I have had the great pleasure of writing a number of Christmas novels and novellas, all of them set in Regency England. They are all love stories, of course, and therefore have a hero and heroine who fall in love in a happily-ever-after kind of way. But I have always contended that a Christmas romance ought to be not just a love story that happens to occur at that particular season, but one that happens because of the season. Christmas ought to be, in fact, almost a character in its own right, the very embodiment of love itself. Christmas, even regardless of its religious significance, and regardless too of all the excesses of commercialism that do their best to stifle it in our own era, is that time of year when we celebrate all that is finest in human nature–the power of love and family and forgiveness and peace and goodwill and warm enjoyment of the company of loved ones coupled with a reaching out to those less fortunate than ourselves. Christmas is a time of joy and hope, a time we would all love to hold onto for all of the year to come and beyond if only it…

Nearly three years ago I took a trip to Las Vegas to do a writing weekend with friends. I had just finished one book and wanted to get started on a romantic suspense since I was in the mood to write a sexy, action-packed story. Just one problem. I needed an idea for it! The time with my friends was filled with everything books, as we discussed on what we were working, did critiques, and brainstormed all kinds of plot issues. But we did squeeze in time to take in the sights of Las Vegas, have a nice dinner, see a show, and spend some relaxing time at a spa. As we went from place to place, ideas started taking hold in my brain.  What would happen if my hero owned a casino?  What kind of casino would it be?  What would the suspense be about?  How would the hero and heroine react to a very sexy massage at the spa? Little by little THE PRINCE’S GAMBLE came to life in my head, but being a Jersey Girl, I decided to set the story in Atlantic City.  I’ve been there lots of times with my mother-in-law and I thought it would be fun…

I love a feisty women, one who isn’t afraid to stand up for herself and take what she wants. One who starts off a slightly timid and grows into a character with backbone makes me go all warm and fuzzy inside too. That is how I see Libby Holland, my heroine, in TAMING THE OUTBACK. Libby is a widow raising two kids with a mortgage that is getting too much and a job that is going nowhere. Out of the blue comes a letter from the solicitor. She has been left two country farms and the requirements of the will are that she live there and turn a profit within two years. Not too difficult you might think? But when you take into account the Australian outback and the harsh conditions you could be forgiven for jumping the gun. Throw into the mix Nathan Miller, her arrogant and lust worthy neighbor and you see just how much Libby has to contend with. But not one to sit and simper over what can’t be done, Libby gets her hands dirty and learns to run her farm.  The city barmaid who was used to pouring a beer now has to learn how…

One of the things I love most about the Holiday Season is the memories it brings with it. Standing with my sister on the steps of St. Paul’s cathedral, listening to the church bells ring out all over London to celebrate England’s first Christmas of peace after six long years of war. The first Christmas I spent here in the U.S., aching with home-sickness for the family and friends I’d left behind, unaware of the many happy holidays that would follow with new friends and family. My son’s first Christmas, his eyes wide with wonder at the lights on the Christmas tree. The first Christmas I spent with my husband in snowy Philadelphia. So many memories, and some of them stand out more than others. When my mother decided to open a seaside hotel, she uprooted the family from London to the southeast coast. We opened for business the following spring. The previous owners, knowing they were selling the place, hadn’t bothered to take any bookings for the summer season, so our first year wasn’t a roaring success. Just a handful of regulars were booked in, which was just as well, since none of us knew much about running a…

Authors draw on their own experiences, their memories, their desire to give their stories an authentic edge. Not that I’ve ever run across a dead Santa Claus as does my heroine in HOLIDAY IN CRIMSON… Westbrook Department Store’s Christmas party wasn’t that wild–until, that is, Santa ended up dead. Now window designer Shelby Corbin is the prime suspect in his murder, and the holidays are anything but festive. If Shelby doesn’t figure out who killed Santa, she’ll be ringing in the new year behind bars. Westbrook’s impossibly sexy co-owner and CEO Rand McNabb’s romantic attentions both thrill and frighten Shelby. But is he really helping her search for the truth about that fatal night? Or does Rand have a deadlier motive for courting the only possible witness to the crime…? So what about HOLIDAY IN CRIMSON comes from my own experiences? As a child, I used to look forward to the day when Mom would take me to downtown Chicago to see the holiday windows. My favorites were always windows at the iconic Marshall Field’s, a department store that took up a whole block on State Street. The windows always told a story that captivated me. So in wanting to…

Happy Black Friday! It’s that time of year when everyone is filling out their holiday wish lists and then rushing to fill the wish lists of others. And that got us thinking about the Hadley family and what each of them might each add to their own holiday lists this year (if 200 years didn’t separate us, that is.) THE TAMING OF THE WOLF Dashiel Thorpe, the Marquess of Eynsford ~ As the pack alpha, Dash has had quite the time keeping up with his three wayward half-brothers. So this year, he’d like a smart phone with GPS tracking to help with that endeavor. Caitrin, the Marchioness of Eynsford ~ Cait is in need of a few gift certificates to Victoria’s Secret. When one has a Lycan husband who likes to rip one’s clothes off in fits of passion, what’s there to do aside from replace them? THE WOLF WHO LOVED ME Weston Hadley ~ Weston is in need of a new wallet to hold all the blunt he’s made on his gambling ventures. Lady Madeline Hadley ~ What do you get the heiress who has it all, up to and including the man of her dreams? Maddie wants for…

Patrick sighed. Blame it on the alcohol. “Have you never done anything that you regretted, Frannie?” he asked. “Something for which you didn’t deserve forgiveness, but wished for it anyway? Not to ease the guilt you feel, because trust me, the guilt is a demon that won’t leave me alone. The forgiveness is so you know that the person giving it has gotten past what you did.”  Frannie focused on the intensity in his eyes, giving what he’d said some thought. She almost wished she could say she had done something that needed forgiving. The sad truth was that because she’d been gravely ill and survived, she’d taken care to stay safe and do what was expected of her. Any time she’d ventured to do anything out of character or something that involved taking risks, she’d regretted it, including the one time she’d kissed a stranger in a bar. That was something she regretted—that and the fact she’d wasted the years since her illness playing it safe. In both instances, the only person she had to blame was herself. She didn’t want to be afraid to live her life, but fear had been her constant companion for many, many years….

A picture speaks a thousand words. Never did this statement ring truer in my life than when my nine-year-old self was wandering around the house on a Sunday afternoon in early 1982. Because of the celebratory whooping, my wanderings drew me into the family room where my three older brothers and older sister were huddled around the TV. As I drew closer, I saw an image on the screen that froze me in place. At the tender age of nine, I suddenly understood the term “total hunk.” I was looking at a man in a red football uniform, shoulder pads and all, helmet off, being interviewed. He had blond hair (curling a bit around his ears from sweat), striking blue eyes and an almost blindingly-gleaming smile. “Who is that?” I asked my sister, pointing at the screen. “That,” she said, “is Joe Montana.” And so it began. Seeing the 49ers’ starting quarterback being interviews post their victory over the Bengals in Super Bowl XVI, started my love affair with quarterbacks. Of course I realize now that is rather cliché, but at nine years old, I only knew beauty. After Montana betrayed us all and went the Chiefs, I had little…

Inspiration – that elusive gem, that idea that transforms our thoughts and our ideas into the essential essence  of our stories. But, from what magical place does that indefinable pearl emerge? For me, as a nurse and humanitarian aid worker, I find inspiration everywhere. I stand in line at the bank and watch as a woman peers into a glass shelf, and seeing her own reflection, preens with undisguised admiration. I write furiously. I want to capture the set of her eyes, the slight grin as she realizes how intrigued she is by her own reflection.  On the crowded commute to work, I watch as harried drivers, sometimes wild-eyed,  thump their horns, and shout at other drivers.   Everywhere I look there is inspiration and, eager to record it all, I am never without a pen and paper. My aid work has taken me to a variety of places – from Africa to Afghanistan – and when I took my tentative first steps in the world beyond our own, I knew at once that everything there was inspirational, not just the people, but the rugged landscape, the steaming green tea, all of it sustenance for this writer’s soul. Afghanistan, like Africa…

In my brand new release, LET IT SEW, the holidays are fast approaching and the members of the Sweet Briar Ladies’ Society Sewing Circle have much to do to get ready. There are the usual things of course—baking cookies, making homemade stockings, and the like. But there’s also a few not so usual things that threaten to wreak havoc on their preparations. You know, things like a real live Grinch who has set her sights on Margaret Louise’s decades-long role as head of the town’s decorating committee… And a little boy whose fondest Christmas memories are being destroyed out of jealousy and meanness… Oh, and did I mention the dead body? The one Tori Sinclair unearths on the grounds of the library during a late night dig with Leona and Margaret Louise? The one with ties to the sewing circle’s very existence? Ho, Ho, Ho. Merry Christmas, huh? Well don’t despair. We are talking about the Sweet Briar Ladies’ Society Sewing Circle, aren’t we? These ladies, while equal parts gentle and ornery, know right from wrong. And standing by while the town’s Christmas traditions are turned inside out and backwards isn’t in their DNA. Nor is the idea of looking…