There I was, minding my own business at Peachtree Books when this lunatic comes racing in the door and knocks me into his arms. I would have ripped him a new one, but he was kinda familiar, and hot. Like I-want-to-have-your-sexy-babies-now hot.
Turns out he looks familiar because I stare at his gorgeous face on TV every week. Yup, Dalton Deangelo. In the oh-so-firm flesh.
I let him hide out from the press for a while, then I thought he'd be on his way, and I could breathe normally again. But no. He found me interesting. He wanted to tag along to my cousin's wedding with me. I couldn't say no to that face ... or THOSE EYES. Before the night was through, he was saying sweet things, then dirty things. Very dirty things.
I try to keep my eyes wide open. I've made terrible, stupid mistakes in the past. But Dalton Deangelo's touch turns me to Jell-O.
I'm just a regular girl, and he's rich and famous with no body fat. The guy has a butler! So, why is he chasing me? And why can't I say no? And what is this sordid secret of his the reporters are trying to uncover?
Q. What kind of music do you listen to when you write?
A. The band that lives below me. But! Not anymore, because I've just moved. Me, Mr. Strong, and our two handsome kitties are now in a quieter neighborhood. Actually, We are Made of Stardust is the reason we moved. All that writing about quaint, quiet small town life in Beaverdale gave me a ferocious craving to move. So, in the middle of writing the book, we gave notice and started looking for a new place! I uploaded the book to Amazon about 8 hours before the movers showed up.
Q. Is the Peaches Monroe series going to be long? Is it a love triangle? Will every book end on a brutal cliffhanger?
A. I've never written a long, multi-book series. I hope that you readers will guide me. Please post reviews and talk about the book. Tell me what you'd like to see happen. I have some big, big plans, but nothing is locked in until it's published.
Q. Why do you self-publish?
A. I started self-publishing in 2011 when I couldn't find a publisher for my first novel, Charlie. (Written under my YA pen name, Dalya Moon.) That's when I first discovered the amazing indie community, with book bloggers and other fun authors such as the folks who hang out in the Kboards' Writers' Cafe. From then, there was no stopping me! Stardust is book #15 for me, and I'm having a lot of fun. Oh, it's stressful at times, and there are low moments, but those times are when you find out what you're made of. I think what keeps me grounded are the great friends I've made, and giving back to the indie community.
Q. Thong or granny panties?
A. I like a little coverage, but not so much that it sticks out above the waistband of my jeans.
Q. When people find out you write erotic romance, do they treat you like a freak?
A. Yes, but the cool people treat you like the right kind of freak. People already think I'm weird that I self-publish. Actually, most random acquaintances find the topic quite dull until I mention I write “dirty billionaire stuff,” which is why I usually keep it under my hat. It's hard for me to really cut loose if I'm thinking about people reading the books.
I left Dottie Simpkin's charm workshop feeling more confused than ever. Three hours of being told to be yourself but also act in specific, manipulative ways will do that to you.
Shayla was trailing behind me on the walk back to her Rav.
“Hold up, I’m doing the mermaid walk,” she said.
“You look ridiculous.”
She was walking the way Dottie had taught us, with her upper legs close together, like she was wearing an invisible tight skirt instead of her jean cutoffs with the frayed edges.
Once she finally caught up to me, she said, “Hey, let’s try out our new charms on that hottie over there.” She pointed her chin to a man who was puzzling over a parking meter. “Just for practice,” she said.
I would have agreed, but the very tall, very handsome Nordic-looking man with the broad shoulders and narrow waist was not suitable for practice. He was more like the final exam. He was the man equivalent of a PhD thesis paper.
Shayla abandoned her mermaid walk and dragged me up to Mr. Clearly Not From Around Here.
“They don’t need to be fed on Sundays,” she said.
“The parking meters, silly.”
He turned to her, and I followed his gaze as it travelled from Shayla’s eyes to her lips and then to her fingertips, which were rubbing back and forth along her collarbone and exposed shoulder, where her striped shirt was falling off.
Dottie had recommended wearing high-maintenance clothing that required constant adjustment. Men are attracted women who are constantly correcting their clothing, or so Dottie said. I had a little pebble in my cork-soled sandals, but I didn’t think she meant I should take my shoe off my sweaty foot and shake it around to impress this guy.
“I guess I scrounged up a pocket full of change for nothing,” he said. His voice was deep, but I shouldn’t have been surprised, since it had so far to go, up that long neck of his. How tall was he? Six foot four? At least.
He had a good-sized shoe on him, too. My whole body experienced a naughty, tingling sensation as I drank him in with my eyes, from his hiking boots to his lightweight brown chinos and up. My gaze got stuck briefly around his zipper, pondering exactly what was causing a sizable shadow in that area. A wrinkle in the fabric? A giant python? A tree trunk for one to climb with her bare-naked vagina?
Oh dear. My cheeks flushed with heat, and my nervous hands went to my hair, twirling strands between my fingers.
That had been another one of Dottie’s man-charming tricks: twirl your hair and draw a strand across your mouth, dragging your fingers across your lips to make him think about you touching his naughty business with those lips. (Okay, she didn’t say that last part, but come on.)
Shayla beat me to it, already rubbing one forefinger against her lower lip as she gazed up at the stranger with her golden eyes, artfully peeking through a fringe of eyelashes.
The muscles in his cheeks moved as he clenched his handsome jaw, smooth shaven with just a few specks of his gold-hued beard hair, glowing in the afternoon sun like grains of brown sugar on a cinnamon bun. Heaven help me, but he was one beautiful man, from his dreamy blue eyes to his thick, sun-bleached hair and fair eyebrows.
I hadn’t seen a man so utterly breathtaking since high school, when I’d been the President, Secretary, and only member of the Adrian Storm Appreciation Club. Adrian had been tall as well, but so scrawny that our art teacher joked that the metal lip ring was the only thing keeping him from blowing away in a stiff breeze. Adrian always wore extra-large black T-shirts for his favorite bands—shirts so big you could have fit two Adrians in them—and I’d dutifully note the names of the bands and listen to their music as though Adrian had recommended them to me personally. I didn’t like the same music he did, nor his favorite movies. Our tastes were polar opposites, but I could appreciate the things he liked, and I thought that with enough exposure, I might also like them.
One of his favorite bands, if you believed the T-shirts, was Led Zeppelin. Which was kind of a funny coincidence, given that this handsome, muscular stranger in front of me was also wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt over his broad chest.
Hot buttered noodles, it was him. Adrian Storm.
The best way to describe this book is HOT & HILARIOUS!
There have been a few books that I've read that the heroine is "normal", not stick thin and beautiful beyond words- I LOVE these kinds of books it helps me relate the the heroine on a whole other level.
Peaches is normal, chunky, thick however you want to say it she has insecurities just like the rest of us. Peaches however does a self confidence about when he isn't letting her insecurities get in the way. She is out spoken and Hilarious. Dalton sweeps her off her feet and Peaches has to fight the naysayers around her that Dalton isn't was he seems to be. Things start changing for Peaches for the good and just as she starts this new journey something brings her to halt. Lots of Fabulous crazy sex.
Cliff hanger ending but well worth any cuss words I was flinging because I wanted more now.
"My ladyflower received the signal and blossomed in anticipation."
"Mamma mia! His soldier was trying to make a jail break, out of his waistband."
"I'm going to use my mouth on your belly button like it's a single-serve pudding snack and I don't have a spoon."
"my runway was wet and ready for him to land his big plane. Woohoo, down here, Mr. Pilot! Get ready for splashdown!"
"He ran his fingers up and down, moving farther with each stroke, all the way down my coin slot and into my piggy bank."