Seven Day Fiancé
Love and Games Series, Book 2
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Entangled Publishing - Bliss
Date of Publication: October 14, 2013
Number of pages: 153
Cover Artist: Jessica Cantor
Angelle Prejean is in a pickle. Her family is expecting her to come home with a fiancé—a fiancé who doesn’t exist. Well, he exists, but he definitely has no idea Angelle told her mama they were engaged. Tattooed, muscled, and hotter than sin, Cane can reduce Angelle to a hot mess with one look—and leave her heart a mess if she falls for him. But when she ends up winning Cane at a charity bachelor auction, she knows just how to solve her fiancé problem.Excerpt:
Cane Robicheaux is no one’s prince. He doesn’t do relationships and he doesn’t fall in love. When sweet, sultry-voiced Angelle propositions him, he hopes their little game can finally get her out of his head. He doesn’t expect her to break through all his barriers. But even as Angelle burrows deeper into his heart, he knows once their seven days are up, so is their ruse.
“Don’t worry about it, Angel. We’ll figure it out.” He sent her a confident smile, hoping he was right. Spending the holiday with this charade blowing up in his face was something he’d really rather avoid. “We have two-plus hours to get a crash course in each other. Plenty of time to hit the highlights.”
Angelle nodded distractedly, clearly unconvinced, and began tapping a rhythm on her lap. Cane knew a thing or two about nervous habits, so he placed his hand over hers to calm her down—and caught her shiver from the corner of his eye. The tapping stopped, and he bit back a smile.
Now unable to help himself, knowing his touch affected her, Cane encircled the slender bones of her wrist with his thumb and finger. Angelle was tough, but she was also much more delicate than any woman he’d ever known. So feminine and vulnerable. The contradictory mix fascinated him. It brought out every protective instinct he had, and attracted him like nothing else before.
On the underside of her wrist, the site of her tattoo, he felt the raised skin of a scar. Curious if the injury linked to the mysterious one-word brand, he grazed the pad of his thumb over the mark. Her pink lips parted. When he did it again, her head lolled, and her breath caught.
The stuttered sound, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hand flexed and curled as his thumb drew slow circles…it only made him want her more. He hadn’t thought that was possible. And when her head shifted and she peered up at him with unmistakable, unhidden desire, well, it was all over.
Cane gunned the accelerator. Flipping on the turn signal, he switched lanes, headed for the rest stop an exit ahead. Angelle’s voice was whisper soft when she asked, “Where are we going?”
“We need to get something out of the way right now.”
In the quiet of the cab, he heard her swallow. There were no other words until he threw the truck into park a half mile up the road. As soon as he did, Cane chucked his seat belt, made quick work of hers, and stared into her unguarded eyes.
Angel was one giant tell. If she ever tried playing poker, she’d lose her ass. Her family bought the fiancé lie up to this point because she hid behind a cell phone and several hundred miles, but the two of them wouldn’t have that luxury this week. People would be watching them like hawks, curious about their relationship, looking for sparks. And luckily, they had that in spades.
Brushing a lock of auburn hair away from Angelle’s face, Cane said, “This charade isn’t going to be easy. I’ll learn everything you want me to know, everything we have time for during the drive. But darlin’, there’s one thing we don’t need to work on. And that’s this.”
He lowered his forehead to hers, feeling the soft pant of her quickened breath hit his opened lips. He skimmed his nose across hers and closed his eyes as he breathed deeply. Sunflowers. A hint of vanilla. Cherry-scented lip gloss. And Angelle. His Angelle, at least for the next week.
Angling his mouth so their lips were barely touching, he said, “Desire, Angie. Attraction. We have it. We don’t have to fake that. And since we’re alone, and that’s my ring on your finger, it seems only fair I get to steal a kiss.”
Anxiety mixed with excitement entered the emotional gumbo of her gaze, and her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. It brushed over the seam of his mouth, and he growled low in his throat. “Our first kiss of many.”
Embracing the Madness
Each of us is unique. We have our own sense of style, our own favorite things, our own way of looking at the world. When it comes to writing, each author has their own way of tackling the voices warring in their heads. Some like to open a blank document and just write. Let the spirit guide them as they tell the story. Others like to plan. They prefer knowing exactly where the story is going before even opening that document, and they always know what comes next.
I’m the second type.
It’s crazy because I’m the kind of girl who used to love organized chaos. Cleaning or straightening up was so not a priority in high school or college, and it only got marginally better when I got married. I think that was more due to wanting to impress my in-laws than any organizational skills. But when it comes to writing, I’m as structured as they come. Lists, spreadsheets, character interviews, I do it all. And if I don’t, I get a little twitchy.
The only time I abandoned this approach was to co-write a novella with a friend. She was more like the first type, and since we were under a crazy-short deadline, I went with it. Holy Moly did I go batty. I drove her batty with my constant questions throughout, too. But how could I write my scene without knowing everyone’s backstories? How could I know where to take the story if I didn’t understand their motivation and goals? What drove them more than anything, and where I wanted them to end up, emotionally?
Answer: by quickly sneak writing those things on my own (he he).
I have so many friends who hammer out drafts within days or even weeks, and I used to get all kinds of envious. Not so much anymore. I’ve learned that my way works for me, it keeps me sane, and truthfully, once I do all that pre-plotting, I can write pretty darn fast, too. And by knowing exactly where I’m going, and since I edit as I write, my drafts are ready for my editor by the time I reach “the end.” I don’t have zero drafts or discovery drafts—that’s my plotting and research stage. This is my method, my unique way of writing, and I now embrace it.
If you’re the other type, kudos to you! Embrace that, too. We need to all keep our eyes on our own paper and stop comparing ourselves to other people. We’re all wired differently, and that’s pretty darn cool. In the end, we are all storytellers. All that matters is that we populate our stories with authentic characters, provide a gripping plot, and continue to grow in our craft, regardless of the method we take to get there. And that we take a moment to enjoy the journey.
A prize pack containing: an I Heart Cajun Boys t-shirt, Cajun Night Before Christmas, a bag of Bliss chocolates, Seven Day Fiancé swag and a signed copy of Seven Day Fiancé.
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Rachel Harris grew up in New Orleans, watching soap operas with her grandmother, and staying up late sneak-reading her mama's romance novels. Today, she still stays up late reading romances, only now she does so openly.
A Cajun cowgirl now living in Houston, she firmly believes life's problems can be solved with a hot, sugar-coated beignet or a thick slice of king cake, and that screaming at strangers for cheap, plastic beads is acceptable behavior in certain situations.
She homeschools her two beautiful girls and watches countless hours of Food Network and reality television with her amazing husband. She writes young adult, new adult, and adult Fun, Flirty Escapes, and LOVES talking with readers!
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