I’m feeling a bit jittery, and wondering if my romantic suspense readers will give it a shot, or shoot it down in flames. I know, I know, it’s too late to be thinking about that now. Ha ha. Here are some photos: San Diego’s Little Italy to the island of Corsica.
The book is only available for pre-order at the moment, and there is no “look inside” feature over at Amazon (it will post on release day) so in case you’ve been wondering, here is a blurb and a small excerpt:
A heroine who has stopped believing in fairy tales and happy endings, Dia Sophia Romani, jilted three days before her wedding, has lived with Mama in San Diego’s Little Italy for six months. She’s tired of everything Italian, and is ready to move on…
Enter an unlikely hero. Carlo Antonelli is of Italian descent. He adores Dia, but he’s willing to take his time and not rush her. When he learns she will be vacationing in Italy and Corsica, he must step up his game.
Will a wish made at a magical gate destroy, or strengthen, their newfound love?
“You mean…?” Dia looked back at the guy. Nah, impossible, I’ve never been that lucky.
“Yeah, that’s Carlo Antonelli. Tell him anything,” Tony said. “I’ll get your back. You don’t want to accept the date, just make up whatever excuse you want.” He beckoned.
A jolt of heat spread through her abdomen when Carlo grinned and waved. He ducked through the slow moving traffic and stopped in front of her, smiling a crooked smile. He pushed his sunglasses onto his head, white teeth flashing, and mahogany eyes sparkling. My wedding date? Her heartbeat pounded, and her mouth went dry.
“You must be Dia,” he said. He tucked the book underneath one arm and held her hand gently with his other big warm hand. “Carlo Antonelli.”
“Yes,” she said, the word coming out on a soft breath. She swallowed hard. “Tony mentioned you wanted to speak to me about Marco’s wedding.”
Something inside of her shifted, as if a huge iceberg started to melt in her chest and slid sideways, leaving a pool of cool, blue, bubbling water. She floundered for a minute wondering what to say next, because she couldn’t use the word date. Not while looking into his magnificent eyes. Then she remembered he was Italian, or at least part Italian. Strike one. Her shoulders stiffened. She had no interest in Italian men. She pulled her hand away, hitched up the purse onto her shoulder, and squinted from behind her dark sunglasses.
And if you should care for a link: http://amzn.com/B00RGWK6PE
It will be available in all eReader formats, at: www.thewildrosepress.com
and in print at Amazon and TWRP as of Wednesday.