Thursday, 1 November 2012
Welcome my good friend and all-round funny girl, Vonnie Davis!!
I am so happy to be hosting one of my favorite romance writers and good friend, Vonnie Davis at my blog today. She is supportive, funny, caring and most of all, pens great characters and stories. She has two new stories to promote--one of which is her first ever historical. I am off to download this one right now!
Over to you, girlfriend!
Rachel, I’m thrilled to talk to your followers about my two releases coming out virtually at the same time. You know me, I love to talk. Thanks for having me as a guest.
I’m a writer who can’t seem to stick to one thing or one sub-genre of romance. I write contemporary, historical, paranormal and romantic suspense. Characters come to me and demand I tell their story—and simply won’t let me alone until I do their bidding.
When The Wild Rose Press’s historical line released its first Love Letters short story, I was captivated by the premise that an unexpected letter might change a person’s life forever. Think of all the ways a letter might arrive? Soon afterward, a tumbleweed rolled across my mental sky, and a storyline was born. Set in Deadwood, Dakota Territory in 1879, this three-sided romance involves a lonely widower, his demanding little boy and a feisty, yet scared heroine.
Here’s the blurb for Tumbleweed Letters:
When rancher and single father Cam McBride finds a letter tucked in a strip of cloth tied to a tumbleweed, he is captivated by the mysterious author. Finding a second tumbleweed letter further pulls him under the lonely writer's spell. He needs a mother for his little boy and a wife to warm his bed. Could this mysterious woman fill his needs?
Sophie Flannigan is alone, scared, and on the run from a rogue Pinkerton agent. She spends her days as a scrub lady at Madame Dora's brothel and her nights writing notes to the four winds. Her life holds little hope until a small boy lays claim to her and his handsome father proposes an advantageous arrangement.
Can these three benefit from a marriage of convenience, or will a determined Pinkerton agent destroy their fragile, newly formed bond?
Now, if you’ll allow me to jerk you forward about a hundred-and-thirty years and plop you into the Louvre in Paris, we’ll talk about book one of my romantic suspense trilogy, MONA LISA’S ROOM.
American art teacher, Alyson Moore, has traveled to Paris to see Da Vinchi’s Mona Lisa, a dream she’s had for a longtime. Alyson is trying to reinvent herself after her divorce. She’s a woman beaten down emotionally, trying to resurrect as a stronger woman. While in Paris, she unwittingly foils a terrorist’s bombing attempt and is put in protective custody of younger, handsome Niko Reynard.
Neither is happy about this turn of events.
Alyson thinks he’s impertinent and too touchy-feely. She hates that he calls her Aly.
Niko wants this uptight American to dress Parisian so she’ll blend. In his opinion, she needs to shed her baggy capris and flip-flops and don dress and heels. The following scene takes place in a shoe store…
Niko perched on the stool at Alyson’s feet, opened the first box and deftly flicked back the tissue paper on a pair of black kidskin pumps with skinny gold looking heels. “It’s rumored Da Vinci invented the high heel.”
He removed her flip-flops and placed her bare foot on his thigh. Warmth from his muscled leg flowed up hers, causing her foot to give an involuntary wiggle.
His gaze lifted to hers and locked. Slowly he slid his hand from her heel up her leg to cup her calf.
Thank God she shaved her legs that morning. “Stop.” The rawness of her voice surprised her. His touch made her very aware of her body, and her body was very aware of him. She couldn’t count the years since she was touched in such a manner—if ever.
Still, it was nice to know she could respond to a man’s touch. Thanks to her ex-husband’s avoidance, she thought herself sexually dead, certainly sexually unappealing.
“High heels do wonders for a woman’s figure, Aly. They make the legs look long and shapely, lift the bottom and make the hips sway.” His hands moved in a descriptive manner while he talked. “They make a woman look sexy and confident. Men’s eyes naturally pivot to a woman in stilettos.” Niko shrugged. “We can’t help it. We are men, after all. Weakened by women.”
Alyson stared at him. Men made weak by women? She’d never heard such talk, especially from a male, a very virile male if looks meant anything. He was gorgeous, arrogant as all get out, but gorgeous just the same.
Niko slipped the shoes onto her feet, stood and extended his hand. “Stand. See how you like the feel.” His gaze focused on hers again and for a second or two, when she looked into his eyes, her world stopped.
She vetoed the four-inch stilettos Niko favored in five painful, toe-pinching steps. Good Lord, a girl could get nosebleeds in those things.
Ten minutes later, Alyson wobbled in front of the cashier ready to pay for the black kidskin three-inch Pradas she wore. As soon as she saw the bow at the back of the heel, she fell in love with the shoes. Gwen called her a “bow freak.” When Niko reached for his wallet, she elbowed him. “Look, as long as they take Visa, I’ll pay for my own shoes.”
“Please, allow me.”
“Absolutely not. I planned on having an expensive birthday meal at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant tomorrow. With all that’s happened today, that plan is ruined, too. So I’m rationalizing since I won’t be paying for my birthday meal, I can pay this ungodly amount for the shoes.”
Niko placed his hand over hers. “I don’t mind. Let me treat you since I goaded you into buying them.”
“Really, that’s not necessary. Even my husband…er…ex-husband never bought me things. I’ve always paid my own way.”
He leaned an elbow on the glass counter and looked at her. “You’re kidding me. He never bought you little surprises? Little treats? A woman like you should be spoiled, treasured—” his voice lowered as he slowly trailed a finger up her arm “—loved often and well.” Merciful heavens, he was trying to seduce her in a shoe store. Gwen would squeal in delight when she told her about this.
“Down, buster. American women are different than French women. We’re not so easily seduced by glib words or smooth moves.”
His eyebrow arched and his demeanor turned insolent. “You think I’m trying to seduce you?”
Typical male. He touched her almost nonstop since they stepped into Minelli’s. Now that she called him on it, he wanted to deny everything. “I think you’re toying with me, seeing if you can make an old, lonely American woman quiver at your feet.”
“First of all, you’re not old. Second, if you’re lonely, that’s your fault. Third, if I wanted to make you quiver—” he leaned in, his lips against her ear “—I damn well could.”
THE WILD ROSE PRESS -- http://bit.ly/TumbleweedLetters
BUY LINKS FOR MONA LISA’S ROOM:
THE WILD ROSE PRESS (digital) -- http://bit.ly/MonaLisaDigital
THE WILD ROSE PRESS (paperback) -- http://bit.ly/MonaLisasRoom
AMAZON (paperback) -- http://amzn.to/QQZGyD
FIND ME ONLINE AT http://www.vonniedavis.com
BLOGGING AT http://www.vintagevonnie.blogspot.com
Posted by Rachel Brimble at 01:14