Description
Find more from this author on:
About the author:
I delight in writing stories that, like people, resist categories. My contemporary romances are hot, witty, full of heart and intellect; they keep you on the edge of your seat and draw you into a rich world of family, friends, complexities, and adventure. I'm an avid reader (preferred genres: romance, women's fiction, thriller/suspense, and occasionally historical fiction/romance), a diehard Harry Potter lover, a soccer player with a motley crew of moms and feisty women, and I have a weak spot for whisky, peanut butter cups, and coffee.
What inspired you to write your book?
I've read the genres that inform my writing (romance, women's fiction, suspense) for years and a few years ago found myself hungering for a new story. Tony Morrison once said if there's a book you haven't read that you want to, you need to write it. I'm not going to turn down her advice. So I embarked on writing a story I love, that represents some dynamics and backgrounds that not a lot of romance covers (multicultural, disability, STEM and highly intellectual characters), and built a world I now adore and can't stop writing for.
Here is a short sample from the book:
"I looked around the board room, fighting nerves about my first meeting. Ten adults, including me. Six women, four men. An atypically progressive distribution of gender for a nonprofit board. We were short one, though. I tapped my pen, impatient with someone who couldn’t start his own meeting on time. I kept those sharp thoughts to myself where they ricocheted, unchallenged by conversation or engagement with anyone else.
Until the door whipped open. Powerful oxygen flooded my system as I sat at the end of the table, watching a dark-haired, olive-skinned Adonis stride in. His presence was elementally dangerous—each gasp of stuttered air I took fueled my reaction to him. One by one, old zones of my body caught fire and brightened.
“Morning,” he gruffed. Near-black waves fell errantly along his forehead and neck. Too short to pull back. Long enough to tug. He threw down his bag and slid his fingers through that tempting hair. “Apologies for being late. Traffic was a bitch.”
Zed Salvatore was chair of the board, so no one said anything about his tardiness or his language. Everyone around the table smiled or talked among themselves. It was an easygoing group. Meaning, I was horribly out of place. I sat, back ramrod straight, fingers laced, willing the throb between my thighs into nonexistence. He reached into his bag and I watched muscles flexing against his crisp white shirt. My breasts tingled with heat.
The chair of a nonprofit for underprivileged children and communities should not be that attractive. It didn’t make sense. I’d expected someone stodgier, less satanically beautiful. Zed was trouble wrapped in six feet of impressive muscle, stunning features, and absolute pomposity.”
Reviews
There are no reviews yet.