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About the author:
Pippa Greathouse has been writing since the fifth grade, after each student was given an assignment to read aloud a story to the class of her their writing. One horrified teacher later and a class of students who thought the horror story was “cool,” and she was hooked.
Since then, the writing has continued. She now is an author for Blushing Books, and loves what she does. Her favorite genre is historical fiction romances, where men are “strong, Alpha men” and their feisty ladies who are in need of the discipline they are sure to provide. And historical fiction is perfect for that!
What inspired you to write your book?
Here is a short sample from the book:
Her hands reached up around his neck before she knew it, and she eagerly tasted his tongue, allowing her own to dance delicately with his. Suddenly, she realized how wanton she seemed, and gave a strangled cry.
“Carrie,” he said gruffly into her hair. “Marry me. I cannot allow you to marry Hank Barrow. I’ll tell him that I have forbidden you to—”
“—Samuel Pettigrew.” As if she fully heard what he’d just said, she stiffened. “You have forbidden me? I seem to recall you telling him that it was up to me. That no one would make that decision for me. And if I decide not to marry him, I’ll pay him back the money he spent from what I earn from my sewing. He must be patient and wait for me to make it.”
Sam stared down at her, his eyes narrowing. “Are you refusing my offer of marriage, then?
She pushed back against his chest, glaring. Her voice was angry. “‘Carrie, marry me,’ is not an offer, Sheriff Pettigrew. It’s an order. I haven’t made up my mind. And I’ll answer you when you ask. Nicely.” She stepped back. “I’ve decided I wish to be courted. Properly.”
“Have you now,” His voice was amused.
Although she couldn’t see his face clearly in the darkness, she heard the mirth in his voice.
“Yes. I have. With buggy rides. And flowers. And a ring. And I wish my suitor to get down on one knee to beg me to marry him.” She lifted her chin and then turned away.
“I see. Do you see Hank Barrow doing that?”
“I don’t care. It’s what I want. I’ll tell him that. Maybe if he knows—”
“If you tell him anything, I’ll insist on going with you. You are absolutely not to go alone.”
She whirled back, stomping a foot. But the softness of the ground and the softness of her foot somehow lost the desired effect. “I don’t need anyone to go with me.” Turning to march back up to the house, she made it two steps before she was lifted off the ground and tucked under his arm. She kicked and squirmed, trying to get away. “Let me go!”
Sam took her to the porch, and put one foot up on the second step. Taking her by the waist, he plopped her over his thigh, holding her there with one hand. With the other, he lifted the tail of her gown and planted ten hard swats on her bare bottom, before standing her upright to face him.
“Let that be a warning, young lady. If I so much as catch a hint of you planning to go out there by yourself, the next spanking you get will be with the strap. Hear me?”
Even on the second step, she was forced to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Her own were blazing with anger, but tears were pooling. She turned to run into the house, forgetting the last step. When his hands on her waist caught her, and set her upright on the top, she took off, jerking open the front door and running up the staircase to her room.