When I think of authors whose story lines are fun, smart and clever, Valerie Bowman is always at the top of my list. In her latest novel, THE RIGHT KIND OF ROGUE, Ms. Bowman has, yet again, penned a regency romp bound to make your heart flutter. THE RIGHT KIND OF ROGUE is the eighth installment in her popular Playful Brides Series published by St. Martin’s Press.
Since childhood, Meg Timmons has loved Hart. The daughter of Hart’s father’s sworn enemy and without a dowry, the shy wallflower must admire Hart from afar. After years of yearning to be the object of his desire, Meg takes desperate measures, enlisting the help of one of the tons most successful matchmakers.
Even a notorious rake must settle down sometime. Viscount Hart Highgate has decided to assume his duties–get married and produce an heir. Bored by the superficial, uninspiring woman that vie for his affections, Hart tries to stifle his growing attraction to his sister’s best-friend, Meg Timmons. A marriage to the penniless daughter of his father’s rival, would be sure to become a disaster.
If you’re a fan of historical romance, Valerie Bowman will not disappoint. THE RIGHT KIND OF ROGUE is sure to keep you entertained from start to finish with its silly antics and heartwarming emotion. Happy Reading!
“Women want love to be a novel. Men, a short story.”
― Daphne du Maurier
I’d never thought I’d be one of those people. You know the ones. You’ve seen their many faces as the television cameras capture their anxious energy. They’ve prayed for one glimpse. Surely, this magical moment where time stands still as their eyes lock on those of their beloved hoping to fulfill their destiny. Desperate to be noticed, they frantically scream, “I love you!” Many will cry. Some will gaze in disbelief. Others might faint. The object of their affection is mere inches away. Hearts pounding, they breathe in deeply, alive with the electricity that floats through the atmosphere. For few hours, there souls connect on a single breath of air.
That was my experience when I first saw him leap from the top of the piano, legs split into a V, telling the world to go crazy! I was eleven years old, the same age as Mayte Garcia, the woman who eventually married this mysterious man and decades later shared their story with the world. At first, I was mad as hell. Didn’t take her long to capitalize on his death, did it? I wrongly thought. After all, this man had shaped my teenage years with his lyrics that pushed the envelope by tapping into controversial topics such as love, sex, religion, and discrimination. Fearless and relentless in his reign, I even wrote about his influence on diversity for a college class. I’m now 44 years old and am thankful for every word, every concert and everything that was and still is Prince.
On April 21, 2016, nine days before my birthday, a friend told me Prince was found dead. I didn’t believe her at first, declaring that it was one of those disgusting hoaxes that are often viewed on the internet. Sadly, my friend was right, ripping out a piece of my heart with the sickening truth. How could it be that this man who helped me believe being a misunderstood misfit was cool, soothed my soul when I was anguished, stroked my desire to be unique, influenced me to strive for greatness and most of all, never quit, was dead at the age of 57?
Many tears have been shed since then. I have recorded the television tributes that aired shortly after his death. They wait for me to view them. I haven’t gone there yet. Recently, I began listening to his music again. The intoxicating rhythms jolting me into an energy and an artist’s desire for greatness. I’m a writer not a musician, but if you want to be the best, always study the best. Prince’s influence on me was priceless and to think, we never even exchanged a hello.
I tell you all of this so that you’ll grasp the importance this artist’s life had on influencing the person who I’ve become. As you can imagine, Mayte Garcia’s novel, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL, MY LIFE WITH PRINCE, left me with a plethora of emotion. And damn it…I really like and respect her! Being an animal lover, myself, I was impressed with her dedication to animal rescue. The best decision I made was to listen to the audio version read by Mayte. Hearing the inflection in her words as she spoke her truth along with the small sniffles and giggles made my heart cry for her. I was a basket case as she spoke of her pregnancy. I hope that writing this novel, was cathartic for her and I hope it was lucrative, too. She’s a single mamma, afterall. Never once did she spew hateful words and accusations that her ex-husband can no longer defend. Instead, she exposed a vulnerability, a fragile humanity that fans, such as myself, would never see. Mayte’s words sculpted Prince into a flesh and blood human being, a man who was way more than the images of the eccentric rock star that the world had come to admire.
There is no doubt in my mind, that Mayte Garcia and Prince Rogers Nelson were a match made in Heaven. Although it saddens me to realize their marriage didn’t last, their love story inspires me. It confirms this romance writer’s theory that love is the most honest, dangerous and mystifying thing in the entire world. It evolves over time, maybe strengthens or flickers, but it never dies. Love lives in your heart because it is part of your very essence.
A few things that were confirmed for me after listening to Mayte’s thoughts… Nothing or no one is ever gone when they’re loved. God is alive and He will bring beauty from your ashes. God bless you Mayte and that gorgeous little girl that you adore. I know that Amir, Boogie, Mia and Prince are smiling.
I’ve got some very exciting news to share…
As of today, Anna Harrington’s latest historical romance, When the Scoundrel Sins, is available for purchase at all of your favorite book sellers. I’ll be posting my review this Sunday, September 3, 2017.
In the meantime, I’ve posted an excerpt for your enjoyment.
“You look much more like your father now,” she commented, nervously licking her suddenly dry lips but only serving to draw his attention to her mouth. Which made her even more nervous, so nervous that she couldn’t stop the trembling of her fingertips as they wrapped into the skirt of her night rail. “But you’re still a troublemaker.”
A faint smile played at his mouth. “And you’re still a bluestocking,” he countered. Unintentionally simmering a slow heat low in her belly, he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “Still retreating to the sanctuary of your library.”
“Because books are usually more pleasant than most people,” she answered, swallowing hard when he trailed his fingers down the side of her neck. She forced out, not at all as firmly as she’d hoped beneath the soft touch of his fingers,
“And more trustworthy.”
Ignoring that jab, he slid his hand lower to let his fingers play at the edge of her shawl. “Yet there are things that people can do that books can’t.” His fingers tugged gently at the shawl and pulled it down her shoulder to reveal the scooped neck of the nightdress beneath. His gaze flicked to the small patch of revealed skin at the base of her throat, then back to her eyes. “All kinds of interesting things.”
She should stop him, swat his hand away, shove him back—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Just as she couldn’t hold back the hot shiver that swept through her or the gooseflesh that formed on her skin. His touch was proving to be as equally intoxicating now as that night six years ago.
“Then I have no interest in learning them,” she countered, although from the way her blood hummed, her body was very interested.
Madness—that after what he’d done to her, she could ever want to be in his arms again. Yet she desired just that, although that could never happen. Kissing him once had ruined her reputation. Kissing him again might destroy her entire future.
She thrust her chin into the air. “I know of your reputation.”
“Thank you,” he half purred.
His finger hooked beneath the wide shoulder strap of her sleeveless nightgown and slid it slowly down her arm. But this time, with a stretch of bare shoulder revealed to his eyes, he didn’t bother feigning propriety by looking away and instead flamed a prickling heat beneath her skin everywhere he gazed.
She pulled in a deep breath to steady herself. Oh, why did she always go light-headed when she was alone with him?
“That was not meant as a compliment.”