Army

Welll hello there! Back exactly where it needs to be, Army of Me and You is sitting pretty on Amazon. Nothing more added except for my usual extras of a playlist and what's coming next. 

In so many ways, this story is very close to my heart and means the absolute world tonne to be able to share it all over again. I'm very grateful to you all for keeping me going, keeping me encouraged and reminding me that there's lots more for me to do! 

Happy damn reading people!

Army of Me and You on Amazon

Hey Baby!

The Baby Gift on Amazon

The Baby Gift on AllRomanceeBooks

What else do you want with your romance, if not a pregnant woman, a gay husband, a golddigger, a fit, cancer-free CFO all at a funeral? Yes, The Baby Gift is available again for your reading pleasure!

This story is one of my bonkers favourites, written after wading through the shallow waters of Isla De Mujeres. I have to thank Shara Azod for the challenge, (hero and heroine meet, heroine is already pregnant). Sunstroke gave me the answer, the details were found at the bottom of a glass of Malbec. It's how I roll. Mexico and wine.

Happy reading!!

 Blurb due 29/04/16

Any good romance starts with a funeral…

Tais Nørgaard has been too close to death to wait around for anything in his life to happen organically. Cancer cured him of any reticence in getting what he wants, and what he wants is entirely wrapped up in Delilah Bancroft. Tais is completely enamoured by Delilah’s pregnancy, with the type of fervour reserved for fathers. He doesn't care about her gay husband, or his irritating, gold-digger of a boyfriend. He’s not even bothered by the potential scandal stemming from the impending battle over Delilah’s late father in law’s estate. He just wants Delilah. And everything that comes with her.

Except expected 29/04/16

Freya sat Tais down in the pew closest to the family and whispered gleefully, “This is the best spot. Trust me.”

“Why are you so happy this man is dead?” Tais asked, his tone mild as he surveyed the gathered mourners. He recognised faces not only from the Bancrofts’ company, but clients, acquaintances, the owners of various tabloids, department stores and Michelin starred restaurants the family patronised. They were indeed losing a very good customer. Samson Bancroft had been a man with expensive tastes.

“Urgh, don’t say things like that!” Freya made a face of disgust. “I’m not happy he’s dead, but I am happy we were invited to the funeral. We couldn’t get this close to the family unless we were at a board meeting. There are opportunities here you need to take advantage of.”

“And here I was thinking this was a social gathering,” he said dryly.

Freya ignored him. “Just think what you could achieve if you had a controlling share board member on your side. All those projects you want to push forward, all those plans we have for finance.”

His plans had always been logically accepted, but the heir apparent, Edward Bancroft, would not see things the same way as his father. Samson’s shrewd business sense was legendary. Many had fallen beneath his sword of thriftiness. “It’s a funeral. Where people are grieving.”

Freya gave a dismissive snort. “No, they’re not. Look, that’s wife number four and five sitting on the other side of wives three through to one.”

“You’re gossiping again,” Tais warned. “I’m not interested.”

“You need to be,” Freya retorted. She was irritating him intensely today, but she worked hard as his second in command. He was now hugely reliant on her knowledge, considering he’d been out of the game for the last year. “Those women don’t have any company shares. It’s in their pre-nuptial agreements. The company stays with the Bancroft name.”

A woman swept past, delicate netting covering her eyes like a film noir femme fatale. She had a black scarf elegantly swathed around her shoulders, which only served to emphasise the extravagant curve of her hips, draped in black silk that swirled to her ankles. Tais watched her as she sat in the pew with wives four and five.

“That’s who you need to butter up—the famous Delilah. Before Samson died, he signed all his shares to his daughter-in-law.”

“My, my, my,” he quipped. The photograph on her law firm’s website hadn’t done her any justice. He had been looking at it obsessively for some time now. She possibly had conducted the smartest Bancroft marriage to date. A family lawyer, the Bancroft company had not only pushed her services to a range of exclusive, high-paying clients, but she had drawn up her own pre-nuptial agreement, and hadn’t been seen falling out of clubs or bars. More importantly, and by the same turn disappointingly for him, she had kept the wedding out of the national media. “She doesn’t look any older than twenty-five, if that,” Tais murmured, noting that Freya was still waiting for a response.

“You’d think being married to Edward would add a few years. I think she’s almost forty.”

Tais thought it would be insanely disrespectful to start laughing at such a revelation. “I thought you said Edward was gay?”

“He is.” Freya grinned. “Well done for paying attention.”

“Then why is he married to her?” Again he stared at the back of her head, glossy, tar-coloured hair twisted into an elegant knot at the base of her neck. What a waste.

“Samson didn’t have any idea about Edward. The last thing Samson wanted to happen was for the Bancroft shares to end up in someone else’s hands because Edward’s far too generous with all his friends and er... acquaintances.”

“Isn’t that what the cast-iron pre-nups are for?”

“I can’t see that one,” she nodded to the front pews, “signing anything. I can see him refusing out of some principle that love is stronger than any contract or some such rubbish. Edward and Delilah have been friends since law school. Maybe she just wanted to get the shares. It’s worked out quite nicely for her.”

“Isn’t Edward upset that his father’s dead and his shares are with his wife who isn’t a member of his desired gender?”

“He’s relieved. Now he can bang as many cabana boys as he wants when he’s in Miami.”

“She’s too smart for this, dipping into the Bancroft murky waters,” he asserted, flipping through the order of service. “This seems... too calculated.”

“You’ve had a second long glimpse of her. Is this a spark of interest in a woman?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Tais was surprised himself. He thought his libido was long gone. “You sell a fascinating story,” he said instead. “So wives one to five have nothing from the company, and all the controlling shares are in the hands of one daughter-in-law who technically isn’t a true Bancroft.”

“If you want the board to approve your plans for international expansion for our department, then you need Delilah. No one can cough without her say-so now.”

“Fair enough.” Tais watched as Delilah wiped a hand beneath her veil and folded her hands in her lap. But then again, he wasn’t at all interested with the shares she held. “I think at least one person is grieving here.”

Time Is On My Side

One has been lax on getting back to re-releases. Because you know I love a ginger (wait for me Prince Harry!), I’m getting back to Sweet Child of Mine. Also because I read it the other day and was a little like, "Ho-kay!" Cornwall and all that fresh sea air will do that to you..

The titles below are still out of play, but are there any that you need back asap? Any that you missed the first time around?

1.                      Said the Demon (paranormal)
2.                     Angel's Baby (paranormal)
3.                     Put Out The Zombie (paranormal)
4.                     The Baby Gift (contemporary)
5.                     Vintage Pleasures (flash BDSM)
6.                     Army of You and Me (contemporary/military)
7.                     Nights of Roshan (paranormal)
8.                     An Old Cake Tale (short contemporary)
9.                     On Set (flash erotica)

Input is much appreciated. Team effort, fam. Team effort.

At Last

Happy Valentine's Day!

To celebrate, I've re-released one of my favourite stories featuring Ryan the Deflowerer as he's been named and Courtney the Deflowered.

And if you haven't read this one before, let me tempt you:

@Last on Amazon
@Last on ARe

From: Billy London
To: My Lovely Readers
Subject: Blurb
Date: 14 February 2015 

Courtney is the good girl waiting for childhood crush Christopher to realise she’s the one for him. Unfortunately for Courtney, her sweetheart is a tosser. Anyone with eyesight could tell her, if only she’d listen. Christopher jaunts off to South Africa to apparently teach English to underprivileged children, but who knows what he's up to? While he’s there, Courtney catches the eye of one Ryan Klark, another teacher who attempts to educate her on the folly of her love. Instead, Courtney is the one who teaches Ryan more than a few things, and the friendship they strike up through cheeky emails, phone calls and letters from Paris is deeper and stronger than anything Courtney has experienced before. Before she knows it, their lighthearted correspondence turns into something romantic, then rather dirty, then more necessary than air. When Ryan comes back to London, Courtney is ready to enjoy all the perks of being with a person who likes you back! Only they both forgot who Ryan was in South Africa with. It doesn't matter, because Ryan's perfect. Right?

From: Billy London
To: My Lovely Readers
Subject: Excerpt
Date: 14 February 2015 

From: Ryan Klark rudejoker@h...

To: Courtney Phillips yapalot@g...

Date: 23 February 2010

Re: Little Miss Observant

Thank you for the compliment! Brightened an otherwise pointless day. Ta ta for now.

From: Courtney Phillips yapalot@g...

To: Ryan Klark rudejoker@h...

Date: 23 February 2010

Re: Er…

Who are you? Did you mean to send that email to me?

From: Ryan Klark rudejoker@h...

To: Courtney Phillips yapalot@g...

Date: 24 February 2010

Re: Sherlock Holmes type explanation

Of course that was for you! I’m Ryan. Chris forwarded that email you sent to him with the picture of all the teachers at my school. I quote: “Who is that seriously gorgeous guy standing next to you? Is he single? Is he from England? Please say he is…” Embarrassed yet? Good. Don’t worry about balancing the tables. I’ve already seen a picture of you from Chris’ collection, and you aren’t too bad yourself. Actually, you’re pretty hot. Did you know Chris has got a picture of you in a bikini floating around?

I wouldn’t get too excited. It’s something to keep Melissa on her toes when she thinks that no one else could possibly be interested in him. Don’t grieve for him, Court. It won’t last. He can’t keep his hands off anything female around here. Sorry. Not helping, am I? But let’s be honest, I live with the guy and I know for a fact that he’s selfish, inconsiderate, tactless and vain. Fuck. Just got told to get out for smoking. I need to smoke when I write to you. I’ll tell you why in—

From: Courtney Phillips yapalot@g...

To: Ryan Klark rudejoker@h...

Date: 27 February 2010

Re: You and your weirdness

You’ll tell me... What? I’m guessing you got chucked out before you could finish the rest of that sentence? And wait, you need to smoke when you write to me? Forgive me for not finding that flattering. And if Chris is supposed to be your friend, it’s hardly fair that you’re slagging him off behind his back.

From: Ryan Klark rudejoker@h...

To: Courtney Phillips yapalot@g...

Date: 03 March 2010

Re: You and your touchiness

I spent time writing that email, so I thought you should have what I’d done if you couldn’t have it all. Reward-like. I don’t slag Chris off behind his back. I make sure I do it to his face. He laughs it off because who wouldn’t love worship and adore him? ‘Cept you. Even his girlfriend doesn’t. You must have had a crush on him for years to be still wearing those pink Specsavers. Yeah, I got that from your emails.

Now to the why I smoke when I write to you. No offence, but you take a lot of effort to entertain. A cigarette is a tension reliever to ensure I give you as much of the giggle as possible. Sometimes I have one after, like that post-coital puff. A reward for doing so damn well. Now for the love of God, what is happening in EastEnders? Who are all these new people? Where the hell have they come from? I don’t have time to read through any rubbish on Twitter, I want an honest Londoner’s opinion.

You’ll be mad with me for a while, but when you’ve had enough of the rage, do us a favour, yeah?

Take advice from an honest observer: he’s absolutely not worth your energy, Miss Phillips.

From: Courtney Phillips yapalot@g...

To: Ryan Klark rudejoker@h...

Date: 12 March 2010

Re: You

So what, writing to me is like sex? You are really disturbing. Have you had mental help? Although you sound like my best mates. They have been telling me repeatedly to find someone else. All right for them. They have guys softening the path they tread. I just have my mum’s foot spa. So Chris isn’t worth my energy, but why are you? And I still don’t know who you are, when you seem to know an awful lot about me. Again I am very, very, very scared.

From: Ryan Klark rudejoker@h...

To: Courtney Phillips yapalot@g...

Date: 13 March 2010

Re: Whatever you want to know

a)     Name: Ryan Edward Klark

b)     Age: 24, birthday 24^th September

c)      Hair: brown, curly, my pulling point and hours of wasted time

d)     Eyes: green

e)     Height: six foot one

f)       Current city: Cape Town, South Africa. Home town: London.

g)     Distinguishing features: two tattoos (you want to know where, you’ll have to ask me later) and one scar beneath my eye after walking into the corner of Gran’s new dining table at two years of age.

h)    Place of Birth: rainy day at four in the morning outside the Ivy in the back of a taxi. Mother patently unimpressed by arrival.

i)       Mother’s name: Lydia

j)       Father’s name: Ryan (Yes, I’m junior.)

k)     First girlfriend: at five years old. She was a little brunette called Katie who married Thomas McKenzie the next week. It broke my little heart.

l)       Worst habit: smoking, and biting the skin around my thumb. Both disgusting. Trying to give up the former, latter I have been doing since table trauma. Sorry.

m)  Favourite Author: Bret Easton Ellis

n)    Favourite Music: Kings of Leon, Arcade Fire, Jay-Z, Ghostface Killah. If I add Barry Manilow will you judge me?

o)     Favourite TV Shows: South Park, The Inbetweeners, 24, True Blood.

p)     Favourite Film: God knows. Pick anything and I’ve probably enjoyed it.

q)     Favourite thing to do with a free hour: write to you, get mildly pissed and drive absolutely nowhere with good music, and take pictures. I love photography. It’s what I do when I’m not teaching.

r)      What am I missing? What else do you need to know? Are you going to email me ever? Or shall I expect further blanking for days on end?

Kiss kiss darling, bonsie bons, good day. Uh oh. New manager’s going to chuck me out for having a beer in here. You know what? I’m having a new laptop shipped over, so I’ll stop winding this café up.

From: Courtney Phillips yapalot@g...

To: Ryan Klark rudejoker@h...

Date: 13 March 2010

Re: The Madness

Did your mum drop you as a baby? She must have done, as you are quite insane. Why are you drinking at four in the afternoon? Just because you look like you should be on stage with a bass guitar in skinny jeans doesn’t mean you should act like some rock diva. And that’s not your birthday. That’s mine. Well, two years later anyways.

You’ll be glad to know that I like nutters, as long as they don’t plan long and painful deaths for me.

Look, I’ll tell you what’s going on in EastEnders as long as you don’t do anything weird during my emails. You know exactly what I mean. And we don’t argue about what I feel for Chris. Deal?

Drink Up!

No we're all up to date! Best Laid Plans is back out and you can find it here:
If you haven't given this story a go, then let me convince you...

Best Laid Plans on Amazon
Best Laid Plans on ARe


Antipasti Blurb

If someone is too good to be true, it’s usually because they’re trying to keep the doors shut on a closet straining with skeletons. That has always rung true with Francesca Abbey, even though she doesn’t want to be a sceptic. It doesn’t help that she’s in the wrong profession, her past relationships have been disastrous and her mother? Hardly a cuddly TV show personality. But there’s something about Luca, a gentle giant who enters her life stage left, as if he was just waiting for the right time. He’s ridiculously gorgeous with questionable taste in shirts but impeccable taste in food. Every woman’s walking fantasy. He makes her want to believe life can be the Disney Channel every day with all the sensual, explicit and downright dirty parts of HBO thrown in.

Gianluca Caristo likes to think he’s a practical man. It comes with the territory of his current profession and certainly helped with his former. He isn’t given to flights of fancy or madcap ideas, but he would never forget the vivid dream he had after being locked up on the lies of his ex-girlfriend. When he comes face to face with his dream girl two years later, he’s sold on fate, karma, serendipity—all of it. Francesca is his future. His reward in exchange for his solemn vow to never do violence again. It’s a shame that everyone is testing the limits of that promise.

As everything pre-Luca and Francesca does its best to derail their fledgling relationship, a future they’ve only imaged happens a lot faster than either of them intended.

The fourth in the Italian Knights series is a front-row seat to fools rushing in, enjoying it far too much, ignoring all advice and knowing you’d do it all over again if you had the chance.

Cena Excerpt

Francesca,” he called, and the whole restaurant went quiet. A flush stained Francesca’s cheeks when she saw him. He held out a hand to her, and she surprisingly took it. Not allowing any of the waiting staff to help her sit, he eased her into the chair opposite him and then took his own seat.

“Scrub up well, don’t I?” she mocked. Luca winced, realising that he’d probably been just staring at her again.

“No scrubbing needed,” he insisted, catching her eyes again. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Coming here.” The whole evening smacked of déjà vu. The familiarity of Francesca’s dress, the restaurant, and his strange certainty that she was going to tease him any minute, all scattered over him. A glance at his arms saw the gold hairs were raised.

“I’ll try anything once, Gianluca.” She shrugged, picking up her menu. Over the top he could see the smile in her eyes. “I’m guessing the same is true for you, judging by that shirt.”

He glanced down. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s got more work going on than my desk.”

He rubbed his fingers over his forehead, where the razor had caught skin rather than hair. Sometimes he could still feel the cold sting of metal. “I don’t like shopping.”

“You know you can hire people to help you.”

“You obviously have excellent taste. You can help me,” he suggested, in all seriousness.

She put her menu down. “Is that where you think you know me from? A bad shopping experience?”

He laughed. “No. Not at all. And you should call me Luca.”

“Okay, fine. Luca. So?” She circled her hand in an encouraging motion.

Like he was going to play his best card before they’d even had a drink! He leaned back and called for a waiter. “Would you like a cocktail?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’d have a cocktail first, if I were you.”

With a sigh, she picked something that looked fruity and was probably more lethal than anything else. As soon as their order was taken, Francesca started again.

“Was it on a bus? Did I fall over in a gym? Did you fall over in a gym? Was I roasted at a comedy gig? Did I throw popcorn at you in the cinema?”

“You do that? On a regular basis? That’s how you generally meet people?”

She shrugged. “More sociable that way.” Her eyes suddenly narrowed on him with a thought. “Are you a police officer?”

Luca wondered if he’d visibly paled. “No. Why?”

“Then maybe you saw it in the paper.”

“What?”

Francesca accepted her tall pink-coloured glass and stirred it aimlessly with her straw. “My ex-boyfriend tried to have me convicted for smashing a glass bowl over his head...”

Of course I’m in love with a woman who has a violent temper. Why wouldn’t history repeat itself?

“...only seven stitches and in my defence, he was going to hit me again, so...” She paused and took her bottom lip into her mouth. “It’s best you know now.”

“You defended yourself and you think I’m going to leave?” he asked. “Did any of that glass hit you in the head?”

She gawped at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. “It, er,” she swallowed a giggle, “it tends to send normal men running screaming into the night. They think I’m going to emasculate them.”

“With a glass bowl,” he added. “What makes you think I’m not normal?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“I am. That would be because I have no intention of laying a finger on you in anger.”

He felt her gaze on him. “I’m not into BDSM. Not like that anyway. I don’t like blood. Just in case you thought the hitting with the glass bowl was a regular thing. I used to own some pretty dodgy things, but before professionals started digging around, it was best I got rid. Jesus, lord, what the hell is in this drink?”

“Truth serum apparently,” Luca drawled, taking the cocktail from her, placing his lips exactly where her lipstick had left an earthy rose stain to take a drink. For a moment, he had the briefest vision of her leaving the same rosy stain on his cock. He sipped a little faster than intended to calm himself. It was a girly drink. Too much fruit and sugar…oh, and the alcohol punched him in the back of the throat. “Vodka. And a lot of it.”

“Unintentional drunk,” Francesca said brightly. “You can add that to your list when you name this as the disastrous date of all disastrous dates.”

“Francesca, I’m going to ask you this only one time. Stop it. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he talked over her when she parted her lips to protest. “I think you are beautiful and sharp and your sense of humour is more than fucked up. If no one else finds that attractive, that’s all the better for me. It’s saving lives.”

She shook her head. “I’m serious—where did you come from? Where have you been hiding? I could’ve done with that pep talk last year.”

Her little outburst gave him free reign to take her hand in his and squeeze gently. “Hiding in a kitchen. Perfecting cooking sud vide.” Trying not to go mad. “Can we eat now? I’m starving. I feel food is a good idea.”

“I tend to be more sensible after food,” she replied, rubbing her thumb over his fingers.

“I doubt that, nice try though.” The smile she sent him was a reward that could never be given any financial value.

“Do you want to talk about normal stuff then?”

“How will we talk about you then?”

“Oh ho, comedian in the house! You won’t find it so funny when we’re talking about what TV show you’re most likely to end up on.”

“Easy, BBC News.”

She nodded. “Same.”

He lifted her hand and gave it a lingering kiss. “Best date ever.”

I Fought The Law

And we're off again! Christmas is taking up a lot of time (everyone wants everything done now, me to put on a nice dress, socialise and smile. I'm still exhausted from that marathon month writing, have no patience to do it to order) But more importantly is to get this book back out again. Maybe because it's a little too close to home, or maybe it's because of Nonna Mamione, or Rocco's smoothness, or I see family and friend's in Anna's fuck you and your ilk attitude, or even that I wrote it so damn fast, that this is genuinely one of my favourites. And there's nothing more satisfying in this world than helping a nutty, unbalanced, hilarious old bird. Once again, a Knight for your pleasure.

The Claim on Amazon
The Claim on ARe

R v Blurb [2014]

Rocco Mamione has possibly the best wingman in the world. His grandmother. He had no idea that when his nonna was fired from the job she had for thirty years, she’d demand the best employment lawyer in London. A lawyer who just happens to be his ex-girlfriend. His nonna has been giving him the “where are my great-grandbabies?” goo-goo eyes for some time and is convinced that Anna is the perfect woman to multiply those slightly unbalanced Mamione genes. Truthfully, he only ever imagined having babies with Anna. To get her back will be the ultimate challenge, but Rocco is nothing if not Sicilian-resilient.

Anna Taylor is not an Ice Princess. Rocco Mamione just burned her heart to a crisp six years ago. Anyone can talk about it, if they want a biro in their eye and an invoice for the advice to shut up. Smart enough to want to avoid further heartbreak and a potential conviction for murder, Anna does her best to not be led down the Mamione path again. Definitely not by his crazy grandmother or her crack-addictive cakes. Not by Rocco’s slick lines and hard body underneath those tailor-made suits. And absolutely not by the fact that she loves him. Still. After all this time. The truth about their break up may just do it.

The third book in the Italian Knights series is one cup good sponge, two cups of endurance, redemption, and a lot of letting go. If only to get a bit of Sicilian... 

 R v Excerpt [2014]

“But I—” Imogen’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. What was she looking at? Anna turned around and saw Rocco heading for the lifts. “What the hell?”

“Yeah,” Anna said shortly. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m late.”

“Are you mad? Have you lost your mind? Did you forget what he did?”

“What the two of you did?” Anna corrected. “No. I haven’t. But I have a job and it needs doing.”

Imogen stared at her in disbelief. “I never thought you were that stupid, but it’s obvious you want to get under him again.”

“I’m going now because I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” She headed in the same direction as Rocco, in fact, feeding into a perverse need to see how the two of them would behave toward each other.

“Hold the lift,” she called, just as Rocco took a step inside. He held the door with one large hand, and his eyes lightened deviously on Imogen, with baby in tow.

“Imogen Barnes,” he said. “Look at you, rearing the innocent.”

Anna was shocked. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t that.

“I’ll wait for the next one. Anna, I’ll talk to you when you get your senses back.” The lift doors closed just as the baby started to wail again. Rocco leaned against the closed elevator doors.

“So you’re still friends. Really?”

Anna glanced at him edgily. “Sometimes, yes.”

“Forgive me if I find that absurd.”

“She’s made up for it. It was a mistake.”

He snorted a laugh. “It was a fabrication.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, it was a fabrication. You tell me what on this planet would induce me to fuck that?”

“I don’t know, maybe simple availability!” Anna raged. “Oh, look, there’s a pussy, why don’t I stick my dick into it?”

Rocco suddenly crowded her space, and she found herself pressed to the wall of the lift, clutching the support bars. “You knew every single inch of my body. Ask her. Compare notes.”

“Why would she lie about that? Why would she completely ruin our friendship over a lie?”

He shrugged. “Why does anyone do something that makes them infamous in a person’s life? What else does she have going for her? Ask her where my tattoos are. If she slept with me like she said she did, she’ll know.”

“That’s crap, what if I’d told her?”

“Did you?”

Course not, the wonders of his body were all for her and for everyone else’s imagination. “It won’t prove anything.”

He smiled sadly. “My learned friend, I beg to differ. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

What A Man...

Hello there my Tony the Tiger! He's grrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeat! Two down and three more to go...

Caristo on Amazon

Caristo's Blurb

Tony Caristo was just minding his own business, waiting for his selfish bullet-magnet of a best friend to get out of surgery, when the sexiest nurse he’d ever even imagined walked right up to him, all luscious figured, to give him a right telling off with an Irish-lilted wit. All she missed was a fig leaf and a snake around her shoulders. His interest absolutely piqued, he sets himself up to do something about her, pretty damn quick. Tony isn’t a man given to waiting around for good things to happen to him. And Lydia is all good; every single, five foot eight, double F-cupped inch of her. When Lydia asks his best friend, Nick for a favour, Nick reminds him just what a useful friend he is by letting Tony handle it. And Tony cannot wait to handle all of her… 

Lydia Mills doesn’t have any time for nonsense, especially since she’s looking after her younger brother. She just needs to get him into university, without getting him killed by an ex-boyfriend she thought was well shot of. Fed up of literally trying to kick some sense into the fool, Lydia figures her only option is to have someone else do the kicking. Once she turns to Nick Da Canaveze for help as a last resort, he promptly hands her problem over to Tony Caristo to do the hard work, completely convinced that Lydia will come through it all in one piece As she takes in the eejit’s stealth, intelligence, utterly inappropriate wit and gorgeous bum, Lydia soon understands Nick’s confidence in his friend. Moreover, she really starts to worry what she’ll do without Caristo and his busy hands when the job is done. 

On Caristo's Watch is the second in the Italian Knights Series, showing that behind every criminal mastermind is a woman who will drive him to distraction with a look, a quip and a dress made to start all sorts of trouble. 

**Added extras: interviews with the characters and playlist**

Caristo's Excerpt

Tony knocked on Lydia’s door. He was doing this the polite way, as tomorrow they’d have a secure enough location to accost Kelvin Hammond. Good God, what had she been thinking? Well, she had said it was a Christmas party. Nurses hardly held back on the booze when it was free.

Lydia opened the door with a suspicious look on her face, her hair messily finger combed away from her forehead. There wasn’t a stitch of makeup on her face, but her eyelashes curled naturally toward her brows, her cheekbones glossy and tinged red beneath the mocha skin. The corner of his mouth tilted upwards. She had to be the most naturally beautiful woman he’d ever met, even though she wore a top that was bleached at the elbow and pyjama bottoms he’d seen in a toothpaste advert in the eighties.

“Hi,” she said slowly, confused.

“All right, Lyds?”

Her mouth tightened disapprovingly. “When did you start calling me Lyds?”

“About five minutes after I met you. Can we come in?”

“We? Who’s ‘we’?”

Tony nodded toward the guys behind him. “These lot. We’re redoing your windows first and fitting a proper security system.”

He edged his voluptuous new friend to the side as the men gave her a polite nod and they entered one by one with all sorts of equipment. “You can’t! I rent this place!”

“Yeah, I know. But your windows as they are won’t support the system. So we have to change them. And your door too. Let’s just go out.”

“No!” She heaved with horror. “Jonathan’s not here! I have knickers drying on my radiator!”

Tony paused to enjoy that image for a moment. “They won’t care. Come on.”

“I’m wearing pyjama bottoms!”

He sighed. “No, still don’t care. We’re going down the road, for a few hours.”

Grabbing her coat, and not bothering with keys as she’d be getting a whole new set anyway, he hustled her out of the flat and down the stairs.

“Why are you manhandling me?”

“I get moody when I’m hungry. And I’m hungry.”

It was best she knew that sort of thing now, to avoid any awkward growls and conversations. “There’s a café around the corner.”

“That little Spanish place? Yes, that’s where we’re going.”

Lydia frowned. “And you know that little Spanish place because?”

“I know everywhere in London that does good food.” She made a dismissive noise in her throat. Tony looked down at her. “What was that sound? It was halfway between a goat in pain and a lion giving birth.”

Her mouth fell open for a moment before she burst out laughing. “You’ve missed your calling on the comedy circuit. Although you would have to grow more of a beard than the designer tickle you’ve got on your jaw. And put on another five stone.”

“Who says I didn’t?” he teased. She shook her head.

“You’re a plonker, but you’re lucky this place now has a liquor licence.”

Tony hooked an arm around her shoulders. “I know having a drink is like a blood transfusion for you.”

She gave him a sharp slap on the arm. “Just because I’m Irish!”

He grinned, holding the door open for her. “I don’t do stereotypes.” 

Back Again

It's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! Windows is available for purchase again. I've messed around with it enough. With my little added extras, I'm pleased it's back out there for new readers to discover, and for my old faithfuls (you know who you are!). To celebrate the re-release and honour the fact that three years have passed since it was first published, I'm offering it at a 30% discount for the next 3 weeks!! Well I would if Amazon would let me. The discount will take place from 27 August. More deets to follow!

If you don't know how important this book is to me, let me re-share.

Four years ago, my mother and I went to Greece. Our first girls holiday. We fought, we laughed until we cried, we got absolutely muntered and we baked our skins into next level darkness. Metaxa brandy is lethal. I can't tell you everything that was happening in my life at that time, but let's just say the holiday was a looooooooong time coming. And in the midst of sipping the booze, slapping away mosquitoes, I began re-writing a story I made up when I was eleven.

I kept the loose leaves of paper under a mosquito repellent candle and wrote pages and pages by hand. Lady London was the one (under severe influence) who told me to type it up. Let other people read it. Essentially telling me to stop keeping things in. That if I couldn't talk about my feelings, then to express them in writing. So I did.

And 80,000 typed words later in February 2011, it was published. Liked, loathed, loved in varying measures. It amazed me how people connected. Whether they found Gina infuriating or Nick overbearing or the rude auntie Belinda hilarious or Sofia as a star in waiting. To see them telling me how they couldn't believe two people could be so oblivious to each other's feelings for so long (been there, done that) or that the connection between my hero and heroine touched them.

There has rarely been a time in my life when I haven't put pen to paper. While it's allowed me to exercise some squatting demons, it's also allowed me to make the most amazing friends and meet the most incredible people from all over the world. I feel very blessed about what I do and it all started with this book. My first love. So here it is, once again. The story that started it all....

Windows on Amazon