I am super excited today to be hosting one of my VERY favourite authors and people, Vonnie Davis.
I first came to know this lovely and very funny lady through our shared publisher, The Wild Rose Press. And then I read her first book, Storm's Interlude, and I fell in love, with Storm, Rachel, and Vonnie herself. I adore her work and know you will too. Trust me, pick up one of her books if you haven't already - you're in for a treat!
But I'll sit back now and let her cast her spell over you as well as she talks about meeting the hero of her latest book, Niko for the first time. Enjoy :)
LaVerne, I’m so
excited to be here. Hugs to you for inviting me.
If you’re not a
writer, you don’t understand how a character can grab you by the throat and
control your life while you write his/her story. Whenever I speak of it to
non-writers, they take a step back, their eyes darting back and forth for the
nearest exit. I’ve learned to temper my remarks. But since you’re here, you’re
either a writer or an avid reader interested in how writers think. So let me
share one of my experiences with my hero in Mona
Lisa’s Room, a romantic suspense set in Paris.
I had just drifted
off to sleep one night when someone slammed our bedroom door. I sat straight up
in the bed. What…what was that? I glanced at Calvin. He was snoring away. I
must have been dreaming. I snuggled against Calvin and drifted off. Once more
the door slammed. Only this time, I saw who did it—Niko, my hero, my French
government agent.
I leaned up on my
elbows, none too happy with his waking me again. “What? What do you want?”
“Watch.” His
commanding tone of voice left no room for argument. We’d had similar late-night
artistic confrontations before. I knew if I didn’t acquiesce to his demands,
he’d just keep waking me.
So I watched Niko as
he stormed back a hallway, his fists clenched. He opened the door to an
interrogation room. Alyson, my heroine, was blindfolded and tied to a chair. He
charged in the room and slammed the door. Her head snapped in the direction of
the noise. Poof! The vision/dream/insight was over.
“That’s it?”
Silence.
“That’s all you’re
showing me? Why are you so mad? Why is Alyson tied up? Wait, you woke me for
that piddling little bit? I need more. Give me more.”
Calvin rolled over.
“You want more, baby?”
Oh, for heaven’s
sake!!!
It took me four
chapters of set-up to get to that door slamming scene. I was not happy with my
demanding hero.
Alyson,
or Aly as Niko calls her, has been missing all day. He’s been frantically
looking for her. Meanwhile she’s been arrested for solicitation due to a
misunderstanding and her lousy French.
After Niko saw Marie-Clare placed safely into the
hands of a female officer, he turned his attention to Aly. If she’d kept those
fantastic legs of hers at the safe house where she belonged, none of this would
have happened. He wouldn’t have gone though his own private hell. Josette,
innocent soul that she was, might still be alive. Marie-Clare wouldn’t be
mourning the loss of her friend.
Aly needed to be taught a lesson, and he planned on
being the teacher from hell.
Niko opened the door to the interrogation room and
stilled.
Aly’s head turned in the direction of the noise, a
blindfold over her beautiful blue eyes.
His gaze swept over her and he willed himself to
calm down.
She was safe.
She was unharmed.
In fact, the woman he worried over for the majority
of the day was not only unscathed, she’d had her hair and nails done. His
temper started to rise as he stared. Her hair was shorter now. A head-turning
red. Large golden hoops drew attention to her pretty face, as if she needed any
help. Clear fingernail polish had been replaced with dark red.
His back molars ground together. He thought of
grabbing and shaking her. Damned if while he was slowly going insane with
worry, she went shopping. He packed her clothes for her. If there’d been a
skintight dress like the one hugging her very appealing curves, he would have
remembered. The dress showed more cleavage than he liked for her to display to
the world and rode too high on her thighs, exposing the bottom of the butterfly
wings of her tattoo. The damn dress was little more than a naval napkin. What
possessed her to buy such a thing?
While fear gnawed on his gut all afternoon, she was
having a girl’s day out, visiting a beauty salon and shopping. He should shake
the daylights out of her. His gaze dropped to her shoes and his tongue nearly
rolled out onto the floor. Good Lord! His
fingers itched to forge a trail over those legs. The woman was messing with his
mind and his libido, making him weak with lust.
Just to startle her, he strode into the room and
slammed the door behind him. He took pleasure in seeing her jump. Because he
was so damned mad, he walked to the opposite side of the table from where she
sat and frowned at her. If he got any closer, he would put his hands around her
slender throat. Twenty four hours. He had only known this woman for twenty-four
hours, and she had him tied into knots.
“Who…who’s there?” Her head turned slightly from
side to side as if hoping to hone in on his presence.
If he spoke, she might recognize his voice. No, he
would not speak just yet. Slowly, he walked the perimeter of the room, his gaze
locked on her. How could a soft woman contain so much strength? How was he to
protect himself from her and her sweet allure?
He made two slow trips around the perimeter of the
room, his anger growing with each step. Had she no clue what she did to him?
How scared she made him when she walked out of his life? Before he realized his
intent, he banged his fist on the top of the table. She jumped. “What in God’s
name were you thinking?” he yelled in French.
Gwen,
You won't believe this
email. I'm sitting in a French safe house, eating caviar and drinking champagne
with a handsome government agent, Niko Reynard. He's wearing nothing but silk
pajama bottoms and mega doses of sex appeal. I'm in big trouble, little sister.
He's kissed me several times and given me a foot massage that nearly caused
spontaneous combustion. I'm feeling strangely virginal compared to the sexual
prowess this thirty-year-old man exudes.
When I came to Paris
for a bit of adventure, I never imagined I'd foil a bombing attempt,
karate-kick two men, and run from terrorists while wearing a new pair of stilettos.
I've met a German musician, a gay poet from Australia, and the most delightful
older French woman.
Don't worry. I'm
safe--the jury's still out on yummy Niko, though. The more champagne I drink,
the less reserved I feel. What an unforgettable fortieth birthday!
Alyson
BUY
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