So….Waaaaaahmber did indeed go home this week (as 99.9% of the Blog Babes predicted.) I was perfectly happy with that outcome. Also, this just in. Julie Chen? Please, don’t ever say “play-ah” again. And who’da thunk Eric’s brothers would be so attractive? The on-again, off-again girlfriend? Yeah, can we say “I’m only On Again for my 15 Minutes Of Fame?” Oh, that’s right, you already had your 15 minutes on So You Think You Can Dance, where Mary and Mia both told you that dancing? Not so much for you. Yikes. Who will win the HOH this week? I haven’t peeked on the live thread bb’s – mostly because, do we really care? I would love to see Zach get it, and send the Donato’s home. I understand it’s a double eviction week next week. Woo hoo! Speed this up, Big Brother!

Now on to the only real thing of interest….who is this week’s winning Blog Babe! Most of you guessed Amber this week, so there was a big pile to choose from, but the winner this week is Diana P! Woo hoo!!

Hope everyone has a great Labor Day Weekend to celebrate the end of summer (as we know it anyway.) I will be back on Tuesday with a new SHaQ Attack contest.

So, okay, maybe this is cheating in terms of blog writing, but my first two Black Sheep series covers are in and I’m dying to share. First one is out this August, second one in January…and I have covers and back cover copy to share with you! Woot!

Here ya go:

The Black Sheep & The Princess cover…

And the back cover copy…

They’re the black sheep—the bad boys every good girl wants to have hold her, touch her, take her, love her. But being bad never felt so good…

“I have some spare beer, if you’re interested…”
I’d know that voice anywhere, and every time I hear it, it makes me sweat. Not that well-bred heiresses are supposed to sweat, but if you saw Donovan MacLeod, trust me, you’d need a change of clothes, too. It’s been eighteen years, but he’s got the same cocky swagger, silver-gray eyes, shaggy hair, and that sexy smile that promises a whole lot of trouble. Not that I’ll ever find out because he loathes me—thinks I’m some spoiled princess. So, there’s something I’ve just got to ask…

“Why are you here, Donovan?”
The lady asked a question, she deserves an answer. Well, Kate Sutherland, how about, I’ve fantasized about you for eighteen years? Or, I wanted to remember how it feels to need a cold shower every time you flick that perfect blonde hair out of your blue eyes? Or, why don’t you come over here and let me show you, baby? Yeah, good answers, but I’ll stick with this one—I came back to help, because I think you’re in some trouble. My bad boy gut says you’re gonna need me—in more ways than one…

Available August 2007!

Aaaand, The Black Sheep & The Hidden Beauty cover…

Back cover copy…

They’re back—the boys your mother warned you about, the black sheep her mother warned her about—the bad boys every good girl needs oh so badly…

Raphael “Rafe” Santiago may have left the streets years ago, but the street has never left him. A rough childhood in the Bronx taught him never to let his guard down, to keep everything in order, and always to trust that little voice in his gut that tells him when someone’s got something to hide. Horse trainer Elena Caulfield, is definitely hiding something, and Rafe intends to find out what it is and take care of it—his way.

But his way wasn’t supposed to include feeling an intense attraction to the tomboyish Elena. With her mud-caked boots, quiet strength, and gentle manner, she’s nothing like the flashy, seductive, overtly feminine women Rafe usually beds. The closer he gets to her, the harder it is to control that fiery passion he’s worked hard to keep cooled, the kind that can catch a man off guard and leave him open to danger—because whatever secret Elena’s protecting, it’s big…and worth killing for. Because when you’re from the Bronx, you take care of what you love—or die trying…

Available January 2008!

Hope you enjoy…and no, I don’t have their names and phone numbers. (Like I’d share. I mean, I love you guys, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do…)

Oooh, and speaking of hot men, if you’re a Ranger fan (and if you are, you know who I’m talkin’ ’bout) head over to my homepage and catch up on some fun Ranger-related news in my Reader Letter.

Happy Reading!

Yes, it’s true. I have a problem. (Hey, I heard that!)

Animals. They’re everywhere. In my world. In my house. In my books. I didn’t do it intentionally or anything. They just sort of show up. The parrots I rescue. The stray my neighbors took in. The new born foal at my sister’s place. The pregnant alligator in my book. I mean, is it my fault? I think not.

Okay, so maybe it’s a tiny bit my fault. But animals have been a part of my world my entire life, so I guess it shouldn’t have suprised me that they’ve found their way into my fiction. I don’t think it was a conscious thing. They just popped up naturally, as the companion my hero or heroine simply had to have. There, just like the dogs in my house, and the shark in my fishtank. I don’t know exactly how or why they have to be under my care, or my hero’s care…they just do. It wasn’t until a reader commented recently, after I excitedly told her about a new series I had coming out (the Black Sheep…this August! Oh my god, Sheep! I swear, there aren’t really sheep. That was in The Great Scot… Oh dear. I need help, really I do…)

Where was I? Oh. Right. Black Sheep (mmmm….. and her response was “I can’t wait to see what animals you give these guys to deal with”…and I realized she wasn’t referring to my heroines. (Thank goodness. I mean, they know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it, but I wouldn’t call them animals…the guys on the other hand, have a few, well, animalistic tendencies, but of the very best kind…)

Again, I digress. So…animals. Yeah. I started thinking about it, and in the 30+ plus books I have out there, of varying length, pretty much every single one has a beast of some kind or other traipsing through its pages. Hunh. (The pregnant, three-legged alligator was quite a while ago, back in my Loveswept days. I should have seen the problem then, I suppose. And if not then, surely when Elvis the iguana popped up. But no…) All these books later and, currently, it’s a pregnant horse and Bagle the watch-Bassett. It makes me wonder, can I write a book without a furry, feathered, or finned companion? (Ask me about Fred, the upside down fish some day…but I had to write him, he was based on a real fish! A reader’s fish, to boot. Come on!)

And the answer is, I’m not sure I can. Sure, there are exceptions in my backlist, but not many. And now I worry that I’ve left those poor characters companion-less. Out there somewhere, a fictional dog or tiger is still homeless. And it’s all my fault. Of course, now that I’m consciously aware of it, who knows what will happen. Think of the all the little kitties and adorable wildebeests I can save now!

So…don’t say you haven’t been warned. After all…just like you, me, and all of my characters, wildebeests need love, too.

So, this is the month where I creep one number closer to the big 5-0 (47 and counting, if anyone is keeping score.) Fortunately for me, 47 is the new, oh, 45, so I barely even feel it. Barely. This year, my publisher gave me a nice distraction…they published my latest book this month! Now that’s a great birthday present right there, y’all.

Yes, it’s true, I’ve been around since forever, and have had more than a few books hit the stands, but let me tell you, it never gets old. In fact, it’s still an event, each and every time. Sure, by the time the public sees it, I’ve already held the final product in my hand, as my publisher sends advance copies my way (bless their wonderful hearts.) And yes, tearing open that box and holding my latest baby in my hot little hands, even standing in my own foyer, is an event in and of itself (what, you think I carry the box somewhere before tearing it open? Heck, I make the Fed Ex guy stand there and celebrate with me. He’s such a trooper. Not to mention he makes those blue shorts work. But I digress.)

Still, it’s not really real until I see it gracing an actual bookshelf in an actual bookstore. Hence The Ritual. Aka The Trip. The Viewing. The Big Day.

The entirety of this event includes going to my local bookstore and standing in the romance aisle, scanning the K’s until…yes, wait for it….THERE IT IS! It’s not a dream, it wasn’t some huge scam, no, no, it’s really my book, that I spent what felt like another lifetime writing, right there, out in public, where anyone can see it, and (be still my heart) buy it. Now, the trick is to look like an average, ordinary book shopper. Albeit one who has an enormously goofy grin on her face, but otherwise, the rule is Draw No Attention. Which is why I now go alone on my little First Viewing jaunts. No matter what I say, or how nicely I phrase my desire to keep it private and personal, friends and family just can’t believe that it’s not about telling Every Last Person In The Store that THE AUTHOR is standing Right There. The horror. No, really.

I just want my own little personal moment of vindication. My little moment to nod and realize that yes, once again, I’ve beaten the odds and actually really done this. Okay, so maybe I scoot the other books over, turn mine face out, dust them off a little and make sure they’re displayed properly, but it’s all done quickly and quietly. Then I leave and go treat myself to a smoothie and get back to work. And, oh, about three paragraphs later, I’m convinced it will never happen again. It’s what keeps me going.

Thanks for letting me share my “moment” with you. Shh, don’t tell anyone!

By the way…if you secretly dream of having your own “moment” then check out our Novella Contest on our home page. Maybe I’ll be bumping into you someday. I’ll be the one in the K section. Doing a little rearranging. And smiling.

Okay, so I’m cheating a little today. But I’m excited about my new book coming out later this month and thought I’d lure you all in with a little excerpt. The sequel to my 2006 book, BAD BOYS IN KILTS, will be hitting the shelves on February 27th. (Both books stand alone, but hey, why not read both? ) THE GREAT SCOT is Dylan Chisholm’s story and takes you back to Glenbuie, my little highland village, and all the assorted characters you first met in Bad Boys in Kilts. I hope you give it a try. In the meantime, here is a little taste of what is in store…

“How good are you at hiking?”

Erin looked down at her shoes, which were comfortable lace ups, but far from hiking boots. “Not much on traction,” she said, “and I’m kind of fond of these.” She glanced at him and smiled in the face of his obvious anticipation. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was maybe a little excited. Or nervous. Or something. It was that something that made her smile broaden. Whatever on earth could make the Great Scot nervous was something she had to see. “What the hell. I can always buy another pair if I trash these, right?”

He nodded in approval, then gestured for her to go in front of him.

“I don’t know where I’m going. Why don’t you lead?”

He pointed. “See that trail there, angling off by that split tree trunk? We’re headed that way.” He stepped up behind her, making her quite aware he was in her personal space again.

Just as she was quite aware she did nothing to move herself out of it, either.

“I’d go first,” he added, a teasing note clear in his tone this time, “but you have this alarming habit of stumbling about. Best I stay behind ye, in case you need catching.”

She shifted just enough to look up at him over her shoulder. His eyes were crinkling at the corners. Probably the sun. But maybe not.

“What?” he asked, making her realize she was staring.

“When was the last time you laughed? Really laughed?” The words were out of her mouth before the thought had even completed itself.

“Far too long ago, I’m certain. I’ve been busy.”

She turned to face him. “Since when did busy and laughter become mutually exclusive?”

“Good point. I have no idea.”

“Before, when you lived in the city, were you happier?”

The question seemed to surprise him. “Since when was happiness measured by laughter?”

“How would you measure it?”

“Fulfillment. Contentment.”

She nodded. “Valid. So, were you? Fulfilled and content?”

“At times. Never completely, but then that’s what provides the drive necessary to fight on, does it not? Are you?”

That gave her pause. She’d poked and prodded him almost since the moment they met. This was the first time she could recall him asking something about her. “No, not completely. But I am happy. Maybe I should have used the word joyful. Are you a such a serious man as all that? Or is it life circumstance that has made you so dour.”

“Dour? Dour am I now?”

She merely arched an eyebrow.

He shook his head. “Och, if true, that’s a sad state of affairs then. I’m no’ a dour man, Erin. But perhaps you have a point about me no’ finding much to be joyful about, not in the sense you mean. But my business has been serious of late. My new life is fulfilling in ways my old life never was. And there is peace in that, which is a good start. The rest will come in time.”

“So you’re saying you’re an optimist.”

“You think me the opposite?”

Now she smiled. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think of you. I guess that’s why I keep badgering you with questions. You aren’t easy to figure out, Dylan Chisholm.”

Amusement did shift into his eyes then, and the resulting gleam was no trick of the sun. She swallowed hard. Perhaps it would be wiser not to provoke the playful side of him after all.

And then he was lifting his hands, pushing back the errant strands of hair the car ride had likely blown into a complete rats nest around her face. Suddenly painfully aware of her looks, or lack thereof, and at the same time exquisitely aware of his touch, almost to the point of pain, she wanted to shrink away, pretend this moment wasn’t happening. Because whatever he was thinking behind those dancing gray eyes of his, no way could it be anything she found herself suddenly hoping, praying, it would be. She didn’t attract men like Dylan Chisholm.

Gorgeous, confident, successful men were typically attracted to beauty first, and brains a distant second. Erin was used to falling in the distant second category, okay with it even. When it came to men like the one touching her now, looking at her so intently, well…it simply didn’t happen. So it had hardly been a problem for her. It would be the epitome of foolishness to allow herself, even for a second, to think this was somehow different.

“I canno’ figure you out either, Erin MacGregor,” he said, his voice deeper, somewhat rougher, as if…as if he were perhaps at least a tiny bit affected by her. Then all rational thought fled, because he was lowering his head towards hers, pressing his fingers into the back of her neck, to tip her face upward to his.

“You badger me with yer questions, talk me into abandoning my own home…” He lowered his head further until his mouth was hovering just above her own.

He couldn’t be, wasn’t going to—

“You sneak into my dreams, haunt my waking hours. What’ve ye done to me, lass?”

She haunted his dreams? In a good way? “Dylan—”

He made a guttural noise at the sound of his name that had a little instinctive moan of her own escaping her lips.

“I havena felt a hunger such as this in a very long time. Will ye allow me the pleasure?”

He was asking permission? Did he not realize that a second or two more of his heated whisperings and he could have her naked on the hood of his Jag?

He brushed her lips with his. “Perhaps I havena been the most merry of fellows, but if there has been anything to cause me to want a bit of respite from the endless hours of work, it has been you.”

“I thought I made you crazy.”

And there it was. The smile she’d been waiting for. It was slow to happen, but as it stole across his face, his entire countenance changed, as if he was lit from within. There was fire there, passion. “Aye, that you do. You’re trouble, Erin, with a capital T. Ye plague me.”

“A plague am I,” she said, but the intended dry sarcasm was somewhat offset by the breathy quality of her voice.

Which served to widen his smile further. “You have refreshing candor, and a smart mouth. You don’t seem to care overly much what I think.”

She tipped her head back slightly, to look fully into his eyes. “And that’s attractive to you? Hard to believe I’m still single with those lovely attributes.”

He rubbed his thumbs along the corners of her mouth, making her shiver at the feel of his work-roughened fingers on her skin. “Hard.” Then he slipped his arms around her waist and brought her fully up against him. “Aye, ‘tis that.”

She barely had time to register the stunning truth of it, then he claimed her mouth with his own and any hope of rational thought fled completely.

I live in Virginia. It’s supposed to be winter here, but someone forgot to tell Madame Winter. There has been no snow. No skiing. No bundling up, no blustery days. Sure, that also means no salting the sidewalks or scraping the windshields, but come on, in her absence, it’s been so warm here we had cherry blossoms blooming. In January. That’s just wrong, people.

Then, this morning, I got up, went out to get the paper…and it was cold. See your breath cold. Tip of my nose cold. Really wish I’d checked before running outside in my boxer shorts and t-shirt and bare feet cold. I was in shock. I stood there, staring at the sky, trying to register this numbing sensation that was rapidly taking over me. It was like, you know, winter or something.

Then, I opened the newspaper, and there, in the upper corner, where they have that little box that tells you all about the weather, it didn’t say “record breaking warmth continues.” No. It said…”Possible Snow Showers. Storm on Sunday.”

Snow Storm!! Really?? I danced. I sang. It’s like this Pavlovian Response. Ever since I was little, “Snow Storm” equaled “No School.” And No School equaled Free Day To Goof Off. Now, I’m not in school any more. I’m a grown up with a job. But my job is here. Under my roof. My commute is down the hall. So, technically, every day is potentially a Snow Day if I wanted it to be. Who would know?

But it’s not the same, just saying “I’m taking a Snow Day.” And, technically speaking, if it snowed ten feet, I could still go to work. Bunny slippers don’t need de-icer and my carpet gets great traction. But, honestly, Snow Days? Real, honest to goodness Snow Days? It begs for the curl up on the couch, fix some cocoa, read a book, watch old movies, flip through magazines and in general disconnect from the entire world for a whole day – and here’s the most important part – guilt free. Because, it’s a Snow Day. Even the government closes down on Snow Days. And it’s okay to goof off. It’s like signed permission slip from Mother Nature to play hookey.

So, I’m gearing up for my very own Snow Day. No, I am not at the stores with the rest of the hoards, buying toilet paper and milk. I am lining up my cocoa mug and marshmallows, carefully selecting my DVD’s, going through the stack of magazines that have somehow over taken my coffee table, and carefully choosing the books I’ll be diving into on my glorious, time-out-of-time Snow Day. It might only be a 24 hour reprieve from life, but it’s mine, and it’s magical, and I’m making the most of it that I can.

I might even go out and make snow angels. (Right after I pretend I’m holed up inside working and haven’t noticed it snowed so my nice hunky Coca-Cola commercial looking neighbor shovels my walk for me, which I might possibly avidly observe as I sit by my window with my cocoa. What? You have your winter scenery, I have mine.)

What would you do with a Snow Day?

So I decided that I was tired of writing, staring at my own four walls (and the laundry that wasn’t magically washing itself, ditto on the dishes) but where to go… I happen to be lucky enough to live by the Potomac River with a lovely regional park about a minute from my door. I often go down there and write while the river rolls by. (Nice office space when you can get it.) But it’s cold now. And most of the park is shut off from cars, leaving only the boat ramp area open, which doesn’t provide the most lovely of views.

So…where to go. Hmmm.

I’m not a coffee drinker, but it is cold enough to enjoy a nice hot chocolate (with whipped cream on top, thanks) so I decided to join my wi-fi brethren and go the coffee klatch route. Turns out, it was a rather interesting time. This one, brand new, with nice big cozy leather chairs, was adjacent to my Borders. (Which feels like a second home to me anyway, sans the laundry, phone calls, and dog hair.) It was quiet the morning I went, with only a few students and business types typing and studying away. I curled up in the corner with my super duper grande hot chocolate (I got sprinkles!) and my toasted bagel and quickly got lost in my make believe world.

No laundry taunting me, no phone ringing, no staring out the window, wondering when I’d get a glimpse of the UPS man (okay, so there was one draw back…) Just my own little corner of the world. I think I might have to do it again sometime. Possibly, oh, I don’t know, today.

Do you have your favorite corner of the world? A place where you like to tuck yourself away, perhaps dive into one of our make believe worlds for a few hours? If I’m reading, rather than writing, my favorite hideaway is my nice big, deep tub, filled with bubbles, soothing hot water, and the sound of running water that blocks out the rest of the world. Something cold to drink, and hot to read…

What about you?

So…about connected stories. Love em? Or not so much? I know a lot of readers (myself included) love a series. And by that, I mean a number of books that are connected together by the characters within. I’ve done a bunch of them. In most cases, the connection between the books has been a family one (such as the four stories I wrote about the Morgan brothers. And the four more I wrote about the Chisholm brothers.) But I’ve also connected a series of books with secondary characters, such as my four fairy godmother books for Bantam.

I am diving in to a new series for Kensington, this time not familial or secondarily connected, but a series based on a group of guys who work for a firm called Trinity, Inc. They are my Black Sheep bad boys and I can’t wait for you to meet them. Although, I must say, for the time being, I am very much enjoying having their exclusive attentions on moi. (Hey, there have to be some perks to being the author.)

But as I dive, I ponder. And this brings up a question. I know there are readers who eagerly devour the next book in a connected series (hello, Stephanie Plum) the instant it hits the stands. And then there are those readers who eagerly buy the book when it hits the stands, but tuck it away until the series is complete so they can read it all at once. (Which wouldn’t work for an endless series, such as the Plum books, or, say, Nora’s In Death series, but does happen with her trilogies.)

So…which one are you?

I’m a devourer. I want it, and I want it now. (Greedy little wench that I am.) Plus, I have absolutely no will power. Which the empty Edy’s chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream container in my kitchen trash will attest to. If it has been eons from one book to the next (hello Harry Potter, hello anything by George R R Martin) then I do, at times, feel compelled to re-read the previous release to get my head back in the game, but most often, I can pick up the needed reminders as I dive into the current release.

What about you? Do you devour? Or wait to savor the body of work as a whole?

(Oh yeah…for those who like a good visual to help sustain them while they wait…head on over to my home page where you can not only get a gander at the very amazing cover for the last Chisholm brother, Dylan, who graces the front of my next release, THE GREAT SCOT, but can also get a peek at the first Black Sheep cover as well. And bonus! There’s some back cover copy to tease you with, too!)

(And those first three Chisholm brothers? All of them have their stories told in one handy volume. BAD BOYS IN KILTS. On shelves everywhere now. )

So, I’m a sports fan. Okay, let me rephrase that. I’m a total jock chick. And November is the Trifecta for me. First I get football (NFL and college.) NBA Basketball is back. AND it’s time for the year-end Masters Tennis tournament for all the marbles. Really, other than March Madness, it doesn’t get better than this for a sports chick.

But that got me to thinking…for a long time, publishers told us author types that sports heroes simply didn’t sell. They guessed women just didn’t dig jocks. I never got this. Are you kidding? What’s not to love? In fact, my very first book was about a football player (because I hadn’t heard “the jock rule” back then and my publisher took pity on the poor newbie…but, since then, the jock rule has stuck, any sports related character of mine has been a former, not current, athlete.

Then along came Susan Elizabeth Phillips and her football guys, and Deirdre Martin with her hockey hunks, and now there’s a whole string of NASCAR heroes…suddenly, athletes aren’t taboo any longer. Yay!

Lucky me, I can finally merge two of my loves together into one. What could be better?

So…tell me, who is your favorite jock hero? And what kind of sports hunk would you love to see get his own story?

So…how sexy is too sexy? And what isn’t sexy enough? These are the burning questions of the universe I ponder. (Clearly, I need to get a life, but that is a topic for another blog…)

Here’s the thing: I have two very different covers for my next two releases. Both are with the same publisher, both books have the same tone, more or less. There is a wee bit of suspense in the second, but the heat factor is the same. One cover is cute, bordering on sweet. The other cover is…well, two words. Hubba and hubba. My feeling is that the second cover more clearly represents the content of the books and that the first might not draw the readers who would enjoy my work. And, in fact, might attact some who will be surprised to find a wee bit o’ steam between the covers.

However, I’ve gotten some different reactions to them. First, I should say that both covers are very tastefully done, featuring fully clothed heroes, so nothing overtly brazen or naughty. Very PG. It’s how these guys are clothed, posed, and well…you get my drift. So, while most readers liked both covers, many agreed with me that the second one was more in line with what they thought represented the work. But there were some who really enjoyed a cover with a sweeter, not so in-your-face look.

Hence my quandary…when is sexy too sexy? And when isn’t it sexy enough? Would you rather have a cover that makes your pulse take a little leap, or would you prefer to keep all the pulse-leaping between the covers?