Saturday, 28 September 2013

Atlantic Divide Book 3 - Finding Zoe

With the release of my third book this year, Finding Zoe, I look back in amazement at how much has happened to me in the intervening months since I sent my first manuscript off in January. All of it fabulous.

My fourth book, Flynn's Kiss is well under way, but Flynn has been hugely obliging by taking a backseat for now while I complete my 15,000 word short story challenge between fellow Liquid Silver authors, Allyson Lindt and Eva Lefoy. The challenge ends on today, which incidentally coincides with the release of Finding Zoe.


Returning to England after eleven years, Cormack Blunt stumbles across the woman who he thought was lost to him forever. The woman he had never forgotten. And he realizes that the sweet young girl he once knew has managed to keep a secret from him.

Zoe Chance can’t believe that the young man she loved eleven years before, now a famous movie star and action hero, has turned up out of the blue and wants answers. Not only that, he wants her son too.

Forced to confront him, she realizes that it isn’t a fight to keep her son that causes the problem but the fight to keep her own heart.


Stepping out of the car, he walked around the hood to lean his arms on the gate and stare into the distance. The gamekeeper’s cottage, with its three bedrooms and a little jetty extending out into the small lake, looked as though it had also fallen on good times. It had been empty before.
Curious to get a closer look, he opened the gate and walked through. The dirt track was dry in the heat of the summer sun, and dust kicked up as he walked.
Roses ran riot in deep pink and white over the outside of the cottage. Cute, typically English. The door stood open. Reluctant to intrude but just as reluctant to withdraw, he hesitated and peered into the kitchen to find it empty. His gaze scanned down to the all too familiar jetty.
And there she was. As though it were yesterday. He tilted his head to one side. It couldn’t be. Her vibrant red hair shimmered in the bright sunlight. Believing he was dreaming, he took a few steps closer, paused. She reclined, languid, her back against the end post of the jetty, legs outstretched, face turned up to the heavens, eyes closed. Convinced now he must be hallucinating, his attention wandered to the one item unfamiliar to his memory. A glass of white wine was placed by her side, her fingers curled around the stem.
His heart lurched as he narrowed his eyes and stared. He knew it was his imagination. She’d moved years ago, and in any case, she looked exactly the same; she’d never aged. Mystified, he walked toward her. As he stepped onto the jetty, it protested at his weight with a loud, shuddering groan.
Her eyes shot open, her head whipped around, shock streaked across her face, and her body jerked and floundered. With a shriek and a loud splash, the object of his imagination fell off the edge of the jetty and disappeared beneath the surface of the clear blue water.
Pulse racing, legs pumping, he ran down to the end of the jetty, flung himself to his knees as her drenched, dark auburn hair bobbed to the surface. He grabbed it and hauled her up as she howled in pain.
“Let go, you flaming maniac.” Shocked at the sound of her familiar voice and the realization he wasn’t dreaming, he dropped her and watched, fascinated, as she sank under the water once more.
It was her.
The bitch.
Spluttering, she surfaced, cursing.
“You raving lunatic. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Red strands of hair plastered her pale, porcelain features. She sucked in her breath and launched herself up onto the jetty.
Heart stunned, he watched, frozen, as she struggled to haul herself up and over the side of the wooden planks. Eventually, she lay flopping like a seal, rasping air in through her lungs.
“I thought you moved.” It was the only thing he could think to say through the torrent of raging emotions, whirling between confused disbelief and burgeoning fury.
Breath rattled past the water in her throat.
“I did, you moron.”
She lay on her back in front of him, panting in fresh air, and looking like a goddamned teenager. Grinding his teeth at the unfairness of it all, his voice pushed its way past the stranglehold of his throat.
“I tried to find you.”
There was a long silence, just the sound of her labored breathing.
“You didn’t try very hard.”
“You sold your house and left. It was empty. I checked myself. There was no furniture. There was a ‘sold’ sign.” He couldn’t hold back the accusation as he felt the bitterness rise up, threatening to consume him.
She pushed her sodden, dark red hair out of her face and lay motionless with her eyes closed, her chest heaving.
“Mac. It was eleven years ago. What are you doing here now?” She sounded weary.
“You moved.” He couldn’t help the sullenness in his voice. She had catapulted him back to being a young man again.
“Yes. Yes, we moved. My mother died, we moved. We sold the big house, kept this one. I went to university.” She sat up abruptly, impatience and annoyance vibrating from her. Her huge green-gold eyes met his and whipped his breath away. He wondered if he clutched his chest and started to wheeze if she would do anything to help him. From the cold, distant look in her eyes, he couldn’t imagine her calling for an ambulance. She would more than likely shove him in the pond and leave him to drown.
“What did you want?” She lifted a sleek, wine-colored eyebrow and gazed back at him, cool and superior despite her dripping wet state.
How the hell she managed to make him feel awkward, he had no idea, but the woman had always been able to make him feel emotions he never had with others.
“I always wondered what had happened to you. I was curious.”
“So…what? You came all the way from America? Just to check on me? After eleven years?” It quite pleased him she at least remembered how long it had been.
He became distracted by the sight of her soaking wet yellow T-shirt. Transparent, it hugged her body, clung to her curves. He could see the outline of her bra and thought what a shame she was wearing one. She never used to.
He glanced down at her slender feet with pretty pink polish on her nails. A familiar warmth spread down his belly into his groin as he remembered kissing those toes. Distracted by the ever-widening puddle surrounding her, he allowed his gaze to track farther up. Her saturated white pedal pushers clung, see-through and obscenely well, to her legs, her thighs, her hips, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could see her…
Guiltily, his eyes shot up to hers. Held.
Fascinated, he remembered vividly the tiny dark flecks and the darker hazel ring that surrounded the light green of her eyes. She stared at him. Her left eyebrow slowly lifted again, distant and haughty. He had no idea what to say to her. He’d never truly imagined seeing her again.
“You’ve not changed.” Stupid cliché and he wanted to kick himself. She didn’t look impressed, either, as she sighed, shook her head, pushed her sopping hair back from her face, and puffed out a disgusted breath.
“You have. You’re bigger.” He wasn’t sure if she meant it as a compliment or an insult, but as she scrambled to her feet, gathering her waist-length red hair in one hand, he waited. She twisted it, squeezed out a torrent of water, and made him smile. She looked irritated now, but at least it was better than cool disinterest.
“Honestly, Mac. I have no idea what possessed you to come here. It’s very nice to see you, but really, I’m sure you have a heroic act to perform. Makeup and wardrobe will be waiting.” She rolled her eyes in disgust and started to stride back up the jetty toward the house.
“Mum!” She froze.
Curious, Mac turned, squinting through the bright reflection of sunlight at the rowboat approaching across the water. Disappointed, he realized she probably did have a life; a husband, kids.
The boat was a distance away yet, but he could make out a couple of figures. A man and a boy. Surprised, he peered harder, certain the adult was Zoe’s father. Older, more round-shouldered than he remembered, with a shock of white hair reflecting the sunlight, but he was sure it was him.
There was a kid in the boat with two dogs, and he yelled and waved frantically.
“Oh my God.” Mac heard her anxious whisper from behind him. His gaze never left the small boat. Curiosity had morphed, uncomfortably, into a horrible premonition as he stared across the pond at the strangely familiar stance of the kid in the boat. A tingling sensation crawled up his neck into his hairline.
His heart rate quickened; his breath came in short pants. He squinted as the rowboat approached. The kid’s face came into focus, so familiar. The features almost as recognizable as his own. No, perhaps more like his younger sister’s. In fact, the kid was the spitting image of his sister, Bill, at his age.
Fucking hell. Knees like water, Mac wondered what they all would think if he simply sank onto the dock.
The boat pulled alongside Zoe on the jetty, and the skinny kid launched himself onto the boards, his eyes pinned to his mother’s soaking wet, motionless figure, the dogs close on his heels. Mac’s heart thundered as nausea rolled through his stomach. He didn’t seem to be able to stop gulping in air.
“Granddad caught trout. We’re having trout tonight.”
His mother remained silent; her face was pale and strained as she stood frozen while the water dripped ceaselessly around her feet.
“Why are you wet? Mum?”
The kid’s head tilted to one side, and then he turned. His mouth dropped open; his huge black eyes goggled.
“Bloody hell.” A huge smile spread across the kid’s face, white teeth gleaming in contrast to his bronzed skin. “It’s Cormack Blunt!”

Available now from 

Amazon UK 

Sunday, 15 September 2013


LSB Cover Art Template for PhotoShop

Returning to England after eleven years, Cormack Blunt stumbles across the woman he though was lost to him forever. The woman he had never forgotten. And he realizes that the sweet young girl he once knew has managed to keep a secret from him.
Zoe Chance can’t believe that the young man she loved eleven years before, now a famous move star and action her, has turned up out of the blue and wants answers. No only that, he wants her son, too.
Forced to confront him, she realizes that it isn’t a fight to keep her son that causes the problem, but the fight to keep her own heart.


“Take the check, Zoe.”
The hard New York twang grated on her nerves as she sat in a plush cream armchair, opposite Cormack Blunt’s agent, in the nineteenth-century Davies penthouse suite in Claridges.
“I don’t want his money. He loves me,” she declared with all the conviction of an eighteen-year-old.
“Of course he doesn’t love you, honey. He’s tired of you. You’re an embarrassment. He needs you to stop clinging, for the love of God.”
Heat filled her cheeks, hot and florid. Desperate, Zoe met the cold, hard eyes of the middle-aged woman.
“I want him to tell me. He’ll see me.” That’s why she’d come all the way to London. To see him. To surprise him. Looked like the surprise was on her.
“He’s busy. He’s just about to make the biggest career break of his life. He does not need you holding him back.” Astral Heaven, agent to the stars, fished in her tote bag, tossed a photograph on the occasional table.
“There. That’s the woman he’s going to marry.”
Zoe raised her icy fingers to her burning cheeks.
“Don’t be sick, she must be fifteen years older than him.”
“Of course she is. She’ll be the making of him.”
The woman slapped another photograph on the table. Zoe stared. Mac, her Mac with his arm wrapped around the tall, willowy, blonde star, Emilia Southern, and he looked … deliriously happy, as he laughed down into the pale, ethereal beauty’s face, their eyes centered on each other.
Refusing to believe, she shook her head as her stomach churned. Her chest felt like a leaden weight had just been sucked to its very depths.
“Take the money.”
“I don’t want his money.” Quieter now, doubt seeped into her veins, crawled into her chest.
“He said you would need it. Take it.”
Her heart cried out; her mind screamed. How could he be so disloyal? Why had he told his agent she needed money? It was supposed to be between them. She’d bared her soul to him, told him her deepest secrets, all of them bar one, and he’d betrayed her. She sagged back into the depths of the chair, limp and defeated.
Astral nudged the check toward her again, insistent.
“Take it, you know you want to. You can train to be a vet.”
One last show of defiance, she stared into the woman’s dead eyes and her conviction wavered.
“He said he loved me.”
“He’s an actor, darling. Of course he said he loves you. He loves everyone.”
The woman’s hard blue eyes pierced her, unrelenting. She reached out, tapped the check with her perfectly manicured talons.
“Take it.”
Zoe leaned forward, her heart crushed, her confidence annihilated, and slid the check from under the woman’s fingers and across the table toward herself. She grasped it for a moment, unthinking, before she stuffed it into her purse, leaped from the chair, and rushed blind for the door.
She found the underground, clasped her bag to her chest. London at rush hour was bad enough, but a country girl like her hadn’t a clue. Euston Station. She had to get off at Euston Station, buy a ticket, and catch the next train back to Shrewsbury. The Aberystwyth train was the one she needed.
He’d come after her. He loved her. She’d show him the check, and he’d fire his agent.
Pain raged through her young, bruised heart as conviction filled her head.
The train was on the platform, about to depart. Panic made her fumble, drop her debit card, her ticket. As she bent over, someone dashed into her, pushed her down. Her face scraped along the pavement; skin ripped from her outstretched hands as they skidded across the rough ground. After staggering to her feet, she ran for the Aberystwyth train.
She sat, tears streaming, blood flowing, with barely the wits about her to push her debit card back into her bag.
He’d come after her. When he found out. He would come.
She sat, calmer now, resolute. A tissue, donated from the silent woman opposite, was clutched in her hand. Heartbeat regular, breath slow.
She looked at the check. Her blood smeared across it. Fifty thousand pounds. There wasn’t a moment’s doubt in her mind. She’d give it back to him when he came. He wouldn’t marry another woman; he couldn’t. He’d said he loved her. It wasn’t just because he was an actor that he’d said it. He loved her, and she believed him.
She glanced at the man opposite. His newspaper caught her attention.
Emilia Southern announces Cormack Blunt is the man for her.
Sick, she closed her eyes; her fist closed around the check and squeezed tight as she leaned her weary head back.
He wouldn’t come. He didn’t love her.
She’d never be able to tell him now. She was pregnant.

Mini Blurb
Returning to England after eleven years, Mac stumbles across the woman he thought was lost to him forever. The woman he had never forgotten.
Zoe Chance can’t believe famous action hero movie star Cormack Blunt has turned up and wants answers. But he wants her son, too.
How can Zoe protect her son from famous movie action hero Cormack Blunt? Just as worrying, how can she protect her own heart?

Book Trailer:                         
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Previous Books:  
Loving Lydia, Atlantic Divide Book 1
Bad Girl Bill, Atlantic Divide Book 2
Future Books
Flight of Her Life - Romantic Comedy - Due Christmas 2013

Monday, 9 September 2013


I'd like to say a warm hello to fellow author at Liquid Silver Books, M S Kaye.

Hi, It's lovely of you to join us. Tell us a little bit about your new book, Fight Princess which was released on 2nd September.

Thank you, Diane, for having me!

There is something about a strong hero saving a damsel that we as romance readers love. The only problem with an incredibly strong hero is he sometimes overshadows the heroine, or even makes her seem weak—mostly because he has to save her. But we can’t very well write a hero who says, “Eh, she’ll be fine.”

My solution is to write a heroine who can take care of herself and a hero who wants to save her but rarely needs to. That want is what we as readers want to see (at least I do). Of course, the characters need to help each other, need to be there for each other to lean on, but neither should appear helpless. They must both be fighters—whether in-your-face or quiet, they must be strong.

Fight Princess is about the strongest heroine I’ve written and a man who is ready to fight for her. In the end, they help each other in ways you might not anticipate.

Fight Princess – Published by Liquid Silver Books –

Things aren’t what they seem. Don’t get involved.

Celisse is too headstrong to listen. Her best friend’s boyfriend is dead, and she does not heed Cullen’s warning, slipped to her in a note as he’s being arrested for the murder.

Cullen tries to keep Celisse out of danger and also tries to avoid her, both unsuccessfully. He can’t deny his feelings for her anymore, but he knows he can’t have her. If she ever discovered the truth about his past, she’d surely hate him.

While struggling with her intense feelings for Cullen, Celisse uses her skills as an ex-prosecutor to investigate, all while continuing to fight for Ogden, the organizer of an underground fight ring. She eventually realizes things are connected—the ring, Ogden, Cullen, the murder, and herself. She races to uncover the truth before she’s arrested or becomes the next victim—or perhaps, the next culprit.

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Buy the Book :
Amazon UK