THE BOOK HAS LEFT THE BUILDING...

It's been tough, this one. Nose to the grindstone stuff, and it's going to be that way all year if I'm going to fit in everything I'm contracted to do. But the purple shoe book was finally delivered to the waiting arms of my editor at around four o'clock yesterday afternoon. Since when I've been curled up in a huddled gibbering mass in the corner. (I really shouldn't have taken on the eHarlequin blog -- lesson learned. The books come first!)

I have to thank Ellie and Ben for holding the fort in my absence. I've just waved them off on their long promised trip to Italy (Laura is pet-sitting while they're away). Now it's time to introduce you to Sylvie and Tom, whose story has given me such a lot of bother in the last couple of months.

They've both come through some rough times, made successes of their lives, but are lacking that special ingredient that makes the world a bright and shiny place. Someone to share it with. Tom thought it had found exactly what he was looking for. When the book opens, it's all gone pear-shaped. His bride to be has taken to the hills with the wedding planner's assistant. And the wedding planner gets the full force of his ... irritation.

I don't have a title yet, but as soon as my editor has read the book, and I've ducked the flying revisions, I'll let you know what she comes up with. I can tell you that it will have a "Spring Wedding" or maybe "Spring Bride" flash -- so somewhere out there authors are battling with "Summer", "Autumn" and "Winter" -- and it'll be in the bookshops next April or May.

I should be able to put my feet up and take the day off -- you need time to wind down from a tight deadline -- but I have a journalist from the South West Evening Post arriving just after ten to ask me about "commitment" post the HEA, so I have to race around doing all the housework that's been neglected during the last week.

Then there are my accounts. And on Monday, I have to start actually writing The Sheikh novella. Not planning -- I don't have time to plan; there is no thinking time. I have to actually writing if I'm going to make the deadline for the next one. So, short of a visit from the plot fairy, if there's anyone out there who's ever asked me where I get my ideas from -- now would be a good time to remind me what I said.

Hi everyone

Yes, it me again – Ellie – since Liz is still head down, battling with the final scenes of her latest book. Something unexpected came up that changed everything, as it does in books – believe me, this is something I know about first hand – which has meant going back and sorting out some stuff. She’s also blogging over at eHarlequin this month – she thought it was going to be for a week! – and so she’s asked me to tell you her news. Okay, here goes...

Remember this?

“...he caught her at the waist, lifting her, holding her to him as if she were the last woman on earth, while his mouth, hard, almost desperate, obliterated everything but the sensory seduction of his body; the silky sweep of his hair against her cheek, the touch of his fingers at her nape, the salty, dusty taste of his skin.

“And, finally, she understood the force that drove men and women to cross continents, conquer nations, give up their lives.”

It’s from THE SHEIKH’S GUARDED HEART and the really good news is that it’s on sale in Germany at the moment. There’s also a review and, possibly, an article Liz wrote on “The Sheikh” as hero for the German Loveletter Magazin. She’ll post it on her website at the end May when it’s updated, so that those of us who are a little rusty in German, can read it for ourselves.

The bad news -- and I’m in total agreement with Liz on this -- is the cover.

Gentle, reserved Lucy would never be seen dead in a dress like that. Liz was visiting with her recently when Han’s cousin Zahir was getting himself into a bit of bother – she’s going to be a real friend to Diana (THE SHEIKH’S UNSUITABLE BRIDE) – and believe me, she was not amused! Of course Han didn’t appear in a tux, either. But a tux is such a universally gorgeous item of clothing that it doesn’t matter. That dress, however, is something else...

NEW COVERS

Hi, it’s Ellie here again. Liz is totally up to her eyes with a looming deadline – and she’s blogging over at eHarlquin.com, too, about writing my story, so she’s asked me to drop by and tell you about the lovely new look that Mills & Boon series titles are getting in the UK and Australia this June. Just so you’ll know what to look out for, here’s a preview.

This is my very own Australian cover (that is so cool!) on sale down under in June – or now on the internet; there’s a link on the sidebar.

And this is Ally Blake’s totally gorgeous June UK cover for BILLIONAIRE ON HER DOORSTEP.

Oh, and Liz says if any of you want the recipe that I very nearly messed up, then drop her an email with RECIPE in the subject line and she’ll send it to you. The way she makes it, it’s fabulous, I promise you.

THE SECRET LIFE OF LADY GABRIELLA


From Liz...

Ben, Ben, Ben....

What do you want me to say? Your sister had better things to do than worry about your house. She has a career, too. (She’s in Samoa, by the way.)

And you didn’t expect Mrs Fuller to stick around and polish your knick-knacks when she could be putting her feet up in the sun for the first time in her life, did you?

And try to forget that unfortunate accident in the library which, by the way, was as much your fault as hers. Be honest. Admit that Ellie makes the place feel like home. How long is it since you could say that, hmm?

So, the answer to your question is yes, Ben, I expect you to be grateful. Very grateful.

Now stop whining and go and buy Ellie something warm and furry -- you know it makes sense!

And leave me to get on with writing Sylvie and Tom's story!

THE SECRET LIFE OF LADY GABRIELLA

From Ben Faulkner...

Just when you think life can’t get any worse you come home and find there’s this woman living in your house.

That was not the plan.

I did not need a house-sitter. I had a sister and a cleaner and between them they were supposed to be taking care of things while I was away. Then the cleaner won a fortune on the lottery, my sister decided to go bug-hunting in Sarawak, or Senegal, or Sumatra – Gabriella March seems a little hazy on the actual continent – and I get caught up in a civil war.

And when I finally get home, hoping for a little peace and quiet to get on with my work, there she is.

A gothic-novel reading, spectacle smashing, duster wielding danger to life and limb. Sitting. In my house.

And I’m supposed to be grateful?