Welcome to Teaser Tuesday, the blog series where I share snippets from past and upcoming releases, and works-in-progress. And occasionally invite writer buddies along for a ride.
Greetings from north Queensland! Yep, I’m up north again and having a ball. You’ll laugh I’m sure but this isn’t a holiday. I’m actually working. Truly-rooly! I’m on a research trip for my next full-length rural romance and spent the weekend at the Bowen River Rodeo and Campdraft, watching the people and events, taking lots of photos and notes, and generally soaking up the atmosphere. Keep your eye out for a This Writing Life photo essay about the trip. I think you’ll enjoy it.
On to Teaser Tuesday business. Did you know that you can purchase my romantic adventure The French Prize in ebook for only $2-99 (Australia and New Zealand only). A bargain! I adore this book. It was such fun to write and who can resist a sexy French soldier hero?
For those of you wondering what happened to The Carlyle Code, the next romantic adventure I’d planned, I haven’t forgotten it I promise. I would love to see that book out but it’s a matter of priorities and right now my rural stories take precedence.
Back to The French Prize… Here’s a small snippet from a scene where the heroine Olivia wakes to find the hero Raimund tooling around with a precious artefact called La Tasse, a relic she’s spent all her life searching for, and the key to finding the mythical sword Durendal.
He seized her shoulders and held her down on the mattress. Olivia attempted to punch him, only to discover her hands were covered in bandages.
‘Olivia, stop. Go back to sleep. There is nothing to fear. We are under no threat at the moment. I promise.’ His voice was soft and even, as though he were talking to a panicky child. It made her furious.
She glared at him. ‘And leave you alone with the cup? Not a chance.’
‘You need sleep.’
‘The only thing I need is the cup. And to get it the hell away from you.’
His grip on her shoulders tightened, his mouth stiffening into a thin hard line. In the low light, Raimund’s dark eyes seemed to smoulder like burning peat. The kind, concerned man was gone. When he spoke, his voice was obdurate, the tone indicating he had no more tolerance for her petty tantrums.
‘La Tasse is mine.’
‘The cup belongs to the world, Raimund. Not just to you.’