Tag Archives: It’s a trust thing

#SundaySnippet 11.10.19

I put that ad image up because it exemplifies to perfection why I just love Nell Newberry. The fact she has impulse control issues is my favorite thing about her. She’s a lot like me in that regard. Says whatever pops into her mind without thinking first. Love that! In this scene she’s just come to Charlie’s apartment for the first time for dinner. 

He was waiting for me at his apartment door after I’d checked in with the doorman. A lifetime of watching my mother be a guest and hostess had instilled certain behaviors in me, not the least of which was to always bring along a gift whenever I was invited to someone’s home. I carried a bottle of white wine in one hand, a pastry box filled with cupcakes I’d stopped to buy in Penn Station in my other.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Charlie said after closing the door behind me. He took both items from my outstretched hands than bent to give me a quick kiss on the mouth, like an old friend would.

My pulse tripled when his lips met mine.

“I wanted to make sure we got a real dessert this time,” I said, deadpan.

I almost tripped in my flat shoes while standing in place when his fabulous lips curled upward and the corners of his eyes narrowed into two devilish slits.

“We, or you?” he asked.

I simply smiled.

With a shake of his head he turned and, over his shoulder, said, “Come on back”

His apartment was in one of the historical, 1940’s brick structures you see all the time displayed in architecture magazines. Ten-foot ceilings with windows that ran from floor to crown molding across entire walls, and spacious rooms that over looked the upper west side of Manhattan.

“You’ve got a great view of the Park,” I said as I passed what had to be the living room. From twenty stories up I could see clear across Central Park to the East side. The trees were lushly leaved and in full bloom, and the perfect early twilit sky shimmered across the horizon. “Beats my view of the Hudson River any day of the week.”

I made my way into the kitchen, where I stopped dead in my tracks.

The building may have been old, but Charlie’s kitchen was anything but. Light gunmetal in color, the fixtures and appliances were all steel, shiny, and sparkling clean. A center island with comfortable looking barstools underneath it held a platter of cut fruit and vegetables on a serving dish, tiny plates next to it.

“Are you expecting more people for dinner?” I asked.

From the refrigerator he turned and cocked his head, a quizzical look on his face. “No. It’s just us. Why?”

I pointed to the platter. “This is my fiber allotment for the month.”

Even though he hadn’t opened the wine yet, I got drunk on the sound of his laugh: full bodied, deep, and rich, it filled my senses and had my girlie bits pulsing like a Quartz timepiece.

“You know how it is with crudité.” His lopsided grin peeked through his beard. “One carrot can look like an entire bunch when it’s cut. The same for apples and peppers.” He moved to the range and stirred something in a saucepan that smelled like Heaven and made my taste buds stand at attention. Then, he placed the spoon down on the counter, lifted the wine bottle and an opener.

He had a dishtowel tucked into the waistband of his pants and a sudden flash of him naked, with just that little piece of cloth covering him from hipbones to the tops of his thighs blew across my mind. I was glad his concentration was centered on his task because my face heated to what had to be lobster red at the thought and I didn’t want to have to explain the reason for the blush.

Intrigued? Well, you can read the rest of the book here: IT’S A TRUST THING.

Happy reading.

Until next time ~ Peg

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#SundaySnippet 11.3.19

It’s not difficult to figure out what the Sunday Snippet is this week, is it? Since IT’S A TRUST THING released on Friday, it makes sense I offer a little sumthin’ sumthin’ to whet your appetite and hopefully get you to read the book. Hee hee.

There’s nothing I like more than when a strong woman  – or man – shows his/her vulnerability. In this scene, it’s Nell who does. This is the beginning of her learning to trust in a man she knows practically nothing about except he makes her feel like no other man ever has.

Can she trust him? We’ll find out, won’t we? Hee hee

This is nice,” I said again, eyeing the treetops and the panorama of the horizon. “Do you love sitting out here?”

“I do. Sometimes, when I’ve got nothing that needs my imminent attention, I’ll sit out here on an afternoon and read a book, or bring my laptop out and catch up on what’s going on in the world.” He glanced over at me. “Probably sounds pretty boring to you.”

“Not in the least. I love quiet days, truthfully, because they happen so rarely.”

“What’s your idea of a perfect day, then? One where you could do anything you wanted?”

I didn’t even need to think.

“I love to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge and spend an afternoon strolling along the waterfront.”

He cocked his head.
“Have you ever done that? Walked from Manhattan to Brooklyn?”
“I haven’t, no.”
“It’s so much fun, especially on a sunny weekend day. Families with kids in strollers; old folks walking arm in arm. Musicians set up along the walkway and play for donations. I love to people watch. Plus it’s a great way to get in a few miles of exercise without thinking of it as a workout.”

“We’ll have to do it sometime, together. Sounds like a fun day.”

“It is.” A little ball of pleasure bounced through me that he wanted to do it with me.

When I bit into the red velvet cupcake I’d put on a dish, I couldn’t help the moan that broke through my lips. I closed my eyes and let the sweet flavors dance over my taste buds, Forget pumpkin spice. I could eat red velvet cupcakes every single day,” I said, “and still come back for more. They’re so sinful.”

“Hmm. They are good.”

When I opened my eyes, Charlie was sampling his own. His lips, those full and utterly kissable lips, were open and pressed against the cake. A dab of cream cheese frosting dotted the corner of his mouth as he took a bite, then swallowed. Without even a thought to stop myself from what I was about to do, I reached over and swiped my index finger across his mouth.

Charlie went stock-still. He was so still I wasn’t sure he was breathing. The dimmed outdoor lighting reflected twinkling shards of moisture in his eyes as he stared at me. Silent anticipation drifted from him in waves.

Or maybe it was from me.

With a tiny bit of pressure, I swiped the frosting from his mouth, then slid my finger between my lips to suck it off.

How was it possible it tasted better coming from his lips than it had from my own?

The air suddenly changed around us as Charlie let out a deep breath. I was right in thinking he’d been holding his breath, because the volume of air he expelled was vast.

With deliberate and careful movements, he placed the rest of his uneaten dessert on the snack table between us, tossed his legs over the edge of the chaise, and rested his elbows on this thighs, his fingers folded together. With his chin dropped to his chest, he took in another breath, as if bracing himself for something. When he lifted his gaze to mine I had a pretty good idea what it was.

With the sun almost set and the lights from the city shining around us, his beautiful blue eyes had turned to pale ash. They were so enflamed with heat I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke billow from their corners.

The look of desire is something I’m familiar with. Too many times I’ve seen one of my hunky employees glance at one of Ella’s girls with blatant sexual hunger filling their faces.

I’ve seen it boldly displayed on some of the men I’ve dated who’d thought being with a fringe celebrity was a boost to their narcissistic fantasies, to puff up their already swollen egos. Their desire was more for the situation than for me.

The need in Charlie’s eyes wasn’t like any of those other examples. No, his was pure and raw and all about…me.

A moment ago the tea had protected me against the cool evening air.

But I didn’t need it now. The warmth from Charlie’s gaze was enough to counteract any external chill. And despite the cauldron of heat coming my way, the hairs on my skin stood straight up at attention.

This man, this lovely, charming man whom I still really knew nothing about except his name and a few minor tidbits of his life, wanted me.

Me.

No hidden agenda; no nefarious reasons; no thoughts to use me to his own gain.

Just…me.

How I knew this to be true was baffling. But I was as sure of it as I was that the moon would rise and then give way to the sun. What I was going to do about it was the question.

I don’t remember tossing my legs over the edge of the lounge chair or placing my dish on the table between us, but I did.

Charlie sat up straight, his face an open mask of curiosity with a dose of caution mixed in.

I took a step—literal and emotional—toward him, moving into the open space between his thighs. For a hot second I was afraid it was the wine making me bold.

In the next breath I realized that for the lie it was. Alcohol had nothing to do with what I was about to do.

“Nell?” His hands lifted to settle on my hips.

I licked my lips. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”
I nodded.

“Can I lie down, here, next to you?”

If he thought the question odd, he kept his opinion hidden as he continued to peer up at me.

“I have this overwhelming need for you to hold me right now,” I told him with more honesty than I’d ever given another man. “Is that okay with you?”

Intrigued? I hope you are! You can get your copy here: Amazon 

Until next time ~ Peg

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In a week, a lot can happen…..

Hee hee. Ominous title for a blog, no?!! I don’t mean it to be because I’m talking about the 7 more days – or as the kids say – 7 more sleeps – until IT’S A TRUST THING releases into the ebook reading world.

Have you preorderd your copy yet? Maybe reading that little snippet on the ad above will motivate you. Hee Hee

Nell Newbery has trust issues. It’s hard to trust when you’re the daughter of a fallen financial scion who bilked people out of billions. Nell’s done everything in her power to keep away from men who see her as their ticket to fortune and fame. All she wants to do is run her ultra-successful business, HELPFUL HUNKS, in peace.

But it wouldn’t hurt to find a guy who doesn’t know a thing about her father’s felonious past; one she can give her heart to and trust it won’t come back to her battered, bruised, and broken.

Is Charlie Churchill that guy? On the surface he seems perfect, all polished manners and quiet mirth. Nell’s convinced he knows nothing about her, other than she likes superhero movies and views junk food as a food group.

Can she trust him to be what he appears to be? Or is he just pretending?

For Nell, trust is everything in life…and in love.

Happy reading…

Until next time ~Peg

 

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Book trailer for It’s A Trust Thing….

I’ve made so many great friends and met so many wonderful writers and people since I started my writing journey. Nancy Fraser is one of them. Not only is she an award winning writer, she’s also a damn fine graphic producer and artist. She made my book trailer to Dirty Damsels and did such a  great job I asked her to do one for my 11.1.19 release of It’s a Trust Thing. I think it captures the essence of the book perfectly. Have a gander:

Isn’t it great!!!??

Remember, It’s a Trust Thing is up for pre-order right now and will be available ONLY in Kindle and KU. And if you haven’t read DIRTY DAMSELS yet, let me whet your appetite with Nancy’s trailer for that book, too! Hee hee

Until next time ~ Peg

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If a picture is worth 1,000 words, does that mean a book cover is too?

Since I decided to self-pub IT’S A TRUST THING and I knew I had no real money to invest in a professional graphic book designer, I decided to try my hand at making my own book cover. Since I already do so much graphic stuff for book ads and for this blog, I thought it might be fun.

And it was.

It was also harrowing, mind boggling, and at times, infuriating. What makes a good, eye catching book cover to me, may not necessarily mean it does to you. Plus, since it’s a romance there are things that have to be incorporated into the cover so people who are glancing through Amazon new releases see it for what it is and not say, a murder mystery.

Here are a few of the covers I made before I decided on the one I finally put up: Oh, and the original title of the book was HELPFUL HUNKS, the name of Nell’s business. Since I didn’t talk too much about her business in the book, I figured it would be misleading to call it that.

So I liked this one until a friend of mine pointed out the lousy job ( my word, not hers!) I did of cutting and pasting the couple on the Brooklyn Bridge. I wanted the bridge on the cover because an important plot point concerns it, but with the lousy job I did of C/P I realized it looked sloppy.

I wanted this cover because it matched DIRTY DAMSELS, and kept the branding of the series intact. See:

But again, the sloppy cut and paste was glaring in this one.

I loved this cover when the title was Helpful hunks, but it didn’t fit in with the branding again, so I opted to use it in ads for the book instead. But I still love this cover!

This is the one I finally decided on because the background was black and I didn’t have to do any sloppy cutting and pasting to get the couple front and center.

It goes along with the theme of Dirty Damsels in the fonts and with the couple embracing. It’s not as sexy as the DD cover, but that’s okay with me.

Now, I just need to know if the cover “SPEAKS” to romance book buyers!

Preorder is up here: It’s a Trust Thing

The book is also available in Kindle Unlimited for those subscribers as well.

Happy reading, folks!! Hope you like my cover and the story.

Until next time ~ Peg

Looking for me? I’m here:Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

 

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#SundaySnippet 9.29.19 It’s A Trust Thing

Honestly, what other book was I gonna put up here today?? Hee hee.

So, IT’S A TRUST THING releases, as you know, on 11.1.19. Nell Newbery had an idyllic childhood up until the age of 16, when her father was arrested, tried, and convicted of running a pyramid scheme for people who had invested with him. Life as she knew it changed forever the moment he was taken away in handcuffs from their apartment.

Nell has lived her life since then out of the pubic eye, despite the hordes of journalists and paparazzi who follow her, dying to get a sound bit or  a compromising position photograph. She’s cut off all contact with her felonious father and hasn’t visited him once while he’s been incarcerated. But he’s been begging her to visit him of late. The 15th anniversary of the date he was imprisoned is looming and Nell thinks he wants to involve her in a plan to garner him early release. Since she won’t speak to him, her dad emails her. This little snippet is just one of the messages that Nell has been deleting as they arrive. I think her anger shines through in this scene.

That done, I finally checked my in-box. Much of my day-today operations were conducted electronically through email, direct message, and via my website. Some days, if I was busy with something, I’d have dozens of notifications to contend with before I knew it. Staying ahead of the mail was an important facet in keeping my day moving smoothly and my stomach unknotted.

As I opened the application and waited for the messages to load onto my screen, I sipped at the bottled water I’d gotten with lunch. A quick eye stroll down the list of waiting-to-be-read notices and the water suddenly choked at the back of my throat.

No. Just…no.

I checked the return web address, blinked, then checked it again.

It couldn’t be; it had been over a year since I’d heard anything.

One more check. Yup. It was. The return address was from a government-dot-org account.

My father had sent me an email.

Why?

Or more importantly, what did he want, because surely this wasn’t a hi, how are you doing, missive. My father wasn’t wired that way. Every email was usually a request to do something for him.

Speak in his favor at an upcoming parole hearing.

I didn’t.

Write a letter to the Governor asking for clemency or to have his sentence reduced.

I refused.

Get together with his lawyers to discuss how they could finagle him a new trial, claiming the government had railroaded him.

I never bothered to call them.

My father, I’d finally come to realize when I was in college, was a user. Out for himself and himself alone. He’d never asked once about my mother – his wife – when he emailed me. Not once in all these years. Since she’d fallen apart after his arrest and subsequent incarceration, he figured she wasn’t useful to him any longer.

The bastard.

The woman had stood by him, valiantly, bravely, believing in him until the verdict was handed down, and even after that. By virtue of their marriage, though, her reputation was ruined, a side effect of loving the man and sticking by him. All her friends had turned their backs on her. The philanthropic committees and boards she’d sat on removed her from their ranks. Even her family disowned her, blaming her for marrying a man who would bring ridicule and shame upon their good name.

Suffice it to say when they’d disowned her, it had filtered down to include me, the Devil’s spawn. The difference between my mother and I was I didn’t care that her family had rejected me because of who my father was. My mother did, though. She was devastated when everyone she loved turned on her. So much so, she’d disassociated from the world and wound up committed. It was grossly unfair. Her husband was the criminal, not her. The only crime she’d committed was in loving and trusting the man.

I hadn’t seen nor spoken to my father since the day he was escorted out of a federal courtroom to begin his sentence.

He’d gotten my email address from one of his lawyers. Thankfully, none of them had my private cell number and I didn’t have a personal landline so they couldn’t reach out to me. My calls at the office were screened by the receptionist I shared with Ella and Danny, and I avoided them whenever they called.

This missive now staring at me was the first time in over a year he’d made contact.

He knew the anniversary of his imprisonment was a time the media dredged the whole sordid affair up again, vomiting all the details to the public. For the tenth anniversary a cable news magazine had dedicated a one-hour program to it titled, When Greed Ruled the World. My father probably thought now was a good time to strike with another request for early release, or some other legal maneuver. Since his name was going to be publicly front and center again, why not try to garner some sympathy; some empathy for himself? I did a quick calculation and came up with his age: sixty-eight. He’d claim to be an old man, repentant in his ways.

What a crock.

Any measure of daughterly affection or familial obligation died when he’d tossed my mother aside.

She was the one who had my loyalty and love. For her, I’d go to bat and do anything to make her life easier.

My father? Yeah, not so much.

My finger hit the delete key.

Intrigued? I hope so. Remember, you can preorder it now, here; It’s a Trust Thing. Or, if you subscribe to KU, you can download it on 11.1.19.

Looking for me? I’m here:

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

Until next time ~ Peg

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