Welcome to Teaser Tuesday where I share snippets from new and past releases and works-in-progress and occasionally twist the arms of author buddies to do the same.
Newcastle is in rev-head mode. The V8 Supercars Championship hits town this week and with an anticipated 150,000 visitors arriving the place will be rocking. Not my thing but even I have to admit the track makes for some spectacular images of Newcastle. The circuit runs through historic Newcastle East, and includes slides past Newcastle and Nobbys Beaches and a pit straight that runs parallel to the harbour.
Spectacular indeed but also where we walk each morning and, come Wednesday, won’t be so easy to access. That’s okay. We’ll simply swap our trundle to further down the coast. As they say, a change is as good as a holiday and I’ll get to swap hellos with new morning walkers and joggers. Fingers crossed for dolphins, seals and whales too. Spotting any one of those makes my day.
Which leads me to… um… nothing book-related at all!
So lets have a snippet from my romantic adventure The French Prize in which its hero, the very staid and stoic Raimund, surprises the heroine Olivia with a moment of levity.
In a car.
Well, lookie at that. I managed to relate it back to the Supercars after all. *claps self on back*
Enjoy!
Aix-en-Provence was bustling with produce-laden locals. Thursday was one of the main market days and Olivia knew finding a park would be nigh on impossible.
Raimund crawled around the périphérique, his eyes sweeping the side streets for a parking place. After two unproductive laps, one appeared near the end of Rue d’Italie, a short walk from the museum. Olivia watched in envy as he manoeuvred the car into a park into which she would have had to have been lifted by crane.
The day before, with the assistance of a retired Legionnaire who owed him several favours, he had returned the Clio to the gîte and retrieved another car from a property near Narbonne. The car, he had explained on the drive into Aix, was registered under the name of yet another indebted ex-soldier, which he hoped would prove difficult to link to him.
She had pointed out that the make was disguise enough. No sane person would expect a man of his height to drive a tiny Peugeot coupé-convertible. With the roof up, Raimund had to hunch over to drive.
‘But it is sexy, non?’ he had said, his French accent deliberately emphasised.
Grab your copy of The French Prize today, available in print and ebook from your favourite retailers, including:
Kobo | iBooks | Google Play
If you’d like to learn more about The French Prize or read how I came to write the novel, please visit its book page on this website.
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