I have on my desk the edited galleys for Unlawful Contact. Which means it's Contest Time!

In honor of the holidays and in gratitude for the friendship and caring you all have shown me, I'm giving away an autographed galley of Unlawful Contact and a gift basket from Blue Moons Bliss. These products are hand-made by a friend of mine and include only all-natural ingredients and essential oils. I use them myself, and Luscious Lavender is the scent I prefer, so that's what I'm giving away.


Check out all the wonderful stuff at www.bluemoonsdesign.com, and tell Benecia that Pamela Clare sent you!

So how do you enter this contest?

Simply reply to this post or send me an email at pamelaclare @ earthlink.net (remove spaces). Tell me what you prefer most in a contemporary hero, and I'll put you in the contest. Deadline: Sunday at midnight.

Update: I've been busy at work, and that's about it. The holiday season is always very busy for newspapers. Fortunately, January and February give us a chance to catch our breath. I'm understaffed in the newsroom right now, so that has made for some late nights and crazy days. I haven't gotten any Christmas shopping done. I guess I'm hoping there is a Santa and that he can do it all this time. (His sleigh, his reindeer, his credit cards.)

When it comes to fiction, I'm behind on Untamed, the sequel to Surrender, but there's not a lot I can do about it at this point. Being short on staff at the paper means that for the first time in six years, I won't have vacation through the holidays. But I do hope to post a few excerpts soon.

And speaking of excerpts:

From Unlawful Contact

Clutching the arm that imprisoned her, Sophie struggled to keep up as Hunter pushed her down the empty, silent hallway, gun near her cheek. Her mouth had gone dry, and her heart beat so hard it hurt, her sense of unreality growing with each forced step.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real.

It was only too real.

His breath hot on her temple, his hold on her never letting up, Hunter half-dragged, half-carried her toward the security checkpoint where only thirty minutes ago she’d overheard Sergeant Hinkley saying something to Lieutenant Kramer—she couldn’t remember what.

Dear God, what if Lieutenant Kramer is dead?

They reached the gate, found it locked.

“Crappy hospitality.” Hunter hit a button on the control panel with the butt of the gun, and the gate clicked open. “I guess we’ll have to show ourselves out.”

“They’ll catch you sooner or later.” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice.

“I’m hoping for later.” He didn’t sound worried in the least. “Now hush your pretty mouth, and keep moving.”

It seemed to her she watched from outside herself as he drew her through the checkpoint, down the hallway, and through Lieutenant Russell’s station with its metal detectors, ink pad and black light scanner. She felt an absurd impulse to hold out her hand and run it under the scanner as she always did on her way out.

You’re in shock, Alton.

That must explain why she couldn’t think straight, why she was stumbling along with Hunter like a puppet, why she hadn’t tried get away from him. Well, that—and the fact that he’d threatened to kill her and had a gun to her head.

And to think she’d come here to help his sister.

Rage, hot and sudden, burned through Sophie’s panic and fear. She twisted, kicked, scratched, brought her knee up hard.
“Let… me… go!”

“Son of a—!” His curse became a grunt as her knee met his groin.

In a heartbeat, Sophie found herself pinned up against the wall, the hard length of his body immobilizing her, her arms stretched over her head, his forehead resting against hers.

His eyes were squeezed shut, breath hissing from between his clenched teeth, his face contorted in obvious pain. He drew a deep breath, then opened his eyes and glared at her, his expression shifting from pain to fury.

“I’ll give you that one because, God knows, I deserve it. But don’t try to play rough with me, Sophie! You’ll only end up getting yourself hurt!”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then his gaze dropped to her mouth.

For a split second, she thought he might try to kiss her, and a completely new fear unfurled in her belly. “Don’t!”

He thrust her in front of him and pushed her down the hallway. “I’m a convicted murderer, not a rapist! Besides, now isn’t the time. Move!”

Her rage spent, she did as he demanded, trying not to trip, trying not to cry, trying not to throw up. Just ahead lay the lobby and beyond it the front entrance and visitors’ parking lot.

When I’m safely away, I’ll let her go.

His words came back to her, and she latched onto them, clinging to the hope they offered, repeating them in her mind like a mantra.

I’ll let her go. I’ll let her go.

They passed the abandoned registration desk where Sergeant Green had checked her in, and hurried through the now vacant lobby. And then they were outside.

Sophie barely noticed the cold wind or the fat snowflakes that had begun to fall or the fact that the sun had set, her thoughts riveted on Hunter and what he would do next.

He surprised her by stopping just outside the door and drawing her back against the brick wall with him. “Give me your keys! Which one is yours?”

“Wh-what?”

“Which car?”

“The blue Toyota. But you can’t—!”

“There’s no time for this!” He covered her mouth with his hand. “Listen close, Sophie. The moment we step away from this building, a dozen snipers with high-powered rifles will sight on my skull. Perhaps that idea pleases you, but it makes me a little nervous. I don’t have time to call a cab, so we’re taking your car. Understand?”

He lifted the hand from her mouth.

She nodded, her pulse skyrocketing. “Y-yes.”

He was kidnapping her!

No! No! Please, no!

She swallowed a sob and fumbled in her purse for her keys.

Marc heard Sophie’s breath catch, felt her body jerk and realized she was crying.

Goddamn it! Goddamn it!

He fought the urge, so instinctual, to reassure her. He couldn’t afford to think about what she was feeling. Not now. Not yet. One mistake out here, and he’d be a dead man.

She drew her keys from her purse and held them out for him, metal jangling. “P-please just take my car and leave me!”

“No can do, sweetheart.” He grabbed the keys from her hand, glancing from the parking lot, which was flooded by search lights to the lobby, where a dozen C.O.s had gathered, waiting for him to slip and offer them a clear shot. “Go!”

He realized his mistake as soon as they hit the parking lot. Dressed in those ridiculous heels, she could barely walk on the ice and snow, much less run. She skittered and slipped, more than once nearly toppling them both to the ground. If she fell, she’d give the snipers the clear line of fire they were waiting for.

“Jesus Christ! It’s winter, woman, or hadn’t you noticed!” Marc lifted her off her feet, held her hard against him and ran, his prison-issue tennis shoes offering little more in the way of traction, the skin on his back prickling with the imagined heat of red lasers. He’d worked the other end of the rifle for too long and could almost hear the snipers' thoughts in his mind.

Slip. Drop the girl. Raise your head up just an inch, you bastard!

Her car was parked nearby—the first space in the second row. He fought for footing, skidded into the door, his knees crashing against metal as the first shot rang out.

Sophie screamed, and for one terrible moment Marc feared she’d been hit. Then he felt it—searing pain in his shoulder.

“Shit!” He slipped the key into the lock, jerked the door open, then shoved Sophie through the door and piled in behind her. “Scoot over!”

An explosion of weapons fire.

A barrage of bullets.

The driver’s side window and mirror shattered, glass spraying through the air as rounds shredded the door where he’d been standing a split second ago.

Keeping low, he slammed the door, slid the key into the ignition, and gunned the engine. Then, both hands on the steering wheel, he fishtailed out of the parking lot and toward the highway. “Put on your seatbelt, sweetheart. This ride is likely to get rough.”

After what feels like a century trapped in the desert, I have discovered a new-to-me author and a historical novel that I loved! The last time this happened was years ago when I was writing Ride the Fire and read Elizabeth Lowell for the first time. Apart from a handful of books I read written by her, I'd begun to think that it was impossible nowadays to find a historical author who writes what I want to read.

Okay, so I know I'm picky. When I read a historical novel, I want complex characters, a story that seems epic in nature, and historical veracity. I want dialogue that, as much as possible, feels genuine for that time and place. I want believable heroines who feel like real women, not proto-feminist "sheroes." I want heroes who feel like men, not metrosexuals. I want to feel the past surrounding me, carrying me away. I want a meaty story. And I want it to be as seamless as possible.

I don't want wallpaper historicals. I don't want "light, breezy" reads that feel like foam in my brain. I don't want novels about gowns and frippery and ballroom banter — unless they go to a deeper place than the wardrobe and the ballroom. I don't want anachronistic novels that put modern-day heroines into historical settings.

This week, I dug around in my TBR and found a novel I'd brought back from RWA this summer. It was Kathleen Givens' On a Highland Shore. I opened it up, plopped onto my bed... and vanished into 1263 Scotland.

Here's a description I stole from B&N:

On Scotland's western shore, the village of Somerstrath prepares for the joyous wedding celebration of Margaret MacDonald, the laird's daughter. But a dark storm of bloodshed and betrayal is closing in, as a merciless band of Vikings threatens the Highlands. Margaret is determined to hold the MacDonald clan together and to locate her abducted younger brother. But can she trust the noblemen from King Alexander's court, who insist that only by adhering to a betrothal conceived for political gain will she find safety? Or should she put her trust in an imposing half-Irish, half-Norse warrior? Gannon MacMagnus alone offers her hope of reuniting her family and vanquishing the barbarous Norsemen who would continue to rob her people of their God-given right to determine their own destinies. In whom should Margaret entrust the fate of the rugged, magnificent land she calls home?

There's sexual tension in this book, but very little sex. It's not a "hot read," but it's an amazing story. I ate it up, and at the end I wanted to read it again. That never happens to me. As I read the last page, I had a rush of goosebumps such as I haven't had... I can't remember when, really. I felt so satisfied by the story.

It's dark, gory, rich in history and full of believable, wonderfully drawn characters.

Kathleen Givens rocks. She's a RITA winner, and I can certainly see why. I sent her a slobbering fan-grrrl email, unable to help myself.

Historical novels are my absolute faves. And it's funny that any time a message board or readers' group asks readers to list their all-time favorite novels, so many of those are historicals. But, in part due to worries about being politically correct, and etc., historicals have been so muted lately. I think the publishing industry is in part to blame for that, as few houses want to venture outside the realm of Regency or European historicals. But that's another topic.

I don't make recommendations all that often, but I loved this book. It's a five-star keeper for me.

Needless to say, I haven't been writing...

Sorry I vanished from the face of the earth. I blame the Pilgrims. They started this whole stuff-your-face tradition a long time ago, meaning that we, their decendents, must do the same each year. So I went out of town and spent the Thanksgiving holiday with my parents on Colorado's Western Slope. Then because I'd actually had time off, I had to catch up at the newspaper. The thing that stinks about working at newspapers is that you can't just say, "That's enough news," and publish whatever you feel like writing. You have to fill the entire paper. Every time. No blank pages allowed. It's irritating.

Anyway, here we go, catching up...

Kalt Wie Der Tod — Cold As Death. That's the German title of what I think is actually Hard Evidence. It could be Extreme Exposure, but who knows? I find out about these things after everyone else. A friend from Germany let me know about this one. I guess when I get copies I'll know which book it is. What the heck? I'm just the author.

Still, I think it's a pretty cool cover. I'm not sure how they got Angelina Jolie to agree to pose, but she looks great.

And now for something completely different...

A reader, Jennifer Johnson, sent me a few emails and we ended up chatting back and forth. She told me she'd started with my second book, Carnal Gift, and then worked her way through my titles. I told her how Carnal Gift had been cut dramatically in order to comply with an arbitrary maximum page length and how the cover had always bugged me because it looks like late summer in the Louisiana Bayou and not winter in Ireland.

Then one day I opened my email, and found this....



What do you think? (You can view the original further down on the right side of this blog.) I absolutely love this! Carnal Gift is going to be reprinted in October, and I wish they could use this as the new cover. I love the blue colors. I love the Irish castle. And that castle is from Meath, the county where Jamie and Bríghid spend most of their time before fleeing Ireland.

But Jennifer was on a roll. One day she sent me this....



A nice and very sexy bit of art that she said I might want to include on the website. It reminds me of Kat James and her Mountain Parks Ranger lover Gabe Rossiter. I haven't written their story yet. It's up next.

Then Jennifer sent this:



It's perfect for my contemps, with the Rockies in the background and nice little bullet hole in the foreground. It makes me think of Julian and Tessa because of the blonde hair.

Here's what Jennifer did in honor of Unlawful Contact:



And the above image doubles as a fun bit of wallpaper. So if you'd like this image for your computer screen, let me know and I'll email it right over! It's on my desktop right now. I love staring at those biceps. I think a bit of fireplace sex is the perfect thing for the holidays.

Jennifer also took the cover for Surrender and tried to put something together that was more like what I had wanted for the book. If you recognize the face, that's because I told her I always thought of Iain and his brothers as resembling Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod.



So thanks, Jennifer, for all this fun and wonderful art!

I'm guessing most of us look at some of the covers on these books and wish they were different. What is your favorite romance novel cover?

And while you're at it tell me about your holiday plans!

I'll take what she's having.

Unlawful Contact isn't out until April 1 — that's 149 days from today. It would be 148 days from today, but I have a birthday this year. Please don't begrudge me that single day. I like having the occasional birthday.

So, Unlawful Contact will be out on April 1, but to thoroughly enjoy the story one probably ought to have read Hard Evidence. The stories stand alone, of course, but there's this Julian character in Unlawful who plays a pretty significant role. Unless you know him, you won't "get" everything I've written into the story for you to enjoy.

In honor of that — and to get your hormones flowing — I've got a special contest. If you haven't read Hard Evidence, simply post and tell me that you'd like to read it. Yes, you can enter on behalf of romance-reading friends who you believe ought to have read it. I'll pick a winner at random and send that person an autographed copy of the story. If you're new to this blog and have only lurked, welcome and please don't hesitate to post.

For those of you who have read Hard Evidence, I have this contest to offer: Tell me why you liked Julian so much. I'll pick one winner at random and send that person an autographed HARD COVER copy of Hard Evidence.

Now only Aimee is left out because she already has a hard-cover edition. Sorry, Aims, but I guess the consolation is that Julian is yours.

To whet your lust for prose, I offer the following short excerpt from Unlawful Contact:

“You should have come to me with this, Sophie.” Julian stood in the doorway dressed entirely in black—black leather jacket, black turtleneck stretched over Kevlar, black jeans, black boots, black scowl on his face. His gaze passed over her and settled on Hunt, who was already on his feet, weapon pointed straight at Julian’s chest.

“No!” Heart pounding, Sophie jumped up and put herself in the line of fire between them. “Please, don’t do this! Please don’t!”

“Sophie, move!” the two men barked in unison.

“No! I won’t let you shoot each other!”

Julian looked past her. “He’s not going to shoot me.”

“You willing to bet your life on that, cop?” Hunt’s voice was ice cold.

“I already have.”

And then Sophie saw.

Julian wasn’t holding a gun.

“He’s unarmed, Hunt. You can’t—”

“Like hell he is! He’s got a piece in a shoulder holster, and I bet he’s lethal on the draw.”

“If you wanted me dead, Hunter, I’d be dead.” Julian stepped sideways, making himself a target again. “You’re one hell of a shot. Set a new record for your sniper unit, didn’t you? Eighty-five confirmed kills.”

“Eighty-six.” Hunt held the gun steady, his gaze unwavering.

“Yeah, that’s right—eighty-six. Including that Taliban leader you took out from a hillside three-quarters of a mile away. God knows how you were able to adjust for wind speed and bullet drop at that distance. That was one in a million. You’re deadly, Hunter—stone cold.”

----

And the winners are...

Paperback version for a new reader (I drew two instead of one) — Elli and Sara

Hardcover version for an FOP (that's "Friend of Pamela") — Cheryle

The drawing was blind with strips of paper in my son's fedora, and Ben drew the names. I couldn't draw two names for the hardcover version because I only have one to give. There are a few used hardcover editions on Amazon, I think.

Congrats to the winners! Please email me at pamelaclare at earthlink.net (remove spaces, add the correct symbol), and give me your mailing addresses, and I'll get these out to you. Then be sure to pop back in and tell me what you think of Julian. Oh, okay, and of Tessa, too!

Lucy from RBL asked me a very interesting question this morning via email. She wanted to know if the Scottish dialect in my books had received criticism. I told her that, indeed, some people didn't like the way I represented a Scottish accent in Surrender. I only heard objections from a few people, but still.

All authors write dialect differently. Some pour it on very thick. Others add just a dash to flavor their prose. Often a reader gets used to the way a favorite writer portrays dialect, so that reading another author's work seems jarring when they do it differently.

I derived my way of portraying "brogue" — not really an accurate word — from the way Scotts portray it themselves. I've been a fan of Celtic music forever and I have the advantage of having studied several languages. I'm fluent in Danish, and there are many Scandianavian-derived words in Gallic (Scottish Gaelic).

So I took the way the accent was portrayed in Scottish documents, including transcriptions of lyrics from medieval folk songs, and then I toned it down a bit, because it's quite possible to lay it on so thickly that most people can't understand a word of it. When I play my favorite Scottish CDs, my kids and my brother can't understand the majority of it, while it's totally transparent to me.

sic = sikke in Danish = such in English
sten = sten in Danish = stone in English
ben = ben in Danish = bone in English

And so on and so freaking on...

So here's what Lucy, who is a very talented writer, wanted to know: What turns a reader off when it comes to reading dialect? On the RBL board some said they didn't like reading dialect from the heroine, and I'm guessing that's because we all want to identify with the heroine. Make her too exotic, and that becomes more difficult.

Jump in and share your opinions!

Coming this weekend: Get lubed for Unlawful Contact!

Let me put it this way: Before you crawl between the covers with badass Marc Hunter, you need to feel the heat of Julian Darcangelo. Therefore, I will be offering an authographed copy of Hard Evidence to a reader who hasn't read it yet. Once I announce the contest, just post, tell me that you haven't read it but would like too, and I shall draw a name out of a hat. It's as simple as that. Or email me at pamelaclare @ earthlink.net (remove spaces).

Those of you who have read both books — yes, I have a sneak-preview team — feel free to explain why Julian's story serves as great foreplay for Marc's.

I hope everyone is having a safe and Happy Hallowe'en!