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- LOVE ROMANCE NOVELS
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- Entertainment & Arts - Books & Literature
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- More than 65 million people in North America read romance fiction (along with millions more around the world).
Romance Fiction IS fiction and includes authors from Jane Austen to Helen Fielding to Nora Roberts.
So welcome romance readers, romance authors and aspiring writers! Join in our lively discussions about this fabulous genre!
I made a documentary about romance writers and romance fiction called - "Who's Afraid of Happy Endings?". It's been broadcast on Bravo! Canada many times... (read more) - Privacy Type:
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Recent News
- News:
- NEW REVOLVING BOOK
Posted SATURDAY NOV. 21, 2009 – 11:00 AM ET
OUR LATEST REVOLVING BOOK IS BY HEATHER MATTHEWS
TITLE: CAROLINA
PUBLISHER: Cacoethes Publishing http://www.cacoethespublishing.net/
RELEASED: March, 2009
SYNOPSIS:
Carrie Evans grows up poor, with an alcoholic father, and a religious-fanatic mother. She spends her days working hard at school, trying to earn respectability. When she meets Daniel in high school, she loses her heart. She becomes pregnant, and Daniel abandons her. Her Catholic family forces her to move to Memphis, Tennessee, where an aunt will take her in until the baby is born. Then, she must give it away for adoption. Carrie rebels, and goes it alone in Memphis, trying to make a life for herself as a single mother. Tragedy and heartbreak plague Carrie, until she discovers her one true gift...a voice from God. With the help of smoldering, sexy record company exec Jacob Goldman, she becomes Carolina...country music's newest superstar.
REVIEWS:
“I couldn’t put it down!” ~Denise Greco
The Romance Studio Review of Carolina ~ http://www.theromancestudio.com/reviews/reviews/carolinamatthews.htm
AUTHOR BIO:
My name is Heather Matthews: I'm a published author and freelance writer based in Vancouver, Canada. I write for magazines such as Canadian Living and West Coast Families, and I contribute web content to sites all over the world. My first two novels, Carolina, and Below The Sapphire Sea, are coming out in 2009
VISIT HEATHER ONLINE:
http://www.heathermatthews.ca
FIND THE BOOK:
http://www.amazon.com/Carolina-Heather-Matthews/dp/1606950738
EXCERPT:
Stella Davis stretched out in Jacob's huge bed; unaware as she awoke that she had lost the man who obsessed her. She smiled sleepily, eyes still shut, turning instinctively toward the place he always occupied, wanting more and more of him as she always did.
"Jacob", she called out to the warm Memphis morning, "Where are you, baby?"
Stella sensed as she came to that she was letting herself go a little bit. Jacob usually woke her up in the morning, on weekends, by stroking her satiny skin until she was well aware of him and desperate for his lips, his warm hair against her throat as he embraced her. "Why isn't he here?” she wondered, coming fully awake. Her head pounded, her tongue was furred from the champagne cocktails she'd ordered with dinner. "How many did I drink?” she asked herself uneasily. "Four, five, six…” she groaned, lying down and clamping her eyes shut, "oh, not six, oh, not again". But six it was. At the least after five she was almost always disgraceful, she knew. "God", she whispered, almost panicked now, "did I do something terrible last night, throw a drink or scream or...” She was ashamed, but not surprised; to discover she could not remember anything past supper time, when Jake had warned her she was getting drunk. "But I wouldn't stop", she recalled suddenly, going pale under her perpetual tan, "Why wouldn't I stop?”
She knew she had gone too far, again, but, after all, she was a star, she wasn't like everyone else, was she, there was so much pressure, people couldn't begin to understand..."And Jacob doesn't help me nearly as much anymore, with my career", she reflected, sad and angry at his frequent absences lately, when she had a big show, or interview, and really needed his support.
"He's hardly ever there for me anymore", she thought, staring petulantly at his side of the bed.
She scrambled out of bed suddenly, spurred by a powerful self-loathing, and vanity. She needed to know she was still beautiful. Like Marilyn Monroe, she looked ripe, fleshy, gloriously healthy, even in a weakened state. Hair of the palest champagne blonde tumbled over her forehead and fell above her shoulders in a profusion of loose, sexy-looking curls. Her eyes were deep blue-gray, a very beautiful shade, and as peaceful to look upon as a sweet summer sky. All her makeup, slept in as always, when she was drinking, was smudged, softened. She was far more beautiful now, even in the harsh sunlight as she pulled the drapes open, with a few lines showing on eyes and forehead, than when her hair and makeup were impeccable, but she would never have believed that. She needed her lipstick-true red, always- to feel like a woman. She liked to get done up, she always had. Even if she was just going to wear her blue jeans: few women wore blue jeans the way Stella did.
She inspected her body in the mirrored closet doors, suddenly aware of the shower being turned off. "He's in there", she thought, powerfully relieved, losing all her anger at him, slipping into reverie as she imagined his body, his lean, broad-shouldered body covered in foam and streaming water. She wanted to join him, but needed a closer look at her own body, first. Knowing he was still in the vast apartment calmed her mind so much.
Stella continued to gaze at herself in the mirrored closet doors. She saw some things she didn't like, the first faint signs of inevitable aging, inevitable decay. At thirty-three, she was a goddess of beauty, exceptional in every way: but there were small problems.
A new softness around her jaw line distracted her. Her face seemed fuller to her mind, less sculpted, Her breasts seemed too full, almost pendulous. "Just a trifle heavy", she muttered to herself as she gazed at her upper body. But her breasts were perfect, her bust line firm, and deep, and swelling. The softness and shape of them just proved to everyone who saw her that she was made by Mother Nature rather than a plastic surgeon from Dallas or Beverly Hills.
Her hips were bigger, that was fact: her waist was not so slim as it once was, her midriff looked slightly padded in the unforgiving light. "Fat cow", she sputtered as she examined her abdomen. Her head ached terribly. Her thighs, she was pleased to see, were still lovely, but the thicker waist was unattractive. It robbed her of a little of her sexiness, her astounding hourglass shape that America seemed to need.
"I've gotta stop drinking", she fretted, looking for lines on a practically smooth face. But lately all she wanted, besides Jacob, and, perhaps, adulation, was a drink. "I can stop", she whispered, half-frightened at the idea of trying to. She smiled her best Stella Davis megawatt smile, facing the mirror with more confidence. Waking up a bit, her fears began to slough off her. She was by nature no shrinking violet. She was, at bottom, a survivor, not easily crushed or daunted."A fighter", Jacob used to call her, "a sort of warrior queen". She had loved that description, and the warmth in his voice when he spoke those words.
"Well, I will fight", she told herself as she knotted the tie of a silk robe around her middle. "I'll slim down, quit boozing, and then everything will be A-OK."She pinched her cheeks for color, before heading into the huge kitchen to look for Jacob, who must be there. She suddenly wanted very much to discuss her next album, it seemed so important that he talk with her about it immediately. "This album has to be my best", she knew, "with all those teenage girls bringing out their own records, copying my style."Only Jake could make that happen. Her love for him was all tied up in the power he held, the power to keep her so high on the ladder. At times she felt she was perilously high. But she knew she needed fame like air and nourishment. "How could I ever go back to a normal life?” she queried."I'd rather die", she decided. "But it's never going to happen anyway."
The kitchen was vast and empty, the lights were off and there was nothing in the sink. She knew he must have left, but couldn't accept it. She looked around the whole condo, and he wasn't there. It was so big and empty, she felt, with no help there or anything. "What's going on:” she wondered growing upset. She still could not remember last night.
"No note", she muttered, looking around for a Post-It, which he often stuck around the place to remind her of things she had to do. Looking at a vermeil clock perched on the mantle of the living-room fireplace; she discovered it was only 9:00 a.m.
"Why did he leave?” she worried, her nerves definitely on edge now. Intense anger flooded her, her short fuse lit and burning down. Her anger was rooted in anxiety, tying her stomach in knots. Half an hour later, having called everyone she could think of, to check on his whereabouts, she sprawled on the living-room floor with swollen eyelids from crying, and stared out at the Memphis morning turning to high noon. A bottle of coffee liqueur stood, two-thirds empty, beside her sluggish body. "A little wake-me-up", she had promised herself as she pulled it out from under the bar. Standing up, a bit unsteadily, but feeling a little better now, she put the bottle back.
Walking towards the shower, she fired up a Marlboro, something that would have infuriated Jacob, had he been there as he was supposed to have been. "They wreck your voice", he'd always snap, pulling them out of her mouth and stubbing them out violently. What little voice you think I have, she'd hiss to herself. She decided to shower and then go find the son-of-a-bitch.who was responsible for the tumultuous morning she had just suffered through. But she needed her driver, who was Jacob's driver, too. "Stranded", she whispered drunkenly, unable to cope with the idea of a taxi. She put her cigarette out on one of his monogrammed towels, in a fit of rage, until a hole had burned clear through the small, exquisitely embroidered J. Then she decided the wisest course was to go back to bed, just for a little while, and sleep it off again.












