Backlist bonanza

One of the great things about the ebook revolution is that titles long out of print become available for a whole new group of readers who might only recently have discovered you. 

I was one of a group of authors whose work was released in the first wave of digital backlist for Harlequin - they put out a couple of dozen in 2010 - and I'm going to be featuring some of them over the next few weeks, starting with two that won awards.

First up is the book that won my second RITA,


The Marriage Miracle from Harlequin 

Winner - RITA 2006 Best Short Contemporary Romance Romance Writers of America

Winner - Best Harlequin Romance 2006 Romantic Times BOOKclub

Winner of Cata-romance Reviewers' Choice Award

Here's a brief clip -

And with that, he leaned down, slid his hands under her arms, then, when startled, she just sat there looking up at him, he said, ‘This would be much so easier if you would put your arms around my neck.’

‘What... I don’t need you –’

‘Trust me, Matty,’ he said, but perhaps deciding that was one appeal too far, he didn’t hang around for an argument. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ And he lifted her clear of the chair.

Her arms — not taking one bit of notice of her “whats” and “don’ts” — took the sensible course and flung themselves around his neck and before she knew it, she was vertical, upright, Sebastian’s arms holding her safe against his chest. And for a heartbeat, she was any girl in any man’s arms.

Then reality intruded. ‘This isn’t...’ she began. ‘You can’t... I shouldn’t...’

The words to tell him what it was, exactly, that he couldn’t, she shouldn’t do, failed her and, very softly, he said, ‘We can do anything we want, Matty.’ Then, ‘It’s not so bad, is it?’

Bad?

His breath was warm on her cheek, his face just inches from her own.

Oh, this was bad. About as bad as it could be.

His hand at her waist was pressing her close to him so that there was nothing but thin silk and soft cotton between her skin and his. Her imagination instantly filled the gap, her breasts engorging, her nipples tightening as feminine instincts as old as time urged her to go for broke and kiss him, caress him, draw him to her and never let him go.

So much for all her good intentions.

The second book I'm featuring, is A Family of His Own again from Harlequin
This was also nominated for a RITA, but here's the list of the prizes it did take.

Winner of the RNA Romance Prize 2005 
Romantic Novelists' Association, UK

Winner of the Best Harlequin Romance 2004 
Romantic Times BOOKclub

Shortlisted for RITA 2005 Best Short Contemporary Romance
Romance Writers of America

Winner Cata-romance Reviewers' Choice Award

Here's a brief clip -

This time the silence seemed endless and she had no words to fill it. Dominic Ravenscar did it for her. ‘What happened to Polly’s father?’

The abrupt change of subject threw her and she responded to this unexpected jab at a raw nerve in much the same way as he had. Instinctively. Defensively.

‘Polly never had a father.’

Her only excuse was that it had been a long time since anyone had asked her that question. Maybe, like him, she had erected some kind of warning signal over her own emotional no-go area. Or perhaps she’d blotted it out so thoroughly that she’d stopped noticing the way people tiptoed around the subject.  Whatever it was, she just wasn’t prepared.

Ashamed of her instinctive reaction, her need to protect her own feelings, she tried again. ‘I … That is, he…’

It wasn’t usually this much of a problem. But then her standard answer – “He was young – he needed to find himself. He’s still looking …” -- was calculated to make people laugh, give her an opportunity to change the subject. What was that she’d said about there being more than one way to run? 

Links to both of them at the Harlequin site are in the intros, but they are both available to download from Barnes & Noble, iTunes and of course, Amazon

I've added the direct Amazon links, because my own attempt to find them on the site was a #fail 
 

RNA ROMANCE PRIZE

The minute I declare I'll only post once a week, life gets truly interesting. Here's a press release from the Romantic Novelists' Association. It speaks for itself, but huge congratulations to those on the shortlist.

Romance Prize celebrates shorter fiction alongside the Romantic Novel Of The Year

The Romantic Novelists’ Association, who will announce the shortlist for the Romantic Novel of the Year award on 13th January, is also honouring writers of shorter romances such as those published by Harlequin Mills and Boon.

“Although both awards celebrate novels with a high romantic content,” explains Catherine Jones, Chairman of the RNA, “the Romance Prize honours the most memorable stories set around a single theme that concentrates on the developing love affair.”

The Romance Prize will be presented at the RNA’s Awards Lunch on 10th February 2009 at the Royal Garden Hotel, Kensington. The winner will be selected from the following books:

What's Love Got to Do With It? - Lucy Broadbent (Little Black Dress, Headline)
The Wild Card - Beth Elliott (Robert Hale)
Mistress: Hired for the Billionaire's Pleasure - India Grey (Harlequin Mills & Boon)
Sold to the Highest Bidder - Kate Hardy (Harlequin Mills & Boon)
Saying Yes to the Millionaire - Fiona Harper (Harlequin Mills & Boon)
Promoted to Wife and Mother - Jessica Hart (Harlequin Mills & Boon)

Fiona Harper has been short-listed before, and both Jessica Hart and Kate Hardy are past winners. Kate Hardy, who won in 2008 with Breakfast at Giovanni’s, had this to say: "Winning the Romance Prize has been the highlight of my career to date, and it's certainly opened up opportunities. I'm very proud to have won the award and to be part of the RNA - and have been delighted by messages of support over the year. I even had a personal letter of congratulations from the chancellor of the University of Leicester!"

The shortlist will be judged by Margaret James, creative writing teacher for the London School of Journalism and regular columnist with Writing Magazine; Paul Reizin, writer, producer and journalist; and Linda Leatherbarrow, prize-winning short story writer, reviewer and MA lecturer at Middlesex.

(PS come back tomorrow for Here Come the Grooms).

JESSICA HART AND I ARE WRITING TWINS...

Shame we don't share the same birth date! But what we do share this year is the publication of our fiftieth book and it's a huge pleasure to welcome Jessica to the blog this week to tell us about this very special anniversary.

First though, since she was too shy to mention it herself, I'll tell you that it's not the only book bearing her name on the shelves this month. There is also, Christmas Dreams, a three-in-one with stories by Betty Neels, Rebecca Winters and Jessica, that would make a lovely stocking filler for any romantic you know. Or maybe you'd like to pop it in your own stocking!

The major event this month, however, is the very special Last-Minute Proposal, Jessica's fiftieth Mills & Boon/Harlequin Romance.

Jessica has a deeply adventurous spirit. Her books over the years have been set in the Outback and the Far East, places that she's lived and worked. And check out her blog for fabulous pictures of her coastal walk in Cornwall this month.

But I do know that Jessica has a particular love of the Highlands, so it's no surprise to see her heroine following in her footsteps -- and abseiling down the side of a cliff -- with her gorgeous hero. Fabulous stuff, Jessica! Over to you...

When I was first published, in 1991, writing was a pretty solitary business and it was some time before I came into contact with any other authors. When I did, it didn’t take me long to realise that Liz Fielding was the act to follow, and follow I have. Liz won a RITA, and a little later I won one too. Liz won the RNA’s Romance Prize, the next year I did. Liz hit 50 books earlier this year, and guess whose 50th book is also out this October ..? Really, it ought to be deeply annoying, but Liz combines her deserved popularity with such charm of manner and does so much to support other authors, and to promote the Romance line and romance generally, that I can’t think of anyone in whose footsteps I’d rather tread! So thank you, Liz, for setting such a fine example, and many congratulations on 50 fabulous books. See you at 100??

The mind boggles at the idea of having written 100 books, I must say. 100 heroes, 100 heroines … how would I possibly be able to distinguish between them? On the other hand, I would never have been able to imagine writing 50 when I started out, and yet I can remember every hero and heroine so far. Every character feels different when I’m writing, but inevitably some stay in the mind more than others. Luckily, Tilly and Campbell in Last-Minute Proposal are one of those couples. Anyone who reads my blog regularly will know how much I struggle with some books, but Last-Minute Proposal was fun to write, perhaps because I identified so much with Tilly, with her love of food, her insecurity about her figure and, of course, her fear of abseiling! The book opens with her reluctantly partnered with Campbell in a reality TV competition.

His task is to get Tilly down a cliff, across a river and to the top of a mountain in the Scottish Highlands … but later he has to face a challenge of his own where he has to rely on Tilly’s expertise, and that’s just as difficult for him as the outdoor stuff is for her.

The very first scene was easy to write: I based it completely on the time I had to abseil down a rock face in Dentdale, a beautiful part of the Yorkshire Dales – and if you think Tilly makes a fuss, you should have seen how I carried on! This picture was taken when I was halfway down, and I was quite unable to see what was so damned funny … I had no idea at the time that exactly 20 years later I would use that scene in my 50th book, but it just goes to show that no experience is ever wasted!

In the extract below, Tilly has survived the abseiling, but now has to get up a mountainside. If you’d like to read what happens afterwards, I have a signed copy of Last-Minute Proposal to give away, together with a fabulous pink tote bag to give away.

Email me at jessica @ jessicahart.co.uk (no gaps) to tell me what Tilly is drinking in her fantasy below, and I’ll do a lucky dip for a winner next week.


‘Let’s get going,’ he said.

Tilly groaned but hauled herself obediently to her feet. ‘How much further is it?’

‘We could do another three hours at least.’

‘I’m not sure my feet will last that long,’ she said, wincing as she wriggled her toes in her boot.

‘Mind over matter,’ said Campbell briskly. He threw his pack onto his back and adjusted the straps with deft movements. ‘The trick is to keep thinking about something else.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like what you’d really like to find at the top of the next hill.’

‘That’s easy,’ said Tilly, securing her own pack into place and trudging after him. ‘Can you please make sure there’s a fabulous bathroom, with a deep, scented bath piled high with bubbles? I’d like candles and a glass of champagne waiting for me on the edge of the bath … oh, and a little plate of nibbles too. Smoked salmon, probably,’ she added reflectively. ‘Or nuts? No, smoked salmon,’ she decided. ‘Little roulades stuffed with prawn mousse and soft cheese.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Campbell in a dry voice.

He was taken aback by how vividly he could picture Tilly sinking into the water with a sigh of pleasure. Her skin would be pink and pearly and wet, her hair clinging in damp tendrils around her face, her breasts rising out of the bubbles as she tipped back her head and dropped smoked salmon into that lush mouth …

Campbell had to give himself a mental shake, and he picked up his stride. He felt almost embarrassed, as if someone had caught him peeking round the bathroom door.
Tilly was still fantasising. ‘While you’re at it, can you arrange for a wonderful meal to be cooking so that the smell comes wafting up the stairs? No niminy piminy nouvelle cuisine, though, not after the day I’ve had. I want something hot and tasty. It doesn’t have to be fancy.’

‘A roast?’ Campbell suggested, drawn back into the scene she was creating in spite of himself.

‘Yes, a roast would be very acceptable, especially if you can lay on all the trimmings too. Or a really good casserole with creamy mashed potatoes.’ Tilly was beginning to salivate now. She could practically taste that first mouthful. ‘Or – I know! – steak and kidney pudding … mmnn, yum, yum … Even a-’

Glancing at Campbell just then and catching his fascinated gaze, she broke off. ‘What, you don’t have fantasies?’

‘Not about food.’

‘What do you fantasise about then?’ she demanded grouchily, embarrassed at having revealed quite how greedy she was. Why couldn’t she be the kind of girl who hankered after a green salad or a mug of nice herbal tea?

Campbell lifted an eyebrow in response, and she tutted. ‘Not that kind of fantasy,’ she scolded as if he had spoken, although actually she wouldn’t have minded knowing that at all. ‘A fantasy you can share with a nice girl like me!’

‘I’m not sure any of my fantasies are suitable for nice girls.’

There was just the faintest thread of amusement in his voice and Tilly was sure that he was mocking her.

‘All right, imagine being really relaxed,’ she challenged him.

‘What?’

‘Just do it,’ she insisted. ‘Close your eyes – or on second thoughts, you’d better not, you might trip – and picture yourself happy.’

Campbell sighed and prepared to indulge her. At least it might stop her whingeing about her feet for a while longer. He thought for a moment.

‘OK.’

‘Have you got an image of yourself relaxed and happy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where are you?’

Tilly hoped that he wasn’t going to say that he was in bed. That would make it very hard to concentrate. She waited for him to say standing on top of a mountain, or skiing down a black run.

‘I’m sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the fire.’

It was so unexpected that she actually gaped at him. Sitting? Wasn’t that a bit tame for a man like Campbell?

‘What are you doing?’

‘Reading.’

The defensive note in his voice made Tilly grin. ‘You make it sound like you’re confessing a dirty secret! What are you reading? Nothing illegal or immoral, I hope?’

‘Roman military history.’

Campbell practically bit out the words, and this time Tilly really did laugh.

He scowled at her. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘I’m sorry. It was just so unexpected,’ she tried to explain.

‘What, marines aren’t allowed to read?’

‘It’s not that. It’s just that you seem such a macho action man that it’s hard to imagine you poring over ancient history, that’s all.’

‘I don’t want to spend all day doing it. You asked me to imagine myself relaxed,’ said Campbell almost crossly. ‘That was just a picture that came into my mind. Obviously I should have said some kind of extreme sport instead!’

‘That wouldn’t have been as interesting, though,’ said Tilly, meaning it, but Campbell clearly thought that she was joking.


‘I’ve had the mick taken out of me for years,’ he said in a resigned voice. ‘Anyone would think I had some bizarre fetish. It’s only military history, for God’s sake.’

‘But why the Romans?’

He shrugged. ‘I like their logical approach. Their sense of order. They were great engineers. Great strategists.’

‘And successful,’ Tilly reminded him, sure that was the key to their appeal for him. ‘The Romans were winners too.’ She caught his look. ‘Hey, I did history at school. Roman history may not be my bedtime reading, but I’m not completely ignorant!’

She studied him under her lashes as she toiled on beside him. She hoped he wasn’t regretting telling her. She rather liked the idea of him sitting quietly and reading by the fire, and was touched by the fact that he seemed faintly embarrassed by it, as if he had confessed some weakness.

‘So … have you got a fantasy meal cooking in the background while you read your book?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not someone who spends a lot of time thinking about food,’ he said. ‘I eat what’s put in front of me. I’ll have some of your roast.’

Tilly wished he hadn’t said that. It was enough to conjure up an instant cosy domestic scene. There she was, upstairs in the bath, and there was Campbell by the fire. Any minute now he would look at his watch, put his book down and go and check on the roast, then he would come upstairs and sit on the edge of the bath.

‘I’ve turned the potatoes,’ he would say, topping up her glass. If you were going to have a fantasy, Tilly believed, you might as well make it a really good one. ‘Will you be much longer?’
And Tilly would sip her champagne and ask him to wash her back while he was there. She could almost feel his warm, firm hands soaping her, and obviously he wouldn’t stop at her back …

‘That must be some bath.’

Campbell’s voice jerked Tilly out of her daydream. ‘What?’ Disorientated, she looked around her to find that she had somehow made it to the top of the hill without even realising it.

‘You haven’t said a word for the last mile. I’m impressed by the power of your fantasising!’

If only he knew.

For more click here...

AND THIS WEEK'S GUEST IS...

The delightful, Nell Dixon.

I first met Nell at the Romantic Novelists' Association conference in Leicester a year or two ago. We missed a train together, then travelled to Birmingham, talking about writing, family life and other stuff. A charming companion, the journey passed much too quickly.

Nell wasn't published then, but not long after her book Marrying Max was published and the following year won the Romantic Novelists' Association Romance Prize/Betty Neels trophy.

I wasn't there, but her present editor, Cat Cobain of Headline, told me when I met her at the Women's Fiction Festival in Matera, Italy, that Nell's acceptance speech was so moving that their whole table of hardened publishers was moved to tears and they made a vow then and there to "sign her up".

They were not just talking through their champagne. This month Nell's book, Blue Remembered Heels is published by Little Black Dress and all round the UK romantic novelists are cheering to the echo. And I had my email from Amazon to tell me that my copy was despatched today. Hooray!

Go, Nell...

I can’t believe Liz has her fiftieth title out this year. She doesn’t look old enough for a start. When I decided six years ago that it was time I made good all those promises I’d made to myself when I was younger about someday writing a book I looked at the authors whose books I loved reading the most. Needless to say Liz was one of those authors. I’ve always envied the way she can add her own unique stamp to a story. Even without her name on a cover, I could probably tell it was her voice. From Gentlemen prefer Brunettes to the classic, The Bridesmaid’s reward, I love Liz’s books and her sparkling sense of humour that all her heroines appear to possess. I knew that was the kind of writer I wanted to be. Since then I’ve been fortunate to achieve my dream and become a published writer.

This month sees the appearance of my debut book for Little Black Dress. Called Blue Remembered Heels, it’s the story of sisters Charlie and Abbey – both accomplished con artists, their brother Kip and what happens when a freak accident turns your life upside down. When Abbey is hit by lightning out of a clear blue sky one ordinary afternoon she discovers she can’t tell lies anymore. A bit of a snag when the man she’s falling in love with happens to be a police officer.

I got the idea for the story after reading in the newspaper about a man who was hit by lightning and suddenly found he could speak fluent French. Blue Remembered Heels is a suspense filled romp through dog whispering and footballers wives as Abbey, Charlie and Kip try to stay one step ahead of the law and find their happy ever afters.

Out on July 10th, you can order from Amazon or from any good bookstore.

Stop by at my website or my blog to find out all my news and to read more excerpts from my books.

Here’s a taster from Blue Remembered Heels, where Abbey has her first close up encounter with Mike:


Manydown was a typical country village. It boasted a pub, church, bakery, general store, butcher, greengrocer, ironmonger and a couple of clothes shops. I parked the minivan in the small car park behind the church and trotted across the street to the bakery.

Of course it was shut. I’d forgotten about it being Sunday. The small general store at the end of the road looked as if it was open so I headed down the street in the hope that they would at least have some crisps and chocolate.

At first glance it looked pretty deserted when I stepped through the old-fashioned door complete with jingly bell. A middle-aged woman at the counter served an elderly man with whisky and cigarettes while the rest of the shop appeared to be empty. I picked up one of the battered wire baskets from the end of the counter and looked along the shelves for something to keep my stomach quiet on the journey home.

The tinkle of the shop bell signalled the arrival of another customer right before I spotted some tubes of Pringles right up on the top shelf.

“Allow me.” A masculine arm reached over my head and handed me a tube of “Cheesy Cheese” flavour.

“Thank you…” The words died on my lips as I turned to look at my snack saviour. Holy crap, it was the same man who’d been in the hotel bar when Charlie and I had been setting up the sting on Freddie!

“You look familiar. Have we met?” Dark brown eyes the colour of melted chocolate gazed into mine. A shiver ran down my spine and I knew he was being sarcastic. He knew damn well where he’d seen me before.

“I saw you in a hotel bar once.” Crapity, crap, crap - why couldn’t I regain control over my mouth? Charlie would kill me and we were all going to go to jail if I didn’t learn to zip it. He smelt delicious though, masculine and woody. I knew I was in trouble and not just because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
His eyes narrowed and I guessed my openness had caught him off guard. “Yes, you were with a very pretty dark-haired girl.”

“My sister, Charlie.” I smiled at him even as I cursed myself for being unable to stop blabbering like an idiot. Typical - even the coppers fell for my sister. That idea dampened my spirits somewhat.

“And a Mr Freddie Davies was with you?”

“Yes.” Blast.

“Are you and your sister friends of Mr Davies?” His tone was casual but I knew a cop interrogation when I heard it. The problem was I couldn’t disengage my mouth from my brain.

“Business only.”

He might have a very sexy voice for a cop, but all the same I had to get out before he could ask me anything else. I’d said far too much as it was.

“Nice meeting you but I’ll have to go; my brother’s waiting for me.” I squeezed past him. The heat from his body shimmered into mine in the confined space of the aisle and I bolted through the tinned goods section to the till. Thank God I had cash. I plunked my Pringles in front of the cashier and added a couple of Crunchie bars from the display next to the till.

With the change in my pocket I made for the door only to find Mr Sexy Voice waiting for me.

“Don’t I even get to know your name?” He pulled the door open.

“Abbey Gifford.” I stepped outside, praying he wouldn’t try and follow me.

“Mike Flynn. Perhaps we’ll meet again?” Cute little crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

“Maybe.” I was flirting with the enemy. That bolt of lightning had a lot to answer for.

I have a signed copy of Blue Remembered Heels to send to the person I pick from the comments who I think confesses to the worst/funniest fib that they ever told.

POP UP BOOK STORE and LUCY GORDON

BOOKSHOP owner Andrew Ball was struck by figures that showed only 18% of Australians would ever venture into a shop such as his, so he devised a way to take such shops to the remaining 82%.

The prototype of his idea sits in front of the Federation Square staircase that links the square’s open space to Flinders Street. Like a market stall it unfolds in the morning and refolds at night. Read more here

This is such a brilliant idea that I hope it takes off in a seriously big way so that Andrew can stock his pop-ups with new books and hopefully he'll discover that women who love Jane Austen and Mrs Gaskell also love to put their feet up with a contemporary romance. If you see him in Federation Square, do say hello and well done. And put in a word for romance!

Oh, and before I introduce this week's special guest, you can now read an excerpt from my latest sheikh novella, Chosen As the Sheikh's Wife at my website. The Sheikh himself will drop by later in the month to tell you more!

Now for this week's special guest.

Lucy Gordon is a star. No question. She's been shortlisted for the RNA's Romance Prize twice, won two RITAs and a host of other awards, too. And her fabulous Italian heroes have earned her Harlequin Romance novels fans across the world. Of course she does have an advantage over the rest of us there. Her own whirlwind romance with a gorgeous Venetian is the stuff of legend. You can read about it on her website.

This month, however, Lucy's first Mills & Boon Modern/Harlequin Presents THE ITALIAN'S PASSIONATE REVENGE is published in the UK and US and I'm delighted that she's take time out of her busy life to tell us about it.

Over to Lucy...

First a big congratulation to Liz for receiving the Romantic Times award for Career Achievement for Love & Laughter. It comes right on top of the celebrations for her 50th Harlequin Romance, The Bride’s Baby, so the timing couldn’t be better.

Way to go, Liz! Keep ‘em coming!!

I’ve recently been reading the blog by Lawrence Roibal with great interest. Like many writers I’m indebted to him for the beautiful covers he’s done for my books, including all six of the Rinucci series.

One that stands out is The Mediterranean Rebel’s Bride, which made the finals in the Romance Prize given by the Romantic Novelist’s Association, in February. It didn’t win but I’ve just heard that it’s also in the finals of the National Readers Choice Award. The presentation will be made in July, at the Romance Writers of America conference in San Francisco. So I’m crossing my fingers.

I’ve been looking forward to May for a long time, because this month sees the publication of my first Harlequin Presents, THE ITALIAN’S PASSIONATE REVENGE.

Being Italian by marriage, I set a lot of my books in Italy, many of them in my two favorite cities, Venice and Rome. This one is set in the heart of Rome and I’ve had a wonderful time mentally revisiting my favourite places, the Via Vittorio Veneto, where the wealthy live, the Trevi fountain, where you go to toss a coin and wish to come back to Rome.

My heroine, Elise, made a wish to return to Rome, and eventually she does, but not under the circumstances she would have chosen. Now the man she loved is dead, and she’s taken back by another man, Vincente, the hero, who lures her with promises of passion and luxury. He’ll say and do anything to get her into his lair, because he hates her – although they have never met.

So, from the start, he’s one step ahead of her, but his advantage fades because, as well as being beautiful and sexy, she’s also shrewd, feisty, and brave – all of them things he hadn’t expected. He’s caught off-guard. It becomes a power struggle, with the combatants evenly matched until – well, it's all there in the book.

Finally Elise confronts Vincente:

“Oh, I’ve really got to hand it to you,” she said softly. “As a shrewd manipulator you’re the tops. But of course you have no conscience, which is a big help. You plotted for eight years without let-up. How could you do that? You told me not to judge you too easily, but you’ve judged me every moment. You never thought that there might be something to be said on my side.”

“No, I didn’t, and I’ve blamed myself for that ever since you told me what really happened.”

“But it came too late, didn’t it? I was already in the net by then. How you must have enjoyed closing it around me! Every word you said to me was a lie. Even when – ”
She checked herself as a wave of anguish washed over her. She fought it with every fibre of her being. She couldn’t afford it.

Vincente, watching, drew a tense breath, but stayed still before the rage in her eyes.

“Even when you seemed most sincere, it was a lie,” she said. “That takes some doing. I congratulate you. It was a good act, but it’s over. You served your purpose.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means you’re not the only one concealing their real thoughts. I hadn’t slept with a man for years. I was ready for – shall we say? – a new experience. No ties. No conditions. You fitted the bill perfectly.”

That struck home, she was glad to notice. He paled, his mouth tightened and his face had a withered look.

“What are you saying?” he asked quietly.

“You know exactly what I’m saying,” she said, challenging him with her look. “I said you were shrewd and calculating, but you’re good in another way – just the way I needed. Do you want me to elaborate?”

“I don’t think you need to,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t know a man could be that skilled in bed,” she went on, disregarding him. “It’s something I won’t forget, because it gives me a touchstone to measure the others by.”

“Others?”

“In the future. And there are going to be others, make no mistake. You did fine job, now I’m going to discover just how fine. I remember everything, you see. Are your special little touches yours alone, or do other men know them? And if not, how quickly can they be taught? Never mind. I’ll have fun finding out.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he almost shouted.

“I’ll talk as I like. If you don’t like it, tough. Remember, I’m partly your creation. I’ve learned a lot from you, not just about sex but about cruelty and ruthlessness, deception with a straight face. I’m glad of it. Your lessons are going to come in very useful.”

His mouth twisted cynically.

“Well done, Elise. You turned out to be everything I thought you. I knew you’d show your true colours in the end.”

“Yes you did, didn’t you? And now I have. So have you. So we can toss each other on the scrap heap and go our ways without regret.”

“And admirable idea,” he snapped. “I’m glad you feel you learned something from me.”

“Ruthlessness, manipulation – ”

“I’m commonly held to be a master. You’ve been learning from the best.”

“Every word you ever said to me – ”

“Pretence, all of them. Every word, every caress, every moment of passion – all done for a purpose.”

“All those times we made love - ?”

“You don’t really think I could love you, do you?” he demanded coldly. “To me you’re little better than a murderess.”

* * *

From The Italian's Passionate Revenge, Harlequin Presents, May 2008 -- available from Mills & Boon in the UK and Harlequin in both print and ebook formats. Or from Amazon, UK

Thanks so much for that thrilling excerpt, Lucy. I know that, like me, your many fans can't wait to lap up the glamour and passion of a new romance set in Rome.

And since we've now all heard about Bertie, here's a picture of him perched on top of Lucy's computer so that we can all know what he looks like!


And finally, for a chance to win a signed copy of this book, Lucy wants to know --

What country does the hero have to come from to make you think -- "I've got to meet him!"?

Tell us the nationality of your own secret fantasy hero and Lucy will draw the winner on Monday.

Oh, and just to reassure Lucy's many Harlequin Romance fans, The Italian's Cinderella Bride-- a Heart to Heart -- is coming soon!

WHAT AN ELEGANT, SWELLEGANT PARTY, IT WAS…

As some of you may know, I was shortlisted for the RNA Romance Prize this year, along with a handful of other fabulous Mills & Boon authors – Lucy Gordon, Julie Cohen, Kate Hardy and Fiona Harper and so, on Monday I left my sleepy little village, boarded a train and set off for London.

The train was a little bit late. The taxi driver discovered the road to my daughter’s office – she was coming with me – was blocked and we arrived at the Royal Garden Hotel in Kensington, barely in time for the official photographs and a glass of champagne before we were summoned to lunch.

We were all very bad and didn’t go and sit down, but stood about taking photographs of each other and talking like mad and the very forceful lady Toastmaster had to get quite firm with us, but even when we were sitting down the noise level didn’t subside. My ears are still ringing slightly…

Here are some moments from my day. First a hug from my daughter. Then a glimpse of the table and me with the red rose that was waiting for me there.

Kate Hardy and Karin Stoecker (Mills & Boon) chat over lunch.

Julie Cohen and Anna Lucia, me with Fiona Harper and although I’m sure you know this already, the winner of the Romance Prize was

KATE HARDY with BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.