More of those Scandalous Copelands!

In between celebrating my fifth wedding anniversary, and helping my middle son with his college applications, I’ve been trying to finisn the revisions on my next Harlequin Presents, which is Logan and Rowan’s story, the third and possibly final story, in my Disgraced Copelands series.

Logan and Rowan’s story hasn’t been scheduled yet, nor is there a cover, but I thought I’d let you see the world I use when creating.  Like so many authors today, I rely on Pinterest to help me world build, (check out my board) and then I also still use good old-fashioned bulletin boards, printing out pictures, layering in text and sometimes maps, or even color swatches to help inspire me when I’m writing.   This story features an American socialite and a Greek-Irish hero and I loved the setting…can you guess where much of the story is set by the pictures I’ve pinned?

And here’s a quick sneak peek excerpt from Rowan and Logan’s story:

“Check your phone,” a deep, rough, impatient male voice echoed, this one most definitely not Joe’s.

            Logan turned swiftly, eyes widening as her gaze locked with Rowan Argyros’.  His green gaze was icy and contemptuous and so very dismissive.

            She lifted her chin, her press of lips hiding her anger and rush of panic.  If Rowan Argyros—her biggest regret, and worst mistake—was here, it could only mean one thing, because he wouldn’t be here by choice.  He’d made it brutally clear three years ago what he thought of her.

            But she didn’t want to think about that night, or the day after, or the weeks and months after….

            Better to keep from thinking at all, because Rowan would use it against her.  More ammunition.  And the last thing a former military commander needs is more ammunition.

            He didn’t look military standing before her.  Nor had he looked remotely authoritative the night she met him at the Bachelor Auction fundraiser to benefit children in war torn countries in need of prosthetics.  He’d been a bachelor.  She’d helped organize the event.  Women were bidding like mad.  He would go for a fortune.  She didn’t have a fortune, but when he looked at her where she stood off to the side, watching, she felt everything in her shift and heat.  Her face burned.  She burned and his light, green gaze remained on her, as the bidding went up, and up, and up.

            She bought him.  Correction: she bought one night with him.

            And it only costs thousands and thousands of dollars. 

            The remorse had hit her the moment the auctioneer had shouted victoriously, “Sold to Logan Lane!”

            The intense remorse made her nauseous.  She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She’d filled an entire credit card, maxing it out in a flash for one night with a stranger.

She didn’t even know then what Dunamas Maritime was.  Insurance for yachts?  Ship builder?  Cargo exporter?

            He knew that, too, from his faint mocking smile.  He knew why she’d bought him.

            She’d bought him for his intense male energy.  She’d bought his confidence and the fact that of all the attractive men being auctioned, he was by far the most primal.  The most sexual.

            She’d bought him because he was tall and broad shouldered and had a face that rivaled the most beautiful male models in the world.

            She’d bought him because she couldn’t resist him.  But she hadn’t been the only one.  The bidding had been fierce and competitive and no wonder.  He was gorgeous with his deep tan, and long, dark hair—sun streaked hair—and his light arresting eyes framed by black lashes.  There was something so very compelling about him that you couldn’t look away.  And so she didn’t.  She watched him, and wanted him. Like every other woman at the charity event.

            They’d all looked, and wanted.  And many had bid, but she was the one who’d bid the longest, and bid the highest, and when the heart-pounding bidding frenzy was over, she came out the victor.

            The winner.

            And so from across the room that night he looked at her, his mysterious light hazel eyes holding hers, the corner of his mouth lifting, acknowledging her victory.  Looking back she recognized the smile for what it was—mockery. 

            He’d dared her to bid, and she had, proving how weak she was.  Proving to him how easily manipulated.

            By morning he would hate her, scorning her weakness.  Scorning her name.

            But that hadn’t happened yet.  That wouldn’t happen until he’d taken her again and again, making her scream his name as she climaxed once, twice, and then after a short sleep, two more times before walking out the door the next morning.

            The sex had been hot, so hot, and so intense, and so deeply satisfying.  With anyone else it might have felt dirty, but it hadn’t been with him.  It’d just felt real.  And right.

            But she did feel dirty, later, once he’d discovered she wasn’t Logan Lane, but Logan Lane Copeland, and the shaming began.

Speaking of the Copelands, have you read the other books in the series?


Do you have a favorite couple?  And if you haven’t read my Copelands, what are you reading now?  Share with me and you’ll be entered to win a fun Harlequin Presents themed prize filled with signed books, a Starbucks gift card, and reader treats!  Contest ends on Saturday with winner announced Sunday!

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