Last week I downloaded Samanthe Beck’s debut novel, Private Practice, an e-book published by Entangled Publishing. That night I went to bed early and thought I’d read two chapters.
Humphrey walked down the hall and peeked into my room. “Still up?” he asked, while chewing on his unlit cigar. He knows the rules on those things. It’s outside or not at all.
After his third appearance, this time holding a package of Fig Newtons, he switched his astute observation to, “Still reading?”
It was well after midnight. “Is my light bothering you, Humph? You can close the door when you leave.”
“No. No, intrigued more than anything.” He took a bite of a cookie, and propped a shoulder against the door jamb. “Nearly finished?”
“You wouldn’t like it,” I said, trying not to let my eyes stray back to the page. I mean all kinds of steamy stuff awaited me, and the romance was in full swing, and I so wanted to see what would happen next. “It’s very sexy, steamy. It’s part of the brazen line if that tells you anything.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “I don’t approve of those.”
“I knew you wouldn’t.” I grinned, my eyes darting back to the page. “You don’t like spice.”
He took another bite of the cookie, chewed slowly, and I swear his eyes turned all bright and sparkly. “A bear could always…ahem…broaden his education. In some areas, I suppose. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt…”
“Fine! Now go away, and don’t come back. You can have the Kindle tomorrow.”
When I turned my bedside lamp off at almost 2 am, with a satisfied sigh, the house was in darkness. There was no sound from Humphrey’s room. I smiled. He was in for a treat. You can imagine my surprise when I finally woke at 9am to find the Kindle missing, Humph’s bedroom door closed, and a trail of cookie crumbs and dried up coffee drippings on the kitchen counter. I popped my head in the door, but I don’t think he noticed me.
There wasn’t even any evidence of whiskey drinking. I wondered what stage of the story had gotten his full attention. Around 11am a very bleary-eyed Humphrey walked into my office and put the kindle on a shelf. He tried to slip out the door, but I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “What did you think?”
“I’m ah…a bit tired. We’ll discuss it later.”
“Now, Humphrey. Tell me, or the Kindle goes under lock and key. Did you finish it?”
“Yes. It was very…ah…revealing. No scratch that…interesting. Yes. A good story with believable characters, characters even a bear could like…and, yes, well…I did enjoy their journey. And I liked the small town setting, and the secondary characters were well-written and supported the story. Ms. Beck has a most excellent sense of humor. I’d like to read her next book.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “You read all of it? You didn’t skim over the sex scenes.”
“Those were the best part…I mean, I read every word…I give it five paws,” he said and swaggered down the hall singing Are You Gonna Kiss Me or Not by Thompson Square.
And now for a tiny taste from Private Practice:
He’ll teach her how to bring a man to his knees…
Dr. Ellie Swan has a plan: open her practice in tiny Bluelick, Kentucky, so she can keep an eye on her diabetic father, and make hometown golden-boy Roger Reynolds fall in love with her. But Ellie has a problem. Roger seeks a skilled, sexually adventurous partner, and bookish Ellie doesn’t qualify.
Tyler Longfoot only cares about three things: shaking his bad boy image, qualifying for the loan his company needs to rehab a piece of Bluelick’s history, and convincing Ellie to keep quiet about the “incident” that lands him on her doorstep at two a.m. with a bullet in his behind. The adorable Dr. Swan drives a mean bargain, though. If sex-on-a-stick Tyler will teach Ellie how to bring a man to his knees, she’ll forget about the bullet. Armed with The Wild Woman’s Guide to Sex and Tyler’s lessons, Ellie is confident she can become what Roger needs…if she doesn’t fall for Tyler first.
When not living the glamorous life of a romance author (i.e., chained to her computer), Samanthe keeps busy with the care and feeding of her extremely patient prince-charming of a husband, a not-so-patient ball of energy known as their son, a furry ninja named Kitty, and Bebe, the trash talkin’ Chihuahua. Their love, support, and willingness to eat Pizza Hut three or more times a week enables Samanthe to pursue her literary dreams.
Private Practice is available for purchase at :