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About the author:
Bestselling Author Tanya Holmes is a Golden Leaf double-finalist, a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist, a recipient of the Maggie Award, the MICA Award, as well as Overall Winner of the Sandy Haddad Award and a two-time finalist and one-time winner of The Emily (Best of the Best). She’s happily married with children and loves reading, writing and a good cup of coffee—but not necessarily in that order.
What inspired you to write your book?
It wasn’t just one thing. It was a hodgepodge. TV, music, poetry, photographs, conversations…novels like Jane Eyre, characters like Mr. Rochester, TV shows like Highlander and Star Trek. Yes, believe it or not, all of these unrelated things flavored this novel.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Frost set the book aside with casual grace, then prowled toward me, his gloved hands clasped at his back. The quiet thud of his footsteps matched the pensive rhythm of the ticking clock, amping my fear.
Despite his cool demeanor, I was sure the man had his temper on a short tether. That’s why I didn’t look above his neck for fear of seeing that anger twisting his face, or worse, blazing in his eyes.
Silky chest hair peeked from beneath his T-shirt. And he seemed dark and dangerous in those faded jeans. The soft denim hugged his muscular thighs while loosely cupping the masculine bulge between them, the bulge my body was all too familiar with.
Down low, my sex clenched in remembrance as he made his approach.
“Now that you mention it,” he mused in the gentlest of tones, “needles are a tad frightening.” He dipped his head, forcing me to look at him. “Tongue depressors are even worse, but you should be especially wary of thermometers. One can never be quite sure where they’ve been.”
“Really, Dr. Frost. Ever since….” My gaze followed him until he disappeared behind me.
“Go on,” came the soft voice at my back.
I swallowed. “E-ever since I was a child I’ve been afraid of thermometers—I mean needles!”
Frost reappeared on my right side. One of his brows rose a fraction. “You know, if you’re going to lie to my face, at least do it better. On second thought, just leave. I have no patience for nonsense today.”
“But I’m not lying.”
Yeah, I was.
He slammed to a stop in front of me, his expression a complexity of shadows. “You must believe I’m a fool.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, really, I.…”
“Enough. How about some brutal honesty?” Now his tone was menacing and sharp. “You think I couldn’t read your face? That I wouldn’t recognize mistrust and contempt? Or fear? Especially in someone I’ve—” He inhaled sharply through his nose and looked away. “Someone like you,” he finished, returning his gaze to mine.