I enjoy mysteries and science
fiction, however, I typically don’t
enjoy a story as much if it doesn’t
contain at least some element of
romance. When reading another
author’s work I generally perk up
when romance takes the center
stage and shut down when it
doesn’t. I can’t think of too many
things fiction-wise that I enjoy
reading or watching that don’t
include at least a certain degree of
romance. I might write something
that isn’t a romance at some point,
but rig ht now I’m having too much
fun doing what I do.
If you could snap your fingers and
transport yourself anywhere in the
world, where would you go and
why?
I would send myself to Switzerland
where I could explore the
picturesque Swiss Alps. I’ve only
seen the Alps on TV and I think
that the land out there is absolutely
beautiful. Snow aside, I think it
would be an ideal place both to
live and to write.
Tea or coffee? Neither
Night person or early riser? Early
Riser
Tell us 5 little known facts about
yourself.
1. I’m addicted to soap-operas.
2. Roses and orchids are my
favorite flowers.
3. I collect Victorian-Era antiques.
4. I live in New Jersey.
5. I’m a hopeless romantic.
Fabulous interview, Jessica. Now
let’s look an excerpt of your
‘Dangerous Secret’.
Abigail was about to attempt an
answer when the old-fashioned
bells on the door rang. A ray of
light streaked against the floor.
Through it stepped a man who
appeared to be a couple of years
older than herself. He was tall and
broad shouldered, and he was
wearing a flannel shirt and a pair
of jeans. At second glance she
observed that he had thick black
hair and deep blue eyes.
Mysterious eyebrows loomed
above them. There was a touch of
dark stubble on his cheeks.
A jolt of electricity shot up
Abigail’s spine as the man
approached the counter. His broad
chest came into view as he came
toward her. The man looked
strong, like he could bench press
their picnic table in the parking lot.
There weren’t a lot of
twentysomethings living in their
town. She would probably
remember if she’d seen him before.
Offering a smile she prayed wasn’t
too anxious, Abigail straightened
her posture.
His grin broadening, the man
placed his large hands against the
counter. He leaned forward and
said, “Shouldn’t you be off the
phone in case a customer walks in?
I’m pretty sure that’s against the
rules.”
Abigail hung up promptly. “What
makes you think this isn’t the
company phone?”
“It might be.” The man in the
farm-shirt shrugged. “But
something tells me the company
phone isn’t pink.”
There were several things inside of
that room that were pink. But
Abigail didn’t suppose the fact
would strengthen her case any.
“Probably good instincts,” she
muttered, picking up a rag from
beside her. Frantically, she
scrubbed the counter.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what
I’d like?” the man said, offering
her a second glimpse of his perfect
white smile.
Abigail dropped the cloth she was
holding. “I’m sorry. Yes, of
course. What can I get for you,
Sir?” Of course, he didn’t look
anything at all like a ‘Sir’ and a lot
like the most handsome guy she’d
ever seen.
Unable to hold back, she pressed,
“You’re not going to tell anyone,
are you? About the phone, I mean.
Not that you don’t have every right
to be angry. But for what it’s
worth, I really need to keep this
job.”
A look of sympathy and something
she couldn’t quite describe settled
about his lightly tanned face. “Tell
you what. You make me a vanilla
milkshake, throw in an extra pinch
of syrup, and we’ll call it even.”
Abigail paled. She was terrible at
making milkshakes. What was
worse was that the machine had
been acting finicky all morning.
Saying a silent prayer that she
could change his mind, she asked,
“Sure that you wouldn’t rather
have a banana split instead? We
just made a batch of our fresh
strawberry ice cream this morning.
It’s rich and creamy, made with
strawberries grown right here in
North Conway.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Did I mention all of our sundaes
are fifty percent off today?” She
crossed her fingers behind her
back.
He said, “I appreciate you letting
me know. But it just so happens
that I’ve got my heart set on a
vanilla milkshake.” Inclining his
head in her direction, he said, “In
my experience, the more desirable
choice is worth paying the price
for.”
Ignoring the goose bumps that had
formed along her arms, Abigail
took a gigantic step back. She
could do this. Just because she’d
never successfully made a
milkshake correctly on the first
shot before didn’t mean she
couldn’t do it now.
She took three scoops of vanilla ice
cream from the dome beneath the
counter. Then, she added extract.