And, Claudine and readers, if you could pop back to any time, where would you go and why?

I think I would pop over to 12th Century England right in the middle of the Stephen and Maude show. Big civil war going on. Wonder how much trouble I could get into there?

I can see you strangling the barrister, his wig flipping into the air as his eyes bulge and roll into the sockets…

Yep! This has been a wonderful experience for me as well, Claudine. And thank you for your kind words. I know that must have hurt, coming from Claudine the Mean. LMAO!!! And you have a fan in me as well. And if I had a fan in my hand, I would send you a message by dropping it.

You have been the bestest!!

1. Do you plot all your novels out beforehand or are you strictly a fly by the seat of your pants kind of woman?

I am a bit of both. I start out with good intentions, having the plot fairly well mapped out in my head, but it never seems to wind up on paper the same way. My first novel, IF YOU ONLY KNEW was first worked out in three spiral notebooks and reads nothing like the finished book. Once I began to understand the characters, the original plot just fell away and a new more exciting plot formed. I had so much fun writing that book.

I have come to the conclusion that I am more fly by the seat of my pants than anything. The only constant with me is the music I am listening to while writing a particular novel. Music is very important for me as it can transport me to “where I need to be” mentally.

2. What do you do when you’re stuck on a plot point? How do you kill those horrible plot bunnies? With a stick? Or a movie, book, a walk etc?

Oh, you mean, what do I do after I stare helplessly at the corner I have painted myself into? I leave it alone and go outside. I’ll either go down to the new barn and see the horses or to the backyard to visit the dogs. This time away gives my mind a chance to refresh and I actually see the answer play out in my head. Then I usually cackle inanely, or is that insanely?

3. I see you’re well versed in Civil War history, have you or are you going to write a book about this time period? If not, would you ever write one about the Civil War Reenactments?

I love watching those, by the way.

Ouch. This is a sticky question. If I could, I think I would tell the story of my great-great-great grandfather, William T. Hollingsworth, who fought with the 22nd Alabama, was shot at Chickamauga, mustered out at the end of the war and went back to Georgia and married the girl he had met at poor school (public school) when he was a boy.

I have often joked with a good friend, who portrays Pat Cleburne and serves as Overall Commander for the Fort Dickerson Living History that writing a book about putting together a reenactment would have to labeled as fiction, as no one in their right mind would believe the stuff that goes on.

4. What is a genre you haven’t tried that you’d like to?

It was paranormal, but I have tackled that genre with glee and hope to have it submitted soon. Entitled Majik Man, it tells the story of Dominic, a male witch, who is in desperate need a of a virgin to get him out of trouble with his witch sponsor. His roommate, Rudy, is a vampire with an unusual drinking problem, as he keeps biting druggies and getting hooked on whatever they have running through their veins. Rudy also needs a virgin to cleanse himself. The only problem is, where do you find a virgin in Los Angeles?

Time travel is a genre that I have dabbled in, but it has to be believable. The reader, to me, has to say, “That could happen.” I know. Claudine goes to a Civil War reenactment and steps into a tent to see how the generals live. Once she steps out, she is thrown to the ground as a shell from artillery on the hill explodes around her. She opens her eyes and finds herself looking up into the face of a man she has never seen before. Once the smoke clears, he declares her a spy and demands to know what she was doing in his tent.

5. What are you working on now?

Claudine goes to a civil War reenactment….actually I am working on several things. I have the third in the Sweetwater Series, entitled IF YOU ONLY BELIEVE. For those who have readIF YOU ONLY KNEW and IF YOU ONLY DARE will be happy to know that the third book will focus on Dorcas and a certain doctor that arrived in book two. Yes, Dorcas, the foul-mouthed prostitute. I love the comedy so far and the tension between her and “Fancy Pants” is getting almost too hot to handle.

Plus, I also have the two medievals, THE BASTARD, which is an amazing story of Stephen, King of England, his knight, Roland D’Mori and Alana, a young girl who has no idea that she is the king’s bastard child.

PLAYING FOR KEEPS, the story of Bertram D’Mori, knight of the realm and Roland’s brother. He has been gifted Alana’s old keep and finds himself in a battle of wits and control with Alana’s sister, Desdemona.
And another historical which I have absolutely fallen in love with, entitled CONCUBINE. Young Cassie Henderson returns from finishing school after learning of the death of her guardian uncle, only to discover that the young man who broke her heart so ruthlessly years ago, was her Uncle’s attorney and now controls every part of her inheritance.

Now that you have your hand fan, here is the Secret Language of the Fan.

1) THE FAN PLACED NEAR THE HEART: “You have won my love.”

2) A CLOSED FAN TOUCHING THE RIGHT EYE: “When may I be allowed to see you?”

3) THE NUMBER OF STICKS SHOWN ANSWERED THE QUESTION: “At what hour?”

4) THREATENING MOVEMENTS WITH A FAN CLOSED: “Do not be so imprudent”

5) HALF-OPENED FAN PRESSED TO THE LIPS: “You may kiss me.”

6) HANDS CLASPED TOGETHER HOLDING AN OPEN FAN: “Forgive me.”

7) COVERING THE LEFT EAR WITH AN OPEN FAN: “Do not betray our secret.”

HIDING THE EYES BEHIND AN OPEN FAN: “I love you.”

9) SHUTTING A FULLY OPENED FAN SLOWLY: “I promise to marry you.”

10) DRAWING THE FAN ACCROSS THE EYES: “I am sorry.”

11) TOUCHING THE FINGER TO THE TIP OF THE FAN: “I wish to speak with you.”

12) LETTING THE FAN REST ON THE RIGHT CHEEK: “Yes.”

13) LETTING THE FAN REST ON THE LEFT CHEEK: “No.”

14) OPENING AND CLOSING THE FAN SEVERAL TIMES: “You are cruel”

15) DROPPING THE FAN: “We will be friends.”

16) FANNING SLOWLY: “I am married.”

17) FANNING QUICKLY: “I am engaged.” “I am engaged.”

18) PUTTING THE FAN HANDLE TO THE LIPS: “Kiss me.”

19) OPENING A FAN WIDE: “Wait for me.”

20) PLACING THE FAN BEHIND THE HEAD: “Do not forget me”

21) PLACING THE FAN BEHIND THE HEAD WITH FINGER EXTENDED: “Goodbye.”

22) FAN IN RIGHT HAND IN FRONT OF FACE: “Follow me.”

23) FAN IN LEFT HAND IN FRONT OF FACE: “I am desirous of your acquaintance.”

24) FAN HELD OVER LEFT EAR: “I wish to get rid of you.”

25) DRAWING THE FAN ACROSS THE FOREHEAD: “You have changed.”

26) TWIRLING THE FAN IN THE LEFT HAND: “We are being watched.”

27) TWIRLING THE FAN IN THE RIGHT HAND: “I love another.”

28) CARRYING THE OPEN FAN IN THE RIGHT HAND: “You are too willing.”

29) CARRYING THE OPEN FAN IN THE LEFT HAND: “Come and talk to me.”

30) DRAWING THE FAN THROUGH THE HAND: “I hate you!”

31) DRAWING THE FAN ACROSS THE CHEEK: “I love you!”

32) PRESENTING THE FAN SHUT: “Do you love me?”

I love reading regencies and just about each one I get my hands on deals with a Season in London. I began to wonder what would happen if a young lady for one reason or another could not have a Season in London. Where would that leave her? That was the beginnings of Wellbourne Manor. Lady Elizabeth Shelby, a widow, had married very well, even though her Season in London had been a dismal failure. Instead of dwelling on the catastrophic affair that was her Season, she employed the things she did learn and imparted her knowledge as instructions to the daughter of an old friend. Her Season was a success and once word got around that Lady Shelby had coached her, more friends begged her assistance. After all, a Season in London was a major economic undertaking and the parents and guardians wanted the guarantee of an advantageous marriage. All of this snow-balled and Lady Shelby decided to open up her vast estate and hold her own mini-seasons. A scandalous venture, however families flocked to the idea and the matches made at Wellbourne grew in number and fame. Lady Elizabeth became very selective with her invitations and soon these invites were coveted.

The young ladies invited spend the first days of the mini Season learning what Lady Elizabeth calls “the time honored rules of courtship,” which also encompass warnings of certain areas on the estate that are forbidden. For example, a young lady was never to allow a young gentleman to lead her into the ivy-trellised maze, for fear she would become lost and be forced to rely on the gentleman for assistance. Oh dear! Lady Elizabeth’s nephew, Rupert Granville helped her fashion the instructional pamphlets addressing all of these things. Rupert, in turn notices that one of the young ladies attending acts as if she has not even studied the pamphlets as he catches her red-handed breaking one of the rules.

Miss Peyton Hamilton can not seem to help herself. There are so many wonderful adventures to be found at Wellbourne. She could care less about the “time honored rules of courtship.” She has her own ideas on how she wants to live her life and marriage is not in the picture. She is only there to act as a chaperone for her sister, at least that is what she was told. She finds the pamphlets dry and dull, the nephew, Mr. Granville rude and dangerous. Dangerous in the way he makes her feel. If only there were something in the pamphlets to tell her why she feels so strange when he is near. Fearing her behavior will threaten her sister’s visit, Peyton finds herself being tutored privately by Mr. Granville. Only when her heart is carelessly crushed by a rumor does she understand that she must become more like the other young ladies attending Wellbourne and not the hoyden she has been painted.

Excerpt THE UNSUITABLE SUITOR

Rupert made his way down to the ballroom, escorting his

aunt. The room was wondrously lit, and seemed to have taken

on life, with the swirling dancers moving about the floor. His

eyes scanned the chairs where he expected to find Peyton, next

to her sister. He was nearly swept off his feet as a pair of

dancers swirled directly into his path. He jumped back, frowning

after the two. He felt the floor lower beneath him suddenly as

he recognized one of the dancers as Peyton. He’d expected to

find her standing with her sister, waiting for him to claim her for

the dance he had promised. He certainly had not expected to

see her whirling past him in the arms of another man. He did

not recognize the man she was with, but she was smiling up at

him as he held her in his arms, and they were swirling, waltzing.

And she looked absolutely stunning. A far cry from the sodden

young miss he’d helped earlier.

“Told you,” Elizabeth said near his ear. “Close your

mouth, Rupert. Are you scowling? You should be happy! You are

to be congratulated.”

He never heard her, as his eyes remained on Peyton,

moving fluidly across the room from him. She was positively

breathtaking to watch.

“Who is the gentleman she dances with?”

“Mr. Stanley Bickers. Wealthy, tall–”

“Yes, yes. What do you know of his character?”

“His character? He wants a wife, not a position in

government. Who cares?”

“Excuse me.” Rupert disengaged her arm from his and

made his way purposefully over to Reginald and Frieda, who

were enjoying spending time together at the punch bowl.

“Reginald.”

“Rupert, what are you doing here? I thought you hated these things.”

“I utterly despise them. Frieda, who does your sister

dance with?” he asked, hoping to learn more than just the

man’s name.

“I admit I cannot keep up with them.”

“What?”

“It’s very true,” Reginald spoke up, handing Rupert a

glass of punch. “So many men have signed that poor girl’s card

tonight, she won’t be able to stand tomorrow.”

Frieda extended her glass for a refill and smiled at

Rupert. “It would appear that having to stay behind and do her

homework was just what she needed.”

Rupert turned to Frieda as if she had grown horns. Of

course, she hadn’t seen how upset being left behind had made

Peyton.

“Miss Hamilton, did your sister say anything to you about

her day today?”

“Only that it was very long and trying. She almost didn’t

come tonight. She said she would rather curl up in the library.

Can you believe that? I’m so glad she did come, though. I

needed her to act as a buffer for me, so I could spend more

time with Reginald.” Frieda sipped greedily from her glass of

punch. “I can’t imagine why it is that I am so talkative this

evening.”

Reginald threw a conspiratorial wink at Rupert over his

own spiked punch. “I can’t imagine.”

“Oh well. I don’t really care.” She held out her empty

glass as Reginald slipped another splash of punch into it. “Look

at Peyton,” she sighed. “She’s such a good little girl. She’s been

ever so helpful in acting as a buffer ever since we arrived.”

“What?” Rupert asked her, thoroughly confused.

“Yes, the little goose thought she was accompanying me

here to act as my chaperone. I had hoped to find her a suitable

match here. However, she seemed more determined to get us

tossed out. I had to keep her from succeeding. I made her

promise not to leave my side. I couldn’t very well find her a

suitable suitor with all these young gentlemen trying to romance

me. Not when I love Reginald. Yes. I believe she will be made

an offer this very night.”

Rupert continued to stare at her. All well for you. But, what about Peyton?

“Mr. Granville, did you two go for a swim today? The

reason I ask is when I found Peyton this afternoon, she was…

well, her clothes were soaking the floor, and she refused to say

anything. I finally dragged it out of her, though. She said you

merely saved her from drowning. She must have been terribly

embarrassed. The poor silly thing couldn’t stop crying about it,

really.”

Rupert scanned the dance floor again, looking for her. He

had suspected he had hurt her. Now, he had confirmation from

the sister.

“Did she say anything else?”

“Only that she was ready to heed my advice and take this

more seriously. She said she had not realized until today that

some people play games, while others play for keeps. It all

sounds very mysterious, if you ask me.”

“That does sound mysterious,” Reginald agreed. “Wonder

what she meant by that?”

“Well, if she ever sees fit to make it over to us, we can

ask her,” Frieda announced as the music ended.

The musicians rose from their chairs, ending the set.

Rupert scanned the room, trying to peer around the

approaching couples, desperate to locate Peyton, hoping she

had not been steered out into the gardens. As he found her

drawing closer, his eyes narrowed on the flushed coloring of her

face. She was obviously laughing at something her escort had

said. His fingers tightened around his cup of punch.

As she drew nearer, he slid a quick glance to her escort,

then his gaze rested on her. She looked exquisite. However, he

did not care for the manner in which her gloved hand rested on

Bickers’ sleeve, nor did he care for the resigned expression on

her face. He waited for her to return his stare. She glanced his

way, but she acted as if he were not standing in the same room

with her, much less two feet away.

“Miss Hamilton,” Rupert greeted her as she approached.

“Good evening, Mr. Granville.” How very civil she

sounded.

“Punch, Miss Hamilton?” Bickers inquired.

“Yes, I thank you,” she returned, pulling out her hand fan

and moving it in front of her face rapidly, left-handed.

Rupert knew she could have no knowledge of what she

was saying with her fan, unless of course, she had gotten

herself engaged since he last saw her.

“Miss Hamilton, I hope you saved a dance for me.”

“I apologize, Mr. Granville. I did not.”

“I especially remember our agreement. As a matter of

fact, it is the expressed purpose of my attendance here this

evening. I promised you a dance. Did you forget?”

“I did not forget. Unfortunately, the sets are short, and

my card has been scribbled on until I cannot make it out any

longer. If you were to persuade the musicians to play another

tune then, perhaps.”

He stepped closer. “You made me promise.”

He wondered if she could feel the heat emanating from

him, as he stood too close for propriety.

“Yes, and it was rather selfish of me. Childish, I believe,

as well. Even after you told me how you detest these

gatherings. I had no right to secure such a promise. I apologize

and I release you from your pledge.”

As she drew the fan closed, she moved it deliberately to

her left ear, a clear signal that she wished to be rid of him.

“That won’t do.” His voice had dropped to a low and

menacing timbre.

“See here, sir,” Bickers started to interject.

“This is between myself and Miss Peyton Hamilton, sir,”

Rupert returned. Bickers really needed to walk away, if he knew

what was good for him. He leveled a look at the man that he

hoped would convey his irritation with him. He took delight

when the man stepped off politely. Turning, he saw that Peyton

did not seem the least bit curious as to where her escort had

disappeared to. Rather, she merely shrugged and sipped.

“This punch is delicious,” Peyton remarked after she

emptied her glass.

“Allow me,” Rupert ground out, taking it from her gloved

fingers to refill it. As he handed it back to her, he noticed that

she would not look him in the eye. She was looking everywhere

but not at him. “Tell me, Peyton, are you feeling quite yourself?

You aren’t suffering from your dip in the lake, are you?”

He hoped the mention of her dip conjured up the very

same memory that had plagued him all afternoon. The one of

his arms around her, his chest pressing into her, his hands

cupping her derriere, and his mouth bringing about the little

gasps and moans he had heard. He watched as she drained the

glass.

“I do not suffer, sir.”

“Then, tell me, no fever burning your temple?” His words

brought to him the memory of his mouth lowering to capture

her naked breast between his teeth.

“I’m quite beyond anything that occurred this afternoon,

sir.”

“Really? Then would you care for a turn about the

gardens, Miss Hamilton?” he asked, removing her glass from her

gloved hand.

“I will be sure to consult my pamphlet… and then let you

know.”

“Hang the pamphlet,” he snarled, and taking her

forcefully by the elbow, he propelled her towards the open doors

leading down to the gardens.

Any other time, she would have simply stopped and

stared up at the fullness of the moon and the brilliance of the

scattered stars, but tonight, she could barely spare a glance. His

stride made it difficult to keep up, and she found she was fairly

running in order not to pitch forward. He never stopped as they

careened passed several other couples. Heads were turning as

they blew past.

She knew exactly where he was taking her, but at night,

it was as if she were in a different world. The evening air felt

wonderful after being out on the dance floor. It touched her

skin, turning it cold at first, alerting her with tiny goose bumps,

and then tempering it to allow her to enjoy the faint breeze. The

scents from the numerous flowerbeds were pungent in the

darkness, as were the boxwoods.

Finally, he rounded the path that led to the same place he

had taken her that morning, still tugging her along behind him.

Before she could protest his leading her straight into the

darkness, his fingers found the back of her head and he crushed

her to him, his lips coming down hard as his tongue made short

work of any resistance she would have offered. His breath was

loud against her lips as he reached around with his other arm

and pulled her even closer to feel him.

Available at Champagne Books

The first time I was asked that, I had to take a minute. Growing up in Knoxville, TN, my mom would take me and my sister Beth to visit our grandparents over the mountains to North Carolina. She would make up stories to keep us entertained and had us laughing the whole way. I want to think I got the flair for storytelling from her.

I now live on a 75 acre horse farm in the prettiest of all places, East Tennessee. I am still single, yet still hopeful. Here at Grey Lady Farm we teach equestrian and board horses. I’m also involved with the Knoxville Civil War Roundtable and just this past weekend was able to take off my event coordinator hat as we wrapped up our annual Fort Dickerson Living History. That was exhausting, but worth the effort. I love history and love researching.
I have been writing fiction since the second grade. I don’t see any signs of stopping. My first book, IF YOU ONLY KNEW was published in 2004 by ArcheBooks. IKOK was a work in progress for at least two years. Two years in which I learned more about the romance genre, my own talent, and publishing than I ever dreamt possible. I remember how wonderful it felt to say the words “my editor.” My second historical was IF YOU ONLY DARE and it picked up where IYOK left off. I don’t mean a decade later, I mean the next moment!

I found out that I enjoy writing so much and watching the characters come to life. It gets to a point where they take over and I’m just the happy conduit. I have to be careful though, because when that happens, they always seem to want to jump into bed. It could be page one, they have no shame! Not that they should…

I love that rocky road to romance. The one with the bumps? I love it when my hero finds himself doing the strangest things to get the woman he wants. Men are so funny when they don’t get their way. So, yes, I exploit that!

I’m 47 and love to laugh. I have a PhD in MRS and I hope one day to put my studies to good use. I’m not sure how I find time to write with all this “farm living” going on. There is never a dull moment. One school horse is accident proned. We now have goats and chickens, 12 dogs and a donkey! Some mornings, it is like waking up to a Farmer’s See-N-Say. The donkey goes…The rooster says…

Bottom line, I love writing and I love it when a reader tells me they enjoyed my writing. I’m one of those people who if I see something wonderful, a movie or tv show, or read a marvelous book, I want to share that with others. I want them to be able to escape and be entertained.

Now, as for realistic? I think most men I know have the alpha male traits. The guys who work here on the horse farm, for example are also firemen and they are always quick with a smile, a joke, some gossip, yes, men gossip more than we do, and these boys are downright sexy to boot. And, one of them bought my second western novel to give to his new girlfriend. He said he wanted to do something different, to let her know that he was a cut above. Sadly, they broke up, but he loves the book and bought the first western. And now he is building twelve new horse stalls here and giving them western town false fronts, like my town of Sweetwater. We have the Globe Salloon, Butterfield Stage Co., bathhouse, mercantile, and you can even put your horse in jail.

I digress…the males in my novels are a happy mix of all sorts of manly attributes, yet mostly the strong and silent type. Cole from IF YOU ONLY KNEW was strong and silent, while Neville in IF YOU ONLY DARE was charismatic and intelligent. Bobby in LOSE MY MIND was strong and silent. Rupert from THE UNSUITABLE SUITOR was almost brooding, but had that dry British wit, and Det. Chuck Hollis…definitely strong and silent. All of my heroes have one thing in common, they have a commanding presence. If they were to walk into the room, you would not be able to keep your eyes off of them. A man with a plan, that is my particular favorite type of hero. Watching how he copes when that plan is blown to pieces…priceless.

And now for stupid heroines. How many times have I been reading along and the heroine who is showing her IQ by counting how many beds she can hop into or throws the guy over for the dumbest reason, almost no reason at all? That book goes sailing across the room. I no longer care what happens to this twit. I count myself lucky for not investing any more time in her silly, sorry, trifling life. I understand that heroines are victims, but to be a victim of your own author is unforgivable. Some of these heroines couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag. I understand that women from eras long ago were not as sophisticated or as savvy as women are today, however, they had to be keenly intelligent just to survive. She doesn’t have to be a rock(et) scientist, but please, for the love of all that is right and just, give that byotch SOME common sense!

I think my heroines are smart enough to find themselves in a world of trouble and intelligent enough to appreciate that look the hero sends her way.

Neville Hilliard was the conniving entrepreneur (saloon and brothel owner) from IF YOU ONLY KNEW. This was Cole and Grace’s story, but Neville stole every scene he was in. I saw it, the reader’s saw it. They almost demanded to know more about Neville and told me he needed his own novel. He was almost too strong to be a secondary character and while writing IYOK, I found I had to rein him in. Then, he and Cole were arguing over the tactics Neville insisted Cole undertake to win Grace’s heart, Cole flung out, “If you’re so smart about women, then why ain’t you married?” And Neville answered, more to himself, “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” And as soon as he said those words, I knew we had to explore the meaning behind them. I wondered what Neville would do if he were in Cole’s shoes. So, in IF YOU ONLY DARE, we found out that finding him in a similar predicament, Mr. Know-It-All was a complete wreck. I think he is the funniest hero I have ever written.

I am going to send you the instructions for the Secret Language of the Fan. And I will add a snippet from THE UNSUITABLE SUITOR, illustrating the use of “instant messaging.”

Romance Run Amok is that illuminating frenzied rush you feel when you are in a new relationship or that giddiness you experience while reading a great book, the one that makes you giggle and walk about the house with a silly smile on your face until you can get back to reading.

I love to exploit men. Or how they react when they don’t get their way. Men do the craziest things and I love them for it! It is also a celebration of that rocky bumpy road to romance.

2. You’ve written historicals from regency to western. What sort and how much do you research to get the clothes, speech etc correct? Which era is the easiest to research? Old west, regency, medeival, etc?

I am really odd. I love the research portion of writing. I want to know more than what was going on around the characters, I want to know what they smell like, what they ate, and what thoughts would be running through their heads. If they get injured, I want to know what sort of medical help they can expect.
For IF YOU ONLY DARE, which is set in the 1880’s, I ran into a bustle problem. I had managed to pick the only year when the bustle was on its way out of the fashion world. I countered this with the knowledge that fashion would not catch up to the West for at least a year. So, to poke fun at myself, Neville, the hero despises bustles on a woman and only realizes how handy they are when he has to use it to hold on his woman.

Thanks to the web, all eras are researchable. One site that has been most helpful is Charlotte Dillon’s site. She has sections for research in everything from Wild West to Witches and Werewolves.

I have been studying alot recently about the reign of Stephen of Bloise, King of England in the 12th Century. Fascinating reign, that. I will use it for the backdrop for medieval romances entitled The Bastard and Playing for Keeps. Those are next. Knights are very sexy…and funny.
3. When you begin your stories, who usually speaks first, the hero or heroine, or is it the plot?

Geez! That’s a hard question! Blogarazzi is tough! It depends on the plot. Grace led off in IF YOU ONLY KNEW. Neville in IF YOU ONLY DARE, Bobby in LOSE MY MIND, Rupert in THE UNSUITABLE SUITOR and my newest heroine, Dr. Christmas Eve Blevins speaks first in TAIL-TELL HEART. I guess that makes me an equal opportunity author.
4. I noticed a lot of humor in your excerpts. Is this something you like to read as well as write?

Yes! I love the humorous side of the characters, one-liners, facial expressions, clipped diction when warranted. I love Johanna Lindsey because of the humor she interjects. I remember laughing so hard during Gentle Rogue and for me that is a much better read.

5. Do you remember the first romance novel you read that ‘hooked’ you?

Yes! The Wolf and the Dove, remember when the knight slipped up and spoke in French? I gasped out loud! That was my first jaw-drop from a romance. Oh, I was definitely hooked!

6. What is your idea of a perfect day, for writing? For not writing?

My perfect day for writing would be any day where I could get some peace and quiet. That is a rarity here on the farm, but I have headphones and tons of music. Also, I love to be able to paint myself into a corner plotwise and then figure out an escape route.

For not writing a perfect day would be spending time hiking back on the 75 acres here. We have a small mountain and it is perfect to get away and feel like the only person on earth.

7. Do you have any hobbies you’d like to share with us?

I love to collect hand fans. You know the ones ladies used to use to send instant messages with? Love those! I also learned the language of the fan and employed that in THE UNSUITABLE SUITOR.
8. And please give us an excerpt from any of your books. Be sure to put the buy links in here too though.

I’ll start off with TAIL-TELL HEART, my newest contemporary. I love this one because it is a Christmas novel and the heroine is facing her 40th birthday.

Excerpt From Tail-Tell Heart

“Sorry detective, this shot goes in below the belt, or it doesn’t go in.”
“Geez, get me a doctor. I don’t have time for this.”
“Neither do I.” She moved closer. “Now, let’s get these pants off.”
She reached in for the closure of his jeans. He moved quickly to stop her, laughing nervously.
His fingers slid around her latex covered wrists, holding her still.
“Slow down, baby,” he chided in a teasing, husky voice.
Instead of pushing her away, she realized he was keeping her close to him. He seemed to stare a hole into her skull, his dark brows gathering at the bridge of his nose. “Have we met before?” he asked.
As soon as the words were out, he clamped his mouth shut, shook his head, and continued to stare.
She knew he was trying his best to come on to her. She had to admit the look he gave her was very sexy, as if he were very close to kissing her. She was also captivated by the spicy scent he wore. It stirred her just being this close to him. She stared into his eyes and it felt as if she were seeing him in a different setting. Had they met before?
Had she blinked since he’d taken hold of her wrists?
“Why do you want my pants off, huh?” He whispered the words close to her ear, easing her hand closer.
Nonplussed, she answered him. “Because, I might need to draw some blood.”
“What?” The color drained from his face.
“Just a little prick will do.”
“Whoa,” he laughed nervously, shoving her hands away. His eyes flashed dangerously.
The curtain was wrenched back and Denise entered the room. He seemed to relax seeing another person, though Denise carried a metal tray for the examination.
“Thank God, you’re here,” he said, jerking his thumb towards Chris. “I think this one escaped from the psych ward. You might want to take Psycho Barbie back and get her some meds.”
Denise lifted a perfect eyebrow over her ebony eyes, giving this man her best, Oh, no you didn’t look.
Turning to Chris, she smiled.
“Will that be all, Dr. Blevins?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you, Denise.” Chris called as Denise left the exam room, laughing as she closed the curtain.
“Doctor?” he asked, the shock in his condescending voice insulting.
She smiled, holding up the needle again. “You want to drop them now?”
“No.”
She fought to keep her gloating from showing in her grin as she regarded his sullen expression.
He looked ready to yell at her for somehow tricking him. Was he disappointed to find out she was a doctor or sulking because she had gotten the better of him? And she had gotten the better of him. And he had deserved every bit of it.
“I thought you just wanted a shot.”
“What’s in that?”
“It’s called ten cc’s of whatever. Go ahead and roll over. I’ll be gentle.” She squirted a tiny bit of the clear liquid into the air and stepped forward.
“I’m not about to roll over.”
She noticed how black his hair was against his skin, which seemed to grow paler. His dark brows furrowed upwards and dark lashes framed his eyes, making them appear a deeper blue. His face was rugged, lantern jawed. His mouth firmly set. She figured the same frown had probably loosened the tongue of many a suspect.
The effect, however, was lost on her.
“What the hell is wrong with you, lady?”
“What’s wrong with me? You come in here, ordering me around,telling me what to do, how to do it, when to do it, and you have the audacity to ask what’s wrong with me?”
“Oh, one of those.” He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and let his breath out in a huff.
“One of those?”
“Prissy assed man-hater. I should have spotted it right off.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You don’t seem to be big on noticing things.”
“Is that right?”
“Well, you didn’t notice that I had on a name tag that says MD. That stands for Doctor.
Nor did you notice my pair of—”
“Oh, I noticed ‘em.” His gaze lowered, letting her know he was staring at her breasts.
Judging from the expression on his face, she could surmise that he liked what he was ogling.
“Stethoscopes. Pair of stethoscopes.”
“Yeah, they’re real nice. You think I could put my ear up to one and talk into the other one?”
He grinned as she felt her face heat with embarrassment. “Look, Doc. Just patch me up and I’ll
get outta your, hair.” As if on cue, her hair decided to pick that very moment to fall over her eyes again.
He smiled at her as she blew the loose strand from her eye. Again she watched as his gaze drifted
to her open blouse. He sucked in a loud breath.
“My God,” he spoke in hushed tones. “You’re a beauty.”
His words were unexpected and she felt them. The look in his
eyes made her want to go weak and she stared at him for a moment, feeling something she hadn’t in years, vulnerable. She willed her resolve back to cover her reaction and smooth the heat in her cheeks.
“Look, I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, though she suspected it was another detective ploy. “I’ve just, I’ve had a hell of a night.”
“Really?” She drew herself up, her back stiffening. She hoped he would catch the sarcasm in her voice.
“Yeah. I was chasing this bad guy through the alley and when he turned to fire, I dove.”
He cocked his head to the side, as if waiting for a response in kind. His sudden smile seemed to be an attempt at brokering peace. “Anyway, this guy is bad news.”
Chris was amazed at how easily he’d pulled her into his world of cops and robbers.
She was not ready to feel so gullible and wondered if he was merely using detective tricks
to get over on her, maybe trying to get out of his shot. She bet that silver tongue of his got him many a date with many a woman.
“I’m sorry. Do I look like a psychiatrist to you?” she asked him, taking delight in the way his dark brows slashed upwards. She’d certainly caught him off guard.
“What?”
“Well,” she stepped closer. “I don’t recall asking you how your night went, so you either take me for a psychiatrist or a bartender. Which is it?”
His expression hardened again. “Look, Miss Priss. I just need to be stitched up. Please?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” As she placed the syringe onto the metal tray, she heard the rush
of breath and wondered if it was from relief. “Lie back, please.”
“Geez, helluva bedside manner you’ve got, lady.”
“Do you see a bed?”

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Tail-Tell Heart