A Christmas Present in July--A Free Read by Vonnie Davis

Over a year ago, I wrote a Christmas novella about the men of a fire and marine rescue station in Clearwater, Florida. I designed Santa Wore Leathers as a kicking-off point for a series of books about these hunky heroes, even though the romance was about a man-shy reporter with a thong-stealing German shepherd and her new muscle-bound next door neighbor. Oh ladies, Dan "Wolf" Wolford was the kind of man to get all the women hot and bothered...especially her.

So, here we are in July and book one of this Firemen's Wild Heat series--TO CATCH A FLAME--releases on October 2nd. If you haven't read Santa Wore Leathers, you didn't get to meet Wolf's youngest sister, Cassie. Now Cassie is a bit of a dreamer, a spitfire and she's had a crush on her brothers' co-worker at the station, Quinn, for three years. But Quinn doesn't think he's good enough for her...besides relationships aren't his thing.

As a bridge between the Christmas novella and the book coming out in October, here's a brief segment. A special moment between the hero and heroine of the novella AND the first teeny-tiny step of Cassie and Quinn coming together.

A FREE READ! 

Christmas in July...what could be better?

CHRISTMAS DAY WITH WOLF AND BECCA

Becca was so stuffed from Christmas dinner, she didn’t think she could move from her spot in the corner of Wolf’s sofa. Every one of his siblings had brought a side dish and dessert, while he’d baked ham and steamed shrimp and crab legs. You had to love a man so secure in his masculinity, he could man the kitchen to cook for his family. Her gaze swept over her muscled hunk in his black leather pants and Santa hat. He could do his fair share of cooking in the bedroom, too, and the shower and the kitchen counter…and on his Harley. She squirmed a little. Didn’t her bottom still bear the imprint of his bike’s speedometer?

As if he sensed her movement, his attention turned to her and a slow, sexy smile spread. His eyebrows rose for a fraction of a second almost to signify he read her thoughts. Now that they’d worked through their issues of trust and desertion, they’d grown closer; if that were possible. He was so intuitive to her moods and needs.

“Want more wine, sweetheart?” Wolf whispered a kiss across her lips. “Might help ease that sore bottom.” Low laughter rumbled from his chest.

Her nipples peaked so they could hear his almost silent message. “No, I’m fine.”

“Indeed you are.” He winked and moved across the room to offer April and her fiancé more pinot grigio.

Soft holiday music wove through the crevices of the raucous conversation between his entire family. They certainly knew how to fill a house with teasing and laughter. Wolf’s large Christmas tree was surrounded with wrapped gifts. The largest one—the stroller for Jace and Wendy Anne’s unborn baby—sat off to the side, wrapped in Santa paper and red ribbon.

Cassie flounced onto the sofa next to Becca. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face pinched. She clasped the younger woman’s hand. “No word from Quinn?”

She shook her head and leaned her head against Becca’s shoulder. A long sigh shuddered from her slender body. So, Christmas wasn’t merry and bright for everyone. She wrapped an arm around Cassie and looked for Wolf. He’d know how to handle his baby sister. Their gazes connected, and he reached for something on the window sill.

“Hey Cassie, you’ve got mail here.” He handed her some envelopes. “Thought you had your address forwarded.”

“I did, but you know the mail system. If my name’s spelled different, it doesn’t get pushed on through.” She shuffled through them. “A bill. Ugh. Two credit card offers. What’s this? Looks like a Christmas card. No return address.” She tore it open. “Merry Christmas to Someone Special.” She flipped it open and gasped. “It’s from Quinn. He didn’t forget me after all. Oh, look, he wrote ʻTo the sweetest pain in the ass I knowʼ. How romantic is that?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Jace laughed. “Quinn’s not big in the romance department. He’s not a believer, sis.”

Cassie held the card to her chest. “You just give me time. I’ll make a believer out of him.”

Wolf handed Becca an envelope. “You’ve even got mail coming here.”

She took the envelope. “Me?” She turned it over, read the printed label. “Must be an ad of some kind.”

“Open it.” Cassie elbowed her.

Wolf leaned a hip against the arm of the sofa to read over her shoulder. “Better not be from a damn man.”

“Oh, shush.” She slipped her finger under the seal and tugged on the card. “This can’t be for me. It’s an anniversary card.”

“Really?” Wolf took the envelope and studied it. “Read it out loud, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” Wendy Anne chimed in. “Maybe we can figure out who it’s supposed to be for.” A chorus of agreement followed.

“It’s a fiftieth anniversary card. How did it get sent to me?” She opened it to hunt for a signature and found, instead, a long hand-written note.

“Read it to everyone.” Wolf nudged her.

“ʻHappy Anniversary, my love. You’ve given me many wonderful memories over the years. I never thought it was possible, but I love you more now than I did the day I proposed.ʼ” She glanced at the family gathered around her. “Oh, this is too personal to read. I feel as if I’m eavesdropping. Is there a return address on the card? I need to see the right woman gets this.”

Wolf extended it in front of her so she could see. “Nope. Read on, sweetheart. Maybe there’s a clue. A name. Something.”

“Okay… ‘Do you remember the day Einstein stole your red thongs…’” She glanced at Wolf. Darn if he wasn’t wearing an innocent expression. Note to self: Don’t play poker with this man. “ʻ…and I chased him around the yard? Or the time I fell off the ladder because I was looking at you in those leather pants you wore? Then there was the day you broke your nose and had that cute lisp. And the night—Christmas Eve—when I pulled the Harley into a cove of palm trees and palms and we made love against the handlebars. I remember all those things and more. But mainly, I remember our first Christmas together when I pro…’” her vision flooded with tears and she blinked them away. “ʻ…when I proposed to you in front of the whole family.’”

The card fluttered to her lap and she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Wolf was on bended knee in front of her, an opened ring box in his large hand. “Will you marry me, Becca Jade Sinclair?”

She slipped off the sofa and pushed Wolf back to the floor, straddling his hips. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” He slipped the square diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds from the jeweler’s box, kissed it and then slipped it on her finger. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled her over to kiss her as only he knew how to kiss—and her toes curled in the new stiletto boots he’d given her for Christmas.

Everyone clapped and cheered. Einstein, thinking it was play time, trotted in from the kitchen wearing a sweater that proclaimed “I’m the ring bearer.”

“Where did he get that sweater?” Her heart was practically bursting with happiness.

“Cassie knitted it for him.” Wolf nuzzled her neck.

“So the whole family was in on this?” She glanced around, noting everyone was wiping away happy tears.

Wolf nipped her jaw. “Hey, this is the Wolf pack. We do everything together.” A slow grin spread and his hand gently caressed her sore bottom. “Well, almost everything. I love you.”

When she’d least expected it, she’d found her alpha, her love and her family. What a difference a year had made. “I love you, too, Wolf.” 

AMAZON BUY LINK: http://amzn.com/B00GFD6X34

I've Got Scrambled Eggs in my Brain by Vonnie Davis

On tax day, April 15th, I emailed my manuscript for TO CATCH A FLAME to my editor at HarperImpulse in England. I'd been aiming for 73,000 words, as stated in my contract, but ended up with 74, 600 words. At times I feared I couldn't reach the minimum required. By story's end, I feared I was ending it too quickly, not giving my readers enough detail.

What I'd emailed her was a full-length book spun off from my Christmas novella, SANTA WORE LEATHERS. This novella and the subsequent books revolve around a fire and marine rescue station in Clearwater, Florida on the Gulf side of the state. In this book, my heroine, Cassie Wolford, the novella's hero's sister, has crushed on a guy, a firefighter and marine rescuer named Quinn Gallagher. Even though they've never been more than close friends for three years, she's nicknamed him Hot Lips--and dreamed of tasting them.

Cassie comes with a bit of emotional baggage. As a teenager, she was a "cutter,"  someone who cuts herself to feel pain for various past hurts. Through counseling and family intervention, she has overcome this urge for several years. She's gotten her associates in business and her certification as a beautician. And, when provoked, she can become a pistol. This is how I pictured Cassie.

 

 

Quinn is a more emotionally damaged hero than I've ever written before. I wanted him to be a badass who covered his pain with a smartass sense of humor. A complex man, who doesn't believe in love and yet takes in a stray kitten he's named Furball. My problem? At times, I wanted to change him into a nicer man--and then he wouldn't let me sleep. I'd be awake early in the mornings, wondering how I'd gotten off track and where.

 

 

 

So, I'd go back to Chapter One to reread, trying to hunt for the spot where I'd gone off-track with Quinn. I had to do this three times, finding the slip-up in chapters eight, twelve and fifteen. Every fine-toothed examination of the manuscript so far had me asking, over and over, WHY I wanted to try to write deeper emotion. I had no clue if any of my readers would cry over Quinn and Cassie's story, but I was certainly shedding tears trying to write the darn thing.

 

Did I succeed? I won't know until my editor at HarperImpulse reads it and makes her decision. But I do know one thing: My brains are like scrambled eggs. I'm forgetful. I can barely write a cohesive sentence or form a complete thought. I'm sleeping more, taking a nap every day and trying to reenergize mentally. In short, I'm going through what every author goes through after finishing a book. Non-writers have no clue what this process takes from us. On the other hand...I have an obsessive need to work on my next story.

 

Calvin is trying his best to keep me from writing for a few days. He wants me to heal for a week or more. Movies, shopping, choosing new flooring for our kitchen and picking out some plants. Even so...my mind keeps straying to the Highlands of Scotland for book two of my Highlander's Beloved Series.

 

This blog has been brought to you by the woman with scrambled eggs for brains.

WIP Sneak Peek Sunday #SPeekSunday

According to my contract, I'm to turn in my manuscript to my editor at HarperImpulse in eight--count 'em ... 8--days. I've got roughly 20,000 words to write and edit. Color me "nose to the computer screen." But the great color for today is our Sneak Peek Sunday banner.

I'm thinking I need a pair of shoes to match the blue in the banner, don't you? Okay, so I'm a shoe freak. Don't judge...

 

But matching shoes aside, on Sneak Peek Sunday, a group of writers share SIX paragraphs from either a published work or a work in progress. Since I'm spending every free moment, writing so I can meet my deadline, looks like you're stuck with six from book one of my Firemen's Wild Heat series, set in Clearwater, Florida. The title to this work in progress is To Catch a Flame.

 

==+==+==+

 

“Your hair looked okay before, peanut.” Quinn smirked at Milt. “See, that’s the difference between men and women. Men don’t diddle with their appearance. They know perfection when they see it. Am I right, Milt?”

 

The old guy extracted a small black comb from his back pocket and skimmed it over the seven grey hairs plastered to his scalp with some kind of hair goop. Nodding, he slipped the comb into place again. “That’s exactly what I used to tell Louisa.” He crossed himself. “God bless her soul.” He hiked up his baggy khaki pants with the insides of his elbows tucked against his belt. “A man does not mess with perfection.” He hip-wiggled a couple foxtrot steps, humming some ancient tune.

 

Cassie’s jaw dropped and her gaze ricocheted from Milt to Quinn. “Let’s state the facts correctly, shall we?” She planted her hands on her narrow hips and swayed her shoulders one at a time for some kind of goofy feminine emphasis. “Women like change. We have no fear of experimentation the way you men do.” She pierced Quinn with a look. “When was the last time you tried a new kind of food? Or a micro-brew beer?” She spun toward Milt. “When was the last time you wore navy blue pants? Every time I see you, you’re wearing khakis.” Turning her harangue back on Quinn, she pointed to his comfy Nikes. “You need new sneakers. You’ve been wearing those raggedy things for the three years I’ve known you.”

 

She poked a fingernail through a hole in his beloved Puddle of Mudd t-shirt. “And this faded, tattered rag belongs in the trash bin!” One swift tug and the hole grew from the circumference of a dime to fist-size. “See? It’s like tissue paper!”

 

Quinn couldn’t believe she’d torn his favorite shirt. Hell, the thing was barely ten years old. His gaze slowly swept from his ravaged, quality rock and roll wear to her green eyes, snapping with righteous indignation.

 

“Women also like variation in our sexual positions while, according to ninety percent of my female customers, their men do it the same way over and over.”

 

===+===+====

Can you imagine the explosion that happened next?

 

Don't forget to visit all the other lovely writers sharing their awesome SIX on their Sneak Peak Sunday. Click on this link for the listing...

 http://sneak-peek-sunday.blogspot.com/

 

Have a fabulous week!!!

 

In 2014, Five is my Magic Number of Flowers

My debut novel, Storm's Interlude, came out nearly three years ago. For the next couple of years, I had to turn in a completed manuscript in hopes of getting another contract. One book or novella at a time, although I often submitted another before the previous one released. What can I say? I love to write and I'm retired. The kids are grown, living in other states. It's just Calvin and me. Writing keeps me from that mindless activity of watching TV.

Then I started getting contracts from the Big Five. They operate a little differently. Once they see your writing and know you can meet deadlines, you can contract from proposals. I typically write four paragraphs about each book, something similar to a back cover blurb, just more detailed. My agent sends them to an editor along with my publishing and promotion history.

As a consequence, for the next two years, I'll be writing exclusively for both HarperImpulse and Loveswept/Random House. Contract stipulations prevent me from submitting elsewhere until all contracted books have been released--all eight of them.

Of course, I have to write the books first...and that's the thing. I'd be a fool to even hint that I'm not a bit overwhelmed or worried or scared plotless. I mean, think about it...

For 2014, five is my magic number.

 

Or maybe my downfall...

 

I have five books contracted to turn into my editors on scheduled dates. All of them must be 80,000 words, except for the Highlander book, which must tip the scales at 85,000 words. My fingertips are typing out words--at times, woefully inadequate words. My mind is focused more on my literary dream world than it is on reality. And my self-control is working hard at keeping my eyes from straying to the dates on the calendar like magnets of nerves. You see, I have five romantic flowers to produce this year.

 

 

April 24th -- Book one of Firemen's Wild Heat series, To Catch a Flame.

July 8th -- Book one of my series set near New Orleans, KnightShades: Maximo

August 11th -- Book two of Highlander's Beloved series, A Highlander's Passion

October 4th -- Book two of Firemen's Wild Heat, Firestorm

December 20th -- Book two set near New Orleans, Knightshades: Sloan

 

The following year should be easier. Only 3 contracted books are due in 2015. So, if you don't hear much from me, don't think I don't care. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Stay well...stay healthy...stay in touch. Your words might be what keeps me in the reality of writerly sanity.

 



Sneak Peek Sunday

Welcome to my stop on Sneak Peek Sunday. At each stop, we're serving up six paragraphs of a published book or a current work in progress.

So, I'm giving you a peek into book one of my Firemen's Wild Heat series, with a working title of To Catch a Flame. The series is contracted with HarperImpulse. If you've read my novella, Santa Wore Leathers, you've met the men of this fire and marine rescue station and you've heard mention of Quinn and Cassie. This is their story...and this is how I see Quinn...

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

     Quinn Gallagher was dead meat.

     Cassie Wolford marched to the side door of Fire and Marine Rescue Unit Thirty-two in Clearwater, Florida. She swiped the entry pass she’d purloined a year or so ago from her oldest brother and yanked the handle when the light in the security lock turned green. Propping her hip against the door, she maneuvered the large box containing the remainder of her birthday cake through the doorway. Quinn better have a damn good excuse for being a no show at my party last night.
     She’d asked him twice if he was coming and, both times, he’d used that wicked smile on her before claiming he wouldn’t miss her twenty-first birthday for the world. So unless he was inside hobbling on crutches with two broken legs or wore a body cast from nose to knee, he was about to get his jaw jacked. I don’t care if he does have a body built for sin and I want to be his number one sinner.
     With both of her brothers serving as firemen in this top-notch unit, Cassie knew her way around the building. She entered the firemen’s living quarters, slapped the cake on the large dining room table and pivoted toward conversation floating in from the TV area amid the battle sounds of a warrior game on Wii.
     Masculine laughter, deep and sensual, slithered straight to her core before spreading out to spark all her nerve endings. Quinn Gallagher did that to her, no matter if it was his laughter, his voice, or his eyes that fluctuated between blue and grey. Why is it always Quinn? Why not a guy who is as crazy for me as I am for him? But no, I have to fall hard for Mr. I-Could-Give-a-Shit.
     One quick glance in his direction, and she sucked air. Quinn, in his typically jovial manner, was recanting a story to her older brother, Jace, and a new fireman she’d yet to meet. All Quinn wore was a white towel slung low around his narrow hips. Water drops lazily forged a trail down his tanned and toned body. Moisture dripped from his freshly shampooed dark hair, trailed over his perpetual five-o’clock shadow and plopped onto his collarbone, hardened pecs and washboard stomach, skiing the hills and valleys over every ridge of his abs. Oh, to be a droplet of water.

***Enjoy your day as you make your rounds to the various stops on Sneak Peak Sunday! And have an awesome week!!

Writing Process Blog Tour by Vonnie Davis

Good Morning! I've been asked by fellow HarperCollins author Georgia Hill to be part of a blog tour to hopefully give insight into an author's writing process. Last week, the lovely award-winning Carmel Harrington talked about her process. To read about hers, click here. Her recent release, Beyond Grace's Rainbow, was awarded The Best Romantic Read eBook 2013 at UK's Festival of Romance and People's Kindle Book Awards.

This week, it's my turn to answer the four questions.

1.) What am I working on?

My Christmas novella with HarperImpulse--Santa Wore Leathers--has led to a three-book contract featuring firemen from the same station as Wolf, the hero in Santa. These will be full-length novels, with the first being the romance between Cassie and Quinn. It's titled To Catch A Flame.

I'm also starting edits on my first paranormal, contracted with Random House. The editor wants sex earlier in the book and more often. So I have on my feathered boa, adding more sizzle and "sighable" moments.

2.) How does my book (or books) differ from others of this genre?
I love to laugh. In fact, Calvin and I often remark how much love and laughter our house holds. My sense of humor carries over into my writing. I love putting my characters in goofy situations like I've often been in myself or use miscommunication to create something funny. My stories often involve extended families because I enjoy reading about those dynamics myself. I find I learn more about the main characters in a book from observing how they interact with family members. In Santa Wore Leathers, for example, my hero gave up his commission in the SEALs to take care of his orphaned siblings. He's a caregiver, an alpha-caregiver which in my opinion makes him all the more adorable.

 

A Hunk on a Harley isn't just for Christmas ... http://bit.ly/SantaLeathers

3.) Why do I write what I do?
This is a question I often ask myself about 20,000 words into a project. Usually, my hero comes to me late at night just before I drift off to sleep. He'll make his presence known and tell me a little of his story. The bad part is, some of them are contemporary men, a few from various historical eras and a smidgen are paranormal. My agent would like to see me stick to one or two sub-genres, but my mind tends to follow the men. I mean they're so darn good looking and charming...wouldn't you follow them?

4.) How does your writing process work?
Once I decide on which hero's story to write about--there are half a dozen waiting not so patiently in my mind--I work on the beginning. The opening hook. Those first two or three paragraphs are so important. And I agonize over them...over every stinkin' word, over every emotion I'm trying to convey...until I feel it'll grab the reader's attention from the get-go.

I'm a pantser who is also a list maker. I list out my hero and heroine's attributes: past history, education levels, family dynamics, work history, favorites--like colors, food, drinks, clothes, shoe styles--things that push his or her buttons and is he or she a pet owner. Lastly, I think about his or her looks and hunt for a picture that resembles how I see that person.

I write my GMC sentence. Character wants (goal) because (motivation), but (conflict).

These things help direct me as I leap off the cliff into the nothingness of my story. I free-fall until the current of my characters' personalities lift my wings and help me fly through writing the book. This phenomenon usually happens about 20,000 words into my story. By then I've come to know the heroine and hero enough that they take charge and I merely take dictation.

I basically write in layers. First are dialog and some basic movements. Next, I add intricate body movements and sensory input...what is seen, smelled, heard and touched. Then, I layer in emotion and internal dialog. Lastly, I examine every word. Is there a stronger verb I can use? Have I fallen into my old habit of using the same word or phrase twice on the same page? Are there any -ing words? I examine punctuation. Then I send the chapter to my critique partners.

After they point out my errors, they return my chapter. I correct and tweak it some more. Some writers can write a crappy first draft of the entire book before they begin editing. I've tried. Truly. But I have this need to fiddle, to tweak, to add and delete. I can't bear to begin another chapter until I know I've made the previous one as good as I can--at least for that particular day. Or so my husband jokingly says. He knows how I am. Simply put, I edit the darn thing a good twenty times as I'm writing it--and, yes, I can drive myself nuts. But, hey, it's a short ride.

Once the entire book is written, I read over it again, looking for plot holes, inconsistencies and flow of prose. By now, a deadline is looming. Whenever I start a new project, my agent puts me on her reading schedule for a certain week. She knows it typically takes me four months to write a book. So as soon as I make one final pass over it, I email the manuscript to her along with her required character sheets that include name, age, career, part in the story and physical attributes like eye and hair color and speech patterns of every character mentioned. Her writers must also provide a time and location line for each chapter that details what happens and where, so we don't have characters having lunch twice on the same day. My agent does a hard edit--and I do mean hard, asking questions like why is she acting this way? Why doesn't he do thus and so? Have you researched this fact? Where's your research data? I'll want to see it. Meanwhile I write the synopsis.

She emails the edits back and I go through her tract changes, while she edits my synopsis. Once she deems the story good enough to "shop out". She IM's me the list of publishers she plans to query and asks if there are any I'd like her to add. The manuscript, synopsis and author bio are sent out in her typical query form, and we wait.

While we wait, I immediately begin work on another project or continue on something I have partially written. I like to keep at least three stories in various stages of production at once. If I hit a hard spot or a spell of writer's block, I hop over to something else and work on it until my subconscious hammers through the problems in the WIP.

I'm a romance writer and I love my job!