Free box set!

This box set is free until the 20th January from Amazon, wherever you are. Grab it now!

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon Australia

Special Valentine's Offers from Harlequin and Mills & Boon

Three lovely boks to download for cents/pennies this Valentine month!


The Billionaires are for readers in thr US -

The Bride is for readers in the UK.

I'n sure there's a deal for those of you in Ausrralia/New Zealand, too, Check the Mills and Boon Aus website to make sure you don/t miss out.

Stormachtige ontmoeting / Liefde met slagroom

Auteurs: Liz Fielding, Marion Lennox | Miniserie: Stoere papa's | Reeks: Bouquet | Boek nr: 362 | Pub.datum: 28 apr. 2015

0 review(s) | Schrijf een review

Korte omschrijving

De steenrijke financier Ben Logan is gewend zijn eigen boontjes te doppen - totdat hij tijdens een zeilrace in een cycloon terechtkomt en aanspoelt op wat een verlaten eiland lijkt.

Lees de hele omschrijving

(1) STORMACHTIGE ONTMOETING - Marion Lennox
Stoere papa's 1:
Samen op een verlaten eiland... kan het romantischer?

De steenrijke financier Ben Logan is gewend zijn eigen boontjes te doppen - totdat hij tijdens een zeilrace in een cycloon terechtkomt en aanspoelt op wat een verlaten eiland lijkt. Dan moet hij zijn lot wel in handen leggen van de beeldschone vrouw die hem vindt. In een grot vinden ze beschutting tegen de storm en warmte bij elkaar. Weer thuis denkt Ben zijn leven gewoon voort te kunnen zetten, maar dan meldt zijn redster zich. Ze heeft hem iets heel bijzonders te vertellen...


(2) LIEFDE MET SLAGROOM - Liz Fielding
Op dít soort verleidingen is ze niet voorbereid....

Sorrel Amery bedenkt de geweldigste desserts voor feesten en partijen. IJs met peper of komkommer, of een toetje in de kleur van je bruidsjurk? Geen enkel probleem. Dat dient zich pas aan als ze een bestelling komt ophalen bij haar vaste leverancier en daar alleen een zeer aantrekkelijke man aantreft, accountant Alexander West. De winkel is failliet, vertelt hij haar. Vreemd genoeg doet haar dat weinig. Want op het moment dat ze in zijn prachtige ogen kijkt, heeft ze een heel nieuw doel - en ook al een plan!

Deze verhalen zijn ook los verkrijgbaar.

Backlist Bliss

Mills and Boon are putting out a dozen or so of my backlist books between now and January 1st and I'm having a lovely time watching Amazon to see the fabulous new covers as they're added to the listing.

The latest is for Chosen As the Sheikh's Wife, a novella that was written for the Mills and Boon centenary celebrations and originally published in the 100 Arabian Nights anthology.

I absolutely love writing sheikh books and the dh and I (we spent a lot of time working in the Middle East when we were young) had a ball brainstorming ideas.

Here's a little taster -

It was the phone that woke her.  Dragging her from somewhere so deep that she was certain that it must have been ringing for some time. 

She ignored it and finally it stopped, allowing her to concentrate on her headache, and the fact that her eyes felt as if someone had been shovelling grit in them all night. 

The bright sunshine didn’t help. 

With her hand shading her eyes, she made it to the bathroom.  She was in the shower when the phone began to ring again.  Sarah, she thought.  It would be Sarah, worrying about her.  She’d call her back…

She washed her hair, brushed her teeth.  Decided to forget about getting dressed until she’d had coffee. 

The local newspaper was lying on the mat.  Her gran had liked her to read the local news to her…

She bent to pick it up, groaning as the headache she thought she’d defeated slid forward and collided with the back of her aching eyes. 

Then she groaned again as she saw the front page.  It must have been a slow news day because she seemed to fill the front page, staring like a rabbit caught in the media headlights, with the Trash or Treasure expert beside her displaying the khanjar.  In full colour.

The headline read, ARABIAN “PRINCESS” AT ROADSHOW.

What?

The doorbell rang and without thinking she wrenched it open, certain that it would Sarah.  She’d taken to dropping in every morning in the last few weeks, to see if she needed anything.  She usually came round the back, letting herself in with her “good neighbour” key as she had yesterday when she’d heard her cry for help when the floor had given way.

Clearly the fact that the phone had gone unanswered was causing her concern, but since she’d bolted the back door last night, the key would be useless.

But it wasn’t Sarah, who was tiny – apart from around the middle where she was spreading spectacularly – and fair;  the  figure that filled the tiny porch was her opposite in every conceivable way.

Tall, spare, broad-shouldered, male, there was nothing soft about him.  His features were austere, chiselled to the bone, his beard closely cut against olive-toned skin that was positively Mediterranean against a snowy band-collared shirt, fastened to the neck.  His hair was thick and crisply cut.  But it was his eyes that held her. 

Dark as midnight and just as dangerous.

He looked very … foreign.

He was also stunningly, knee-wobblingly handsome. 

Violet was suitably stunned.  And her knees dutifully wobbled. 

Just her luck that she’d emerged from the shower pink of face, with her hair in it’s usual wet tangle and nothing between her and decency but a film of moisturiser and a faded pink bathrobe that could only be described as … functional.

‘Miss Hamilton?’

Oh, and guess what…  He had a voice like melted chocolate, delicately flavoured with an exotic, barely-there accent. 

Whatever he was selling she was buying by the crate…

Except, of course, that he was far too expensively dressed to be a door-to-door salesman.  She knew clothes.  And what he was wearing did not come off a peg in the High Street.

Oh, well.  She was expecting a visit from a representative of the finance company to call any day with the release papers for her to sign so that they could sell the house, recover their money.

This had to be him.

‘Miss Violet Hamilton?’ he repeated, when she didn’t answer.

‘Who?’ she asked, just to hear him say Violet again.  Long and slow.

Vi-o-let.  

Pronouncing every syllable, turning a name she’d loathed only slightly less than the hideously shortened “Vi” into the most desirable name in the entire world.

‘I’m looking for Miss Violet Hamilton.’  And taking the newspaper from her hand, he held the front page up for her to see.  ‘I believe I’ve found her.’

No point pretending to be the lodger, then.  Asking him to come back when she’d gussied herself up;  straightened her hair, applied some make-up, was decked out in one of her more creative outfits.  Oh, well…

‘And here I was kidding myself that the photograph is so awful that you couldn’t possibly tell,’ she said.  ‘Clearly I was fooling myself.’

He looked at the photograph and then at her for rather longer than seemed necessary just to confirm the likeness.  Then, clearly thinking better of commenting one way or the other, he returned the paper and said, ‘I am Fayad al Khalifa, Miss Hamilton.’  And he held out a visiting card -- as if they couldn’t printed off by the dozen in any name you cared to dream up by anyone with a computer. 

Except that this wasn’t a do-it-yourself job, but embossed on heavy ivory-coloured card.

 If he was from the finance company, he certainly wasn’t one of the foot-soldiers.

The front of the card gave no hint, but contained only his name: Fayad al Khalifa.  Unusual enough.  She turned it over.  The back was blank.  No address, no phone number.

Obviously this was a man whose name was enough for those with the wit to recognise it.  Which did not include her.

‘Nice card,’ she said.  ‘But a trifle shy of information.’

‘The Ras al Kawi embassy will vouch for me.’

‘Oh, well, that’s all right then,’ she said.  Her friends would have recognised sarcasm.  He apparently did not, but merely nodded.  Good grief, he was serious…

Ras al Kawi?  Where was that?

‘I need to talk to you about a khanjar that I believe is in your possession,’ he said.  ‘It is possible that it once belonged to my family.’

‘Oh?’  Then, realising that he come to demand it back, ‘It’s amazing how fast good news spreads.’

‘You have no idea.  Perhaps I should wait in my car while you …’ 

He made the vaguest of gestures, resolutely looking at her face, avoiding her bare legs, the shabby bathrobe that had a tendency to gape at the neck.  It made no difference, every inch of her skin tingled.

‘Dress?’ she offered, lippy to the last.  Except that the word didn’t come out quite as she’d intended, but thick and throaty and more to avoid those eyes, than because she was interested in his choice in transport, Violet looked past him.

A black Rolls Royce was parked at the kerb.  The little green and gold flag on the bonnet stirred in the breeze.

She barely stopped herself from letting slip an expression that would have brought her a rebuke from her grandma.

Her breathless, ‘Who are you?’ wasn’t a whole heap better.

‘If your story is true, Miss Hamilton, then your great-great-grandmother, Princess Fatima al-Sayyid, was once married to my great-great-grandfather.’

At which point she did let slip a word that she used only under the most extreme pressure. 

She would have been embarrassed about that, but a scream from rear of the house – Sarah’s scream -- obliterated the sound.

Chosen As the Sheikh's Wife is available to pre-order at Amazon as an ebook for $1.89 in the US - here's the link and for £1.19 in the UK here

 Nook UK and Kobo also have it listed with the new cover - and I imagine iBooks (where the book is available but showing the old cover), will catch up soon.

This is what the best beloved sent me on St Valentine's Day.

(Should have changed my sweater before he took the photo!)

Smashwords Summer Sale

Just a very quick blog to let you all know that Smashwords are having a Summer Sale until July 21, and the following books are half price -

The Beaumont Brides Collection
Wild Lady
Wild Fire
Dangerous Flirtation
Old Desires
Liz Fielding's Little Book of Writingf Romance

This link will take you to the page - you'll find a code on the side bar to use at the checkout.

Liz Fielding at Smashwords

And from July 18 - 22 this 2-in-1 anthology containing Old Desires and A Stranger's Kiss will be free at Amazon.

Go grab a bargain!

Following in mother's footsteps...

I read because my mother read. She taught me to read, then she took me to her very special place. Boots Lending Library. They used to have them upstairs in every Boots store in the UK. You paid to borrow books - not much, but my parents didn't have much money - but reading was that important to her.

She paid a few pennies for me to borrow books, too. Going to the library with my Mum was one of those lovely shared moments - the kind that stays with you forever.

My favourite author was Enid Blyton. She wrote fast paced adventure stories with kids taking on the bad guys. She's been out of favour for a long time, but she knew how to make those pages turn.

My mother's favourite was Netta Muskett. It's a name that has never left me. It belongs to those magic few minutes when we browsed the shelves, both hoping to find a book by our favourite author that we hadn't already read. When I joined the Romantic Novelists' Association when I sold my first book, a few months before my mother died, the Netta Muskett Award was still the one to win. The name itself just brings back those precious moments.

I exhausted Boots ability to keep up with my reading and joined the big Public Library and found a whole new range of authors to keep me happy. And by the time I was thirteen I was in the adult library, because, well, I'd grown out of most of the stuff they had on the shelves. YA wasn't a genre in those days, although the last book I remember taking out of the junior library, Jampot Smith, would probably fit into that category.

But back to the adored Netta whose books were, apparently, somewhat risque for her time. Her grandson, James Muskett (@N_Muskettbooks on twitter) and her publishers, are now re-releasing some of her books.

I've downloaded this one - Misadventure -my chance to discover why my mother loved them so much.

Chocolate Box Writers

As Forrest Gump’s mama would say, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” Variety is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?  Romantic fiction is our chocolate, and at The Chocolate Box you’ll find stories to tempt your discerning palate.

Who are we? We’re writers of romantic fiction and we’re friends. We’re going to bring you news of our latest releases, post excerpts, hold contests and generally get up to shenanigans. Just like we do in real life.

Still curious? Join us on February 14 for our official launch! There will be prizes - and, of course, chocolate!

Follow us on Twitter
Find us on Facebook