Friday, October 15, 2010

Pearls of Wisdom - BSP

  This blog originally appeared at The Romance Studio on October 8, 2010.


What is BSP? Simple. It's short for Blatant Self-Promotion, a term that every author becomes painfully familiar with as soon as they sign their first book contract. Here's an example ;-)


My second novel, Love, Capri Style will be released next week by The Wild Rose Press. This one is quite a switch from my first book. Thirty-Nine Again was a combination of chick lit and romantic suspense. Love, Capri Style is, as the blurb says, a sexy, sun-drenched romance set on the island of Capri. My publisher at the time wanted me to leave out the mystery and spy stuff and just write a straight-forward contemporary romance. Ironically, they wound up rejecting the book, so it wound up finding a home with the publisher of Thirty-Nine Again. The lesson there is that some books have more lives than a cat, so don't give up on a manuscript too soon!


In Love, Capri Style, Amanda Jackson takes a job with Fame magazine to get closer to her estranged father, billionaire publisher Peter Tate. Instead of welcoming her, Dad sends her out of the country to cover a music festival on the magnificent isle of Capri. There, Amanda finds herself up close and personal with her dad’s leading competitor--dashing British playboy, Eric Greyford. Can she get an exclusive on Eric’s hectic love life, or will she wind up as just another item on the gossip pages of his newspaper?


After Eric finds Amanda ransacking his room in search of some juicy tidbits for her gossip magazine, he threatens to turn her over to the police - unless the pert blonde agrees to dinner with him. Amanda's flustered, flattered and furious, all at the same time.





     "What size are you?"
     "Excuse me?" Amanda's hands went to her hips again.
     "Calm down, Miss Jackson." Eric re-crossed the room in a few quick steps, stopping inches in front of her. "When a strange woman invades a gentleman's bedroom, it's too late to be coy."
     She could smell his cologne again. What the heck did they put in that stuff?
     "Size six," she said faintly.
     Eric stroked his jaw again. "I'll have something appropriate sent round to your hotel tomorrow. Are you registered as Miss Jackson, or did you use some other nom de plume there?"
     "Amanda Jackson. It's my real name."
     Eric chuckled. "Are you sure you're not new at this paparazzi game?"
     "I am not paparazzi; I'm a serious journalist."
     Again came the upraised eyebrow and the smirk. Amanda wrinkled her nose at him and toyed with the notion of stomping her high heel down on his foot.
     Eric laid a firm hand on her shoulder. Gently but irresistibly, he turned her towards the door of his hotel suite.
     "I'll have my driver pick you up at your hotel tomorrow night at eight. We can discuss your journalistic aspirations then, Miss Jackson. You'll forgive me, but I've had a very full evening and I'd like to get to bed. Alone."
     "Good. Because I know I wasn't offering anything. And forget the driver – I'll meet you at the restaurant."
     Amanda thrust out her chin as he reached past her to turn the doorknob with his free hand. At the same time, the hand that had come to rest on her shoulder slipped down to the small of her back. The unexpected movement was so sudden and so smooth, she shivered.
     As he opened the door, Eric managed to angle both of them into the doorway. He wasn't quite touching her – except for that gentle hand on her back. But he stood so near, she could feel the heat of his body radiating out towards her.
     She gazed up into his eyes and caught her breath. Her heart seemed to be thumping out a thousand beats per minute. She felt as if she could drown in those eyes, as if she were caught in a whirlpool. Eric pulled her snug against him, a wavy lock of dark hair tumbling forward onto his forehead. His lips brushed her hair and her legs began to wobble on those agonizing heels.
     "Tomorrow night, then." He murmured it right into her ear, his warm breath fluttering a few loose wisps of her hair. "Under the lemon trees."
     She closed her eyes, ashamed of her weakness, but ready and even eager for the kiss that would surely follow. 
      A sharp thunk startled her and her eyes snapped open. The door to Eric Greyford's room had closed and she found herself alone in the corridor outside.
     "Manipulative pig!" she shouted at the door. 
     With a grunt, she yanked off the spikey heels and padded down the hallway barefoot.

      Go to The Wild Rose Press to order your copy of Love, Capri Style right now. This novella-length story is available exclusively as an ebook. Which means it's also a great bargain - only $5.00!

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