Archives for category: Romance
 

A Summer’s Lease

free 24 – 28 March at Amazon

Here are the links

Amazon US
Amazon UK

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LizFielding_MeltingMrFrostysHeart_800pxThrilled to wake up this morning to discover that my short story, Melting Mr Frosty, is on the ARRA shortlist! The fact that it’s voted for by Australian readers makes this all the sweeter.  Here’s a link to the full list – and if, in the meantime you want to read how Mr Frosty’s Heart gets melted, then it’s just 99c in the US, 99p in the UK. 🙂

Here are the links –

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon Australia

 

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Voting has opened today for the 2016 Australian Romance Readers Awards. Below are the finalists in each of the nine categories, as well as finalists in our three special Members’ Choice categ…

Source: 2016 ARR Awards: finalists announced

February sees the publication of my latest Harlequin Romance, The Sheikh’s Convenient Princess – and here’s the fabulous cover!

the-sheikhs-convenient-princess

Here’s a sneak peak…

Qa’lat al Mina’a, perched high on its rocky promontory, shimmered like a mirage in the soft pink haze of the setting sun.

Far below, beyond a perfect curve of white sand, a dhow was drifting slowly along the coast under a dark red sail and for a brief moment Ruby felt as if she might have been transported back to some Arabian Nights fantasy, flying in on a magic carpet rather than a gleaming black helicopter.

The illusion was swiftly shattered as they circled to land.

The fortress might appear, at first glance, to be a picturesque ruin, a reminder of a bygone age but behind the mass of purple bougainvillaea billowing against its walls was a satellite dish, antennae — all the trappings of the communications age powered by an impressive range of solar panels facing south where the jebel fell away to the desert.

And the tower did not stand alone. Below it Ruby glimpsed courtyards, arches, gardens surrounding an extensive complex that spread down to the shore where a very twenty-first century gunmetal grey military style launch was sheltered in a harbour hewn from the rock. And they were descending to a purpose built helipad. This was not some romantically crumbling stronghold out of a fantasy; the exterior might be battered by weather and time but it contained the headquarters of a very modern man.

As they touched down, a middle-aged man in a grey robe and skullcap approached the helicopter at a crouching run. He opened the door, glanced at her with astonishment and then shouted something she couldn’t hear to the pilot.

He returned a don’t-ask-me shrug from his seat. Sensing a problem, Ruby didn’t wait but unclipped her safety belt, swung open the door and jumped down.

As-salaam ‘aleykum. Ismee, Ruby Dance,’ she said, raising her voice above the noise of the engine. ‘Sheikh Ibrahim is expecting me.’

She didn’t wait for a response but shouldered the neat satchel that contained everything she needed for work, nodded her thanks to the pilot and leaving the man to follow with her wheelie she crossed to steps that led down to the shelter of the courtyard below.

The air coming off the sea was soft and moist — bliss after hours cooped up in the dry air of even the most luxurious private jet — while below her were tantalising glimpses of terraces cut into the hill, each shaded by ancient walls and vine covered pergolas. There was a glint of water running through rills and at her feet, clove-scented dianthus and thyme billowed over onto the steps.

It was beautiful, exotic, unexpected. Not so far from the fantasy after all.

Behind her the pilot, keen to get home was already winding up the engine and she lifted her head to watch it take off, bracing herself against buffeting from the down force of the blades. As it wheeled away back towards the capital of Ras al Kawi leaving her cut off from the outside world she half lifted a hand as if to snatch it back.

Madaam…’

Despite her confident assertion that she was expected it was clear that her arrival had come as a surprise but before she could respond to the agitated man who was following her down the steps a disembodied voice rang out from below, calling out something she did not understand.

Before she could move, think, the owner of the voice was at the foot of the steps, looking up at her and she forgot to breath.

Sheikh Ibrahim al-Ansari was no longer the golden prince, heir to the throne of Umm al Basr, society magazine cover favourite; a carefree young man with nothing on his mind but celebrating his sporting triumphs in some fashionable nightclub.

Disgraced, disinherited and exiled from his father’s court when his arrest for a naked romp in a London fountain had made front page news, his face was harder, the bones more defined, the natural lines cut a little deeper. And not just lines. Running through the edge of his left brow, slicing through his cheekbone before disappearing into a short-clipped beard was a thin scar — the kind left by the slash of a razor sharp knife — and dragging at the corner of his eye, his lip so that his face was not quite in balance. The effect was brutal, chilling, mesmerizing.

The Sheikh’s Convenient Princess is available for pre-order in paper or as an ebook now at Amazon!

 

Old Desires is free on Amazon from 25 – 29 November. 

Tell your friends!

 

Here are the links –

Amazon US 

Amazon UK 

Amazon Australia

It Happened In Paradise

If you’re in the UK this month, It Happened In Paradise will be sitting on the shelves W H Smith or a supermarket near you, or waiting to be downloaded to your favourite reading device.

It contains three books, Wedded in a Whirlwind by me, Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex by Nicola Marsh and His Bride in Paradise by Joanna Neil.

One heroine needs to escape for a while – things do not go according to plan; one heroine has been shipwrecked for a reality TV show;  one is hoping a holiday fling will help mend her broken heart. Three very different stories but all set on gorgeous tropical islands – just the thing as the nights draw in and we’re reaching for our woolies!

It’s £5.99 in paper and a bargain £3.99 to download from iTunes or Amazon

LizFielding_ASummer'sLease_800pxHere’s what some people are saying about A Summer’s Lease on Amazon and Goodreads –

“This one had me so invested in the story I was almost yelling at them but what a fabulous story, one that kept me turning the pages. I loved the setting, the story line old buccaneers and family history and that sensual pull throughout. Yes I can highly recommend this one.” 5*

“A lovely gentle book with a tough backbone. Heroine is a total sweetheart. Hero is a closet romantic, though I’m not are he realises it. Read in one sitting because I couldn’t put it down. ” 5*

“Charming story. Pure Liz Fielding quality, ” 5*

“…a true romantic story…” 5*

“…a magical romance …” 5*

And the good news is that it’s  #free on Amazon from today (8 September) until Tuesday (12 September) inclusive.

Click Amazon US or Amazon UK (or Amazon wherever you are in the world) and download now!

 

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LizFielding_ASummer'sLease_800pxI guess most authors have a book in the bottom drawer that, for one reason or another didn’t get published. There are as many reasons for this as there are books. The first, the big reason, is that for some reason your editor didn’t quite take to it.

As an inexperienced author you think she knows everything, but then the same editor (long gone) had undermined my confidence in another book – A Stranger’s Kiss – that became one of my bestsellers. (How many people turned down Harry Potter? Not that I’m suggesting, well you know…)

So much in publishing is about timing. The right ms on the right desk at the right moment.

When there’s nowhere else to publish (and there wasn’t when I wrote this) you stick the ms in the bottom drawer and get on with the next book. But every time you open that drawer it nags at you and the publishing world has changed out of all recognition and so A Summer’s Lease is published today at Amazon.

Here’s the set up…

In a midsummer’s dawn, high in the woods above Beaumont Court, Charlotte Palmer encounters a man who at first sight she thinks is the ghost of Harry Beaumont, the buccaneer who built the Court in the 16th century.
His passionate kiss blasts away the illusion but when he extends a hand to her, an invitation to go with him, she hesitates and in a heartbeat he’s gone.

Here’s a taster…
CHARLOTTE Palmer woke long before dawn and lay in the not-quite-dark of midsummer listening as the night sounds were gradually overlaid by the birds stirring and trying their early morning voices.

She had toured the house the evening before when everyone had gone and it was quiet, saying goodbye to the past.

Now, in the dawn, she would walk through the gardens and up into the woods to the special place she had always gone when she was unhappy or life was difficult. A place where she could see the house nestling in its hollow and the river beyond.    

Beaumont Court.

The one thing that had always been a constant in her life.

She finished plaiting her hair and picked up the miniature portrait of Harry Beaumont — painted when he was a favourite at the first Elizabeth’s court — from the table beside her bed. She could almost hear the laughter promised by bold blue eyes that glinted with a wicked merriment. She would need a friendly face to see her through this day and on a sudden impulse, she slipped it into her pocket.

‘Daisy,’ she called softly, when she reached the stables. The horses had long since been sold, but Richard Beaumont would never have a dog in the house and her spaniel had slept there ever since she’d been forced to move into the Court.

Last night she would have welcomed the comfort of Daisy’s soft warm body on her bed, but now that Richard was dead and she could have done what she liked it would have felt like a betrayal to take advantage.

The small liver and white spaniel needed no second invitation, but bounded joyously to heel, then ran on ahead, giving short excited yelps as she snuffled at trails in the grass.

‘No, this way, girl.’

It was a long walk to the top of the hill and the church clock had chimed six before she finally sank onto the dew-soaked grass of the clearing. She hugged her knees and gazed down into the valley.

Swathed in the golden mist rising from the river the house — built by the same Harry Beaumont who smiled from her precious miniature — had an ethereal, magical quality. It was easy to imagine him pausing here as he caught his first glimpse of its tall brick chimneys after the long ride from Elizabeth’s court at Richmond. Easy to imagine him spurring his horse on, eager to hold his beloved Maria, see his children.

He had been the first in a long unbroken line of Beaumont men to hold the house against the world. Today the latest to be given that trust would arrive at Beaumont Court.

He was late by any standards.

Matthew Ryan had, it seemed, been too busy with business commitments in the Far East to come home to be with the dying Richard. To come to his funeral. It was nearly two weeks since Richard Beaumont had been laid to rest with his ancestors in the family vault below the church and only now had his heir found some time in his crowded schedule to come and take control of his inheritance.

‘Daisy, be quiet.’ The spaniel was barking at something in the woods, drawing her mind back to the clearing, away from disturbing thoughts of the changes that were bound to be made with his arrival and how they would affect her. The dog, intent on her quarry, ignored her. ‘Daisy!’ she called again, more urgently, scrambling to her feet as she disappeared into the thicket well aware that if she took off after a rabbit she would be gone all day.

But Daisy danced backwards into the clearing letting out excited little yaps. Narrowing her eyes against the slanting sun, Charlotte took a step towards the copse, halted uncertainly, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the shadowy figure of a man astride a large black horse, at the edge of the clearing, the low slanting sun giving him a halo about his dark curls.

The trees began to retreat giddily and, as her legs buckled beneath her, the man threw his leg over the animal’s head and slid to the ground moving swiftly to catch her, his shadowed expression so familiar that she whispered his name.

‘Harry…’   

Read on…

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