Callum Westmore - Heidi Rice's HOT riva hero!!!

Okay, so after a brief hiatus I am so happy to be back with another TO DIE FOR Riva hero for you from none other than the gorgeous, current RT Award nominee, author Heidi Rice!!! Thanks so much for coming to the blog Heidi!

Now, let's get down to meeting her hero...

Name: Callum Westmore

Age: mid-thirties

Occupation: Queen’s Council [a top lawyer for non-Brits!]

Vital Stats: 6ft 2inches; 12 stone of toned, ripped physique; Deep Forest-Green Eyes; Hair so dark it’s almost black, tans easily and has a five o’clock shadow by 12noon.

Celebrity Look-a-like: Henry Cavill

White Lie or Absolute Honesty: Absolute Honesty

Order In or Dine Out: Dine Out – and Order In, Cal isn’t big on cooking.

Boxers or Briefs: Boxer briefs (nice and snug)

Best known for: His erudite way with words – except when it comes to talking about his feelings.

We’d want to date him because…  He’s wry, witty, intelligent, curious, dominating (but with a sense of humour), scrupulously honest, super-smart and looks seriously sexy whether he’s wearing a suit or faded jeans (or nothing at all). He’s a great dancer (although he insists on leading), he’s competitive, confident, generous (in bed and out) and goal-orientated — which means that while he considers flirting one of the best forms of foreplay, he makes a point of being very accomplished at all other forms of foreplay too. He’s generally laid-back and relaxed in social situations, but he tends to be focussed and intense in private, radiating a force field of raw machismo that will make you the centre of his attention (in every way). In other words, this man is way too hot to handle, and way too hot not to handle. Women, be warned.

In his words…

He cradled her face in his palms as he touched his forehead to hers, listened to her ragged breathing.

‘I’m not going to rush you,’ he murmured, the humour gone. ‘I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you the whole damn day. So believe me, I intend to savour every single second.’

His lips quirked as he lifted his head and took in her dilated pupils — and the little crease of consternation on her forehead.

‘I know what I’m doing,’ he added.

‘Yes, but you don’t…’

‘And I don’t need instructions,’ he interrupted, grinning. Damn, but she was persistent. ‘I find it ruins the spontaneity.’

She moved out of his arms, propped her hands on her hips, the little crease turning into the Grand Canyon. ‘I should have guessed you’d be difficult about...’

‘That’s enough talk.’

‘Excuse me?’

Stepping forward, he whipped her bag out of her hand.

‘Hey, give that back.’

Ignoring the astonished protest, he grasped her wrist with his other hand, bent over and hefted her onto his shoulder.

‘What are you doing?’ she yelped, although he figured it was fairly obvious as he marched to the front door of his block.

‘I like talk as much as the next guy,’ he said conversationally, as he keyed his code into the security panel. ‘In fact, I make a very decent living at it.’ He kicked open the door. ‘But even I have my limits.’

‘Put me down!’ she yelled, wriggling and kicking now as she got her wind back. ‘This is absurd.’

He elbowed the light switch.

‘And probably illegal.’ The protest came out in pants, her midriff rocking against his shoulder blade. ‘I’ll sue.’

Adrenaline surged through him as he climbed the stairs, two at a time.

‘Go ahead and try.’ He dropped her to her feet — and chuckled at her mutinous expression, and the flush of arousal on her cheeks. ‘No judge would convict me.’

Her chin took on a mulish tilt, her colour rising. ‘She would if she was a woman.’

‘Wanna bet.’ He reached into his pocket, palmed his key and slid it into the lock. Opening the door, he took hold of her hand and dragged her inside.

‘Has anyone ever told you you’re remarkably arrogant?’ she announced as he slapped his palms above her head, caging her against the wall.

‘Yes. You.’ He buried his face against her neck. ‘And more than once now.’

Her quickened breathing gushed out against his cheek. Suckling the pulse point, he heard the soft sob of surrender. He lifted his head, traced his fingers along the elegant line of her neck, over her collarbone, then ran his hands down her curves. She bucked, her body quaking as his thumbs circled the tight buds of her breasts through her clothing.

‘And you’re remarkably bossy,’ he murmured, his hands settling on her hips. Why did he find that so incredibly sexy?

Her big brown eyes widened as he cradled his erection against her belly. ‘Which makes us even.’ Capturing her wrist, he led her down the hallway towards his bedroom.

Her heels clicked on the polished wood floor as she raced to keep pace with him. But for once she didn’t have a comeback — making him feel invincible.

"Ruby Delisantro is the queen of cupcakes and salsa. She is in charge, with a great repertoire of quick retorts and snappy one-liners, and even sharper moves on the dance floor. And then Callum Westmore comes crashing into her life. One glance from those infuriatingly luscious bedroom eyes and she’s close to losing ­control. Something tells her that Callum sees straight through the tough attitude to her soft-as-buttercream heart beneath. Is Ruby in danger of falling for him and – worse still – of liking it?

 If you like Lindsey Kelk and Jenny Colgan, you’ll love this."

SO you wanna read it, right?! Well you can get your hands on a copy from Mills and Boon UK right now AND you can also enter the Rafflecoptor draw below! nd be sure to enter because Heidi's also giving away a copy of her current Presents Extra release "One Night, So Pregnant!"

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USA Today bestselling author Heidi Rice is married with two teenage sons (which gives her rather too much of an insight into the male psyche). She also works as a film journalist and was born in Notting Hill in West London (before it became as chi-chi as it is in the film starring Hugh Grant). She now lives in Islington in North London - a stone's throw away from where they shot Four Weddings and a Funeral... (She has asked Hugh very politely to stop stalking her, but will he listen?) She loves her job because it involves sitting down at her computer each day and getting swept up in a world of high emotions, sensual excitement, funny feisty women, sexy tortured men and glamourous locations where laundry doesn't exist ... Not bad, eh. 
Then she gets to turn off her computer and do chores (usually involving laundry!)

Find Heidi online at her website, blog, Twitter and Facebook.

Meet ETHAN, first of our new RIVA heroes! - with Kimberly Lang

So as I said yesterday, RIVA is back in the UK - YAY!!! You can get them right now direct from Mills and Boon UK - use this gorgeous app on Facebook to read more about each! 

And a bunch of us RIVA authors thought it'd be fun to introduce you to some of the hot heroes of the new Riva line-up. First we have Ethan from The Privileged and the Damned by Kimberly Lang. Let's learn a little something about him...

Name: Ethan Marshall

Age: 30

Occupation:  Financial Manager, Marshall family businesses

Vital Stats: 6 ft, built like a swimmer, blonde hair, green eyes

Celebrity Look-a-like: Ryan Lochte

White Lie or Absolute Honesty: Absolute Honesty – and this is a bit of a problem for the heroine, Lily.

Order In or Dine Out: Dine Out

Boxers or Briefs: Boxers

Best known for: Being a Marshall

We’d want to date him because…  The Marshall family is US royalty, and who doesn’t want to be a princess? He’s gorgeous, sexy and smart, but he has a stubborn streak about things that just begs to be broken.

So the guy sounds gorgeous, right?! I'd definitely want to spend a few hours with him... let's here a little something from Ethan himself with an excerpt from The Privileged and the Damned...

“Wh-what are you doing?” Lily stammered.

             “Kissing you.” Ethan punctuated the statement with a slide of his tongue against her bottom lip. “Unless you want me to stop…”

            She closed her eyes. “But… why?”

            That was a damn fine question, and for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with an answer better than, “Because I want to.”

            He heard Lily’s gasp in response, and the pulse in her neck fluttered under his fingers. She must’ve liked that answer. “B-but do you think it’s a good idea?” she whispered.

            “Best one I’ve had in a long time.” He pressed another kiss against the corner of her mouth and felt the tiny shiver that ran over her skin. “You taste delicious, Lily.”

            “Oh.” The muscles in her neck relaxed, giving him access to the soft skin under her jaw. The hand holding his slid to his wrist and her fingers tightened. Her chin dipped, and Lily’s lips met his – hesitantly at first, then gradually more insistent. Her tongue touching his was spark to the powder, igniting a fire in his stomach that raced through his veins.

            Lily angled her body towards his as she sank into the pillows, and the kiss grew deeper, hotter, more devouring. One hand held his wrist tight as he traced over a delicate collarbone and moved lower to rest on her chest, right over her pounding heart. When her other hand gripped his bicep, it was icy-cold and the contact against his heated skin…

            Cold? His brain was tangled from Lily’s kiss, but the small part still working knew that wasn’t right. Icy… ice pack… injury.

            He smothered a curse as he pulled away, and Lily looked confused. And delightful, his little brain added, but he forced himself to focus. He was pawing an injured woman just moments after patching her up. Lily didn’t seem to mind, but still… not his best moment.

            “Ethan?” She bit her bottom lip – still swollen and moist from his kisses – and her forehead creased in confusion. The movement must have hurt her head, because the crease smoothed out and she lifted a hand to rub around the bandage. “Is something wrong?”

            One of her braids was loose now, but he had no memory of releasing it – only how silky it had felt between his fingers. Her breathing was still slightly erratic, and pink tinted her cheeks. When Lily licked her lips and pushed her hair out of her face with a shaking hand, it was all he could do not to reach for her again. He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his face – noting he wasn’t exactly steady either. “Nothing’s wrong, but you should probably rest for a while.”       Lily looked… shocked? Disappointed? Upset? It was hard to tell because she dropped her head and her hair fell across her face.

            “Take it easy, okay? And keep the ice packs on.” She nodded and he stepped outside. Shaking his head to clear it, he questioned his sanity a bit.

            He didn’t regret kissing her – not by a long shot, he thought ruefully, and tried to calm his body down a bit – but Lily’s “good idea” question did have merit. Now that he wasn’t kissing her, at least.

            There were the obvious problems – the fact she worked for the Grands was a huge one, actually. Nana and Granddad disapproved of any kind of not-strictly-professional relationships with the staff. It was a good way to either get slapped with a sexual harassment suit or make the front page of the tabloids. Or both.

            Plus Lily was young and sweet. She might not be able to understand or handle the ground rules – ground rules that should have been established before he kissed her in the first place.

            None of this rational self-talk could take the sharp edge off the desire still knifing through him, though, and he rubbed a hand across his stomach. Lily was a sinful temptation, and now that he knew she tasted as sweet as she looked…

When wealth, power and politics cross paths with the criminal underworld… Ethan Marshall, grandson of a former senator, is handsome and charming – and he’s lusting after Lily Black! Working for the Marshalls as a stable manager, Lily has the ideal job for the first time in her life – she loves working with the horses on the beautiful Marshall estate. Whilst Lily’s attentions are soon drawn to the very fine Ethan, her past holds dark and criminal secrets…which could bring the Marshall family to its knees. The gorgeous playboy is determined to win her affections, but should Lily do the right thing by her family, or the right thing by the Marshalls?

The Privileged and the Damned is the first book in the Marshall series. The other two are  The Power and the Glory and Redemption of a Hollywood Starlet.  Kimberly has most awesomely agreed to GIVEAWAY a copy of the ENTIRE TRILOGY!!! All you have to do is enter below to be in with a chance to win. Use your email to enter, or use the Facebook login if you prefer. Entries are open to anyone, anywhere in the world.

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Kimberly Lang isn’t one of those people who always knew she wanted to be a writer. She actually wanted to be a ballerina, but puberty failed to deliver the required swan-like elegance. That dream scuttled, she went on to get her Master’s Degree in English – and she has the bartending skills to prove it. At her husband’s insistence, she quit teaching in 2007 to write full-time, and in May 2008, sold her first book to Harlequin’s London office. That book, The Secret Mistress Arrangement, debuted at number nine on the Borders Series Bestseller list and won the 2009 National Readers’ Choice Award for Best First Book.
Since then, Kimberly’s books have appeared on the USA Today, Amazon, Borders, and Bookscan bestseller lists, and have been translated into more than a dozen languages. (And, yes, that’s really cool.) She’s married to her college sweetheart, whom she affectionately (but appropriately) calls her Darling Geek, and is Mom to the most brilliant and beautiful child on the planet (aptly nicknamed Amazing Child). She started taking yoga-based fitness because she eats way too many jelly beans while writing, and became an instructor once she figured out that spending time with her butt over her head helped spark her creativity. More than one sticky plot point has been solved in the Down Dog position.  She has no hobbies because she doesn’t have time, but if she did, they’d include knitting, skiing and  ballroom dancing, because they sound like they might be fun.

Find out more at Kimberly's website, her Facebook page and be sure to follow her on Twitter.

If you're in North America, be sure to pick up a copy of Kimberly's latest Presents Extra release, WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, its available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble now! 

So I bet you all want to learn about Lily now too, right?! Well hop on over to Ally Blake's blog on Thursday and get to know her there! And be sure to come back here as every Tuesday through September and October, we'll be introducing other Riva heroes and heroines, with  giveaways and sneak peeks at more great stories!!!

Buy THE PRIVILEGED AND THE DAMNED
from Mills and Boon UK

MidWeek Peek - The Playboy Pleasure of eBooks...

The BEST thing about ebooks for any writer is that books that are no longer on the shelves are still available to readers! Given my books are only on a shelves for a month, this is great indeed!

So it's super cool to see recent reviews on books that were out a little while ago - so nice to know that people can get hold of and enjoy them!

One of my most fun books to write was PLEASURED IN THE PLAYBOY'S PENTHOUSE (I know, great title huh?)

At the red-hot millionaire’s mercy! 

Bella has always felt like the ugly duckling in her family, but after one night with super-sexy Owen Hughes she feels like a beautiful swan. Until she realises Owen isn’t the ordinary guy she thought… 

This struggling waitress is daunted by his multi-millionaire status – he is exactly the kind of man she avoids! But Owen won’t let Bella shrink back into her shell. Two weeks of pleasure in his penthouse and he’ll have her begging for more…

And it has one of my favourite opening lines:

Did she want a 'sex machine' or a 'slow comfortable screw'?

Later on, you might get an idea of what she ended up with that night:

"For all that success -" Owen underlined the word, knowing the concept annoyed her "I'm still the guy who made yur legs so weak you couldn't stand." He took a step back, determined to walk away now. He spoke softer. "I'm still the guy who made you alternately sigh then scream with pleasure." He paused. He'd leave her knowing exactly what his intentions were - plain and simple. He spoke softer still. "And I'm the guy who's going to do it all again."

It was reviewed last week over at The Romance Reviews - Ashia gave it 4 stars and had this to say:


I don't know how Natalie Anderson does it, but she creates these to-die-for heroes! Owen is one of them. He's so sweet to Bella, supporting and helping her when she needed, and perhaps that's what made him so irresistible...


I love this story! There are some spine-tingling warm-fuzzies-in-your-heart moments as Owen stood up for Bella against her family. Yes, we modern women sure can stand up for ourselves, but having a gorgeous guy do it for us is even better. Coz it means he sees something worth defending in us, and it's the same for Owen...


The story and the writing is top-notched, with great (flawed) characters that you just couldn't help but cheer on. 


So, want to cheer these guys on?! You can buy the ebook direct from Mills and Boon here (you can be anywhere in the world and download it), from Amazon UK, or from the OZ/NZ Mills and Boon site here.

And with that title? I mean, don't you just want to be PLEASURED IN THE PLAYBOY'S PENTHOUSE?!?!?!

Of course you do! ;)

Midweek Peek - My Most Brazen Virgin...

I've a little e-treat for you this week - a snippet from my next Mills and Boon release - FIRST TIME LUCKY?

I've written a couple of virgin heroines but Roxie is my favourite. She's a virgin by circumstance rather than choice - and now she's choosing to do something about it! She wants her new neighbour Gabe to help her out... so how does he react to the idea?

“I want you to be my lover,” she drew her lip in with her teeth and breathed the last. “My first.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

She waited, knowing full well he’d heard.

His hands gently shook her. “Your first?”

A different kind of tension rolled off him now.

Okay so maybe mentioning the ‘first’ had been a mistake. But she’d wanted him to know. Thought it was better to be honest. Thought it might tempt him all the more. Only a look of sheer panic scrunched his face. Now he dropped his hands and took a step back.

“Isn’t it every man’s fantasy?” she asked, suddenly a lot less confident.

“Not mine.”

“No?”

His jaw clamped for a moment, she saw the deep breath he dragged in. Then he lifted his chin “No. I don’t want some total novice who doesn’t know what she’s doing. Who’ll lie like a log expecting me to do all the work.”

Ouch. How to shoot her down. “I’m not a total novice. The actual virginity bit is a mere technicality,” she flung at him, furious that he could go cold so quick – and be so damn brutal about it. Chelsea had been right about him being harsh, he had really offensive kind of defence. But it was an act – she knew it. She’d felt the need in his body. “I know you’re interested,” she said defiantly. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“How do I look at you?”

“Like you want to touch,” she moved forward, her boldness returning when he didn’t walk away. And damn it, she’d come this far, there was nothing left of her dignity to lose. So she wasn’t just flirty, she was shameless. “And I do know how to touch. Won’t be any kind of cold stone.”

“Really?”

She nodded. Hoped her hammering nerves weren’t obvious.

He stood like an immovable mountain. In fact she didn’t see any part of him move as he murmured, “Prove it.”

Roxie's story is available now direct from the Mills and Boon UK website. It'll be on the shelves in January and in the US as a Presents Extra in May.

Another snippet...

I was going to bring you a clip from a 'happy weepy movie' today but I'm having trouble with Youtube so I'll do it tomorrow.
Here's another snippet from BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE.
This is the teaser in the very front page of the book...

"Let's have a competition. Our own little thing for charity. We each start Monday morning with say $100 in the kitty. We fundraise. For a week. At the end of the week whoever has raised the most wins."

"Wins what?" She was curious now, fixed on him.

"If you win, I'll double the combined amount and give it to the charity of your choice."

"And if you win?" Her eyes were wide.

"If I win then I get you for a weekend and can do whatever I want with you."

"Whatever you want?" She sounded as breathless as if she'd climbed a thousand stairs.

"You'll be my slave."


So... does it make you want to buy it?!

BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE - excerpt

- okay, as promised, here's the excerpt - from the very beginning of the book and both Cally and Blake are wishing they were somewhere else...

CHAPTER ONE

“I CAN’T believe I agreed to come here.” Cally looked around her, slowly taking in the decadent atmosphere in the hip Sydney bar. It was like Bacchanalia – riotous revelry. There were well over one hundred women filling the place with laughter, leer and enough bling to blind the nation. Canapés were being consumed with glee and being washed down with terrifyingly neon concoctions. High-pitched chatter drowned the relentless deep thud, thud, thud of the music. Anticipation hung in the air. You could taste the excitement, the expectation of one hell of a good show.
Cally screwed up her nose.
“Oh come on.” Mel looked at her with a ‘get a grip’ expression. “It’s for charity.”
“There are better ways of raising money for charity.”
“What’s better than watching a line-up of the most eligible bachelors in town?”
“If they were that eligible they wouldn’t be here.”
“What?”
“They must the most conceited meat-heads to agree to participate.” The snark was enough to earn her another ‘get over it’ look.
“Don’t be so uptight.” Mel shook her head disparagingly. “You’ve been working way too hard. They’re doing it to support a good cause. It’s a laugh. A laugh.” Another pointed look. “Remember how to do that? Open your mouth, go ‘ha ha’?”
“You know I’m damn good at laughing.” Cally sighed. “I’m just not in the mood for this kind of funny tonight.”
“Well down your Sex in the Surf or whatever that drink is called, and get yourself in the mood. Sit back, enjoy the show. Nobody says you have to bid. Buy a few raffle tickets and be done with it.”
Mel was right. But the scene didn’t sit well with Cally. It was so far removed from the cause it was supposed to be supporting. Here they were, draped with all this money – conspicuous consumption to the max. Half these people probably wouldn’t give a second thought to those who this event was supposed to be helping. They were just paying lip service – just wanting to get together with a gang of girlfriends and ogle some talent. Bitch over someone else’s dress. Out to outdo and be seen doing it.
It was the kind of thing her mother would love. She’d be here, out glamorising even the most glamorous and providing sound bytes in the style of a Miss Universe save-the-world speech. Fortunately she was away sunning herself on a beach in the Mediterranean somewhere.
Cally grimaced as she glanced round again. Nope. So not her scene. She preferred to stay out of the limelight her mother had always sought. Yes she had money. Yes she felt a responsibility to do charitable work. But her father had taught her how much more fun it was to do something behind the scenes, or to donate anonymously. When he’d died she’d made a vow to continue his work and so had maintained strong connections with his favourite charity – the homeless shelter only a few blocks from the opulent home in which she’d spent her happiest childhood years. She loved the time she put into it – feeling as if it was a way of retaining links with him, wanting to do something that she knew would have made him proud.
Mel cleared her throat and glared again. “Must you be so earnest Cally? For heaven’s sake, have another drink. Or one of those chocolate truffles.”
Cally grinned at that. Actually the chocolate truffles were pretty divine. She pulled the plate nearer. Half the women here wouldn’t touch them anyway, so Cally could have their share. Then she gave herself a rebuke over her pathetic holier-than-thou moment. Many of these women gave time as well as money to charity. One of the wealthiest women in the room spent a night a week answering calls on a youth helpline. And while she might come across as if nothing mattered more than the colour of the dressing rooms in her new guest wing, the way she could listen to and calm distressed and incoherent teens was incredible.
The music got even louder, and the MC appeared on stage. Applause filled the air. The show was about to start. Biting into another truffle Cally sat back and acknowledged that maybe Mel was right. Man candy. So what if people were buying some hunky company? She wasn’t shopping. She’d just watch, be amused by the craziness, try not to feel cheapened, buy a few raffle tickets and donate a chunk on the quiet later. She sipped from her wide-rimmed glass and as she relaxed, the first man for sale appeared.


“I can’t believe I agreed to come here.” Blake looked around him thunderstruck. “I know I didn’t agree to this.”
“You did.”
“I thought you meant some kind of working bee. You said a spot of gardening, cleaning up.”
“And that’s exactly what you’ll be doing.”
Blake gave Judith, his PA, a look of withering disbelief. Not if the sound of those braying women was anything to go by. “I really don’t think so.”
She’d insisted they come straight from the office, he’d been working late. So here he was after a long day, in his suit, needing a shave. He ran his fingers through his hair to stop him exiting the scene. For a second he wished he smoked so he could relieve the stress. Honestly, meeting with a roomful of sceptical investors had nothing on this. This sounded worse than a bear pit. Now he knew how those gladiators had felt back in the Roman days. The first poor guy had gone on and the howls from the divas in the audience were deafening. Then he heard the bidding begin and the feeling of panic, mixed with distaste, rose.
“Give the organisers my apologies. I’ll make a donation. Large as you like. But I’m not sticking around for this.”
Judith blocked his exit from the room. Not hard given that she was wider than a small van at the moment. She rubbed at the swell of her belly, looked at him with the beseeching eyes of a homeless puppy. Only hers were blue not brown and there was an irrepressible twinkle in them. “You’re not really going to leave are you?”
He hesitated.
“You can’t. I said you’d be here.” She switched to rubbing the small of her back. The action pushed her belly out even further. “Blake, please. You promised.”
She wasn’t laying it on with a trowel but by the wheelbarrow. Dump truck even.
His eyes narrowed. “The sooner you go on maternity leave, the better.”
She smiled sweetly. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
Like most men, Blake found it pretty difficult to say no to the pleas of a pregnant woman. But while Judith knew she could play on it, she didn’t know the real reason why. There wasn’t much Blake wouldn’t do to keep a pregnant woman happy. He didn’t want to bear any more of a burden that he already did – one lost child was too much as it was.
He watched as she made her way to the door with her slower than usual – but still pretty quick – gait. He hadn’t been joking. She might have been leaning on her pregnancy vulnerability just then but he’d noticed how tired she’d been these last couple of weeks. Her husband was a fool. No wife of Blake’s would be working through her pregnancy – not any of it. She’d be at home being cared for and not racing around.
He’d tried to lighten Judith’s workload for her but she’d laughed at him. Saying she was pregnant, not sick and that she was as capable as ever of the multitude of tasks he required of her. And, employment law being what it was, he had to let her. He still thought her husband was a fool, surely he’d have more ability to slow her down? But he was so besotted he said yes to anything. Whatever made her happy, made him happy. Blake grimaced. He couldn’t ever see himself giving that kind of power to another. Self sufficiency was the way to success.
Then again, hadn’t he failed to say no to Judith just now? His frown deepened and his sympathy for her husband grew. Her maternity leave definitely couldn’t come soon enough. And right now Blake had other things to worry about – like being paraded in front of a room full of women wanting to bid for the ‘catch of the day’.
His turn edged closer. He went and stood in the wings, peeked through a tiny gap in the curtain out to the audience. He knew full well Judith had misled him about this ‘charity fundraiser’. Ok not misled, but not filled in all the info on the page. He scanned the crowd. Women who’d probably never gotten their hands dirty. Never ever come into contact with the people this event was supposedly going to help. The homeless, the hopeless, the destitute, the desperate. They’d have no idea, here they were just doing their ‘bit’ for charity.
He listened to the high pitched shrieks of laughter as the latest victim suffered the humiliation of being priced. This was shaping up to be one of the most embarrassing evenings of his life. But as Judith had said, he’d made a promise and Blake McKay always kept his promises. He turned away from the audience, thrust back his shoulders and gave himself the pep-talk. Whatever he did, he did to the best of his ability. This was how he’d climbed rung by rung from the bottom of the heap to the top. With sheer grit and determination to be the best. And so, if they wanted a man to perform, he’d be their man – their ‘He-Slave’. He loosened his tie a little. Ran his fingers through his hair to give him even more of the tousled long-day-at-the-office look. He looked across the backstage area at a couple of the other poor souls who’d been railroaded into ‘performing’ for charity. Saw one of them down a neat whiskey. He flashed him a tight grin. Then Judith was back, telling him he was next up.
It wouldn’t be the first time Blake had used his body like this. He’d sold out before. Women found him attractive, thought he was handsome. He’d been paid good money to trade his looks. He knew he was above the shallowness, the insincerity. Just keep it light. Think of the money – think of the charity. His time as a model all those years ago had taught him that women loved the brooding look. Not a problem. He really was brooding – on the revenge he’d have on his PA the minute she got back to work on Monday.
He listened to the words of introduction in disbelief. Judith, grinning at him from the opposite wings, had done a fine job in talking up his assets. He’d come up with some hideous filing task to keep her bored for hours on Monday. Then his name rang out and with a deep breath and a muttered curse, he stormed onto the stage, automatically moving his feet in time to the beat of the loud music. Once he got to the centre he stopped, stood. Clenching his jaw, he stared out. The audience was semi-lit. He could see sparkle and lipstick and hair – everywhere. The blonde highlights dazzled. He carefully looked over the audience, happy to take his time. He walked closer to the edge of the stage, so he could window shop as obviously as they were window shopping him. Never show you were intimidated. He would at least pretend to be in control of this situation. Bluff through until he had them.
He caught sight of one particularly blinding blonde and sent her a small smile. The shrieks increased. He turned, walked in the other direction. Blow hot, blow cold.
Women were fickle creatures. He knew how to keep them keen, he also knew not to trust them, certainly never take them seriously. But while his heart was permanently locked away from their clutches, his body didn’t mind messing around now and then. The adrenalin kicked in, and he almost, almost, began to enjoy it. He winked at another screamer. Raise money, get the bids up, up, up.
He almost missed her, his eyes passing over without seeing, except her stillness marked her out in the clapping, cheering crowd. She was the shadow to the blonde and bejewelled beside her. Her dark hair hung in a neat bob. Glossy and sleek, it enhanced her pale skin, ruby lips, the gentle curve of her cheek. She was staring at him. Not moving. Not talking. Not laughing or even nodding in time to the beat. Eerily still in the room full of chaos. He paused, for a second forgetting what he was supposed to be doing.
Stick figure women dressed in black usually didn’t do it for him. But this woman wasn’t stick thin and on her the black emphasised her creaminess – her full creaminess. His muscles tightened that little bit, a small flame sparking inside.
She wasn’t shrieking, like the blonde next to her. She wasn’t even smiling. But she was staring. A cool look that had him wanting to shake the reserve from her. He was seized with the desire to make her move. To make her sway, make her want and above all to wipe that icy look of condescension from her face. She was judging. He was not a man to be judged. Not by her. Not in the negative way she so obviously was.
Blake liked his coffee strong and dark, a little bitter. He was looking right at a very tempting espresso. For despite the lack of smile, despite the patent disapproval, there was fire in her eyes.
Double espresso.
The blonde beside her was grinning widely – at her rather than at him. She didn’t seem to notice, she was too busy giving him that scornful look. For a long moment he stood as still as she sat. His jaw clenched, fists curled, and a wash of begrudging desire ran through him – desire to prove her wrong, to prove a point.
It became imperative not just to raise some money here, but some serious money. If he was going to sell himself, it would be for the highest price. At that he realised he’d better get back to the parading bit. For charity, he told himself, gritting his teeth and flashing a genuine tortured look.
He forced himself to relax, to smile at the harpy at the table on the other side, who had enough volume to drown out a crowd at a football match all by herself.
The experience from photographic shoots and catwalk struts came flooding back, his muscles remembering the way to move. With ease he prowled the length of the stage and back, pausing to deliver the ‘look’ now and then. He felt strangely energised, like he was the one hunting out the prey, not the other way round. And he knew who his target would be this evening.

Harlequin Mills & Boon Modern Heat
Publication Date: September 2008
ISBN: 978-0263863857
Copyright © 2008 by Natalie Anderson
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher.The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For more romance information surf to http://www.eHarlequin.com

Take one gorgeous hero...

Ok I admit it. Daniel Graydon, the hero in Mistress Under Contract, is a bit of a favourite of mine. He's full of action, alpha, and irresistible.

So here's an excerpt for you (while I'm back off to the cave to try to finish the wip!)

CHAPTER ONE

You always pre-plan your activities
You find putting things in order satisfying
You think that rational analysis is the best approach in all situations
You constantly monitor progress
It's essential for you to try things with your own hands
Objective feedback is always helpful
You enjoy an active and fast-paced environment
You have good control over your desires and temptations
You find it difficult to switch off from your job
You believe justice is more important than mercy
You enjoy the challenge of competition
You rely on reason rather than intuition
You make your decisions spontaneously
You like to have the last word
Intense emotions strongly influence you
You find it difficult to talk about your feelings


Lucy stared at the list of statements and wondered what it would say about her if she answered ‘yes’ to all of them. Maybe she should alternate yes and no. Or maybe she should do some pretty mathematical pattern. Good grief. She was applying to be a hospitality temp. Why did she have to do a damn personality type test? Like there weren’t enough forms to fill in? All the health and safety caveats, background checks, proof of qualifications... You’d think she was applying for a job with MI5. Not some tin pot agency that supplied catering staff at short notice.
It was money she was short of. Damn short. And this was her third agency of the day. She’d have gotten through more if there weren’t so many bloody forms to fill in. Now it was 4:30 and she’d be pushed to get all the paperwork done in time to complete an interview before closing.
She fidgeted with the clipboard and pen and the receptionist gave her a sharp glance. Lucy offered her a conspiratory smile but froze it as she hit the woman’s frigid response. “I know the forms take a while to fill in. I’ll be doing some filing out back. Ring the bell when you’re done and one of the consultants will come to interview you.” No smile, instead a look of condescension fluttered across the dragon’s features as she walked out of the room.
Lucy nodded and quelled the urge to poke her tongue out after her. She looked back at the list and decided to try to get herself identified as a Type A personality –those aggressively ambitious, achieving, arrogant and frankly anal people who ran their lives according to deadline and tangible barometers of success. Lucy lived in a category of her own - Type F – for fun, flippancy, frivolity and freedom - not to mention occasional foolishness. She hummed softly as she started ticking various yes and no boxes, her smile returning full force as she worked through. It was so much fun pretending.
She heard a soft cough and looked up to see Mr Type A incarnate standing in front of her. She hadn’t heard the door. Tall, dark suit, white shirt. Neatly trimmed brown hair. Cold eyes, staring at her, frown firmly fixed on the crisp cut angles of his face.
Shame. Looks like that shouldn’t be marred by bad temper. Her hackles rose. And it wasn’t just because of the golden eyes sending her that dagger-like look. His aura stamped his impression on his surroundings and on her – height and breadth of a champion. This was a man who knew what he wanted and was used to getting it. He had the unmistakable air of ‘Authority’.
The bane of Lucy’s life.
Eyes narrowing she stared right back at him. Defiant as ever in the face of someone so obviously establishment. But that didn’t stop the kick of attraction roaring into life. She refused to allow anyone to have control over her, but for a split second she thought about what he’d be like in the driver’s seat – just for an hour, just her body. He looked like he’d know what to do.
She couldn’t stop her little smirk.
His brows lifted and the look he was drilling into her underwent a subtle change. No less intense, still not friendly – but the sparks had a different quality. He looked again at the empty seat at reception and back at her. What he expected her to fill him in?
She bet he could do some filling. Good grief, was she really looking at a guy in a suit like he was some hot dish? She swallowed and dragged her mind back to the situation. She’d never have picked him to be job hunting. He didn’t look like any bartender or waiter she knew and she knew a few.
She finally felt compelled to answer his unspoken question. “The receptionist is filing out back but the forms are there on the desk. They take ages to fill in.”
His brows went another notch higher as he picked up an enrolment pack like the one Lucy was balancing on her knee.
“Start with the personality test. It’s a doozy.”
He sat in the chair across from hers and flicked through the papers. The frown was back. His silence irked her. What happened to solidarity amongst temporary workers? Banter between bartenders was part of the deal. He skimmed over the list of yes/no statements that comprised the personality type form. And then he did speak. Sharp, quick, cutting.
“Let me guess. You’d be a ‘yes’ for ‘you are inclined to rely more on improvisation than on careful planning’. And a ‘no’ for ‘it is in your nature to assume responsibility’.” He waited for her response, his eyes issuing a hard challenge.
Her hackles were up again instantly. “And I’m betting that you’re a ‘yes’ for ‘your desk is usually neat and orderly’.”
His tight smile flared to a grin. She fancied she’d scored a hit but then he sent the curveball. “Maybe I should have made it clear that I’m not looking for work. I’m looking for a temp to work for me.”
“Oh,” Of course. What an idiot. Temps did not dress in made to measure suits and walk around with the assured confidence of a bona fide Greek God. But she rallied immediately. Spot the opportunity. Strike before they know what’s hit them. “What do you need?”
“Bar manager. Indefinitely.” His eyes narrowed.
“Look no further.”
“You know the perfect candidate?”
“I am the perfect candidate.”
She saw his attention slide over her ancient jeans and skimpy singlet top and was fully aware that she was hardly looking perfect. And that he was thinking the same thing.
“You don’t even know what the job is.” He mocked her.
“You just told me. Bar manager. I can manage a bar”
A wolfish smile appeared. “You can manage a strip club?”
Her jaw dropped. Now that she hadn’t anticipated. He looked way too square for anything remotely grey - more your black and white kind of guy. Right, wrong, official, unofficial, permissible, forbidden. His world would be one of order – totally opposite to her freewheeling one of complete chaos.
He leant forward. “No. Not a strip club. I’m looking for someone with experience. Someone who can handle responsibility.”
“I can handle responsibility.”
“You just said you were a ‘no’ to responsibility.”
“No you said that. I neither confirmed nor denied.”
Their eyes met. Squaring off like a couple of cowboys in a spaghetti western.
“Give me your CV.”
“Give me details of the job.”
Ok so he held all the cards, but she could bluff. Better than anyone.
The silence was steady as they waited each other out. She lifted her chin a little, saw him focus on her mouth as she did so.
She couldn’t stop the tiny curve to her lips as his parted. He’d speak first. She’d known his politeness would win out – he was that type. Cool. In control. Icily well-mannered.
“Principesa. It’s a small bar but popular. I don’t want it to start failing.”
She’d heard of the club. A new one – opened on the scene during the year she’d been away. Like he said small, but definitely had potential.
“What’s your interest? You own it?” Her incredulity was doing her no favours but she really couldn’t see him in the centre of such a scene. Principesa was for night owls – party people. He had white-collar workaholic stamped all over him.
“My cousin owns it. Lara Graydon.”
She knew of Lara. Six foot something, looked like a Nordic goddess. Had been a diva in the Wellington social set for several years.
“She’s gone to the States for a couple of weeks on a personal matter.” His grimace indicated his displeasure. “Leaving me to oversee the manager.” The last two words were ground out through a rigid jaw.
“And the manager?”
“Was found rotten drunk slumped behind the bar this morning by council authorities who were called when the club failed to shut down at the required hour. Music was blaring and then I discovered discrepancies in the till.”
“And this -”
“Adds up to one sacked bar manager.”
Lucy had the feeling that far more minor transgressions would also the wrath of this man. He was not the kind of guy to settle for anything less than the best. “So you need someone as soon as possible.”
He nodded. “It’s Wednesday today. I can get away with keeping the club shut for a night or two but it must be open again on Friday. I want someone in there right away to clean up the mess its been left in. There isn’t enough stock to last half a night. I want someone who can walk in and take over.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
He rolled his eyes. “Dressed like this?” So he could do irony. He elaborated. “I have a day job - one that keeps me busy enough. That’s why I need someone responsible to take over so I can forget about it until Lara gets back.”
“When’s that?”
“Wouldn’t we all like to know?” He shrugged. “Shouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks.”
There was a silence. She eyed him calmly while her brain worked furiously. She tried to ignore the fact that he was incredibly arresting and that his cool determination was intoxicating. He was bright, blunt and to the point and frankly, he turned her on. Under that suit lurked a sense of humour. What else was hidden under that remote veneer? But a suit? Come on. She’d never been attracted to a straight A type before and now wasn’t the time to experiment. She was flat broke and needed work - to start immediately. Manager would pay more, even if it was only a week or two. She could puff up the experience for her next job.
She quickly opened her rag-eared satchel and took out a copy of her CV, wishing the other fifteen copies weren’t quite so obvious. She masked her unexpected nervousness by pulling her shoulders back and handing the paper over with an assertive flourish.
He took the CV, not looking at it until he’d held her gaze in a challenging stare for so long that she was finally forced to break it. Looking down and away she instructed her lungs to inflate. For some reason they didn’t seem to be working on auto anymore. It was like he knew exactly what he was going to find on the page. And he didn’t think much of it. Like he knew she could do better.
Rebellion burned.
There was a long silence as he read it through. His face gave nothing away but she knew he was less than impressed. Well who wouldn’t be. Even she could admit it wasn’t great reading.
Finally he spoke. “Well, we have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re not big on commitment either.”
She blinked.
He looked back at the paper, obviously biting back a smile. He’d shocked her. He knew it. And he thought it was funny. She gritted her teeth to hold back her sarcastic response. She needed this opportunity and she wasn’t going to lose it by mouthing off at him. She inhaled deeply before inquiring in a voice that screamed frigid politeness. “What makes you say that?”
“You’ve not held a job longer than three months.”
“I’ve been at university until the end of last year. Student jobs, summer jobs. They never last long.”
“And this year?”
“I’ve been travelling about.”
He nodded. More to himself than to her. As if she’d just confirmed his worst suspicions.
“Why did you leave your last job?”
Why did she leave any of them? That boredom, that restlessness, that niggling feeling that she wasn’t quite right for it. She tried, genuinely tried and was your average, dependable worker – with a short expiry date.
“You phone any of my old employers and ask for a reference. I’ve never taken a sick day, I’m happy to work double shifts. I guarantee they will all say nothing but good.”
“You’ve a strong sense of your own worth then?”
Well, there was the biggest bluff in history. She was good but not great. More mediocre than marvellous. She’d never really shone, but she’d never really tried to. What was the point? She’d been pigeon-holed years before as someone who wasn’t ever going to excel. The only prize she’d ever deserved was for biggest idiot. A blip in her personal history that had given rise to feelings of humiliation, inadequacy and fear – feelings that haunted her still, that coloured each world she tried to build for herself. Which was why she kept starting over. Ultimately she feared to try her best because she suspected it still wouldn’t be good enough.
She leant forward, abandoning dignity in her desperation for dollars. “Look, I can do this. I’ve been working in bars and restaurants for years. I know the suppliers. I know what works and what doesn’t. Give me the job and I promise you won’t regret it.”
She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t far off five. She hoped like crazy the receptionist wouldn’t walk back in. Hoped her luck would hold to grant her this one chance. “I’ve been working clubs and pubs for years. I know the drill from the cleaning to stock management to handling stroppy customers. Been there done that. And I can deal with staff.” She looked at him firmly. “Bar staff work hard. I know exactly how hard and I know how to give them the respect and motivation they need to keep working that way.”
She didn’t know if her argument was working but she did know he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She’d seen his gaze flicker over her a couple of times but for the most part he held her own. She found it incredibly difficult not to be distracted by his intensity. And by the colour of his eyes. She debated whether they were truly pure gold or brown with gold flecks. Either way they were unusual. And mesmerising. She blinked. Not going to go there. Not going to be distracted. “If you want someone to run your club. Then you want me.”

From the book Mistress Under Contract by Natalie Anderson
Harlequin Mills & Boon Modern Heat
Publication Date: February 2008
Copyright © 2008 by Natalie Anderson ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. For more romance information surf to: http://www.eHarlequin.com

"Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire"

... is the new title for Rhys!!!
YES - heard back from my ed and after the revisions I'm thrilled to say he's been accepted. I'm not sure of the release date yet but will let you know as soon as I do.
Happy days I tellya 'cos Rhys gave me some serious grief - oh yes, blood, sweat and tears were shed over him!!!

Anyway, to celebrate, here's a teeny snippet...

...She glanced at her watch. A bit after 3pm, the lunch crowd had moved on and everyone was back at work – except the tourists, travellers and holidaymakers like her. The restaurant and club a couple of blocks down from the hostel had its doors wide open – circulating air on the steamy Sydney day where the humidity was high and the thunder storm approaching. She hoped it would happen soon, she wasn’t used to the hard-to-breathe air.

Then she heard it. Boom, boom; hiss, boom, boom, hiss – the unmistakable strike of stick on drum and cymbal. It stopped and then started again. Then she heard the twang of a rough chord on an electric guitar followed by a disembodied male voice, “One, one. Two, t-t-t-two.”

Sound check.

Suddenly she felt right at home, right at ease, and her legs just walked her in there – right into the open bar that was closed for business. To where the band was onstage and the rehearsal was happening. Four guys were up there, dressed in shorts and tees and the lead singer had the skinny boy star look and mandatory crazy hair. She slipped in the back, enjoying the breeze from the fans, watched the drummer with envy, her fingers itching.

“I’m sorry you can’t stay here. The bar’s not open yet.”

Reluctantly she dragged her gaze from the drum kit to the man who’d walked up beside her. She blinked. Once. Again. Then rapidly a couple more times to try make her silly eyes focus. My God. So men like that really did exist? The kind that would have every woman in the vicinity immediately doing their pelvic floor exercises because they knew, absolutely knew, that keeping up with him in the bedroom would require some spectacular performance.

Sienna’s whole body tensed - especially her pelvic floor.

Bedded By Arrangement - WIN!!!

His one-month mistress...

Jake Rendel is a successful millionaire who works hard and plays hard – unlike his old neighbour, Emma Delaney, who’s stifled by her uninspiring job. So whilst Jake’s in town, he makes Emma a proposition to shake off her prim and proper image: for a month they’ll pretend to be having a hot and steamy affair!

Emma’s out of her depth – and things quickly get passionate in private as well as in public… All too soon this quiet girl-next-door is wishing the month will never end…unless her role as the playboy’s temporary mistress could become a lot more permanent…

So who wants a copy? All you have to do is email me natalie@natalie-anderson.com (or leave a comment here) and I'll do a random draw in a week.

Go on, you know you want to!!! (Which is kinda what Jake-the-Gorgeous says to Emma - and he's right - and he's worth it!!!)