I really like Lisa Kleypas‘s novels. I’m sure you all know that. I don’t know Ms. Kleypas as a person, but I’m sure I’d like her in real life as well. Regardless, I can wax poetic on a number of her novels. Prince of Dreams, Dreaming of You, Suddenly You, and Because You’re Mine are some of my favorites.

But this is a post about the Wallflower Series. (I suppose I could talk about the most recent A Wallflower Christmas, but … why when you can win one and find out for yourself?)

Opinions seem to differ vastly about this series… but I really like Secrets of a Summer Night. Maybe because I’m traditional, or I just have major positive association with it because it was first. Accordingly, I’ve found a passage I liked. (Ok, I admit I basically thumbed through pages, and stopped, and voila! But it is cute. Not a sexy tension filled scene, but pretty adorable all the same.)

“Mr. Hunt,” she said carefully, “there is something I must ask you…”

“Yes?” His eyes were definitely his most attractive feature, Annabelle thought distractedly. Vibrant and full of life, they made her wonder why people generally preferred blue eyes to dark ones. No shade of blue could ever convey the simmering intelligence that lurked in the depths of Simon Hunt’s sable eyes.

Try as she might, Annabelle could think of no subtle way to ask him. After grappling silently with a variety of phrases, she finally settled for a blunt question. “Were you responsible for the boots?”

His expression gave nothing away. “Boots? I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, Miss Peyton. Are you speaking in metaphor, or are we talking about actual footwear?”

“Ankle boots,” Annabelle said, staring at him with open suspicion. “A new pair that was left inside the door of my room yesterday.”

“Delighted as I am to discuss any part of your wardrobe, Miss Peyton, I’m afraid I know nothing about a pair of boots. However, I am relieved that you have managed to acquire some. Unless, of course, you wished to continue acting as a strolling buffet to the wildlife of Hampshire.”

Annabelle regarded him for a long moment. Despite his denial, there was something lurking behind his neutral facade…some playful spark in his eyes… “Then you deny having given the boots to me?”

“Most emphatically I deny it.”

“But I wonder…if some one wished to have a pair of boots made up for a lady without her knowledge… how would he be able to learn the precise size of her feet?”

“That would be a relatively simple task…” he mused. “I imagine that some enterprising person would simply ask a housemaid to trace the soles of the lady’s discarded slippers. Then he could take the pattern to the local cobbler. And make it worth the cobbler’s while to delay his other work in favor of crafting the new shoes immediately.”

“That is quite a lot of trouble for someone to go through,” Annabelle murmured.

Hunt’s gaze was lit with sudden mischief. “Rather less trouble than having to haul an injured woman up three flights of stairs every time she goes out walking in her slippers.”

Annabelle realized that he would never admit to giving her the boots-which would allow her to keep them, but would also ensure that she would never be able to thank him. And she knew he had-she could see it in his face.

“Mr. Hunt,” she said earnestly, “I …I wish…” She paused, unable to find words, and stared helplessly at him.

Taking pity on her, Hunt stood and went to the side of the room, picking up a small circular game table. It was only about two feet in diameter, constructed with a clever mechanism to allow a player to flip the top from a chessboard to a draughtsboard. “Do you play?” he asked casually, setting the table in front of her.

“Draughts? Yes, occasionally-”

“No, not draughts. Chess.”

Annabelle shook her head, shrinking back into the corner of the settee. “No, I’ve never played chess. And I don’t wish to sound uncooperative, but… the way I feel at present, I have no desire to try something as difficult as-”

“It’s time for you to learn, then,” Hunt said, heading to a niche of shelves to retrieve a polished burl-wood box. “It’s been said that you can never really know someone until you play chess with him.”

Annabelle watched him cautiously, feeling nervous at the prospect of being alone with him …and yet she was thoroughly beguiled by his deliberate gentleness. It seemed almost as if he were trying to coax her to trust him. There was a softness in his manner that seemed utterly at odds with the cynical rake she had always known him to be.

“Do you believe that?” she asked.

“Of course not.” Hunt brought the box to the table and opened it to reveal a set of onyx and ivory chessmen, carved in scrupulous detail. He slid her a provocative glance. “The truth is, you can never really know a man until you’ve loaned him money. And you can never know a woman until you’ve slept in her bed.”

Next, is It Happened One Autumn. I’m not sure why but Lillian and Westcliff, while great, aren’t my favorite characters. I think Lillian’s personality is way too different/foreign from mine. And Westcliff while “perfect” isn’t that personable. But there’s definitely one part that comes to mind.

“My lord.”

…”Yes, Salter,” he said brusquely, resenting the interruption.

“There is a…a situation, my lord, that I felt certain you would wish to be informed of.”

“What kind of situation?”

“It involves one of the guests, my lord.”

“Well?” Marcus demanded, annoyed by the butler’s diffidence. “Who is it? And what is he doing?”

“I am afraid the person is a ‘she,’ my lord. One of the footmen has just informed me that he saw Miss Bowman in the library, and she is…not well.”

Marcus stood so suddenly that his chair nearly toppled over. “Which Miss Bowman?”

“I do not know, my lord.”

“What do you mean, ‘not well’? Is anyone with her?”

“I do not believe so, my lord.”

“Is she hurt? Is she ill?”

Salter gave him a mildly harried stare. “Neither, my lord. Merely …not well.”

…His hands gripped into white-knuckled balls, and his pace quickened. It seemed to take forever to reach the library. By the time he crossed the threshold, his heart was driving in sharp blows inside his chest …a rhythm that owed nothing to exertion and everything to panic. What he saw caused him to stop short in the center of the large room.

Lillian stood before a row of books, with a pile of them surrounding her on the floor. She was pulling rare volumes from the shelves one by one, examining each with a puzzled frown and then tossing it heedlessly behind her. She seemed oddly languid, as if she were moving under water. And her hair was slipping from its pins. She didn’t look ill, precisely. In fact, she looked…

Becoming aware of his presence, Lillian glanced over her shoulder with a lopsided smile. “Oh. It’s you,” she said, her voice slurred. Her attention wandered back to the shelves. “I can’t find anything. All these books are so deadly dull…”

Frowning in concern, Marcus approached her while she continued to chatter and sort through the books. “Not this one…nor this one…oh no, no, no, this one’s not even in English…”

Marcus’s panic transformed rapidly into outrage, followed swiftly by amusement. Damnation. If he had required additional proof that Lillian Bowman was utterly wrong for him, this was it. The wife of a Marsden would never sneak into the library and drink until she was, as his mother would phrase it, “a trifle disguised.” Staring into her drowsy dark eyes and flushed face, Marcus amended the phrase. Lillian was not disguised. She was foxed, staggering, tap-hackled, top-heavy, shot-in-the-neck, staggering drunk.

More books sailed through the air, one of them narrowly missing his ear.

“Perhaps I could help,” Marcus suggested pleasantly, stopping beside her. “If you would tell me what you’re looking for.”

“Something romantic. Something with a happy ending. There should always be a happy ending, shouldn’ there?”

Marcus reached out to finger a trailing lock of her hair, his thumb sliding along the glowing satin filaments. He had never thought of himself as a particularly tactile man, but it seemed impossible to keep from touching her when she was near. The pleasure he derived from the simplest contact with her set all his nerves alight. “Not always,” he said in reply to her question.

Lillian let out a bubbling laugh. “How very English of you. How you all love to suffer, with your stiff… stiff…” She peered at the book in her hands, distracted by the gilt on its cover. “…upper lips,” she finished absently.

“We don’t like to suffer.”

“Yes, you do. At the very least, you go out of your way to avoid enjoying something.”

By now Marcus was becoming accustomed to the unique mixture of lust and amusement that she always managed to arouse in him. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping one’s enjoyments private.”

Dropping the book in her hands, Lillian turned to face him. The abruptness of the movement resulted in a sharp wobble, and she swayed back against the shelves even as he moved to steady her with his hands at her waist. Her tip-tilted eyes sparkled like an array of diamonds scattered over brown velvet. “It has nothing to do with privacy,” she informed him. “The truth is that you don’t want to be happy, bec-” She hiccupped gently. “Because it would undermine your dignity. Poor Wes’cliff.” She regarded him compassionately.

At the moment, preserving his dignity was the last thing on Marcus’s mind. He grasped the frame of the bookcase on either side of her, encompassing her in the half circle of his arms. As he caught a whiff of her breath, he shook his head and murmured, “Little one…what have you been drinking?”

“Oh…” She ducked beneath his arm and careened to the sideboard a few feet away. “I’ll show you… wonderful, wonderful stuff… this.” Triumphantly she plucked a nearly empty brandy bottle from the edge of the sideboard and held it by the neck. “Look what someone did…a pear, right inside! Isn’ that clever?” Bringing the bottle close to her face, she squinted at the imprisoned fruit. “It wasn’ very good at first. But it improved after a while. I suppose it’s an ac”-another delicate hiccup- “acquired taste.”

“It appears you’ve succeeded in acquiring it,” Marcus remarked, following her.

“You won’ tell anyone, will you?”

“No,” he promised gravely. “But I’m afraid they’re going to know regardless. Unless we can sober you in the next two or three hours before they return. Lillian, my angel …how much was in the bottle when you started?”

Showing him the bottle, she put her finger a third of the way from the bottom. “It was there when I started. I think. Or maybe there.” She frowned sadly at the bottle. “Now all that’s left is the pear.” She swirled the bottle, making the plump fruit slosh juicily at the bottom. “I want to eat it,” she announced.

“It’s not meant to be eaten. It’s only there to infuse the-Lillian, give the damned thing to me.”

“I am going to eat it.” Lillian tottered drunkenly away from him as she shook the bottle with increasing resolve. “If I can just get it out…”

“You can’t. It’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” she scoffed, lurching to face him. “You have servants who can pull the brains from a calf’s head, but they couldn’ get one little pear out of a bottle? I doubt that. Send for one of your under-butlers-just give a whistle, and-oh, I forgot. You can’t whistle.” She focused on him, her eyes narrowing as she stared at his mouth. “That’s the sillies’ thing I ever heard. Everyone can whistle. I’ll teach you. Right now. Pucker your lips. Like this. Pucker… see?”

Marcus caught her in his arms as she swayed before him. Staring down at her adorably pursed lips, he felt an insistent warmth invading his heart, overflowing and spilling past its fretted barriers. God in heaven, he was tired of fighting his desire for her. It was exhausting to struggle against something so overwhelming. Like trying not to breathe.

Lillian stared at him earnestly, seeming puzzled by his refusal to comply. “No, no, not like that. Like this.” The bottle dropped to the carpet. She reached up to his mouth and tried to shape his lips with her fingers. “Rest your tongue on the edge of your teeth and…it’s all about the tongue, really. If you’re agile with your tongue, you’ll be a very, very good”-she was temporarily interrupted as he covered her mouth with a brief, ravening kiss-”whistler. My lord, I can’t talk when you-” He fitted his mouth to hers again, devouring the sweet brandied taste of her.

She leaned against him helplessly, her fingers sliding into his hair, while her breath struck his cheek in rapid, delicate puffs. A tide of sensual urgency rolled through him as the kiss deepened into full-blown compulsion. The memory of their encounter in the hidden garden had haunted him for days …the delicacy of her skin beneath his hands, her small, exquisite breasts, the enticing strength of her legs. He wanted to feel her wrapped around him, her hands clutching his back, her knees clamped around his hips…the silky-wet caress of her body as he moved inside her.

Pulling her head back, Lillian stared at him with wondering eyes, her lips damp and reddened. Her hands left his hair, her fingertips coming to the hard angles of his cheekbones, delicate strokes of coolness on the blazing heat of his skin. He bent his head, nuzzling his jaw against the pale silk of her palm. “Lillian,” he whispered, “I’ve tried to leave you alone. But I can’t do it anymore. In the past two weeks I’ve had to stop myself a thousand times from coming to you. No matter how often I tell myself that you are the most inappropriate…” He paused as she squirmed suddenly, twisting and craning her neck to look down at the floor. “No matter what I-Lillian, are you listening to me? What the devil are you looking for?”

“My pear. I dropped it, and-oh, there it is.” She broke free of him and sank to her hands and knees, reaching beneath a chair. Pulling out the brandy bottle, she sat on the floor and held it in her lap.

“Lillian, forget the damned pear.”

“How did it get in there, d’you think?” She poked her finger experimentally into the neck of the bottle. “I don’ see how something so big could fit into a hole that small.”

Marcus closed his eyes against a surge of aggravated passion, and his voice cracked as he replied. “They… they put it directly on the tree. The bud grows …inside…” He slitted his eyes open and squeezed them shut again as he saw her finger intruding deeper into the bottle. “Grows…” he forced himself to continue, “until the fruit is ripe.”

Lillian seemed rather too impressed by the information. “They do? That is the cleverest, cleverest …a pear in its own little…oh no.”

“What?” Marcus asked through clenched teeth.

“My finger’s stuck.”

… and you know, the rest gets even better

Ok – I can’t resist. One more impassioned paragraph.

“It wasn’t a meaningless act for me either,” Marcus said, his raspy whisper tickling her ear. “Yesterday I finally realized that all the things I thought were wrong about you were actually the things I enjoyed most. I don’t give a damn what you do, so long as it pleases you. Run barefoot on the front lawn. Eat pudding with your fingers. Tell me to go to hell as often as you like. I want you just as you are. After all, you’re the only woman aside from my sisters who has ever dared to tell me to my face that I’m an arrogant ass. How could I resist you?” His mouth moved to the soft cushion of her cheek. “My dearest Lillian,” he whispered, easing her head back to kiss her eyelids. “If I had the gift of poetry, I would shower you with sonnets. But words have always been difficult for me when my feelings are strongest. And there is one word in particular that I can’t bring myself to say to you…‘goodbye.’ I couldn’t bear the sight of you walking away from me. If you won’t marry me for the sake of your own honor, then do it for the sake of everyone who would have to tolerate me otherwise. Marry me because I need someone who will help me to laugh at myself. Because someone has to teach me how to whistle. Marry me, Lillian…because I have the most irresistible fascination for your ears.”

Now… Devil in Winter is my favorite of the series. Evie is so likable, and St. Vincent – well, enough said there, yes? Without further ado… here is your [naughty] excerpt:

Sebastian pulled Evie inside the club, where the silence was startling after the tumult of the alley. She labored to keep pace with his ground-eating strides, her own breath coming fast by the time they reached the reading room on the main floor. The built-in mahogany shelves were filled with leather volumes. Against the walls, a multitude of papers and periodicals were draped over racks made with rows of clever movable dowels. Pushing Evie into the room, Sebastian closed them both inside with a decisive slam.

“Were you hurt?” he asked roughly.

“No.” Evie tried to hold back her next words, but they came out in a burst of resentment. “Why were you gone for so long? I needed you, and you weren’t here!”

“You had thirty employees to protect you. Why did you go downstairs in the first place? You should have stayed upstairs until you knew for certain who was outside.”

“Mr. Bullard told me that Annabelle Hunt was waiting for me. And then when I saw that it was my uncle, Bullard wouldn’t let me back inside the club. He pushed me right into my uncle’s arms.”

“My God.” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “I’m going to disembowel him, the gutter scum-”

“And while all that was happening,” Evie continued wrathfully, “you were in bed with a prostitute!” As the words left her lips, she realized that to her, this was the crux of the matter…even more important than Bullard’s betrayal, or her uncles’ assault, her emotions were roiling at the fact that Sebastian had betrayed her so soon with another woman.

Sebastian focused on her with an alert gaze. “I wasn’t.”

“Don’t lie,” Evie said, while their mutual fury seethed in the air. “I know you were.”

“Why are you so bloody certain?”

“Because you stayed at Madam Bradshaw’s for more than two hours!”

“I was talking about business. Talking, Evie! If you don’t believe that, then you can go to hell. Because if I had slept with someone, I guarantee you that I would be a lot more relaxed than I am now.”

Staring into Sebastian’s eyes, which were as hard as a frozen pond, Evie felt her outrage begin to drain away. She had no choice but to believe him-his offended anger was obvious.

“Oh,” she muttered.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“I suppose…I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. But knowing what I do of your past…I assumed…”

Her lame attempt at an apology seemed to erode the remnants of Sebastian’s self-control. “Well, your assumption was wrong! If you haven’t yet noticed, I’m busier than the devil in a high wind, every minute of the day. I don’t have the damned time for a tumble. And if I did-” He stopped abruptly. All semblance of the elegant viscount Evie had once watched from afar in Lord Westcliff’s drawing room had vanished. He was rumpled and bruised and furious. And he wasn’t breathing at all well. “If I did-” He broke off again, a flush crossing the crests of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Evie saw the exact moment when his self-restraint snapped. Alarm jolted through her, and she lurched toward the closed door. Before she had even made a step, she found herself seized and pinned against the wall by his body and hands. The smell of sweat-dampened linen and healthy, aroused male filled her nostrils.

Once he had caught her, Sebastian pressed his parted lips against the thin skin of her temple. His breath snagged. Another moment of stillness. Evie felt the electrifying touch of his tongue at the very tip of her eyebrow. He breathed against the tiny wet spot, a waft of hellfire that sent chills through her entire body. Slowly he brought his mouth to her ear, and traced the intricate inner edges.

His whisper seemed to come from the darkest recesses of her own mind. “If I did, Evie…then by now I would have shredded your clothes with my hands and teeth until you were naked. By now I would have pushed you down to the carpet, and put my hands beneath your breasts and lifted them up to my mouth. I would be kissing them…licking them…until the tips were like hard little berries, and then I would bite them so gently…”

Evie felt herself drift into a slow half swoon as he continued in a ragged murmur. “…I would kiss my way down to your thighs…inch by inch…and when I reached those sweet red curls, I would lick through them, deeper and deeper, until I found the little pearl of your clitoris…and I would rest my tongue on it until I felt it throb. I would circle it, and stroke it…I’d lick until you started to beg. And then I would suck you. But not hard. I wouldn’t be that kind. I would do it so lightly, so tenderly, that you would start screaming with the need to come…I would put my tongue inside you…taste you…eat you. I wouldn’t stop until your entire body was wet and shaking. And when I had tortured you enough, I would open your legs and come inside you, and take you…take you…”

Sebastian stopped, anchoring her against the wall while they both remained frozen, aroused, panting.

At length, he spoke in a nearly inaudible voice. “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

(And if you head to Ms. Kleypas’s website, the excerpt is pretty much what follows this immediately.)

And… now I’m starting to creep myself out, because some of my favorite scenes are right around/the same as the excerpts posted on Ms. Kleypas’s site, so now… here’s more bang for the… well not buck because it’s free – but this is the scene right after the excerpt (sexcerpt? for Scandal in Spring)

Matthew knew it was wrong the instant their lips met. Because nothing would ever equal the perfection of Daisy in his arms. He was ruined for life. God help him, he didn’t care.

Her mouth was soft and hot, like sunshine, like the white blaze of a heartwood fire. She gasped as he touched her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Slowly her hands came to his shoulders, and then he felt her fingers at the back of his head, sliding into his hair to keep him from pulling away. There wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening. Nothing could have made him stop.

A tremor shook his fingers as he bracketed the exquisite line of her jaw in the open framework of his hand, gently angling her face upward. The flavor of her mouth, sweet and elusive, fueled a hunger that threatened to rage out of control…he searched the damp silk beyond her lips, deeper, harder, until she began to breathe in long sighs, her body molding against his.

He let her feel how much stronger he was, how much heavier, one muscular arm clamped along her back, his feet spread to hold her between the powerful length of his thighs. Her upper half was bound in a laced and padded corset. He was almost overcome by a savage desire to tear away the stays and quilting and find the tender flesh beneath.

Instead he sank his fingers into her pinned-up hair and tugged it backward until the weight of her head was cradled in his hand, and her pale throat was exposed. He searched for the pulse he had seen earlier, his lips dragging softly along the secret pathway of nerves beneath her skin. When he reached a sensitive spot, he felt the vibration of her suppressed moan against his mouth.

This was what it would be like to make love to her, he thought dazedly…the sweet shivering of her flesh as he entered her, the delicate chaos of her breath, the helpless sounds that rustled in her throat. Her skin, warm and female, scented like tea and talcum and a trace of salt. He found her mouth again, opened it, delving into wet silk, heat, and an intimate flavor that drove him mad.

She should have struggled, but there was only yielding and more softness, driving him past all limits. He began to ravish her mouth with deep, twisting kisses, bringing her body rhythmically against his. He felt her legs part beneath her gown, his thigh fitting neatly between them. She squirmed with innocent desire, her face blooming with the color of late summer poppies. Had she understood exactly what he wanted from her, she would have done more than blush. She would have fainted on the spot.

Lifting his mouth from hers, Matthew pressed his jaw against the side of her head. “I think,” he said raggedly, “this puts to rest any question of whether I find you desirable or not.”

So there you go – some of my favorite parts from the excellent “Wallflower” series. And… for those of you who read to the end (unless you skipped to the end and then you CHEATED, YOU WHORE) … we’re having a contest! We have a few copies of A Wallflower Christmas to give away… and also an ARC of Smooth Talking Stranger. Believe me, I’m jealous. (More posts will follow about how to get the ARC, so stick around.)

Now most importantly – how do you win A Wallflower Christmas? Comment on any post at TGTBTU that is about the Wallflowers series, or (here’s the catch) my Who Will Win pondering – but on that one you must follow the rules. And obviously this post. Let’s talk some LK love. Tell me about your favorite Wallflower, a quote, scene, etc.

There! Easy peasy! Good luck everyone, and Happy New Year!

[And remember © Lisa Kleypas. All rights reserved]

Sandy M’s review of Blue-Eyed Devil by Lisa Kleypas
Contemporary Romance Audiobook released by Brilliance Audio on 25 Mar 08

I wasn’t sure I was going to continue to like Hardy Cates because of some of his behavior in Sugar Daddy where we first meet the man. However, I knew I would like him because, well, he is the hero of this book and I know he will be redeemed. I never dreamed, though, I would like love him as much as I do after listening to the audio version of his book. Its narrator, Renée Raudman, does a brilliant job of bringing this book to life, including making Hardy one damn fine sexy hero.

First things first, though. This book is also about Haven Travis, the only daughter of millionaire Churchill Travis who has better relationships with his sons than he’ll ever have with Haven. It’s her father who thinks he trying to save her when he really pushes her into a marriage that turns horrifying with realistic scenes of domestic abuse. Haven loves Nick and is ready to marry him, but when her father refuses to give his blessing because he knows Nick is only after Haven’s money, instead of sitting down and talking with his daughter adult to adult so Haven might look at the situation differently, she jumps in with both feet despite Churchill’s threat of cutting her off from the Travis wealth. Things go well between the newlyweds only for a little while, until Nick begins to show his true colors and takes his rage out on Haven because they’re getting none of the Travis money to make his life easier. Haven does her best to make the bastard happy, and it’s when he literally throws her out on their doorstep for the night that she calls her brother Gage to help her get out of her living nightmare.

By this time Haven’s memory of her one and only meeting with Hardy is the furthest thing from her mind while she’s going through therapy, but when she runs into him again, that memory hits her full force, wondering what her life would have been like if she’d gone with the man who made her burn with passion and lust in a dark wine cellar at her brother’s wedding. And let me tell you, that scene is as sexy as hell. Between Ms. Kleypas’ writing and Ms. Raudman’s narration, a reader does’t have a snowball’s chance of getting through that scene with wanting Hardy’s hands and mouth on her.

And things only get better. Even though Haven doesn’t want anything to do with men at this certain point in her life, she’s still drawn to Hardy. Her father and brothers have nothing good to say about the man, but that doesn’t stop her. This time she knows she’s got a good man because of the way he patiently goes through her emotional roller coaster ride with her of wanting to get closer to him but still being afraid to let a man that close again. They take things slow and easy, learn about one another, and when that final trust is put in place by Haven, the long and winding road to get there is definitely worth it. For me, Hardy’s redemption comes in the many different ways he stands by Haven. Yeah, he’s sexy in the bedroom, but he’s even sexier because of the man he is.

Haven’s triumph over one of the most degrading things a man can do to a woman, Hardy finding the one woman he can share all of himself with to show the reader how he’s changed, and a cast of characters from a controlling father and later a controlling boss, a scum of man who deserves every little thing he gets, to brothers who only want their sister to be happy make for a very compelling book brought to life through audio. Ms. Raudman does an excellent job throughout the entire book, but it is those scenes with Hardy I found myself anticipating. This is one time that the hero in my head truly came to life just how I imagined him.

Grade: A+

Summary:

     MEET THE BLUE-EYED DEVIL

     His name is Hardy Cates. He’s a self-made millionaire who comes from the wrong side of the tracks. He’s made enemies in the rough-and-tumble ride to the top of Houston’s oil industry. He’s got hot blood in his veins. And vengeance on his mind.

     MEET THE HEIRESS

     She’s Haven Travis. Despite her family’s money, she refuses to set out on the path they’ve chosen for her. But when Haven marries a man her family disapproves of, her life is set on a new and dangerous course. Two years later, Haven comes home, determined to guard her heart. And Hardy Cates, a family enemy, is the last person she needs darkening her door or setting her soul on fire.

     WATCH THE SPARKS FLY….

     Filled with Lisa Kleypas’s trademark sensuality, filled with characters you love to hate and men you love to love, Blue-Eyed Devil will hold you captive in its storytelling power as the destiny of two people unfolds with every magical word.

     Listen to an excerpt.

Not one but Two RITA nods Mine Till Midnight.  (Which should win alone with a big long note that they are sorry, so sorry Devil in Winter didn’t win… uh or maybe that is just me?)

And Sugar Daddy

You go girl and best of lucky. Of course win or lose in San Fran, you are already a winner in our books. (funny pun) 

RWA is HARD at work trying to notify the noms and when they are all gotten ahold of the list should go live here. (hmmm or maybe it is live).  And our Harlequin Reporter in THE know is working on gathering all the facts. So hopefully her April news letter will be RITAlicious.

Lawson’s May 2007 review of Sugar Daddy by Lisa Kleypas
Contemporary romance released by St. Martin’s hardcover 6 Mar 07, mmppb 4 Mar 08

Texas: The land of big hair, big oil and big drama. Kleypas brings us a new writing style and a contemporary story in Sugar Daddy.

Liberty Jones doesn’t have much going for her. She lives in a trailer park with her mother.  She’s half Hispanic, and when her mother ends up pregnant, she neglects her school work to help care for her new sister. When her mother suddenly dies, she’s forced to grow up fast and raise her sister as a mother as well as adapt to living in big, bad Houston instead of her hometown of Welcome, Texas.

Liberty also has to forget about her childhood love Hardy Cates, the one boy who was always there to help, but that she could never be with. When he leaves town for his own dreams, Liberty is heartbroken and struggles with her changes in life. Even as she pines for Hardy in her new life in Houston she gets involved with a billionaire who everyone assumes is her sugar daddy, though they forge a lasting friendship.

The story is told in first person, which is hard to do in a romance. Liberty’s voice and tone grow with her over the course of the story, she starts out at fourteen and the book covers the next ten years of her life. She’s observant and willing to change and adapt to her circumstances, which is a good trait to have when your life suddenly changes.

As a born and bred Texan myself though there where parts that were a bit clichéd. The trailer park, living in Houston, the billionaire gets his money through oil, and some of the phrases which are touted as “Texan” are things that I haven’t heard.  But then I avoid Houston like the plague, and they could be more known there than my slice of the Lone Star State.

The two men Liberty falls in love with are strong, believable Texan men, and her choice at the end doesn’t perhaps fit well with the rest of the story, but I feel that she chose the right one in the end. It would have been nice to have more time with Liberty to get to understand her choice a bit better, but everything works out well enough.

Grade: B-

From the back cover:

     SHE’S FROM THE WRONG SIDE OF THE TRACKS.  Liberty Jones has dreams and determination that will take her far away from Welcome, Texas—if she can keep her wild heart from ruling her mind. Hardy Cates sees Liberty as completely off-limits. His own ambitions are bigger than Welcome, and Liberty Jones is a complication he doesn’t need. But something magical and potent draws them to each other, in a dangerous attraction that is stronger than both of them.
 
     HE’S THE ONE MAN SHE CAN’T HAVE. When Hardy leaves town to pursue his plans, Liberty finds herself alone with a young sister to raise. Soon Liberty finds herself under the spell of a billionaire tycoon—a Sugar Daddy, one might say. But the relationship goes deeper than people think, and Liberty begins to discover secrets about her own family’s past.
 
     WILL THEY FIND THEIR HEARTS’ DESIRES OR WILL HEARTBREAK TEAR THEM APART?  Two men. One woman. A choice that can make her or break her. A woman you’ll root for every step of the way. A love story you’ll never forget.

     Read an excerpt.

GUEST AUTHOR:

Lisa Kleypas’s

You Question….

She’ll Answer

Why don’t you ever update your website?

I’m trying to get better about that. Really, I am. But I have two very good reasons, and their ages are 11 and 6. I know that sounds like a convenient excuse, but here’s how I look at it . . . someday they’ll get old enough to rebel and leave the house and go out into the world armed only with whatever I’ve managed to teach them . . . so anytime I have an hour to spare, I can either:

A. Write more

B. Exercise

C. Catch up on bills

D. Clean the trash pit known as my office

E. Spend time with the children.

F. Pay attention to husband

G. Update website

E usually wins. I hardly ever do B or D, and C only when something is about to be turned off. I do A when I’m under a tight deadline, and I do F when my husband and I have a moment alone. Or should I say, “we” do F. Heh heh. And after F, I just never make it to G.

Which of your heroes would you choose for yourself?

That is a difficult question. I love them all. I will always have a special place in my heart for Derek Craven, the hero of “Dreaming Of You,” because he opened the door for me to write more non-aristocratic heroes. Probably the best husband material is Zachary Bronson from “Where Dreams Begin,” and the best guys for a wild and wicked night would either be St. Vincent from Devil in Winter, or Nick Gentry from “Worth Any Price.”

Why don’t you have your first four NAL books reprinted someday?

They’re so different from the books that I’m doing now . . . remember, I started in the days of the bodice-rippers, and I was also too young to approach the subject of relationships with any kind of sophistication. I don’t regret writing those books, because I did my best at the time, and they were steps along the way to where I’ve gotten now. But I would feel terrible if anyone paid her hard-earned money for a book and was disappointed.

Who are your favorite authors?

I try to read a huge variety of books in many genres, not only because I enjoy that, but it also teaches me about writing. But in romance, aside from my brilliant friends the Squawk Radio chicks, I love SEP, JR Ward, Laura Kinsale, the two Judiths (Ivory and McNaught), the two Karens (Hawkins and Moning) and JD Robb.

What’s next?

Mine Till Midnight is my next historical romance, out in October 2007. The tone of it is hard to describe, because it’s dark and sexy but it also has a lot of humor and charm, if I do say so myself.

It features Cam Rohan, the Gypsy character who appears in Devil in Winter- I brought him with me when I came to St Martins *g*. I originally planned my historical books with St Martins to be a continuation of the Wallflower series, but after finishing Cam’s book, I realized it had to be the first of a connected-but-new series.

It has its own kind of energy and quirkiness. Cam falls in love with the oldest sister of the Hathaway family, a group of eccentric siblings.(The brother is an alcoholic, one of the sisters is a kleptomaniac, another is an invalid, and so forth.) It was a lot of fun to see Cam trying to deal with this bunch of crazies!

Not tis your turn… ask anything… well I don’t know about ANYTHING… but hey it is worth a shot

Renee reads DiW

If you still haven’t read THIS do so now. It is a sneak peek at what is being called (at least for now) A Man For All Seasons.

AKA what will be the next historical Lisa Kleypas writes (is writing… whatever).

AKA what will be her FIRST historical with St. Martins Press.

AKA Cam’s story (at least he is the hero) and last but never least aka a new wallflower novel.

and a certain devil shows up…. lets sqqqqqqqeeeee again shall we?

A Scandal in Spring hits stores in August. So it isn’t too long of a wait for a kleypas fix . And then… her first contemp! Sugar Daddy… Yes I know I don’t even LIKE contemporaries that much but hey, it is Lisa Kleypas. Color me a fangirl.