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Want a new release? Here it is…..

NEW RELEASE – OUT NOW!

Greetings, my darlings,

Seems like too long since I’ve posted.

I’m thrilled to tell you H is doing great.

Due to the pandemic, and like so many families around the world who’ve been forced apart, last week my family were together for the first time since January 2019!

Plenty of happy tears have been shed.

In writing news I’m beyond thrilled to bring you, at last, OUR RULES, book five set in THE RULES world. This one is Tanith and Anders rocky road to happiness, and that’s all I’m saying…

Here’s the blurb:

A Story of Love Found, Family and Hope

Seven days and seven nights in Mexico… sun, sand, sea… and no sex?

Photographer Anders Bergen doesn’t suffer fools gladly.
He’s a man at the pinnacle of his career and a man who
cannot escape his past.

Model Tanith Rucker never takes a second chance of life for granted.
However, she’s a woman struggling with innate shyness and a secret passion.
Anders made a fool of her once. She’s determined he won’t do it twice.

They say opposites attract… maybe love will make fools of them both…

AMAZON USA

AMAZON UK

APPLE BOOKS USA

APPLE BOOKS UK

APPLE BOOKS CANADA

APPLE BOOKS AUSTRALIA

KOBO

GOOGLE PLAY

BARNES & NOBLE

I’m working on DESERT CAPTIVE and hope to have it published by the end of the year. I’m scared to actually type that because every single time I think I’m back in the saddle real life throws me a curve.

Sending a Big Hug to all y’all.

Christine

XX

I’M BAAAAAAACK!

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Greetings, my darlings,

In January this year, my beloved H was diagnosed with bowel cancer.

Before I go any further I want to offer this PSA “Check your poop!” If you have any change in your poop habits, no matter how small, go to your doctor.

H’s cancer was found during routine health screening, which means it was caught early at T1/2 and was curable. And so began the roller-coaster ride to wellness. As luck would have it our consultant decided on a second opinion to see if H might be a good candidate for a new radiotherapy trial. And so we met Prof Hill at Manchester Royal Infirmary. After many tests and scans too numerous to mention, H was invited on the trail. It was random with a choice of three treatments, two radiotherapy and one surgical, and a computer chose the treatment. H was chosen for a radiotherapy treatment. It was gruelling, but he pretty much sailed through it.

The only blip was his refusal to ‘lie down’ to fatigue and take it easy. Words were exchanged between us and he received the message – suck it up and rest and let your body heal because no amount of forcing it or wearing grumpy cat face will work. The more you rest, the faster you heal. Next up, fourteen weeks later, was a look-see by Prof Hill to see if the tumour had shrunk. And yes, it had indeed. Six weeks later, microsurgery to remove a tiny piece of calcification. Microsurgery involved stretching certain muscles in the back passage that do not like to be stretched. (I’ll leave it to your imagination which muscle I’m referring to…. Ouch!). And of course, the muscle needs to heal. That’s taken a couple of months, but he’s almost back to his old self again (although more words have been exchanged about taking it easy and grumpy cat face).

Meanwhile, I’ve been working on my writing project that had taken a back seat during this time. When a loved one is ill, that loved one must be the number one focus for his/her family to support them through the emotional grenade cancer tosses into the middle of our lives.

It’s a test of endurance at times.

It’s also an opportunity to reconnect with love and intimacy and gratitude for the amazing life we’ve had together. We’d do it all over again in a heartbeat, and change nothing of the good and the bad and the tragic. All the words have been said as well.

And so we come to my writing news. I’m utterly thrilled to announce a new Ludlow Hall Romance, GREGORIO’S BRIDE, is about to be released on pre-order with a release date for Friday 4th October right across all global distributors. YAY!

It’s a big beast of a story that was challenging at times and one that simply would not let me go. My editorial team said, “Don’t you dare cut this, Christine.”  All y’all will need wine and chocolate and Kleenex, but it has a happy ending of course! The Ferranti family play a major part, as does Miz Sophia (man, that girl will rule the world one day), and that’s all I’m saying.

When I post next time it will be with the cover reveal, blurb and pre-order links as well. I’m hoping a few days, but we never know when distributors will move fast or slow.

I’m also working on the last of the Ludlow Nights series, OUR RULES. First draft is finished and I’m hammering out the second. As ever the characters are challenging me and kicking my ass. But after twenty-seven books I’m used to it! She says!

Love and hugs,

Christine X

Boring hair?… It’s the Ludlow Hall sneak peek…

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Happy Saturday, dear readers,

Here’s this week’s sneak peek, grab a coffee, and enjoy!

 

The Dower House….

 

Bronte’s chilling out with her girlfriends; Janine Faulkner and her toddler, Boo, Rosie Ludlow and baby Mila, and Grace, Emily’s mummy.

Grace, her wildly curly hair recently cropped, a style that took years off her, wore navy skinny jeans and a lilac cashmere sweater the exact color of her eyes. She accepted a cup of coffee from Bronte, and studied the tiny mini-muffins served on a white china plate with a greedy eye. “I’d have paid good money to see Sophia talking to ‘Alexa’ and ordering all those gifts.”

Bronte, dressed in black leggings and one of Nico’s pale grey cotton hoodies, offered Janine a top up of her cup, and grinned down a Boo who sat on the floor and was terribly busy with her mummy’s iPhone. The little girl wore thick wool tights the color of milky coffee, and a cute sweater dress of leopard print velvet, and had a cream velvet ribbon in her black curls. She was sooooo cute.

“Thing is,” Bronte said. “According to Miss Brown, she reckons Sophia has an Eidetic memory. She can recall exact words in conversations. However, Nico reckons it could have been worse. She could’ve bought presents on Amazon for all her friends and their families. After the kids went to bed, all thrilled and delighted, Nico couldn’t stop laughing. We’ve no idea what to do with that child.”

Rosie, wearing thermal tights and a matching oversized polo neck sweater the color of ripe cranberries just grinned at Bronte. “You’ve been saying that for six years. And my favorite niece didn’t buy her favorite auntie anything either.” She sipped her coffee and at the same time managed to grab a pen Mila had taken from her bag and was about to stick up her nose. “No, baby doll. No. No. Not up noses, or in ears.”

Grace bent down to lift a grumpy Mila, handed her teaspoon to play with and gave her a cuddle. “I love this age. I’m so jealous, Rosie.”

“Have you thought of adoption?”

“We have,” Grace sighed, and dropped a kiss on Mila’s dark curls. “We’ve done nothing about it. It seems a very complex business.”

Janine nodded in agreement. “There are so many little kids desperate for a good home. They break my heart, they really do. Josh and I have been discussing adoption.”

Bronte raised her brows. “That would be amazing. Josh makes a great daddy.”

“Yep,” Janine said. “The only trouble is, we’d need to get married.”

Rosie gazed at her in amazement. “You don’t wanna marry Josh?”

Janine’s grin was a little wicked. “In a heartbeat. He hasn’t asked me yet.”

Rosie gave her an are-you-kidding-me look. “That’s a load of crock. I know for a fact he’s asked you at least ten times.”

“True. But that was way back in the beginning. He hasn’t asked me recently.”

“Maybe that’s because he’s not a mind reader,” Bronte said. “How’s the poor guy supposed to know you’ve changed your mind?”

“Truth. Is it bad of me that I want him to ask me again?”

“Nah,” Rosie said, and popped a dark chocolate mini muffin in her mouth. “You’re allowed. But you may need to drop him a couple of hints. You know, men are not exactly switched on to our feminine needs. Or should I make that our feminine wiles?”

Once the laughter stopped Bronte just shook her head.

“That’s crazy talk. We’re not being fair to them. The point is, the guys would do anything for us—anything. Hang on a minute,” she said.

Her friends watched in amazement as she shifted to check behind the couch, then tiptoed to the laundry room, opened the door to look inside, and the then tiptoed to the door leading to the hallway which was ajar. She checked behind it before she closed it. Grinning at the bemused look on their faces, she returned to her seat picked up a coffee. “Can’t be too careful in this house. The walls have ears. Ears commonly known as Sophia.”

Rosie couldn’t help but grin. “That girl’s going to turn your hair grey.”

Bronte made a face. “You can’t tell, but beneath this blonde there’s plenty of grey.”

 

“Well.” Rosie made herself more comfortable on the couch. “You’ve had at least four days where everything’s been peace, quiet and tranquillity. We all know that won’t last. I think she’s wonderful.”

Bronte just sent her a dark look. “It’s okay for you. You’re not her mother and you don’t know what you’re talking about. Wanna know the thing that bugs me the most about half-bloody-term? I want to be the best mummy in the whole wide world, and provide my kids with wonderful memories of childhood they’ll treasure forever.

“Instead, by lunchtime everyday I’m snapping their heads off because they can’t have more sweets or soda that send them up the wall and fighting like cats. Then I’m a ‘bad mummy’ for daring to suggest that if they’re bored they could—wait for the shock-horror—go to their room and read a book. You’d think I’d suggested sending them down a coal mine armed with a toothpick. I swear I cannot wait for Monday morning and a little bit of that peace, quiet and tranquillity you mention, Rosie.”

“Where are the gruesome twosome anyway,” asked a laughing Janine, referring to Sophia and Emily.

Grace lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “They’ve been in the dressing up box. The last time I looked they were dancing to Justin Timberlake on a loop.

“Sounds harmless enough,” Janine muttered.

***

Actually, Sophia and Emily were in a place strictly forbidden to both—Bronte’s dressing room. They’d painted their faces with Sophia’s kiddy makeup (the gift that kept on giving from auntie Rosie). And once Sophia had mentioned that her mama had a fire engine red lipstick that would look sooooo cooooool with Emily’s charcoal grey eye shadow, there had been nothing for it but to test the colour….

The girls looked like—thanks to the kiddy makeup—demented fairies complete with huge wings of pink gauze and chicken wire (made by the very talented auntie Janine.)

“We mustn’t make a mess,” Sophia whispered to a terribly excited Emily who’s blue eyes were like saucers as she took in the amazing pots and potions lined up in the narrow drawer Sophia had pulled out. The scented drawer liner smelled of lavender. The wall mirror had lots of light bulbs that illuminated their little faces.

Emily leaned in closer to inspect her skin. “I hate my freckles and my stupid hair.”

Sophia, genuinely shocked by this statement because she was secretly quite jealous of those gorgeous flaming ringlets, gazed wide-eyed in the mirror at her bestest friend.

“I LOVE your hair. Papa says you have fairy hair and a beautiful little fairy face. And as my auntie Rosie says, he was a stud before he married my mama, so he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to women.”

Emily blinked. “What’s a stud?”

Sophia, by this time carefully searching through the gold metal tubes of lipstick to find the right one, shrugged. “Dunno. Women always stare with stupid googly eyes at my papa. I think it’s rude. But auntie Rosie says he doesn’t notice them because he’s a lovely guy who’s crazy in love with my mama.”

Emily nodded her head so hard her ringlets danced around her shoulders. “I’m gonna marry Tonio.” Then she sent a viciously dark look to her reflection. “But he’ll never marry me with this horrible hair.”

Sophia halted her search for the lippy, and turned to face her best friend.

She took Emily by the shoulders. “Look into my eyes.”

Emily stared unblinking into Sophia’s eyes.

“I LOVE your hair. Can you see the truth in my eyes?”

Emily, totally serious, nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Then believe me when I say your hair is amazing.” Sophia returned to the hunt for the lipstick, by this time she had lined up at least six opened tubes all standing like soldiers on parade. “I don’t know what’s the problem with your hair.”

Emily, unmoved by her best friend’s words, resumed a slitty eyed study of her face and hair in the mirror. “When she washes it, Mummy uses a tangle teaser and spray on conditioner. But it always hurts when she combs it and I  cry and it’s one big drama. Then she got her hair cut. My daddy just loves it. He tells her every single day. I think I should cut mine.”

“Don’t be daft,” Sophia said, and then found what she was looking for. She held up the lipstick. “Turn around and open your mouth.”

Emily turned to her pal and opened her mouth wide.

With great care, Sophia swiped the lipstick over Emily’s little lips.

“Rub your lips together,” she said.

Emily did as she was told.

Sophia stood back and studied her work with a critical eye. “I like it. What do you think?”

Emily considered her reflection, fluttered her eyelashes like a camel in a sandstorm.

“It makes my eyes pop, doesn’t it?”

With great care, Sophia wound back the lipstick and replaced the top.

Then she danced on the spot. “Need to pee. Don’t touch ANYTHING or mama will kill us and bury us in the vegetable garden.”

Emily’s wide-eyed response was another rapid nod of her head.

After Sophia raced out the door, she took a careful study of all the lovely things on the table top.

Then, she blinked.

And almost of its own volition, her little hand hovered over a pair of scissors.

Three minutes later, Sophia stood rooted to the spot at the door to her mama’s dressing room. Her stifled cry caught the attention of her brothers strolling down the hallway.

Tonio and Luca entered Bronte and Nico’s bedroom and peered over Sophia’s shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Luca reminded her.

For once, she was too stunned to rise to the bait.

“What’s the matter?” asked Tonio.

Then both boys looked into the dressing room, and gasped too.

Silence.

“Well, what do you think?” asked a beyond thrilled and shorn Emily as she did a twirl.

“Omigod,” Sophia whispered, staring with bug-eyed disbelief at the appalling change in her best friend. “Omigod.”

Tonio stepped slowly inside the dressing room, and, his eyes riveted on the red glossy curls spilled on the cream carpet, picked up some with a hand that wasn’t quite steady.

He lifted his head to stare at her. “Dio mio, Emily. What have you done?”

 

By the way everyone stared at her, in absolute horror, it had begun to dawn on Emily that she may have made a big mistake.

Her fire engine red bottom lip trembled.

Her charcoal lined blue eyes filled.

Her belly hurt.

“Don’t you like it?” she whispered.

Silence.

Tonio again stared at the curls in his hand, and then at her head.

“We can’t stick it back on with glue, can we?”

Sophia, her face white beneath her makeup, shook her head.

Her blue eyes flooded.

“Uh-uh. It’s gonna take years and years and years for your beautiful hair to grow again.”

“I’m gonna get mama. You two are in BIG TROUBLE, again,” Luca said and raced out the door.

***

A few hours later, a whistling Nico strolled through the door of the kitchen-dining-living space.

Silence.

His dark brows rose.

No sign of his bambinos.

No sign of dinner.

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, hung it on the back of a chair, removed his silk tie and rolled it up and tucked it in his jacket pocket—in case the baby had sticky fingers. As he slid open the top couple of buttons on his crisp cotton white shirt, he spotted his wife.

She had her bare feet up on the couch.

Eyes closed, her blonde head rested on a fat cushion.

In one hand she held a glass half filled with Prosecco.

Again his dark brows rose.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

When she said nothing, but made a sound like a whimper in her throat, he dropped a kiss on her nose, lifted her legs, sat and settled her narrow feet on his lap.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Bronte asked.

Nico lifted her hand with the wine glass and took a sip.

“Good news.”

“Well, today Sophia did NOT cut off ALL of Emily’s hair.”

Silence.

“Dio mio.”

“You got that right.”

“Who did?”

“Emily.”

Silence.

“But, why?”

Bronte’s eyes opened. “Because, from what we could decipher in amongst the crying and wailing, she didn’t think Tonio will marry her unless she cut it.”

When Nico simply blinked, she nodded her head. “I know. I swear she’s obsessed with him. Of course, once he’d told he’d loved her hair, she wailed even louder. Poor Grace had to phone her hairdresser for an emergency appointment. And you know what a bloody drama queen Carlo is, I could hear his screeching from here.”

She closed her eyes and laid her head back on the cushion.

“I’ve just about had enough of half-term and kids,” she said bitterly. “To hell with healthy eating. To hell with forcing Luca to eat little trees. To hell with fresh fruit and vegetables. They want to eat pizza every night of their natural lives… let them. I give up.”

Nico rubbed her bare feet.

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

He brought her foot to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss on the arch.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Pizza.”

“I am so blessed.”

“Believe it, pal. Believe it.”

 

FINE

 

I remember so very well the time my youngest daughter, she was four, cut her hair two days before my sister’s wedding….  Good times. Good times.

Christine X

THE DARK SIDE OF WINTER

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The Dark Side of Winter

Copyright  2018 CC MACKENZIE

Greetings dear readers,

It’s the Ludlow Hall sneak peek…

Friday lunchtime in the family kitchen at The Dower House with Bronte and Rosie, and babies Eve and Mila…

They’d spent a busy morning socialising the kids at Mums & Tots at Ludlow Hall.

“Luca told us just as we were finishing breakfast that he had a math test this morning. Plus, he hadn’t given us a permission slip to sign two days ago for a school trip today. Honestly, that child exists on this earth with his brain in neutral,” Bronte said.

“Aw, don’t be too hard on him. He told me his brain is too full for his head.”

Bronte rolled her eyes. “Yesterday, he wore one navy sock and one grey sock. We were in the car before I even noticed.”

Rosie laughed.

“And,” Bronte said, on a roll. “Last night at bedtime, I caught him sucking the toothpaste from the tube instead of brushing his teeth. Disgusting. He used to be such a good boy.”

Rosie, wearing skinny jeans and an oversized navy blue hoodie, made a third attempt to spoon feed Mila her favourite dish, home made macaroni cheese. Her daughter shook her head and turned her face, her chubby hand pushing away the plastic spoon.

“Aw, come on, baby girl.” Rosie coaxed. “You love macaroni cheese. Yum-yum.”

But Mila was having none of it.

And Bronte was having the same response from Eve.

“Odd,” she said, and took a sample herself. “It tastes fine.”

Dressed in black skinny jeans and a matching sweater, she sat back and studied the children sitting in their highchairs. “Do they look warm to you?”

Rosie placed the back of her hand on Mila’s cheek.

It was hot.

Through her socked feet, Bronte checked the under floor heating. It wasn’t over warm, just right.

“Maybe they got overheated at Mums & Tots?” Rosie suggested. She lifted a whimpering Mila out of the high chair.

Frowning, Bronte lifted Eve out of hers.

When the toddler tucked her head beneath her chin, Bronte made a face.

“A bath then a nap?”

Rosie nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

By the time they had their daughters upstairs in the nursery and in a lukewarm bath and both were whimpering instead of having the time of their lives, their mother’s instinct had kicked in.

“Maybe they’ve caught a bug?” Rosie suggested as she wrapped Mila in a huge bath sheet of white cotton and set her on her lap, her big brown eyes filled with worry.

“Could be,” Bronte said, and rummaged around a drawer for a thermometer.

But, before she could use the device, Eve was sick.

And right on cue, Mila was sick, too.

Rosie’s eyes went like saucers as the sickness went on and on. “That’s projectile vomiting. Omigod. Norovirus.”

 

An hour later, and after a long chat with the nurse at their GP surgery, there was no doubt. The Dower House was in the grip of the dark side of winter—the winter vomiting bug.

“Who knew so much crud could come out of two small children. At least we had the common sense to keep them in the bathroom,” Rosie said.

By this time they themselves were stripped down to bra and panties.

“We’ll need to burn these clothes,” Bronte said as she tied black plastic bin bags containing their jeans etc.

“Dontcha think that’s a bit over the top?”

Bronte eyed her best friend. “Would you put these in your washing machine?”

Rosie made a face. “I see your point.”

“Get in the shower and use that medicated shampoo and soap. You have puke in your hair.”

Rosie didn’t need to be told twice.

Meanwhile, Bronte, armed with antiseptic spray and rubber gloves, sprayed their cell phones and dried them carefully with kitchen roll. Then she set about cleaning the bathroom, and all the while she had an ear open for any sound from the nursery. Their daughters were asleep in Eve’s cot, one at each end.

A squeaky clean Rosie wrapped a towel around her hair. “Now what?”

“While I’m in the shower, you clean the floor with this stuff. Then I’ll get us clean clothes.”

By the time they were dressed, Rosie, her damp hair tied in a messy top knot, admired herself in the mirror. Bronte had fabulous clothes, mostly black, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

 

Meanwhile, Bronte’s head began to ache. She hadn’t been able to contact Nico on his cell, so she was on the phone to Ludlow Hall.

“Hi, it’s Bronte, can I speak to Nico, please?”

“I am sorry,” said a woman’s didactic voice she didn’t recognise. “Mr. Ferranti is in a meeting.”

Bronte frowned.

She’d rung Nico’s PA direct line. “Is Julie there?”

“I am sorry,” said the woman. “I am unable to give personal information over the phone.”

Bronte’s temper was slow to burn, but it was burning right now.

She took a very deep breath and tried again. “My name is Bronte Ferranti. I’m Nico’s wife. It’s urgent. Put me through to him, please.”

“I am sorry…”

Bronte’s voice was no more than a growl. “Listen, lady. You have exactly three seconds to put me through to my husband or I’ll come down there myself and tear your tonsils out of your throat.”

Rosie, spraying antiseptic on door knobs, sent her friend big eyes. “Oh, man. She’s really pissed you off.”

Seconds later there was a click.

Bronte stared at her cell phone is sheer disbelief. “She cut me off.”

Rosie removed latex gloves, dumped them in a black bin bag, and reached for her cell and pressed Alexander’s cell number. “She must be new.”

The phone went straight to voicemail. “Hey, daddy. Eve and Mila are sick, sick, sick with what looks like Norovirus. Bronte’s trying to get hold of Nico. Call us back.”

 

Ten minutes later and still no response, they checked on their daughters who were both out for the count. Bronte grabbed a baby monitor and they made their way down to the kitchen and began to clean it, too.

“If we can’t get hold of the guys, we need a plan to pick up the kids from school and keep them away from The Dower House,” Bronte said.

Meanwhile, Rosie prepared a pot of coffee.

“Phone Jan and see if Boo’s clear of the crud.”

Bronte called their friend.

Jan picked up at the first ring. “Is Boo sick?”

“Nope. She’s fine. What’s up?”

Bronte told her what had happened.

“Yuk. And it’s highly contagious. What can I do?”

“Any chance you could take the kids until this thing’s over. I can’t get hold of Nico or Alexander.”

“Hang on. Josh’s just walked through the door.”

Bronte heard Jan giving Josh the lowdown.

Then Josh’s deep voice rumbled in her ear. “I’ll pick up the kids from school. And I’ll swing past Ludlow Hall on the way there and let Nico know what’s happening. Okay?”

Bronte nodded. “Thanks, Joshua. I owe you a hug.”

“No probs.”

“Anything else we can do?” Jan asked.

“I just hope the kids don’t catch it. It would be horrific.”

“We’ll keep them here until it’s all clear. I’m happy to have them and Boo will go mental.”

Bronte closed her eyes tight, thinking of Luca and the nightmare of maths homework. “Oh, God. And they’ll have homework…”

“Josh loves all that stuff. He can handle maths and I’ll do spellings.”

“Thanks, Jan.”

 

Meanwhile, Rosie’s dark brows met as she thought. “You know, it’s really odd the guys haven’t called us.”

“Bad timing,” Bronte said, accepting her coffee. “They often hand Julie their cell phones if their in an important meeting. Wanna bet that new woman hasn’t passed on the message?”

“Wonder what’s happened to Julie?”

 

An hour later all was revealed when Nico and Alexander marched through the kitchen door.

“I am sorry, cara mia. I have a temporary PA. Julie’s children are down with this sickness virus. She cannot return until the family are all clear,” Nico said tossed his black cashmere coat onto the sofa. “How are the babies?”

“Still asleep,” Bronte said and walked into his arms.

“I will pack clothes for the kids and take them to Jan’s. Josh is taking them to MacDonalds.”

“Ugh,” Rosie said.

“They are beyond thrilled,” Alexander told her. “So, what’s happening? Are we staying here for the weekend?”

“We need to contain the virus,” Nico said. “Until the babies are well, we will work from here.”

Suddenly Bronte went a whiter shade of pale. “Oh, God.” She dashed for the stairs and made for the nursery and the bathroom. She just made it in time.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Alexander eyed Rosie.

A very pale Rosie.

“You okay?”

She shook her head and raced for the stairs.

 

Nico and Alexander simply stared in horror at each other.

“We’re stuffed, aren’t we?” Alexander said.

Nico scrolled through his cell phone and pressed the screen. “I will phone Jan and tell her to make do with what the kids have to wear. They have their PE kits.”

“Poor things,” Jan said. “Tell Bronte not to worry, Nico. We’ll handle everything at this end.”

“Grazie, Jan.”

Alexander stripped off his coat, suit jacket, silk tie, and slipped a couple of buttons at the neck and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

“So, what now?”

Nico moved to the wine rack and selected a bottle from one of his vineyards.

After he’d sniffed the cork, he poured two generous glasses.

“Now? We have a glass or two of Chianti. It will protect us against all ills.”

Alexander accepted a glass. “Seriously?”

“Si. It is Italian.”

The End

Aww, nothing worse than the dark side of winter.

Stay tuned for the pre-order links of NO RULES!

 

 

 

It’s throw back Friday…

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FREE ON:  AMAZON    iBOOKS   NOOK   KOBO   GOOGLE PLAY

Who remembers the music playing in the background of this scene from RECKLESS NIGHTS IN ROME?

***

A few minutes later, Nico’s car purred to a halt at the back entrance of The Dower house.

He checked the time.

Too early?

Too bad.

Stepping out of the car, the scent of warm apples, sugar and cinnamon poured across his senses.

Pure annoyance fired his blood pressure again.

So she made cakes while he suffered the agonies of hell.

The Dower House throbbed and boomed with the bass of a pop song.

Nico lifted his hand to knock the door and then shrugged.

She’d never hear him over the racket.

Ignoring the little voice that told him he was invading her privacy, he tried the handle and opened the door.

Strolling into the house, he cocked his head.

It appeared Bronte was singing.

Then he thought again.

Nope.

That noise could never be called singing, more like howling or screeching.

And he winced as she let out an endless shriek that didn’t quite make a long top note.

Nico stepped into the kitchen and every particle of angry frustration drained away.

He couldn’t help the big grin that split his face.

Blissfully oblivious she had an audience to her hips bumping and grinding to Rihanna’s big hit, Bronte stripped off her top, swung it around her head and tossed it.

The sweater sailed high through the air to land at Nico’s feet.

Without taking his eyes from her, he picked it up.

Absently, he rubbed the soft wool between his fingers. Absorbing the warmth from her body and inhaling her scent.

She wore black fitness pants slung low, low on her hips and a short skinny vest.

No bra and bare feet.

Still cheerfully unaware of his presence behind her, Bronte continued to sing her heart out as she shook her booty.

Blonde hair, piled in an incredibly sexy knot on top of head, accentuated a long and delicate neck. Her ears, small and perfect, hugged her scalp.

Nico had to laugh when he spotted a black sock over the kettle and another in the middle of the fruit bowl. Rihanna blasted through the speakers telling everyone to please don’t stop the music.

Please don’t, Nico begged, leaning his shoulder against the door frame to relax and enjoy the show. Guilt that he was witnessing something terribly private dug him hard in the ribs, but Nico ignored it.

He wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

God knew she couldn’t sing but the girl had moves.

Skipping to a fridge, her tight little bottom wiggled in perfect time to the beat and Nico bit down hard on a knuckle.

With a bottle of water as a microphone the fabulous Ms. Ludlow step-touched with a sexy swing of her hips, shook her booty and strutted her stuff.

Spinning round he saw her eyes were closed and that stunning face was flushed with exertion.

She opened her eyes and saw him.

And those fabulous eyes bugged right out of her head.

 

Jogging frantically on the spot, Bronte Ludlow screamed her lungs out.

Pure reflex had Nico catch the bottle of water that almost beaned him between the eyes.

“You bastard!”

The girl was on him like a wildcat. He was a big man who knew how to handle himself. Bronte was no match for him. The shock that she’d even think to attack him in the first place made him laugh out loud. A big mistake, he realized, when she growled in his ear. A growl that only made him laugh harder. A flying fist caught him on the chin as she clung like a limpet to his back. An arm locked around his neck in a tight strangle hold. Endless legs wound around his waist like a vice.

“Cristo, Bronte, stop.”

Roaring with laughter, Nico couldn’t catch his breath.

His eyes watered when Bronte did her level best to rip his hair out of his scalp.

When her teeth sank into his shoulder, he yelled,

“Okay, that is it!”

“How dare you come into my home without warning?” she yelled in his ear. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

She made a determined effort to twist his earlobe off and he’d had enough.

Nico landed back against a wall.

And he heard Bronte’s breath whoosh from her lungs.

He spun, pinned her arms above her head and pressed his body against hers.

Her powerful knee thrust missed unmanning him by a whisker.

Panting now, her eyes spat green fire into his.

The feel of her struggling under him sent blood racing to his shaft.

And he knew he was in big trouble.

Her breath was panting into his mouth as she went utterly still and those green eyes grew wary now.

She trembled and not just from fury.

“Let me go,” she panted. “I mean it.”

Her voice was high as her breath heaved in short bursts and he couldn’t take his eyes from her mouth. Her heart bucked against his and the scent of her shampoo and pure Bronte made his mouth water. A pink tongue licked her top lip and Nico knew he desperately wanted, needed, to taste, to take.

A soft whimper made him look into her eyes and what he saw there, arousal battling with alarm, made him stop.

He’d already taken a misstep with her last night and he wasn’t going to take another with her today.

Chest heaving, Nico released her and stepped back, palms up in a gesture of peace.

 

***

Ah, those were the days!

I’m deep in the middle of BREAK THE RULES AND NO RULES.

They’re all coming together!

Christine X

RING THE BELLS OF CHRISTMAS! IT’S THE LUDLOW HALL SNEAK PEEK

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a-ludlowhall-xmas-special-sneak-peek

Greetings, peeps!

It’s that time of year when teary-eyed parents cram into school halls to watch the annual nativity play, and the Ferranti family is no different.

Enjoy!

***

The family-kitchen-living space at The Dower House smells of ginger chocolate chip cookies, freshly brewed coffee… and glue.

Bronte, Rosie, Janine and Emily’s mum, Grace are working hard with scissors, yards of thin rope and crisp white cotton sheets—donated for the cause by Nico’s housekeeping staff at Ludlow Hall.

Red curls pinned in a top knot on top of her head, dressed in black leggings and an old cotton shirt of her husband’s to protect her clothes, Grace focuses on the job at hand. “It’s really kind of the hotel to give us old sheets to make sheep and shepherd outfits,” she mutters as she pins two oblong pieces of cotton together to make a simple tunic, leaving space for a child’s head and arms. She turns to a Janine who’s doing the same thing with her fabric. “And thanks for this template. What a genius idea. How do you think up this stuff?”

Rosie, wearing thermal leggings and one of Alexander’s old short sleeved T-shirts over her sweater, lifts two big plastic bags filled with cotton wool balls onto a huge folding table erected next to closed bifolding doors showcasing the stunning winter garden. Another smaller table set at angle holds a large pot of glue with brushes. She sets out a stitched and hemmed tunic on the table, smoothes the fabric and places a pre-made template filled with accurately spaced circles on top, and marks a dot in the middle of each circle. Then she takes a cotton wool ball, dabs glue on it and presses it to the fabric and repeats the process on the front and the back of the tunic. Voila, the beginning of a sheep. “Because she’s a hugely talented creative. Have you seen Boo’s new bedroom? It is beyond amaze balls. The child sleeps and plays in her own magical world with fairies and twinkling stars watching over her. I love the way the white fluffy cat peeks out from behind the gingerbread house.”

Wearing painter’s white cotton coveralls over her jeans and T-shirt, Janine grins. “Boo makes Josh kiss the cat before bedtime. He’s besotted with her. How are you getting on with the glue and cotton balls?”

“Aw, I love Josh. I’m doing good.” Rosie eyes a Bronte who’s busy fingers fiddle with black and white shaped ears from thick felt as she machine stitches them together. Then she pins the ears to a thick black velvet headband, glues a flat piece felt to the top of the hair band and pops the headband over to Rosie’s table for her to glue more cotton balls to the white felt on the top. Voila—sheeple. “Wow, the ears looking amazing. Wait ’till the kids see these outfits. They’re gonna go nuts.”

Bronte smiles as she returned to her kitchen table to stitch together another set of ears. “All this is a far cry from our nativity play. Do you remember what our nativity was like when we were five?” she asks Rosie.

“Sure do. I was a cardboard tree with green arms and gloves as branches and on my head I wore a twig hat made by my mother. It itched like hell. My role certainly lacked glamour,” Rosie says, deadpan. When the girls laugh, she shakes her head. “My mother was gutted because she wanted me to be an angel—as if that was ever gonna happen. With Mrs. Mottershead as my teacher she’s lucky she didn’t make me one of the stars in the sky. Rosie sends Bronte a side-eye. “Of course, Ms Butter-wouldn’t-melt-over-there was an angel.”

Bronte sends her wide eyes and a big toothy smile. “I’ll have you know that, unlike you, I was a perfect angel.”

Rosie nods, takes care to place another cotton ball on the correct spot on the tunic. “It was the cardboard wings, the steel coat hanger wrapped in silver tinsel as the halo and all that long blonde hair. Then the awesome white cotton nightgown with the high frilly cuffs and collar your mother bought in the children’s department in Harrods. I remember being sick with jealousy over that nightie.”

Bronte just laughs. “Not for long, my mum had bought you one as part of your Christmas gift. You cried happy tears and Alexander gave you a cuddle.”

Rosie nods as she makes short work of another tunic. “Yep. I knew even then that I adored him. Then once I stopped crying, he ate half of my selection box of chocolates as payment. Even then he had a business brain. Bastard.”

Grace does a quick recce around the room to check for her daughter and her best friend. “Little eyes and ears, Rosemary, with big mouths.”

“More like little monsters,” Rosie says severely. “They’re upstairs watching Kung Fu Panda in Tonio’s room. That boy will keep them on the straight and narrow. I love Tonio.”

“Yup,” Janine says as she pins more templates to white and black thick felt and cuts out another dozen sheep ears. “He’s settled in well. You and Nico are doing a great job with him, Bronte. He’s so happy.”

Bronte nods as her foot presses down on the sewing machine pedal on the floor beneath the table. “He’s had his moments. I try to have one-on-one time with him a couple of times a week. He helps me with the grocery shopping. As a reward, we stop at the coffee shop to have a hot chocolate and a cookie. It’s the perfect time for me to listen to his day.”

“Is he in the nativity?” Janine asks.

“He’s the narrator.”

Grace rolls her eyes. “A narrator of the nativity with a wonderful Italian accent. All the girls will be swooning. My Emily is besotted with Tonio, and he’s so patient with her, poor boy.”

Rosie shakes her head while Janine laughs. “I don’t know about that. Emily’s not stupid, even if she is a sheep in the play.”

“She’s shy and perfectly content to be one of many,” Emily’s mum says. “She hates the spotlight.”

“Can’t say the same about Sophia,” Bronte mutters beneath her breath.

“What’s up with my favorite niece?” Rosie asks, picking up her friend’s dark tone.

“She wants to be Mary. But, Miss Brown has made her the innkeeper’s wife. In response, my daughter told her teacher she’s a feminist and isn’t ever gonna marry, so it will look bad for the innkeeper to live in sin with a woman. What would God think?” Bronte says. While her friends laugh out loud, she moves into the kitchen to prepare another pot of coffee and set a plate of her homemade ginger and dark chocolate cookies on a plate. “Miss Brown told her that since she’s the boss, she decides who will be Mary, end of.”

Swiping tears from her cheeks, Rosie takes a deep breath. “And what did my favorite niece have to say to that?”

Filling up their coffee mugs on the countertop, her friends gather around and grab a cookie, Bronte shakes her head. “She thought about it for a while, then nodded, and said, ‘Okay. But, since it is MY inn and my papa works in the hospitality industry, I’ll have a room cancellation so the baby Jesus in MY nativity won’t be born in a smelly old barn with sheep and cows and poop.”

Janine laughs so hard she chokes on her cookie. “Omigod. She’s re-writing the Christmas story? What did the wonderful Miss Brown say to that?”

“That maybe the world could learn a lesson from the innkeeper’s wife’s kindness to Mary and Joseph.”

Rosie nibbles on a cookie. “Wish we’d had a teacher like Miss Brown. I bet she’s thrilled about the way we’re all mucking in to make costumes. In our day it was headgear made of tea cloths.”

Bronte nods. “I think it helps to take a little of the pressure off Miss Brown at this time of year. The way she keeps on smiling through the kid’s fevered excitement about the visit from Santa, the woman deserves a medal. She’s organizing each child in her class to bring in a wrapped gift for kids who are in hospital over the holiday, and for children less fortunate.”

Rosie’s black brows wing into her hair. “Ah, that’s what Alexander and Nico were on about. I know the Ludlow Hall team organize food hampers for the elderly living alone in town. But, I heard them making plans to give kids who have nothing a box of goodies, too.”

Looking thoughtful, Janine bit into a cookie. “That’s what the spirit of Christmas is all about. Remember the time I dropped the baby Jesus and the entire audience gasped in shock? Good job he was a doll.”

Rosie grins. “I remember that. I also remember you ran off the stage hand-in-hand with the donkey.”

“The following year they had a real donkey and it peed all over the manger and fused the lights because there wasn’t enough straw to cover the wooden stage,” Bronte says, her emerald eyes all dreamy with happy memories. “Those were the days.”

Grace checks the watch on her wrist. “Better get back to it. I’ve counted eight black long sleeved roll neck T-shirts and eight pairs of black tights. The sheep will wear their black plimsolls. I think we need black woollen mittens, too.”

Bronte makes a note of the mittens, fires up her laptop and goes online. “Eight pairs? Maybe we’d better make it ten, just in case they lose a glove.”

By the time they were all done and dusted and cleaned and tidied the room, eight perfect sheep costumes were complete and boxed ready to be taken to school the next day.

By the time Nico strolls through the door, the kitchen smells of a Ferranti family favorite, home-baked Italian meatballs and pasta. All bathed and ready for bed in her onesie, Baby Eve sits in her high chair. When she sees her papa, she beams a toothy smile and bangs her plastic sip cup on her plastic tray. As he carefully rolls his silk tie, tucks it in a pocket before tossing the jacket over the back of the couch, Nico grabs his baby girl for a hug and a kiss on her hot cheek. By the time the baby nuzzles her face into his neck, Bronte grins and lifts her mouth for his kiss.

“Had a good day?” he asks the love of his life.

“Yep. We had a team effort on the sheep costumes. They look fabulous, Nico, I hope you’re able to make the play.”

He pops Eve into her high chair, offers her a squeaky toy which is accepted with a beaming smile. Then Nico heads to the fridge for a bottle of white pinot. He grabs a couple of glasses from a glass cabinet. “Si. Wouldn’t miss it. Alexander’s making time for it, too.”

When Bronte’s eyes go all shiny, he sets down his glass and moves in to hold her. “Hey, what is this?”

She sniffs and wraps her arms around his waist and inhales the scent of her man. “It’s nothing really. It’s just they’re all growing up so fast. I wish my parents had lived to see our family.”

“It’s Christmas. It always makes us sad to think of those we have lost. I know you find this time of year hard at times.”

Bronte shifts to look up into his amazing face. “He never speaks of her. Do you think Tonio misses his mother?”

He frowns. “From what the good father has told me, she sent the boy money and gifts, but she didn’t visit him.”

“I don’t know how a woman could do such a thing to her child, Nico,” Bronte whispers.

He rests his cheek on her hair. “She is dead, cara mia. Tonio is happy here, with us.”

“I’ve been thinking we should invite Gregorio Ancelotti to spend Christmas with us. Tonio is his only living relative. They need to bond.”

When the rumble of his laugh echoes against her cheek, she looks up. “What’s so funny?”

“I spoke to Gregorio today and invited him myself. However, he wants to stay at Ludlow Hall.”

Anxious emerald eyes stare into his. “But, we have plenty of room.”

“Si. However, we must respect his wishes. Perhaps the man needs his space. Let us take little steps, cara mia.”

“Okay.” She reaches up a hand to run her fingers through his hair, happy to mess up his sartorial perfection. “How come you can read my mind?”

Before Nico answers his mouth captures hers in a hungry kiss that makes her toes curl inside her thick socks. When he rests his forehead on hers, Nico’s marvelous mouth curves. “What do you expect, I am Italian!

 

FINE

Ooooh, a visit by Gregorio, sounds like a story to me.

*Evil laugh*

ChristineX

 

Time for another slice of Ludlow life with The Ferranti family…

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cookielove

 

Happy Monday!

It’s time for another slice of Ludlow life with our favourite family……

The Dower House…

Dressed in skinny blue jeans, a cropped T-shirt that’s seen better days, Bronte pads into the family-kitchen living space on bare feet. She’s given Eve her last breast feed of the day. It won’t be long before her daughter is fully weaned, and the thought has a little pang of loss hit her heart. She’ll miss the intimacy and the connection. Her baby won’t be a baby for much longer. The kids are settled down for the night—at last. Sophia is out like a light after her horrible day. Looks as if her right eye is swelling and will be closed by the morning. Her brothers insist on having their bedroom doors open so they can hear her if she calls in the night or has a bad dream. Glancing at her husband, she reckons someone else needs a bit of love and attention. Sprawled on the couch wearing his favorite jeans white at the seams and a black long sleeved thermal, a stony faced Nico stares unseeing into the flames of a stainless-steel log burner. His long legs stretching out before him, his bare feet are long and narrow and sexy. Bronte’s mouth lifts. He’s a big sexy Italian beast and she loves him more each day. In the sexy beast’s hands, he’s nursing a wine goblet. His mouth is a thin, hard line. Bronte takes the seat next to him and curls up her legs and cosies into him. She reaches out for his glass, and takes a sip of the ruby liquid.

“You’re thinking bad thoughts,” she says and offers him the glass.

In response, he places the wine on the vast glass coffee table before taking her in his arms. Bronte closes her eyes to simply breathe in the heady scent of her man. A woodsy cologne, his shampoo, and an alpha male testosterone that feels like home. As much as she loves The Dower House and the life they have here in the old market town of Old Ludlow, in her heart she knows that wherever Nico goes is home to her and their growing family.

“I have had a call from Annabel’s papa,” Nico says, indicating his cell lying on the coffee table. Annabel’s father is a wealthy and influential businessman. Although he has a good reputation, Nico and Alexander tend to give him a wide berth.

“By the look on your face I take it it’s not good news.”

Nico heaves a deep sigh. “It’s not good news for his grandsons. Seems the social services have paid Annabel a visit. Both boys are to be placed on the ‘at risk’ list. Annabel’s papa seems to think we had something to do with it. I put his mind at rest. I’m thinking this might not be a bad thing for those children.”

“Jonathan has them every weekend,” Bronte says, and repeats the local gossip. “They run wild through the town, stealing candy and general mischief making. The man doesn’t have a clue about parenting or taking care of young children.”

“From what Alexander and I saw earlier this evening, he’s not taking care of himself either. I’d say it is either booze or an out of control recreational drug habit. Whatever, it is not bringing out the best in him. I said as much to his ex father-in-law. He is planning to stage some sort of intervention with Jonathan and his sons. His daughter is at her wit’s end.”

“She was a friend—once,” Bronte says. Her mind slips into the past, remembering the hurt and especially the public humiliation she suffered when Annabel and Jonathan had a torrid affair behind her back during the time she was grieving over the tragic loss of her parents. An affair which resulted in Annabel’s first pregnancy. The town had taken sides and the rift between the Winthrops and the Ludlows and Ferranti families had never healed. Seven years seems such a long time to hold a grudge. But, at the time of the betrayal, life for Bronte Ludlow had been tough going. Bronte had lost her parents, her home, her fiancé, and was at odds with Alexander over the shocking discovery that they had different fathers. And then the whirlwind of Nico Ferranti had entered her life, and look at them now! Parents to four wonderful children. The love and commitment they shared grew more each day. While poor Annabel limped from one domestic drama to another. She has an ex-husband with a sly, vicious tongue and a wandering eye. A man always on the look-out for the main chance to get something for nothing.

“Si. We cannot say she has not paid for her mistake. Perhaps it is time to offer her the hand of friendship. That is what good neighbours do, is it not?”

Not exactly thrilled with the idea, Bronte makes a face and heaves a big sigh. “I’ll speak to Janine and Rosie and run the idea to reach out to Annabel past them. If we do this, I’ll need their support. We were all a close-knit group once, when we were ten.”

Nico pulls her onto his lap to wrap her in his arms. “I am thinking of the children. If the adults cannot find a solution, what hope do they have? But let me clear, I will never under any circumstances be a friend to Jonathan Winthrop.”

Bronte reaches up to wind her arms around his neck. “Thank God for that. But I can tell by your face you have a plan for him.”

“Si. It is nothing for you to worry about,” he says in that deep growly tone her hormones love.

Nico dips his head to taste her mouth. At least that was the idea. Instead, it isn’t long before they’re naked on the couch, replete and relaxed. “My toes are tingling,” Bronte says. Her eyes shut, she adores the way his big hand sweeps lazy strokes down her spine. She smiles as his big body shakes with laughter.

“I can never get enough of you, cara mia.”

Bronte runs her nails gently over a dark nipple, feels him shudder. “Rosie says that when we’re in a care home and hobbling around with Zimmer frames we’ll still be snogging in corners.”

“She can talk,” Nico says severely. A squawk and grizzle from the baby monitor has both of them on their feet. They dress fast. He grins at Bronte’s flushed cheeks. “Ah, I remember the good old days when we walked about naked whenever we felt like it.”

“We need a break without the kids,” she says as they rush up the stairs. Nico heads off to check on Sophia, and Bronte enters the baby’s room. The heady smell of a dirty diaper has her dealing with the problem within minutes. After settling the baby, she searches for her husband and finds him leaning against the door frame of their eldest daughter’s bedroom. The door is wide open. As she approaches, Nico turns to place a finger on his lips, his grey eyes dancing.

As she studies the scene before her, Bronte lifts her hand to smother a laugh. Omigod. Tonio and Luca have dragged their duvets and pillows into Sophia’s room and are sleeping on the floor next to her bed. She tip-toes over the sleeping boys to study her daughter. Yep, the eye is swollen shut. The livid bruise on that velvet little cheek hurts Bronte’s heart. If the chance of letting bygones be bygones with Annabel and her sons prevents a repetition of today’s events, she’ll do it. The idea of offering the hand of friendship to Annabel may not go down well with Rosie and Janine, but they’ll support Bronte and the children through thick and thin—that’s what best friends do.

Tonio stirs, his eyes pop open as he watches them tip-toe out of the room hand in hand.

The boy lifts up on his elbows to crane his neck to check on Sophia. She’s out for the count, as is her twin sleeping on the floor next to him. Tonio settles to lie on his back and counts the tiny lights on a ceiling which replicates the milky way. Bronte and Rosie and Janine painted the ceilings in the twin’s bedroom. And when Tonio joined the family, the women did the same in his bedroom and gave him lights, too. The Ferranti children sleep beneath the stars.

Tonio smiles as his heavy eyes shut. He knows for sure they’ll have fresh cookies tomorrow because he can smell them from here.

It’s the smell of a safe haven.

It’s the smell of home.

It’s the smell of love.

We are mia la famiglia

We are Italian.

 

FINE

Not easy doing the ‘right’ thing, is it?

Working hard on the weekly short stories, the first one released at the end of this month, then I’m diving into the Ludlow world with Break The Rules. I LOVE my job!!!

Big hugs,

Christine X

Pre-order Links for SEAN, and a cover reveal and pre-order links for the first of the GOLDDIGGERS, ELLIE… so excited…

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LUDLOWSEANFINITO

 

Greetings from a soggy Sunday,

As you can see from my new banner at the top of the page, we’ve been busy at MORE Press, and we’re about to get busier still. The next Ludlow Hall Romance franchise is SEAN going live on 30th September. Remember the story is stand-alone with no cliffhangers. And because it’s set in the Ludlow Hall world we meet Nico, Bronte & Co.

The book’s pre-order links are available below for the awesome peeps at iBooks, and for Amazon.

(Kobo and B&N links will be added as soon as they become available.)

iBOOKS  USA      iBOOKS UK     AMAZON USA    AMAZON UK

Here’s the blurb for SEAN’s story:

A sizzling love story with a superb cast of characters…

Businessman and model Sean Gallagher is catch-your-breath gorgeous and ruined by his troubled past in Ireland and the tragic death of his brother. All grown up and relocated to New York, he’s become one of the most photographed face on the planet. No one knows the dark childhood secrets that have given Sean a backbone of steel and a heart untouched by love…

No one until Irish showgirl Katherine Mary Kennedy that is…

In his role as best man for the wedding of his best friend, Sean’s keeping a close eye on the stag party. From the moment his former girl-next-door steps onto the stage at Ludlow Hall as Pousse-Café, leader of the GOLDDIGGERS, Sean’s captivated…

Burlesque star Katherine and her troupe might be taking the world by storm, but she’s had more than her share of heartache and broken dreams.

She’s come to give a special one off performance at Ludlow Hall with four of her GOLDDIGGERS, and to prepare for her tole as maid of honor at her cousin’s wedding.

Neither Sean or Katherine believe in romance or a happy-ever-after, but the attraction sparking between them cannot be denied…

Sean and Katherine’s story is one of passion, love lost and love found and changes both of their lives forever…

Get your copy of SEAN today!

***

And now we come to a project my team and I have been working on for months… drum roll… introducing the world famous…

GOLDDIGGERS

A weekly tale of love and scorching desire  best describes the brand new short romance reads from USAToday bestselling author CC MACKENZIE. Let’s face it women today are short of one thing. TIME. We might snatch ‘me’ time during a lunch break, or a commute to and from work, or we’re not in the mood for a committed book relationship. Sometimes we want a satisfying story quick and fast, a bit like a book one-night-stand.

Each story is set in the world of Burlesque with feathers, glitter, love, desire, music and dance where girls tease and tantalize. Each story stands-alone, unrelated to the next, except they are set in the same world. And CC will release an original story every Friday to get you in the mood for the weekend.

The GOLDDIGGERS series of thirty minutes of fun romance from CC MACKENZIE – for busy people everywhere. Get your copy of ELLIE today!

The first thirty minute read, is out on OCTOBER 28TH.

Pre-order links below:

 

ellie (1)

 

iBOOKS USA     iBOOKS UK    AMAZON USA   AMAZON UK

 

 

Here’s the blurb:

ELLIE

“I didn’t plan to talk to him.

Or fall for him.

Or have anything to do with devastatingly handsome Noah Blake, supermodel.

Meeting him had been a complete and utter shock to the system, my reaction took me by surprise. In my line of work, I meet new people all the time and none of them impressed me the way Noah did. Isn’t that just typical in life? A girl can meet hundreds of people and they don’t touch her where it matters, but then she meets the one who changes everything…

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Thing is, I’m a Golddigger, and proud of it. We make the Pussycat Dolls look like kittens. We work hard to achieve one goal, being the best. And to do that we do not need distractions like, for example, men. A Golddigger’s focus is on one thing, her performance. A Golddigger’s priority is the continued success of our Burlesque troupe. Thing is, I learned the hard way men didn’t like coming a poor second in a woman’s life. They appeared to be panic-stricken by a career driven, successful woman. I’ve been called “hard work,” “stroppy,” and “pigheaded.”

Like the rest of the Golddiggers, being free of emotional ties works well for me. Trust me, I had no long term plan to live happy-ever-after.

But then I met Noah.

And he stole my diamanté encrusted panties, and my whole world imploded…

 

***

It’s feast or famine on this blog, isn’t it?

I’m so excited by the GOLDDIGGER project, the girls are brave, funny, hard working, super-talented and don’t put up with ‘no shit’ from anyone. I introduce the world of the GOLDDIGGERS in SEAN, and my team are drooling over him and Katherine and the girls. So from the last Friday in October and every Friday through Christmas, you guys will have stories to enjoy between my full story releases.

Next up will be the usual sneak peek of Ludlow life tomorrow.

Love and hugs,

Christine X

IT’S MONDAY, ANOTHER SLICE OF LUDLOW LIFE . . . Aaaaand she’s back . . .

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Rosie

 

Greetings, my awesome readers,

I hope this finds you well after the weekend, and raring to go for the week ahead. It’s been a while since we heard from Rosie … She’s back …

***

Working alone, Rosie Ludlow is busy, busy, at Sweet Sensations running against a deadline to deliver a surprise order of four dozen cupcakes for an engagement party before five o’clock . . .

*The kitchen smells of toffee, chocolate, and vanilla icing. Even though the place is rocking to Ella Henderson praying by a river, baby Mila is sound asleep in her amazing top of the line stroller. White rubber clog tapping to the beat, Rosie’s wearing chef whites, her inky curls tied back beneath a cap and net. With her tongue caught firmly between her teeth, she uses quick flicks of the wrist to pipe tiny spears of white meringue icing to make a ball effect for the topping of the chocolate cupcakes. It takes a steady hand, precision and a good eye to place a red cherry made of icing with a fragile chocolate stalk on the top. Since they were fiddly little bastards, she’d made the cherries the day before. When Nico Ferranti strolls through the door looking for all the world as if he’s just walked off a photo shoot for GQ, she sends him a lightning grin, nods to the pot of coffee on the counter top*

“Coffee’s hot, big boy. Help yourself. Let me just finish up here.”

Nico pokes his head inside one of the eight boxes of white card, checks out the cupcakes. “Amazing. You are a clever girl, cara. But why are you working so late?”

“It’s a favor,” she says, her focus one hundred per cent on the job at hand. “And they’re paying me big bucks for this favor. Bronte offered to help, but Eve’s cutting another tooth and it’s not going well. Her little cheek is all swollen and hot. Poor baby.”

Making himself right at home, Nico helps himself to a cup from the cupboard, pours himself a coffee from the pot. “Si. The twins didn’t suffer as much as la mia bambina. We’ve had to resort to medication to bring down the inflammation.”

*Rosie finishes the final cupcake, lays the cherry on the top, and carefully places the work of art in a box. The box lids are all sitting waiting. By the time she’s placed gold and black Sweet Sensation stickers on each box and ties them with black satin bows, Nico’s grinning at her quick fingered expertize. She checks the huge clock on the wall, turns the music down. While Nico pours her a coffee, she pulls the net and cap from her head to reveal inky curls that fall in a tail between her shoulder blades. She accepts her coffee and closes her eyes as she takes a sip of the black stuff. Heaven*

“Thanks,” she says, leans her hip against the stainless steel counter top, and eyes him appreciatively from the top of his immaculately cut hair, the sharp threads (Italian of course) to his hand stitched shoes. “Are you coming or going from a meeting?”

“Coming,” he says in the deep Italian accent that always makes her mouth curve. Man, with Nico as her husband her pal Bronte has got herself a hunka-hunka burnin’ love. His next words wipe the smirk from her face. “I have been meaning to stop by and have a little chat with you.”

*Little chat? Uh oh. Rosie recognizes the signs, that sharp eyed look, the way his mouth has gone firm. Something’s up*

“Everything okay with Bronte? Things okay at home?”

Nico nods. “Everything is mostly fine. Except for Sophia . . .”

Rosie blinks and can’t help but grin widely. “What’s up with my favorite niece? Been cutting hair again? Putting toys down the toilet? Painting toenails that don’t belong to her?”

Nico’s mouth curves, but he shakes his head. “No. But she’s quoting statements from ‘Auntie Rosie’ almost every time she opens her mouth. And some of the statements, cara mia, are causing her mama and me a few bad moments.”

Not in the least bit fazed by the way he’s glowering at her, Rosie sends him a cheeky grin. “Yeah? That’s my girl. Inquisitive. Smart as a whip.”

Nico’s dark brows lift. “Si. But it seems she knows a little too much about certain things, like child birth, and . . . sex. She was happy to inform a car load of children including her BFF Emily, that according to auntie Rosie, Tonio, just like me, is gonna break hundreds of hearts with his love muscle . . .” Nico waits until a spluttering Rosie stops laughing to continue, “then she told the same audience that women, and I quote, are cursed each month and put their men through hell. Men, according to auntie Rosie, do not know they are living.”

Wiping her eyes on kitchen towel, Rosie takes a breath. “Omigod. The little monkey. She’s been listening to adult conversations again. What the hell is she like? You’ll need to break her of the habit, Nico.”

Nico blinks. “Si, but . . .”

Rosie shifts to top up their cups. “Thing is, Sophia is super bright. She can write everyone’s name. Her reading age is way ahead of her peers. She’s also overcurious and nosey. The trick for you and Bronte will be to channel that investigative trait within her into something positive. I’ve been thinking maybe horse riding to balance all that physical and emotional energy. Or ballet or gymnastics . . .”

Nico shudders at the thought. He cannot imagine what his daughter would be like if she was doing gymnastics. The conversation is not going Nico’s way. He’s here to ensure Rosie bites her tongue around his daughter. On the other hand, he can’t resist the complete lack of guile in Rosie’s dark chocolate Bambi eyes. Hell, he doesn’t want to upset a woman he adores. In truth, he doesn’t want Rosie to be anything other than Rosie, so he treads carefully and tries again, “I, we, feel Sophia is too young to understand certain things like how a woman has eggs in her ovaries . . .”

Rosie nods enthusiastically and jumps in with, “Exactly. You and Bronte are doing an amazing job with your children, but especially with Sophia. It is very important for adults to answer a child’s questions with the facts and total honesty. A penis is a penis and a vagina is a vagina. I simply do not understand why some adults, especially men, cannot be honest about procreation and how the human body works. And I’ll tell you something for nothing, Nico. Not telling a child the truth can set them up for an epic fail when they hit the hell that is puberty. It’s dangerous. Get Bronte to tell you the story of when our mothers were at school in the seventies. In their year was a girl of fifteen who’s first sexual experience with a boy, who just as clueless as her, ended up with her at A&E because of an infected navel. Apparently, the poor kids believed they had sex via the belly button. I am not joking. Our mothers drummed the facts of life into us as soon as we began asking questions.”

Dio mio. Nico knew his jaw was on the floor, knew there was perspiration beading on his top lip. “Si, but . . .”

*Baby Mila stirs, and her mama is at her side in an instant*

“Aw, did you have a good sleepy sloppy?” Rosie coos as she nuzzles the baby. She sniffs her diaper, makes a horrible face. “Phew. A diaper bomb.”

Nico can’t help but grin at how happy Rosie is since she married Alexander and became a mama. Today his mission has been as Rosie would say, ‘An Epic Fail.’ But he loves her. Perhaps he’ll just need to live with her Big Mouth because at the end of the day he wouldn’t change her for the world.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says.

Rosie jiggles Mila, grabs the diaper bag hanging onto the stroller handle. “Drop in any time. Try not to worry about Sophia. If I were you I’d forget about a convent for her, too. The planet is made up of fifty per cent men, Nico. Better Sophia learns how to handle the suckers. When she grows up, that girl will have the world by the balls.”

And that, Nico decides as he strolls to his car, is exactly the problema. By the time Sophia Ferranti becomes a fully formed new adult, his hair will be white from worry and stress. As he drives towards home, he nods. He’ll handle anything his baby girls will throw at him because, at the end of the day, he’s Italian.

 

FINITO

 

Can’t fault Rosie’s own brand of logic.

Nico didn’t stand a chance!

The pre-order links for SEAN should be up in a couple of days (it was my birthday last week, so I got side-tracked by my wonderful family.)

Hugs

Christine X

It’s Monday, which means another peek behind the curtains of life with the Ferranti family. Grab a coffee, settle down, and enjoy . . .

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8

Tentacles-

Happy Monday, my darlings,

Working hard and nearly at The End of SEAN.

Here’s the latest from the Ferranti Fam-lee . . .

Bronte is driving Nico’s Range Rover with Luca, Sophia and Emily in the back, and Tonio in the front. Luca, Sophia and Emily have been attending a birthday party, which means they’re checking out their party bags, all hyped up on sugar. And Tonio has had soccer practice, which means he’s a bit bruised and battered since he’s a fearless Ferranti.

*Emily and Sophia begin their own unique rendition of The Lonely Goatherd*

“Yodelaaaaaay-eeeeeeee, yodelaaaaaay-eeeeeee-eeeeeeee, yodelaaaaaaaaay-eeeeeeee,” shrieks Sophia with Emily right behind her.

All hot and bothered and tired, of girls, Luca squeezes his eyes shut and bangs the back of his head on the car seat. “Mamaaaaaaa, tell them to stop.”

“Okay, girls, no distractions while I’m driving please,” Bronte says. Out of the corner of her eye she spots Tonio making a horrible face. To be honest she can’t blame him, the singing is pretty horrible. “That’s enough now.”

*And silence once again reigns across the land*

“How come,” Emily begins in her soft little voice. Her fingers smooth the skirt of her pale pink party frock. “Boys can wear dresses? I’ve never seen a boy in a dress.”

Out the corner of her eye, Bronte sees Tonio’s eyes go wide. She clears her throat, guessing someone’s been talking to Emily about gender equality in schools, where boys were given permission to wear a dress if they so wished. “Well, yes they can,” she says. “Most boys don’t, but if they wanted to they could.”

Sophia’s watching the word go by. She shakes her head and pipes up, “I can’t imagine my papa in a dress.” She’s wearing her best party frock and it’s pink, too. “I mean papa’s got hairy legs, and muscles . . . and tentacles.”

*Oh. My. God. Bronte cannot imagine Nico in a dress either. And as for tentacles . . . Stifling a giggle, she drives the car through the winding country road. She spots Tonio biting down hard on his knuckles, his shoulders shaking with laughter*

“Boys have testicles,” Tonio correct Sophia.

Luca frowns. “So what have tentacles?”

“Octopus have tentacles,” Tonio says.

Little Emily shakes her head, her smooth brow creases. “I don’t think that’s right. My mummy says my daddy’s like an octopus. He’s all hands.”

Tonio turns to give a wide-eyed Bronte big eyes. Bronte clears her throat. “Remember Ursula in The Little Mermaid?” she asks, desperately trying to guide the conversation into safer waters. “She was part octopus.”

Sophia nods. “Uh huh. Ursula is half-witch. My auntie Rosie says Ursula’s bad to the bone.”

“My daddy says my mummy turns into a witch at the time of the month,” Emily pipes up.

Wide-eyed, Luca turns to Emily. “Is that the time of the full moon? My papa says mama goes nutso during a full moon. Witches fly over the moon at Halloween. Does your mummy have a broomstick?” he asks hopefully.

“Uh huh,” Emily says, shaking her head so hard her bright corkscrew curls dance. “My mummy says that she is not a witch and knows he really means she’s a bitch and he’s not fooling anybody and if my daddy keeps it up, she’s gonna nail his tentacles to the wall.”

*Oh. My. God. Bronte decides she needs to have an urgent chat with Emily’s mummy, Grace, and with Nico about his Big Mouth*

“Well,” Bronte says in a high cheery voice. “Another octopus is Pearl in Finding Nemo. I think Pearl is sooooooo cute.”

*When Emily beams and nods, Bronte heaves a relieved sigh that none of the kids could find a problem with Pearl. Until . . .*

Sophia turns to Emily. “The reason your mummy and my mama get cranky at the time of the full moon is because they are cursed. And because you and me are female, Emily, when we hit pubsinthecity we’re gonna be cursed too. My auntie Rosie says we are cursed because inside us we have eggs to make babies. When we don’t make a baby, once a month we have an egg and we have belly cramps and spots and horrible hair and we put the men in our life through merry hell.”

“Eww,” Luca says.

Sophia nods as Emily stares at her with big blue eyes. Sophia continues, “Auntie Rosie says men don’t know they are living.”

“God,” Tonio mutters, sliding down in his seat.

With a determined smile fixed on her face, Bronte steers the car into Emily’s driveway. She turns to the three children in the back seat and says, “And here we all are. Safe and well.”

*Minutes later, back at The Dower House, Nico Ferranti is waiting for his family, baby Eve tucked on his hip. And since the baby’s cutting teeth her little cheeks are apple red, and she’s wearing a white cotton bib. She’s gnawing heroically on a plastic ring filled with ice water*

“How was soccer practice?” Nico asks Tonio as the boy heaves his kit bag from the trunk.

Tonio turns to send him a slow smile. “I made the team.”

Nico and Tonio slap a high five. “Well done.”

Nico eyes the twins, notices Sophia giving him a head to toe appraisal of his bare feet, battered blue jeans and black thermal. “What?” he asks her.

She shakes her blonde head as she walks past him. “Papa, there’s no way you’d ever look good in a dress, it’s sooooo not your style. You’re Italian.”

A stunned Nico turns to a laughing Bronte to give her wide eyes. “Me? In a dress?”

Bronte stretches up on her tip toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “It all began with tentacles and an Octopus….”

 

Finito

 

Writing final scenes for SEAN last night and I cried a river . . . and all y’all know that if I cry, you cry. I love this couple soooooo much, so many feels . . .

Before final edits, I’m placing SEAN on pre-order, the links are coming soon.

AND I have a huge surprise for you guys at the end of SEAN, with pre-orders for the surprise, too.

Stay tuned . . .

 

Christine X