Another Man’s Son, a romantic suspense, is part of #TWRP new Lobster Cove multi-genre series. Release Day was the 25th, and even though I had about two weeks' notice, I still didn't start seriously promoting until a week beforehand. For two reasons - one, I was horrendously busy with other things; 2, I personally hate being bombarded by promo about books, like when you receive 12 posts from different lists, same author, all the same comment/blurb/excerpt, every day, day after day.
So I only did a bit of that :-) Sorry. Now I feel a blog coming on....
Well, we had severe rain/wind/thunder storms just as I was getting into my stride. The Internet was unreliable at best, cutting out all the time as I tried to promo online. Out here in the Middle of Nowhere, we have access only to satellite Internet – by a company that specialized in providing communications services to Third World countries. Or so they said at the public meeting held to announce the service. Uhhmmmm.
So, between weather and Real Life, promo time for the book was limited. And that’s when the Great Writers’ Co-Operative kicked in. There isn’t actually such a body, but if there was, I’d be sending them flowers right now. So many people picked up and Tweeted, FaceBooked, and otherwise mentioned the release that I was overwhelmed with appreciation. I can never thank you all enough! (You know who you are)
Anyhow, Another Man’s Son is now out in the world, and seems to be managing pretty well with just the occasional promotional nudge from me.
Speaking of nudges, here’s an excerpt:
Ben looked out of the bar window at the sound of raised voices. Kathryn and her husband were arguing in the courtyard, no doubt about her earlier behavior. Guilt nagged at him, but he shrugged and signaled to the bartender to bring him another beer. Their fight had nothing to do with him.
In fact, he thought, maybe he’d yell at his wife if he’d found her coming on to another man the way Kathryn had come on to him. If he had a wife, that is. Trying to shake the memory of how his shock at seeing her again had escalated into burning desire within nanoseconds, he glanced again at the couple standing on the rain-shadowed sidewalk.
He half rose from his seat when the tall, slightly balding Ketler Morgan Junior grabbed Kathryn by the arm and tried to push her into the car, but he sank back as he saw her pull free and turn her back on her husband.
Ben slugged down the rest of his beer as he watched Kathryn’s husband slam the door of the big, expensive car and roar off down the driveway, sloshing dirty, wet mud and gravel over her expensive evening gown. She just stood there, ashen faced under the bright light spilling from the clubhouse windows.
No business of mine, he told himself. The incident was just a domestic spat, over and done with without them coming to blows. Nothing to involve the local law officer.
The promised rain had started, but she was still there, huddled miserably in her short, fur jacket, when Ben walked out into the cold, wet night. Kathryn, wearing fur? The girl he’d loved had cared for animals and would never have worn their skins.
“He’s gone, just like that. Left me here.” He knew she was crying, even as he recognized her struggle to keep the piteous tone out of her voice. “I don’t know how I’m going to get home.”
Ben hardened his heart. Her problems didn’t concern him. “Try calling a cab.”
She looked at him directly, with those wide green eyes that had made his heart skip a beat when he’d first encountered her on the dance floor earlier that evening. As well as before, years ago, when he’d wanted to drown in their mysterious depths. But he knew better now.
“I have no money.” She looked away to hide the shame that colored her cheeks and stared woodenly at the ground.
“Can’t you ask for a ride from some of your fancy friends inside?” He indicated the hotel, where the dance continued and the sound of laughter and loud banter spilled out into the chilly evening.
“I can’t. People will talk.”
“You’d rather get drenched out here than face a little gossip?”
She looked at him then. “You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I think I understand very well.” She wasn’t going to play those games with him again, ever.
Ben pulled out his mobile phone and located the number for a local taxi company, quickly ordering a cab to come to the club. He tucked a $20 bill into her cold fingers, ignoring the tiny frisson of heat that burned on his own fingers where they touched her skin.
“Cab will be here in a few minutes,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.
Her soft voice reached him over the crunching of his boots on the wet gravel. Her words almost stopped him in his tracks. Almost.
“Are all men bastards?”