<<This
blog first appeared in August, 2011>>
4:00 a.m. My husband kisses me goodbye before heading off to work. I stretch like a calico coming out of a catnip-induced coma and plot—literally—the day. Bailey, the quirky amateur sleuth in my current work-in-progress, keeps trying to jump into bed with Dante, my hunky, reluctant-sidekick cop. He’s yummier than Godiva white chocolate domes with raspberry truffle filling. Were I single—and fictional—I’d probably be romancing the pants off him myself. But, we’re only in chapter two, and steamy sex without emotional commitment makes a girl look sleazy. How can I convince Bailey to wait until chapter five at least?
