oh, Sam, you know me so well.” He sighed. “But you are right about one thing. I can't go on like this. I was a fool for thinking I could drown my sorrows in the bottle. Unfortunately, the effects are only temporary. Every morning when I wake up she is still here.” Daniel took her hand and placed it on his heart. “She just won't go away, Sam, and I don't know what to do anymore.”
Huddling over the counter, he buried his face in folded arms. If it had been anyone else but Sam he wouldn't have allowed himself to break down. He knew she possessed the sensitivity not to try and comfort him.
“Call her, Daniel.”
He looked up and wiped away the tears.. “No, Sam. I'm all through with self-punishment. I'm not going to humiliate myself again. She had me twisting and turning this way and that. I went down on bended knees for her, and I won't do it again.” He stared into the coffee mug. “No. The next move, if there ever is one, must come from her. If she wants me then she knows how to find me.”
“This isn't like you. You were never so hard.”
“Well, maybe I've finally grown up.

Aw, bless...oh I do love my Daniel...and Rachel needs a kick up the backside.
Take care.


Saturday, 11 June 2011


Hello and welcome back to Six Sentence Sunday.

As I prepare for the imminent release of Cold, Cold Heart, I thought I would post a six from this tale that, I suppose, reflects my mood of the day....a lot of the time, men are just a bunch of.... best leave that blank. I usually steer away from posting sentences with sexual reference but I think this little speech by my heroine, Rachel, will strike a chord with anyone who has ever wanted to exact revenge on someone who has mistreated them in the past.

Rachel is confronting her ex-husband, Richard, a spiteful man who has spent the past five years trying to make her life a living hell. Fueled by too many cocktails, she finally finds the courage to give him a taste of his own medicine…..

“You once asked me a question, well, now here's your answer. Yes, he was a bloody fantastic fuck and he made me come every time. In fact, all he had to do was say my name and I came. You never made me come once in four years of marriage. Oh and just one more thing…” Rachel smiled at him ruefully. “I'm sorry to have to tell you, Richard, but you really do have an incredibly small cock!” She raised her empty glass to him. “Have a nice life!”

A round of applaud for Rachel, folks.

Want to read more? Before you do, check out all the other great Sunday Sixes.

Daniel Haynes has the world at his feet- fame, fortune, so why does he feel so empty inside? What is his interest in Rachel Warner, a girl from a quiet Home Counties English town? Why does she hold the key to his happiness?
But Rachel Warner is scared. Daniel's interest in her threatens her ordered yet unsatisfying life because she has to live with the shadow of her ex-father-in-law breathing over her shoulder. Can she let go of her fears?


Rachel awoke to a herd of wildebeests stampeding in her head. She opened one eye, half-expecting to see Simba come charging through her bedroom, but only the cold, December rain beat down against the windowpane. Funny, she thought, I don't have Georgian windows.
Both eyes now open, she lay still, wondering where her body had gone. I've got no legs. I've died and they've donated my body to medical science, the bastards.
“Alex!” she gasped. “I'm late!” She sat up – and wished she hadn't bothered. The room spun faster than Torvill and Dean. If hell existed, she was definitely in it. She clung to the quilt and hung on for dear life as the bed rose and hovered above the ground a la The Exorcist or was it Bedknobs and Broomsticks? She couldn't remember. She just wanted to die and die quickly.
The door crashed against the wall, and die she did. Lynn bounced in with a tray of coffee and a packet of painkillers in her hands.
“Wakey, wakey!”
She slammed the tray down on the bedside table and the entire London Symphony Orchestra percussion section went off in Rachel's sponge-filled brain. She pulled the duvet over her head.
“And how are we feeling this morning?”
Lynn's flat, Belfast tones grated at the best of times but the way Rachel felt, if she'd had a gun she would have cheerfully shot her. “Why are you shouting? And what are you doing in my bedroom?”
Lynn burst into a rousing chorus of U2's “Beautiful Day.” “I'd just like to point out, my dearest friend,” she pulled the duvet down and off Rachel's face, “that a: I am not shouting, and b: It’s not your bedroom. It is my spare room.”
“And how, may I ask, did I get here?” Rachel tentatively pulled herself up into a sitting position. She winced; those wildebeests were still on the rampage.
Lynn swept open the bedroom curtains. “Ask you certainly may. Being such a kind, considerate, caring friend, I brought you. It's the least I could do, seeing as you provided me with a most memorable and highly entertaining evening. I haven't had so much fun sincewellactually, I can't remember.” Lynn grinned at her. “And naturally I could hardly take you home to 'mummy' in that state, could I now?”
“And what state might that have been?” Rachel reached out for the mug of coffee. Unfortunately, her shaking hand was having none of it.
“Give it here.” Lynn sat down on the edge of the bed and held the mug up to Rachel's lips. “Honestly, Rach, you Brits are pathetic when it comes to drink.”
“Drink?” Hot liquid hit her raw stomach. “But I don't drink.”
“Well, you do now, and quite impressively, too. It was some performance.”
“Performance?” Rachel squeaked, a cold dread creeping over her.
“Oh, yes.”
“Was I very drunk?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I thinkI think I remember Richard.” Rachel racked her brain. “Did Idid we get into a fight?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Will you stop saying that?” Rachel banged her fist down on the bed. “Oh, now look what you made me do.” A red, hot knife buried itself in the back of her skull. “Quick! The drugs. I need drugs.” She downed two pills wishing it was morphine, and collapsed against the pillows. “Okay, what did I do?”
Lynn rubbed her hands together in glee and gaily regaled her with an animated account of the evening's events.
Rachel covered her eyes. She'd never be able to show her face in Wyeston again. “I said that? I don't believe you.”
“Oh, believe it.” Lynn's face split from ear to ear with a grin the size of Zippy's. “I've waited a long time for the prim Miss Warner to tell Richard to fuck off. And that's not all. You said cock, too—and come. Three times. It was inspiring.”
Wailing, Rachel burrowed under the duvet. Life as she knew it was well and truly over.
“Give over.” Lynn tugged at the cover. “You're quite the heroine, you know. Everyone was dead impressed, except Jimmy of course. Apparently that pot cost a fortune.”
“I broke a pot?” Rachel poked her nose from around the top of the cover.
“Naw, you just threw up in it.”
Rachel eyed her giggling friend through slanted eyes.
“You made that up. You're enjoying this, aren't you?”
“I'll say. But it was when I got you home that things became fascinating.”
“There's more?”
“Not much.” Lynn paused to admire her fingernails. “Only that you finally confessed that you are most definitely not over a certain luscious-lipped, blue-eyed boy.”
“I am.” Rachel protested.
“Of course you are. That must be why you keep a picture of him under your pillow.”
“I so do not.” Rachel threw back the duvet and slid her legs over the side of the bed. The conversation was too dangerous for her liking. She made a shaky attempt to get to her feet, but her knees buckled.
“Get back into bed.” Lynn scoffed. “It's too sad to watch. I'll go and run you a nice, hot bath. Then I'll whip up a big Irish breakfast. Best cure for a hangover. I should know; I've had a few.”
Rachel groaned. The thought of one of Lynn's greasy fry-ups made her heave. “Where are the kids?” She closed her eyes against the fresh wave of nausea. How did people put themselves through this torture weekend after weekend?
“Your dad has taken them to Kidzone. They're fine.”
“So, it's not a school day then?” Relief flooded through her battered and bruised mind. She didn't have to go to work after all. She could stay in bed forever and hide from the world.
But Lynn would have none of it. Ten minutes later, Rachel found herself dragged from her cocoon and unceremoniously pushed into the rather decadent Romanesque bathroom.
“In!” Lynn ordered.
Rachel stared down dubiously into the swirling waters of the Jacuzzi. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
“You should have been a prison warden!” Rachel yelled after her retreating back, and then clutched the sink. The floor moved beneath her. It wasn't The Exorcist after all. It was End of Days.

Thank you for stopping by!/pages/Viviane-Brentanos-Author-of-Womens-contemporary-Romantic-fiction/78109311746

Thursday, 9 June 2011


Cliffhanger? My life is a cliffhanger. I go to bed every night , wondering, first – will I wake? {Always a good start.} second – did I remember to buy coffee

three – did Sir Maximus eat his way through my PC wire and and last, but most important, what will Lady Gaga wear today?
{Quite like this idea. Wonder if it is wireless?}

Sorry – this question is supposed to be about cliffhangers in writing. I don’t know if it is anything I have considered. I think, especially when reading a psychological thriller, cliffhangers are given. In romance, I think they are more subtle. I do agree that the end of each chapter must draw the reader into the next, perhaps ending a chapter with our two lovers almost coming together but not quite.
Cliffhangers in movies are my favourite and it would seem it has become the norm to leave us with one at the end of a movie, laying the path open for a sequel. Three sagas I can think of, off hand. Lord of the Rings, of course, Revenge of the Jedi {just who is the ‘other’ that is mentioned.} And the first part of Deathly Hallows. Heavy stuff.
The we come to my favourite t.v shows – two of which have recently ended on an nail-biting cliffhanger. Big Bang Theory – did Penny really sleep with Raj?

Greys Anatomy – will Derek and Meredith get back together? Will Owen calm down and forgive Christina? Great stuff and making damn sure I tune in next season.
Okay, time for shameless promo, here. In the second but last chapter of my soon to be released Cold, Cold Heart, I leave my reader with an almighty cliffhanger – will or won’t they?

A blurb, I hear you all beg, an excerpt…your wish is my command

A world-famous rock star, a struggling single mum afraid to love. Will this explosive mix bring happiness or disaster?
Daniel Haynes has the world at his feet- fame, fortune, so why does he feel so empty inside? What is his interest in Rachel Warner, a girl from a quiet Home Counties English town? Why does she hold the key to his happiness?
But Rachel Warner is scared. Daniel's interest in her threatens her ordered yet unsatisfying life because she has to live with the shadow of her ex-father-in-law breathing over her shoulder. Can she let go of her fears?


There he stood again…like Jaws. Just when she thought it safe to go back in the waterda da da da daand so on. “It's late,” she blurted out, because at that moment she couldn't think of anything else to say—at least nothing coherent.
“May I come in?” he asked quietly.
“No!” she shot back before thinking it through. The sight of Daniel Haines standing on her excuse-for-a-porch had her shell-shocked.
“Okay.” He gave that wry little smile. “Now let's see how this could play out.” He rubbed at his chin. “Mmmmyou don't let me in, I stand here and bang on your door until you do, by which time the neighbors come out, see me and wonder what I'm doing here. They then probably call the Sun or worse, the Star, and—”
Grabbing him by his sleeve, she dragged him into her home, slamming the door behind him. “You certainly know how to play dirty, don't you?” She snapped “Sorry but I'm desperate.” He looked around her humble abode. “Hey, nice place.”
“Now you're being facetious.” She folded her arms across her chest, all too aware she wore nothing more than a skimpy pair of pajama shorts and a revealing camisole top that had “come and get me” stamped across the front.
“Don't be so damn touchy, honey.” He turned to her, gaze flickering over her body.
Unease stabbed in her chest. “Touchy?” She stepped back, indignation threatening to choke her. “You've got a bloody nerveshowing up here in the middle and I'm not your honey.” The absurdity of the situation sank in. She wondered if she'd fallen asleep after all and was in the middle of a bad dream. Only it wasn't so bad because he did look rather hot in habitual black. He took a step closer to her and she smelled the fresh, clean scent of damp hair. He'd obviously come straight from the shower. Now she understood how Alice in Wonderland must have felt and for one scary moment she thought she might faint. He must have sensed it too and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Are you okay? You look pale.”
“Lowblood pressure,” she garbled.”Just what are you doing here and how did you find me?”
“Your receptionist, Lucy isn't it? She was very helpful, although I have to admit I didn't play fair. She gave me your address and I got my driver to bring me here.”
Rachel went into panic mode. “Please don't tell me you have a limo parked outside my driveway.”
“You don't give me a lot of credit, do you? I'm not that stupid. I sent him away.”
“A bit presumptuous of you, don't you think? Your audacity never ceases to amaze me. How did you know I'd let you in? Especially after you wasted my entire evening.”
“I didn't.” Daniel gave her that lazy smile. He held up his cell. “I can call him back anytime. It's not fair keeping him out so late, I admit, but as I said, I was desperate.” The smile disappeared, as, with trembling hand, he reached out to her again.
Rachel's mouth went dry but she held her ground. “And just why were you so desperate?” For one tension-filled moment he said nothing. He just stared into her eyes, pulling her in, drawing her to him until she thought she suffocated. She had to look away.
“I had to see you again. I couldn't leave town knowing you thought so badly of me, knowing I'd upset you.”
“You didn't upset me.” Rachel pushed him away. She turned her back to him. Once again he'd read her so easily. “Why should you have upset me? I meanyou're nothing to me I—”
“I saw you, Rachel.” He slipped an arm around her waist and, gently, turned her around to look at him. “I saw your face.” His voice was a soft caress. “And I know what you were thinking, but that's not what was happening.”
“It doesn't matter—”
Daniel put a finger to her lips. “It matters to me.”
Rachel listened, feeling a complete fool as he explained about the competition winners.
“I did ask Mai to cancel, but in the end I couldn't. The girls would have been so disappointed. I'm so sorry, but you do understand, don't you? Mai was supposed to let you know, butI guess she forgot.”
Her head was ready to explode. A mixer-tap of sensation ran through her body. Her madly beating heart felt too big for her chest. She shivered. The light in his eyes thrilled her and yet she was frightened. He held her in both arms now, fingertips searing through her flimsy attire. “Please“ She faltered. “Please don't touch me.” She removed his hands from her waist. “I don't understand. Why does my opinion of you matter so much?”
“Because.” He caressed her cheek.

Thank you for listening


Monday, 6 June 2011

Monday Muser's Mad Question Time- KAY DEE ROYAL

Well, it is official. Greek summer time is definitely here. Hot, hot, hot. In a few days I should begin my seasonal job at the hotel. Kids and tourists beware. Anyway, enough of me and on to my Mad Muser guest of the week. Without further ado, I would like to introduce Ms. Kay Dee Royal. With time travel seemingly the flavor of the - well - when has it not been, I asked Kay this

If you had to pick one period of history to which you could return, when would it be and why?

Her answer is amazing. Read on and please feel free to comment. Kay will have a nice prize for the best comment

Hello Viviane and Everyone.

Thank you for inviting me in to answer one of your Monday Author questions. This one gave me the license to tell something I’ve held tight inside me for years.

“If I had to pick one period of history to which I could return, when would it be and why?”

I didn’t think about this one too long because for my whole life, as long as I can remember anyway, I’ve had a reoccurring dream…
The colors and textures spring into form so vivid, fluffy white clouds, blue sky, purple hazy mountains, deep green forest, and a dramatic mix of color in the wildflowers along the stream.
A light breeze cools the film of moisture on my face and under my arms, results of my hoeing a fair-sized garden.
I’m wearing an ankle length cotton dress with some type of billowing sleeve that gathers loosely at my wrist, and it appears to have a full-sized apron covering my front and tying in the back. It’s a crisp morning, only my bare neck appreciates it because I rolled my hair into a thick bun at the base of my skull.
My husband fishes with a long branch and something tied to it acting as line. I see him from where I’m working. He’s after breakfast in the narrow stream not far from our meek home. Our dog barks at my husband’s heels every time he casts out his line.
Mountains touch the sky all around me in the distance, like our homestead is tucked inside a valley. Trees also lay a parameter around our meager area.
I suppose in this day and age what I’m describing could be recognized as a Hobby Farm – not many animals, only a few chickens, goats, a couple cows and horses, enough for a single family.
Our home might be considered large by some because it claims a full front porch with a roof. Smoke coils up from a stone chimney. I notice windows with cloth curtains, but I’m unsure if glass fills the openings. I’ve never actually gone inside.
Wooden fence enclosures keep the animals from running off, but it doesn’t keep small animals from gaining access underneath, like our dog…or wolves and coyotes I suppose.
When I awaken from this dream, my feeling has always been that I’ve actually lived this life, and it was a good life. It has made me crave living in a location like this. I think that’s why I love natural rustic areas so much.
It’s only a dream though, right? I don’t know. This dream has always made me thoughtful because it’s so real to me, so surreal, like I was physically there in that lifetime, in that period of history. Have you ever wondered about reincarnation?


Wow, thank you, Kay. Next time you step back in time, please take me with you. Wat to know more about Kay? Read on

Kay Dee Royal writes paranormal and fantasy romance—maybe because it's also her favorite genre to read! She pens tales with wild, rugged heroes and strong, intelligent heroines. She'll give them both a few shadowy secrets, making her stories intriguing and fun. She resides in Southern Michigan with her family (her dogs, her cats, her caged husband... you get the idea)

Here is a blurb and excerpt from her Muse release, Big Girls Don't Cry


After the tragic loss of her twin sister, Brea works hard to prove herself worthy of her adoptive parent’s extra attention. She focuses on the success of the rustic resort her parents deeded to her.
Priorities change when sexy twin wolves in human form walk into Brea’s life.
A dangerous rogue abducts her, but whom, if anyone comes to her rescue?


Brea watched Grey’s truck drive down the dirt path until she couldn’t see it through the trees. She shivered, instantly missing the warmth of Grey’s body next to hers. She looked one more time down the path in case Grey changed his mind about leaving her.
Did I misread Grey’s intentions? Gads, I threw myself at him. Maybe he isn’t into oversized women after all. I’m such an idiot!
Brea stepped through the door of her little stone cottage. She’d never questioned her size before, always fit her just fine. Not questioning it now either. Right now she needed cozy. As crappy as she felt over Grey’s quick departure, her head throbbed like the residual effects of a hangover, but it didn’t hinder her from throwing a few logs into the fireplace. Once a nice flame got going, she absorbed the comfort of its warmth. She lay back on her divan in front of the beautiful stone hearth.
Brea pulled her favorite blanket with images of howling wolves over her and laid her head on a matching throw pillow. Her whole room reflected her love of wolves, through pictures, statues, lamp shades, and her shelves full of books about them. She needed their comfort right now to take away Grey’s rejection of her.
Brea closed her eyes for a moment, fighting an overpowering sadness. Exhaustion finally pulled her into sleep.
* * * *
A haunting wolf howl crept into Brea’s dream. It wouldn’t stop; it was so loud…until Brea snapped awake. She sat up in darkness, not even embers glowed inside the hearth, moonlight streamed in through her sliding glass door with enough light to help her maneuver through the room. She went to the glass door to draw the curtains closed, but instead she was drawn to what lay beyond her porch.
Brea opened the door, stepped out, and walked over to the railing of her ground-level deck. She saw the light of the moon cut a path across the calm lake water to the sandy shoreline fifty feet away. Chilled damp air settled over her bare arms.
She glanced to the south tree line leading into miles of forest. Something shifted the shadows of the trees, maybe an animal hiding. She didn’t hear the rustle of dry leaves that usually accompanies animal movement in the forest.
A wolf howled a short distance from Brea. Its sound reverberated against the stone cottage wall behind her, sending a shiver from her skin into her bones. She knew wolves had been sighted a few miles away, but never at the resort. For as long as she’d lived in Northern Michigan, she’d never actually seen one. Now, she was about to have a very personal experience with one.
Brea had studied them enough to know not to move or she’d spook it. She heard it breathing and slowly turned to look. Wet, warm moisture carried on the slight breeze, settling on, around, and inside her.
The moon and all its light vanished behind an ominous cloud. Two glowing green orbs appeared to float in front of her. Somewhere in her consciousness she recognized the green eyes and the assailing breath.
A direct order, something she must do, jogged her memory, compelling her. She couldn’t look away. Her body became weightless, fluid and she wanted to follow. She moved forward, off the deck, following…following something that called her. She heard it and knew she must hurry.
Suddenly hands gripped her from behind, stopping her progress.
Another warm moist breath infiltrated her senses with the scent of pine, musk, and cloves. Her need to follow disintegrated like the ash of a spent campfire. Brea came awake in the middle of the forest. Strong arms wrapped around her waist.
“It’s alright, Brea. I think you were walking in your sleep.” Grey’s voice whispered through the layers of fog that began to break apart in her mind. “Brea, take a deep breath.”
Brea turned to face Grey.
“What…I’m…it’s night.” She couldn’t seem to grasp a total thought, other than being in the middle of the forest and in Grey’s arms. What was she doing here? What was he doing here?
Grey picked her up and carried her. She heard a wolf howl, so did Grey. He stopped and raised his face. Brea watched him sniff the air. She shrugged it off, her mind in no condition to make a judgment call of what he was doing, especially for something as strange as Grey sniffing the air.
The muscles in his arms tightened, squeezing her closer to him. He ran. How he could navigate through the trees in the darkness and carry her weight, Brea couldn’t fathom, but then her brain didn’t seem to be functioning with all lobes either. She closed her eyes and tucked her head into his shoulder, like a child in his arms, safe and loved.
Loved? Where did that come from?
Grey stepped onto Brea’s deck, walking through the open sliding glass door into her cottage.
“Gads, I left my door open?”
“Like I told you, I think you were walking in your sleep. Have you ever done that before?” Grey set Brea down on the divan and went back to the door to slide it closed. He switched on a small lamp in the corner and proceeded to re-build the fire in the hearth.
“I’ve never walked in my sleep that I’m aware of. I mean I’ve never woke up in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night. I guess I’m lucky you were there. Why were you there?”
Brea watched Grey’s sleek animal-like movements, stealthy, sure-footed, with muscles rippling. Again she saw him lift his head and sniff the air. His eyes glowed silver, reminding her of other glowing eyes and a shudder quaked down her body.


Big Girls Don’t Cry Wolf Amazon: http://tinyurl.comeqn6zoe

BGDCW Muse Store:

Monday, 30 May 2011

Monday Muser's Mad Question Time -Liam Stalls

Good morning happy campers. Oooh - a man in the hot seat today. Welcome. We need more of you. So, here is your question, Liam.

If you could arrange an audience with God, what would you dare suggest he had got seriously wrong in his grand design. What advice would you offer him to remedy it?

Good morning, Viviane, and thank you for hosting me today...then again...what a question. God has an overall plan, so in those who believe in God he got it down pact. If you...and you did...ask me I would say to take care of our children. My heart breaks (and yes, men do have hearts) to hear and see children inflicted with adult diseases, or any other disease that sees their lives cut short. This I wish He would have planned around our children and kept them save.

Good and thought-provoking answer, Liam. We see so much suffering around us, it is sometimes hard to believe God intends this. I don't think he does. I think he made man flawed. Hey, we were an experiment and sometimes experiments go wrong. Maybe my view is a tad controversial but this is what this blog question is all about. What do you think God's plan is? Do you all share Liam's wish? Please leave a comment and I am sure Liam will find a way to reward you. Meanwhile, here is a blurb and excerpt from can I say... naughty but deliciously fun little tale Enchanted Bathroom....oh if only my bathroom was so much fun.


Sandy Warner finds more than she bargained for in the Three Lillies bathroom. Overcome by the moans and groans from the couple in the next stall, she begins to fantasize a hunk obeying her every wish.
Richard Leere didn’t expect to find the woman of his dreams flustered in his restaurant. After a surprise grab to his groin, he smiles.
Sandy, unsure if the man before her is real or her imaginary hunk, steps back. After an embarressing moment, she now must decide if she should make a move while the smile is plastered on his face, or apologize and walk out with her dignity.


Having finished the pukes and cussing I took out my handy mouthwash and rinsed several times at the mirror and sink area. The door opened and I heard footsteps approaching. When I looked up I had to take a double take...

“Miss, are you all right? I heard...well...someone being sick and just wanted to make sure no one needed my help.”

I stared at him from the mirror. My hunk! My imaginary hunk stood behind me. In a daze I turned around and grabbed his crotch.

“Hey!” He stepped back.

I must have turned all shades of red because I felt the embarrassed heat flaring my cheeks and neck.

“I’” I just grabbed this guy’s crotch. What am I? Nuts? “I just wanted to make sure you were real and not a part of my fantasy. Oh my God, you must think I’m nuts.”
Totally surprised, he didn’t run out like a mad man. He actually approached me and...

Purchase link:

Monday, 23 May 2011

Monday Muser's Mad Question Time - Elizabeth Coldwell

Good morning all,
And another week is upon us. I think we are all still here. For those of you that are not and may have been raptured - well, you don't know what you are missing. My guest today is the lovely Elizabeth Coldwell and her question is ...

You are putting together a four course romantic dinner for two - you and a celeb of your choice. You have to choose each course from a different country. What would you choose? Remember -a way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

I think you will find her answer quite mouth-watering. I know I did. I have added her to my list of future dinner guests.Take the floor, Liz.

This is a great question, as if there’s one thing I really love to do apart from write, it’s cook. I shan’t name my celeb, if only because I’m pretty sure no one reading this will have heard of him! My mystery man used to play for the football team I support, and now he works as a coach for another club – if you’re really eager for a description, he’s very tall and dark-haired, with big hands and a nice smile. I know he likes to read, so I’d be able to discuss the great variety of books available from all those talented Muse authors, as well as quizzing him about his experiences in football (okay, so that last bit might sound boring to some of you, but I’d enjoy it!).
But, more importantly in relation to the question, what would be on my menu? My four courses would involve a starter, a fish course, a main course and a dessert, and I don’t want to spend a lot of time in the kitchen, because that would mean I couldn’t spend as much time with my guest. To start, I’d go with fresh Dutch asparagus, lightly griddled and served with lots of melted butter. Some of the best asparagus in the world is grown in the Netherlands, as I know from having eaten it there in the past, and not only is it supposed to have aphrodisiac qualities, there’s something very sensual about licking all that butter off your fingers.
For the fish course, the obvious choice would be oysters, but I’m not a great lover of shellfish – and oysters are a bit of a clichĂ©, anyway. Instead, I’d choose some nice Swedish gravad lax. Cured salmon, with a delicious dill sauce – very good for the brain, because for me, being able to connect with someone on a mental level is just as important as any physical attraction you may feel for them. I’ve never been a great fan of pretty but stupid types…
The main course would have to be a classic French steak au poivre, with frites and a green salad. Unless you’re dealing with a vegetarian, what man can resist a nicely cooked piece of red meat? The pepper adds a little spice (because as you can tell from my fiction, spicy is good…), and using red wine for the sauce means you can save the cream for the dessert – my favourite course of all!
To round off the romantic dinner, I’d finish with a gorgeous English dessert, Eton Mess. The story goes that it was invented when a chef at Eton school was serving a pavlova, only to drop it on the way. Scooping the mixture of smashed meringue, fruit and whipped cream into a bowl, he served the result as a new creation. Whether that’s true or not, you can’t go wrong with this – it’s very easy, and at its best when made with juicy English strawberries. Again, the fruit is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, because of all the zinc contained in its seeds, but that, to me, is just a bonus.
All that’s left is to make coffee, serve with chocolate mints and you have a perfect evening with a perfect mystery man. Bon appĂ©tit!

Hungry yet, folks? Here is a little bit about Elizabeth...

Elizabeth Coldwell lives and writes in London. She’s always loved to make up stories, particularly ones involving hot men. Her other big passion is her home town football club, Rotherham United, and at weekends she can be found cheering them on to victory (hopefully!). Visit her at The (Really) Naughty Corner,

Here is a taste of her up and coming MuseItHot release

The Face In The Glass

Psychic Ceri is startled when her crystal ball starts showing her visions of a handsome man who isn’t the boyfriend of her current client. Things become even stranger when the man’s face appears in every reflective surface she looks into, and the visions become progressively more explicit, showing them making love. To solve the mystery, Ceri must visit the hall of mirrors when the fair comes to town, and use an ancient love spell to try to release the stranger from his bizarre captivity.

I saw his face in my crystal ball with stunning clarity. Usually, the visions I receive are cloudy and soft-focus. They’re not always easy to define, but this was like looking into a mirror. Dark hair pushed back from a high forehead, brown eyes that sparkled mischievously, a mouth designed to be kissed till the lips were swollen with desire. Truly, one of the most handsome men I had seen in a long time.
Raising my eyes from the ball, I looked at the girl sitting on the other side of the table. “He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?” I commented. A visible thrill of pride ran through her, though I was sure she must hear such compliments on a regular basis. “Those beautiful brown eyes of his...”
She tensed, startled out of the relaxed pose I encouraged her to adopt as the reading progressed. “Rob doesn’t have brown eyes.”
“But that’s the man I’m seeing. Dark hair, brown eyes.” I peered at the vision once more, spotting something I didn’t notice the first time. “And a tattoo around his biceps. A Celtic knot design. Subtle, but distinctive.”
That was the point at which she stood up, snatching her purse from the table top. “That’s absolutely nothing like Rob. I knew I was wrong to come here. You can’t see a thing in that stupid ball of yours. You’re just a fraud. Well, don’t think I’m going to pay you for the garbage you’ve been spouting.”
She left, heels clicking on the floor of my little shop, the chimes hanging above the front door mocking me as they jangled in time to her exit.
I stared back at the crystal ball, but with the mood shattered so abruptly I no longer saw anything in its depths. I didn’t understand it. She asked me, as so many of my clients did, to see whether her boyfriend was faithful to her, and whether he was going to ask her to marry him. I had given her the ball to hold, telling her to concentrate on him and nothing but him. The spirits would provide the answer. Once the ball was in my grasp, that sensual, intelligent face presented itself to me. But if it wasn’t her boyfriend Rob, who was it?

Here are more links for Liz...

Saturday, 21 May 2011


Goodness me, is it that time again? Doesn't time fly and to think we all made it through the week. Either the Rapture didn't take place or none of us made the grade. Oh well, c'est la vie.
So, back to my six. Once again, I am posting from my up and coming MuseItHot Publishing June release, Cold Cold Heart. In this scene, Rachel Warner sets eyes on the famous singer-song writer, Daniel Haines, for the first time.

He wore almost black hair closely cropped, drawing attention to a well-sculptured profile. He was good-looking but not in a male model almost-too-perfect way nor did he possess a boy band laugh-you-into-bed cheekiness. Daniel Haynes was more the boy-next-door type; the kind of boy whose mother dressed him in Thomas the Tank Engine jumpers until age twelve.
He turned from Mai to look at her and her breath caught. Daniel Haines had the most beautiful, luminous, deep blue eyes; eyes big and soulful, fringed by the longest lashes Rachel had ever seen on a man but it was the way he looked at her that sent her heart fluttering. His gaze seemed to penetrate deep into her soul—as if he could read her innermost thoughts, feel her every mood.

Want to read more about this wee honey of a man? Here is a short excerpt...

The lights dimmed again and a crescendo of noise crashed over her head as fifty thousand people leapt to their feet and Daniel’s band ran out on stage.
“Come on!” Grabbing her by the hand, Lynn dragged Rachel from the comfort and security of her seat and plunged her into the screaming multitudes already surging up against the metal barrier. It was okay for Lynn. Years of rugby scrumming with her huge Belfast shipyard brothers and cousins stood her in good stead. She pushed and clawed her way to the front with Rachel clinging to her hand for dear life. Before she could scream an angry protest, a massive tsunami roar erupted and Daniel stepped out on stage.
In the midst of the Brazilian wave of fans, Rachel found she could not move. This man who strutted and danced from one end of the stage to the other, working the crowd, playing and teasing the girls into a frenzy as he smiled down, flirting, seducing the adoring audience into a state of near-hysteria—this was not the same man who, hours before, had been in her office, sitting at her desk, drinking coffee and listening to her trials and tribulations. As she watched him now, the worshipped idol of thousands, it all seemed like a dream.
He approached the edge of the stage and for one heart-stopping moment he seemed to stare right at her. A warm flush spread up from her toes to the roots of her hair. At her side, Lynn, in a state of near collapse, jumped up and down, screaming and twisting Rachel's arm. “Did you see that?”
Above the pounding beat of drums and guitars, Rachel just about made out her ravings.
“He looked at me! Oh, I think I'm going to have an orgasm.”
For the next hour, Rachel was pushed prodded and kicked (more often than not by Lynn). She was desperate to get back to her seat. It was impossible. Wedged tight against the barrier, hordes of screaming girls hemmed them in. With hands stretched up, they cried out for their god to touch them.
By now the Golden Boy had removed his leather jacket—much to the collective joy of thirty thousand or more females—displaying a toned torso beneath a tight-fitting, V-neck T-shirt that didn't quite meet hipster jeans: black naturally! Lynn retrieved a pair of her weeniest knickers from her pocket.
“You dare, Lynn Hudson!” Rachel shrieked in her ear. Grabbing the scrap of black lace, she stuffed it back where it came from.
“You are so not fun! Everyone does it. Oh, I can't believe it!” She dug her nails into Rachel's by now black and blue arm. “This is my favorite.”
So far every song had been her ‘favorite.’ Lynn could still do groupie with the best of them.
Slowly Rachel relaxed, caught up in the magic of Daniel Haines. The lights dimmed and when he moved to sit at a magnificent grand piano, her enjoyment turned to rapture. He mesmerized her. His fingers flew over the keys and the cacophony of noise abated. Hushed silence filled the auditorium. He held the crowd spellbound as his beautiful but powerful voice delivered a haunting ballad. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted when the pure notes soared up into the roof. She wanted to cry. She wanted to stay in the moment forever.

See you next week for more of the delectable Daniel. Meanwhile, check out some more posting at Six Sentence Sunday

Thursday, 19 May 2011


I have been asked to describe my typical writing day. Oh dear, must I? Okay, confession time. I haul myself out of bed between 10am-10.30 {hey - I watch dvds til 2am}. First chore - on goes the coffee machine. I cannot function without my morning dose of good strong caffeine, all washed down wwith a lovely warm croissant straight from the bakers across the road.

While coffee is brewing, I release my agent from his cage and top up his food bowl. Next, follows the ritual dance where by Sir Maximus runs circles around my feet before settling down on the sofa with he best mates, his cuddly dog and yellow duck. There he will sit and watch CNN for hours.

Time to boot up pc and, with coffee and croissant in hand, I trawl through the mound of emails. Then - its facebook time! No day is complete without checking out the frivolous but often informative world of FB. Mr. Zucherman, I salute you.

That out the way, I will settle down to write any blog posts needed doing before attacking any edits. If I have a completed ms I then get cracking on transfering my illegible notes to Word. A time-consuming task as I am not a red-hot typist. Somewhere between now and 2pm, I release I have a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, a mound of laundry falling out of the washing machine and I haven't even considered what to cook - thus earning me, for the fifth year running Crap Mother of the Year award.
{ME - NOT}

When do you actually write, I hear you all ask, as in create? Can you believe when I am work, sitting behind the reception front desk? In those blissful couple of hours when most guests are either siesting or out by the pool, I revel in silence and I can really concentrate.
I suppose, one day, I will have to do some work and give out hotel keys to guests and probably answer the phone from time to time but, until then, I sit back in my chair, pen and pad in hand, create masterpieces
and hang up my Genius at Work sign.
P.S I do hope my boss does not subscribe to my blog.


Monday, 16 May 2011

Monday Muser's Mad Question Time Myself - Secret Girl Crush

Good morning, folks. It seems I have misplaced my guest again or, perhaps my question this week has her running for cover. I have to admit it is a tad naughty. It all stems from a tongue in cheek conversation I had with a friend a couple of years back. We were playing trivial pursuit and, quite calmly, she stated , if she was a lesbian, then Angelina Jolie woould be her chosen partner. You can imagine the hilarious debate that followed. So, that was the question I posed to my guest. I shall now pose it to myself. If I were to have a girl crush, who would it be?I must be clear; when I say crush, I don't mean in a sexual context but, rather, a woman with whom we are attracted to for what ever reason. I am greedy. I have picked three.

My first and long time girl crush is Uma Thurman. When I saw her kick ass in Kill Bill, I was hooked. I love the fact that she is not pretty pretty but is so attractive, not to mention a great actress.

Second - has to be Lady Gaga. How how I would love to hang out with her. What fun we would have. I admire her talent, her style but, above all, I love her sense of humour and tongue n cheek approach to life and herself.

Last but not least - Stevie Nicks. My favouite female artist of all time and writer and singer of many amazing songs. Sixty two years old and still so gorgeous and still making wonderful music. Stevie - I salute you.

So come on, folks; own up. Who is your secret girl crush? This question is also open to any of you lovely gay men out there. If you had one day to be staright - who would you want to be straight with? I am so looking forward to the answers on this one.


Saturday, 14 May 2011


Nice to be back after a week's break. I thought, this Sunday, I would post from my June release Cold, Cold Heart. Not long before it hits the cyber shelves. This work was previously published under the title of Letting Go and I am happy to have been given the chance to tweak it and bring it up to date. So, with further ado, I introduce you to the world of Daniel and Rachel.

The boy squeezed back the tears. Needle sharp gravel dug deep into already bleeding knees and bit into stinging cheeks as merciless assailants grabbed hold of hair and twisted his neck to the side. He tasted dirt. A cruel smile spread across the ringleader's podgy face.
Still, the boy did not cry. Not wanting to give them the satisfaction, he did what he always did and shut off from the torment and humiliation.


Daniel Haynes has the world at his feet- fame, fortune, so why does he feel so empty inside? What is his interest in Rachel Warner, a girl from a quiet Home Counties English town? Why does she hold the key to his happiness?
But Rachel Warner is scared. Daniel's interest in her threatens her ordered yet unsatisfying life because she has to live with the shadow of her ex-father-in-law breathing over her shoulder. Can she let go of her fears?


“You are not having a good day, are you?”
She sat up, ramrod-straight. Daniel Haines leaned against the open door, his arms folded and gaze fixed on her, probing once more.
“Do you always eavesdrop on private conversations?” Rachel rubbed at her eyes, grateful she'd been in too much of a hurry to bother with mascara.
“The door was open,” he replied in that Yankee tone. “I apologize….” He made a point of knocking loudly. “May I come in?”
Without waiting for her answer, he walked into the room, sat down in the chair on the other side of her desk and stretched out long legs before crossing them at the ankles.
“Make yourself at home…I would,” Rachel muttered. She pulled herself together. He was, after all, a hotel guest and a very important one at that.
For one long moment, he did nothing but stare at her, an unfathomable expression on his face. Then he said quietly, “You shouldn't allow him to intimidate you, you know.”
At first Rachel thought she'd misheard him. “Are you always so presumptuous?” she managed to blurt out.
“No.” He smiled at her. “I'm only concerned.”
A frisson of unease ran down her spine.
He leaned across the desk. “Actually, I've come to apologize for Mai. She can be real possessive at times.”
“Possessive?” Rachel tried not to laugh. “Obsessed more like. I mean I know she's beautiful and probably very obliging, but how can you stand to be smothered like that?”
“Excuse me?” He sat up. “Now who's being presumptuous?”
Guilt caused her cheek to grow hot. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply….”
He waved her apology aside. “Forget it. You are free to think what you want. As I said, I'm here because I believe my crew treated you with less than professional courtesy. Sometimes the guys get carried away. Try and understand. It's hard being cooped up in hotel rooms for weeks on end.”
Rachel couldn't hold back her grimace. Here it comes, the I'm-so-misunderstood-my-life-is-not-my-own sob story. She'd heard it a hundred times over and usually following a night of drunken excess and loutish behavior that prompted a host of complaints from the hotel cleaning staff.
“Interesting.” The smile disappeared. “You're skeptical. Are you judging me? You see me as an underworked, overpaid, and probably oversexed musician. I don't impress you much, do I?”
Her mouth fell open at the astute appraisal.
“You don't know anything about me, Miss…or is it Mrs.? I seem to recall a child being mentioned.”
Rachel’s hackles went back up. “It doesn't state anywhere in my job description that I have to discuss my personal life with the guests, Mr. Haines. I….” The words died in her throat. Reaching out to her, he pushed aside a lock of hair that strayed from her ragged chignon. Warm fingertips brushed against her cheek. She shrank back, her reaction born out of habit and her dislike of physical intimacy. She only felt comfortable hugging and touching Alex.
“Please.” His tone caressed. “Call me Daniel.”
“No.” The word left her lips before she had time to think. “I…I couldn't. It wouldn't be professional.” She looked away, heat creeping up her neck and rising to her cheeks. To her relief, he sat back, arms folded.
“You are so wound up.” Amusement etched tiny lines around his eyes. “You do need to chill.”
“I am perfectly 'chilled,' thank you.” She sniffed, more than a trifle irked.
“I think not. You're stressed. I can tell.”
“Mr. Haines, just why exactly are you here?” She was in no mood for American psycho-babble. She shuffled the papers on her desk, feigning efficiency.
“If you must know….” He folded his arms behind his head and the black T-shirt rose up, affording Rachel a glimpse of well-toned, tanned stomach muscles. “I've come to return your form. I know, I could have sent Mai, but I didn't want to be responsible for a blood bath. Quite honestly, I don't know who is scarier, you or Mai. Okay, okay, stop glaring.” He made the sign of the cross. “I'm kidding. Seriously, I couldn't think of anything to write. There’s nothing I need. We are all very comfortable here. My compliments to the man.” Gaze drifting to the shelf behind her head, he sniffed the air. “However…that coffee smells real good. I've changed my mind. There is something I need. A cup of that would just hit the spot. The stuff room service delivers is pretty damn weak. You can put that in the complaints section, if you like.”
Rachel swallowed. He wanted a cup of her coffee? The entire interlude was too surreal for words.
“Do you mind?” The blue eyes probed her thoughts again. “Only if it's not too much trouble….”
“Mind? Oh…no…of course not. Excuse me one moment, please. I'll just...em...find another mug.” Dropping to her knees, she rummaged through the cupboard under her desk for an un chipped mug.
Pushing aside four years' worth of debris, she wished the green hotel uniform had a longer, not-so-tight fitting skirt.
“Having trouble down there?”
Rachel sat on her haunches, her face flushed, cream blouse in disarray. “No.” Clutching a stained cup to her palpitating chest, she got to her feet, stumbling as her thighs protested. “Milk, sugar?” She turned to the machine. By now, she felt hot and bothered and more unruly strands of hair escaped the hairpins.
“I'm hurt. Isn't it your job to know these things? Aren't you supposed to be acquainted with my every like and dislike?”
Rachel spun round, sharp retort at the ready, but then she saw the sparkle in his eyes.
He laughed at her pique. “You really don't know anything about me, do you? Oh, but don't apologize. It's really refreshing.”

COLD, COLD HEART...Coming soon to MuseItHot Publishing

Thursday, 12 May 2011


Och aye, hello tae ye all,

I have returned from a 4 day stint in the UK and, although I stayed with my sister in a quaint little village named Quainton {I jest not}, we were visited by my relatives from Bonnie Scotland. For those who know me, you will remember that I spent most of my childhood in Glasgae toon and a braw wee place it wus too. It was amazing how quickly the lingo came back to me. I am a bonafide weegie, apparently.
So, on to the question. What do I do with my edits? I love them. yes, I am that rare breed that enjoys editing. I have to say I am most fortunate in having two of the best at MuseItUp and MuseItHot publishing. We have fun, even though I think they may need valium after working with me.

Editing should be a team effort, a question of give and take. Your editor is there to help improve and tighten your work, not change your voice.
All I can say is. Anne...Penny...I salute you.


Sunday, 8 May 2011


Hi folks,

I am writing this from sunny ye olde England. I quick four days oif family time - which basically means non stop eating. Anyweay, have to get back to planning today's food fest so without firther ado, I will hand the floor over to Miss Emily Picasso. Her question was...

If you had to choose three things to take with you in the event of aliens landing and hide in a safe cave, what would you select? {no family or pets asd this is a given}.

I would select:
A source of fire and fuel- matches, lighter, blow torch
Non-perishable food

The above are if I was being sensible, now if I chose NOT to be sensible I would take:
My laptop and a solar powered battery
My music
This is taking for granted the cave has a source of water already. Also handy to have would be strong young men to do the heavy work, protect me and of course be candy for the eyes.

Thanks, Emily. Agree with the strong men. Here is a little bit about Emily..

Bio for Emily Pikkasso
Emily Pikkasso is proud Albertan, and horsewoman. She lives on a farm near Balzac, Alberta with three horses, one pony, twenty-four chickens, various dogs, cats and whatever else happens to wander into the yard. Emily’s first poems and short stories were published while still in grade school. She enjoys writing poetry and stories, both long and short. Emily welcomes feedback from her readers and can be contacted at
Please visit her webpage

Emily's The Oak King's Daughter is avaiklable from MuseItUp Publishing.
Here is a blurb...

The Oak King's Daughter is a romance Fantasy. Dara, the Oak King's daughter, is in love with someone who her father deems unsuitable for her. Tinne, the court mage, is not worthy of his daughter in the eyes of the Oak King. And Tinne, well he seems to have an agenda all his own, or is he merely a pawn in a larger plan?

Dara decides to risk everything, including her father’s wrath, to run away with her lover, they succeed and Dara surrenders herself to Tinne, only to discover that the mage is more than what he seems.


“Soon, Oak King’s daughter, soon,” Tinne promised her.
Before Dara had time to think or change her mind, she was astride her fastest horse and racing through the forest with Tinne hot on her heels. Her father wouldn’t discover her missing until late tomorrow morning or early afternoon if she was lucky, they must be on the ship and away by then. Despite the urgency of their flight, Dara smiled as the heat in her belly rekindled and her breasts tingled at the memory of Tinne’s touch. Yes, the sooner we reach the ship the better.
Behind her Tinne grinned and pushed the horses faster. This was even better than kidnapping the Oak King’s daughter. Making her an accomplice in her own disappearance was a stroke of genius on his part and if it included pleasuring her young body, well that was a bonus too, wasn’t it? His master would be very pleased with him when he delivered the Oak King’s daughter. The only hitch in the plan was that Tinne had grown very fond of Dara for her own sake, not just a prize to be ransomed.
The dark ribbon of road cut across the rolling hills that shone palely in the fading moonlight. Dara smothered a yawn and concentrated on staying upright in the saddle of the racing horse beneath her. I think we should have made Oak Landing by now. Dara tried to force her brain to make some sense of her surroundings and then gave up. Let Tinne worry about where we are. I just want to get there and get him in bed.
Tinne allowed his stallion to come abreast of Dara’s gelding as they crested the top of the last row of hills. The lamps of Oak Landing shimmered in the hollow below them and the last light of the moon silvered the waters of the high tide. The vessel Tinne had arranged for bobbed gently at anchor on the gently rolling swells. He reached over and took Dara’s reins, drawing her horse to halt beside his. Tinne leaned toward Dara and ran his cold hand gently down her cheek and into the hollow of her throat. Dara’s breath caught in her throat and she swallowed thickly.
“Are you sure you wish to do this?” Tinne’s voice hung in the darkness between them. It was better to find out here, away from anyone who might feel obligated to help her, if Dara should decide to make a scene about getting on the ship.
“Yes, I want to go away with you, where my father can’t interfere in my life.” Dara smiled against the hand that now cupped her cheek. “I want to make love to you,” Dara rubbed her face into his hand and purred like a kitten.
“Very well, then Dara, the Oak King’s daughter. Let us go.” Tinne released the gelding’s reins but stayed close by Dara’s side as they rode into town and made their way to the docks.