Samhain Publishing

The original idea for this story occurred in April 1998. (Yes, that’s ten years before it was published.) There’s a lesson there about persistence. Check out my dedication.

In all of its various forms over the years, the manuscript was passed over by editors and agents more than 30 times.

The title A MONTH FROM MIAMI is reflective of my inability to come up with a better title, and God knows I tried. But sometimes achievement of one’s dreams isn’t about physical distance. It’s about time.

A MONTH FROM MIAMI had been all but shelved before I read an article about Samhain Publishing in The Romance Writers Report and submitted it to them. I had begun to print and bind my own copies of the manuscript and gave them away to friends and family because it was the only way I could share the story.

Although A MONTH FROM MIAMI is very much the manuscript I wrote. My editor, Lindsey McGurk, did nothing but make it better during the editing process. I’ve decided a good editor is like a good mother. You don’t want to believe she’s right all the time, but she usually is. I am sure I drove cover artist Vanessa Hawthorne to distraction before we got it right, but I absolutely love my cover and it is completely reflective of the story.

The heroine was originally going to be from Detroit. The secret stash in the gas tank was going to be drugs. I know nothing about Detroit and even less about drug smuggling. But I can translate that small-town feel from my own experiences growing up in the rural Midwest, and visiting my parents’ hometown in Missouri every summer of my childhood. My husband is an avid mineral collector, so I know something about rare North Carolina gem stones.

The characters from Bertie Springs who give Kaylee glowing references are based on my aunts in Missouri.

I used the name Rick Braddock for my hero after I was seated next to a private pilot by that name at a company Christmas party. Rick turned out to be an avid reader because he had so much downtime when he wasn’t flying. I decided I had to use his very heroic-sounding name.

A MONTH FROM MIAMI is meant to be an escape from reality. An enjoyable, fun heartwarming beach read. It doesn’t aspire to be more than that. It never did.

As often as I’ve read A MONTH FROM MIAMI, from my own reworking of the original manuscript over the years through the final editing process, I can still get caught up in reading it. It still makes me smile.

And finally, a word about the love scenes. Yes, I do my own research. My husband may exude a Clark Kent-ish exterior, but underneath he’s Superman.

I achieved what I set out to do. I am immensely proud of this book. I hope my readers love it as much as I do, for that is the one true sign of an author’s success.

Excerpt below the jump…

“How do you like it?” she asked.
She was standing in front of him, combing his hair over his forehead which put him at about eye level with her bustline. “I like it. Very much.”
She glanced down as he grinned up at her. She was blushing. She blushed more than any woman he’d ever known. She moved behind him. “I meant your hair.”
“Any way you like it.”
“Not too short, I suppose.”
“No one’s ever complained that it’s too short.”
“It’s pretty thick.”
“You’re the expert.”
“How long has it been?”
“About twenty-four hours.”
“Since your last haircut?”
“Oh. Couple of months, I guess.”
“It grows fast.”
“Under the right circumstances.”
“Rick…” There was a definite strain in Kaylee’s tone. “Don’t make this harder than it is.”
Rick squirmed uncomfortably, not sure if it was Kaylee’s close proximity or his own double entendres, but he was definitely turned on. “I think it’s too late.”
“I’m cutting now. Sit still and stop talking.”
Could there be anything more intimate than having a lover’s hands in your hair, Rick wondered. Well, of course, there could be, but Kaylee’s hands in his hair were conjuring up all sorts of images of her hands elsewhere on his body. It was exquisite torture to have her so close, yet hardly touching him. He followed her movements as best he could while he kept his head still. He gazed at her elbow, her breasts where they strained against the cotton of her sleeveless top.
Snip. Snip. Snip. Wisps of his hair floated to the floor as she worked in a silence broken only by the low hum of country music from the radio which sat on top of the refrigerator.
She moved around him from side to side, concentrating on the haircut. Then she moved in front of him and bent closer, combing his hair, visually examining it on either side of his head until her gaze met his.
“Could you, uh, spread your legs?”
“Gladly.”
Rick did so and she straightened and stepped between them. She raised her arm and the hem of her top rose with the movement of her shoulder, revealing her tiny waist and her navel. How much torture could one man take?
Snip.
Rick couldn’t help himself. He placed his hands around her waist beneath her top. Her skin felt like warm satin. How well he remembered the feel of her skin against his. He breathed in her scent along with the faint aroma of grape-flavored bubble gum.
“Kaylee…”
Snip.
He leaned forward, lifted her top and skimmed his lips across her stomach.
Snip.
“Oops.”