Thank you so much for having me on your blog today! I love talking to fellow book lovers!
I’ve always been a book worm. Always. I read everything from Harlequin romances to War and Peace. I devoured Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when I met Barbara Cartland’s novels.
I think my diverse reading habits shaped the writer I would become. When I read King, I loved the way he manipulated my emotions, the way he terrified me with my own fears. The way he shaped a character. But he eschewed the romance I craved.
Then I’d pick up a romance and get lost in the feeling, the yearning, the love and the HEA. The perfect world…except, I’d miss that emotional roller coaster of tension and fear.
It was a no-brainer that when I sat down to write my first novel, I would fulfill those two needs with a story that blended genres and allowed me to have the best of both worlds. With every book I write, I think that pledge lurks in the words and the tone. Whether it’s a storm that hovers just on the horizon, waiting to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting or the guy next door who suddenly doesn’t seem so trustworthy anymore, my readers will find twists and turns, a few chills, hopefully a lot of thrills.
And, of course, a love story which is as important to me as my name on the cover.
In my new novel, THE FIVE DEATHS OF ROXANNE, I think this goal is especially prominent. Roxanne’s story is about a woman whose miraculous recoveries have drawn the attention of reaper who thinks she is cheating death. In fact, she’s drawn the attention of more than a reaper and a lot of big, scary bads are coming for her. But at its heart, Roxanne is about the reaper who falls in love with life, with living as he falls in love the woman he was meant to reap.
Here’s an exclusive excerpt from the novel.
Something flickered in the black depths of Santo’s eyes and then it was gone, leaving Roxanne feeling oddly cheated.
He caught a strand of her hair between his fingers and his thumb and rubbed it with a look of absorption that echoed through her body. Then his hand was on her throat, then her jaw, cupping her head as he pulled her in. There were a thousand reasons she should resist him, a million why she should scramble off the bed and put as much distance between them as possible. But before his lashes lowered, she’d seen something raw and aching in his eyes. Something that reflected the loneliness inside of her. A part of her had given up on intimacy long ago, resigning herself to a life where everyone thought her sweet and happy while inside she withered. She scared most men for reasons she didn’t understand and thus couldn’t change. Something they sensed in her, about her, that sent them on their way before they ever got close.
But Santo seemed immune to whatever it was that frightened the others. More than that, he seemed to captivated by it.
He searched her face, giving her time to back out. Common sense urged her to take it, but his touch had lit a fuse that hissed and sparked. It took forever for him to close the distance between their lips. Forever, while her heart thumped excitedly and her breath caught with anticipation.
Then his mouth touched hers. His kiss felt like fire in the middle of the darkest winter. Hot and welcoming, it burned in her blood and flared with her pulse. She couldn’t get close enough, and it seemed that neither could he. The blankets had tangled around her hips, and they both tried to free her without breaking the kiss, fumbling. Clumsy. So desperate that each failed attempt added to the spice. The taste of him set off a chain of reactions she’d never known. It made her ravenous for more. She wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting to shed clothes and press her skin to his, but as she twisted closer, she tore at her still-healing wound and a cry burst from her lips.
From somewhere in the distance, an eerie sound rose up and banked against the window, piercing the sexual haze that drove her. A cross between a bay and a shout, it howled like a northern wind, shredding the quiet and leaving behind a gritty foreboding. Immediately, Santo stiffened and his eyes narrowed as he listened. It came again, that shrill and oily wail, racing across the miles, unlike anything Roxanne had ever heard. He caught her hands and stilled them as goose bumps broke out on her skin and a dance of shivers tangoed down her spine.
“What is that?” she asked.
He closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped. “You better get dressed.”
Erin Quinn is an award-winning author who writes haunting romance for the thinking reader. Her books have been called “riveting,” “brilliantly plotted” and “beautifully written” and have won, placed or showed in the Booksellers Best, WILLA Award for Historical fiction, the Book Buyers Best, Readers Crown, Golden Quill, Best Books, and Award of Excellence.