If you’ve spent any amount of time swimming around the pond, you’ve undoubtedly noticed that more than a few of us have mad love for Harlequin.  We read ‘em, we review ‘em, we love them with the kind of slavish devotion usually reserved for stalkers.  So when we learned that Harlequin editor, Marsha Zinberg was doing a blog tour in honor of Harlequin’s Famous Firsts collection, we jumped at the chance to have her stop by for a visit. OK, in truth we just about fell all over ourselves.  But Marsha is made of some stern stuff, and we’re happy to report we didn’t scare her off with our borderline rabid fan girl behavior.  So, without further ado – here’s Marsha sharing with us the romance novels that got some of Harlequins “Famous Firsts” on the path to romance super-stardom!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the creation of excellence or the achievement of success usually stands on the shoulders of those who have gone before.

There was little hesitation when I asked the Famous Firsts authors about the books that had turned them on to romance, or the authors that they had particularly loved. As you may have guessed, I fell under the spell of Jane Austen in high school, and a much-thumbed school edition of Pride and Prejudice still holds pride of place on my bookshelves.

I discovered that I shared that early delight with Stella Cameron, who also loved the Whiteoaks series.

For Carla Neggers, it was The Moonspinners, by Mary Stuart, which she read when she was twelve. A short dozen years later, she had produced her own first novel.

Anne Stuart was only ten when she fell under the gothic spell of Mistress of Mellyn by Victoria Holt. She asked her grandmother for the hardcover for Christmas, and thus began her romance reading career!

Joan Johnston loved Jude Devereux’s Velvet series. She was thrilled to be the winner of an autographed copy of Velvet Angel when it was raffled off at the second annual Romantic Times convention. She only had to pay the postage! She also mentioned that Roberta Gellis’s Rosalynde series taught her to bring dimension to her characters by having them say one thing and think something else entirely.

Kathleen Woodiwiss’s The Wolf and the Dove hooked Debbie Macomber. She also loved early Harlequin romances by Ann Mather and Violet Winspear.

Linda Lael Miller wasn’t a southern girl, but she fell hard for Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. (Another favorite of mine, too!) And Judith McNaught’s Whitney, My Love followed close behind.

Lori Foster claims that school never gave her a huge love of reading, but historical romances, such as those by Johanna Lindsay, really engaged her. Then she moved on to early books of Linda Howard and Jayne Ann Krentz, and the rest is history…..

Her journalism background caused Vicki Lewis Thompson to approach an early romance by Tate McKenna as a research project. What was all this fuss about romance writing? Could she do it? She sure could, and she sure did.

Now here’s a lovely story that I just learned. Lindsay McKenna met her husband in 1972, when she was in her late twenties. Her husband-to-be took his betrothed to Genevieve, Ohio to meet his mother, and the thing she most wanted to share with her soon-to-be daughter-in-law was her Harlequin romance novels. She was particularly fond of doctor/nurse stories. Lindsay dutifully took home ten or fifteen, read them, enjoyed them, but thought she could do better. So she decided to try writing one herself. She credits her mother-in-law with introducing her to the romance industry and starting her career!

What romances do you consider “classics”? Please share your favorites with me. I’d love to know what book or author initiated your romance reading habit!

Please be sure to come visit me at Pink Hearts on Thursday, June 18 and at The Misadventures of Super Librarian next Monday, June 22! I’ve had great fun on this tour and your comments have been fascinating.

My previous blogs stops include: Bookbinge, Plot Monkeys, Blaze authors blog, Romance Junkies, Romancing the Blog, Dear Author, Cataromance, and Teach Me Tonight – a different Harlequin Famous First story at every blog.

Don’t forget that you can enjoy 16 free Harlequin novels by downloading them at www.HarlequinCelebrates.com.

Contest Alert! We’ll be giving away two Harlequin tote bags, filled with eight (!) books by some of Harlequin’s Famous Firsts!  Share your favorite classic romance in the comments, and one lucky winner will be chosen at random.  Contest ends Monday, June 22!

This just in…

Amie Stuart is planning a big bash to celebrate the release of her next book, Hittin’ It, next month on the 24th.  So head on over to her blog to get in on the fun!

~ Beginning February 1 she’ll be giving away books every day for 14 days. Yep, you heard right. Two weeks! And she says she has a ton of’em, so you don’t want to miss this!

~ Books from Amie’s backlist and from such authors as Carolyn Jewel, Larissa Ione, Raine Weaver, Denise McDonald, Steph Tyler, and Eliza Gayle, among others, will be up for grabs.

~ The Grand Prize is a $50 gift card to either Barnes & Noble or Amazon.com — winner’s choice — and Amie’s signed backlist, including a copy of Sex…on Holiday.

~ Rules and fine print will be posted on Amie’s blog this week.  Mark your calendars so you won’t forget!

Consider yourself flashed.

Have we got a treat for you in honor of Bingeaduckia!  The authors of the Suite 606 anthology have put together a special Christmas-themed round robin story for our enjoyment (and amusement!).  And none other than the Grand Dame herself, the Ms. Nora Roberts is kicking off the fun.  Readers, it’s our job to continue the story in the comments section.  The Suite 606 ladies will also drop by from time to time and help us along with the story if we get “stuck.”  Enjoy!

Carrie Littleton sat through a red light for the third time and snarled at the Douglas Fir strapped to the roof of the Toyota Camry in front of her.

She hated Christmas.

The day was one thing, but when the stupid holiday started before the last turkey croquette from the left-over fowl was regretfully ingested it was too damn much.

The holidays meant blasts of Jingle Bells and Rudolph on every trip to the market, Santas on street corner ringing their bell until she wanted to grab it away from their white gloved hand and smack them over their red-capped head with it. The holidays equaled the mass hysteria of shopping in malls log-jammed with people, kids screaming while their parents pushed them into the lap of some weird guy in a Santa suit and traffic that kept the one sane person left in the metropolitan area from getting into the stupid mall in the first place.

Now she was going to be late. She probably wouldn’t get the job, and her fledgling PR firm would sink like a stone. She’d lose her adorable little apartment, be forced to move back home with her parents and have to listen–again–to everyone’s murmured sympathies.

Carrie Littleton, a failure at twenty-seven. And why? Because the man she’d loved and believed in, the man she’d planned to marry on Christmas Eve one year ago had not only left her flat, but flat broke. She had every right to hate Christmas.

Her sharp blue eyes narrowed as the light changed. “Come on, come on, get that damn dead tree through the light. I haven’t got all day.”

Calm down, she ordered herself. Nobody wanted to hire a crazed PR rep. She’d managed to keep her business afloat–barely–after Derrick’s betrayal. She could manage to get into the mall parking lot, walk into the sea of holiday shoppers and keep her appointment with Joseph O’Malley. She’d charm, dazzle and persuade him to hire her, and all would be well. In a few weeks, Christmas would be over. She’d have gotten through a full year since the detestable Derrick.

At last she inched through the light and followed the river of cars into Youngstown Mall. She just needed a break, just one break–and she’d take an empty parking slot as a sign from God. Ignoring the enormous wreaths, the miles of glittery garland, the acres of red ribbons adorning the sprawl of shops ,she began the hunt. With just a little luck, she could still make it on time, impress O’Malley with her presentation–one she’d worked on for days–and justify all the hard work, the lonely nights, the decision to strike out on her own. She went over her pitch again as she drove up and down the packed aisles , and smoothed her hand over her hair to make sure it remained in a perfect and sleek professional chignon.

Then she saw it, like a beacon in a storm, between a red pick-up and a minivan. An empty spot. Nirvana. She pumped the gas, letting out a cheer as she swung into the space.

He came out of nowhere, in his bright red suit. She had an instant to register chocolate brown eyes widening in shock, and the fact that Santa was tall and lean, and minus the beard had a chiseled chin. She slammed the brakes as he jumped to the side. But physics was against them. She felt the thump as her bumper caught him, and he went down like, well, a Christmas tree under the axe.

Her heart tumbled in her chest as she sat for one frozen moment. She’d just run over Santa Claus.

This just in…
The ladies at Access Romance have redesigned the site, and to celebrate its launch, they’re giving away stuff all month long! If you haven’t checked out this site before, get yourself over there now!

Access Romance is the place where “readers and authors connect”, and it has a wealth of goodies for romance fans. Access Romance features news and contests from many different authors, and is the home of two group blogs: Authors All-Ablog, and Readers Gab.

~The Reader Bailout Contest: If you sign up for the monthly newsletter, you will be entered to win a $250 gift certificate to the online bookstore of your choice.

~Sixteen Stocking Stuffers: This month, the eight ladies of Reader’s Gab (including moi) will be blogging about a favorite romance. Two commenters on each post will win a copy of the chosen selection. Up first–Meriam’s musings on The Erotic Secrets of a French Maid by Lisa Cach.

~Holiday Contest: Daily prizes will be awarded by AR authors. See the full list of prizes and the rules.

~Check out their contest page for details on the monthly contest and individual author contests.

Consider yourself flashed!

Next we have another excerpt, steamier excerpt from What a Scoundrel Wants, the Zebra debut from Carrie’s Lofty. Don’t forget to read the first excerpt, and check out this Duck Flash for contest info!
In this dazzling, original tale, Carrie Lofty imagines a new chapter in the well-loved Robin Hood fable. Meet Robin’s rakish nephew, Will Scarlet, a man whose talents with the sword and the ladies are legendary–until his desire for one woman changes everything.

A Passionate Lover…

A swordsman for the Sheriff of Nottingham, Will Scarlet has finally emerged from his famous uncle’s shadow. But when he’s unwittingly drawn into a bloody battle between the Sheriff and a nobleman, it’s impossible to tell friend from foe. A woman’s screams lead Will straight into the carnage to save her–but the ravishing young lady is not the helpless maid she appears to be…

An Amorous Lady…

Meg of Keyworth lost her sight to illness years ago, but that hasn’t stopped her mission to save her imprisoned sister, who’s been arrested by none other than Will Scarlet. Meg wants to hate Will for betraying her family, but he sparks heated desire in her heart–a desire that only he can satisfy. Meg is lovely and loving, and bedding her is sensual bliss. To please her in every way is what he wants most, for Will knows he will cherish her forever….

Excerpt

“I should examine your shoulder when you finish chopping wood,” Meg said.

“Why?”

Because I enjoy torturing myself. Because I want to touch you.

She swallowed heavily. “To check for signs of infection.”

“If you want me out of my tunic, you only have to ask.”

“I should let it fester until your arm rots,” she said, her cheeks on fire.

“That’s hardly charitable.”

“Better than you deserve.”

Will leaned closer, slowly, his breath warming her cheek. “Open your mouth.”

Her lungs shuddered to a halt. “What?”

“I said, open your mouth. I have something for you.”

“You’re being absurd.” Her heart was a terrified animal, shivering and demanding flight. But her feet refused to move.

“Trust that at this moment I have no notion of doing you harm.”

The soft timbre of his voice nestled seductive images behind her eyes. She pinched them shut. “And why should I trust you?”

“I fear your ability to transform into a ball-twisting wench.”

“You deserved that.”

“Blessed be, woman, no man deserves that.” Will edged closer still, his hair tickling the skin of her forehead. He slipped a hand around the base of her neck, softly kneading and massaging her tense muscles. She may as well have been a kitten held by its scruff, so completely did he imprison her. “Open your mouth before I have to hold you down and pry your lips apart.”

Every sharp retort and defensive reply shriveled to naught. She swallowed the pathetic whimper that wanted to beg for mercy, some reprieve from the onslaught. First Hugo and his hideous, baiting insults. Then Scarlet–the worry and guesses and vain attempts to understand him. Protecting against his influence was like trying to catch smoke. He was some powerful potion in masculine form, intent on driving her to madness.

“Open for me, Meg.”

The intimate nature of his command shocked her. Dread flared, digging into her bones and settling between her legs. A throbbing ache blossomed, her body thriving on a spiteful blend of danger and curiosity. Heat licked over her skin like flames, setting good sense ablaze.

She opened her mouth.

He touched his finger to her tongue. An explosion of sweetness enveloped her mouth, nearly buckling her knees with the unexpected pleasure. Thought fled. She closed her lips around his finger and sucked, discovering every last crystal of sugar he offered.

Scarlet pulled his finger free. His breath was fast, strained, and very close. “More?”

She gave the smallest nod. He petted her lower lip, painting tiny grains along her thin, sensitive skin. She caught his finger again and licked the sweetness. The hand at the back of her neck tightened, near to pain. A combination of man and sugar swathed her tongue, slid down her throat, set her body on fire. Her breasts felt heavy and hot. A familiar hollowness opened inside her, aching to be filled. He offered more sugar. But she wanted more of him.

She swirled her tongue around his finger, sucking again. He moaned and shuddered. She could take no more. Burrowing eager fingers into a shaggy length of hair, she dragged his face to hers. Lips met in a heady explosion of heat and sweetness. His tongue thrust into her mouth. The syrupy remains of the sugar mingled with his own spice. His arms circled her back, deepening the kiss. Tight nipples crushed against the solid leather shielding his chest, arousing and frustrating her in turn.

Her hips found his. The insistent ridge of his erection offered proof of his desire. He groaned her name and arched her back, dusting quick, hard kisses along the length of her neck. She resented the high bodice that barred him from traveling lower, but flicks of his tongue wet a trail to one ear. He nibbled and suckled, threading his fingers into her hair. Lightheaded, she clung to his body as if a heartsick year had passed since she last held him, since he last held her.

Will.

And like a drowning woman finding a single gulp of air, she found herself–and ran.

Copyright Carrie Lofty 2008

Carrie’s Lofty’s debut, What a Scoundrel Wants, will be in bookstores December 2. Raise your hand if you’ve seen Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. Now raise your hand if you liked Christian Slater’s character, Will Scarlet. Will Scarlet is the hero of this book. Cool–Sherwood Forest, Sheriff of Nottingham, and no poorly accented Kevin Costner in sight. Read on for the excerpt, and then pop over to Ann Aguirre’s site for a contest!

In this dazzling, original tale, Carrie Lofty imagines a new chapter in the well-loved Robin Hood fable. Meet Robin’s rakish nephew, Will Scarlet, a man whose talents with the sword and the ladies are legendary–until his desire for one woman changes everything.

A Passionate Lover…

A swordsman for the Sheriff of Nottingham, Will Scarlet has finally emerged from his famous uncle’s shadow. But when he’s unwittingly drawn into a bloody battle between the Sheriff and a nobleman, it’s impossible to tell friend from foe. A woman’s screams lead Will straight into the carnage to save her–but the ravishing young lady is not the helpless maid she appears to be…

An Amorous Lady…

Meg of Keyworth lost her sight to illness years ago, but that hasn’t stopped her mission to save her imprisoned sister, who’s been arrested by none other than Will Scarlet. Meg wants to hate Will for betraying her family, but he sparks heated desire in her heart–a desire that only he can satisfy. Meg is lovely and loving, and bedding her is sensual bliss. To please her in every way is what he wants most, for Will knows he will cherish her forever….

EXCERPT

Will stared at her lips, hating the sudden need to prove his worth to her, if only in words. But the subject of worth and valor and courage skirted too near unwanted memories. He ran the sharp edge of his thumbnail over the long-healed scar on his palm, picking at the lump of flesh.

“You don’t trust him either,” he said.

“How do you figure?”

“Why did you keep the truth of my role in your sister’s arrest a secret from him?”

Meg pinched her lips into a scowl. “He doesn’t need to know.”

“Because you don’t trust him.”

“Stop it!”

She balled both hands and lunged. Perhaps she moved more slowly because of fatigue, or perhaps he knew better to guard against the angered assaults she was quick to use. Wheedle. Confront. Attack. The pattern of her behavior was becoming clear. Catching slender wrists, he absorbed every twist and thrust. He spun her twice, shoved her away. Meg stumbled and fell into the leaves.

She scrambled to her feet, angled away from him. Will felt a childish urge to hold his breath and stay hidden from her keen ears, but a swift flash of lust made that a difficult task. Sparring with her played unconscionable games with his control.

“You still need me,” he said, his claim scratching free of a tight throat.

Meg whipped her head around. “Ridiculous.”

“Do you know Nottingham? Or that castle? No.”

“And I suppose you do.”

He scowled. “Like I’d know my own father.”

“No, no,” she said. “You’ve more reason to sabotage me than help me.”

“How so?”

“If you bend the sheriff’s ear, maybe reveal me as the real alchemist, then life becomes easier for Will Scarlet.”

Her blindness had caused him nothing but trouble. She could have cleared his name. She could have made their flights through the forest easier to navigate. But at that moment, he was glad for her impairment. Although prepared to deflect a physical assault, he had not expected her flawless assessment of the stakes. He felt his surprise slash across his face in bold strokes.

“That may be true, but I need Dryden as much as you do,” he said. “He’s the only one who can help clear my name. If nothing else, I can prove my good worth by coming to your aid.”

“I knew you had ulterior motives.”

“You wound me.”

“No, I cured you.”

He crossed his arms. “Based on our association, I see little difference.”

“You suggest that if we share Dryden’s influence, in a way, you’ll have no cause to betray me?”

Suspicion yet swam through her voice like fish in a stream. To get Meg to Nottingham, he needed to secure her full cooperation. No potions, no tricks, no reason to abandon him for Dryden’s convenient status and fickle bravery. She had to come willingly, if only for his own health and sanity.

But how to convince her? The truth was obviously impossible; it resembled his misdeeds too closely, no matter his concern for the safety of Robin’s family. And if Hugo were any example of her associations, she would never accept altruism.

Deceitful, lascivious, greedy Hugo.

He grinned. “And if you offered a few of those counterfeit emeralds, I’d appreciate it.”

“You low, slimy dunghill.” She closed the distance between them and jabbed a precise finger into the leather mail he wore. “You arrested my sister. You should be begging for my forgiveness, not offering your services for a price.”

“Truth be told, ’tis an inexpensive price,” he said. “What sacrifice is it to part with shoddy rocks? Rocks you can conjure?”

“The sacrifice is in giving you what you want.”

He stroked a thumb along her bottom lip, feeling powerful when she flinched. A wayward, lustful part of him anticipated the sweet sting of her teeth, fighting, biting him again. “I’ve already had from you what any man wants from a woman.”

She slapped his hand away. “Gelded bastard.”

“If I were a gelding, you would’ve discovered as much.”

“You’re no better than Hugo.”

Good girl.

“Two men working on your behalf will be better than one. Your unscrupulous soul knows as much.”

“The Devil take your offer,” she said.

“No, the Devil just made you an offer. Let me escort you to Nottingham.”

Copyright Carrie Lofty 2008

I want to thank everyone for stopping by last week for our Spotlight on the new Harlequin Historical Undone line.  As promised, here are our four lucky contest winners.

The grand prize winner of the Harlequin Historical goodie baseket is:

Pam P.!

Our three runner-up winners, who will each receive a coupon code for a free HH Undone story are:

Sandy (Strlady)

MB (Leah)

TarotByArwen

All the winners need to e-mail me by Friday, November 21 to claim their prizes.  Thanks again to Harlequin, and our four guest authors – Michelle Willingham, Nicola Cornick, Amanda McCabe and Bronwyn Scott.  A hearty congratulations to all our winners!

In honor of her launch title for the Harlequin Historical Undone line, Bronwyn Scott has stopped by the pond to tell us all about her novella, Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss.  A hero on a secret mission, a heroine with plenty of secrets of her own, and plenty of witty banter to go around!  What could possibly go wrong for the intrepid romantic couple?

Sophie DuPlessy has everything to gain. Julian Burke has nothing to lose.

Vienna of the 1820′s is Europe’s new glittering capital both in culture and in politics. No one knows the potential of such a setting better than Sophie DuPlessy. Europe has been ravaged by Napoleon’s wars and re-structured by the Vienna conferences and Europe’s premier statesmen. In the aftermath, kingdoms have been absorbed, national boundaries have been redrawn. In the wake of such upheaval, heirlooms have been lost. In certain circles of dubious repute, Sophie DuPlessy has earned a reputation for discreetly recovering such objects. Now, she’s been hired by an Italian count to retrieve a set of jewels, a supposed heirloom of the family. This will be her last job. The reward promised for recovering the jewels guarantees her the financial resources to re-make her life as a horse breeder. But she’s not the only one looking for them.

Julian Burke, second son of an earl, has been sent on crown business to Vienna to ferret out the truth to the rumors that an heirloom once part of the royal treasury during the time of Charles II has surfaced in Vienna. When the Crown wants something badly, Julian Burke is the man for the job. Julian is the most dangerous of men; a man with nothing to lose. No wife to protect, no estate to risk, a fortune so large he cannot be bribed, no care for his reputation and according to most-no heart to break. He is unassailable when it comes to blackmail and other forms of traditional leverage.

But Sophie DuPlessy is about to change that!

One interesting research tid-bit I enjoyed working with for this story was the neighborhoods of Vienna. The neighborhood Sophie lives in is still marked with a lantern today. In her time, the neighborhood housed bakers and other middle working class citizens.

Readers, be sure to visit the Bronwyn’s blog starting November 1 for links to a few of the research sites she used for the story!

Bound To Please by Hope Tarr is the first historical published by Harlequin Blaze. Read Wendy the Super Librarian’s review, then click on the cut for an excerpt.

He’s not going to take this treatment lying down. At least, not for long…

Fifteenth-century Scotland is a tough place to be a woman in charge. Brianna MacLeod, new laird of her clan, needs a child to establish her position. And the best way to do that is to demand the sexual services of her sworn—and very sexy—enemy!

Ewan Fraser never foresaw being kidnapped, tied up and expected to perform stud service. Yet being bound for the delicious Brianna’s pleasure isn’t all bad. In fact, the more time he spends in her bed, the more he’s determined she’ll be the one who ends up enslaved….

**Excerpt**
1460 ~ St. Andrews, County Fife, Scotland
“Because of your brother my husband and babe both lay in the kirk yard. Your brother, Callum owes me a life, Ewan Fraser, two lives to be exact, and I mean to collect payment on the debt through you.”

“My brother had no hand in your lord’s death. I swear it upon mine honor.”

In the midst of vouchsafing Callum’s innocence, the significance of her statement struck him like yet another fist to the gut. God’s blood, she meant to murder him! Until now he’d assumed she would hold him prisoner and then ransom him back to his brother but not so it seemed. Panic slammed into him, the force exceeding any physical blow he’d so far received.

Scenes from his past twenty-two years skittered through his thoughts. He found himself regretting no deed in particular but rather the many deeds he’d now never have the chance to do. Travel to Edinburgh. Teach his future son to fish. Give Brianna MacLeod a proper kiss. After the clumsy embrace they’d shared as children, he’d spent years hoping for the opportunity to do better by her. Who knew how long he had before she sent him off to meet his Maker, but for certain traveling and procreating would never happen for him now. Looking up into her cool gaze and composed face, it occurred to him that one final wish might yet be fulfilled.

“Your honor, indeed,” she scoffed. “Fraser honor holds no worth in this hall, sir.”

“In that case, lady, I commit myself to your tender mercy. I only ask that you grant me a warrior’s death and have the big one over there—” he gestured to the graybeard towering behind her “—strike my head from my shoulders with a claymore or a sword as befits my station.” After all he’d suffered, subjecting him to disemboweling or burning at the stake hardly seemed sporting.

“Strike off your head!” Her green eyes popped and the luscious lips he contemplated kissing fell open as though making way for his tongue.

Ignoring the hammering inside his skull—he’d be past all fleshly feeling soon enough—he nodded. “Aye, but before you see the deed done, I crave a boon. One kiss from milady’s honeyed lips and then I’ll greet St. Peter with a hearty hey ho.”

The corners of her full mouth twitched, the closest she’d so far come to a smile. “You’re a knave, Ewan Fraser, and like as not you deserve to be drawn and quartered in payment for all the maidenly hearts you’ve broken.”

Drawn and quartered, dear God what a bloodthirsty wench she was. He’d best make the kiss a good one, lingering and deep, whilst he still had the full complement of his manly parts. “First let us have that kiss, milady.”

He started up from his knees to claim it. Head swimming, he struggled to find his footing on the stone flagging. Before he could, the chamber dipped and swayed, the floor falling in beneath him. Stars poked through the encroaching blackness, performing a dizzy dance before his burning eyes.

Watching her prisoner fall over onto his side, Brianna could scarcely credit the proof of her eyes. Ewan Fraser, bold warrior and tanist to his clan, had fainted. Dark hair plastered his damp forehead and his handsome face looked flushed whether from fever or temper or both she couldn’t say. One powerful arm locked about his torso. The protective posture stretched the soiled saffron shirt across his broad shoulders and back, revealing the whip marks bleeding through the torn cloth. Whip marks!

Fury lanced through her. She swung about to Duncan, who’d followed her to the edge of the steps.

Aware of the petitioners watching goggle-eyed from the benches as though a passion play was in progress, she dropped her voice and hissed, “I told you he was not to be harmed.”

She might have had him abducted to serve a greater good, but she was no torturer. Once her end was achieved, she meant to return him to his kinsman hale and whole. Hurting him had never been a part of her plan. Still, badly beaten though he was, at least they wouldn’t have to call in the bonesetter. Bruises and scrapes and torn flesh would heal with time but more often than not a broken bone meant lifelong laming.

Duncan bowed his grizzled head. “I have failed you, milady, and yet I canna say how I could have brought him to you any other way. Fraser or not, a bolder, braver warrior I have never before faced.”

She swiveled to Duncan’s son, Hugh. The young warrior had been charged with guarding Ewan and keeping him out of sight until the court was dismissed. Bruises rimmed his one eye and his stance was markedly hunched.

Voice still lowered, she said, “And you were to have kept him away from the court.”

“And so I would have, milady, only he…”

The smooth-shaven face flushed, and Brianna prompted, “He what?”

“He kneed me in the uh…ballocks.” Darting a look in Duncan’s direction, he added, “My father speaks true, milady. The Fraser’s own stubbornness causes him to come to you thus. He fought like Satan’s own. Earlier today it took the three of us to subdue him and even then he wouldn’t leave off his fashing.”

Three warriors had been charged with abducting him, and Ewan had come close to besting them all. Brianna felt her chest tightening with ill-placed pride and some other emotion she had yet to name. Face flushing, she returned her gaze to the fallen man. It was too late to undo the clumsy capture, but from there on she meant to see Ewan made as comfortable and treated as civilly as circumstances would allow even if it meant tending him with her own hands. The latter thought sent a starburst like thrill shooting through her.

As if sensing her nearness, his closed eyelids fluttered. He blinked, and then opened. His right eye was swollen shut but his left appeared unharmed. The moonstone pale orb pierced hers, stealing her breath and muddling her thoughts.

“Sweet Brie, whatever befell the braw, bonny lassie who was to have been my bride?” His voice trailed off, his eyes rolling back in his head and his body slackening.

So he remembered their betrothal pact. An invisible knot cinched Brianna’s throat. Tender emotions she thought to have locked away with his flute flooded her. Their fair day meeting must have meant something to him, too.

She started toward him, but Duncan’s hand found her elbow. “He speaks in riddles, milady. With your permission, I will see him removed to the dungeon until he is well enough to be brought to you.”

Brianna shrugged free of his hold. “You will do no such thing. Lord Ewan is not a common criminal but a noble hostage. He doesna belong in a dungeon cell but in a chamber befitting his rank and station. Have him carried to the laird’s chamber, my chamber, and mind this time your men do my bidding with a gentle hand.

***

An hour later, Brianna strode down the rush lit corridor to the laird’s chamber, a chalice in one hand and a taper in the other. Looped over her wrist was the basket filled with Milread’s special salve. After dismissing the court, she’d sent her old nursemaid to minister to Ewan’s needs, including bathing. Mention of willow twigs, rose petals, or true love was strictly forbidden.

Her steps slowed as she approached the bedchamber. For the past ten years she’d carried about the memory of Ewan Fraser as a lanky boy with crystal clear eyes and a good-natured grin. The eyes hadn’t changed a whit but everything else about him had altered mightily. The Ewan Fraser waiting for her within was very much a man and a braw beautiful man at that. A braw beautiful man she would bed assuming the thrashing they’d dealt him hadn’t rendered him incapable.

A guard stood outside her door. She recognized him as Seamus, the “broken man.” The young warrior was without kith or kin though Duncan swore he was one of his most trustworthy guards and able fighters. Still, his long pointed chin, narrow darting gaze, and scar puckered cheek reminded her of a rat.

Seamus bowed. “Good eve, milady. Lord Duncan bade me stand watch over the prisoner and…you.”

Ewan’s barging into her great hall while her court was in session had wrought havoc with her intention to keep him quietly confined until her plan bore…fruit. By now the whole castle must know that he’d been brought to her private rooms.

Glad of the early evening shadows to mask the heat that must be branding her cheeks, she nodded. “So I see.”

“Sleep well, milady.” He held the door for her, his gaze brushed over her, his mouth twisted into a smirk.

Telling herself guilt must be making her imagine things, she stepped inside and drew the door closed behind her. Shadows engulfed her, relieved only by the flickering of the fire set in the grate and a brace of candles mounted in wall brackets. Her gaze swung to the bed—and the dark form lying chained in the center. Ah, Ewan…

Iron manacles banded his wrists, his powerful arms drawn high over his head, the carved bolsters serving as anchors for the heavy chains. Seeing him thus, her heart lurched, her regret as piercing as any physical pain. If only they’d been free to fulfill their fair day covenant, they might have come together as man and wife with open arms and free wills and joyous hearts instead of this travesty of a union forged of regret and revenge.

She walked up to the chest at the foot of the bed and paused. Shadowed though it was, she fancied she felt Ewan tracking her movements with his eyes. She’d ordered him stripped and bathed for the practical purpose of needing to care for his wounds. Until now she hadn’t given much thought to how she would feel about putting her own less than perfect body on display. Tall, full-breasted and full-hipped, she wasn’t the plump, pretty child who once had fit so neatly against Ewan’s lean, boyish form.

But they weren’t children anymore or lovers or even friends. A wave of sadness struck her. Steeling herself to ignore it, she set the candle down atop the desk along with the basket and chalice. Reaching up, she removed her veiled headdress. Beneath it, her hair was gathered into a single long braid. She had the fleeting thought she ought to comb her fingers through the waves and leave it loose as she had on her wedding night, but decided against doing so. Drawing any parallel to that ill-fated night would seem like a portent of doom.

Instead she unpinned her plaid. She unwound the length of wool and laid it aside along with the broach that bore her clan crest, a bull’s horns and the motto “Hold Fast” in Latin. She cast another glance upwards to the bed. He hadn’t stirred. Mayhap he truly was asleep. Fingers clumsy, she unfastened her sleeves and then unlaced the front of her gown; the latter she pulled over her head. Modesty had her stopping at her shift. The fine linen whispered just above her ankles. She took off the chain with the seal ring, too, and put it in the drawer. Making a mental note to remember to put it back on later, she folded her clothes and set them in a neat stack on the chair seat. By the time she finished, her hands were clammy cold and shaking.

She retrieved the chalice and basket and rounded to the side of the bed. Leaning over, she whispered, “Ewan, do you sleep?”

His eyes were closed. Long lashes shadowed his high cheekbones. Either the brutal handling had worn him out or he was pretending, for he didn’t as much as blink. Skin heating, she skimmed her gaze over his body, naked except for a swathe of linen thrown over his thighs. Even blanketed by cuts and bruises and angry red welts, he was impossibly beautiful. Broad of shoulder and lean of waist and hip, pale skin stretched taut over sinewy muscle and long bones, he brought to mind a statue carved in marble or alabaster, only Ewan was no cold tomb statue but a living breathing man.

She drew back, a foreign throbbing settling between her thighs. At least one order of hers had been obeyed. He was clean. His damp skin smelled of Milread’s rosemary mint soap as well as some other scent that was his alone; the latter had her thinking of the smell of air just after a cleansing springtime shower. The old woman had washed his hair as well. The pillow beneath his head was damp and the dark tresses shone like polished ebony. One damp lock fell over his forehead and over his swollen shut eye. Overcome by a sudden tenderness, Brianna reached down to brush it back.

Ewan snapped open his good eye and glared up at her. “Come to gloat, milady?”

She jumped back, dripping tallow onto the bedcovers. “You startled me.”

“Really?” The black brow framing his good eye arched upward. “You’ll pardon me if I find that a wee bit difficult to fathom.”

In the thrall of his moonstone gaze, Brianna felt the breath lock inside her lungs. Even masked in bruises, his lean face was a masterpiece of male beauty. She ran her gaze over his high bow, molded aquiline nose, and firm, full mouth—the very same mouth that had gifted her with her first real kiss all those many years ago—and felt a spurt of sticky warmth trickle down her leg.

Embarrassed by her body’s response, she set the basket down and held out the cup. “I’ve brought you something.” She hesitated and then settled next to him, her hip brushing his side.

He pressed his lips together and cut a wary glance to the cup. “What is it?”

“Caudle.” Reading the question in his eyes, she elaborated, “Mulled wine with bits of brown bread, sugar, eggs and spices to render it flavorful. It is an English recipe. My old nurse taught me to make it. It will ease and nourish you.”

“Poison me, more like.” He clamped together his swollen lips, beautiful all the same, and shook his dark head. “I’ll no drink so much as one drop. If you mean to murder me, then do the deed out in the open as a laird would. Poison is the weapon of cowards—and women.” His disdainful expression conveyed he considered the two to be cut from the same cloth.

Leaning over him, Brianna found herself fighting the urge to laugh. She slid her arm beneath his neck and shoulders to raise him and pressed the rim of the cup to his swollen lips. “If I wanted you dead, Ewan Fraser, you’d be dead ere now, so drink.”

In the end hunger and thirst took precedence over pride. He drank, gingerly at first but then with great greedy gulps. Brianna felt a stab of guilt but tamped it down by reminding herself that fair day memories aside, Ewan Fraser was still her enemy. His brother’s crime made him so and they not shared the same blood but as twins had bided together in their mother’s womb. Beyond the necessities of shelter and sustenance, he didn’t deserve her consideration.

She eased his head down on the pillow, and then set the empty cup aside and reached for the basket. Though his upper body was immobile, his gaze followed her every move. She brought out the jar of Milread’s special salve.

Twisting off the top, she warned, “This might sting a wee bit but mostly it should soothe.”

“What is it?”

“It’s no poison if that’s what you’re worried for.” She dipped two fingers inside and then held up cream-coated fingers to show him. “There’s yarrow, red clover, and yellow wood sorrel and other ingredients that aid in flesh mending.”

He sniffed, one dark brow lifting again. “Don’t tell me you’re a healer, too?”

She shook her head. Keeping her touch light, she started on his shoulders. “What little I know of herbs and such my old nurse taught me. Her remedies include everything from amulets to remove evil eye curses to love potions…for silly young maids,” she added, not wanting him to think she’d ever sought out such nonsense.

“Love potions, aye?” He eyed the basket with open skepticism. “Are there any in that wee basket?”

Heat hit Brianna’s cheeks. She shook her head. “Nay, I wouldna wish the curse of being in love on my worst enemy.”

He shrugged and then winced as though the movement caused him pain. “What would you wish on me then?” Not giving her opportunity to answer, he added, “If its ransom that you seek, you should know my brother would just as soon see my head on a pike as part with his coin.”

Gathering her thoughts, she capped the jar, dropped it back inside the basket, and set the latter aside. Lifting her gaze, she said, “It’s not ransom I seek but peace—and a baby. A child with both our bloods will heal the hatred between our clans more so than any treaty. That, Ewan Fraser, is why I’ve brought you here.”

BOUND TO PLEASE BY HOPE TARR

Firefighters and reunited lovers…Sounds good to me! Jill Shalvis’ Flashback was released this month. Read on for an excerpt and a chance to win (yes, WIN) a copy. And don’t forget to visit Jill’s blog. It’s very funny.

Firefighter Aidan Donnelly has always battled the flames with trademark icy calm. That is, until a blazing old flame returns—in the shape of sizzling soap star Mackenzie Stafford! Aidan wants to pour water over the unquenchable heat between them. But that just creates more steam….

Kenzie is not the delicate, fragile female she looks like. She has one clear objective, and nothing will stand in the way of her goal—well, nothing but the red-hot touch of a certain dangerously sexy fireman, that is!

**EXCERPT**
Kenzie hit the icy water, and as she took in a huge mouthful of water, she realized she’d forgotten to hold her breath, a thought that was completely eradicated when the Blake’s Girl exploded into the early dawn.

In the brilliant kaleidoscope of sound and sights, she barely registered the splash next to her, or the two strong arms that came around her, supporting her above the water as pieces of flying, burning, spitting debris hit all around them.

Aidan. My God, Aidan . . . That it was him boggled her mind. She needed to remind him she could swim on her own but the shock of the cold water sapped both her voice and the air in her lungs, and also hampered the working mechanics of her brain.

She’d never experienced anything like it. Never in her life had she been so hot and so frozen at the same time. The heat came from the flames, so high above them now that she was in the water, but no less terrifying. And yet from the neck down, an icy cold had taken over her limbs, making movement all but impossible, weighing her down, sitting on her chest, squeezing, sucking the last of the precious air from her overtaxed lungs.

Someone was screaming, and she envied the ability to draw air into her lungs because Kenzie’s own felt constricted as if she had a boa slowly squeezing the life out of her.

The scream came again.

Huh.

It sounded sort of like herself, and then she realized as if from a great distance that it was herself screaming, which meant that somehow she was breathing. Okay, that was good, very good. So was the man holding her in the water, tucking her head against him, shielding her from the pieces falling out of the sky at his own risk.

“Shh,” he was murmuring. “I’ve got you. It’s okay, Kenzie, it’s going to be okay . . .”

He did have her. Which was a good thing. Without him, she’d have gone down like a heavy stone and knew it. She was hurt, but not that hurt to stop the memories bombarding her at the sound of his voice. How could she not have instantly recognized him?

He was the first man who’d ever broken her heart.

Now, contest time! Leave a comment, any comment to win your own copy of Flashback. About cute firemen, Jill Shalvis, Blaze titles, or the high price of gas. Whatever, I’m feelin’ easy. I’ll pick a winner on Tuesday, August 26.

Admit it.  You’ve been teased and pleased by the previous three excerpts we’ve posted for the steamy Private Places anthology.  Well you didn’t think we’d leave Allyson James out of the fun did you?  Last, but certainly not least, this tasty treat is from her story, A Risqué Game of Piquet.  Enjoy!

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

Amelia shuffled the cards with her slender fingers. “I was raised to be a dutiful wife, obedient and uncomplaining.” She lifted a stubborn blue gaze to him. “But I am afraid I can be obedient and dutiful no longer, at least not tonight. Play cards with me, husband. I want to show you something.”

“It is far too dangerous for you to stay in this room.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

He stepped behind her chair and tilted her head back so she looked up at him. “You should be, my love.” He tightened his grasp. “I may not choose to let you go.”

“I am not going anywhere.”

Her eyes sparkled with determination. He couldn’t resist bending to kiss her eyelids, letting her lashes tickle his lips.

That led to kissing her mouth, tasting her upside down. Her chest rose, the loose dressing gown letting him see her soft depths.

She began to pull away from him, and he snapped to his senses and stood up. “You see? Far too dangerous.”

“I am not leaving, Michael. Do sit down and play cards with me. It is important.”

She had some bee in her bonnet, he decided. He’d humor her, but only for a while.

He made himself let go of her and dropped into the chair on the opposite side of the table. “What is all this about?”

“A simple game, my dear. We are both good players, so it will be an entertainment.”

He watched her smooth the cards and tried to restrain his wanting. “To divert us from our present troubles?”

“Partly.” She set the deck down, one finger touching the top card. “But the prizes will be interesting.”

“Prizes?”

“When we played before it was for money and marriage. Tonight we will play for other things.”

“Explain yourself before I combust, please.”

Her gaze flicked to him. “You seem in no imminent danger. A game goes to one hundred points. The first to reach will ask for a favor from the other. Anything we wish.” She cut the deck and touched the pile of cards to her lips. “To make it even more interesting, anyone who has pique, repique, or capot will gain additional favors.”

Suddenly hot, Michael unbuttoned his waistcoat then undid the hooks holding his shirt closed. A pique was scored by the player who gained thirty points before the dealer declared a single one. Repique happened when either player could declare thirty points before the cards were laid down in play, and the other had no points. Both situations were uncommon. Capot was difficult as well–taking every trick in the game.

The near-despair he’d felt all day suddenly lightened. Amelia was proving herself fine at coming up with distractions.

“And what exactly do you mean by favors?”

She sent him a secret smile. “You will simply have to win a few hands and find out.”

“Careful, love. Be so careful how you use that smile.”

“It is useless to try to frighten me, Michael,” she said.

“I am determined.”

His own feral smile returned. “Oh, love, such a challenge. I pray you do not regret it.”

That’s right my little duckies, the Private Places excerpts continue to rain down on the Pond.  Shiloh Walker adds another chapter to her continuing Hunters series, with her contribution to the anthology titled Hunter’s Mercy.  Enjoy!

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

“You started sneaking out of the house again, Mercy.”

No. I didn’t start. I never stopped so it’s hard to start again. But Mercy kept that to herself. “You can’t keep doing this. It’s too dangerous.”
Mercy said nothing.

“It’s been a year. Whatever or whoever killed your man is long gone.” When Mercy continued her silence, Lydia sighed. She gave Mercy’s hair a final brush and the bed shifted a little as Lydia got to her feet. “Come on now, Mercy. Lets get you something to eat.”

Mercy opened her mouth to object only to close it without saying a word. Lydia was glaring at her, her dark eyes narrowed. “You are going to eat something. You ate no dinner. You need to eat.”

Mercy’s retort died on her lips as she heard a voice from outside her room. A deep voice-her unexpected visitor and judging by how loud the voice had gotten, he was coming to her room. “I will leave after I’ve spoken with Mercy, Theo.”

That voice-it was familiar. As the doorknob turned, Lydia grabbed her wrap from the foot of Mercy’s bed. Mercy shoved her arms into it, swearing under her breath. Lydia grinned. “Your mama would blush if she could hear you right now.”

Mercy retorted, “If some strange man was about to intrude on her while she was wearing nothing but her bedclothes then she would have done more than swear.” The door opened and Mercy turned to face the intruder. Her hands, in the act of tying her robe closed, fell limp to her side as she met deep, dark green eyes. She knew those eyes-Lord forgive her, she had dreamed about the eyes for more than half of her life. Even when her husband had been lying in bed beside her, she had dreamed of him.

“Jack.”

He cocked a brow at her but said nothing. Instead, he studied her, that faint, mocking grin on his lips as he started at the top of her head and went down. His gaze lingered on the loose neckline of her chemise. Mercy felt a blush start, low along her breasts, right where he seemed to be staring and as his gaze went lower, her blush climbed higher, along her collarbone, up her neck, until her cheeks felt painfully hot.

Once he’d finished his perusal, he looked back at her face. “A strange man, Mercy? Does that mean since I am no stranger, I’m allowed to intrude on you while you’re in a state of undress?”

Undress? Mercy thought wildly. I’m practically naked. Her hands shook as she reached for the belt of her wrap and tied it tightly around her waist. She hoped he couldn’t see just how much they shook, but there was little Jack didn’t notice. His forest green gaze locked on her left hand, on the wedding ring that she simply couldn’t part with, and he glanced around the room. “And where is your husband, Mercy? Should I fear being challenged to a duel for interrupting your privacy?” He didn’t look at all concerned about it as he sauntered into the room and settled his long, lean frame in one of the chairs placed by the fireplace. “I hadn’t realized that you had wed.”

Mercy closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry, not in front of Jack Callahan. “Simon was killed last winter.”

Erotic romance trailblazer, Robin Schone, is back in the saddle with her story The Men And Women’s Club featured in the Private Places anthology, out now. Lucky for us duckies, Robin dropped us a tasty morsel in the form of an excerpt. And don’t you know it – we just had to share Enjoy!

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

Memory gouged the throbbing twilight.

One man questioning. One woman responding.

What does a woman desire?

Yet the woman had not asked what it was that the man needed. And now they must each appear-every single member of the Men and Women’s Club-in a court of law.

“Tomorrow we stand before a judge and jury.” Cold mahogany wood pulsed against Joseph’s fingers. “What do we tell them?”

The feather-tipped silhouette visibly stiffened, even as distant laughter mocked his impotence, everything he had ever wanted lost in this room: His reputation; his position at the university.

The hope for love.

“Do we tell them about the French postcards we didn’t look upon?”

Naked men and women doing things he had imagined but never performed.

“Do we tell them about the pornographic shop we refused to visit?”

In his mind’s eye flashed the print of a woman who sat backward across a man’s hips, wearing only a smile of unfathomable mystery.

“Do we tell them we sat here while five men and six women flaunted every decent moral known to man”-the first in a series of dull bass bongs, Big Ben spitting out the hour, underscored his words-”and we did nothing to stop them?”

“We did everything in our power to direct those meetings,” shot through the deepening gloom.

Joseph was not fooled by the publicist’s righteous indignation.

“Do we tell them, Miss Dennison,” he asked, fingers choking the gavel that he had as president of the Men and Women’s Club wielded unsparingly, but which on the morrow would be used to direct jurisdiction in a court of law, “that when I had you on this table two years earlier, you were not a virgin?”

One final bong fell onto the sudden silence: It was seven o’clock.

A shudder vibrated the air, the public doors shutting. The sing-song hum of passing carriage wheels emphasized the dead stillness permeating the museum.

Ardelle Dennison’s voice, when she spoke, was arctic: “How dare you bring up that night, sir!”

Joseph would dare many things this evening.

“Did I give you no pleasure at all?” he rasped.

In the thickening dusk he could for one fleeting second make out two shadowy figures: A man . . . a woman.

Reaching. Embracing.

He knew that Ardelle Dennison also saw the two ghostly figures, a professor and a publicist who had for one brief moment dared to be a man and a woman.

“This lawsuit is a farce!” she lashed out with sudden anger. “We can not be held responsible for men and women who cannot control their animal lusts.”

“Like us?” Joseph rejoined.

In case you haven’t heard, Sandra Brown‘s Smoke Screen went on sale today!  And you know what that means?  Goodies for readers! First up, the author is holding a contest to benefit the Muscular Dystrophy Association. Readers who make a donation to MDA, and forward their receipt to Sandra, will be entered into a drawing to win an autographed copy of Smoke Screen. The contest ends on September 2 and all the details can be found at Sandra’s blog.

We also have a little teaser for readers, an excerpt of Smoke Screen‘s prologue as well as the book trailer. Just a little taste to whet your appetite and build anticipation for when you get your hands on your own copy! Enjoy!

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

Thank God he was still asleep.

Waking up to find herself in bed with Jay Burgess was embarrassing enough without having to look him in the eye. At least not until she had time to collect herself.

As carefully as possible, she inched to the side of the bed and slipped out from under the sheet, trying not to lift it away from him in the process. She perched on the very edge of the mattress and glanced over her shoulder. The draft from the air conditioning vent above the bed was cold, causing goose bumps to break out on her arms. But although Jay was naked and covered only to his waist, the chilly air hadn’t roused him. Shifting her weight from the bed to her feet a little at a time, she stood up.

The room tilted. To keep from falling, she instinctually reached out for support. Her hand found the wall with a smack that just as well have been a cymbal crash for the reverberation it created in the silent house. No longer as concerned about waking him as wondering how in the world she’d gotten so terribly drunk last night, she remained propped against the wall, taking deep breaths, focusing on one spot until her equilibrium returned.

Miraculously, her clumsiness hadn’t awakened Jay. Spying her underpants, she crept to the foot of the bed and retrieved them, then tiptoed around the room, gathering strewn articles of her clothing, hugging each garment against her chest in a gesture of modesty, which under the circumstances was rather ridiculous.

The walk of shame. The college phrase seemed apropos. It referred to coeds who sneaked out of a guy’s bedroom after spending the night with him. She was way past college age, and both she and Jay were single, free to sleep together if they chose.

If they chose.

The phrase struck her like the cruel pop of a snapped rubber band.

Suddenly, the shock of waking up in Jay’s bed was replaced by the alarming realization that she didn’t remember how she’d got there. She didn’t recall making a conscious decision to sleep with him. She didn’t remember weighing the pros and cons and deciding in favor of it. She didn’t remember being wooed until practicality was obscured by sensuality. She didn’t remember giving a mental shrug and thinking What the hell? We’re adults.

She didn’t remember anything.

Looking round, she took in the layout and furnishings of the bedroom. It was a pleasant room, tastefully decorated and tailored for a man who lived alone. But nothing in it was familiar to her. Nothing. It was as though she was seeing it for the first time.

Obviously it was Jay’s place; there were pictures of him scattered about, mostly vacation snapshots with various friends of both sexes. But she had never been in this room before, nor in this house. She wasn’t even certain of the street address, although she had a vague recollection of walking here from. . .from somewhere.

Yes, The Wheelhouse. She and Jay had met there for a drink. He’d already had several when she arrived, but that wasn’t uncommon. Jay liked spirits and had an amazing tolerance for large quantities of alcohol. She had ordered a glass of white wine. They’d sat and chatted over their drinks, catching up on what was happening in each other’s life.

Then he said -

Remembering now what he’d told her, she shivered, but not from cold. She covered her mouth to catch a low moan and looked back at him where he lay sleeping. She whispered a sorrowful, “Oh, Jay,” repeating the first words she’d uttered when he broke the awful news to her last night.

Can we continue this conversation at my place? he’d asked. I’ve moved since I’ve seen you. An elderly aunt died and left me all her worldly goods. Lots of china, crystal, antique furniture, stuff like that. I sold all of it to a dealer and bought a townhouse with the proceeds. It’s a short walk.

He was chatty, acting as though they’d been talking about nothing more worrisome than the approach of hurricane season, but his news had been a bombshell. Terrible. Impossible to believe. She’d been staggered by it. Had compassion moved her to affection? Did that explain the lovemaking that had followed?

Lord, why couldn’t she remember?

Searching for answers as well as the rest of her clothing, she went into the living room. Her dress and cardigan were bunched up in a chair, her sandals were on the floor. There was an open bottle of scotch and two glasses on the table in front of the sofa. Only an inch of whisky remained in the bottle. The cushions of the sofa were rumpled and dented, as though someone had been wallowing on them.

Apparently she and Jay.

Quickly she went back through the bedroom, finding the bathroom on the far side of it. She managed to close the door without making a sound, a precaution that was canceled out a moment later when she retched noisily into the toilet. Her stomach was seized by painful spasms as it disgorged what seemed to be gallons of scotch. Never a big fan of scotch, she knew with absolutely certainty that she would never touch a drop of it again.

She found toothpaste in the mirrored cabinet above the sink and used her index finger to scrub the film and bad taste from her mouth. That helped, but she still felt rather shabby and decided to shower. When she faced Jay, she would feel more confident and less embarrassed over the excesses of last night if she was clean.

The stall was a tile enclosure with a large, round shower head mounted into the ceiling. Standing directly beneath the simulated rainfall, she lathered and rinsed several times. She washed carefully and thoroughly between her legs. She shampooed her hair.

Once out of the shower, she didn’t tarry. Surely all the noise she’d made had woken him up by now. She dressed, used his hairbrush to smooth out her wet hair, then bolstered her courage with a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

Jay was still asleep. How could that be? He was a well-conditioned drinker, but apparently last night had been an overindulgence even for him. How much scotch had been in the bottle when they began to drink from it? Between them, had they nearly emptied a whole fifth?

They must have. Otherwise why couldn’t she remember taking off her clothes and having sex with Jay Burgess? Years ago, they’d had a brief affair that soon flamed out, ending long before it developed into a bona fide relationship. Neither’s heart was broken. There hadn’t been a scene or a formal break-up of any kind. They’d simply stopped dating, but had remained friends.

But Jay, charming and irrepressible Jay, hadn’t stopped trying to lure her back into his bed whenever their paths crossed. “Having a roll in the sack and staying friends aren’t mutually exclusive,” he’d say with his most engaging smile. That hadn’t been her experience, and she’d told him so each time he tried to talk her into a sleep-over for old time’s sake.

Last night, he must have persuaded her.

She would’ve expected him to be up early this morning to gloat over his conquest, waking her up with a kiss and a teasing invitation to have breakfast in bed. She could almost hear him saying, Since you’re here, you just as well relax and enjoy the full Burgess treatment.

Or why hadn’t he joined her in the shower? That would be a Jay kind of thing to do. He would step in with her and say something like You missed a spot on your back. Oops, and here’s one on your front, too. But the shower hadn’t disturbed him. Not even the repeated flushing of the toilet.

How could he sleep through all that? He hadn’t even -

Moved.

Her stomach gave a heaving motion like an ocean wave. Soured scotch filled her throat, and she feared she was about to be sick again. She swallowed hard. “Jay?” she said tentatively. Then louder. “Jay?”

Nothing. No sigh or snuffle. Not even a slight shift of position.

She stood rooted to the floor, her heart thumping hard now. Forcing herself to move, she lurched toward the bed, hand outstretched to touch his shoulder and give it a firm shake.

“Jay!”

When I learned a couple of years ago that RWA was planning on hosting their annual conference in San Francisco in 2008, I immediately marked it on my calander.  Mostly because it meant I could avoid flying the “friendly skies” and drive.   I don’t know about you all, but flying for me these days is on par with getting a root canal, a bikini wax and your finger nails pulled out….all at the same time.

The conference is always great fun for me because I love chatting with authors, whether they be rock stars or aspiring.  I get a lot of good information to take back to my library day job, and I learn about upcoming titles.  As if all that wasn’t cool enough, this year, our own dear Sybil hooked me up with a dinner invitation with Harlequin’s Digital team.  Not only did I get to eat seafood while gazing upon a fantastic view of the bay, I also got to chat with the Harlequin team about their upcoming ventures.

Launching in November will be Harlequin Historicals Undone, which will be ebook shorts similar to Spice Briefs and Nocturne Bites.  These will be short, tasty, historical stories with a higher sensuality level than a traditional full-length Harlequin Historical title.  I think I speak for HH fans everywhere when I say I hope these prove to be big hits.  The HQ Digital folks told me that the Spice Briefs have proven to be quite popular, so could a sexier HH short generate as much interest?  I sure hope so!

One of the things that the HQ Digital team offers, and I think is cool beans, are ebook bundles.  For example, with one click of the mouse you can buy all the Harlequin Presents titles that are out in any given month.  Also, they’ve done an Anne Stuart bundle that featured several of her “out of print gems.”  I would love to see more of these, and I would especially love to see Harlequin really dig into their rich and deep backlist.  Reissue some of these great older titles (oh, like Nicole Jordan‘s HH titles!) in ebook format.  I’d be first in line, waving my credit card in the air.

Harlequin has really been a trail-blazer in the digital frontier.  Online Reads have been offered on the eHarlequin web site for the last ten years!  I had no clue the program had been around that long.  In that vein, Harlequin has expanded their digital content to include “enhanced” ebooks, digital audio books, and mobile content for cell phones.  There’s also DailyLit, a subscribtion program that delivers a chapter a day of a book right to the reader, either by RSS feed or e-mail.  One of the big reasons I love to pimp Harlequin?  The fact that the books are shorter, quicker reads, and ideal for busy readers.  Now they’re giving us our fix by having a read delivered right to our Google Reader or in our e-mail inbox! 

I think we all know that Harlequin has been sneered at over the years.  Those books with the dreadful titles couldn’t possibly be any good.  That they’re throw away books written by hacks.  All nonsense, and a myth further dispelled by the work of the Harlequin Digital team.  They are on the cutting edge of offering digital content, and it has shown in their sales.  Vendors who deal in ebooks have quickly learned how popular romance novels are, because much like mass market paperback sales, romance dominates over the other genres in ebook format as well.

It’s really an exciting time for readers, authors and the fine folks at Harlequin.  I can’t wait to see what the team cooks up next!