The journey of one (relatively) young, single girl’s romance with Harlequin Presents!

by Editorial Assistant Pippa Roscoe

Behind the scenes of a continuity!

It’s May and you know what that means for Presents… Yes, the continuity is back, bigger and better than ever! This year we are introducing you to the Correttis; Sicily’s most powerful, most notorious, most outrageous family – and where there is scandal, there are always secrets.

Behind the closed doors of their opulent palazzo, ruthless desire and the lethal Coretti charm are alive and well. We invite you to step over the threshold and enter the Correttis’ dark and dazzling world… Young, rich, and notoriously handsome, the Correttis’ legendary exploits regularly feature in Sicily’s tabloid pages! But how long can their reputations withstand the glaring heat of the spotlight before their family’s secrets are exposed? Once nearly destroyed by the secrets cloaking their thirst for power, the new generation of Correttis are riding high again – and no disgrace or scandal will stand in their way…

But while you’re reading Sicily’s Corretti Dynasty, the Presents team are already planning the next! So I thought I would tell you a little bit about how we create a continuity and what we love most about them.

We often like to start with what newspaper articles have caught our eye this year, what TV series have we been most obsessed with, what stories we have loved most… However, where we end up is often a million miles away from where we began!

And once we’ve hit upon our idea, then the meetings start. In we go to our secret closed-door room, laden with biscuits, tea, sweets and chocolate and we don’t emerge until we have found our story! If you pass that room, you can hear laughter, screams, groans, frantic typing, even a few pages being torn up as we start all over again with a new idea. Sometimes the best ideas come from the last fifteen minutes of a meeting, but they could also be the first idea that caught us and never let us go.

Then we begin to look at the characters and their back story – where they have come from, what has shaped them, and what they need to learn from their relationship with their hero/heroine.  From there, we flesh out the individual stories in the present, focusing on a wide range of nationalities, locations and conflicts.

The thing I enjoy most about planning a continuity is the research. Sadly we weren’t able to fly out to Sicily (that would have been AMAZING!) but I do love scouring the internet for images of characters and locations…finding character inspiration, the family trees, the family names! That’s always a fun thing to overhear in the office… what’s an authentic name is always tricky. Is John an alpha hero name? And there are always the favourites that have imprinted on our minds because our writers have created such great characters around that name and we can’t use them (Lucas is one in particular!).

And when we finally emerge from the room we’ve been holed up in, for what sometimes feels like months, we have a finished bible. But undoubtedly the best thing about any continuity is seeing what wonderful worlds and characters authors create from the bare bones of these ideas. The emotionally powerful highs and lows, the stomach churning journeys each character takes to the path of true love. It’s reading the amazing stories that makes all the tea and biscuits and planning worth every single minute.
To whet your appetite, a prequel to the series, Uncovering the Correttis by Carol Marinelli, was made available (FREE) to readers. Be sure to download this perfect introduction to this breathtaking series.

So ladies, tell me – what do you like most about our continuities? Do you have a favourite? If so, why?

Pssst, I’ll let you readers in on a little secret — I am writing this poll post from the past (May 1) because I’m not in the Harlequin HQ office right now but for a great reason. As of two weeks ago, I am a married woman! I’m actually off on my honeymoon right now

Clearly, I’ve had weddings on my brain for over a year now…so today I want to know what kind of weddings you like to read about! So what kind of wedding tropes do YOU like in romance novels? Make your pick in the poll below and please share why you love those tropes in the comments!

p.s. And I can assure I wasn’t forced, blackmailed, arranged or otherwise married

About Maid for Montero:

Hired as his mistress!

Zoe Grace is terrible at being housekeeper of the Montero estate. So bad that she faces being fired after just two weeks! Desperate to keep her job, she’ll do anything to convince her handsome Spanish boss to give her just one more chance….

Isandro Montero cannot believe that his new housekeeper is so inept! She has to go—rapido! Except, firing beautiful Zoe would ruin his reputation, as she has two young charges to care for. So Isandro will put Zoe where he can keep his eyes on her—and maybe his hands… In his bed!

Excerpt:

Some men in Isandro’s position would have whined about press intrusion. He didn’t. He considered he had little to complain about in life, and he knew it was perfectly possible, even for someone whose financial empire drew the sort of global media attention that his did, to have a private life.

Of course, if his taste had run to falling out of nightclubs in the small hours or the routine attendance of film premieres with scantily clad models, it might have been more difficult, but neither pastime held any appeal for him.

He viewed security as a necessary evil, a side effect of success—like midges in the Highlands—but he was hardly a recluse who lived his life behind ten-feet-high walls.

If he had had a family to consider, possibly he might have seen potential danger lurking around every corner, but he didn’t. He only had an ex-wife, with whom he exchanged Christmas cards these days rather than insults, and a father he had very little contact with. Given that he was confident in his ability to look after himself, Isandro was not alarmed when the electronic gates that guarded the entrance to his English estate—which did actually have ten-feet-high walls—did not swing open as he approached, for they were already open.

Slowing his car, he swept the area with narrow-eyed, irritated speculation. While he didn’t automatically assume this suggested anything dark and sinister, it did suggest a carelessness that he did not expect from those who worked for him.

The groove between his dark, strongly defined brows and his level of irritation deepened as his glance lighted on a brightly coloured bunch of balloons attached to an overhanging branch that looked incongruous beside the discreetly tasteful sign that simply read ‘Ravenwood House: Private’.

He had owned Ravenwood for three years, and in that time on the admittedly rare occasions he had visited he had never found cause for complaint, which was nothing less than expected. He employed the best, be they corporate executives or gardening staff, paid them extremely well and expected them to earn their salary.

It was not a complicated formula but one that he found worked, and if it didn’t.. He was not a man renowned for patience or sentimentality in his professional or personal life. If those in his employ didn’t perform to the high standards he expected and deliver the goods they did not remain in his employ.

He opened the window, reached out and caught hold of the string dangling from the balloons. As he tugged two popped on the branches and the rest rose into the air, embracing their freedom. Following their merry progress with his eyes, he frowned before he pulled his head back in. He was not ready to read anything significant into the open gates or the balloons, but there had been a recent staff change, and the housekeeper did play a pivotal role at Ravenwood.

The previous postholder had not only been efficient, but had combined excellent management skills with the ability to blend into the background. She had never been obtrusive.

Under her watch he could not imagine open gates, invisible security or balloons. It was always possible none was connected with the new housekeeper, and he kept an open mind on the subject, innocent until proved guilty. No one could say that he wasn’t scrupulously fair, and he made allowances for human error.

What he couldn’t live with was incompetence.

He was prepared at this point to believe that the new housekeeper was as perfect as his personal assistant, who had interviewed the candidates, had indicated. He trusted Tom’s judgement, as the younger man had always shown it to be excellent and it had been his efforts and diplomacy that had gone a long way to soothing local ill will when Isandro had bought the hall.

Three years ago the local community had greeted the change of ownership of the local estate with deep suspicion bordering on hostility. The family that had given the house and the village their name had contributed nothing tangible to the local economy in decades, and the previous owner spent more time falling out of nightclubs and entering rehab clinics than repairing the roof or earning money to do so—so the locals’ blind loyalty to them seemed perverse to Isandro.

With Tom’s help he had addressed the situation with his usual pragmatism. He did not wish to be best friends with his neighbours, but neither did he want the inconvenience of being at war with them. The initial stream of complaints had faded to a trickle and visits from officials with clipboards from conservation and heritage groups that had halted work on the house and grounds had lessened and eventually vanished. He made a point of employing only local artisans and firms on the restoration work and made a donation that had put a new roof on the leaking church.

He considered the situation resolved.

Of all the houses he owned, this was the one where Isandro felt as close to relaxed as he ever did. It was beautiful and he enjoyed beauty. He invited none but his closest friends, and even then rarely. He never drove through the gates without feeling he was shedding the pressures of work.

He anticipated the next few days of rare relaxation, his wide sensual mouth twitching into a half-smile as he drove slowly through the pillared entrance. A moment later he was reversing.

The balloons snagged in the branch could have been accidental; this was not. Bizarrely tucked in beside one classical pillar was an upturned packing case.

With a mixture of growing incredulity and irritation, Isandro read the handwritten sign propped on it that informed him the eggs were free range and cost one pound per half dozen. There was no sign of the eggs mentioned, just a jar that was stuffed with coins and several notes suggesting trade had been brisk—the area had an unusual level of honesty.

Long brown fingers beat out an aggravated tattoo on the steering wheel. He had driven halfway down the long horsechestnut-lined driveway and was trying to rediscover his mellow mood when the noise hit him—a mixture of music, laughter, dogs barking and loud voices.

‘What now…?’

Angular jaw set, he swore and floored the accelerator. A moment later he hit the brake, bringing the vehicle to a screaming halt on the top of the rise that gave him the first view of the delightful Palladian mansion considered by those in the know to be an architectural gem set in a parkland setting complete with lake, folly and beautifully tended formal gardens.

The manicured west lawn, where on occasion he watched invited guests play a game of croquet—and where he had spent the journey from the airport picturing himself enjoying the silence and solitude, sipping some brandy and perhaps catching up on some reading after the month of intense negotiations—was barely visible beneath the massive marquee, several smaller satellite tents, makeshift stage, cluster of stalls and what appeared to be a small…yes, it was a funfair of sorts, he realised as he identified the giant teacups slowly spinning to the strains of an early Tom Jones number, the volume so loud even at this distance to vibrate in his chest.

Staring in unwilling fascination at the surreal spectacle, he started like someone waking from a nightmare as a voice over the loudhailer system announced the winner of the best behaved pet competition to be Herb—a result that, judging from the volume of the cheers and clapping, was popular.

Isandro swore loudly and at length in several languages.

The person responsible for this outrage would not be around to regret this invasion and misuse of his trust for long. For that matter he might sack the bunch of them because while this might have been the brain child of one person—presumably the new housekeeper—the rest of his staff must have sat back and let it happen, including his highly paid so-called professional security team.

Great! So much for leaving stress behind. His resentment levels rose as he mentally said goodbye to his much-needed, greatly anticipated break… So what if after a couple of days he’d get bored with the inactivity and grow restless? The point was he wouldn’t have the option of being bored now.

The feeling he had wandered into some sort of alternative universe intensified as a balloon that had presumably followed him up the drive floated past his head. It snagged on a branch and popped—the sound breaking Isandro free of his teeth-clenched scrutiny of the disaster scene.

His dark eyes as warm as ice chips, he reversed with a screech of rubber back to the intersection in the drive and took the secondary road that led directly to the stable block at the rear of the house, which seemed blessedly free of the insanity taking place elsewhere on his property.

Entering the house via the orangery, he snapped grapes from the vine that grew in coils across the roof as he went. He made his way to his study, not encountering a soul to demand an explanation of or vent his simmering anger on. When he reached the inner sanctum, however, he did discover someone: a small child he had never seen before, who was almost hidden by his desk as she spun around in his swivel chair.

The child saw him and grabbed the desk to slow herself, leaving a neat imprint of sticky finger marks on the antique wood. His lips twisted in a grimace of distaste. He had few friends with children and his exposure to them had been limited to brief appearances at baptisms bearing appropriate gifts. None had reached this child’s age yet. Five? Six? he speculated, studying the grubby freckled face.

‘Hello. Are you looking for the toilets?’

The question was so unexpected that for a moment Isandro did not respond.

‘No, I am not.’ Was it normal for a child to be this self-possessed? She definitely didn’t seem even slightly fazed to see him.

‘Oh.’ Hands on his antique desk, she began to twist in the seat from side to side. ‘The lady was but the other man was looking for Zoe. Are you looking for Zoe, too? I can do fifty spins and not be sick. I could probably do more if I wanted to.’

Glancing at the Aubusson carpet underfoot, he cautiously caught the back of the chair before she could put her boast to the test. ‘I’m sure you could.’

‘You picked grapes.’ The kid stared at the grapes he had carelessly plucked from the vine as he had walked through the orangery. ‘You’re not meant to do that,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You’ll be in big trouble, and maybe even go to jail.’ The thought seemed to please her.

‘Thanks for the warning. Want some?’ She seemed so at home he almost began to wonder if the place had been invaded by squatters and nobody had seen fit to mention it to him!

‘Can’t. You’re a stranger. And they’re sour.’

‘Georgie!’

Isandro’s head lifted at the sound of the musical voice with just a hint of attractive huskiness.

‘I’m in here!’ The kid bellowed back into his right ear, making him wince.

A moment later a figure appeared in the doorway. The body that matched the voice was not a let-down—anything but! Tall, slim, dark-haired with the sort of figure that filled out the faded denim jeans she wore to perfection. His immediate impression was of sinuous supple grace and an earthy sexuality that hit him with the force of a hammer between the eyes. Though the main physical response to her appearance was somewhat lower than eye level.

Isandro’s aggravation levels reduced by several notches as he studied this new arrival, who didn’t just have a great body but a vivid, expressive face he found himself wanting to look at. Stare at.

She possessed the most extraordinary eyes—electric blue that tilted slightly at the corners—and a mouth that made any man looking at it think of how it would feel to taste those plush pink lips… Isandro exhaled and reined in his galloping imagination. He had a healthy libido but he prided himself on his ability to control it.

‘Georgie, you shouldn’t be in here. I’ve told you. Oh…!’ Zoe stopped halfway through the open doorway of the study. Her blue eyes flew wide as she sucked in a tiny shocked breath, registering the presence of the tall figure who was towering over her niece.

The strange reluctance she felt to enter the room was strong, but not as strong as her protective instincts, so, with a cautious smile pasted in place, Zoe stepped forward.

There had been many occasions in her adult life when she had been accused of being too trusting, too inclined to assume the best of others, but since Zoe had acquired responsibility for her seven-year-old twin niece and nephew she had developed a new caution that bordered, she suspected, on paranoia, at least when it came to the safety of her youthful charges.

Under the pleasant smile, her newly awoken protective instincts were on full alert. She moved towards the man whom she had not seen outside. And she would have noticed him, because despite the casual clothes—expensive casual—he definitely wouldn’t have blended in with the carefree and relaxed people milling around outside.

She doubted that face did relaxed or carefree.

Without taking her eyes off the incredibly handsome stranger any more than you’d take your eyes off a stray wolf—and the analogy was not inappropriate, as he had the entire lean, hungry look going on—she held out her hand to her niece.

‘Come here, Georgina,’ she said in a tone meant to convey a sense of urgency without overly alarming her niece. Not that the latter would be likely—Georgie was friendly to a fault and she had no sense of danger whatsoever. Real parents probably knew how to make their kids sensibly cautious without scaring them witless and giving them umpteen issues later in life…but Zoe wasn’t a real parent and most of the time she felt like a pretty sorry substitute for not one but two brilliant parents.

She took a deep breath and fought her way clear of the oppressive weight of emotions that continued to hit her when she wasn’t expecting it. There wasn’t time to feel angry at fate or the drunk driver whose carelessness had taken away the twins’ parents. There was barely time to comb her hair some days!

‘I’m sorry. I hope Georgina wasn’t bothering you.’ It was more polite than ‘what the hell are you doing in here?’ but in her experience it was always better to try a smile before you brought out the big stick.

Though it would take a very big stick indeed or even a small army to make this intruder leave if he didn’t take the hint, she thought, sliding a peek at him under her lashes and looking away quickly. The heat climbed into her smooth cheeks as she realised her scrutiny was being returned, though there was nothing remotely surreptitious or apologetic about the way his dark eyes were wandering over her.

A Legacy of Secrets is the first in the sizzling Corretti series and, for me, it was love at first sight when I met my hero Santo. He is a little different from my other heroes – he appears to care about nothing and is so shamelessly debauched that many times I tried to reel him in!

I couldn’t.

‘How’s the book?’ My lovely editor emailed one morning as I inched towards/over deadline.

‘Nearly there.’ I typed back with one hand as I chewed my nails on the other, having read back what I’d written. You see, the more I tried to tone Santo down the more he refused to behave.

Because of the time-difference I couldn’t ring my editor so I waited till everyone was at school and closed all my windows so that the neighbours couldn’t overhear, then I did what I do when in crisis – I called a friend.

A writing friend!

Because I have the best/strangest job in the world, I occasionally wonder what people would think if they got a crossed line when I am chatting about one of my books. I also worry what the police might think if they ever had to tap my phone! Especially with the Correttis!

‘He’s just picked up his brother from prison!’ I started to regale my plot and I got to the bit that was troubling me – I thought I might have gone too far with a sex scene. My friend listened (hopefully no-one else was!) and we chatted some more and then she asked ‘Why do you like him?’

I had my answer.

‘He makes me laugh.’

Santo could get away with anything because he made me laugh and, rather too often, he did!

Yes, he might have some explaining to do to Ella but I am so glad that it wasn’t a tamed version of Santo that I tried to deliver.

I hope you love him as much as I do and I hope it whets your appetite for the rest of the fabulous Corretti series.

I can’t wait to read the rest of the stories. I shall read them, as I always do a continuity series, in one hit — over a very long weekend, with lots of chocolate, hot chocolate and a nice red wine in the evening.

Do you read a continuity series one by one or are you like me and like to have them all there before you start?

Love to all,

Carol x

About A Legacy of Secrets:

Personal assistant Ella is never without her “Santo Bag”—not the latest designer “must have,” but emergency supplies to handle whatever the devilish Santo Corretti throws at her. But no pair of sunglasses will cover the darkness in her boss’s eyes this morning.

Scandal is circling. Santo’s family is in tatters. His brother is languishing in a jail cell and his latest film’s on the rocks. All Santo wants is a little TLC. Except, Ella’s heart is not part of the playboy fix-it kit.

But what Santo Corretti wants he gets!

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Note: This blog entry was first posted on The Harlequin Blog.

The journey of one (relatively) young, single girl’s romance with Harlequin Presents!

by Editorial Assistant Pippa Roscoe

I’m so excited! As you read this I will be sunning myself in the beautiful Italian countryside. The smells of freshly cut grass, sunshine, sunscreen, and an Aperol spritz will be the perfect back drop to a wonderful week off. But there is no rest for the wicked. And whilst I’m not exactly wicked – I do plan on being a little naughty! For where better to begin my search for the fabled Italian Alpha Male?!

Some of my favorite things about Presents are the international heroes and the glorious destinations the heroines find themselves in. Although my travels have taken me to quite a few gorgeous destinations, none of them have been as wide and varied as those covered by our Presents author’s! When I first started reading Presents and delving into the exotic and fascinating worlds the clever authors brought to life, I began to make a list of all of the places I’d never been, and now so desperately wanted to go …

• Dubai: for the glitz, glamour, gold, luxury, and pure exoticism.
• Hong Kong: aside from the delicious food, where else should you get lost in translation with an International businessman?
• Russia: where better to wrap up warm than in the arms of a thrillingly brooding Russian magnate?
• New York: the last time I was there I was 11 years old, and I’d like the chance to view it through adult eyes, preferably with a Manhattan in one hand and an American Tycoon in the other!
• The Desert: I’m not fussy, any desert will do… as long as there’s a Sheikh waiting at a beautiful Oasis, ready for me to unravel his darkest secrets!

But ladies, I am realistic. I might have to find me a rich alpha male before I can even think about getting to all of these glorious destinations – and it’s unlikely that any alpha male of mine would be happy with me running off with a different tycoon every time my foot touched a new continent!

In the meantime, I’ll be keeping my sights (from beneath my fab sunglasses!) firmly on all the Italians I can find. And you never know… my next blog might just be about the perfect holiday romance!

So tell me ladies, what’s the best thing about holidays for you? And have you ever indulged in a holiday romance? (And more importantly… did it last!?)

When Carole’s editor asked her if she’d like to write a duo of Presents books, featuring Argentinean heroes, under the title ‘Buenos Aires Nights’, she immediately said YES.

She had never been to Argentina, and simply couldn’t resist writing a duo of books with two tall, dark and sexy Argentinean men as the hero.

How is A Touch of Notoriety connected to A Taste of the Forbidden?

The connection between A Touch of Notoriety and A Taste of the Forbidden, the first in the Buenos Aires Nights duo, featuring two tall dark and gorgeous Argentinean heroes, is that the two heroines, Beth and Grace, are sisters.  Well…not quite.  But that’s the mystery left for the reader at the end of A Taste of the Forbidden and answered in A Touch of Notoriety!

Could you tell us a little about the hero and heroine of A Touch of Notoriety, Raphael and Beth?

Raphael Cordoba has a military background, and is the best friend and Head of Security for Cesare Navarro, the billionaire hero of the first book in the duo Buenos Aires Nights.  Raphael is a man who doesn’t suffer fools gladly, so when he’s asked by Cesare to act as bodyguard to Beth Blake, the sister of Cesare’s fiancé, Raphael is not best pleased when Beth refuses to listen to any of his security advice, and he has no hesitation in letting her know just how much he disapproves of her and her reckless independence.

I love writing about strong, arrogant heroes and feisty heroines, and Raphael and Beth are exactly that.  Which means the sparks are about to fly!

 If A Touch of Notoriety was made into a movie, who would you cast as Raphael and Beth?

That’s a tricky one.  But I think I’d have to choose a buff – very buff! – Hugh Jackman as Raphael – with a deep and sexy Argentinean accent, of course!  Hugh is one very sexy man, and an actor who is capable of being tough as well as revealing his more tender side, as Raphael does in A Touch of Notoriety.  I might even be persuaded to ask the director to put in an extra scene, and have Hugh strip off to the waist and tip a bucket of water over his head and chest – as he did in the film Australia.  Whew – it give me hot flushes just thinking about it!

For Beth I would probably choose Amanda Seyfried, the young star of Mama Mia.  She’s blonde and beautiful, and can definitely play feisty and independent, as well as vulnerable, which Beth is under all that fieriness.  Yep, definitely Amanda Seyfried as Beth.

What are you working on next?

I have a Regency Historical duo out in August and December of this year.  And a Presents two-in-one, also coming out in December, with both books set in the often scandalous and exciting world of films and television.

I’m currently working on the first in a Presents trilogy, coming out in 2014, and featuring three very wealthy, very ruggedly handsome, very arrogant brothers, who are the owners of three galleries and auction houses in London, Paris, and New York.

I could tell you more about this Presents trilogy, but as I’ve only written the first book, and my characters invariably take over and decide to write their own story, I can’t guarantee that anything I say about them now will actually happen!

Every day, when I sit down in front of my laptop, is as much of an adventure for me as it is for the reader, because I have absolutely no idea where my hero and heroine intends taking me today!

How far would you go to ease the suffering of someone you held dear? I don’t think any ofus know how much we would or could do unless we were in that situation. Hopefully for most of us, it will never become an issue because it will never happen.

For Simone Hamilton, it does happen and she is as unprepared as most of us would be for the decisions she has to make. All of a sudden, a belated visit to her maternal grandfather in Spain has become so much more. Unexpectedly she is faced with one unenviable choice – walk away and return to her studies in Melbourne, Australia, or stay and make her grandfather’s last days as happy as she can.

But a decision to stay makes her care all the more, and makes her determined to undo the losses her grandfather has made and to reunite the vineyard. Which means making a deal with the new owner, Alesander Esquivel, the current head of the family her grandfather has been at loggerheads with forever.

For Simone, there are no easy options.

But sometimes, it’s only by embracing the hard options that brings the best out of us. I like to think that’s how it is with Simone – and with Alesander.

Here’s a taster from the beginning of the book…

Felipe was dying. Six months to live. Maybe twelve at a stretch.

  Dying!

Simone swiped away a tear from her cheek, stumbling a little as she ran between the rows of vines clinging to the mountain-side. Her grandfather would hate it if he knew she was crying over him. ‘I am old,’ he’d said, when finally he’d let her learn the truth, ‘I’ve had my time. I have few regrets…’ But then his eyes had misted over and she’d seen the enormity of those “few” regrets swirling in their watery depths.

The remorse at losing his wife of forty years to her battle with cancer.

The despair when his recently reconciled daughter and her husband – Simone’s parents – were lost in a joy flight crash whilst holidaying not three months later.

And the shame of succumbing to drink and then to the cards in the depths of his resultant depression, gambling away three-quarters of the estate before he was discovered and dragged bodily from the table by a friend before he could lose his own home.

It was the regret that was killing him. Oh yes, there was cancer too, that was doing its worst to eat away at his bones and shorten his life; but it was the regret that was sucking away his will to fight his disease and give into it instead; regret that was telling him that there was no point because he had nothing left to live for.

And nothing anybody could say or do seemed to make a difference. Not when every time he looked out his window, he saw the vines that were no longer his, and he was reminded all over again of all that he had lost.

She stopped at the edge of the estate, where the recently erected fence marked the new border between her grandfather’s remaining property and the neighbouring Esquivel estate. Here, where there was a break between the rows of vines staked and trellised high above her head, she could look down over the spectacular coastline of northern Spain. Below her the town of Getaria nestled behind a rocky headland that jutted out into the Bay of Biscay. Beyond that the sea swelled in brilliant shades of blue that changed with the wind and with the sun, a view so unlike what she had at home in Australia that it took her breath away every time she looked at it.

She inhaled deeply of the salt-tinged air, the scene of terraced hills, the tiered vines, the ancient town below all too picture perfect to be real. It wouldn’t seem real when she was back home in Melbourne and living again in one of the cheap, outer-city student flats she was used to. But Melbourne and her deferred university studies would have to wait a bit longer. She’d come expecting to stay just a few weeks between semesters. Then Felipe had fallen ill and she’d promised to stay until he was back on his feet. But after this latest news, it was clear she wasn’t returning home any time soon. Because there was no way she could leave him now.

  Dying.

Hadn’t there been enough death lately without losing Felipe too? She was only just getting to know him properly – the long term rift between him and his daughter keeping the families apart ever since she was a child, Felipe and his wife here in Spain, their wayward daughter, her forbidden lover and their grand-daughter living in self-imposed exile in Australia.

All those wasted years, only to be reunited now, when mere months remained.

How could she make those last few months better for Felipe? How to ease the pain of all he had lost? She shook her head, searching for answers as she gazed across the fence at the acres of vines that were once his and that now belonged to others, sensing the enormity of his loss, his guilt, his shame, and wishing there was some way she could make things better.

For there was no way to bring back his wife or his daughter and son-in-law.

There was no money to buy back the acreage he had lost.

And given the long-running rivalry between the two neighbouring families, there was no way the Esquivels were going to hand it back when they had seized such a powerful advantage.

Which left her with only one crazy option.

So crazy there was no way it could ever work.

But was she crazy enough to try?

Romantic Times had this to say about A Price Worth Paying? in its 4 starred review -

“Set amidst vineyards in the picturesque Basque region of Spain, Morey’s marriage-for-profit premise shines, with a dynamic duo whose road to love is a long one, but worth every obstacle.”

Sometimes those obstacles are worth the long road, and of course, not always in romance. Have you ever gone the long road and been so glad you did?

I would love to hear your stories.

Best wishes

Trish

Inspiration can be found in the most unexpected places! The idea for the heroine in my May release Harlequin Presents Captive in His Castle came to me after I had watched a documentary about young adults when they leave social services care. The program focused on vulnerable teenagers who often struggle without the support of a family, and it got me thinking…

Jess Harper is a survivor – brought up by an alcoholic father until he died and she went into social services care at the age of eleven. With no family to love and support her, Jess was easy pickings for a ruthless criminal who befriended her and forced her to unknowingly commit fraud.

Jess was left with a criminal record and a broken heart. Desperate circumstances led her to make a desperate decision that haunts her for the rest of her life. But Jess was determined to get on with her life. A painter and decorator by trade, she stands her ground in a male dominated world, but beneath her tough exterior lies a soft heart. She takes pity on a homeless immigrant worker Angelo and allows him to stay at her flat.

Angelo disappears, and Jess is amazed when a gorgeous Italian hunk Drago Cassari turns up on her doorstep claiming to be Angelo’s cousin.  Even more staggering is the news that Angelo belongs to the hugely wealthy Cassari family. Angelo is lying unconscious in a hospital in Venice, his inheritance has disappeared from his bank account, and Drago is certain that Jess – a convicted fraudster – knows more than she’s saying about the missing money.

Tricked into going to Venice with Drago, Jess finds herself imprisoned in his palatial home on the banks of the Grand Canal. But fiery Jess won’t be bossed around and plans a daring escape – which goes horribly wrong when she falls – literally – into Drago’s arms!

Drago takes his responsibility for his family and in particular his younger cousin seriously. He is determined to retrieve Angelo’s money, but he had not reckoned on his blazing attraction to Jess. He has never met a woman like her, but secrets in his past mean that he is wary of falling for the beautiful and unpredictable woman who has turned his life upside down.

Jess vows to prove she is innocent of any crime – and she can’t wait for arrogant Drago Cassari’s grovelling apology. If only she didn’t find his sexy charm so irresistible!

I love writing books where the hero and heroine have had difficult pasts, and issues which maybe they haven’t yet resolved. Then I give them a new set of problems to deal with – and let the fireworks begin!

Chantelle

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Keep reading for an excerpt!
About A Rich Man’s Whim:

A month with the ruthless Russian…

Kat Marshall has sacrificed everything for her younger sisters. And with money tighter than ever, she’s in desperate need of help. Innocent Kat has hidden her dreams away until she meets enigmatic Russian, Mikhail Kusnirovich, whose outrageous offer could make them all come true….

Billionaire Mikhail doesn’t have dreams. He has money, lots of it, and he always gets what he wants. Bedding Kat should be easy, but the tempting redhead is impossible to seduce! So Mikhail offers to pay off her debts—in exchange for a month on his yacht, and in his cabin, virginity included!

Excerpt:

Mikhail Kusnirovich, Russian oil oligarch and much feared business magnate, relaxed his big body back into his leather office chair and surveyed his best friend, Luka Volkov, with astonishment. ‘Hiking…seriously? That’s truly how you want to spend your stag weekend away?’

‘Well, we’ve already had the party and that was a little high octane for me,’ Luka confided, his good-natured face tightening with distaste at the memory. Of medium height and stocky build, he was a university lecturer and the much admired author of a recent book on quantum physics.

‘You can blame your future brother-in-law for that,’ Mikhail reminded him drily, thinking of the lap and pole dancers hired by Peter Gregory for the occasion, women so far removed from his shy academic friend’s experience that the arrival of a group of terrorists at the festivities would have been more welcome.

‘Peter meant it for the best,’ Luka proclaimed, instantly springing to the defence of his bride’s obnoxious banker brother.

Mikhail’s brow raised, his lean, darkly handsome face grim. ‘Even though I warned him that you wouldn’t like it?’

Luka reddened. ‘He does try; he just doesn’t always get it right.’

Mikhail said nothing because he was thinking with regret of how much Luka had changed since he had got engaged to Suzie Gregory. Although the two men had little in common except their Russian heritage, they had been friends since they met at Cambridge University. In those days, Luka would have had no problem declaring that a man as crude, boring and boastful as Peter Gregory was a waste of space. But now Luka could no longer call a spade a spade and always paid subservient regard to his fiancée’s feelings. An alpha male to the core, Mikhail gritted his even white teeth in disgust. He would never marry. He was never going to change who and what he was to please some woman. The very idea was a challenge for a male raised by a man whose favourite saying had been, ‘a chicken is not a bird and a woman is not a person’. The late Leonid Kusnirovich had been fond of reeling that off to inflame the sensibilities of the refined English nanny he had hired to take care of his only son. Sexist, brutal and always insensitive, Leonid had been outraged by the nanny’s gentle approach to child rearing and had been afraid that she might turn his son into a wimp. But at the age of thirty there was nothing remotely wimpy about Mikhail’s six-foot-five-inch powerfully built frame, his ruthless drive to succeed or his famous appetite for a large and varied diet of women.

‘You’d like the Lake District…it’s beautiful,’ Luka declared.

Mikhail made a massive effort not to look as pained as he felt. ‘You want to go hiking in the Lake District? I assumed you were thinking of Siberia—’

‘I can’t get enough time off work and I’m not sure I’d be up to the challenge of the elements there,’ Luka admitted, patting his slight paunch in apology. ‘I’m not half as fit as you are. England in the spring and a gentle workout is more my style. But could you get by without your limo, luxury lifestyle and your fleet of minders for a couple of days?’

Mikhail went nowhere without a team of security guards. He frowned, not at the prospect of existing without the luxuries, but at having to convince his protection team that he didn’t need them for forty eight hours. Stas, his highly protective head of security, had been taking care of Mikhail since he was a little boy. ‘Of course, I can do it,’ he responded with innate assurance. ‘And a little deprivation will do me good.’

‘You’ll have to leave your collection of cell phones behind as well,’ Luka dared.

Mikhail stiffened in dismay. ‘But why?’

‘You won’t stop cutting deals if you still have the phones in tow,’ Luka pointed out, well aware of his friend’s workaholic ways. ‘I don’t fancy standing on top of a mountain somewhere shivering while you consider share prices. I know what you’re like.’

‘If that’s really what you want, I’ll consider it,’ Mikhail conceded grudgingly, knowing he would sooner cut off his right arm than remove himself, even temporarily, from his vast business empire. Even so, although he rarely took time out from work, the concept of even a small physical challenge had considerable appeal for him.

A knock on the door prefaced the appearance of a tall beauty in her twenties with a mane of pale blonde hair. She settled intense bright blue eyes on her employer and said apologetically, ‘Your next appointment is waiting, sir.’

‘Thank you, Lara. I’ll call you when I’m ready.’

Even Luka stared as the PA left the room, her slim hips swaying provocatively in her tight pencil skirt. ‘That one looks like last year’s Miss World. Are you—?’

Mikhail was amused and his wide sensual mouth quirked. ‘Never ever in the office.’

‘But she’s gorgeous,’ Luka commented.

Mikhail smiled. ‘Is the reign of Suzie wearing thin?’

Luka flushed. ‘Of course not. A man can look without being tempted.’

Mikhail relished the fact that he could still look at any woman and be tempted, a much more healthy state of affairs in his opinion than that of his friend, he reflected grimly, for Luka clearly now felt forced to stifle all his natural male inclinations in the holy cause of fidelity. Was his old friend so certain that he had found everlasting love? Or should Mikhail make use of their hiking trip to check that Luka was still as keen to make the sacrifices necessary to become a husband? Had Lu-ka’s awareness of Lara’s attractions been a hint that he was no longer quite so committed to his future bride? Forsaking all others…in sickness and in health? Not for the first time, Mikhail barely repressed a shudder of revulsion, convinced that it was unnatural and unmanly to want to make such promises to any woman, and as for the what’s-mine-is-yours agenda that went with it—he would sooner set fire to his billions than place himself in a financially vulnerable position.

Kat tensed in dismay as the sound of the post van crunching across gravel reached her ears. Her sister, Emmie, had come home late and unexpectedly the night before and she didn’t want her wakened by the doorbell. Hastily setting down the quilt she was stitching, she flexed stiff fingers and hurried to the front door. Her stomach hollowed in fear of what the postman might be delivering. It was a fear that never left her now, a fear that dominated her every waking hour. But Kat still answered the door with a ready smile on her generous mouth and a friendly word and as she signed for the recorded delivery letter with the awful tell-tale red lettering on the envelope she was proud that she kept her hand steady.

Slowly she retreated back inside the solid stone farmhouse, which she had inherited from her father. Birk-side’s peaceful setting and beautiful views had struck her as paradise after the rootless, insecure existence she had endured growing up with her mother, Odette. A former top fashion model, Odette had never settled down to live an ordinary life, even after she had children. Kat’s father had married her mother before she found fame and the increasingly sophisticated Odette had found the wealthy men she met on her travels far more to her taste than the quiet accountant she had married at too young an age. More than ten years had passed before Odette chose to marry a second time. That marriage had produced twin daughters, Sapphire and Emerald. Odette’s final big relationship had been with a South American polo player, who had fathered Kat’s youngest sister, Topaz. When Kat was twenty-three years old, her mother had put her three younger daughters into care, pleading that the twins in particular were out of control and at risk. Touched by the girls’ distress, Kat had taken on sole responsibility for raising her half-sisters and had set up home with them in the Lake District.

Looking back to those first halcyon days when she had had such high hopes for their fresh start in life now left a bitter taste in Kat’s mouth. A deep abiding sense of failure gripped her; she had been so determined to give the girls the secure home and love that she herself had never known as a child. She tore open the letter and read it. Yet another to stuff in the drawer with its equally scary predecessors, she reflected wretchedly. The building society was going to repossess the house while the debt collection agency would send in the bailiffs to recoup what funds they could from the sale of her possessions. She was so deep in debt that she stood to lose absolutely everything right down to the roof over her head. It didn’t matter how many hours a day she worked making hand stitched patchwork quilts, only a miracle would dig her out of the deep financial hole she was in.

She had borrowed a small fortune to turn the old farmhouse into a bed and breakfast business. Putting in en suite bathrooms and extending the kitchen and dining area had been unavoidable. The steady stream of guests in the early years had raised Kat’s hopes high and she had foolishly taken on more debt, determined to do the very best she could by every one of her sisters. Gradually, however, the flow of guests had died down to a trickle and she had realised too late that the market had changed; many people preferred a cheap hotel or a cosy pub to a B&B. In addition, the house was situated down a long single-track road and too far from civilisation to appeal to many. She had still hoped to get passing trade from day trippers and hill walkers but most of the walkers, she met went home at the end of the day or slept in a tent. The recent recession had made bookings as scarce as hens’ teeth.

A tall beautiful blonde in a ratty old robe slowly descended the stairs smothering a yawn. ‘That postman makes so much noise,’ Emmie complained tartly. ‘I suppose you’ve been up for ages. You always were an early riser.’

Kat resisted the urge to point out that for a long time she had had little choice with three siblings to get off to school every morning and overnight guests to feed; she was too grateful that Emmie seemed chattier than she had been the night before when the taxi dropped her off and she declared that she was too exhausted to do anything other than go straight to bed. During the night, Kat had burned with helpless curiosity because six months earlier Emmie had gone to live with their mother, Odette, in London, determined to get to know the woman she had barely seen since she was twelve years old. Kat had chosen not to interfere. Emmie was, after all, twenty-three years of age. Even so, Kat had still worried a lot about her, knowing that her sister would ultimately discover that the most important person in Odette’s life was always Odette and that the older woman had none of the warmth and affection that every child longed to find in a parent.

‘Do you want any breakfast?’ Kat asked prosaically.

‘I’m not hungry,’ Emmie replied, sinking down at the kitchen table with a heavy sigh. ‘But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea.’

‘I missed you,’ Kat confided as she switched on the kettle.

Emmie smiled, long blonde hair tumbling round her lovely face as she sat forward. ‘I missed you but I didn’t miss my deadend job at the library or the dreary social life round here. I’m sorry I didn’t phone more often though.’

‘That’s all right.’ Kat’s emerald green eyes glimmered with fondness, her long russet spiralling curls brushing her cheekbones in stark contrast to her fair skin as she stretched up to a cupboard to extract two beakers. More than ten years older than her sister, Kat was a tall slender woman with beautiful skin, clear eyes and a wide full mouth. ‘I guessed you were busy and hoped you were enjoying yourself.’

Without warning, Emmie compressed her mouth and pulled a face. ‘Living with Odette was a nightmare,’ she admitted abruptly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kat remarked gently as she poured the tea.

‘You knew it would be like that, didn’t you?’ Emmie prompted as she accepted the beaker. ‘Why on earth didn’t you warn me?’

‘I thought that as she got older Mum might have mellowed and I didn’t want to influence you before you got to know her on your own account,’ Kat explained ruefully. ‘After all, she could have treated you very differently.’

Emmie snorted and reeled off several incidents that illustrated what she had viewed as her mother’s colossal selfishness and Kat made soothing sounds of understanding.

‘Well, I’m home to stay for good this time,’ her half-sister assured her squarely. ‘And I ought to warn you… I’m pregnant—’

”Pregnant?’ Kat gasped, appalled at that unexpected announcement. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

‘I’m pregnant,’ Emmie repeated, settling violet-blue eyes on her sister’s shocked face. ‘I’m sorry but there it is and there’s not much I can do about it now—’

‘The father?’ Kat pressed tautly.

Emmie’s face darkened as if Kat had thrown a light switch. ‘That’s over and I don’t want to talk about it.’

Kat struggled to swallow back the many questions brimming on her lips, frightened of saying something that would offend. In truth she had always been more of a mother to her sisters than another sibling and after that announcement she was already wondering painfully where she had gone wrong. ‘OK, I can accept that for the moment—’

‘But I still want this baby,’ Emmie proclaimed a touch defiantly.

Still feeling light-headed with shock, Kat sat down opposite her. ‘Have you thought about how you’re going to manage?’

‘Of course, I have. I’ll live here with you and help you with the business,’ Emmie told her calmly.

‘Right now there isn’t a business for you to help me with,’ Kat admitted awkwardly, knowing she had to give as much of the truth as possible when Emmie was basing her future plans on the guest house doing a healthy trade. ‘I haven’t had a customer in over a month—’

‘It’s the wrong time of year—business is sure to pick up by Easter,’ Emmie said merrily.

‘I doubt it. I’m also in debt to my eyeballs,’ Kat confessed reluctantly.

Her sister studied her in astonishment. ‘Since when?’

‘For ages now. I mean, you must’ve noticed before you went away that business wasn’t exactly brisk,’ Kat responded.

‘Of course, you borrowed a lot of money to do up the house when we first came here,’ Emmie recalled abstractedly.

Yesterday, author Maisey Yates blogged about Heir to a Dark Inheritance, the second book in her Secret Heirs of Powerful Men duet — but did you know book 1 Heir to a Desert Legacy was the Harlequin Recommended Read book for April? If you missed it, here’s your chance to get your hot little hands on it — we have 5 print copies up for grabs!

About Heir to a Desert Legacy:

Sayid al Kadar was trained from childhood to be a warrior. He’s fought, he’s conquered—but was never meant to rule…

Thrust reluctantly to the throne, Sheikh Sayid is shocked to discover a child who is his country’s true heir, and he’ll do anything to protect him, even if it means taking on the child’s aunt!

Chloe James might behave like a tigress protecting her cub, but this trained soldier can see her weak spot. Taking Chloe as his bride would appease the people of his kingdom, and provide the perfect outlet for the blistering chemistry between them….

To enter the giveaway, leave a comment telling us what you would say if a sheikh proposed to you! Contest closes on April 29  at 11:59pm. 5 winners will be drawn from all eligible comments and announced here on April 30. Open to US/Canada residents only. For full official rules, click here.

Update: the giveaway is now closed. Please check the comments to see who won!