Tag Archives: contemporary romance

Status Update – Contemporary and Historical

Feb 26, 2017

Psst! Here’s the next historical, coming out next month!

Funny, but several times in the last week or so I’ve found myself in conversations with other writers about which genres we like to write the most, which come more easily to us, and how these days, it’s necessary to write more than one genre. This is shop-talk at its finest for me! I love talking about this stuff. So I’ll share with you.

First of all, yeah, a lot of writers agree that it’s really important to write more than one genre right now, especially if you’re an indie author. The market has become so unpredictable (especially these last few months, whew!) and readers read across such a wide variety of genres and subjects. In past years, one genre or another, say, paranormal, would be popular for years (remember all those vampire novels about ten years ago?). Reading tastes would stick around for years as opposed to months.

Months, like now. These days, genres rise and fall, become popular, then lose that popularity on much shorter cycles. One month you might find that your motorcycle gang books are selling like hotcakes, and three months later, you can’t give them away. It’s funny how genres work like that.

Personally, I’m still waiting for historical romance to gain the ascendancy again. I prefer writing and reading historical romance. It’s funny too, because a lot of people say they can’t identify with the problems and plots of historical people, but I find that I identify with them more and feel more comfortable in those worlds. But I’m also weird. We all know that. And even though I’ve been writing historical westerns for the past five years, guess what? I really long to write British Victorian novels! Yep! And by the end of this year, I’m gonna start writing and publishing them too, so watch out!

But here’s the thing. I’ve had some amazing reactions to the contemporary romance novels I’ve written. A lot of them have sold better than my historicals. And that’s primarily because contemporary just sells better than historical. That’s the way the market is right now. And while they’re not my favorite, they’re a very close second. I do like writing them.

The funny thing is, I never thought I had any contemporary romance stories in me. I didn’t think I could write them at all. But I kicked myself in the pants a couple years ago and wrote Summer with a Star, and the rest is history. I really enjoyed writing that book. (Although I ended up publishing it at an incredibly stressful time in my life, and yes, it has a lot of typos. Alas.) Since then, I’ve found a contemporary voice that I’m comfortable with. I kinda think I write contemporary stories the way I would write a historical one, if that makes sense. But there’s a lot you can do with contemporary characters that you can’t do with historical ones.

Although I’ll get out my soapbox and say that the range of activity for historical heroines is WAY narrower than life really was for those ladies in many of the novels I’ve read. People in general don’t quite understand what life was really like back then (understandable, since very few people have degrees in history) and many people believe the myths about what life was like, even when someone points out the reality to them.

But that’s a post for a different day!

Weekend Excerpt – Tycoon’s Tryst

Aug 13, 2016

Wow! Can you believe that we have less than a week until Tycoon’s Tryst, book 10 in the Culpepper Cowboy series, comes out? (Friday, August 19th!) I had SO much fun writing this story about Sly O’Donnell, Culpepper’s clever businessman who is intent on putting his town on the map, and Rachel Korpanty, someone who has already caused more trouble for Culpepper than even she knows! Here’s a sneak peek….

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“It’s not much of a walk,” Sly said.

“Too bad,” Rachel mumbled.

She had the feeling he’d heard her when a charming grin broke out on his face. A blush burned hot on her cheeks.

“Nothing in Culpepper is too far from anything else,” he went on.

“You live here?” He didn’t look like he fit in.

“I do.” He laughed as though he knew what she’d been thinking. “I just moved back a few months ago after living elsewhere for a decade. I grew up here.”

“Must be nice,” she said, then clarified, “to be able to move back home after seeing the world.”

“Yeah.” He smiled, drawing her in even more. It would also be nice to have a handsome face and pair of strong arms like that to come home to every night. Yummy.

“I made some money out there in the world,” he went on, “and now I have plans for improvements to the town.”

“Improvements?”

“Bringing in new businesses and the like. That’s what I do,” he added. “I flip towns.”

“Flip towns?” Something about the statement tickled a nerve, and not a particularly good one.

“I consult with town governments and councils and help them see where they can maximize their profits and improve their offerings.”

“Sounds exciting.” And it sounded like he was better at what he did than she could ever hope to be about her own business. Korpanty Enterprises was too close to falling apart for her comfort, and if this bozo who was suing her—suing her!—succeeded in his nefarious plan, she’d be utterly destroyed.

“It’s been interesting,” Sly said. “I’m happy to be able to give back to my community now.”

“That’s nice and noble of you.” She smiled. It was a relief that there were good men in the world. Not like the head of Culpepper Holdings, the jerk who filed the lawsuit. If she ever got her hands on him, she would wrap those hands around his neck.

“You know what else I do that’s noble?” he asked.

“What?” He was bantering with her, and she liked it. A lot.

“I rescue damsels in distress.”

Rachel laughed. She also saw visions of herself being swept out of the top of a tall tower and carried away to a magnificent castle…with a magnificent bed…

“So what do you say?” Sly went on.

“To what?”

He shrugged, suddenly modest. “How about you and I get together later for a rescue supper? The diner where your P.O.S. rental is parked actually serves a mean burger.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she answered, faster than she should have. Having dinner with strangers wasn’t on her agenda. Nothing was on her agenda but reading the riot act to the loser who was on the verge of destroying everything she’d been working for for the last ten years and more. But she supposed she had to eat.

They reached the hotel, and with her suitcase in one hand, Sly still managed to hold the door for him.

“Thank you.” She nodded, giving him a fun, sultry look that she hadn’t even tried to use on anyone since college.

He responded with a flush that said she’d raised his blood-pressure just the way she’d intended to. Man, Sly was hot and noble, and he responded to her flirting just the way she wanted him to. She was a very good girl as far as girls from L.A. with her background went, but she’d definitely consider a little bit of naughtiness with this hunk of man.

“Ah, Mr. O’Donnell. Nice to see you in here today.”

Rachel’s head whipped around at the greeting from the hotel receptionist. Not for her, for Sly. Cracks formed in the edges of her sexy mood.

“Hey, Brian.” Sly nodded to the receptionist. “Do you have a reservation for a Miss Rachel—” He raised his voice at the end of the question.

Rachel swallowed. Mr. O’Donnell. Someone by the last name of O’Donnell was the CEO of Culpepper Holdings. She’d seen the paperwork. “S. O’Donnell.” Her lawyer had mentioned something about that O’Donnell recently having moved back to Culpepper after operating another company, O’Donnell Management, out of San Francisco. Too many dots connected.

She cleared her throat and said in a hoarse voice, “Rachel Korpanty.”

Sly’s grin fell away. His eyes grew wider. The flush on his cheeks burned redder.

“Miss Korpanty, if I could just see your license and the credit card you made your reservation with,” Brian the receptionist said.

Rachel couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She’d just accepted a dinner invitation from the man who was about to ruin her life.

 

Tycoon’s Tryst will be available on Friday, August 19th at Amazon and for Kindle Unlimited, and will be available at other retailers in three months!

Excerpt Wedn– Um, Thursday – Catch a Falling Star

Oct 15, 2015

Okay, yesterday got away from me just a little bit. But I still have an excerpt for you this week! We’re so close to release day for Catch a Falling Star that I can practically taste it. So here’s a little sampling of the stakes my hero, Ben, is working with….

CatchAFallingStar_3D

“So this is our mystery guest?”

Ben’s warm, fuzzy, and far too vulnerable mood was popped by the broad-shouldered man with long hair and a beard who sauntered into the room.

Jo got up. “Ben, this is my brother, Nick. Nick, this is Benjamin Paul. Be nice.”

“As if I would be mean?” Nick shot a teasing look to Jo, who returned it with a sisterly scowl. Nick chuckled, then stepped over to the table and held a hand out. “Hi. I’m Nick.”

“A pleasure.” Ben took the offered hand, making sure to put some strength into his grip. No sense giving Jo’s brother the idea that he was a loser. Although these days, most media outlets would tell him that much.

“Hey, Nick,” Jo started, tipping her head to the side. “Do you think you could loan Ben some clothes?” She turned to Ben. “I noticed that you didn’t have any luggage with you, or if you did, that cabbie has it now.”

“Sure,” Nick agreed readily. “I’ll take you up and show you what I’ve got.”

“Any cast-offs you’re willing to throw my way will be fine.” Ben stood and followed Jo’s brother as he started out of the kitchen.

“You can use my bathroom to clean up too,” Nick went on. “I’ve got a few disposable razors in the medicine cabinet, if you can stand to use one of those.”

“I’m sure anything will be fine.”

As soon as they were out of Jo’s sight, Nick rounded on him, backing him a few steps toward the wall.

“I don’t know who you are, other than a big shot director,” he said, full of outright threat, “but if you cause my sister any trouble or hurt her in any way, I’ll tear your balls off.”

Ben blinked. There was nothing like being threatened with castration while still suffering the effects of a hangover brought on by career implosion.

“Sorry,” he drawled. “My balls were torn off yesterday. You’ll have to check with 42nd street if you want to find them to tear off again.”

Nick grinned, though Ben had the feeling it was in spite of himself. “Okay. Glad that’s understood. Now let me show you where you can clean up.”

Forty-five minutes later, Ben was washed, shaved, and dressed in clothes that fit his frame but not his style. Nick’s jeans were too loose, and his shirts were more appropriate to the frozen north than the Great White Way. At least his head was beginning to clear.

Although one look at his phone, after fishing it out of his coat pocket, changed that.

Fifteen voicemails and eight unanswered texts. His stomach squeezed. He ignored the voicemails and scanned through the texts. All of them were variations on a theme: WTF.

He turned to leave the bedroom Jo had given him, hoping to find her and ask if she had a charger he could borrow, when his phone rang. Only this time, the name that flashed on the screen didn’t turn his bowels to butter.

Yvonne Plummer.

Ben tapped to accept the call and yanked his phone to his ear so fast it made him dizzy. “Yvonne.”

“Ben,” she answered without hesitation. “Where are you?”

He hesitated. “Maine. Where are you?”

“Manhattan.” Her voice brooked no nonsense. “So, you want to tell me why you just committed professional suicide? Because I’m pretty sure ‘You’ll never work in this town again’ is more than just a cheap cliché for you now.”

 

Catch a Falling Star is coming on October 27th. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter to be alerted when it comes out! Just a hint, it will be available at the low, low price of 99 cents for the first three days only, so you’ll want to act fast!

Excerpt Wednesday – The Advisor

Aug 05, 2015

With everything else that’s been going on with the release of the first few episodes of The Brynthwaite Boys, I totally haven’t had time to share another project with you! I am honored to be a part of a sizzling contemporary romance trilogy, The Fabulous Dalton Boys. (Yep, it’s all about the boys for me this summer 😉 ) My contribution to this trilogy about three Texas oil billionaires trying to keep their family on the straight and narrow is The Advisor. Here’s a little peek….

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Archer Dalton had never been late to work a day in his life. He had to floor it in his restored ’78 Ford Ranger across the Texas highways to get to Dalton Enterprises on time now and then, but he was always through the door and in his office by the time the clock struck nine. It was 8:58am now, and as he hopped out of his truck, his cell phone rang.

“What the….” No one called him this early. No one called him at all, unless it was….

He pulled his phone out and checked. Yep.

“Barrett,” he greeted his brother with a grunt.

“Don’t turn on the TV this morning,” Barrett blurted.

Archer winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. A pair of his younger employees walked past. The two had their heads together and were giggling over something on one of their cell phones. The moment they noticed Archer, they blushed and bolted for the office’s front door, laughing harder than ever.

Oh, Lordy.

“What now?” he asked Barrett.

“Take your pick,” Barrett said. “There’s Cage getting into a bar fight in Dallas over those twin blond barmaids—”

“What?” Archer clenched his jaw. “Is that what he was doing in Dallas over the weekend?”

“Or we’ve got the chick who’s kissing and telling about your trip to San Antonio last week.”

Archer huffed, blushing like a schoolgirl messing up her first piano recital. “She told me she represented that children’s hospital and they were looking for corporate sponsorship for a new wing. How was I to know what she was really after?”

“Is that how you were dumb enough to end up in the hotel’s Jacuzzi with her, wearing nothing but—”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Um, say no?”

“All right, all right, that was a lapse of judgment,” he growled.

It didn’t mean he was stupid. He  wasn’t stupid now, and he wasn’t stupid when his daddy used to call him the family moron either. He just didn’t always ‘get’ women.

He checked his watch. 9:01. Damn. He pushed away from the truck, double-timing it into the shiny office building, keeping Barrett on the line.

“Good morning, Mr. Dalton,” Renee, the receptionist, greeted him with a smile. She had a friend hanging around her desk, Dennis from customer service. The two of them were checking something out on Renee’s computer screen. That and trying hard to keep straight faces. Perfect.

“So besides Cage’s adventure in fisticuffs and my misunderstanding in San Antonio,” Archer went on, forcing a smile and nodding to Renee and Dennis, “Why shouldn’t I turn on the TV today?”

“Well,” Barrett went on, not quite so smug now. “It’s Dalton. Baby D.”

“Shoot.”

Archer sighed, making a last-minute lunge for the elevator door as it slipped shut. He just barely managed to squeeze his way in, which left him standing between two of his employees. He was a big man to begin with, tall, with broad shoulders and arms and thighs that saw their fair share of the gym and the great outdoors. The elevator was cramped, and Archer felt bad for taking up so much space.

“Okay, lay it on me,” he said to Barrett, bracing himself for the worst.

“It’s Marybeth,” Barrett told him, stone and steel in his voice. “She’s done another tell-all interview with one of those rag mags, all about how heartless and unfeeling I’ve been, about how irresponsible the whole lot of us are. We look like damn fools.”

“Great.”

Archer couldn’t say he was surprised. Things had been bad for more than a month now, ever since baby Dalton Dalton Dalton showed up on the doorstep. Barrett could rib him about being thick as a whale omelet when it came to the ladies, but Archer wasn’t the one left holding the bassinet.

Then again, he might as well be. It was open season on the Dalton family. Not one of the brothers could turn around without a tabloid blowing a story about an old girlfriend here or an entertainment show speculating whether there were Nalton Daltons, Palton Daltons, or Zalton Daltons out there.

Archer scowled as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. The two employees rushed out.

“I’m sure it’ll all blow over, Mr. Dalton,” one of them said. “I’ll have those reports for you by the end of the day.”

“Thanks, Sue.”

The elevator door swooshed shut, leaving Archer alone for a second. He and his brothers had worked damned hard since their deadbeat dad had died three years ago. Dad ran Dalton Enterprises into the ground when they were kids. If the tabloids got hold of the story that they’d grown up eating generic boxed cheesy-mac from the church pantry and wearing cast-offs, and that in spite of that, they’d still managed to grow up into functioning adults who ran a billion-dollar corporation, well, that’d be a whole other story.

“Look,” Archer told Barrett as the elevator opened onto the executive floor. “That PR advisor lady who’s been sending us all those emails is supposed to be coming into the office today.”

“Is she now?” Barrett sounded like he wanted to give her a piece of his mind about the orders she’d already issued.

“Yeah. I’ll tell her that we’re not interested in being told to take a bath and buy new clothes or any of that hoo-hah, but that what we really need is someone to go out there and silence Marybeth and these other gold-diggers who think they can get their hands on the family jewels.”

He stopped mid-step and cocked his head to the side. That didn’t sound right at all.

“Didn’t think you minded when the ladies got ahold of the family jewels,” Barrett sniggered.

“You know what I mean.” Archer walked on, frown darker than ever. “We worked for this company. We went out there and got our hands dirty finding and drilling that oil.”

“You got your hands dirty,” Barrett corrected him. “I secured the mineral rights and reformed Dalton Enterprises. And Cage, well, Cage looks pretty on the brochures.”

“We’re identical triplets,” Archer growled, turning the corner to his office. As soon as his secretary, Arlene, spotted him, she stood from her desk. “We all look the same.”

“Says the man with the hillbilly beard,” Barrett shot back.

Archer rubbed his chin, stroking his beard. Maybe it had gotten a little scraggly. He hadn’t had time to notice or care for weeks. Besides, he liked the beard. Men had beards, and he was a man. A strong man. A competent man. Not the village idiot.

“I’m at the office now,” Archer finished. “Let me talk to this advisor lady when she comes in.”

“Good,” Barrett said. “’cuz I’ve got a son to think of now.”

“Give him a kiss for me.” Archer softened up as he ended the call. “And keep your nose clean.”

He hung up. Arlene charged around the edge of her desk with that mother-hen, no-nonsense look she wore when there was work to be done.

“I know, I know, I’m late.” Archer tucked his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Blame Barrett.”

Arlene came to stop in front of him. She blinked. “It’s only just nine o’clock, sweetie.”

“It’s 9:06,” he corrected her. “I’m late.” His daddy would have gotten out the strap already. If he could find it through his hangover.

Arlene brushed his comment aside. “Now, you’ve got a busy day ahead of you. The specs for phase three of the oil field came in late last night. You’ve got a meeting with MacArthur Foley to discuss tax laws at eleven. There’s that webinar about corporate giving at two. And Kalee Hathaway is waiting in your office.”

Archer nodded at each item Arlene ticked off, but flinched and frowned at the last one. “Who?” he asked.

Arlene tsked, reaching up to brush something on the front of his shirt.

“Miss Kalee Hathaway,” she repeated. “You now, your PR advisor?”

“Oh. Right.” Come to think of it, that was the name at the end of all those long, nagging emails. Archer frowned. “She’s early.”

“She means business,” Arlene told him with a pointed look.

Archer could see her now. She’d probably be a bony old biddy—like Miss Hurst, his high school English teacher. She’d have perfect posture, her hair would be tied back in one of those tight buns, and she’d be wearing a suit so severe you could cut rock with it.

“Thanks for the warning.”

He started across Arlene’s office to the closed door leading to his executive suite.

“Oh, and sweetie, you’ve got something on your shirt,” Arlene added, rounding her desk to get back to work.

“My shirt?”

He glanced down, picking at the light fabric of his flannel as it hung over the white t-shirt underneath. It was old and faded, and the collar was frayed in one spot, but at least it was clean. Sort of. Sure enough, though, there was an orange juice stain across his chest. Too late to do anything about it now.

Letting his shirt go, he turned the doorknob and walked into his office. He liked his office. He’d found most of the furnishings at yard sales and the like and restored them himself. There was a bookshelf stuffed with business books, a pair of mismatched, overstuffed chairs he’d reupholstered on either side of a coffee table, and his desk, a hundred-year-old mahogany thing that had sat in the office of his great-great-granddaddy, Walton Dalton, when the original family ranch grew so big they formed it into the first Dalton Enterprises.

None of that was what caught Archer’s eye, though. Standing to the side of the room near the built-in kitchenette, arms crossed, staring out the window, was the most beautiful woman Archer had ever seen. She wore spiky heels and a slim, grey suit, and had her hair pulled back in a bun. But there wasn’t a thing about her that screamed biddy. That bun of hers begged a man to pull out the pins to let her dark hair spill down her back, and that severe suit highlighted every feminine curve and hollow.

It was when she turned to Archer that he was really in trouble. The advisor’s big, brown eyes widened as she took in the sight of him. Yep, she made him feel just as scrutinized as old Miss Hurst had, but instead of shrinking him into a ball of nerves, this advisor’s look had the potential to make parts of him expand.

“You must be Archer Dalton,” she said once she finished her initial perusal. Golly-day, he hoped he’d made the grade.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He took a step toward her and held out his hand. “And you must be Katie Haa….” Shoot, what had Arlene said her last name was again?

“Kalee. Kalee Hathaway. Miss Hathaway,” she said, taking Archer’s hand. She had a strong grip, but let go of the shake before Archer was ready. “Mr. Dalton, are you always late? Because I won’t stand for lateness.”

 

The Advisor is available now, exclusively at Amazon! Click here to be taken right to it.

But I strongly advise reading The Nanny, by Kirsten Osbourne and The Maid, by Ava Catori, books one and two in the series, first.

Excerpt Wednesday – One Night with a Star – First Look

May 13, 2015

It’s Wednesday, and even though I’m down in Dallas for the RT Booklovers Conference, here’s a sneak peek at the next book in the Second Chances series, coming May 22nd!

OneNightwithaStar_3D
“Take a deep breath, mate,” Simon murmured to himself as he followed Jenny’s car along winding coastal roads to her parent’s house. “Don’t screw this up.”

For a minute there, it had looked as though he and Jenny might actually be getting somewhere. Seeing her so upset, and for no reason that he could figure, had been harder than he would have thought. It had made him realize that he hated seeing Jenny in a fit. She was a goddess, and goddesses should never have to feel bad. But getting to the bottom of what had upset her was trickier than it looked, especially since he probably had more than a little to do with it. Telling her about Newfoundland and his journey over the last year was just the beginning of things he could think of to make it all better.

When Jenny pulled into the long driveway in front of her parent’s house, Simon involuntarily caught his breath. The verbal castration that he’d gotten from her dad was still fresh in his mind, enough so that he was tempted to cup his hands over his balls as he approached the house. He took another deep breath, cut his car’s engine, and got out.

Jenny looked much better than she had at the house as she climbed out of her car. The drive wasn’t a long one, but it had been enough for the frustrated flush to leave her face, and for her eyes to lose their redness.

“Everything okay?” he asked, approaching her with his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah.” She smiled. A valiant smile, but one that tried to mask obviously frazzled nerves. She didn’t look at him directly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on me. I’m fine now. You can go home.”

Simon shrugged. “Let me walk you to the door at least.”

She bit her lip and raised a hand to her neck in uncertainty. The combination of gestures sent a bolt of heat straight to Simon’s groin. On second thought, maybe this vulnerable Jenny was just as hot as the bold and brave one. His heart pumped faster, sending blood to places that probably weren’t in his best interest right then.

He walked up to her side, then the two of them continued along the flagstone path to the covered entryway by the front door.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me more about what had you so upset earlier?” he asked, working to keep his voice as gentle and approachable as he could.

“I’m sure,” she said, though she stared at her feet as she did.

He hated seeing her so distressed. Hated it, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. It was a gamble, but he slid his fingers along Jenny’s jaw and under her chin to tip it up so she would look at him.

“I may have been an utter waste of space in the past,” he began, “and I make have completely cocked things up between us last year, but I swear to you, I will not do anything to hurt you going forward if I can possibly help it.”

“Simon.” She sucked in a breath as her brow furrowed with a rush of emotions.

“I mean it,” he stopped her from saying anything else. “And I won’t try to push in or bully you into any sort of a relationship that you’re not ready for this time.” Well, it was a tiny lie, but one he figured would be forgiven. “I’m here for you if you need me. I’m here for Daniel if he needs me. End of story.”

She stared at him. He couldn’t read what was going on behind those beautiful blue eyes of hers, but whatever it was, it was intense. The early autumn breeze swirled in the leaves around them, and the twilight hues of gold through those leaves gave Jenny a luminescence that took his breath away. A man could stake his life on a woman like Jenny, rush off to war, and die happy knowing he was fighting for her.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when Jenny swayed toward him. She grabbed hold of his arms, and without giving him the chance to think, she surged into him, slanting her mouth over his in a kiss that left him stunned. The petal-softness of her lips short-circuited every part of his brain, the sweep of her tongue across the line of his lips floored him. He couldn’t even kiss her back or respond with more than an avalanche of lust that sent his body into primal need.

Sense began to return to him, but only barely, when she slipped her arms further around his neck, pressing herself into him to deepen their kiss. Something clicked inside of him, and he responded with powerful longing, closing his arms around her and drawing her in. He kissed her back from the bottom of his soul, sliding his tongue against hers and nipping at her bottom lip. Memories of the way they’d been together last summer, how hot and intense and perfect they had been, slammed into him. He was hard before he knew what hit him and ground that hardness against her hip. She hummed in the back of her throat, a heady, desperate cry that made him want to take her to the backseat of his car and put them both out of their misery. Nothing had ever been as right as kissing Jenny like this.

The light came on in the entryway, giving them a two second warning before the front door cracked. It was barely enough time for the two of them to jump apart before Jenny’s dad yanked the door fully open and stood glaring at Simon.

“What the hell is going on here?” her dad barked.

“Sir,” Simon yelped, sounding and feeling like he was about fourteen. Talk about putting an instant damper on some truly delicious, carnal feelings.

“Dad,” Jenny groaned, breathless. “What are you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing, young lady.”

Jenny sighed, covering the embarrassment and heat behind her flushed cheeks with frustration. “Come on. It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. You can’t threaten my dates anymore.”

“So this is a date?” Her dad’s eyebrows flew up. He turned his fury on Simon for a second before switching it to sharp disapproval for Jenny.

“It’s not a date.” Jenny crossed her arms.

“You’re damned right, I’s not a date,” her dad said. “Because you’re dating Neil. And I’m not having this slimy celebrity seducing you again.”

 

Boy, did I have fun writing Jenny’s dad! Keep your eyes peeled for One Night with a Star!