It's a Party: Rachel Got the Contract! Celebration Blog Hop

It's a Party!

May 15-19

Congratulations to one of my best friends and favorite writing partner, Rachel Van Dyken! She was offered a four book contract with Grand Central Publishing for The Bet duo and her Eagle Elite duo. I am so excited for her! She deserves every bit of those accolades.

If you haven't read them yet, what are you waiting for? Here's a little info about the two books that already available:

The Bet

"I have a proposition for you..."

Kacey should have run the minute those words left Seattle millionaire Jake Titus's mouth. Instead, she made a deal with the devil in hopes of putting her past behind her once and for all.

Four days.

She could do four days!

But she wasn't counting Jake’s older brother Travis being there to witness their farce of an engagement.

One thing is for certain.

One brother is right for her.

One wants a lifetime.

And one is in league with the devil.

She should have gotten Jake’s signature in blood.

Elite

When I won the annual Eagle Elite College Scholarship lottery, I was thrilled. After all, my grandma had just died and I wanted to take care of my aging grandpa — he couldn't be a farmer in Wyoming forever. And graduating from Eagle Elite meant opportunity.

But I wasn't counting on meeting Nixon.

Nor was I counting on the rules of the Elect.

1. Do not touch The Elect.

2. Do not look at The Elect.

3. Do not speak to The Elect.

And worst of all? Don't discover the secret they hide, because in the end, you may just realize... it's about you.

You can find these and Rachel's entire list of books for sale on these sites:

Amazon  Barnes and Noble

Be sure to check out the four books she and I co-authored. They're my favorite (but I might be a little biased.)

As long as you're in the market for a good read, allow me to suggest:

All We See or Seem

Gryff’s orders lay unopened on the table.

The silent tension caused Gem to bite her lip. She tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear and shifted uneasily in the chair. Wide-eyed, Gryff sat stiffly beside her, regarding the envelope. He was like a statue—hands on his knees—staring interminably at the table.

Finally, Gem cleared her throat. Gryff jolted as if in a daze and turned to look at her. A look of uncertainty hung in his eyes. She swallowed the dry, sticky taste in her mouth and reached for his hand. It felt cold…clammy. Gem could feel the faint tremor of his fear radiating through his fingers. She took Gryff's hand between her own and squeezed, trying to infuse heat and reassurance at the same time.

"Sometimes they come back," Gem's voice was barely a whisper. It was a feeble attempt, but she was grasping at straws here.

Everyone knows.

They don't come back. Never whole, anyway.

All We See or Seem is a mild sci-fi, coming of age romance. Check it out!

Amazon   Barnes and Noble

Wanna free book? Leave me a comment below and I will enter you to win one of three giveaways. Your choice of any one of my ebooks, including those co-authored with Rachel Van Dyken! Make sure to leave me an email so I can contact you about your free book.

Next up on the Blog Hop: Another amazing author and friend (who happens to also be Rachel's sister), Kristin Vayden!

Need to find your way back to the blog hop list? Here you go!

Releasing This Thursday!

Don't miss the sequel to USA Today Bestseller, 

Waltzing with the Wallflower!

Anthony's story:

FROM THE COVER:

Driven to distraction by the redhead across the room, Anthony Benson barely hears the terms of his brother’s challenge before agreeing to them.

No matter. It will be easy. Viscount Maddox has never had any problem impressing the ladies. And four weeks is more than enough time to win over this so obviously neglected wallflower.

But things are never as easy as they seem.

The lady has lofty aspirations. And not one of them includes love or marriage. Especially not with an arrogant and self-assured playboy like the viscount. No matter how attractive he may be.

****

For a sneak peek at the new cover art for Beguiling Bridget and other inside information, "like" Waltzing with the Wallflower on Facebook.

Meet & Greet: Lady Gemma

Lady Gemma Reynolds

daughter of the Duke of Fraley

The beautiful and talented Gemma Reynolds is as straight-laced as they come. She quotes the etiquette book in her spare time. And though her goal in life is marriage, she is scared to death to be alone with a man. Propriety is very important to her.

Her parents and brother are over-protective of her, and raised her to be conscious of the appearance of everything she does and says. If there is even a hint of impropriety, Gemma becomes faint.

This is why her friendship with Bridget is such a puzzle. However, they do seem to balance each other out. Gemma holds Bridget back from jumping off the ledge and plunging into complete scandal, while Bridget encourages Gemma to step outside her comfort zone every once in awhile.

When bumbling Sir Colin Wilde focuses his attentions on uptight Lady Gemma, the result is sometimes funny—sometimes sad. Sometimes it is downright improper...and Lady Gemma doesn't know what to do with that.

Sweet Saturday: Anthony & Bridget

It would accomplish two tasks at once. And Bridget was nothing if not efficient. Yes, she agreed to help the viscount. But not for his sake.

Her benefits would far outweigh the drawbacks of spending time in the company of his acute arrogance. Her aunt and uncle would no longer find need to scrutinize her every move at a social event. More importantly, the viscount had vowed to keep his advances to himself. Bridget was assured she had nothing to fear from constant assaults on her resolve to keep her virtue intact. And God help her, it was disintegrating in leaps and bounds every time he touched her.

After the dance with Sir Wilde, Bridget made her way back to where her aunt sat in predatory anticipation of her next quarry. The woman’s gaze scoured the gentlemen, seeking out the weakest of the herd. It made Bridget’s stomach turn. And she was at a loss at how her aunt’s blatant disregard for propriety could go so unnoticed amongst the ton. And then there was poor Uncle Ernest, who was a kind but preoccupied man, completely oblivious to his wife’s indiscretions.

As she grew closer, Aunt Latissia regarded her with suspicion. “You’re very cozy with Viscount Maddox this evening.” Her rapacious glance back at Lord Maddox was hardly veiled. “Are you certain you wish to have your name linked with such as he?”

“Are you displeased, my lady? I was under the impression you believed him a worthy companion,” Bridget said with a hint of irony. Aunt Latissia’s sharp look told her the point was not lost on her, but in that moment Uncle Ernest approached, cutting off the vicious scolding sure to come.

“Bridget. My lady,” he addressed them, kissing his wife’s proffered hand. “How do you find the dancing this evening?”

“It’s lovely, Uncle,” Bridget answered.

“I do believe our young charge has finally found someone worthy of her attention, my lord,” Latissia said with concealed bitterness.

“That’s wonderful, my dear! Who is our lucky young gentleman?” Uncle Ernest was fairly bursting with pleasure at the news.

Bridget knew that neither of her guardians were so concerned with her happiness as they were regaining their freedom from the responsibility bestowed on them on her behalf.

“Lord Maddox,” her aunt answered. “But I don’t know if that is a match I can approve of—”

“Nonsense!” the earl interrupted. “It is an excellent match, and we shall do our part to encourage this courtship, my dear! You know his reputation and influence. We could do no better short of the royal family!”

“Of course, my lord. I thought only of our sweet niece’s delicate sensitivities when it comes to living under the scrutiny of the ton. And the viscount has a way of drawing attention as you know…”

Bridget knew her aunt’s objections had more to do with her futile hopes to seduce the viscount for herself, and far less to do with any sense of what Bridget’s desires may be.

Her uncle shook his head resolutely. “This is an excellent match. And we will encourage it.” With that, he kissed his wife’s hand once again, bowed briefly to Bridget, and made his way to the gentleman’s lounge.

As he left them, Lady Latissia concealed her wrath under a thin veil of pleasantries. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Very well. Lord Maddox it is. Be sure to smile, my dear. Your usual glower will do nothing to entice his lordship to seek your hand.”

“Aunt, I don’t think—” Bridget began.

“You heard your uncle. We will encourage it. It is your job to secure a husband, my dear. Do not let your grandmother down.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

Sweet Saturday: Trial and Error

Already Bridget was relieved her aunt had taken ill that afternoon. Since she was unable to accompany her to the dinner party, Bridget had come with her dear friend Gemma Reynolds. The freedom from her aunt’s heavy-handed scrutiny of Bridget’s every move, as well as the lack of formal dancing, gave Bridget liberty to avoid hiding in corners from unwelcome attempts at forcing her to participate.

She sat chatting with Gemma and her brother, waiting for the entertainments to begin. Gemma was slated to play the piano forte later this evening after dinner, a talent that escaped Bridget, but she did enjoy listening to her friend’s mastery of the instrument.

Bridget had known Gemma for many years. Many times they had been mistaken for sisters, because their hair was the same brilliant shade of crimson—though Bridget had often wished she could trade her wild insubordinate curls for a satin smooth mane like Gemma’s.

Ever since her mother’s death and Bridget had come to live with her father’s family in London—though the man himself had abandoned both Bridget and her mother when she was but a child—Gemma and Bridget had been in constant company and loved one another like sisters. But Gemma’s aspirations were toward marriage nowadays, so her subjects of choice in conversation held little interest for Bridget.

Therefore it was little wonder that Bridget was only half-listening to the discussion of the announced betrothal between Count Belvedere and Miss Violet Jasper, when her friend stopped talking mid-sentence and anchored her gaze on the archway behind Bridget.

“Sweet heavens…Sin just walked through the door,” Gemma whispered in ironic reverence.

As Bridget twisted in her chair to see what was affecting her friend so, Gemma rested a hand on Bridget’s to stay her, stopping her from turning wholly around.

And something in Gemma’s urgency caused Bridget to stiffen in purest dread, when her friend added, “Oh! I may swoon! He's approaching us!”

“The devil you say!”

“He comes at this very moment!”

If the sudden chill prickling along her spine was any indication, Bridget was certain that the Sin her friend was rendered paralyzed by at this moment was none other than Viscount Maddox, and he stood directly behind her, a beautiful smile spread across his smug face. How did he know she would be here? Well, she was not going to gift him the satisfaction of knowing she could sense his presence. That would be just what he wanted.

“Holy Moses, no man should have a smile like that,” Gemma said just under her breath.

Bridget rolled her eyes, but had to grudgingly agree. His smile could melt the ice off a polar bear’s tail.

"Lady Bridget, a word?"

Gemma’s mouth gaped, betraying her shock.

Bridget stood before turning around, giving herself time to steel her nerves against the onslaught of his overwhelming male ego. At least he came by it honestly. The viscount truly was carved like a Greek god. But she had no intention of allowing it to affect her. She has other interests—other pursuits, and—

“My buttons, they make a handsome couple,” Gemma’s brother said loud enough for all to hear. Gemma jabbed him in the ribs with a deep frown.

How does one unring a bell?

“Ah, Lord Maddox. Speak of the devil and he appears—what an unlikely surprise.”

“You were speaking of me?” His beguiling smile stretched wider across his marble features.

“Hmm…if I recall correctly, we spoke of sin, and yes, I believe the devil was mentioned.” His smile waned to its usual irritating level. The golden corona of his brilliant green eyes seemed to catch the candlelight and sparkle at her. No. Bridget wouldn’t let him convince her. She was no trophy to be won. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?

Sweet Saturday: Anthony's Story

“Dance with her!” Cordelia ordered Anthony, poking him square in the chest with her gloved hand.

“Cordelia, you’re making a scene!” He cursed and felt the heat of embarrassment spread down his neck.

“I swore I would revere the day I saw my brother blush!” Ambrose’s solo applause brought Anthony a renewed sense of ill will towards his twin brother, which must have registered on his face. “Well done, my dear. Anthony looks quite put out.”

“I assure you, I am fine.” Anthony cleared his throat to mask his indignation.

Just then Wilde approached the group. “Has he worked up his nerve yet, or are we still in the coaxing stage?” Traitor.

“Still coaxing,” Ambrose and Cordelia answered in unison. Ambrose gave his wife a wink and pulled her far too close. Anthony knew they were happy, but must they flaunt it before him?

Anthony glanced towards the lady in question once more. She was lovely. Perhaps the finest he had seen in quite some time. Her dark red hair framed her fair face in delicate ringlets, and the blue of her gown set her eyes off like brilliant sapphires. He felt Ambrose watching him and turned back to his brother.

He had that dangerous look, as if a plan were forming in his mind as he spoke. “Say, Anthony?”

“What?” The crazed glint in his brother’s eyes disturbed him, but he trained his own gaze on the girl by the plants again, feigning boredom.

“Would you agree that every Season, you are approached by several women for little dalliances?”

“Yes.” It would do no good to ignore him.

“Would you also agree that you’re one of the most sought after bachelors in the ton?”

Beside him, Wilde cursed. “I’ll answer that for you. Just this morning in the park a girl cried when he picked up her fallen hat.”

“Perfect,” Ambrose said. “Do you believe you could make any woman fall in love with you then, Anthony? Or have you lost your touch?”

Oh, so that was what this was about. Anthony couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his lips. He did have an enviable touch when it came to the gentler sex.

“Not that it matters, but yes I do believe that.” Anthony smoothed out his jacket with pride. He could have any woman eating out of his hand within minutes of an introduction. Yes, he was that good. His prowess had never once been disputed.

“Any girl?”

“To be certain.” Anthony thought the line of questioning ridiculous. His brother knew his talent better than anyone else in the world. Wilde appeared to be mumbling a prayer heavenward. Strange. Praying a fraction of Anthony’s charms be bestowed on him no doubt.

“And you’re willing to wager you could accomplish this in say… four weeks?”

“Yes.” Anthony nodded. This discussion was growing tiresome. The view was nice though. The girl’s ruby lips were drawn into a tight pout. She turned her head to address someone over her shoulder. Was that a hint of fire in her eyes? Her apparent spirit intrigued him, and he found himself wishing his present conversation would end, so he could obtain an introduction to his newest conquest.

“Shake my hand, Anthony,” Ambrose ordered.

Anthony reached out and shook his hand. A sudden realization struck him. What did he just give his consent to? He cursed under his breath.

Ambrose grinned. “What was that?”

“Did I just agree to a bet?”

“Yes, and guess who I’m choosing.”

Anthony closed his eyes. “I don’t want to guess. I want to go back in time and slap myself before I accepted the terms.”

“Not possible. Do you see that girl over there? The one you’ve been salivating over for the past ten minutes while you handed over your life to me on a silver platter?”

Anthony cursed again.

“You haven’t called me that in ages!” Ambrose slapped him on the back. “Her. You must make her fall in love with you in four weeks’ time. Good luck!”

“Why do I feel like this is going to go terribly wrong?” Wilde muttered.

“Or,” Cordelia said as she kissed Ambrose on the cheek. “It could go terribly right.”

“Yes… yes, it could.” Ambrose leaned down and kissed his wife full on the mouth. “After all, it’s just a bet.” Why did they have to do that in public?

Cordelia giggled as she swatted at her husband with her reticule. “Who knows where it will lead?”

“Probably somewhere near the potted plants.” He pointed as the lady in question stepped behind the large plant.

Anthony rolled his eyes in disgust and walked away. His brother’s words faded as the great hall filled with music. It hardly seemed like a fair bet. The girl hadn’t danced all evening. This would be a piece of cake for a devil may care charmer like himself.

Being the Wallflower

When I was in second grade I used to get in trouble for talking in class. Apparently, I was so social the teacher felt I needed to be removed from temptation. She moved my desk behind the book shelf.

Those of you who know me will probably have difficulty believing this to be true. But it is.

Somewhere along the way I swung that pendulum to the other extreme and became so dreadfully shy that it was difficult for me to carry on a normal conversation with anyone I didn't know. And even if I did know you, if anyone else was around who could hear me talking, I probably wouldn't.

In the classroom, I would have to leave the room to collect myself and get a drink of water before attempting to give a speech. I know, I know. Why did I ever become a teacher?

When I met my husband for the first time I was a Christmas party with one person I knew and about ten others I didn't. I sat hiding behind the food table away from everyone because I was nervous about talking to anyone. My friend had to physically drag me into the living room to socialize.

My husband is the opposite of me. He talks nonstop. So he started the conversation (obviously I wasn't going to do it): "So, do you go to school with Amy?"

I responded with... *insert drum roll here* "No."

It didn't occur to me that it was still my turn to talk. After all, I had answered the question. I should be done. It's somebody else's turn. Right?

Nobody else seemed to agree with me. Three pairs of eyes stared at me expectantly--Amy's, her mother's, and this guy's. A sudden fear shot through me when I realized they wanted me to say something else. Naturally the words tangled up on my tongue making it impossible to structure a cohesive sentence, but eventually I stammered out, "I go to school in Florida."

Lucky for me, my husband doesn't really need my participation in order to carry on a complete conversation. So he prattled on for the next couple of hours, asking the occasional question and eventually wearing down my social defenses. What was I to do? I married him.

Being shy is a bit of a handicap. It's difficult for someone to get to know me at first, and only the persistent make the cut. Not because I'm exclusive, mind you, but because I need a little coaxing out of my shell. Ask my husband. Ask any one of my good friends. I hope they say it's worth it. :)

Not that I'm biased at all, but introverts really do make the best friends! They're definitely more than they appear at first glance.

Take Cordelia from Waltzing with the Wallflower. She's a lot like me. That's probably what made her so easy to write. I just thought, "This is how I would feel and think." Then I projected that onto her. She's scared to death of attention. The very thought of it makes breathing difficult. Yeah, I get that. To look at her, one might think she has no personality. But she's so much more than just the girl in the hideous dress camouflaging herself behind the house plants.

Witty, intelligent and so funny.

But she wouldn't have you know that...no. She would say, "Let's keep it our little secret, shall we? We wouldn't want the ton to get the idea I have a personality."

Sweet Saturday: Sneak Peeks!

Another excerpt from the upcoming release Waltzing with the Wallflower, co-authored with Rachel Van Dyken (this is from one of my chapters):

She stared down at her skirt and struggled to free it from the branch with one hand. Even the small movement brought heat to her cheeks, and she hoped no one would notice her predicament. The last thing she needed right now was attention. Turning her focus to the snag, she tugged gently, trying to draw as little notice as possible.

“May I be of some assistance, m’lady?” A rich baritone startled her from her task and her head jerked up to ascertain who was speaking to her. She had been introduced to only one man present at this ball, and surely she would have sensed his approach long before he was close enough to engage her in conversation.

She recognized him in an instant. It was one of the well-known Benson twins. She dared not look long enough to determine which. They were nearly identical, and Cordelia had heard the only way to tell one from the other was by the length of his hair. Unfortunately, his unexpected notice of her brought an immediate mortification constricting in her throat and burning into her neck and cheeks. What was he doing over here? Why was he speaking to her?

“No!” she yelled then remembered herself. “Uh, no. Thank you, my lord.” Her eyes focused on her skirt, while her left hand worked frantically to free it from the entanglement.

His attention meant everyone in the room would also be staring at her. The burning in her cheeks spread to her ears. If only she could melt into the marble floor and disappear.

When a large gloved hand reached around her and twisted the skirt free from the branch, brushing her hand as it did so, she retracted her hand quickly with a gasp. Her eyes darted to his and to the floor again. Her words tangled in her throat and tripped over one another on their way out of her mouth. “I’m sor— Thank y—I mean, pardon me, my lord.”

“Not at all, m’lady. Glad to be of service.” Cordelia dared not speak again for fear of humiliating herself further. Undoubtedly another mess of undecipherable utterances would only speed her already determined fate as an old maid. So she did the only thing she could think of. She spun on her heel and fled, weaving in and out of the throng of debutantes, having no real direction until she caught sight of her aunt sitting among the other matrons.

When the sea of debutantes began to part as if she were being led by Moses himself, Cordelia realized she had failed in her effort to escape. Fear gripped her, making it impossible for her to look up, so she kept her gaze on the path before her and made a beeline to where her aunt waited, imagining she could feel the heat from the man following close behind her.

As she neared her sponsor, the woman’s eyes widened in recognition and a patronizing smile spread across her red lips. She did not return Cordelia’s gaze but rested hers instead on the man behind her.

“Lord Hawthorne, so lovely to see you again,” she crooned with a low curtsy, dropping her fan in a most inappropriate fashion.

“Lady Trowbridge,” he said, reaching for her hand and kissing it chastely. “How do you fare this evening?” Cordelia peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. His brown wavy hair hung unfashionably long, teasing at the edge of his collar. That would make him the elder of the two men, the Earl of Hawthorne, though both men were regarded highly by the bulk of the ton. What could he possibly want with her?

She wasn’t so daft as to believe she would be of interest to anyone other than Sir Bryan, the stench of Cumberland. Which would leave only the man’s pure morbid curiosity.

“Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your lovely charge?” Cordelia again felt the surge of embarrassment warm her neck and cheeks. Her gaze dropped to her hands. She busied herself with straightening her gloves and pretended not to hear Lord Hawthorne’s request.

“Certainly, my lord,” Lady Trowbridge replied. Cordelia’s gaze darted to her aunt’s face just in time to catch her wicked grin. “May I present my niece? Lady Cordelia Edwards.” She nudged Cordelia with an elbow. Cordelia curtsied awkwardly, losing her balance. Flailing her arms forward, she caught Lord Hawthorne’s arm at the last moment and saved herself from falling flat on her face.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she righted herself and realized at the same moment she was still clutching his arm. She released her hold immediately, snapping her shaking hand behind her back with a gasp.

And then he laughed. Her humiliation was complete.

And as a special treat, a short excerpt from Rachel's other upcoming release (expected this coming week), The Redemption of Lord Rawlings. I've had the opportunity to read an advance copy of this one. It's UH.MAY.ZING. Just sayin'...

“What are you looking for?” Her sultry voice interrupted his brooding. “I may be able to help.”

Phillip let out an irritated huff. “Brilliant. You see all those gentlemen standing by the lemonade?”

She nodded emphatically.

“Any one of them will do.”

“Do?” Abigail tilted her head. “I believe I’m lost, my lord. What will they do?”

Phillip tightened his grip on her waist, out of a mixture of lust and anger. “I thought it would be obvious, my dear. Any one of them would be acceptable for your attentions. In fact, I’m convinced you can secure at least four marriage proposals tonight, if you so desire. Your hair alone would drive them wild.”

Abigail smiled triumphantly. “So, you like my hair now that it is out of pigtails?”

“Forgive me for being misleading. I wasn’t aiming to compliment you, Abby.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, like you did not mean to enjoy the kiss we shared either. Yet I know you did. Oh, close your mouth, Rawlings, before you set the tongues wagging. Interesting. Your skin has turned a sort of red color. You wouldn’t happen to be embarrassed about our little tryst now, would you?”

Phillip bit back the cutting remark, knowing it was improper for a lady’s ears. “I do wonder how Sebastian would feel about my strangling your pretty little neck. It is doubtful that Emma would miss you, since you’re barely old enough to be out of the schoolroom.”

At her brilliant blush and the sudden chip in her haughty attitude, Phillip continued, “Ah, I see I’ve hit a sore spot haven’t I? Dare I say that was your first kiss, Abigail? And how did it fair? Was it so disappointing? I found it wasn’t even enough to become a memory I would hold on to. But that’s because I’ve had practice, which you have obviously not.” Gripping her even tighter around the waist, he pulled her closer, so he could whisper in her ear. “Run along now, and play with those more suitable to your innocent charms and manipulations, my dear. I have more important things to worry about than your blackmail and adolescent kisses.”

Be looking for this new release as well as Waltzing with a Wallflower--both coming soon!

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