Unity pre-release and an excerpt

Well, it's that time you've all been waiting for. Well, it's what I've been waiting for, at least!

All Romance eBooks now has my novel Unity on pre-order. http://allromanceebooks.com/product-temperanceunity-9894-140.html Come Tuesday this week, you could have a copy all of your very own for the reading!

Now that I've wet your appetite for that much, let me share with you an excerpt from the novel.

***

Night art classes were held at the local dojo twice a week. Celeste's teacher was a slight blonde woman who had missed her calling as a teenage cheerleader and, through affiliation with the younger--and therefore cooler--students of the class, was trying to recapture her youth. Currently, Susanna was strolling up and down between the crooked rows of canvases in her class, murmuring, “Yes, very good, very good”.

When Susanna arrived by Celeste's canvas, the dark haired girl looked at her expectantly. As Susanna stared at the half finished painting, Celeste expected her to make some original comment. When Susanna only smiled accommodatingly and told her to “Carry on”, Celeste deduced her teacher was quite blind or very deluded. She had been trying for something abstract against the central figure, but the perspective was all wrong, the colors didn't quite mesh, and there was a weird thing going on with the eyes that she couldn't quite seem to fix.

'Creepy, 'Leste,'

Jasper said to her, taking some time apart from his current work of art as Susanna moved on to another round of appreciative, “Ooh, very good” to other students.

Celeste shot him a sideways look at his sudden appearance there. Jasper shrugged.

'So, who's he supposed to be?'

Celeste looked back at the canvas. There was no salvaging it now. The best she could hope for was that Susanna's blind streak would continue into the marking phase, but at the same time, she didn't really want to depend on an ignorant eye for the benefit of her marks.

'I think I saw it in a dream.'

Celeste answered him shortly, pulling the canvas down from the board and turning to the paints on the table behind her to start putting them away. From the floor, the man stared out in all his magnificence, garbed in a medieval style tunic bearing some sort of intricately designed crest on the front of it.

As Celeste moved away and started sorting through the brushes she was going to have to wash, Jasper stepped closer to the discarded canvas, still staring, bringing his hand to cup his jaw as he studied Celeste's work.

'His gaze is striking… and the colors…'

'You're my friend; you have to say that,'

Her words were dismissive. Celeste walked to the sinks and started soaking her brushes before washing them there.

'Anyway, are we on for tonight?'

'Photography at the beach? Wouldn't miss that for the world. What time were we meeting up again?'

Jasper didn't pause at her change of subject as he answered. He straightened, easily coming back to remembering there was a whole other world outside of Celeste's painting.

All paints were packed, and Celeste stuffed the ones that were hers in her bag. The others she returned to the cupboard in the back of the room.

'After dark. Say about ten?'

Jasper nodded. When she returned to the stand she had borrowed, Jasper had her canvas in his hands and was holding it up to her attention with curiosity.

'So, what are you going to do with this?'

'Nothing. I'm heading off now. It's not like I'm going to get anything more from today. If you want to come around to my place early, Natalia's making chicken curry, mild.'

Celeste was busy picking the canvas and the stand up as she spoke. She laid the stand next to the others on the rack and then the canvas, she put with the rest of the used canvases, ready to be painted over and used anew. Jasper had his eyebrows raised; she was not usually so dismissive of any artwork she made. However, he returned his expression to normal well before she turned to look at him again.

'Ooh, just the way I like it. Tell her to make lots. I'll definitely be there.'



Unity, published by Tease Publishing. Available from July 15th.


Nikki Watson.
http://nikkiwatson.blogspot.com/

Too Hot To Handle

Excerpt from Too Hot To Handle/Linda Sole/Eternal Press

This book will be published by Eternal Press in June

Sylvie knew that most of her friends settled for sex and a mutual liking, companionship and someone to share their lives. They went in for relationships that were never intended to be permanent, which might last for a few months or a few years, but would eventually end as one partner moved on to a new relationship.
"Marriage doesn’t matter anymore," was the general theory, and Sylvie had gone along with it, but in her heart she couldn’t help wanting more.
Well, you’re not likely to find it with Rafe Wilde, she told herself firmly. He simply isn’t the marrying kind.
She sighed, then smiled at her own thoughts. Mr. Wilde was just too attractive for her peace of mind.
And yet there had been a moment in his arms when she would have given herself and not though twice about it. Even now there was a tender, sensitized feeling between her thighs, a need that she had never felt before.

Chateau Despair

My new book from Red Rose Publishing came out today. Chateau Despair is a big WWII saga that spans from 1921 until after the war.

Clothilde grows up in a crumbling chateau in France with her half mad grandmother. She is caught in Paris when the Germans invade and eventually joins the Resistance. Clothilde has several lovers, because men cannot seem to resist her.

Christine grows up in a beautiful country house in England. Her main problem is unrequited first love and clothing coupons. What can these two women possibly have in common - and what will happen when they finally meet?

Madame Fanchot watched in triumph as the child entered the world in a mess of slime and blood. However, her feeling was short-lived as she turned to its mother. She was dying. Her labour had been long and hard, and the months of carrying had taken their toll. No one would care what became of her or her child. She’d been foolish and careless and her behaviour had brought shame to her family. For herself, she could have little reason left to live, but Madame Fanchot knew that she feared for her child.
"Where is she?" The woman’s voice was barely more than a whisper. The blood drained out from between her thighs, sluggish and thick. Madame Fanchot gave up any attempt to staunch it. She believed nothing more could be done to help the woman, or perhaps she was either too indifferent or too ignorant to try to save her. "Let me see her…just once."
"She is beautiful, Madame," Madame Fanchot said. She laid the small bundle in the mother’s arms. The child was wrapped in nothing but the shawl the woman had been wearing when they’d found her wandering in the woods some hours earlier. "You have a lovely daughter."
"I want to call her Elena," the mother said. "Her name is Elen…"
The rattle of death caught in her throat, causing her head to fall back against the pillows.
"She has gone," a man said from the doorway. He spat on the floor of the filthy cottage. "So perish all such whores as they deserve."
"You are too harsh, Jean," his wife said. She took the squalling child from its mother and held it to her breast to quiet it. "How can you know who or what the poor woman was? She has scarcely spoken a word since we found her wandering."
"No decent woman would be alone in a wood in her condition," he muttered sourly. "If she came of good family they threw her out – and she isn’t wearing a wedding ring."
"That doesn’t mean she was a bad woman," Madame Fanchot gave the dead woman a pitying look. "What are we to do with her now?"
"I’ll bury her in the wood. I’ve no money to pay the priest for a proper burial for a stranger?
"But shouldn’t we tell someone? Supposing someone comes looking for her or the child one day?"
"We never saw her."
"What of the child?" she cried in horror at his callous words.
"Get rid of it…" He growled deep in his throat . "I don’t mean kill it – take it to the church. Leave it near the altar. The priest will know what to do. It won’t be the first time he’s had to deal with an abandoned bastard I’ll swear. I don’t care what you do with it, just get it out of the house."
"The shawl is hers. Was there nothing else – no ring or trinket of any kind that might help them to trace who the child’s mother was?"
"Nothing," he muttered in a way that immediately told her he was lying. "Nothing at all."
She scowled at him. If he’d stolen something from the woman, he would likely keep it until he thought it was safe to sell. She would not receive the smallest part of his ill-gotten gains, even though she was the one who’d gone through the trouble of attending the woman.
"I’m going to take the child," she told him. She hated his brutality; she hated the poverty of her life. She wished she dared to leave him and take the child with her. It was impossible. Poor as her life is, it was still better than starving on the streets. "If you mean to bury the woman, Jean, be careful. If anyone sees you there could be trouble."
"No one will see," he shrugged. "No one ever comes to the woods these days. Not after what happened up at the chateau."
Madame Fanchot crossed herself as she hurried out into the bleakness of a cold winter evening. The chateau remained empty for the past five years, save from the crazy old woman that owned it. The last of her family, she had lived there alone, hardly seeing anyone since the tragedy. Madame Fanchot’s mind shied away from what had happened all those years ago.
Indeed, she did not truly know for sure what had happened at the chateau. She’d only heard the rumours, but it was certain three people were brutally murdered there.
Shivering, she ran all the way to the church. She looked about her, but could see no one. Hurriedly, she deposited her bundle behind the priest’s pulpit. He would surely see it there when he came to take evening confession.
Afraid and guilty for leaving the child, Madame Fanchot made the sign of the cross over her heart and then ran from the church hastily. In her anxiety to get away, Madame Fanchot failed to notice the figure sitting quietly in the shadows. Nor did she ever know what happened after she’d left, though there would be times over the years when she wondered what had become of the child. Times when she believed she knew…









CHAPTER ONE
ENGLAND 1945
The day began much as any other. Long afterwards, Christine thought that surely there should have been a storm with thunder and lightening – something dramatic to warn her that her life was on the brink of change.
How lucky she was to be Christine Kavanagh and live at Penhallows, the beautiful old house she shared with her mother and grandfather. She looked up from her breakfast as she heard the sound of heels tapping on the polished floor. Her mother walked into the room. Christine experienced a wave of love. Elizabeth Kavanagh was at forty-five, still a very beautiful woman. Christine coveted her mother’s golden hair, but had inherited her late father’s dark colouring.
"Good morning, Mummy," Christine greeted. She received only a mumbled reply. Beth had her nose in a letter and held several more unopened ones in her hand. Christine poured her a cup of tea and placed a dish of hot toast beside her. "You must try this honey. It is delicious."
"Is it, darling? That’s good." Beth did not look up from her letter as she sipped her tea.
Christine smothered a sigh. She was used to being ignored by her mother, who was a busy woman and usually too wrapped up in her work to notice her daughter. Despite this, Christine knew she was loved. Indeed, her mother treated both her and her brother Harry exactly the same, loving them but leaving them to get on with their lives.
"Is there a letter from Harry?"
Beth looked up at last. "No, Christine. I’m sorry. I expect he’s too busy to write."
Christine frowned as she thought about her brother. Harry was nearly twenty-two. He had been born three months after Beth Winthrope’s marriage to Alexander Kavanagh, which had been rather scandalous but couldn’t be helped because of the divorce.
No one ever talked of the divorce these days, but Christine believed her father had been married before he’d met her mother. It had caused a terrible scandal, of which she’d been told only the bare bones. However, she understood from Harry that her father’s former wife had been involved in a wild, extravagant love affair with a Frenchman of good family.
Harry had told her about the old scandal after their father’s death. He’d come home on leave the previous summer and they’d sat together in the summerhouse, comforting each other as they’d talked of the past. Christine had asked him to tell her about the divorce. After a moment’s hesitation, he’d explained.
"It was a terrible scandal," he’d said. "Father’s first wife was the daughter of an earl, and a leading socialite of her day. Can you imagine what a furore it must have kicked up at the time?"
Christine had been thoughtful before she’d given voice to her question. "Do you think Daddy still loved her when he married Mummy?"
"I doubt any man could love a woman who’d put him through all that."
The tragic loss of Alexander Kavanagh had been recent then, and Christine spent several sleepless nights wondering about her father’s state of mind. She knew that he had loved her mother and his children – but sometimes wondered if he’d ever truly forgot the woman who had betrayed him.
Christine suddenly became aware of her mother speaking to her.
"What are you dreaming about now? Millie wants to clear the table and it’s time for your piano lessons."
Christine studied her mother as she came out of her daydream. Was it her imagination or did she seem worried about something?
The war made things difficult and taking care of a big old house like Penhallows was never easy. Christine thought that being a widow and running a business must put an intolerable strain on her mother, which was why she tried to help as much as she could.
"You might like to take this with you." Beth handed Christine a letter across the table. "It’s from one of the evacuee children who’d lived with us at the beginning of the war. Matthew asked if he can visit us next month. His uncle will bring him down and take him back at the end of his stay. What do you think, Christine? Can you tolerate a visit from Matthew Crane? He might have been a bit of a tearaway when he was last here, but that was three years ago and I dare say, he has grown up now."
"Yes, of course…if it wouldn’t be a problem for you?"
Christine enjoyed being with the children when she was home from her boarding school. She would have liked to leave school early to help with them more, but her family would not hear of it. Of course, she wasn’t old enough to join any of the special women’s units. Her mother insisted that she finish her education before thinking of anything else.
"I’ve never found the children any trouble," Beth replied. Her smiled made her look years younger than her forty odd years. "If the ministry had gone ahead with its plans to turn this house into a convalescent home for wounded soldiers, it would have been far more disruptive. We are lucky that they decided Penhallows is too small to make such a thing practical."
"I don’t think Penhallows is small at all," Christine was annoyed at any criticism of her beautiful home. "But I am glad they thought so!"
"Go along, Christine. Miss Timpson is waiting."
Christine rose obediently as her mother gathered her things. "Is there something I can do for you, Mummy – write letters, address envelopes…anything?"
"I have a secretary to do those things," Beth replied, softening her refusal with a smile. "It’s very kind of you to ask though." She gave her daughter an assessing look. "You need new clothes. Perhaps we can go to London soon. I’ve been saving my coupons, and Uncle Jack says he can spare a few for you."
"Is Uncle Jack coming here this weekend?"
"Yes, I believe so. He is bringing someone…a young lady. His letter was rather mysterious…" She broke off to make a note on the pad she habitually carried with her. "We need flowers for the best guest rooms, which reminds me…I shall want extra flowers for the church this weekend. Now you can help me with the flowers, darling."
"Yes, of course, Mummy."
"Miss Timpson arrived some minutes ago. You mustn’t keep her waiting. As for me, I have a great deal of work to do. Your uncle has sent me several new designs to approve – and one of them is bothering me. I am not certain that it is right for us."
"I still like your own designs best, Mummy. I think they were much better than any of the new stuff they sell now."

Changeling: Of Elves and Men. Excerpt One

Hi all,

I just thought I would give readers a bit of something special to read, an excerpt from my first book published with NCP, Changeling: Of Elves and Men.



Please enjoy this excerpt, involving the very hot couple on the front cover! :D

Excerpt:
Shane never once looked over his shoulder to acknowledge Ivy there so close behind him. Only once he strode in through the French doors and into the hall where the bedrooms were located, did he spin around to face her.

“Damnit, Ivy. I told you you weren’t to come tonight.”

“And I told you what you want has nothing at all to do with me!”

Looking up into his raging eyes, Ivy lifted her head higher and reminded herself that she was not afraid of his fury. She had just followed him back here to tell him that he had no right to tell her what to do, that was all.

With a growl, Shane took a step forward and wrapped an arm around her waist before she could step back nimbly to avoid him. As his lips crushed hers, he felt any resistance she felt toward him wavering. This hadn’t been what he had planned to have happen at all. When they pulled away from each other, Shane’s eyes raked over her body, taking in her reddened lips that looked like they had been well kissed.

His jaw tightened, as he told himself to stand away from her.

“If you followed me just because you wanted to sleep with me, there were better ways of doing that,” he said, trying to turn his frustration into sardonic amusement.

This time, it was Ivy’s turn to growl her frustration. “You stupid, stupid man!” she told him, though Shane noted with interest that it was not exactly a denial of his supposition.

With the hint of a smile playing the edges of his lips, he stepped toward her again, curious to see if she would dodge him the second time around. His fingers found her hand, and silkily, laced their way between her fingers. The simmering heat in his eyes drew her in despite herself, and when the door closed soundly, Shane wasn’t the only one behind it.

Again, he swept towards her, and ravaged her lips, forcing them to move under his as he wished them to, claiming them for his own. Ivy would have moaned if she had been given the breath to do so. As it was, she had to press her body against his to keep herself upright. The rising bulge at the crotch of his jeans told her he didn’t seem to mind. Eventually, she would have to go back to using her own balance to keep her upright. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.

Shane maneuvered them slowly around in a half circle, directing them ever intentionally toward the bed where they would make their consummation of this union. Ivy’s eyes fluttered shut, and she allowed him to guide her where he would. Within the strength of his arms around her, the thought occurred to her that she had never felt safer.

Her breath rushed out of her when Shane picked her up. A second later, she was placed reverently on the bed, a throw back, she thought, of the injuries he was so convinced he needed to protect her from. Before she could complain, Shane began to undo the buttons of her shirt. She arched up a moment later, so that he could cast first it, and then her bra, aside, somewhere between the bed and the door. Then she was reaching up to him, and his kisses moved down from her lips, to her neck, in an unrelenting trail to the waistband of her pants.

He looked up at her for a moment, as if waiting for Ivy’s signal that it was okay for him to go on. Willingly, she gave it to him, and her tight, black pants were unbuttoned, then eased down her shapely legs, and forgotten on the floor beside the bed.

Morning found the two bodies still entwined around each other. It was Shane who woke up first, lifting his finger to flick a strand of Ivy’s dark hair out of her face, which in turn woke her up, too. He had a ready smile on his features, even as Ivy looked around herself in disorientation.

“What I want has nothing to do with you, huh?” Shane asked. It was the ill-timedness of her comment, just before they had fallen into bed with each other, that amused him.

Because it so clearly amused him, it angered her, and Ivy immediately pushed him away from her, as much as she could with their legs still entwined. Another moments’ trouble took care of that problem, too. She sat up, grabbing the pale sheet against her chest.

The smile never left Shane’s lips. “I reckon it’s too late to do that now,” he said to her with a wink that made her flush with embarrassment and anger at the same time.
* * *

"Changeling: Of Elves and Men" Now Available at NCP
http://www.newconceptspublishing.com/changeling.htm

For more excerpts, take a look at my personal blog. I promise it won't bite... hard!
Nikki Watson.
http://nikkiwatson.blogspot.com/