Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will award one of ten ebooks to ten randomly drawn winners via rafflcopter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
What would we find under your bed?
Shoes. Dust. The dirty clothes hamper. And whatever book I have been reading (I don’t have the room for a nightstand).
What was the scariest moment of your life?
This wasn’t the scariest moment, but I’d like to tell a story about a moment that changed my approach to every scary moment since. About a decade ago I was in a crowded market in Varanasi. It was night. I was with a young woman from our tour and we were negotiating her purchase. The rest of the tour was scattered. There were two men asking for money unrelated to our transaction and the five of us were so close we were all pressed up against one another, as was everyone else in the market. In that moment, the power in that part of the city failed. It was so dark I couldn’t see anyone else, but I could feel them. Instinct said to be frightened. I took a deep breath through the fear and asked myself—are we in danger? The answer was a resounding no. So, I held my friend’s hand and just waited. In a few minutes, the lights came up and the hectic pace resumed where it left off. Ever since that moment, I realized calm and clarity can prevail even in uncertain situations.
Do you listen to music while writing? If so what?
No music. I love music, but I tend to focus on lyrics. If I am writing, I find that just too distracting. Even when the music has no lyrics, sometimes the ‘mood’ is so strong I cannot concentrate on writing.
What is something you'd like to accomplish in your writing career next year?
I’d like to release my 4th and 5th books. If the muse is very sweet, maybe my 6th.
How long did it take you to write this book?
2 weeks for the first draft 6 months to edit
Sophia Baneham has lived in the poison of her dead father's shadow for longer than she cares to admit. Now she exists outside of polite society's influence, holding gambling parties for London's most dangerous men. When a man walks into one of her soirees, a compelling mix of charisma and icy control, he offers the lady of sin a wager she can't refuse...
Lord Randolph is a spy in the service of His Majesty, but he’s given an oath to protect the daughter of his mentor. Even as his gamble of marriage starts to spiral out of control and his passions ignite, Randolph is determined that he’ll handle things his way…
But when danger closes in, Randolph won't just have to protect Sophia from an intended killer. He'll have to protect her from himself...
He had never before failed in a mission. Never.
Clearly, he had been off his game and there was only one reason.
Before they had met, Randolph had thought of Sophia as an evil-made-necessary—a means to probe the secrets Baneham had left behind. But then she had turned her cornflower blue eyes on him and everything had changed.
…Hours after returning from India, he arrived at a Fury soiree—uninvited. Lady Sophia’s footman stuttered under his glower, but the man refused to grant him entry. No one could be admitted to the soiree, the man insisted, without approval of the hostess, even if accompanied, as Randolph was, by the hostess’s cousin.
He remained in the hall, suffering the indignity of his wait with hands clasped behind his back. The entry was hardly what he had expected of Baneham’s home. The man had been the epitome of male. These furnishings could only be described as—he suppressed an inward shudder—dainty.
He peered into the rooms beyond. The dandies within did nothing to dilute the feminine air. The library was a rainbow of velvet jackets and frothing cravats, topped with clouds of fluffed white wigs. Even from the distance, the scent proved this the motliest male collection of Eau du Cologne enthusiasts ever assembled.
“Cousin Charles has brought me a gift, I see.” Her voice sang over his veins the way the wind sang against lines of a hoisted sail—the song sank all the way into his cock.
The voice came from a petite, provocatively curved woman sewn into her pink silk bodice—he could think of no other way the fabric could fit so tight. Her hair powder was laced with a matching pink hue. She looked like strawberries and cream and, if he was permitted a taste of her lips, he was certain she’d be as mouthwateringly sweet.
Her gaze dropped from his face and traveled boldly down his body.
By Saint George, he wanted a sampling of her sweetness.
“Lord Randolph,” he said, “at your service.”
Her faint smile implied a flirtatious scold. “You do not have an invitation, Lord Randolph.”
“Soon remedied, I hope. I am recently returned from the continent.” She did not need to know which continent—nor how recently. “I have heard your soirees are the must-attend events for any London rake worth his salt.”
“Do you fancy yourself a rake, then, Lord Randolph?” She sounded hopeful, blast her sensual voice.
He leaned forward and whispered, “Issue me an invitation, sweetness, and I will provide any proof you may require.”
“No proof is required…” a faint, secret smile teased her mouth—both challenge and invitation, “at present.”
It had been lust at first sight. She lit a carnal fire in his blood and the resulting burn was hotter and deeper than any he’d known.
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