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About the author:
Olivia is a USA Today Best Selling, Emma Award, and multiple award-winning author who loves a good laugh coupled with some steam, mixed in with a man and woman finding their way past the words of "I love you." An author of contemporary romances, she writes heartwarming stories of blossoming relationships filled with heart and humor. The Technicians, The Blakemore Files, and the Modern Mail Order Brides, are one clicks for thousands of readers.
When Olivia is not writing, she enjoys quilting, playing Scrabble online against other word lovers and spending time with her family. She is an avid world traveler who writes many of the locations into her stories. Most of the time she can be found sitting quietly with pen and paper plotting more adventures in love.
Olivia lives in Hephzibah, Georgia with her husband, son, grandson and snotty evil cat, Katness Evermean.
What inspired you to write your book?
This is part of my international best-selling serial, The Technicians. The story revolves around a crew of specialized individuals charged with keeping the world safe from predators. The predators have become the prey under the watchful stalking of "The Glitter Man." In this entry, the one thing the Glitter Man wants more than anything is be reunited with his daughter. I wrote this book to close the door, the plot line and allow the Glitter Man to come home and see how his seed had grown, without his watchful eye; ergo, Blind Seed.
Here is a short sample from the book:
The quietness which filled the yellow two person camping tent eased an eeriness into the space. The cot belonged to him and it had been nearly two weeks of sleeping on the hard ground and his back wanted no more of the same tonight. He didn’t care if she was a woman; it was his cot; he bought it, earned it, and he didn’t plan to give it up.
“My back is bothering me,” he grumbled under his breath. “I was on the ground for a nearly two weeks and tonight, I’m using the cot; not being an asshole, but I’m not giving it up.”
“It’s cool,” she answered, not really making eye contact. “Thanks for sharing the food.”
“Hmm,” was all he growled as darkness from the night closed in around them.
In his backpack, Falling Rocks had a small flask of dark blood warmer, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to imbibe of his nightly ritual with a lady present in such tight quarters. One, he couldn’t tell how old she really was, although he knew she’d ran for Idaho State track team, but that was a year or few past. Somewhere, he’d read, and couldn’t remember where he’d heard she was trying out for the Olympic team in the 5,000 meters, but as far as he knew, nothing came of it. The last thing he needed was to have her on edge believing him to take to his cups, then take it out on her. That kind of thing wasn’t his style. They only had to get through the night, then he’d get home, shower, have a real meal and get on with it.
Hopefully, once he got to his truck and a lot closer to civilization, he would call the Archangel and make sure nothing came of the current situation as well. There was no room in his way of life for a lover, a wife, or babysitting the daughter of a notorious psychopath. He’d also planned to make that clear to the lady so there would be no misunderstandings of who he was and his intentions. He had no intentions other than getting rid of her.
“Nine times out of ten, the child of a psychopath is also a psychopath,” he muttered under his breath.
She didn’t look up or say a word to him in response as she rolled out a thin, camping mattress, which looked more like a yoga mat. The green, Army styled jacket she wore came off, revealing a slender form. Squatting down like a she was about to reduce her body of a load of waste, the boots she wore got unlaced, and leaned upside down against the backpack, which would serve as a pillow. The jacket she used as a blanket, throwing it across her body. And just as if it were an everyday thing, the woman laid back, closed her eyes, let out a sigh, and it appeared as if she’d fallen asleep.
Falling Rocks sat, staring, waiting for her to move or blink, or shift, but she didn’t. He knew, because he watched her for twenty minutes before his own eyelids protested at his desire to keep them open. Slowly, he gave in, leaning back on the cot after also removing his boots and turning them upside down. The way the boots smelled, he probably should have placed them outside of the tent, but he didn’t ask for the company. He’d also eaten a second helping of beans, praying that the gas monster would make a late-night visit since a closed-in tent was the perfect conduit for a Dutch Oven.
Thinking better of being sealed inside of a gas chamber that would get loaded with methane, he unzipped the tent a bit for some air flow. The last thing he ever wanted was to be found dead from his own noxious fumes, inside a tent in the middle of nowhere with the daughter of a crazy man. He turned his head once more to look at her, and still, she hadn’t moved.
“Shit, I hope she’s not dead,” he mumbled, giving in to the sleep. Tomorrow was a new day.
Tonight, he saw no need to pick a fight with the woman, especially since his plan was to be rid of her as soon as he could.
At least, that was his plan. The rest, they say, is for the history books.