With the release of my first Blaze, Triple Threat, only weeks away (SQUEE!), I’m lost in a haze of promotional stuff, things I never even considered when I started writing. Like designing and maintaining my own website. (I’m pretty proud of how it turned out; check it out at www.reginakyle.com). And figuring out how to set up a Goodreads giveaway. (Mine starts in a few days. You can enter here.) Or organizing a Facebook release party. (Mine’s on October 1, and a lot of the Blaze babes are going to be there to celebrate with me. Anyone can join here.) Just designing the cover photo took me hours of experimentation with two different photo editors, GIMP and Picmonkey. Neither of which I’d even heard of before last week.
In the midst of it all, I’m working on the proposal for book three in the Art of Seduction series (tentative title: Triple Dare) and finishing up book two (tentative title: Triple Time). Not to mention keeping up with the dreaded day job. Needless to say, my house is a mess and my family’s eating a lot of take out.
Is it all worth it? I think so. All these firsts are so amazing, so special. Like my first cover. Have you seen it? No? Well here it is:
I’m completely, totally in love with it. She’s perfect, he’s yummy, and they even managed to get the theater – the all-important setting for Triple Threat – in the background.
Or my first review, which came out this week in Romantic Times. The reviewer said that “the subject matter at the crux of this story
is well appreciated as a departure from the typical Blaze romance. Heart-melting tenderness is displayed in both the tone of the book and within the bounds of this pairing.”
Heart-melting tenderness? I’ll take that.
As release day gets closer and closer, I’m sure there will be even more last minute things I need to figure out and even more firsts for me to appreciate. And I intend to savor every one of them until it’s time to let my baby go and share Triple Threat with all of you.
Until then, here’s a little Triple Threat teaser for you, from Holly and Nick’s first encounter since high school:
“Hate you? Why would I hate you?” She shook his hand off, her stomach knotting up like a ball of yarn. “You’re freaking me out, Ethan. Who’s waiting for us in there? The pope? Jimmy Hoffa? My ex-mother-in-law?”
Before he could answer, the door fell open with a whoosh.
“Here they are!” Ted opened the door wider, ushering them inside. “Our esteemed writer and director.” He brought them into a conference room where Judith and several others were seated in tapestry chairs around an enormous walnut table. One man stood apart, his back to the door, apparently engrossed in one of the framed photos of the New York skyline that dotted the walls. Black hair curled over the collar of his cream-colored dress shirt, which hugged his broad shoulders and displayed strong forearms beneath rolled-up sleeves.
No. It couldn’t be him. He was supposed to be on a movie set overseas…
“Holly Ryan, Ethan Phelps,” Ted boomed, earning him a stern look from his wife. He either ignored or missed it and continued, not lowering his voice one decibel. “Say hello to our new star, straight from the silver screen.”
The man turned and Holly knew from his slack-jawed expression that he was as shocked as she was.
He moved toward her like a tidal wave of gorgeous in an ocean of ohmigod. “It’s been a long time, Holly.” Tall, dark and to-die-for, he held out his hand. His voice, deep and rough, made her breath catch and her nipples tighten. She crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide her unfortunate and completely involuntary reaction to the man who had starred in her erotic dreams since—well, since she’d been old enough to have erotic dreams.
“Nick. I thought you were in Hong Kong.” She stood, feet planted, afraid if she got any nearer to him she’d dissolve into a pool of fiery, lust-ridden goo.
“Been keeping up with me?” He dropped his hand when she didn’t move to take it, slipping it casually into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m flattered.”
“It’s hard not to. You’re everywhere.”
“Ethan didn’t tell you?” Ted stepped in, smile lines further crinkling his already wrinkled face, and clapped the director on the shoulder. Ethan gave him a warning glare, but the older man, either truly oblivious or deliberately ignorant, ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and continued, “He insisted we see Nick for this role, that he’d be perfect as our modern-day Stanley Kowalski. Even convinced us to put off casting until he finished shooting.”
“Perfect,” Holly echoed, her blood closely approaching the boiling point.
A bead of sweat trickled down Ethan’s forehead and his Adam’s apple did a nervous dance in his throat. “Surprise.”