HERE COME THE GROOMS
Hi, my name’s Tom McFarlane and Liz has asked me to drop by her blog and remind you that the HERE COME THE GROOMS competition she’s running with Anne Mcallister and Kate Walker this month. In case you hadn’t already worked it out for yourself, I’m one of the grooms.
I don’t – didn’t – have much time for all that love-in-a-mist nonsense. I knew exactly what kind of a nightmare “love” could become and wanted none of it. I started life with nothing except the ability to work hard and the determination to be someone and having succeeded in that ambition the final gloss was going to be a wife who would provide me with a touch of class in return for the freedom of my credit cards. I thought I’d found her, but there’s the thing about hubris. It will come back and bite you.
I thought I’d found my perfect woman. Flynn knew he had, but it was the wrong time, the wrong place and life (in the form of a letter from Sara) took five years to catch up with him. Raul, well, he’s Spanish so arrogance goes with the territory. He chose his bride, but Alannah turned him down flat. Didn’t someone once say that the path of true love never did run smooth? Fortunately, like Flynn, like me, he gets a second chance to do it right.
If you’d like to read our stories, find out how we woo’d and won our lovely brides, then you’ve three chances to win all three books this month. Each of us has asked a question and you’ve until 29th February to send all three answers to Anne, Kate and Liz.
Here’s Raul’s question: What are the full names of the hero and heroine of Spanish Billionaire, Innocent Wife (Note from Raul - his real name, not the one mistakenly given him on the back of the book!)
Here’s Flynn’s question:
Flynn's Question: What story did he come to Montana to cover when he met Sara in the first place?
And finally mine:
What colour silk did I become intimately acquaint with?
Don’t forget, all three answers to Anne, Kate and Liz will give you three chances to win all three books. Answers are on websites, along with email links. Closing date 29 February.
Okay, here's Liz...
Thanks, Tom! I know you’ve got a lot to do if this wedding is going to happen, so I really appreciate you dropping by. The good news is that Romantic Times loved your story. Here’s what they have to say:
“Liz Fielding begins A Bride for all Seasons with THE BRIDE’S BABY. This story has everything – sparkling dialogue, multifaceted characterizations, sizzling chemistry and a powerful emotional core. A keeper.” ****½
And here’s a little excerpt, just to be going on with.
Sylvie fought it, fought the need for his touch, her yearning for the soft whisper of words that she heard only in her dreams, knowing just how easy it would be to give in to the moment. Easy to say, but he was as close now as he had been then. Close enough so that the scent of his wind-blown hair, newly laundered clothes, the faint musk of warm skin overrode the smell of camphor and hot dust.
Much too close.
Even in this dim light she knew her face would betray her thoughts, everything she was feeling and he needed no more than the tiny betraying whimper of remembered joy, shatteringly loud, in the silence -- an open invitation to repeat the experience, just in case his memory needed jogging -- for his expression to change from thoughtful to something very different.
‘Is that right?’ Tom tightened his hold, bringing her round to face him so that his mouth was just inches from her own. ‘Maybe we should try that again. So that you can explain it to me.’
Not in this world, she thought, but there was no time to object before his lips touched hers, sending a thrill of pleasure – the heat that haunted her dreams -- spiralling through her.
‘Step...' he said, his hand sliding beneath her long, loose top, cool against her warm skin as he leaned into her, deepening the kiss and she shivered, but not with cold.
This was wrong.
Inevitable from the first moment he’d walked into her office. She’d known it. He’d known it. Like iron filings to a magnet. Why else would he, would she, have gone to such lengths to avoid each other? It was the only wedding she’d ever co-ordinated where the groom had been totally absent.
But inevitable didn’t make it --
His tongue stroked her lower lip and every cell in her body responded as if to some unheard command, as if standing on tiptoe, reaching out for more.
Her knees were water. Another minute and she’d be sprawled over one of the trunks in a re-run of that moment when that instant attraction had overcome every particle of common sense, every lesson that she'd ever learned about the fickleness of the human heart. When the heat had overcome the ice and turned it to steam.
To be overwhelmed, to forget yourself so completely might be excusable once.
Her head felt like lead, she didn’t have the strength to move it, break contact, but then his hand slid forward on its inevitable journey towards her breast and instead encountered the mound of her belly and, as if drawn to him, her baby girl turned as if reaching out to him. And he was the one whose head went back as if struck.