Hi JJ, thanks for dropping by again. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink? I have sweet tea made just for you.
Jeanne, you know me so well, sweet tea is my favorite.
Where did you get your inspiration to write this book and how long did it take you to write it? The inspiration came from being a fan of historical romance, a love for cowboys, and an even stronger passion for Native American history. I mixed all this with my fondness of series books and strong family ties to create the Acceptance Series. How long did it take me to write The Cheyenne Bride? Well, considering I started this manuscript when my youngest son was a year old and did not receive a publishing contract on it until he was seventeen, a long time. No, I didn’t write all that time. I raised a family, overcame an illness, dabbled in writing, and learned what I wanted out of a writing career. So sixteen years of working toward a dream finally paid off.
Is this part of a bigger series and if so, what is the next book we can expect in this series? Ah, yes, The Cheyenne Bride is only the beginning. The Acceptance Series has a total (right now) of seven stories. Destiny’s Price is next in this series, for those of you who are waiting to know her story. I will say, be prepared, Destiny’s story goes much deeper than even her hero, Stephen Davis, bargained for.
“Leave this room immediately!” she ordered when he slammed the door behind him, closing the two of them away from the rest of the ranch.
“I told you not to talk to me as if I were a child,” he warned.
“If you weren’t acting as one, I wouldn’t speak to you as if you were. Now leave,” she demanded.
The atmosphere of passion, rising in the room between them, took all control. Never in his life had he seen a more stunning woman. She stood there, holding her ground, even though he towered over her a foot. Her face flushed. Her eyes went wide from the temper residing within.
Hunger replaced his anger. His eyes roamed over her heaving chest, those perfect lips. His needs, the dreams of many nights past, consumed him. Was she as fiery in life as she had been in his imaginary world?
Grabbing her arms, he yanked her into his embrace. His lips crashed down upon hers, hungrily devouring them with his own.
“Chris, please, don’t do this.” She gasped, breaking her lips from his.
She struggled against his grasp but to no avail. His hold tightened. Her head rested against his shoulder in defeat. He cupped her chin, lifting her face to his. He searched those dark, passion-filled eyes for some sign of her true feelings, only to find confusion marking their depths.
Not this time. Today, she would feel his obsession and the battle that raged inside him. Never again would he return home to find her in the arms of his enemy. After yesterday, there was one thing he knew for sure. One Wolf was her past.
“Chris, please ...” The sound of his name, breathlessly whispered from her lips and the urge to consume her and let her consume him became undeniable. This time he relished in the taste of her lips against his own, sweet delicious honey, fresh from the hive.
“You called me Chris,” he breathed softly between the light kisses he bestowed upon her.
Her body melted into his, encouraging the intimacy between them. He forced his tongue between her lips, deepening the kiss they shared. His hand slipped between them, working the buttons of her dress.
Her body shook against his as he reached inside, grasping her full breast within his palm. His mouth tore from hers, making its way down her neck and onto her shoulders as he slid the material aside.
“Chris, stop, please.”
The pleading tone of her weakened voice slammed him back into reality. Her body shook more from fear than pleasure within his arms. What was he doing?
Her eyes lined with that same fear he had felt in her tremble. She stood there, still in his arms as if afraid to move. He had wanted to break that spirit of hers when he’d followed her. Yet now he regretted it.
“I’m sorry, Nichole, I don’t know what came over me.”
His unsteady voice broke the tense silence between them. He released her and went to the window. Only then did he realize her room held a perfect view of the orchard and the mountains behind it. Last night’s conversation resurfaced as his eyes locked on the apple tree where they’d stood.
Turning away from the reminder, he watched her wobbly hands trying to work the buttons of her blouse. Her face flushed. How had he let things get this out of hand? Normally, he could handle anything put in front of him. Then Nichole Michaels had entered his world, shattering everything he ever believed about himself.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me, please.” His voice shook.
Her body sunk down onto the edge of the bed. Her eyes focused on some imaginary spot on the floor. Going to her, his hands quivered as he carefully touched hers.
“I don’t know what came over me. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I’m sorry I anger you.”
Was it possible? He hated to hear that once dynamic, argumentative voice now sound as weak as a child.
“I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with the way you make me feel.” He removed his hands from hers and returned to his place at the window.
He heard her rise from the bed. His heart picked up its pace as her footsteps fell against the wooden floor. His eyes locked on her reflection as she drew near.
“How do I make you feel? Make me understand.”
He turned to her, agony ripping at the seams of his heart. “I can’t think of anything other than you. Your scent, your hair, your eyes, your voice, they haunt my every move, awake or asleep.”
He brought a shaky hand to her cheek, touching it gingerly. “My parents were murdered, Nichole, murdered by the people that are part of you. How could I feel this way about a woman who shares the blood of those who murdered my own parents?”
His heart raged with the confrontation of the truths slamming against his chest. “I can only think of how sweet your lips taste when you grant me a kiss, or how perfectly your body fits to mine when I chance to hold you. How wonderful it would feel to have you next to me at night and wake up with you in my arms in the morning.”
He gently took her into his arms. Tasting her one last time, her lips feather light against his. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Nichole Michaels, and that I must never allow myself to do.”
He left her standing by the window, alone with his words.
No dream is too big or small to be followed. Nor is it too out of reach if you want it bad enough.
When I began writing The Cheyenne Bride, (back in those days it went by Valley of Love), I had no more than high school English. I had a good deal of trouble knowing which witch to put where. Or which two to use, you get the picture. I’d been out of school for a long time by then, but I knew I wanted to write and write stories that would capture my readers like the authors I read captured me. If you have the desire, I say just sit down and write the rest will come. Don’t expect it to be easy, but know in the end it will be worth every ounce of effort you put into that dream.
Thank you so much, Jeanne, for hosting me today!!! I really enjoyed being here!!!
Find me at:
Soul Mate Publishing:
Barnes and Noble: