She interrupts me. I interrupt her. Elle A. Muse is unfortunately not amused…
WHERE SHE BELONGS is now on Apple! Slurpilicious reading for your iPad or iPhone. Smashwords is the only distributor that remains. Will tap you when it’s there.
Also, a “Heads” up to check the blog on Monday. Yes, that’s April Fool’s Day. But I ain’t foolin’.
Two weeks ago, I never thought I’d say this…but one of my books has cracked a Top 100 Kindle Bestseller list! In the Paid Store. As in, people are actually buying my book!
No doubt due to the success of WHERE SHE BELONGS’s run in the Kindle Free store, which went way beyond anything I expected, my Canadian-set romance with a mother-daughter subplot has hit #63 in Women’s Fiction as of about 3 p.m. this afternoon! I’ve received a number of new reviews, which the book was sorely lacking previously, and, for the moment, anyway, I am enjoying a bit of that elusive force authors call “discoverability.” And it feels so sweet!
Originally, I wrote WHERE SHE BELONGS before my romantic comedies and before targeting the erotic romance market as my alter ego, Penny. For the life of me, I could not sell the book to a traditional publisher. At the time, I was targeting category romance publishers, and it didn’t matter how many times I rewrote the book, how many times I pitched it to an editor and received a request, how many months it then sat on an editor’s desk, how many times I eventually received a rejection letter, no matter how positive. At one point, when I had an NYC agent, she told me I had a problem letting go of projects that weren’t working. In other words, books that weren’t selling to traditional markets.
That was way before the Amazon Kindle grew the ebook market exponentially. My former agent had no clue (and neither did I), how the introduction of the Kindle would change reading habits. When I parted ways with that former agent (who is no longer in the business, as far as I know, although the agency she was with remains a strong player in romance), I was already epublished in romantic comedy. Those of us who entered epublishing a dozen years ago fully expected the market to take off. But it didn’t. We thought, maybe next year. But it didn’t. We were all about a decade ahead of the market.
Then, when I thought I had exhausted all possibility of publishing this story, I submitted to one last traditional publisher: the now-defunct Five Star Expressions Women’s Fiction and Romance line from the library press, Five Star/Cengage. The library hardcover edition of WHERE SHE BELONGS came out last December (2011). The publisher was not publishing ebooks at the time I signed the contract, which was over a year before the book came out. So the ebook rights belonged to me (along with the audio rights), but I had to wait a year to put the book out in ebook and/or trade paperback. That twelve months was a long wait.
I don’t know why the library-edition version of the book didn’t sell very well (to libraries, I mean. I know the cost of a hardcover edition is prohibitive to many readers), but, so far, it hasn’t. It was the last Contemporary Romance of the Expressions line. So maybe it got lost in the transition to the publisher deciding only to publish mysteries and romantic suspense. Or maybe that’s just how hard hit libraries have been in the last few years.
Whatever the reason, when I factor in that it’s been well over twenty years since I wrote the first draft of this story, all the markets to which I’ve submitted it, the wonderful experience of selling to Five Star/Cengage, and now experiencing what a little discoverability can do for an author, is it any wonder I am in total awe and over the moon to crack a Top 100 Amazon Bestseller list?
Yesterday, I received a box of trade paperback copies of WHERE SHE BELONGS. And they are gorgeous. The trade paperback is beginning to very slowly sell. However, it’s basically just at Amazon right now. As the extended distribution program I’m working with kicks in, the book will begin to emerge at other venues.
Wait! I just checked, and the trade paperback edition of the book is now on the Barnes and Noble website! And it’s on Amazon Canada, too, although through third-party vendors. However, that means it shouldn’t be too long before the book is available from Amazon Canada without going through the third-party vendors. Yoo-hoo! (That means people who order the paperback from Amazon Canada would be able to get free shipping if their combined order is large enough.)
All very exciting!
It’ll still be a few days until I have time to update the Books pages on my website, so I’m going ahead and posting about the release of Catching Claire, Story 2 in LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES, here—including the blurb, story cover, and an excerpt! Drum roll…
Catching Claire is now available for Kindle, Kobo, on Apple iTunes, Smashwords, and from All Romance Ebooks (a great place to get a PDF, if you don’t have an e-reader)! By the way, Deceiving Derek, Story 1 in the series, is now up at All Romance Ebooks, too!
Smashwords will distribute to NOOK, Sony, and other venues, but it will take a couple of weeks, or more. Unfortunately, as a Canadian, I can not upload directly to Barnes and Noble’s PubIt venue, so if you’re hankering for a copy of Catching Claire in ePub format for your NOOK right away, please visit Smashwords or ARe.
Blurb:
When Claire Merriweather hires hunky future doctor Ridge Pederson to strip at a friend’s bachelorette party, she never imagines she’ll wake up in his bed. Well, she imagines it—but now it’s happened. Big problem: Claire’s memory is fuzzy. Did they do the bouncy? Or did Ridge reject her? Either way…oh-oh, her heart’s in trouble!
Cover by LFD Author Designs:
Excerpt!
Stripping off his clothes in a room full of women was not Ridge Pedersen’s idea of a good time. But how could he refuse when the gigs paid a good portion of his med school bills?
Exiting the elevator, he patted the tiny bag of coins in the pocket of his sleep pants. As he strode toward the apartment building’s laundry, a sour alcohol scent emanated from the basket balanced against his hip. He wrinkled his nose.
Over the last month, riotous bachelorette parties had crammed his summer weekends. Women mauled him, grabbed him, “forgot” to tip him—and sometimes puked on him. Thankfully, the latter hadn’t occurred at tonight’s job, although several women had slugged back oversized drinks comprised of vodka, various liqueurs, and cream. More than once, the petite future bride had offered Ridge a sip from her sticky cup, splashing his cop costume.
Shaking his head at the memory, he shouldered into the laundry room and jerked to a stop. Beside the bulletin board, a curvy brunette shook her booty in a short, purple nightie that did wonders to her thighs. As she danced with her back to him, she curled a messy wave of brown hair behind her ear. A skinny electronics cord dangled from her earlobe, most likely attached to a miniscule music player tucked…somewhere interesting, he hoped.
Wow, she almost made up for tonight’s annoyances.
Almost.
Her singing sucked.
The door slammed shut as Ridge walked past Claire Merriweather’s jiggling butt and set his basket on the first washing machine in the row. Claire had hired him for tonight’s party. However, the reserved tones of her voice mail requesting his services in no way matched her enthusiastic bouncing on spiky sandals. Purple panties peeked from the hem of her lingerie as she danced, and countless straps crisscrossed her spine. Swinging a plastic cup, she cannibalized an upbeat song about kissing girls.
“I copped a feel—hiccup!” she belted in a sharp soprano. “La, la, la, his—hic—nightstick!”
Ridge recognized the side of her head, although not her daring outfit. During his performance in a fourth-floor apartment of the building, she’d remained within his vantage point in the hostess’s kitchen, prepping snacks and mixing drinks. She’d worn totally different clothes then. A conservative blouse and jeans that had nicely hugged her round behind.
How had the girl who’d avoided his gaze while paying him at the door transformed into this out-of-tune sex kitten?
Her glass swung again. The creamy concoction sloshed onto the scuffed linoleum beside a humming dryer.
Ridge’s mouth quirked. Naturally. The booze.
“Hello,” he called.
Her eyes fluttered half-open. Poking her tiny earphone, she bastardized the song again.
“Hello!” Ridge walked toward her, banging the washers. Her gaze riveted to the bulletin board.
He frowned. Didn’t she realize her vulnerable position? A woman alone in the unlocked laundry donned in lacy nightwear placed herself in unnecessary danger. Any loser—not him—could waltz in and see her.
Take advantage of her.
Attack her—
She licked an ad on the flyer-infested bulletin board.
Licked it!
Narrowing his gaze, Ridge stopped directly behind her. She tongued the ad a second time. His ad. For his stripping business.
Nine of the original thirteen detachable paper strips inscribed with his cell phone number hung from the glossy eight-by-ten. Butchering the pop song, Claire Merriweather tore off every last slip. Giggling, she stuffed them into her top.
Ridge rolled his eyes. In the color photo adorning the flyer, he wore the navy policeman costume she’d specified for the party. Stainless steel handcuffs dangled from his thick black belt while he gripped a strategically positioned nightstick. The intentional visual had netted him a generous profit as one of two part-time summer jobs. Under other circumstances, Claire’s thievery might flatter him. But registration for second-year med school occurred in a week.
Nobody messed with his tuition money.
He stepped within an inch of her. “Excuse me?” Voice hard, he tapped her shoulder.
Shrieking, she jumped. Her drink winged out of the cup, drenching the flyer. One of her ear buds popped out, the white cord swaying.
Ridge, you idiot. What on earth was he thinking, scaring the pants off her?
“Sorry.” Grasping her shoulders, he turned her around. “I hit the washers to catch your attention—”
“It’s you!” Green eyes wide, she thumped the empty cup onto the droning dryer. “My cop-a-feel!” She threw her arms around his neck. Her full breasts crushed the loose T-shirt covering his chest, and the sweet aroma of Irish Cream drifted from her lips.
Ridge pushed her away and held her there. Not that he didn’t appreciate her enthusiasm. In fact, certain parts of his body appreciated it too much.
“You were at the party tonight,” he reminded her in case her neurons had misfired. “You hired me for your friend, Tanya. I danced with her. In Alicia Maxwell’s apartment. Remember?”
A loopy grin plastered Claire Merriweather’s face. “I wouldn’t exactly say I hired you for Tanya.” The papers advertising his cell number fluttered in her top. The purple nightie—babydolls, that was it—had wide shoulder straps and lacy stuff that nipped at her waist and flared at her hips. He liked the tiny white bows along the hem. He liked the large bow centered on her cleavage even better. But…
Up close, on a wildness scale of one to ten, Claire’s outfit rated a three. The neckline didn’t plunge, and the skirt concealed her butt—when she wasn’t bouncing around. The papers jutting from her top and the dangling music cord lent her the appearance of a disorganized cat burglar on a midnight heist.
“Oh yeah, you hired me for Tanya,” Ridge stated. “She’s the bride.”
Claire’s dimples flashed. “You look like Demi Moore’s ex.”
Ridge squinted. “Bruce Willis?”
“No, silly. The young one. Don’t you—hic—twit?”
“What? Oh, you mean tweet.”
“Uh-huh. Twit.” She lifted a finger, and his grip on her slackened. “Soshul networking. Ash-hic has an account.” She nodded sagely. “You should sign up. You’d get a ton more calls.”
Ridge grunted. “If you hadn’t destroyed my ad, I’d get calls the conventional way.”
Her eyebrows wiggled. “You pack quite a package, Ridge.” Her gaze traveled to his pajama pants, which he wore commando.
His jaw firmed. May lightning strike me dead. Now. I’ll donate my body to science.
Two weeks ago, when Claire had hired him over the phone, her voice had sounded professional. Sensible. They’d discussed his rates and arrival time at Alicia Maxwell’s apartment, the duration and heat level of his performance. He had no problem flirting and stripping to a leather G-string, but drew the line at mimicking sex with the guest of honor.
In tonight’s case, Tanya, Claire’s friend.
He released her shoulders. Her hands whipped under his T-shirt. Jesus! Her palms skated over his pecs and abs. His pajama pants ran the risk of tenting in an energetic salute.
“Make love with me,” she murmured.
“Stop.” Grabbing her wrists, Ridge flipped her hands back out. “Claire. I don’t know what you think I’m advertising—” other than the party dances “—but I will not sleep with you.”
“Aw.” She pouted. “Not even if I tip you?”
“Especially not then.”
She blinked. “What’s wrong with me?”
“I don’t pick up drunk women.” Actually, between the med school grind and grabbing whatever work fit his busy schedule, he hadn’t gotten laid in longer than he cared to consider.
“I’m not drunk,” Claire enunciated very clearly. Her bleary eyes signified otherwise.
“It doesn’t matter.” Ridge released her wrists.
“You won’t take me home?” She wobbled on her sandals. “No one ever takes me home. No one says I’m beautiful. Everybody thinks I’m fat. No one loves me. Everyone loves Tanya. Everyone loves Lacey. Some people even love Alicia. But I’m unlovable!”
“You’re not unlovable. And you’re definitely not fat.” Why did women think all men wanted to date human pogo sticks?
“If I were five-seven and had great boobs, then would you have sex with me?”
Ridge trained his gaze on her face. “You do have great boobs.” From what he’d noticed moments ago.
“You’re not looking at them. You’re not feeling them.” Flinging her arms in the air, she launched herself at him. “Catch!”
Instinctively, Ridge’s hands shot up. Her rack landed in his palms. Oops.
“There.” Her loopy smile returned. “Now tell me they aren’t great.”
“I never said they weren’t great.” Damn, they felt amazing. Spilling over his fingers. Firm yet soft. Perfection.
Don’t look down.
He looked down. His thumb edged the center bow, his fingers pressing the paper strips lining her bare skin above the modest neckline.
Look back up, Pederson. Don’t you dare squeeze these babies. Not even once.
She slumped against him. Ridge stumbled back a step as her temple knocked his chin and her head sagged onto his shoulder. Her arms flopped at his sides.
“Claire?” He glanced at her face.
Her mouth had slackened with sleep, her eyes sealed shut.
Damn it.
She’d passed out with her hot knockers filling his hands. What the hell did he do now?
Want It? Buy Links!
I’m taking a break following lunch at the NINC Conference to pop over and announce that Deceiving Derek, Story 1 in LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES, is now available on Kindle, Kobo, Apple iTunes and Smashwords. Smashwords will eventually distribute to NOOK and Sony, but if you can’t wait you can pick up an ePub edition from Smashwords to read on your NOOK or Sony e-reader.
Because I’m away from my lovely desktop computer with all the power, I am unable to update my website Books pages, so I thought I’d share the cover, story blurb, and an excerpt here.
Blurb:
Lingerie designer Lacey DeMarco livens up her life by finagling an unsuspecting police detective into attending a funky bridal shower. She needs one last item to complete a scavenger hunt list, and handsome cop Derek McAllister is it. But a little trickery is at work. Both Lacey and Derek are being hoodwinked…in the name of love.
Cover by LFD Author Designs:
Excerpt!
“Someone’s stealing my underwear! I need to find out who!”
Arching an eyebrow at the indignant female voice, Detective Derek McAllister raised his gaze from his computer screen. Hello. A slim blonde in a slinky red dress stood on the other side of his desk in Rosewood’s police station. Sparks radiated from the woman’s blue eyes as she dangled a scarlet G-string inches from his nose. Her hand jerked. The scrap of silk flipped off her fingertip, bonking his Mariners coffee mug and plopping onto his notebook.
Derek glanced at the front counter. Both Biggs, the balding desk sergeant, and Harding, a lanky patrol officer who shadowed Biggs like a starved-for-attention sidekick, looked back at Derek and chortled. Biggs twirled a finger near one cauliflower ear, mouthing, “Craaazy.”
Like Derek needed Biggs to tell him. Thanks a lot, boneheads. Sending me the kook, huh?
Both uniforms were working the night shift. Although Derek had reported a slow afternoon, there was still plenty to do before the bars closed and mid-July crap hit the fan. For instance, Harding. Instead of chuckling over the Funnies, the dope could be checking parks and alleys. And Biggs…rather than playing Sudoku and flirting with the female clerk, the guy could at least check email.
“Well?” The blonde at Derek’s desk stared him down. “Are you going to shuffle me off like they did—” she flicked a hand toward Biggs and Harding “—or take me seriously?” Her golden hair shimmered beneath the bright lights in feathery layers.
Hell, why not? Elbows on his desk, Derek hunched forward in his swivel chair. Taking initial theft reports wasn’t his responsibility. His job was to investigate. However, he sensed frazzled nerves beneath the woman’s righteous ire. And, considering the nature of her complaint…
He wanted to get a good sense of the problem and who she was so he wouldn’t need to do a second interview later. If kook-job poured off her in bucketfuls, he’d rather pacify her and escort her safely home than subject her to potential ridicule by directing her back to the guys up front. Sending her away to roam the Seattle suburb in her current state of agitation was out of the question.
Derek calmly eyed the G-string. He slipped a pen beneath a lacy strap and lifted the lingerie as carefully as if he were handling a piece of forensic evidence.
“Is this the underwear in question, ma’am?” he asked.
Her chin tipped up. “I’m a Miss. Miss DeMarco.” Her blue gaze darted away a moment. “No, that’s not the underwear I’m talking about. That underwear isn’t missing. Is it, Detective?”
That depends on whether you’re wearing any. Derek stifled the urge to lean across the desk and check the presence or absence of panty lines beneath her luscious red dress. “All right, then. What underwear of yours is missing?” A question he certainly hadn’t anticipated asking upon his return to the station. On a seedy street corner, maybe.
“My lingerie designs. The prototype samples.” The blonde snatched back the G-string. “This thong is a prototype, too, but thankfully the thief didn’t nab it.”
“Are you sure it was a thief?” Derek still had panty lines on the brain.
“Yes, Detective McAllister,” Miss DeMarco said with strained patience. “You are Detective Derek McAllister, right? That’s the name she—I mean, the men at the counter gave me.”
Derek arrowed a glance to the desk. Biggs, looking back again, rolled his eyes. Harding scratched his stomach and snickered.
“They would be right.” Derek tapped the cheap brass nameplate beside his computer. Miss DeMarco’s nervous gaze tracked the movement.
Her shoulders squared. “Well, Detective McAllister, usually when there’s a burglary, there’s a thief involved. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Yep. Usually, I would.” Unless she’d imagined the whole thing. Anxiety hopped off her slender curves like ants attacking a sugar bowl. Maybe she was paranoid. What a shame.
She hoisted a gigantic shopping bag off the floor. Derek’s lips tugged into a smile as she plunked the bag onto his desk, dug inside, and pulled out a skimpy lingerie top. She tossed the G-string—pardon him, thong—and pink lingerie onto the desk, then rummaged through the bag again.
“Damn it, I wanted to make sure he—I’m pretty sure the thief is a he—didn’t steal more samples, so I grabbed as many as possible before catching the bus over.” Out flew blue underwear and a yellow slip thing. “Trouble is, these prototypes take up so much room I’m having trouble finding my wallet.” The shopping bag coughed up a purple bra and some flimsy, pale green panties.
Derek put down his pen. “Don’t worry about the wallet.” Did she think she had to pay him?
“I see it!” She continued emptying the bag until an explosion of frothy colors littered his desk, reminding him of his twin sister Janie’s rooftop garden after her ex-boyfriend broke her heart and she’d weed-whacked every blossom formerly planted in honor of their love.
It occurred to him Janie would like Miss DeMarco. He could visualize the two of them whacking blossoms together.
“Ah ha!” The blonde produced a slim wallet. A cell phone clattered out of the bag, bouncing across the lingerie and clunking his jar of pens. Amid the chaos, she opened the wallet, withdrew a business card, and handed it to him.
A flowery script on creamy stock announced: Lacey’s Little Underthings. Lacey DeMarco, President and Head Designer.
“Lacey?” Derek muttered. “Give me a break.” Yeah, she’s a wing-nut.
A blush stained her face. “That’s right, Lacey DeMarco. My mother, Cather—uh, Christina DeMarco, is the famous lingerie designer out of Milan. My sister is Silken and my brother is Teddy. My mother believes in theme names.”
“Does she now?” Placing aside the card, Derek pressed down another smile. He’d never heard of Christina DeMarco. Or Cather-uh DeMarco. “Look, I need to understand the situation. If someone’s stealing your underwear, what’s all this?” He sifted his fingers through the pile.
She gazed at the heap. “This is…what’s left. What I’ve rescued.”
“Mm-hm. From the culprit, you mean?”
“Yes.” Her voice rose. “This hasn’t been stolen. Yet.” She stuffed the cell phone and lingerie back into the bag.
Derek picked up the green panties and studied the inside label. Well, lookee here. The hand-stitched label read Lacey’s Little Underthings, like her business card. Maybe his sexy wing-nut was on the up-and-up.
“Okay.” He tossed her the panties, which she caught with surprising deftness. “Please sit.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. On his computer, he saved the grid he’d drafted showing a week of vehicle thefts. “Tell me what happened,” he said as he logged out of the computer and reached for his notepad.
She remained standing. “I’d rather tell you on the way over.” She shoved the wadded panties into the bag.
“The way over where?”
“My place.”
“Your place?”
“My design studio—it’s in my apartment. That’s where the theft occurred. Don’t you want to inspect the scene of the crime?”
“I’d rather take notes first.”
Her eyebrows high-jumped. “I don’t have time! I never know when he might strike again. He’s already plundered me twice!”
Derek chuckled. “The panty thief?”
“The corporate panty raider,” Lacey returned in an uppity tone he swore she employed to disguise her obvious jitters. Because, if her dress was anything to go by, she didn’t look the uppity type. “Lacey’s Little Underthings is a legitimate company, Detective McAllister. I’ve produced my business card. I demand your respect.”
Derek tapped the pad against his palm. Finishing the vehicle theft grid could wait. While he didn’t buy into Lacey’s business-card definition of respect, she deserved his attention and protection as much as any other Rosewood citizen. Even if he wasn’t technically on-duty.
“Just a minute,” he told her. He got up and strode to the counter. “Harding. I need a ride-along. You available?”
“Sorry.” The guy plunked on his hat. “Just got a call.”
Biggs backed away, hands raised. “I need to write a report.”
Derek nodded. Typical.
He glanced back at Lacey. She stood at his desk, clenching the shopping bag and nibbling her lip.
He drew in a breath. Okay, then. He’d poke around her design studio, call in the crime scene techs if necessary. Volunteer an hour of his time toward her peace of mind, tops.
He motioned her over. “Not to worry, Miss DeMarco. I’d be happy to take a look.”
Want it? Buy Links!
I’m working on copy edits for Deceiving Derek, Story 1 in LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES. The story should be available this month! In the meantime, I’ve received the cover for Catching Claire, Story 2 in the series. Yes, Catching Claire features a laundry-room scene. So this cover is perfect. Another winner from LFD Designs for Authors!
You want a blurb, you say? Sorry, I haven’t written it yet! I am working on the blurb for Deceiving Derek, though. So have no fear, when I update my Books pages, the blurbs will magically appear.
This month I’m Indie-publishing the first of two romantic comedy short stories in a five-part series called LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES. The series follows a group of friends in a fictional Seattle suburb called Rosewood. The series starts with the bachelorette party in Deceiving Derek and will end with the wedding of one of the secondary characters from the first story.
Deceiving Derek has been previously published (whereas the remaining four stories in the series will be Indie originals), and so I’ve taken the opportunity to update it technology-wise and also revise it both to reflect changes in my writing style and also because the hero, Derek McAllister, is a police detective and I wanted to make sure I nailed his character to the best of my ability. I had a great research resource in the form of a writer I’ve critiqued with over the years, but because geography can make a difference I also took the opportunity to pick the brains of a resource in Lynwood (near Seattle) and most especially a very helpful detective with the Edmonds Police Department, also near Seattle. All three resources were invaluable, and of course any errors or, ahem, fictional liberties are my own.
Deceiving Derek first appeared on the website of the first publisher of HEAD OVER HEELS. Later, before epublishing took off, I sold the story to another small epublisher, who sold maybe 11 copies from their website over a period of seven months. The Kindle was getting introduced just when that small epublisher went under. I began to wonder if this story was cursed.
Then I was offered another contract to publish the story—from a traditional epublisher that is still around and has published a lot of books. I decided not to accept that offer, because I wanted to retain audio rights to the story and the publisher, while they did not have plans to release the story in audio at the time, wanted to contract those rights for the possible future. And so I declined, and the story sat on my hard drive.
Will it ever release in audio? What inspired me to take this story and develop it into a series? You’ll have to stay tuned to this blog!
For now, Deceiving Derek will see life again as an ebook, and once I’m finished writing the series, perhaps also in a print anthology (depending on the eventual length of the series). I’m very excited to get it out there again, especially in its new incarnation. But I need to learn formatting first, so the release date is still a couple of weeks off.
In the meantime…drum roll…I love this cover designed by the talented Dara England of LFD Designs for Authors. It totally captures the romantic comedy mood with some winky-winky flair.
What do you think?