Cooper speaks...

Over the course of the past week, I've had several people tell me how much they love Cooper Maxwell, the mysterious love interest in my newly released book, To Katie With Love. So much so, it was suggested I go dig up a few deleted scenes from my first round of editing. Stuff I couldn't bear to throw out, but for whatever reason, didn't make the final cut. And there's a lot of it. Over twenty thousand words worth. So on that note, I've decided to give you a scene written from Cooper's POV.

This scene originally came in between I Think I'll Have Just One More, ​and Those Were Magnificent Sheets.

Enjoy!​

Cooper leaned in and listened to Katie breathing in and out.  “You’re not drunk, huh?  I think it’s about time someone drove you home.” 

“That’s a wonderful idea, Cooper.  You should definitely drive her home.  June, Vicky, and I are heading in the opposite direction.”  Silvia was already sliding out of the booth pushing June and Vicky ahead of her.  June started to protest, but Silvia poked her in the shoulder and kept moving.  “It’s so nice of you to offer.”  With a wave the three of them made a beeline to the exit. 

“How do they do that?” Phil shook his head.  “I guess I should be heading out myself.  My wife will be waiting up for me.”  He polished off the rest of his pitcher in one long swallow. “You know, I could pretend to offer to take her myself, but we both know you’d rather do it.  Just don’t forget her keys and her purse.”  Phil tossed a set of keys onto the table in front of him and was out of the booth in a flash, leaving Cooper and a very passed out Katie alone at the table.       

“Kate can you hear me?”  Cooper leaned in to her ear and spoke softly.

“Mmmm?”  She groaned, and he felt a tug deep inside.  It was a sound he would have sold a kidney to hear out of this woman, but not when she was half passed out drunk.

“Kate?  Can you get up?”  He took her by the elbow to guide her out of the booth.  She leaned in to him, nestling her face into his neck and proceeded to make that sexy groaning sound again.

Cooper felt the last of his resolve slipping away.  “Get a grip Maxwell, she’s drunk.” 

“Not drunk.  Only had foorf drinks.  Just soooo sleepy.” Katie murmured without opening her eyes.

“Foorf?  Kate, honey.  What is foorf?”  He struggled to hold her upright as he led her to the exit.

“Four…or five,” she slurred a little more clearly, and put three fingers in the air.  “Oh, and champagne.  Didn’t like the bubbles.”    

“You drank four or five drinks?" Cooper's eyebrows shot up. "I thought you didn’t drink?” 

“Nope. Don't drink.”  She pivoted herself until her breasts pressed against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck.  “You smell nice.  All pepperminty,” she whispered just before her body went limp. 

Cooper scooped her up in his arms and carried her out the door into the icy January evening.  He carefully loaded her into the passenger seat of his BMW, checking to be sure she was still breathing.  Once he had her buckled in, he rubbed his large hands across his face and stood back to look at her. 

God, she was beautiful. 

Her dark silky hair had fallen across her face and her lips were pouted out the way he'd noticed she did when frustrated.  Her breasts stretched the sheer fabric of the shirt so he could see the silk and lace beneath, and her skirt had hiked up higher on her thighs giving him a better view of…

Stop!

She was his banker, and she was passed out cold in his car.  He was just going to get her home safely then go. 

If only he knew where she lived.

​Get To Katie With Love on Amazon.com and​ BN.com

If I get enough comments, I might be inclined to post another deleted scene next week!

countdown to release day

I just realized it's only twenty days til my book, To Katie With Love is being released. Twenty days...less than three weeks away. Shouldn't I have started counting down sooner? Shouldn't I feel more anxious...excited...delighted? I mean, sure...I suppose I do. But honestly, it just doesn't feel real yet. It felt real the day I saw the completed cover, but now, it just feels like this far off dream I had that I can't quite pull into my consciousness. And yet, in twenty days, I will have a book out there for people to buy, and read, and hopefully love as much as I loved writing it. ​Because I really did have fun writing this book.

I had no idea when I sat down in a smoky karaoke bar with my drink napkin and a borrowed pen, people watching as I wrote out what would ultimately become chapter one, that anything would ever come of it. And I guess I should thank the bank I worked at for not noticing I wasn't actually working as often as I was scribbling down ideas for the rest of the story, during the business day. And I'm certain I need to thank my former coworkers for allowing me to draw from their personalities to create the zany cast of supporting characters in the story.

And just maybe this little piece of me secretly wishes I was Katie James, and that Cooper Maxwell were real. And maybe in my little world I am...and he is...and happily ever after is just a few pages away.

Until the next time...I'll be counting down!​

it's time for a break out

I'm just a few bars away from a prison cell. I feel like my mouth has been duct-taped shut. My hands are cuffed behind my back keeping my fingers far from the keyboard. Even my brain is on total lock down. I've been forced to eat beans and cabbage for dinner. But worse than that, I've been banned from discussing anything that goes on in my house...other than myself.

Crap. Not this again!

You send one tweet about someone who doesn't like attention and all hell breaks loose. It's not like I divulged bank account information...or intimate sex life details...though I suspect my readers would eat that stuff up. No, it was something I thought was totally innocuous, and yet, apparently I'd committed a fairly grievous crime. And as we all know, crime doesn't pay, but we all pay for crime.

So here I am, trying to come up with something exciting to write about, and drawing a great big blank. I haven't had a shower yet. I haven't left the house in days. Even the ducks are out of ear shot. I'm totally screwed.

And not in a good way. Not. At. All.

But for some strange reason, I find myself thinking about the Gettysburg address. And embarrassingly, I don't have it memorized. The balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, yes. Lincoln's most famous speech...nope. That's a writer for ya. A writer with nothing to say. Or more specifically, nothing I'm allowed to say.

So, I've decided from today forward, I'm making up a new life.

And in this life, I'm several pounds lighter and at least a decade younger. Handsome men are falling at my feet and I can actually walk in a sexy pair of Jimmy Choo's. Oh yeah...things just got a whole lot more interesting around here. Who needs the nouveau Amish and their snooty ducks? Not me. I have Henry, the Earl of Catnip and Cooper Maxwell. I have my own damn theme music and I'm walking through life to the sassy beat!

Right after I take a shower and shave my legs. Even I can't imagine this stuff while sitting in a dirty Eddie Bauer sweatshirt with a good month's worth of stubble.

Until the next time...I'll be having fun for a change!

searching for Cooper Maxwell

The perfect guy.

Don’t lie girls…you know you dream about him. Even if you aren’t trying to, you’ll fall asleep and find yourself dreaming about Prince Charming, rushing in on his white horse…glass Prada in hand.  It’s something ingrained in us since childhood, and believe it or not, the need grows the older you get. If you were lucky enough to find a perfect guy (go ahead tell me you found a perfect guy…I won’t call you a liar…really, I won’t) you don’t need to read any further. Your life is flawless…a chocolate covered strawberry and a glass of champagne. But for the rest of us…well, we need to keep the dream alive.

Since I’m a writer, I didn’t just dream about the perfect guy (shhh…don’t tell my husband) I invented him. And my philosophy is if you’re going to do something, you may as well reach for the top.

Cooper Maxwell is my perfect guy. He’s one of the main characters in To Katie with Love, and I have to remind myself every day, Cooper doesn’t really exist. Since I’m still buried in edits, I can’t actually share Cooper with you now, but instead I figured I’d drag you along to my happy place. A place Cooper waits for me…

It’s a place hidden deep inside my imagination, but if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can go there anytime I like. It’s as easy as hopping into my imaginary Land Rover (the one that is newer and shinier than the one I have now) and heading north on the highway.

The drive is one I only make once the sun dips down below the horizon. And as the sky grows darker and the stars get brighter, it is clear that I have left the city far behind me.

The further north I go, the more turbulent the weather becomes—snowflakes diving at my windshield like tiny white knives stabbing the glass. Swirls of white dance across the wash of my headlights like waves coming in sideways. After a long while, I turn off the main road onto a gravel path, winding up a hill into the snow dotted blackness of the night. I would have been afraid if I wasn’t sure of my way, and anxious to arrive at my destination.

The small stone cottage tucked into a clearing in the woods, is dark except for a soft flickering glow coming from the windows. I wrap my coat tightly around me and pull out my key, but before I can even slide it into the lock, the door is opened from within, and there he is…the most perfect incarnation of my true love.

He smiles at me and despite the bitter cold outside, I am instantly warm all the way to my toes.

He beckons me in with a look and I step inside. As he takes my bag from me, he leans in and whispers, “I’ve missed you.” And the warmth spreads through me, because as good as my happy place is, it’s so much better with him there.

I glance around the room, lit only by the raging fire in the big stone fireplace. The glow of the flame dances off the low wooden ceiling. Even from the entryway I can feel the heat coming off the crumbling stones as I listen to the crackle of the logs, and smell the aroma of burning oak. After slipping off my shoes, my feet sink into the softness of the old wool rugs scattered across the well worn pine floors, as I make my way into the room.

After a lingering kiss, he ducks away for just a brief moment and comes back to hand me a glass of red wine. Although there are two other comfortable chairs, we sink into the aged leather sofa together.

Even with the fire, I know I should feel the cold as I listen to the wind whipping against outside walls of the cottage.

“Is the power out?” I ask him. I can’t be sure, but there are no signs of life with regard to the electronics that I know inhabit the tiny, one bedroom cottage—no hum coming from the refrigerator in the kitchen, no lights other than the orange glow of the flame, no sounds at all other than the crackle of the fire and the pounding of my heart.

“The storm.” He answers simply, and I am immediately disturbed by this news, because even in my happy place, I like the comfort of my internet, my cable TV, and my cell phone charger. “Don’t worry.” He says with a slight smile, smoothing the crease between my brows with his finger. “The solar panels have charged the batteries, but I thought it would be romantic to dine by firelight.”

He thinks of everything.

And with that, he takes my wine from me and leads me to the kitchen where another fire glows in a cast iron stove in one corner of the room. In the center, a small table is draped with a white cloth and topped with white taper candles, simple white china, and silver flatware.

“What’s this?” I ask him, grinning like a teenage girl on her first date.

“I thought you would be hungry, so I made you dinner.” And he smiles his brilliant smile at me again, making me love him even more.

After our wonderful meal, he refuses to allow me to clear away the dishes, instead taking me by the hand to guide me to the bedroom.

Of course this room is the most perfect of all.

A fire burns in another stone fireplace along the back wall, warming every inch of the room. The antique black iron bed is centered between two small windows and is dressed in marvelous linen sheets with a goose down comforter and pillows. It is like sleeping in a blanket of clouds. But we won’t be sleeping—not yet—the night is still young, and after all, no one ever gets tired in my happy place.

Until the next time…I’ll be editing!