Welcome to Duck Chat!

Harlequin Intrigue author Dana Marton has made a name for herself by writing gripping, fast-paced international intrigue for her loyal readers. Recently her editor asked her to write a royalty-based romance series for Harlequin, and though she’d never written anything like that before, she found she was more than up to the challenge. The first two books in the series are under her belt, and on top of everything, she’s been nominated for a RITA this year.

Read on to discover more about this intriguing author. Be sure to leave a meaningful comment because Dana will be giving away several copies, the number to be determined by Dana later, of her RITA finalist, Tall, Dark and Lethal.

Now let’s chat!

DUCK CHAT: Let’s talk first about your Rita nomination. Congratulations! Your Harlequin Intrigue Talk, Dark and Lethal received the nod this year. Tell us everything, from “the call” to the dress and everything in between.

DANA MARTON: This was the first time that I got the Rita call, so I was super excited. I laughed, I cried, I danced around my office, and I pretty much called everyone I know. The family took me out for a champagne dinner that night. I still smile every time I think about it. When I got the pin, I wore it everywhere I went! Not that anyone knew what it meant, LOL. I’m still in Europe, probably for another year, so I’m not attending the conference and the ceremony, but friends will broadcast it to me via cell phone! Do I have the best friends or what?

DC: If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

DM: Where do you get your ideas?

It’s an unanswerable question, kind of like where the wind comes from. Everywhere. I’m a writer. Just about everything I look at makes me think: Oh, wouldn’t that make an interesting story? And I so LOVE every idea at first. But eventually, I do gain some perspective and I’m able to separate the wheat from the chaff.

DC: Tall, Dark and Lethal was released this past December. Please tell our readers about Cade Palmer and Bailey Preston and their story.

DM: Cade and Bailey have a very tumultuous relationship. They’re neighbors, sharing a suburban duplex, and they can’t stand each other. And that’s before Cade’s old enemies catch up with him from his secret operative days and blow the house up. Before they know it, they’re on the run, hiding out in a one-bed shack and forced to trust each other to stay alive.

DC: I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

DM: Mostly my heroines. I always plan big romantic rescues by the hero, but just as often, the heroine ends up saving herself, and the hero to boot! LOL I suppose I write strong heroines. But many of my heroes are tough commando guys, so they’re a perfect match.

DC: Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing? Who usually wins?

DM: The character always wins. It’s her/his story. I’m getting better at listening to them. Saves me a lot of rewrites. Characters can be very pesky people. When I get fed up, I daydream about writing short stories about dogs. But then I think of our beagle and figure she’d totally take control of any story I wrote about her. So far this week she “took control” of the swing, the berry bush, a blanket that fell off the clothes line…

DC: Your Secret Designation Defense Unit series is a hit with readers. Tell us how this series evolved and what to expect in the future.

DM: Actually, I don’t have any SDDU books planned right now. But I’m willing to return to those guys if readers write to me. I’m all about making the reader happy.

DC: I’ve read gardening is a passion of yours and you have a huge garden. How did this passion start and give us a writer’s description of your garden.

DM: I love flowers. Looking at a flower is like a meditation. I’ve never seen a plant I didn’t like and didn’t want to plant in my yard. As with writing, I’m not much of a planner when it comes to gardening either. I kind of fly by the seat of my pants. So we have bushes that have been moved three times now. I walk through the garden and think, “Wouldn’t this look so much better over there?” It drives my husband crazy! For some reason, he thinks once you plant a tree or a bush, you’re supposed to leave it in place. I don’t know where he got that from. I’m into continuous improvement.

DC: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

DM: Email. I have four email addresses. Just in the official danamarton@danamarton.com inbox, I have more than 1000 unread messages right now. I get completely overwhelmed at times. I envy writers who have admin assistants.

DC: How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved over your career? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

DM: I think both my male and female characters have gotten more layered over the years. As my writing skills improve, I am able to show more facets of a person. So many things come together to create our personalities. I’m fascinated by that. Cade, for example, had been a rough and tough soldier. Yet, he craves peace and to be done with the killing. In Tall, Dark and Lethal, he is on a mission of revenge, but at the end, we find out that it’s not about him. (Can’t say more on that or I’ll give away the plot.) But the point is, he’s a three-dimensional character, someone I can see as my own neighbor. (Minus any homes exploding, preferably.)

DC: Your latest book is Saved by the Monarch, which is on sale at Amazon.com as of today, is the first book in your Defending the Crown series. Tell our readers the idea behind the series and also about the hero and heroine, Miklos and Judi.

DM: Oh, I’m just so in love with my princes!!! The Defending the Crown series is about six royal brothers in a small European kingdom. The enemies of the crown are trying to break the monarchy even at the risk of breaking the country apart. And these princes will do everything to save their country and protect their people. Prince Miklos even decides to “sacrifice” himself in an arranged marriage.

And the heroine… Well, try to put yourself into her shoes…

Picture yourself going on a much-needed European vacation to the country of your ancestors. You’re getting off the airplane, and the red carpet is odd, but not alarming. Except, the hot guy in the fancy uniform waiting at the end, in front of a line of guards, is not head of security.
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He is a prince.
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Now try not to let your chin drop when he tells you that your parents had promised him your hand in marriage before they died –when you were still a child.
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He whisks you away in the royal ceremonial limousine before you can get your bearings. And by the time you manage to tell him that under no circumstances will you be entering an arranged marriage with a stranger, you are both kidnapped by anti-monarchy rebels.
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You don’t know the country’s politics, you don’t know the lay of the land, you don’t speak the local dialects. You only have one chance for survival: you must trust your life to the prince.
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Forget kissing frogs. Meet Prince Miklos of Valtria. And if the crown fits…

A special treat! An excerpt from Saved by the Monarch:

Today he would meet his bride. Prince Miklos hurried along the narrow passageway. If all went well, in three months they’d be married. Given the political climate of the Valtrian kingdom, a traditional engagement in the public eye that lasted a full year wasn’t an option. The Royal House of Kerkay desperately needed the positive publicity and all the goodwill a royal wedding would bring. They needed it quickly.
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There came that noise again. His attention focused on his surroundings. He wasn’t alone in the catacombs, the narrow corridors carved into stone that crisscrossed most of the city and culminated in a jumbled labyrinth under the Valtrian royal palace. Unease prickled his skin, a distinguishable sensation from the goose bumps the cool, damp air gave the prince every time he walked through here. Which wasn’t often. But today his schedule was tight and he didn’t want to waste time on the reporters who loitered around the palace entrances armed with pointed questions about the unrest in the south.
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The lights flickered, but that wasn’t unusual. The electric system down here was over fifty years old, currently scheduled for maintenance. He strode forward without hesitation, his military boots making a hard sound on the stone that echoed, mixing with the scrape of other footsteps up ahead.
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Some of the catacombs under the city had been turned into a tourist attraction, with guided tours twice a day, but the closed-off section under the palace was guarded twenty-four seven. He expected a palace guard would pop around a corner in seconds.
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Except that didn’t happen.
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Odd. Whoever was down here with him had to have heard him by now. A guard would have come to see who he was, would have properly greeted him. The sound of footsteps grew more faint, definitely not coming closer. Someone in a hurry. To get away from him?
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The lights flickered again.
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And he considered how he hadn’t come across a single guard yet. He picked up speed, but couldn’t catch sight of anyone, the footsteps always just around the next corner.
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“Halt!” he called out, the intonation that of a military man—he was a Valtrian Army major.
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The palace guard would have recognized his voice and obeyed.
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Instead, the footsteps quickened.
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He took off running toward them, then pulled up short when the lights went out and he was suddenly enveloped in complete darkness.
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Ambush, his military-trained mind said. He stole forward slowly, taking care to soften his steps.
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His hand moved to his sidearm, although, realistically, he didn’t expect much more than an opportunistic tourist who had somehow gotten past a chained gate. Gotten too far while the guards were doing something else somewhere else. The catacomb system was vast.
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He stepped to the side and put his back against the wall, ready for anything. But when the lights flickered on for one second, he found the corridor empty in front of him.
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And yet his senses told him something was off. He slipped his gun from its leather holster and hadn’t taken two steps forward when the lights went out again.
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He could be walking into a trap—side tunnels frequently interrupted the corridor he traveled. He moved forward one slow meter at a time, preparing for whatever was to come next, cautioning himself to restraint. A prince beating up a lost tourist would make for terrible publicity, so he bade himself not to jump to conclusions and rash actions when he caught up with whoever was down here. But he kept his gun out, although he didn’t take the safety off, not yet.
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He followed the sound, turned when he had to, going by feel through twisting corridors in the darkness, enveloped by damp air and musty smells. Then the footsteps suddenly died.
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He strained to listen, but couldn’t hear anything. He braced his left hand against the wall to orient himself— the stone in the various passages was cut with different techniques, as the catacombs had been added to over the centuries—touched something wet, pulled his hand back.
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In some places the walls were moist. There was even a small underground stream, but that was at least a mile from where he was standing.
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Could be a water pipe was leaking somewhere beneath the palace. He would have to have that investigated.
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He moved ahead, but could no longer pick out any sound beyond the muffled ones he made. The lights flickered back on again. He immediately knew where he was and turned the corner toward the palace entry he’d been headed for. He turned another corner, strode down another long walkway, then another. And spotted a guard, at last, by the steel security door.
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“Your Highness.” The man snapped his heels together and pulled his spine ramrod straight, staring ahead.
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“Has anyone come up this way?” he asked.
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“None, Your Highness.”
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“You’re the first guard I’ve seen since coming in through the stables.” He’d entered the catacombs through the secret door at the royal stables at the foot of Palace Hill.
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“I’ll alert the captain immediately.”
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“See that you do. Are the lights working properly?”
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“Yes, Your Highness.”
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“They keep going off and on down there.”
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“It’ll be seen to. Is there anything else, Your Highness?” The man’s face was set in stone, but his voice betrayed his nerves. His unit had been caught derelict in their duties by none other than a member of the royal family.
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And Miklos didn’t feel like going easy on him. He was a military man through and through who considered his duty sacred. “Tell the captain I want a full sweep. There might be unauthorized personnel down there.”
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If the man was surprised, he didn’t show it. A complete sweep of the catacombs was rarely conducted. The last time they’d done a full survey was over a decade ago, for architectural reasons. They were testing the rock bed for stability before beginning renovations on the East Wing of the palace. Before his father’s death.
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He left the guard behind and walked up the stairs, was greeted by another guard as he entered the palace proper. He checked his cell phone when he passed the man. Three unanswered calls from the chief of security. Cell phones didn’t work down in the catacombs.
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He checked the times for the calls. All in the last ten minutes. Since he was already late for a meeting, he didn’t immediately return them. He crossed a receiving area and came out by the library, walked straight through and into the business offices, into the private meeting room where Chancellor Hansen was waiting for him.
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“Your Highness.”
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“Chancellor.” He nodded, hating that he was two minutes late. “Go ahead.”
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“Are you hurt, Your Highness?” The man was staring at his left hand.
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And when Miklos brought it up, he realized why. His palm and fingers were stained with blood. He hadn’t felt just groundwater seeping through the stone down in the catacombs when he’d leaned against the wall.
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The full sweep would tell him what was going on. Miklos would make sure to check in later with the captain. He turned into the small bathroom off the office, left the door open as he pumped soap and thoroughly washed. “I’m fine. I would hear your report.”
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The chancellor knew better than to push with questions, and gave his usual twenty-minute update instead, leaving ten minutes at the end of their weekly appointment for questions and answers as he always had. But when that was over, uncharacteristically, he didn’t immediately take his leave. He was fidgeting, shuffling papers in his appointment book.
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He decidedly lingered, although he was the type to plow through his report with the force of a steam engine then be gone, rushing to the next item on his endless to-do list. He had a propensity for believing that he single-handedly kept the kingdom running.
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He probably wasn’t too far off the mark.
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“Is there anything else?” Miklos asked.
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The chancellor closed his leather-bound folder softly and looked up with trepidation on his lined face. “The queen is…” He drew a quick breath. “The queen is…” Moisture gathered in his eyes under lids that drooped with age.
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“The queen is dying.” Miklos said what for most of the country was still unthinkable. He, himself, hadn’t said it out loud until now, although he and his brothers had been aware of it for some time, communicating with half sentences and long looks of regret. “My mother is dying,” he said it now, again.
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The chancellor hung his head.
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“Dr. Arynak is requesting audience?”
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“Yes, Your Highness.”
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But the good doctor had asked the chancellor to break the news first. At another time, in a different situation, Miklos would have smiled at that.
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Dr. Arynak never delivered bad news to any of the members of the royal family. He had an aversion, more of a phobia, perhaps going back to his predecessors, some of whom had been beheaded for being the harbinger of bad news during the less enlightened centuries.
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His evasive techniques, which he took to the extreme at times, could be annoying. He was an excellent physician, however.
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“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”
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Miklos’s heart darkened. The weight that had been straddling his shoulders for the last couple of months now slid to settle firmly in his chest. How long? He wanted to ask, but for that he had to wait for the doctor’s audience.
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“I’ll see him as soon as we get back from the airport.”
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“Yes, Your Highness.” But the chancellor didn’t look relieved for being done with delivering the doctor’s message.
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“What else?”
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“Have you talked to the chief of security?”
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“Not yet.” Miklos’s voice picked up some impatience, which he regretted. But what could be worse than the queen’s impending death? And the country in the worst turmoil already. He was tired of the political fires they were fighting at every level of government.
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And still the chancellor wouldn’t talk.
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“We must leave momentarily,” Miklos reminded him.
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“There seems to be a plot to assassinate the crown prince.” The words came in a rush, with a pained expression on the old man’s face. And anger over the audacity that anyone would want to harm the royal family. And unease because he was treading on the security chief’s territory by reporting that information first.
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Information that made Miklos’s head reel. “Arpad?”
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The man in the catacombs… It had been a man; the footsteps gave that much away. Probably young. He’d been fast, and there hadn’t been any shuffling. Miklos looked at his left hand. No trace of the blood remained. His body went still for a moment when he thought… Alarm and urgency filled him as he asked, “Where is my brother now?”
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“Meeting with a team of security advisors.”
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He acknowledged the brief moment of relief and headed for the door. “Where? And why am I not there?”
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“We have another appointment.”
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He stopped in his tracks. How could that slip his mind even for a moment?
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He appreciated that the chancellor said “We,” even though he spoke of a burden Miklos alone must bear. “I should still go and see my brother.” He glanced back.
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“But Your Highness…” The Chancellor paled. “You must receive her.”
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He wasn’t in the mood for musts. “I must nothing. Am I not still a prince?”
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“Which is exactly the reason.” The chancellor took a tone he’d employed often during the princes’ childhood, using it for the same argument once again— duties of royalty.
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Which hadn’t chafed in a long time, but they did now, when his mother and brother needed him, and Miklos had to go on a side trip to receive some girl he hadn’t met in twenty some years, all because protocol demanded. He almost told the chancellor that protocol be damned. Then reminded himself that a Kerkay never shirked any duty of the crown.
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In an hour’s time—two at the most—he would be rid of the girl, and he would be back at the palace. He glanced at his watch. “Where is the meeting?”
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“The Map Room. Shall I come along, Your Highness?”
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“I’ll only be a moment.” He glanced at his watch again. “You should probably start getting ready.”
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The Map Room was called as such not only because the floor displayed the map of the world in various colored granite, but because the shelves housed all the royal maps that had survived the tumultuous centuries of Valtria, starting with an outline of the country’s hills and rivers, hand-painted on scraped sheepskin in the tenth century.
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His five brothers looked up as Miklos entered.
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“We weren’t expecting you,” Arpad, the crown prince, said with obvious pleasure in his voice, although Benedek and Lazlo—the twins—looked rather guilty.
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“The chief of security and the rest of the advisors aren’t here yet.” Janos stated the obvious. He was a prominent economist and involved with politics, as well. His face showed the shadows of sleepless nights.
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“And yet you’re all here,” Miklos remarked, glancing at the old leather-bound book Janos had shoved behind his back as Miklos had entered but now was pulling out again.
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Not the book?
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Miklos put a scowl on his face, regretting that none of his brothers was easily intimidated. “No,” he said with emphasis.
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“The times are calling for—” Lazlo, a brilliant entrepreneur and born gambler, started to say.
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Miklos cut him off. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
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“Tonight.” Arpad leaned against the fifteenth century massive walnut desk. “We thought you were, er, otherwise engaged?” His right eyebrow slid up, an amused look on his face.
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“Leaving momentarily,” Miklos said with utmost restraint. “You can put that book away. I’ll take care of this with the security chief. You’ll be safe, Arpad, I swear to that.”
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Arpad was a colonel in the air force, but he was the crown prince and could not be part of the kind of foolishness that had been cooked up, no doubt, by the youngest princes. Arpad was to be protected.
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Miklos was the only other one with military training among the six brothers. He was the one who was involved with state and palace security anyway. “The Brotherhood of the Crown is a legend,” he snapped at them.”

DC: Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

DM: I’d like to try just about everything. I often write other genres for my own entertainment. I’ve written an historical novel, an epic fantasy, a single title romantic suspense and a single title romance so far. I’m having so much fun with them. From time to time, I post a whole book on my web site as a treat to my readers. The feedback I receive is always fantastic.

DC: What advice would you give to your younger self?

DM: Stick with college. Get in, stay in, find a way to make it happen. Then again, if I’d done that, I might not have ever become a writer. I did get my degree eventually, but it was a very long process.

DC: Royal Protocol is the next book in the series and will be released in June. Can you give us a sneak peek into this story?

DM: Prince Benedek Kerkay’s long-held fantasy became reality when world-renowned opera singer Rayne Williams stepped off the plane and into his arms. Although royal protocol deemed the beautiful American off-limits, it was only the sudden barrage of rebel fire that kept Benedek from breaking all the rules.

Running through underground tunnels, trying to keep the enemy at bay, Benedek would sacrifice his life and his place on the throne if it meant keeping Rayne safe.

The stubborn prince was confident he’d survive this latest battle for his country. But letting Rayne go wouldn’t be quite so easy…

Double treat – a smidgen from Royal Protocol:

Benedek Kerkay, youngest prince of Valtria, stared at the evenly printed lines on the paper, but all he could see was the face of the most beautiful woman in the universe, the one who’d been holding him enthralled for years. A woman he could never have.
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“Protesters are gathering at Liberation Square, Your Highness.” His secretary stood in the door of his temporary office at the Royal Opera House, shifting from one scrawny leg to the other.
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Benedek cleared his head and processed the man’s words, forgetting the speech he should have been rehearsing for the reopening of the three-hundred-year-old opera house, his most significant project yet as an architect. His muscles drew tight. “No. Absolutely not.”
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Morin looked gravely ahead. A peculiar-looking little man, he was loyal to the bone at a time when loyalty was scarce. For this, he was much appreciated at the palace. He’d been with the House of Kerkay since Benedek could remember, even forsaking family for service, although rumors about him and the head housekeeper of the palace’s east wing circulated from time to time. He was such a private man that even Benedek didn’t know the truth of those rumors. Nor was he in the mood to speculate on them at the moment.
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“There can’t be a protest tonight.” He came out of his seat and strode to the exquisitely restored six-foot-tall window, turning his back to Morin, wishing he could see across the five-acre Millennial Park to Liberation Square.
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His fists tightened, crushing the sheets he held. Nothing would be allowed to upset the peace tonight. He’d been working toward this night for the last five years, restoring the Baroque-style building with painstaking care. Close to a thousand nobles, Valtrian celebrities and foreign dignitaries were invited to the opening night and were even now taking their seats. Rayne Williams, opera diva, “the voice of the night,” was giving her first performance outside of the U.S. in a decade.
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“Call in Royal Security, call in the army, call in the National Guard, call in the synchronized parachuters for all I care, but do not—” he relaxed his clenched jaw muscles “—let anyone spoil tonight.”
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“Yes, Your Highness. Only that it’s—” His secretary hesitated.
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Benedek crushed the papers tighter, knowing from the look on the man’s face that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “Only what?”
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“A show of force at the present moment—against peaceful protesters.”
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Benedek walked to his desk then back to the window, pacing the antique reproduction carpet. Disbanding the protesters by force could look like an attempt to silence the voice of the people. Not a year after the siege of Maltmore Castle where the enemies of the monarchy had attempted to kill the entire royal family and take over the country, where dozens of people died in a night of bloodshed… The royal guard marching on the people might not be the smartest thing politically. The country needed reconciliation and joint steps toward unity.
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He hated politics. He’d become an architect partially for that reason. Buildings were simple. Buildings were stable. Buildings didn’t stab you in the back.
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“Who’s handling it?”
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“The police, Your Highness. Your brother Miklos is keeping a close eye on it as well.”
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Miklos was an Army major. He had an interest in security and also played a role in it. “Call the chief of palace security and tell him I need to talk to him. Here.” Benedek was escorting Rayne to a reception at the palace after her performance. Palace Hill was just a few blocks away, not that far from Liberation Square. He needed to discuss these new developments with the chief. Maybe they needed to alter their plans. “I want the protest carefully watched and every change reported.” He drew a slow breath, nodded beyond his office door. “Are they ready?”
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“Yes, Your Highness.”
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He tossed his crumpled speech on his desk, on top of a stack of blueprints and photos of the various stages of the building’s restoration. This building meant everything to him. His oldest brother, Arpad, had ribbed him about wanting to show the country that he was more than the youngest prince at the palace. Maybe there was some truth in that, but the project was more. It was his validation as an architect.
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He straightened his tuxedo jacket. “How do I look?”
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Morin seemed surprised by the question.
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And Benedek was instantly annoyed that he’d asked. On any other day, he would have been too busy drawing blueprints in his mind to pay much attention to his appearance.
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“Splendid, Your Highness,” Morin said at last, after an awkward silence.
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Benedek nodded his thanks, knowing the compliment meant little. As a prince he was used to hearing what everyone thought he wanted to hear.
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Except when it came to bloody protesters.
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He passed by his secretary, strode down the hallway that looked majestic even in the staff areas where the audience would never wander. He waved his new bodyguard away. “Wait for me at the royal box,” he told the man, turning down the hall. He missed his old guard who had recently retired. He hadn’t had a chance to develop the same kind of rapport with this one yet. And he didn’t need anyone hovering at his back when he finally met Rayne Williams.
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The rich carpet softened his steps on the antique floorboards. The building was like a grande dame of old with gracious curves and resplendent gilding, tantalizing textures and colors. He didn’t stop until he reached the door at the very end. The sign on the door simply said Rayne. He adjusted his tie one last time then knocked.
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“Come in.”
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He pushed the door wide with a smile, then stopped midmotion to stare. An unprincely thing to do. He needed to stop reacting to her like a moon-eyed teenager.
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He’d seen her perform in New York several times, but Rayne Williams was a thousand times more beautiful up close. Silver eyes shone out of a face that was perfectly symmetrical; her skin was translucent and glowing, her lips ruby-glossed. Ebony strands of silky hair cascaded to well below her slim waist, while more was piled intricately at the back of her head. She was willowy, although not as tall as he was, wearing a burgundy gown, the copy of one worn by a historical heroine of Valtria at her royal wedding. The corset pushed up her breasts to the point of nearly spilling from the brocade, as had been the custom of that age.
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He was all for historical accuracy. Absolutely.
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He bowed deeply before she could notice his rapt attention to her cleavage. “Welcome to Valtria.”
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“Thank you, Prince Benedek. I understand you’ll be escorting me to the stage tonight.”
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She was unfailingly polite, even though she disliked him. He knew that for a fact. But her voice, soft and rich, still had the power to keep him spellbound. He was to be her escort for tonight. Not nearly enough, although he’d come to accept that her remote behavior toward him was for the best.
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For years, he’d gone to her performances in the U.S., sometimes two or three times a year, sending her a bouquet of Valtria’s signature purple roses each time, always with an invitation to dinner. Her response notes were always the same, she felt honored but no thanks.
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And no matter how much he wanted to get closer to her, he’d never pushed beyond that. Because even as he’d fantasized about taking her as a lover, he was afraid that might not be enough. His twin brother, Lazlo, was the consummate ladies’ man. Benedek was more of a one-woman kind of guy. And Rayne Williams could never be his one woman.
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He could never have her forever. He could absolutely not marry an American singer, no matter how famous and respected. The scandal alone would kill his ailing mother. Dark memories surfaced. He pushed them back. He wouldn’t make a mistake of that magnitude again. He was a prince. He was to marry a daughter of the Valtrian nobility who was even now being selected behind closed doors by the chancellor and his team.
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Seeing how much positive publicity Miklos’s marriage and the birth of his son had brought to the monarchy, the new chancellor was obsessed with marrying off the rest of the princes. And Benedek was determined not to buck protocol again. He’d done that before with disastrous consequences.
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He cleared his throat, then did his best to clear his mind of all the things he and Miss Williams could be doing instead of walking to the stage. He was a grown man, thirty two years old. He’d had lovers, passion, disappointments. Tragedies.
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But Rayne Williams was Rayne Williams.
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“If you will allow me the honor, Madam,” he said and offered his arm.
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After tonight, she would stay for three more days in Valtria. Three days in which he would content himself with admiring her from afar and would not, under any circumstances, seduce her. Not that she looked like she would let him if he tried. Still the challenge— He killed that thought without mercy and took in those silver eyes that held nothing but politeness. No batting of the lashes, none of the come-hither looks he was used to from women.
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On this count, at least, the royal family seemed safe from trouble.
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Trouble with a royal title—Rayne summed up the man in front of her and continued wearing her stage smile.
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He was as handsome as the devil himself, a prince spoiled by privilege, and way too young to be looking at her the way he had from the moment he’d set foot inside her dressing room.
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If he noted the conspicuous lack of a gushing response to the enormous bouquet of purple roses he’d sent earlier, he didn’t show it. The roses, like all other flowers she received, were usually distributed among the support staff.
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He was an exceedingly charismatic man in person, she noted with dismay. She’d been right to stay away from him. He carried himself with the unconscious grace of nobility, his body toned and agile. From what she’d read, all the Valtrian princes were serious sportsmen, and it certainly showed. The youngest prince of Valtria was no palace weakling; he was built tough like most of his countrymen. She supposed it came from living in this rugged country at the foot of the Alps.
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“Whenever you’re ready.” He smiled a charmer’s smile.

DC: If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

DM: Probably working for a corporation somewhere. I did that at one point and really enjoyed parts of it. I miss the people. Writing is a lonely business.

DC: What’s on the horizon for you after your June release?

DM: The Socialite and the Bodyguard will be my first book next year, coming out in January, kicking off Intrigue’s Bodyguard of the Month promotion. In fact, I’m working on that story right now.

DC: Lastly, just to take care of my curiosity, LOL, on your Bio page on your site, there’s a picture of what seems to be an antique covered bowl with no caption to give information about it. Can you elaborate on that, please?

DM: It’s a hand-painted fine bone china soup tureen from Hollohaza, a famous Hungarian porcelain manufacturer. Erika pattern. I collect all sorts of china from English royal porcelain factories as well. I’m crazy about this stuff. In fact, I was just on a porcelain factory tour this weekend. Artists literally sit there, dozens and dozens of them, and paint amazing patterns with these tiny brushes on one teacup at a time. It’s amazing. If I could only have half their patience! (not to mention talent)

Lightning Round:

– dark or milk chocolate? dark
– smooth or chunky peanut butter? chunky
– heels or flats? both
– coffee or tea? tea
– summer or winter? Summer (I think winter should be illegal. If anyone can make that happen, they got my vote!)
– mountains or beach? beach
– mustard or mayonnaise? mustard
– flowers or candy? flowers
– pockets or purse? purse
– Pepsi or Coke? Mineral water
– ebook or print? Both. I love my Kindle and wouldn’t give it up for anything, but I find that I need hard copy books if I’m reading a how to book or anything like that. I like to underline and easily flip back and forth. And I don’t dare take my Kindle to the beach.

And because our readers are still having fun with these:

1. What is your favorite word? – exuberant

2. What is your least favorite word? – impossible

3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? – Excellence. When people are really good at what they’re doing. A great book can completely energize and inspire me. Or any great work of art. A great business idea or a great meal will do the same.

4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally? – Any sort of manipulation.

5. What sound or noise do you love? – The sound of the ocean.

6. What sound or noise do you hate? – Vacuum cleaner. (I’m so glad you can’t see my carpets.)

7. What is your favorite curse word? – Clinkers! (Since usually little ears are listening. My commando guy characters curse like nobody’s business, though. But that’s always taken out by careful editorial hands.)

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? – I’d love to own either a book shop or a gardening store. Maybe the two combined. Hey, if Borders could combine books with coffee, why can’t I combine books with plants? Oooh, and fine china!!! I’d probably never go home, though.

9. What profession would you not like to do? 0 Anything that doesn’t allow for creativity. I’m an idea person. To do something monotone day after day would kill me.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? – “Sorry. Made a mistake. Not your time yet. You may go back.”

DUCK CHAT: Dana, thank you for spending the day with us!