Writing romances is a lot of fun, and a lot of work. Add in a couple of day jobs, a family and so-called life outside of fiction and a writer could go insane trying to keep them all straight. Yet, the payoff of seeing a beautiful cover with your name on it makes it all worthwhile, and getting an email from someone who has read and loved one of my books just makes me squee.
There is an additional benefit of writing, and reading, romances—just the sheer joy of immersing myself in someone else’s drama, of watching two (or more) people struggle through to the HEA. You get the immediacy without having to pick up the broken glass, bite your tongue to stop jumping in, or provide a shoulder to cry on! Satisfaction without the effort or having to be in the eye of the actual storm—what more could we ask for?
Well, one of those hunky heroes knocking on the door wouldn’t hurt, but don’t tell my husband!
I hope you enjoy the following excerpt from my very first release, Night of the Cereus.
Anya Richards/Anya Delvay
Journeys Through Seduction
Just because she poses naked, doesn’t mean she has to bare her soul…
Artist’s model, Melanie Fletcher, likes to keep life simple, and painter Marcus Alejandro practically oozes complications. And sex appeal. Posing for him, surrounded by the seductive scent of the Night-blooming Cereus, the habits of a lifetime are undermined. Would it really hurt to give in to her lust?
Initially drawn to the dichotomy between Melanie’s reserved exterior and hidden passion, Marcus soon discovers the more he gets from her, the more he wants. Making love to her delicious body isn’t enough. He needs to know her intimately, both inside and out, but getting her to trust him is harder than he ever imagined. How much can he ask for before she walks away?
Past and present collide, pushing them both to reveal all, risk all, and chance all, for love.
Melanie watched the man approach. Yummy.
As he got closer, she took a deep breath, keeping her face impassive, although it wasn’t easy. There was something about the tall figure, long black hair blowing back from his forehead, fists slightly clenched as he came forward, that resonated in her like a bell.
The loose-limbed stride practically screamed sex. It was both predatory and intriguing, hinting at a finely honed physique and the instincts to use it to full potential. All hard edges and planes, the musculature of his body couldn’t be fully concealed beneath his loose T-shirt and jeans. Instead, it was revealed in the stretch of fabric across his shoulders, in the ripple of denim over his thighs, in the unconscious roll of hips as he walked. It took no effort to imagine him overcoming a woman’s sense of self-preservation, luring her into his bed, destroying and devouring her with pleasure.
Quickly raising her eyes to his face, registering the solidity of his neck in passing, Melanie felt a shiver of warmth gather in her chest. A strong bone structure, with tanned, olive-hued flesh stretched taut and smooth over it, gave him the appearance of a raptor, watchful and confident. Yet the harshness of his face did nothing to abate the impression of sensuality. Instead, straight firm lips revealed nothing of his thoughts but made her wonder how they would taste, and feel, against her skin.
Melanie blinked, reined in her libido, and met his eyes. The dark gleaming depths seemed, for a split second, to reflect everything she was feeling, and a pulse of fear sent icy fingers through her limbs.
Detachment was a necessary part of her stock in trade. Losing it, even for the moment it took to register that he was absolutely, incredibly gorgeous, was dangerous. Even more annoying was the fact that her instinctive reaction to him was unprecedented. Her cool professional attitude was a source of irritation to some of the men she worked for, but it had also gained her a solid reputation. One hot Latin artist wasn’t going to make her blow years of hard-won respect.
For a moment she considered simply apologizing, getting back in her car and leaving. Perhaps this job wasn’t for her, after all.
As though coming to a similar conclusion, the slightest of frowns crossed Marcus Alejandro’s face. Stifling a wild surge of anxiety, Melanie tilted her head up as he stopped in front of her.
“Am I not what you wanted, Mr. Alejandro?”
The sound that came from his throat held bitter amusement, but he swept his hand toward the side of the building, inviting her inside, and anxiety turned to a flash of pleasure.
“You are exactly what I want, Ms. Fletcher. Exactly.”