Nuttier than a Bag of Trail Mix?

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Veronica Strikes Back

(The heroine of THUNDER, in her own words)

I’m really not very good at this sort of thing. Like I’m not very good at being a witch. But Sean did an interview on Monday, so he wants me to cowgirl up. Spread the love, he told me. You know what he said in his interview? He said he didn’t like when I thought of myself as a not-very-good-witch, that I should think of myself as a “witch-in-the-making” instead.

How can you not adore a guy who looks out for you like that?  See why I can’t get enough of him? He thinks it’s cute when I show him the vulnerable side.

But, um, “cowgirl up”? He goes from calling me “princess” or “countess” to “cowgirl”? Must be because of the way we ride each other. In more ways than one. If you get my drift.

This blog appearance stuff is easier for Sean, I think. I mean, before we hooked up, he was pretty used to having his picture in the tabloids, what with all those bimbo-esque  supermodels hanging off his arm and all. He’d be the first to admit he was a party-hardy, love-‘em-and-leave-‘em manwhore. Me, I’ve just been holed up here in my Sleepy Hollow mansion. First, there was my 85-year-old husband to take care of. Then there was this money pit of a house. Where things go bump in the night.

And now there’s Sean.

He’s an excellent contractor, but he may be renovating this place for the rest of our natural born lives. Okay, so I make him rip things out and start all over again. That used to annoy him, but really, I think he secretly liked hanging around here where we could surreptiously ogle each other. Although, until our recent 1Night Stand, I think he’d probably have preferred being covered by honey and staked out on a fire anthill than admit any such thing. Now, I know he likes hanging around here. Nothing secret about it.

He did once tell his brother, Campbell, I was “nuttier than a bag of trail mix,” though.

But, like I said, that was before.

You can read all about Sean and me in THUNDER. And if you tell us what drives you crazy, that busybody Taryn Kincaid will send a random commenter some LIGHTNING and THUNDER swag and a gift card from Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks. Maybe even a copy of LIGHTNING. If you play your cards right.

BLURB: 

Lonely young witch, Veronica Hardwicke, has struggled to get on with her life after the death of the elderly husband who’d left her a fortune and a sprawling estate in mystical Sleepy Hollow. When frightening things go bump in the night on a stormy Fourth of July, who better to call than the sexy developer and contractor, Sean Jones, who's been renovating her mansion for months?

Sean may grace the tabloid pages with a different supermodel on his arm every night, but it's Veronica who drives him nuts. Ignoring his instinct to stay away, he answers her summons.

Will the thundering passion of their 1Night Stand tear down the barriers between them?

EXCERPT 

Veronica paced back and forth in the grand entry foyer of the Belmont mansion, the kitten heels of her Prada mules clacking on the marble floors.

The rest of the place might not be finished, but she’d insisted on having a few rooms completed, so at least she felt like she was living in a home, rather than a massive, never-ending construction project. Well, her contractor had insisted, even though working around the main entrance and central hallway created more work for him and his crew. But she was forced to admit he was right.

Her cell phone chimed on top of the antique credenza shoved flush against one wall. She leaped for it. Probably Geneviève, to regale her with all the fun she was having in Paris. Or Sean, to advise her he couldn’t make it after all. She sighed and read the text message on the small screen.

Congratulations, Veronica. 1Night Stand has found your date. Have a good time.

With both anxiety and mounting excitement, she stared at the screen and waited. No other info. Outside in the night, thunder boomed. She jumped then laughed at herself.

Ghosts are one thing, but freaking out at the weather now? Cripes, you really do need this date!

She let her imagination run wild, then texted back for more details:

When? Where? Who?

An insistent pounding at the front door jarred her out of her fantasy. She swung the door open on another explosive crack of thunder.

Sean stood on her doorstep, his soaked T-shirt molding sculpted pecs and abs, his drenched hair flattened over his brow. Rain poured down as he fiddled with his iPhone, a bemused expression on his face. Behind him, jagged arrows of lightning tore the dark sky. He glared at the screen, glanced at her in confusion, then back at the screen.

Veronica’s own phone pinged again. Thunder roared. She read the message in disbelief.

You’re looking at him.