Melting Ice...

I first met Rosalie Ash many years ago when we were both writing for the same publisher. Some of her early Presents/Modern books are a available in vintage Harlequin editions at Amazon but some she has rewritten to bring them totally up to date and it's a great delight to rediscover her books and introduce her to a new audience via the wonderful world of ebooks.

I've prompted her to tell you a little about her writing, her book, herself.

Who or what was the inspiration for your story?

The theme of a cold, embittered, emotionally damaged man meeting a warm, impulsive, naive girl, and their subsequent relationship. The idea that being with the right person can effectively change someone’s whole life and outlook.  I like the idea that both main characters grow and change over the course of the story, and finish up much nicer people by the end. (As well as passionately in love with each other, of course!)

What made you want to re-write MELTING ICE?

This was my first book, originally published in 1989. I felt so much affection for the characters. And then odd small things happened, like coming across an old 2001 5-star USA review of MELTING ICE on the internet. This reader had bought my book in a ‘thrift shop’, and wrote things like ‘an emotional trip’, ‘a refreshing break from the average cheesy romance’. She went on to say she’d tried to find other Rosalie Ash books but discovered most were out of print

When I got the copyright back from Harlequin Mills and Boon, I could have just re-published MELTING ICE digitally as a Rosalie Ash Classic, but when I re-read it I felt the urge to give my characters a bigger story. Their love story, the location of rural Warwickshire, all felt very personal to me. I decided the book just needed a few more characters, a couple more plot twists, and it would turn very well into a longer book, and into part one of a trilogy.

Tell us about the setting:

Rural Warwickshire is where I’ve lived all my life. The village and farmhouse setting create aneffective ‘crucible’ where the characters all live and work in a close-knit environment. Harbridge is fictional, but is typical of many small South Warwickshire villages, not too far from the border with the Cotswolds, where the farms and cottages are built of mellow stone.  Warwickshire is known as the leafy heart of England. The scenery is not dramatic, but timeless rolling English countryside.

What is it about your hero that will make the reader fall in love with him?

Matt‘s tough, cool exterior hides his vulnerability. He seems cold and uncaring, but inside he is honourable, kind, caring, all traits that Victoria eventually discovers. He’s part Danish, with icy grey eyes, blond hair and olive skin - what’s not to love?! :)

Who would play your hero and heroine in a movie?

Daniel Craig as the hero, MATT.  Liv Tyler as VICTORIA.(Or possibly Julia Roberts?) I was visualising these actors as I was re-writing the book.

Where do you write?

In my study. It’s on the ground floor of our 3-storey townhouse, with desks all along one wall, and wooden blinds over the French doors to stop me from getting distracted by what’s going on in the square outside.

What’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you?

Eloping. When I got married second time round, we sneaked off to the Registry Office at 9:00 am one morning, then immediately flew to Florence for our honeymoon. We rang our families to tell them the news, on our way to airport. We felt like two naughty children playing truant from school.

If you could live anywhere, where would you choose?

I’d always have to own somewhere in England to come back to. I’d be too homesick to become a proper ex-pat. But although we own a house in South West France, and spend happy holidays there, I wouldn’t want to live there. I’d choose to spend part of each year in Devon or Cornwall, and the rest of the time in Italy. We’ve recently discovered the Cilento region, south of Naples. We stay in a stone-built cottage high on a hill, overlooking the Bay of Cilento and the Amalfi Coast.  It makes you feel almost literally ‘on top of the world’. You can see the sun set over Capri. The weather, the scenery, the food, the people, are all wonderful. The only downside is the death-defying Italian driving!

Which author would you love to meet? 

Nora Roberts. I am in awe of her prolific output, and her brilliant characters. I read somewhere that she has several sons, so maybe that’s why her heroes in particular are so ‘real’.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

I’d like to have been a doctor, or a judge. Or any profession where people are forced to take you seriously. Being a writer is a very serious profession, but tell people that you write romantic fiction and there is sometimes a degree of eye-rolling at supper parties...

Thanks for sharing, Rosie. Daniel Craig - is there any other man on the hero list at the moment? :)

Here's the book!

‘Men with those half-hooded eyes always look as if they’re inviting you to bed with them,’ Jessica gave an enjoyably exaggerated shiver, ‘But Matt is so deliciously detached. All steely reserve and suppressed passion. I think he’s gorgeous!’

Victoria hunched her shoulders in a casual shrug. ‘I’d hardly describe him as gorgeous.’

‘Decided that while you were gazing at him longingly on the terrace, did you?’

When Victoria meets Matt she is instantly infatuated with him. But he makes it clear that she’s not his type, and in any case she is far too young for him. But everything changes one night, forcing them both on a journey of self-discovery that transforms their lives forever.

And here's an excerpt -

'Will you please go?' she said, ‘I don't want you to come here again.'

Matt rose to his feet in a fluid, powerful movement, and the pale, lidded gaze was so scathing she longed to drop her eyes under the onslaught. Only pride and fury kept them level.

'Don’t be so fucking ridiculous, Victoria.' he said tautly, 'I'll go, but not before I've proved that you're lying to me and to yourself.'

Before she could duck him, he had pulled her into his arms. He controlled her furious struggles with easy strength. His fingers were hard as he twisted her chin up until her mouth was beneath his, and then he kissed her.

In the midst of her anger, Victoria felt a wave of despair. She knew that her body was going to betray her. She wanted to fight and struggle and scream, but instead she circled his neck with her arms and ran her fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth down harder on her own and returning the kiss with a shudder of passion she had forgotten she was capable of feeling.

When their lips parted for a moment she drew in a breath that sounded like a sob, but her whole body was on fire, as if all her anger and resentment were transformed into heightened sexual desire.

In response he swung her into his arms and took her to the sofa in front of the fire, trapping her on his lap as he kissed her more deeply. Victoria couldn't think any more. All she wanted was to be closer, closer, to surrender to this glorious melting feeling in her bones, and this fiery ache in her stomach. Her struggles to escape had changed to struggles to be as close to Matt as possible, and with a groan he pushed her full length on the sofa and responded to her urgent movements by flicking open the buttons on her jeans and pushing up the soft fabric of her jumper. 

Then at last she felt his lips on her skin, her throat, and his hand could flick open the clasp of her silky lace bra and expose her breasts to receive the caresses they ached for.

felt his tongue on her hardened nipples, and he drew back for a moment, his face shadowy and almost unrecognisable above her, the pupils dilated with desire.

'Victoria,' he breathed unevenly, stroking the softness of her with an almost reverent gentleness, his eyes narrowed as he gazed down at her, ‘Did I ever tell you that you have the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen?’

‘No,’ her voice was muffled with emotion, everything melting into surrender, ‘You didn’t…’ Not even when she’d flashed them at him on their first meeting, she thought dazedly, almost finding the strength to giggle but dissolving instead into quivering desire.

‘And you’ve gained some curves,’ he said, ‘In all the right places. God, Victoria…’

He was peeling down her tight jeans and sending another convulsion of desire through her. Lost in sensation, she hungrily moved one hand up inside his T-shirt, felt the warm hardness of his abdomen and chest, trembled over the flat hard nipples and the coarseness of his chest hair, all her long years of needing and wanting pooling into one hot, liquid tug of desire low down in her stomach. 

'Matt, oh God…,' she heard herself whispering against his mouth, as her body strained towards him. He slid the jeans down further, tugged them so that he could pull them right off her. He slipped his hand inside her lacy briefs and cupped her already damp sex with his hand. He groaned, sliding two fingers inside her until she whimpered with need.

‘You smell and taste gorgeous, I’ve never forgotten the scent and flavour of you,’ he said, running that same hand up the length of her body, putting his fingers into his own mouth and then into hers.

That was all it took. Something raw and elemental in Matt’s sexuality ignited a desire in her so powerful, so overwhelming she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t fight it. She needed him, hungered and thirsted for him, in a mindless, blind way that had her fingers ripping at his white T-shirt, wrenching it over his head, allowing her hands the luxury of stroking and exploring the irresistible lines of his body.

In front of the fire, on the warmth of the sofa, he lifted her to straddle him, stroked the soft fullness of her breasts, moulded her small waist and the flare of her hips, his eyes dark as smoke as they hungrily scanned her body.

‘You’re stunning, but completely crazy,’ he murmured huskily, ‘I don’t have a clue what goes on in your head!’

‘Right now, nor do I,’ she whispered breathlessly, ‘I don’t have a clue how you do this to me, if I did I’d know how to stop you.’
  

‘Don’t. Don’t stop me.' His voice was thick with desire and laughter. ‘If you knew how much I’ve been wanting to do this to you again, you wouldn’t be so cruel.’

She slid a trembling hand to the fastening of his Levis, moved her fingers over the long hard bulge under the button-fly with a rush of heat all over her. Slowly, she eased open the top two buttons, her eyes caught and held in his narrowed gaze.

The only sound was dull tick of the grandfather clock in the shadows, the hissing of the logs in the hearth, and their combined ragged breathing.

Download in the UK HERE

Download in the US HERE

ANNE MCALLISTER AND "ONE-NIGHT LOVE CHILD"

My guest this week is the fabulous Presents author Anne McAllister I first met Anne at a Mills & Boon "Author Day" in London when I was a very new author. She was one of those characters who stood out in a room crammed with authors, editors, publishers and it was a delight to meet her again a few years later in Washington, the year she won a RITA and became a grandmother in the same night.

I just love her books. Her characters are so real. Her heroes are unforgettable and her heroines women you yearn to have as a best friend. If you haven't read her yet, read on and check out that excerpt. I can't wait to read this one.

But here's Anne to tell you more.

Fifty books! It's a lot. Understatement of the year. Especially because Liz's books are always terrific books. Quality books. Books that make you want more . . . and more . . . and more.

So if you're reading this, Liz, stop. Get back to work. Don't waste your time reading praise or anything else. Just put your nose to the grindstone and your fingers to the keyboard and WRITE!

I think it's actually very clever of Liz to ask so many of her friends to be guest bloggers. It reminds me a little of Tom Sawyer and the fence he had to whitewash -- the fence he got all his friends to pay him to be allowed to whitewash for him! (Don't think we aren't onto you, Liz -- if you're still reading this).

(Really? You've worked out that I'm getting a whole bunch of other brilliant authors to write my blog for me? Oops...)

But thank you for inviting me and for being such a great friend as well as great writer -- and thank you for sharing your blog and the Here Come The Grooms! Contest with me for the last two years.

This year, as many of you know, Liz and Kate Walker and I have turned our grooms loose to have another contest. The Here Come The Grooms! contest seems to be becoming an annual feature. It may or may not be over by the time you read this (it ends February 29th). But it was very well explained by Liz's hero, Tom, in his blog back on February 17th. He also introduced you again to my hero, Flynn, who has an unexpected second chance with the girl he left behind, Sara McMaster.

Their book, ONE-NIGHT LOVE CHILD, is a spin-off of THE GREAT MONTANA COWBOY AUCTION, a single title book I did for Silhouette six years ago. In that book sane and sensible no-nonsense eldest daughter of the heroine, Polly, is nineteen going on thirty. Sara has always been The Voice Of Duty And Responsibility in the McMaster household. Everything in Sara's life is black-and-white, and going according to plan -- until she meets Flynn.

Footloose Irish journalist, Flynn Murray, is in tiny Elmer, Montana covering a human interest story when he meets Sara. She's the right woman in the wrong place and the wrong time. And he knows it. And he's honorable enough to walk away -- or try to. Sara, though, has other ideas. She doesn't quite see how confused and messy things can become. It seems perfectly sensible to her.

Which just goes to show what Sara knows!

Six years later, Flynn is totally in her past. She's a hard-working, no-nonsense single mother who realizes that things aren't always as simple as they seem. She's been burned once. She's determined NOT to be burned again. Ever.

Since Flynn has had more than his share of attention on my blog (where he actually gets to write his own pieces occasionally) I thought I'd rather introduce you to Sara here. This is where she's coming from when the book opens:

It was Valentine's Day.

Sara knew this because last night she had helped her five year old son Liam print his name laboriously on twenty-one Valentine cards complete with cartoon art mutant creatures saying, "Be Mine" and "I'm 4 U."

She knew it because together they had covered a shoe box with white paper and red hearts to be his own "mailbox" at kindergarten and because she had baked cupcakes – chocolate ones with chocolate frosting and red and white candy hearts on them – as right before he went to bed Liam remembered he had volunteered to bring the cupcakes for the class party today.
And she knew because – for the first time since Liam was born – she actually had a date.
Adam Benally had asked her to dinner. He was the foreman out at Lyle Dunlop's place. He had come to the valley a few months ago from Arizona. A widower with a past he didn't often talk about, he was at least candid about "trying to outrun his demons." He'd brought the ranch accounting work in for Sara, and that was how they'd got to know each other.

No stranger to demons herself, Sara thought she and Adam might have a lot in common. He at least was getting past his demons. It was about time she got past hers.

"You can't be a recluse forever," her mother Polly had told her more than once. "Just because you had one bad experience . . . "

Sara let her mother talk because that's what Polly did. A lot. And her mother was probably right about the recluse part. It was the "bad experience" part that was the sticking point.

It hadn't been bad. At least not while it was going on. While it was going on it had been the most amazing three days of her life. And then . . .

Nothing.

That was the bad part. That was the part that made her gut clench every time she thought about it. The part that spooked her, that made her hesitant to ever open up to another man, to ever try again.

But finally she'd said yes. She'd made up her mind to try again with Adam. A dinner date. A first step.

"About time," Polly had said when Sara told her the plan. "I'm glad. You need to banish some ghosts."

No. Just one.

One Sara saw in miniature – right down to the tousled black hair and jade green eyes – every time she looked at her son.

She shoved the thought away ruthlessly. Now was not the time to be thinking about that.

About him.

Liam might be a reminder, but his father was past. Ordinarily she went whole days without thinking of him at all. It was just today – because it was Valentine's Day, because she'd accepted Adam's invitation, determined to kill two memories with one night out – that he kept plaguing her thoughts.

"Don't," she told herself out loud. The past was over. She'd rehashed it often to kill it from over scrutiny. It had done no good. Now she needed to concentrate on the future – on Adam.
What would Adam expect? She paced the kitchen, made tea, thought about what to wear, how to be charming and make conversation. Dating was like speaking a foreign language she had no practice in. It was something she'd done very little of before –

No! Damn it. There she went again!

Determinedly she carried her mug of tea to the table and laid out files so she could work. If she could get the hardware store accounts finished before Liam got home from school, then she could take a break, maybe go out and build a snowman with him, have a snowball fight. Do something to distract herself.

Liam was going to spend the night at her aunt Celie's who lived up the street with her husband, Jace, and their kids.

"Why all night?" she'd demanded when Celie had offered. "We're only going to dinner. I'm not spending the night with him!"

"Well, you might want to invite him in after," Celie said innocently. "For a cup of coffee," she added with a smile. It wasn't what she meant.

Sara knew it as well as she knew that she wasn't up for anything beyond dinner. Not now. Not yet.

How on earth could she have let six years go by without a single date?

Well, really, she rationalized, when had she had time?

She'd spent the first three years after Liam's birth finishing a degree in accounting, then setting up in business. Between her son and her schooling and the jobs she'd taken to make ends meet, she'd had no time to meet eligible men.

Not that she'd wanted to.

Once burned, twice shy and all that. And while she supposed there was wisdom in the notion of getting right back on a horse once you'd been thrown, there was also wisdom in being a damn sight more caution the second time around.

She'd been too reckless the first time. This time she was taking it slow and easy and that meant dinner, perhaps a quick peck on the lips. Yes, she could do that.
But first she had to get to work.

One of the pluses of her job as an independent certified public accountant was that she could set her own hours and work from home. That made it easier to be home when Liam was. The downside, of course, was that it was easy to get distracted – like today. There was no boss to crack the whip, to make demands. o think about checking her closet to see what she wanted to wear or to put in a load of laundry, make a cup of tea and talk to Sid the cat when she really needed to focus on work.

So she started again, made herself settle down at the kitchen table, which was also her desk, and spread out the accounts from the hardware store. Adding columns of figures required that she pay close attention and didn't allow her mind to wander, to anticipate, to worry.

A sudden loud knock on the front door made her jump. She slopped tea all over her ledger sheet. "Damn!"

She went to the sink and grabbed the dish rag, mopping up the spill, cursing the delivery man who was the only one who ever came to the front door. He left her office supplies when she ordered them. But she didn't remember –

Bang, bang, bang!

Not the delivery man, then. He only knocked once, then, having awakened the dead, he always jumped back into his delivery truck and drove away. He never knocked twice.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Let alone a third time.
"
Hold your horses," she shouted. "I'm coming!"

She stalked to the door and jerked it open – to the ghost of Valentine's past.

Oh, God.

She was hallucinating. Panicking at the notion of dating again, she'd conjured him up out of the recesses of her mind.

And damn her mind for making him larger than life and more appealing than ever. Tall, rangy and narrow-hipped, but with shoulders even broader than she remembered. And just for reality's sake, her brain had even dusted his midnight hair with snowflakes. They should have softened his appearance, made him seem gentler. They didn't. He looked as pantherish and deadly as ever.

"Sara." His beautiful mouth tipped in a devastatingly appealing lopsided grin.
Sara knew that grin. Remembered it all too well. Had kissed the lips that wore it. Had tasted his laughter, his words, his groans, his passion.

Her face burned. Her whole body seemed suddenly consumed by a heat she'd tried to forget. She glanced at her hands knotting together, astonished that they didn't have steam coming off them, the memory of him was so powerful.

"Speechless, a stór?" His rough baritone with the light Irish inflection made the tiny hairs at the back of her neck prickle. It felt as if a ghost had run a finger down the length of her spine.

"Go away," she said fiercely, closing her eyes, resisting the hallucination, the memories – the man. It was agreeing to go out with Adam that had done this to her. It had tripped a trigger of memories she'd bottled up, stored away, refused to take out and look at every again.

She screwed up her eyes and shut them tight. Counted to ten Opened them.

And felt her stomach plummet to her toes at the sight of him still standing there.

He wore jeans, a black sweater and a dark green down jacket. He hadn't shaved in a day or two. His cheeks and jaw were stubbled. His eyes were bloodshot. But his impossibly long lashes blinked away snowflakes as he watched her with amusement. And when he grinned a little more at her befuddlement, she saw that he had chipped a tooth. She didn't think she would have hallucinated the chipped tooth.

So he was real. He was everything she remembered.

And worse.

I had a lot of fun researching Sara and Flynn - especially the part where I got to go visit a stately Irish manor house and turn it into Flynn's five hundred year old castle.

Love that research. Tell me where you'd go if you could go anywhere in the world. Inspire me for upcoming books.

I'll let Flynn pick the winner from those who participate. I'll send her (or him) a copy of my last book (which took place in the tropical paradise of Fiji)!

* * *

Thanks so much for sharing that excerpt, Anne, and some of the background to the Sara and Flynn's story. (What, you thought I wouldn't take time out to read it?) I can't wait to get past my own RITA reading pile so that I can read this one! There is just something about an Irish hero...

Also, having read the Fiji book, THE BOSS'S WIFE FOR A WEEK, I'm urging everyone to leave a comment telling us all about their own fantasy dream retreat before Monday morning, UK time, so that they have a chance to win.

And for three other chances to win this book, plus Kate Walker's SPANISH BILLIONAIRE, INNOCENT WIFE and my THE BRIDE'S BABY, there's also one more day to enter the HERE COME THE GROOMS! competition that Anne already mentioned.

And if you can't wait, you can buy ONE-NIGHT LOVE CHILD here at Amazon, US.

CELEBRATING 50 BOOKS!

Today the dh asked me if I ever thought, when my first romance was published, whether I'd ever be at this point in my career, celebrating the publication of THE SHEIKH'S UNSUITABLE BRIDE -- Book # 50. The answer was that I was just so thrilled to have my first book accepted, I couldn't possibly have imagined anything more exciting.

That's probably still true, actually, but there is something about a nice round number like 50 that demands a party so I thought I'd invite my friends to come and join in the cyber fun!

Each week during 2008 -- on Thursday (except for a couple of important dates when I'll post them a little earlier -- I'll tell you) -- one of my much admir'd authors will drop by to share the fun, and since all parties need games, offer a signed book for one lucky reader.

Today I have great pleasure in welcoming Presents/Modern author, Annie West. Annie, who has recently been nominated by Romantic Time for Best Presents of 2007, hails from Australia's east coast and once received a marriage offer which included a herd of camels!

Here's Annie...

Liz, thanks so much for inviting me to help you celebrate your career success so far – 50 books! From where I sit that’s almost unbelievable. Almost – because I and so many of my romance reader/writer friends have been enjoying your stories for a long time now. Congratulations on this landmark achievement!

I’m thrilled to start 2008 with the release of THE GREEK TYCOON'S UNEXPECTED WIFE, and to talk about it here.

This book emerged from a title that popped into my head one day: The Unwanted Wife. Once I had those 3 words I knew I wanted to write the story even though I didn’t know what it was about! For about 6 months as I worked on other projects I wondered why this particular wife was unwanted. I even became desperate enough to ask friends! They humoured me, supplying all sorts of reasonable explanations but none were quite right. Then, finally the story came to me and I became completely absorbed.

I enjoyed so many aspects of this story. A Greek island setting that made me long for another Aegean visit. A strong couple who were perfect for each other, if only they could overcome their differences. A good dose of melodrama (hey, I write for Modern/Presents), deep emotion, gorgeous gems and a situation that kept hero and hero in sizzling suspense. All I had to do was write it! Easier said than done.

Stavros is a powerful, obstinate man, used to getting things his own way. I took great delight in putting him in a situation where all his careful plans are destroyed, as well as his assumptions about Tessa. Poor Tessa doesn’t realise the trouble she’s unleashing when she arrives at his villa to return his ancestral ring.

'I'm sorry if I've come at a bad time. It wasn't my intention.' She tugged at her hand but he kept it in his. 'I'll leave now that you have your property.'

Would she indeed? And no doubt she'd head to the nearest press agency to sell her story.

Not if he had anything to do with it!

'I'm afraid not,' he murmured.

'But I'm not welcome here. That much is obvious.'

He nodded, acknowledging her point. 'True. But do you really think I'm so stupid as to leave you to your own devices?'

She opened her mouth, no doubt to protest. He cut her off with a single, abrupt gesture.

'Enough! I want no more of your pretensions to innocence. You will not leave the estate until I have the whole story from you and we come to some...accommodation about our circumstances.'

'Accommodation?' She shook her head, the very picture of bewilderment.
Her dramatic skills had improved in the last four years, he realised. When they'd first met he'd found her amazingly transparent in her thoughts and emotions. Now look at her: an accomplished liar.

'Of course, an accommodation. The situation requires careful...attention.' His fingers tightened round hers as he smiled.

'You surely don't think I'd have celebrated my betrothal quite so publicly tonight if I'd known I still had a wife?'

Writing about this story has reminded me of the fun I had creating Stavros’ Greek island. What is your favourite ‘exotic’ setting for a story? Maybe a place in one of Liz’s books, or elsewhere. Perhaps even a place you think would be perfect for a romantic story? I’d love to hear. And I’ll give away a signed copy of ‘The Greek Tycoon’s Unexpected Wife’ to one of the readers who provides a comment.

Happy New Year everyone, and happy celebrations, Liz!

Annie

Whew! For a longer excerpt and to find out more about Annie and her books, check out her website

In the meantime you have until Monday morning (US time) to leave your comments and have a chance to win a copy of THE GREEK TYCOON'S UNEXPECTED WIFE.