If you've read my books, you've already picked up that I prefer two basic locals for my stories, either Los Angeles based or Texas based. I'll play around with New York, Las Vegas and San Francisco, since those are my favorite cities, but my heart has been evenly split my entire adult life between California and Texas.
I'm a Texas girl, born and bred. Like any Texas girl, I'm proud to be from the Lone Star State. My own personal history, whether as a child growing up in the 1970s and 1980s or raising my kids in the same towns I grew up in (with them attending the same schools I attended,) everything is entrenched in Texas history. I love the cities. I love the country. I cross the state line and I still feel like I've come home.
Even my accent comes back instantaneously. It's hilarious.
I grew up with thunderstorms and cowboys, bluebonnets and remember the Alamo, with people that greet you with yes sir or yes ma'am, or wave at you when you pass them on a remote country highway. I grew up on Mrs. Bairds, Tex-Mex and Big Red soda, and ended many nights closing down a bar just to get a Whataburger (with jalapenos) at 2am. I've enjoyed the slower pace of rural Texas and the more hectic crowded cities like Houston and Dallas.
Every single book I can center in Texas is a virtual love letter to my home state, which is especially true for my Mevember Giveway today.
I wrote SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY as an homage to Texas men, Texas gentlemen specifically. These are the ones who tip their hat to you when they greet you, or stand when you enter the room. They open the door for you, they call you 'darlin'' with a slow, easy drawl. They believe in God and family, hard work and keeping their word. They have nothing to prove; instead they live their lives by a code of ethics that center on doing what's right.
They're not perfect, mind you. But the right Texas gent makes it easy to forgive.
When I first started reading romances when I was eleven, I was drawn to the southern men that Janet Dailey wrote about. Manly men who knew when to be tender, and loved you more when you were standing toe to toe with them (rather than shrinking under their feet.) They had my heart from the start. I couldn't wait to meet one. To love one. Or really, to love several.
Fortunately for me, I even got to raise a couple. I've written many more.
Jonah Riley is that special kind of man. He sits somewhere between sweet Cinnamon Roll and self-assured alpha... which makes him perfect for our heroine Lacy. She's a feisty spitfire of a Texas girl. She needs someone who understands the delicate balance a good man has to strike knowing when to lead the dance and when to let his woman shine all on her own. Jonah's both hero and cheerleader, depending on her needs at the time. Best of all, when he says he'll be there... he means it.
Travel to my beloved Texas as you get to know Jonah and Lacy in SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY, today's free giveaway.
It's a double shot of pure southern comfort with a rock and roll kicker.
He's a solid, stand-up guy. He says what he means and means what he says.
Nice guy or douche?
He's one of the nicest guys I've written. But he has his douche moments. He's young. He's got a temper. It gets the better of him sometimes.
Favorite moment with him?
My dad died when I was eleven. He pretty much filled my world as my caretaker back in the day, so losing him tore a gigantic hole in my life. Thanks to my aunt, his sister, who took care of me in those dark days that followed, I had a never-ending stream of books to read. They were Harlequin romances she used to get four at a time, those thin little white-cover novels that a fast reader could demolish in a day. There were stacks and stacks of them and I inhaled them, clinging particularly to the men I read about since I was suddenly without any strong, male influence in my life. No brothers except older stepbrothers I barely met and hardly knew. No grandpas. All my uncles lived out of town. But within those books I could feel protected again. I could step into those romances, the wide-eyed ingenue, and the hero could save me from my loneliness and despair.
Most ran together, quite honestly. The books were formulaic. I knew what I could expect. Pretty soon I got burned out on generic happy endings. They no longer rang true to my ear. Bad things happened. Things weren't perfect. Right around that time, I found my first Janet Dailey book, "Six White Horses." I remember the name of the book and I remember the story, which is more than I could say for dozens I read around the same time. One, it was one of her Americana series, so it was set in the South. Being a proper Southern girl, this pleased me. Two, the hero was a gigantic ass and the heroine was true Oklahoma grit who wasn't going to take ANY of that mess. They HATED each other, but man there was some serious heat between them.
When I set out to write a Southern Romance of my own, I dug DEEP into this dynamic. It is my personal ode to a story that changed forever how I look at romance.
Thank you, Janet.
I headed out to my truck by ten-thirty. Before I could turn the key, I spotted someone across the parking lot kicking and screaming at a POS special with its hood up.
That someone was wearing ripped blue jeans and a hoodie.
I started the truck and drove slowly over to her section of the darkened, mostly abandoned parking lot. Most of the crowd, including those who were giving her the most grief, was inside getting their buzz on, listening to the next act.
I rolled down my window as I got to her. “Having trouble?”
She whirled around to glare at me. When she saw my face she rolled her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said as she turned around to the stalled vehicle.
I stopped the truck and slid out. “You may be fine but your car is on its last leg.” I glanced down at the engine, which looked to be about a hundred years old. “Let me give you a ride.”
She glanced me over with disdain. “Yeah, no thanks.”
“Fine, then how about a jump?”
“How about get lost?” she snapped. “Go play Boy Scout somewhere else.”
She was clearly pissed, but I would have been too after what happened after her gig. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” she spat.
“Look, I know it’s been a rough night…” My comment was cut short when she whirled around, a tiny, fiery bundle of fury.
“Don’t you understand English? Get lost!”
My blood started to boil. “Fine! Stay here all night. See if I care.” I turned toward the truck, but before I got to the driver’s side I stopped myself. I tried to remind myself that she wasn’t angry with me. It had been a shitty crowd, with a bunch of drunk assholes ready to jump all over her like they deserved to. I couldn’t very well leave her there, not with all the aggressive jerks who had tried to ambush her in the club. They wouldn’t stop at no, and that was no kind of guy to run into in a dark parking lot. I took a deep breath before I turned back and walked over to the car.
Her eyes widened as I approached. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m helping you,” I told her before I circled her waist with my hands and lifted her away from her car so I could figure out what was wrong with it. “Too bad you’re too damned stubborn to see that.”
“Fuck you!” she spat, hissing at me like an angry cat.
I ignored her as I fiddled with the engine. I sidestepped her to climb inside and turn the key. Nothing. I got out, rounding to the front of the car to test the connections. Despite the ancient car, the battery was new. I retrieved my tools from my truck and within a minute her car fired to life. She stood staring at me, stupefied.
“Connection was loose,” I told her as I put my tools back in the box. “Shouldn’t give you any more trouble.”
I put the tool box back in the bed of the truck before I hopped in the cab and gunned my own engine. She walked, reluctantly, to my window. “Thank you,” she managed.
I looked her in those big doe eyes, which were a lot more contrite than angry. “You’re welcome.”
“I’d offer you money, but…” She trailed off, looking embarrassed.
I held her gaze for just a minute longer before I said, “Don’t worry about it. Finding out there’s a woman under there and not some feral cat is payment enough.”
I left her sputtering behind me as I squealed out of the parking lot.
What do you love about him?
He's all the best part of a good Texas man. He's got honor. He's got fight. He's got a big heart. He would do anything for his sick sister or his grieving mother. He's not going to settle. He's going to meet every challenge head-on. He is the very definition of cowboy the fuck up.
What do you hate about him?
He's stubborn as a mule. He can be pushy. He's young, still, so he can be immature. Things had come relatively easy for him growing up, it takes a little adjustment to be told "no."
If you went on a date, where would you go?
A picnic in the countryside.
Who inspired him?
I grew up in Texas, so I know a little bit about Texas men. He was all the good stuff, poured into tight-fitting blue jeans.
Who might play him in a movie?
More of who *should* have played him. I've only had one perfect Southern Ideal since 1985, and that was this guy..
*Sigh*. Orry. Where do you go from there, honestly?
Do you have a special song that reminds you of him?
Like most of my music-driven stories, there are a lot of songs that crafted Jonah.
And, of course, the duets...
BUT, having said that, this is their love theme to me.
Any "Easter Eggs" planted with this book boyfriend?
You know, I can't think of anything offhand.
Where can we find him?
SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY is Jonah's story, which is free today. SOUTHERN ROCKER CHICK is Lacy's. They are told from dual perspectives because I really wanted to examine the idea, "There's his story, there's her story and the cold, hard truth." We get to see how that all plays out in SOUTHERN ROCKER SHOWDOWN. But the story doesn't end there. Jonah and Lacy become part of the Groupie Universe, so they pop up in FULL-FIGURED FLOOZIES.
Today is a special day. Not only is it Jordi's birthday, but it is the anniversary of the day I wed my love, Steven, in 2001.
I would tell you about my love, but truth is, you've already met him in various ways throughout many of my stories. Any time any of my Book Boyfriends have made you laugh, have supported their heroines, making them believe that they could be anything they wanted to be, who deserved to be loved and romanced and valued despite what they were taught to believe by society at large, you've seen Steven peeking from behind the facade. Fun... romance... unconditional love and unyielding support? This is his fingerprint on my life. He's literally made so many of my dreams come true.
Since Steven is my idea of a HEA, he has influenced and inspired so many stories, so many characters and so many experiences that I have written in dozens of books since we met. If I get stuck on an idea, I turn to Steven, thrusting pages of raw material under his nose to get his input. Because of him, I'm not sure I would have written THE GROUPIE SAGA as truthfully as I did. When he got to the end of book one, he told me what I already knew (which is why I was stuck there, toiling over the ending.) He told me I could not end it the way I had planned because it would cheapen the characters and fall flat, and he was absolutely, positively, 100-percent right. I knew that I was breaking a few rules when I completed the novel, but - much to my surprise - this was the series that first "landed" me my first real writing success.
Honestly, I don't even know if I'd have the career I have without him, since he has been one of my biggest cheerleaders, and often financier, of this crazy, wacky dream I have to become a best-selling writer, award-winning screenwriter.
I dream big, what can I say?
Truth is, Steven is kind of the reason I dream big. I mean, I always dreamed big, but I was always afraid to share those dreams with just anyone, because I was afraid of hearing what I always heard. "Who are YOU to do anything so special?" Well, love kind of shows you how big you can dream because it shows you how truly special you are to the right people. I knew Steven was "the right people," almost from the moment we met. He's got all the nice guy stuff going on, but he's also brave enough to tell me the truth, whether I want to hear it or not. Not a lot of people do that, and the last thing I needed was yet someone else patting me on my head and pacifying me just to shut me up. Not Steven... he's always - always - endeavored to make me better, mostly because he's always believed I could do all the amazing things I wanted to do.
This is not just some biased opinion, by the way. Since he's been a voracious reader all of his life, I knew I could share my meager little stories with him from their infancy, and he could give me the critical feedback I needed to grow. When he told me I was talented enough to make this whole crazy thing work, I knew I could believe him. I started writing more, branching out to the even scarier, wackier dream of screenwriting, and pursuing opportunities I wouldn't have had the ovarian fortitude to chase without his encouraging voice in my ear, telling me I've got the goods and I can totally make it happen. He never once tried to talk me down to planet Earth, suggesting that I needed a Plan B if this didn't work. In fact, he's the one who says, repeatedly, that the best is yet to come.
This kind of has been the theme of our whole marriage.
I won't say that things have been perfect. We've had our share of hard times and pitfalls. Several notable years - which were always odd-numbered for some reason - we flew by the seat of our pants, juggling chainsaws, flaming swords, piranhas and scorpions in order to get from one day to the next. The road has been way rockier than it has ever been smooth. But thanks to my honey, my eternal Peter Pan, I've always had someone to pick me up when I fell. (And vice versa.)
We are the perfect fit. Where I'm high-strung and emotional, he's laid back and rational. We both share the same playful sense of humor, which keeps our spirits light no matter what shit storm we might be enduring at the time. And granted, there have been times of great frustration on both of our parts, but they have never shaken our core commitment to each other. We both know how lucky we are to have found each other. We'd rather be together and struggling than apart and "safe." At the end of the day, there's no one I'd rather come home to. There's nothing anyone else could ever offer me that would improve on what I have now. It's a million-dollar match without the million dollars. (But we're working on that. Take note, Universe. #powerofattraction #nameitandclaimit)
So this might explain why I became a little peeved in the early 2000s that women who looked like me in romance novels were *not* the ones walking away with Top Prize. *I* fell in love with, and caught, a Prince Charming, despite the fact I'm dismissed as "less than ideal." (I'm wording it nicer than it's ever felt, by the way.) So if *I* can do that, why was I not seeing that in the books I read? My story is just as true and just as valid as anything I'd ever read, so why was I reading about the Fat Girl who couldn't find herself a sweetie the way I had?
Especially the sweetest sweetie of the bunch, who makes me feel sexy and beautiful and valued with every kiss, every touch and every smile.
It really gave me a bad taste in my mouth regarding all those traditional romances I read growing up, the ones I thought I wanted to write. It took Steven to see that I didn't have to write about the perfect girl who didn't know she was beautiful, who was fawned over by the handsome, perfect man, who somehow deserved her happily ever after more than the normal girls, the average girls, the atypical girls, the alternative girls... the invisible girls.
As a protest to this, I penned my first Rubenesque Romance, LOVE PLUS ONE, in 2007, where I wrote the kind of story that I wanted to read. It was more sweet than sexy, because that's the gentle introduction into the world of romance that I wanted to make. I knew I'd have to ease readers into these waters. You may not know this, but there are readers who will bypass a book with a larger heroine because they think they would hate to read about sex scenes with larger, imperfect bodies. Sadly, many readers avoid books about atypical heroines because "it's not the fantasy," and that is why so many read romance in the first place. But see, that's the great thing about fantasy. The world is big enough for all of them, even *my* fantasy - which was falling in love and being loved in return, to be deserving of that love because she is so much more than a paper doll prototype, a true flesh-and-blood woman who wants only to be desired and chosen by the perfect man.
Way back in 1997, I landed my first agent, who shopped around an early draft of my book PICTURE POSTCARDS. Several publishers came back with the same criticism: the heroine is *too* perfect. Back then I was writing stories like I read, where authors like Danielle Steel dominated my TBR list. I bought into the hype of the standard fantasy forced down our gullet from Cinderella to Barbie to any number of popular heroines in mainstream fiction and movies: that women have to be beautiful to be loved. So I imagined what life would have been like had I been born one of the fortunate few. The reason that book failed to land an audience was because that is not my story to tell, so it wasn't authentic and fell flat. I don't know what it's like to be the beautiful girl who doesn't know she's beautiful, who lands the rich, handsome guy because of pure physical attraction. I'm the quirky, funny DUFF, whose qualities are hidden a little more under the surface. I know what it's like to fall ass backwards into love, where I question each and every suitor because I am never entirely convinced they could ever want someone like me, someone normal, someone average, someone atypical or alternative...
Someone invisible.
Enter Shannon McKenna and LOVE PLUS ONE. Shannon knows all about being invisible. As a size-12 awkward geek with an insanely perfect sister, she was used to being delegated back to the shadows, where she could write and daydream about a HEA, but never for once thought she'd find one of her very own. This is where Jake Dalton stepped in, her best friend, her biggest supporter - her Prince Charming in Waiting. Jake is patterned almost exclusively after my honey. Here are some key snippets where you'll see Steven waving from behind the words.
***
Jake infuriated her sometimes. He was so level-headed. If A happened, do B. No sweat. Well, dammit, she thought to herself. Sometimes there was some sweat.
***
“You look great,” he said. He always said that. She could be in curlers and a green mud mask and he’d say that, except he’d amend, “for an alien.”
***
The limo came to a halt in front of an outdoor recreation center. Shannon got the nagging feeling Rex was up to something dirty.
When she saw the rock wall, she was certain of it.
Shannon wasn’t exactly the outdoorsy type, and there was that near pathological fear of heights thing. And she knew that Rex knew that because when Dixie had researched her show about phobias she grilled her entire staff out of curiosity, to see how common phobias were and how they affected daily life.
Despite that show, Shannon never really saw the need to tackle this particular fear. She had been very careful to cultivate an existence that didn’t move more than two feet off the ground. No high rises, no planes, no juggling act while balancing on a high wire. She even chose a ground floor apartment and worked in a one level studio.
She had convinced herself it wasn’t really a phobia. It was a choice. A choice she made again and again in her life, usually through white-knuckled, hyperventilating terror.
Jake had absolutely no idea, but she had a sneaky suspicion he was about to find out.
Conversely, Jake was stoked as he surveyed the wall. He loved physical activity that tested his limits, and this was right up his alley. He listened intently and nodded with enthusiasm as their guide gave them the rundown. Shannon plastered a smile on her face, but inside she seriously fought coming unglued. She glanced up at the wall that had to be at least forty feet high, which was funny because that’s exactly forty feet higher than she wanted to go.
Before she could protest, she was trussed up in a harness and face to face with the Wall of Doom. Suddenly her arms felt like jelly and she just knew, without any doubt, that she was going to puke.
Jake had already crawled up on the wall. He glanced back at her. “Come on, Shan! I’ll race you.”
“Let’s not and just say we did,” she muttered. She tried to will herself to move but it just wasn’t happening.
“Chicken!” he called down. It was a friendly dig meant to get her up on the wall, but it didn’t work. She’d much rather be a live chicken than a scrambled egg.
The guide came over. “Everything okay?”
No, she wanted to say. Everything is not okay. Instead she made a joke, which was the Shannon way. “How strong are these things?” she asked and motioned to the harness.
He just smiled. He knew the type. He also knew if she gave it half a chance she’d have a great time and gain a new hobby.
With the patience of a saint he showed her again where to step and where to grab on. With his help she managed to make it off the ground. “Just concentrate on your next step,” the instructor told her. She looked no further than that.
It was slow going, especially with the way Jake was scaling the wall like some kind of superhero. But she didn’t feel she was doing too badly given the circumstances, and called back to the guide to say so.
That was when she realized the ground was about fifteen feet down. If she’d have stopped to think about it, it was really not that far away, just one little ol’ story really, but to her frantic mind she felt like she was on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Suddenly her heart thumped against her ribs and her limbs began to shake. She couldn’t breathe and it felt as though she might actually be having a heart attack.
She looked up, but that only gave her a mean case of vertigo. The world spun around her and all she could do was hold on.
She promptly closed her eyes and began to scream.
“Jake!”
Like a flash he propelled down to where she sprawled frozen against the wall. She was white as a ghost and shook so badly he worried she might be having a seizure of some sort. Tears poured down her face despite how tightly she clenched her eyes shut. “Shan?”
His soothing voice only made her cry harder. She shook her head. All she wanted was to get down, but she just didn’t have the guts. She may have only been fifteen feet off the ground, but it felt like she was on top of the Empire State Building.
He tried again. “What’s wrong?”
She barely opened an eye. “Heights.” It was all she could muster.
“You’re afraid of heights?” he asked, then glanced down at how far she’d come.
She nodded. “I want to get down.”
He touched her shoulder. “Okay.”
Only she didn’t move.
“Do you know how?” he asked finally.
She nodded again and cried even harder. Her hands gripped the wall so tightly her knuckles were white.
“Honey, you gotta let go,” he said softly.
She shook her head. She couldn’t even handle the thought. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he soothed. “Look how far you came. Getting down will be a cinch. You’ll be on the ground before you know it.”
Intellectually she knew that, but it was another matter convincing her body. Her heart raced. She couldn’t breathe. She visibly shook as she clung to the wall. “I can’t let go.”
He placed his hand on hers. “Then hang on. To me.”
She looked into his face. He was her Jake. She knew he’d never let her down. Finally she allowed him to take her hand in his.
“Trust me?” he said. She nodded. Together they kicked away from the wall and propelled down to the ground in one jump.
***
In fact, one of the key moments in their journey was a spectacular date at the Hollywood Bowl, which, aside from the obvious embellishments, was lifted directly from my courtship with Steven, who took me to the Hollywood Bowl in one of our first dates in 1999 to see John Williams conduct the LA Philharmonic under the stars. (And yes, this means that the Star Wars theme is unofficially one of our 'songs.')
The other key scenes heavily *heavily* inspired by my romance with Steven were the ones in Vegas. Vegas is our town. We fell in love there. We got engaged there. We got married there and renewed our vows there. We both even got our first tattoos there. Any chance I have to go to Vegas in any of my books is an homage to my darling hubby.
Because of Steven, you all got Jake Dalton, Graham Baxter, Jace Riga and Jonah Riley. (In fact, it occurs to me just now that the hero I wrote in 1995, when I wrote PICTURE POSTCARDS, ultimately came true with Steven four years later, like I had ordered him straight out of a catalog. See? Law of attraction. Thank you, Universe!)
These book boyfriends are my "nice guys," the sweethearts of the pack. They don't often get the same kind of following as my bad boys, which I think is a shame. The nice guys are the ones who help you raise your children. The nice guys are the ones who offer unwavering support as you follow your dreams, who never make you question their love or commitment. They're the ones who love you during all those crappy moments where you can't love yourself, and God knows a few of my heroines had a hard time with that. To me, these are the qualities that define a romantic hero. Each and every word they uttered was inspired by my real life Prince Charming, and so I kinda love them more. Loving a bad boy is easy. Finding a good man is a miracle... and has been my fantasy since I was a hopelessly romantic pre-teen girl.
So happy 14th anniversary to my love, who made that dream come true. You are my love, my friend, my soul's perfect mate. You truly are the reason I believe in love. From this moment on... and for always.
Excerpt from SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY, releasing OCTOBER 17, 2014!!
***
I headed out to my truck by ten-thirty. Before I could turn the key, I spotted someone across the parking lot kicking and screaming at a POS special with its hood up.
That someone was wearing ripped blue jeans and a hoodie.
I started the truck and drove slowly over to her section of the darkened, mostly abandoned parking lot. Most of the crowd, including those who were giving her the most grief, were all inside getting their buzz on, listening to the next act.
I rolled down my window as I got to her. “Having trouble?”
She whirled around to glare at me. When she saw my face she rolled her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said as she turned around to the stalled vehicle.
I stopped the truck and slid out. “You may be fine but your car is on its last leg.” I glanced down at the engine, which looked to be about a hundred years old. “Let me give you a ride.”
She glanced me over with disdain. “Yeah, no thanks.”
“Fine, then how about a jump?”
“How about get lost?” she snapped. “Go play Boy Scout somewhere else.”
She was clearly pissed, but I would have been too after what happened after her gig. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” she spat.
“Look, I know it’s been a rough night…,” I started but she whirled around, a tiny, fiery bundle of fury.
“Do you understand English? Get lost!”
My blood started to boil. “Fine! Stay here all night. See if I care.” I turned toward the truck, but before I got to the driver’s side I stopped myself. She wasn’t angry with me, I tried to remind myself. I couldn’t very well leave her there, not with all the aggressive drunks who had tried to get at her in the club. They wouldn’t stop at no, and that was no kind of guy to run into in a dark parking lot. I took a deep breath before I turned back and walked over to the car.
Her eyes widened as I approached. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m helping you,” I told her before I circled her waist with my hands and lifted her away from her car so I could figure out what was wrong with it. “Too bad you’re too damned stubborn to see that.”
“Fuck you!” she spat, hissing at me like an angry cat.
I ignored her as I fiddled with the engine. I sidestepped her to climb inside and turn the key. Nothing. I got out, rounding to the front of the car to test the connections. Despite the ancient car, the battery was new. I retrieved my tools from my truck and within a minute her car fired to life. She stood staring at me, stupefied.
“Connection was loose,” I told her as I put my tools back in the box. “Shouldn’t give you any more trouble.”
I put the tool box back in the bed of the truck before I hopped in the cab and gunned my own engine. She walked, reluctantly, to my window. “Thank you,” she managed.
I looked her in those big doe eyes, which were a lot more contrite than angry. “You’re welcome.”
“I’d offer you money, but…,” she trailed off, looking embarrassed.
I held her gaze for just a minute longer before I said, “Don’t worry about it. Finding out you are a woman and not just a feral cat was payment enough.”
I left her sputtering behind me as I squealed out of the parking lot.
Excerpt from SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY, releasing OCTOBER 17, 2014
***
“So was this a date or some kind of a goodbye?”
She looked away. I had my answer. And it pissed me off.
“So let me get this straight. Because some other asshole screwed you over, you’re not even going to give me a chance. Is that it?”
Her eyes flashed at me. “Not just some asshole. The asshole. It started this same way. He invited me to perform in his band. He thought I had ‘it.’ That I could be a star. Meanwhile I played backup while he got to soak up the spotlight. And Gay was right there the whole way, making sure he got the opportunities I didn’t.”
“Why would she do that?” I asked.
Her eyebrow cocked. “You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that,” I corrected at once. “But it is in her best interest for you to do well. Why would she play favorites?”
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me, as if she was trying to piece together a puzzle. Finally she looked away. “Because I’m a harder sell, that’s why.”
It echoed what Gay had said to me. It didn’t make sense when she had said it, and it didn’t make any sense when Lacy repeated it. “Why are you a hard sell?”
“Because I won’t play the game,” she said. “I don’t care to wear slutty outfits or flirt with all the boys in the crowd. I just want to sing, get paid and go home. That’s it. I never wanted to be famous, Jonah. That’s not my scene. Fame changes people. When the people around you stop telling you no, it’s that much easier to stop telling that to yourself. So it’s no holds barred. Real life rules don’t apply. Look at us. We’re reduced to some booty call in a hotel because it would hurt your image to be seen with a steady companion who isn’t somehow more famous than you.” My eyes narrowed as she went on. “You know that’s why you’ve gotten all this recognition right? It’s because of Ariel Acardi and Jasper Carrington.”
That rubbed me the wrong way. “Gee. And I thought it had something to do with me being talented.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she snapped.
“Then what do you mean?” I snapped back.
“You’re not an artist, Jonah. You’re a paper doll that Gay can dress up, or strip down, just to fill her club.”
My heart plummeted as I stared at her. Was this really what she thought of me?
“I see,” I gritted through clenched teeth. I buttoned my shirt, which had come unbuttoned when I tried to seduce her.
It was clear that was no longer on the agenda. At least she had the decency to look chagrined and turned away. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’ll pay you back for the room.”
“I don’t care about the fucking room,” I snarled.
“Then what do you care about?” she shot back.
I stomped over to stand almost nose to nose with her. “I cared about spending some time with the Lacy I thought I knew, not this cold-hearted bitch who comes out to play every time your pride gets a little wounded.”
There was a resounding crack throughout the room as her hand flew across my face, slapping me hard before I could stop her. “Do it again,” I dared, before I breathed “bitch,” to seal the deal.
Her other hand raised but I caught it. I curled her arm easily behind her back, bringing us face to face. “Is this some kind of fucking foreplay with you, lady?” I said under my breath as I studied her eyes.
“You’re an asshole,” she hissed.
“Then why are you here with me?” I asked as I held her even closer. As mad as I was, she still felt like heaven in my arms. That body… that fire… all I wanted to do was throw her on that bed and make her mine. It wasn’t just a fight with her anymore. It was a fight for us. “If I’m some talentless hack, some witless paper doll, why did you come here? To rub my nose in it, like some dog that pissed on the carpet?”
“No!” she denied instantly.
“Then tell me,” I commanded in a soft voice.
Her eyes darted between mine until I saw tears form at the edges. Finally she said, “I wanted you to prove it wasn’t true. That you’re not him.”
It was the most honest thing she had ever said. “You want proof?” I said before I lifted her in my arms and tossed her onto the bed. I followed her down, pinning her to the mattress with my body. “Here’s your proof.” I crushed her mouth under mine for a punishing kiss that would silence any of her doubts.
***
Pre-order SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY now from Amazon! Coming soon to B&N and iTunes!
Hello, my lovelies. September was a bitch, keeping me sick almost all month with the flu, bronchitis and good ol' post nasal drip. But I am happy to report I got some major work done and you know what that means...
New books for you!
For everyone out there who started this journey with me with the GROUPIE series, you will NOT want to miss the new trilogy I have planned for you. If you've read a lot of my books, you already know I like to crossover characters and story lines. In fact I get a big kick out of it. I love to revisit those old characters just as much as you love to read them. Whether GROUPIE's Vanni and Graham, LOVE PLUS ONE'S Shannon, Jake and Jorge and FIERCE'S Jace Riga pop up in the epic billionaire FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA, or GROUPIE'S Graham and FIERCE'S Jace pop up in THE UNDISCIPLINED BRIDE, you are sure to see some old favorites as cameos, or even supporting characters, in surprising new stories. My new SOUTHERN ROCKERS trilogy will expand this seemingly infinite GROUPIE universe.
And, for the first time ever, I write from the male POV, to get you inside the head of my SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY, Jonah Riley.
I had a lot of fun getting to know Jonah through his story. I mean, it's a sexy southern boy and a 9-hour playlist of music that crosses genres from country, southern and classic rock and roll. For 24 chapters, I got to relive some of my glory days when I was a southern girl on the prowl... with all the angst and longing that implies.
And I'm pleased to announce that I will share that story with you all, across all platforms, OCTOBER 17, 2014!!
Like my bestselling and beloved FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA, the SOUTHERN ROCKERS trilogy will be released over three months. Jonah's story in October, Lacy's story, SOUTHERN ROCKER CHICK, in November and the third book, SOUTHERN ROCKER DUET, in December, when Lacy and Jonah hit the FIERCE stage to compete for a record contract.
As you already know, I'll be turning the angst up to 11. (Why? Because it goes to 11.) The hubby blew through book 1 in two days and called me more than once to bawl me out about it. The term "evil bitch" was bandied about more than once. He promises there will be a lot of broken Kindles by the time this book is done. It's going to be a wild ride with all the drama, angst, twists and turns for which you love to hate me.
(For $25, you can get VIP tickets to join us for the cocktail hour. Tickets are limited, so check out the FACEBOOK page to get them before they're gone.)
Who knows? Maybe we'll find a few Jonahs and Lacys of our own as we explore the iconic music scene there.
Don't forget to "like" my Facebook Author page. There are a lot of fun things coming up, blog takeovers, giveaways, and more information on upcoming appearances. Be the first to know!
See you in November, which is my birth month. We'll have LOTS of fun. I promise!
