One day, I sat on my couch with a cup of hot tea and a plaid blanket wrapped around my shoulders. As I watched an English Premier League soccer game and listened to the accents of the commentators, my thoughts drifted to my grandmother. Some of the announcers’ words made me smile because I could hear the same phrases in Nana’s voice in my head. She’d been gone for a while, but I still missed her so much. As is often the case, I began writing about my feelings, the pain of losing her, the joy in the memories I had of her, and the pride of being part of her family. The blanket keeping the chill from my arms was hers. And as I set my tea mug on the table, the heroine to my book, Fractured Paradise, came to life.
Like me, the heroine, Rachel Grant, is an American woman with a British grandmother. Soon, I began transferring my emotions of how much I loved my Nan into Rachel’s story. And, as if Nana were guiding me, I chose her hometown of Sunderland, England as the setting. The book, of course, morphed into a life of its own and in the end only a few things of my Nan and I remained in the manuscript. But the grief therapy I received writing Rachel’s (and the hero’s own path out of sorrow) gave me a chance to work through my own pain and to honor my Nan at the same time.
The author does a very nice job painting a picture with her words. She’s able to pull the reader into the story, making it feel as if I was a silent observer in the room while the action happened. If you’re interested in reading how two people who should be adversaries, yet cannot fight their attraction, this is one to pick up! ~~~Long and Short Reviews
Alexa pens "Fractured Paradise" in a plot that is fast paced and extremely sensual. You will find a lot of steamy sex in the well written story line which will keep you turning the pages of this romantic suspense. A great read for all who love the sensual erotic genre.~~~ My Cozie Corner Book Reviews
“A bit of a disappointment, I expect.” A rich, deep voice with a twinge of an English accent drifted from behind her.
She whirled around. Her hair whipped against her cheeks and made her wish for the hundredth time today she hadn’t packed all her hair clips.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
The stranger paused beside the edge of the clearing, and her heart stuttered. Although no one would mistake him for a Hollywood leading man, this guy could command attention by stepping into a room. Or onto an island.
“That’s okay. You didn’t.” She permitted her gaze to wander over him.
He kept his hands stuffed into the front pockets of faded jeans. The wind tore at his gray long-sleeved shirt, outlining the contours of a well-defined chest. Unruly light brown hair touched his collar. High cheekbones accented his deep-set eyes. Not friendly eyes, but no threat lay behind them either, at least none she could uncover.
He pulled a hand from his pocket and held it out. “Aidan Camden of Dawson Tours, your neighbor from across the water.” He tipped his head toward the way he’d come.
Camden. His name sounded familiar, but why? She shook his hand with a hint of hesitation. “Rachel Grant.”
His fingers warmed her skin, his grip strong and confident. Awareness trailed along her arm. Then again, it could be the accent that made her skin tingle. British accents never failed to stir her emotions.
A trace of a smile danced on his lips. “Aye, the American.”
Huh. “You know of me?”
A low rumble of laughter slipped from his mouth, the sound relaxing her from deep within. “Word travels fast here. I saw you paddling your way out.”
Paddling? No, he’d seen her fighting with the oars. Until today, she’d never set foot on a boat, much less held an oar. But she would consider swimming across the Atlantic Ocean if it would make Nan happy.
“Tell me, Mr. Camden, are you in the habit of following foreigners?”
“No, lass, but you’re all the talk of the Roker area. The mighty Grant descendant, come to see about selling the family cottage.”