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About the author:
easy it was to fulfill her fantasies through her writing.
What inspired you to write your book?
I find interracial romance very hot and I wanted to write books for this genre so I could cater to my own fantasies.
Here is a short sample from the book:
SHE STOOD on stage, in her element. As Lou played along on the black grand piano, Deirdre let all of her emotions flow out to the music. The small crowd gave her their undivided attention as she belted out Trouble, Stormy Weather, and Summertime. Her white, full length gown stood in stark contrast to the milk-chocolate color of her skin.
Deirdre couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t love to sing. When she was still a young girl, before her father left, her family went to church every Sunday. She loved listening to the soloists in the choir and dreamed of one day standing next to them. But they’d stopped going to church once her father was gone. When D’Angelo was born, Deirdre had tried to get her mother to go back, but she’d refused; D’Angelo’s father was against the idea. But soon, he was gone too. Looking back, Deirdre was sure that was when her mother started using drugs, though she didn’t realize what was happening at the time. Three years ago, right after Deirdre graduated from high-school, Pauline Clarke had been busted and sentenced to twenty years in a federal prison. Deirdre became D’Angelo’s legal guardian, though in all honesty she’d raised him since he was born.
D’Angelo was a good kid, especially considering everything he’d been through. And he was the reason Deirdre hadn’t fallen into the same kind of traps the other girls in her neighborhood had found themselves in. She hadn’t had any kids, she hadn’t gotten messed up on drugs, and she didn’t take her clothes off for money. Instead, Deirdre worked as a hotel maid and took college courses online. She’d have loved to go to school on an actual campus, but she couldn’t afford childcare for D’Angelo and she refused to turn him into a latchkey kid at eight years old. Deirdre worked while he was at school, and then after dinner they did their homework together.
Thursday nights were different. Those nights were all for Deirdre. She had a standing gig at Fuseli’s, an upscale jazz club in the Hollywood foothills. The gig paid just enough for Deirdre to afford her stage-clothes, but she didn’t do it for the money.
When she finished her last set, Deirdre took a seat at the bar and ordered herself a beer and a sandwich. As the bartender walked towards the tap, a tall, broad stranger signaled his attention. When he returned to Deirdre, he carried a martini with her draft.
“Dee, a kind gentleman asked me to bring you this and wondered if you’d mind some company?”
Deirdre looked up at Steve and sighed. After her encounter with Carl, she was in no mood to put up with anyone’s advances. “Tell him thank you, but I can’t possibly accept.”
“I don’t know… this one’s pretty hot, Dee… he’s the one down there, in the suit.”
“Really Steve, I’m not up for it right now.”
“Alright, fine…” he answered in a disapproving, sing-song voice.
Deirdre thought the issue was dealt with as she watched Steve approach the end of the bar to deliver the message. The gorgeous blonde man took the martini, rose, and headed Deirdre’s way.
“I’m sorry,” she began as he approached, frustrated that he wouldn’t take a hint.
“No, I’m sorry.” He smiled. “Your friend told me you’ve had a bad day. You sang beautifully… I sent this as a token of my appreciation, nothing more,” he explained, raising the drink. “Why don’t you enjoy it? It might make you feel better. Or I could buy you something else, if you’d prefer? Right before I return to my seat, of course.”
Deirdre eyed the martini; the gin would help take her edge off… and D’Angelo was with her best friend for the night. “Thank you,” she said. She took the glass with her left hand and extended her right to the stranger. “I’m Deirdre Clarke.”
“Parker Walters,” he answered, taking her hand into his. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Clarke. Do you sing here regularly? This is my first time at Fuseli’s.”
“Every Thursday night.”
“I see… well, maybe I’ll see you again.” Parker smiled. “I hope your night improves.”
“Thank you for the drink, Parker. I hope to see you again. Maybe next time, I’ll be in a better mood.” As Parker walked away, Deirdre realized that she’d meant what she’d said. She really did hope to see Parker again, the sooner the better.