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!

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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!”

We have drawn the five winners of the Sandra Brown Talks Movies And Books Contest! The lucky winners need to e-mail Sybil with their shipping address information. Congratulations!

And the winners are:

Dianna Stoutenburg

Lisa Martin

Natasha

Emma Sanders

Ellyn Houston

Ordinarily you’d expect me to blog about books, a topic near and dear to my heart! And I’ve been reading some good ones lately. Ever read Jack Ketchum? Sadly, I hadn’t until my son, Ryan introduced me to him, and while browsing in my local bookstore recently, I ran across a reprint of an early book of his called The Lost. Ketchum is a horror writer but this book is a thriller – in the strictest sense of the word. The prologue is gripping, and it never lets up. It’s not a book for the faint of heart, but I couldn’t put it down.

Okay, see, how obsessed I am with books? I can’t help myself. I set out to do a blog about movies, and instead I’m talking about books and writers. By the way. . .bear with me, this is cool. There I was at the ThrillerFest cocktail party, mixing and mingling, and trying not to make a complete fool of myself when introduced to the book industry’s best. Then, I happened to glance over my shoulder and spotted my husband Michael in conversation with Clive Cussler. Clive Cussler! Whom I’ve never even met. Michael waved me over and said, “Sandra, this is Clive,” like they’d been friends for years.

Turns out, it was actually Mr. Cussler who approached Michael and introduced himself. Someone in the crowd had pointed out Michael as a car collector. Mr. Cussler has 105 classic cars, so they had a lot to talk about! I was dazzled, not only to be in the presence of a fiction legend, but to learn firsthand what I’d been told – Clive Cussler is a class act, a gentleman, and as nice an individual as anyone could possibly hope to meet.

Oh, this was cool, too. The following day, when Michael and I disembarked at DFW and were on our way to baggage claim, we passed an airport bookstore. Front and center were books by Clive Cussler, Jon Land, Lee Child, Brad Thor, James Patterson, Douglas Preston, Harlan Coben. . .all of whom we’d been with the evening before. I realized how fortunate I am to know so many outstanding talents. And those are just the writers who have new books out and presently in the front racks.

Oh, right. . .movies. I thought I should blog about that since this is the summer movie season. (Not to be confused with the summer book season and the BIG book this year – Smoke Screen.)

Ahem. Habit. I’m sorry.

I want to see “Mamma Mia!” I saw it on Broadway, and you can’t beat the music. And what a cast! Eye candy for sure. I plan to check my brain at the door, have a bucket of popcorn, and dance in the aisles to “Dancing Queen.”
I love movies. I’m often asked, “What’s your all-time favorite?” Impossible to say because there are so many. Some I’ve watched dozens of times. And you can bet that, if I come across a favorite while channel surfing, I’ll join them in progress and stay with them until they’re over. “The Godfather,” is one. “Shawshank Redemption” is another. A second with Morgan Freeman, “Driving Miss Daisy.” I have to watch until Hoke feeds her a bite of Thanksgiving pumpkin pie.

I can’t not watch “Legends of the Fall.” I adore “One Fine Day” and “Love Actually.” That last scene in the airport when people from everywhere in the world are being met by loved ones while “God Only Knows” is playing. . .well, I get choked up every time.

And if you’ve never seen “Dear Frankie,” with Gerard Butler and Emily Mortimer, get it. A friend recommended it and I fell in love with this quiet little film. I’ve watched it at least a dozen times. I dare you to watch it and not get teary-eyed.

Is it just me, or do you miss movies about people? Grown up people. Real people. Not spoofy, goofy people or comic book characters personified, but actual human beings. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate special effects and animation. I think they’re terrific. I can’t wait to see “The Dark Knight,” the new Batman movie, and I’m a big fan of “Toy Story,” and “Cars.”

But I miss movies where the story is the star and the main characters are relatable. I don’t mind a bit — indeed I look forward to — watching all six hours of the BBC’s production of “Pride and Prejudice” with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. I’ve sat through it ten times, yet I never tire of it. But my taste is eclectic. I’ve done the same with “An Officer and a Gentleman.” I could practically recite the script. It never gets old.

I miss the movies of the great Sydney Pollack, who died not long ago. “This Property is Condemned“, starring “newcomer” Robert Redford, I saw the summer I graduated from high school, on a date. I loved it then, and still do. “Love With the Proper Stranger,” with Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood. Black and white, but fabulous. “The Way We Were,” “Tootsie,” and one of my all time favorites, “Out of Africa.” When the lion and lioness come and lie on Finch Hatten’s grave. . . Here I go again. Pass the Kleenex.

You’re bound to note a partiality to love stories, but I like war movies and westerns, too. I like historicals and contemporary. I don’t mind nudity (depending on who’s nude) or graphic language, although the four letter words can get a bit boring. My one criteria is the story. It’s all about the story. Just like books. . .
See? It’s compulsive.

If you have a must-see movie list, I’d love you to share it.

Contest Alert! Five lucky winners will be chosen to receive an advanced copy of Smoke Screen!  What’s the catch?  We want reviews!  Either on your own  blog, or right here at the pond.   All you have to do is comment on this post with some of your “must see movie” suggestions for Sandra.  Good luck!

THIS JUST IN… 

Sandra Brown is bringing new meaning to the phrase “March Madness”…

Sandra has finished her next novel Smoke Screen, given her website a make over and added some new features, created a BLOG, and, the really big big big news, she has optioned THE WITNESS for a feature film!

Go check out the her new digs! As well as her video newsletters.. tres coolio.

Now to figure out what the heck Smoke Screen is about… anyone know?