It’s a Kind of Magic

To celebrate the release of my new book “It’s a Kind of Magic” which will release with Loose Id later today, I am giving away two FREE copies! All you have to do to enter is comment GIVEWAY in the comments, and I will select a winner on Friday.


When the submission call appeared for the Summer Attractions feature with Loose Id, I immediately knew what attraction I would pick. I absolutely love carnivals, I can’t quite explain why. I suppose there is an edge of mystery and magic. The slight elements of magic that I added to my book were actually by accident – serendipity, perhaps? I was so happy with the outcome.


Can we take a minute to appreciate how dang handsome my cover model is? Good choice by cover artist Valerie Tibbs. I was beyond delighted when my cover art landed in my inbox. It is quite unusual for Indian heroes to be so accurately depicted in book covers, but this guy looks just as I imagined Rohan would!


You can read the blurb and excerpt below, and don’t forget to enter if you want to win a copy for free!


Edie Barton is a sucker for tradition, and her favorite tradition of all is closing her guesthouse for one week at the end of May. One week of absolute solitude, to do as she pleases–and first on her list is visiting O’Driscoll’s Travelling Fairground. Every year since her adolescence, the fairground has come to Killymalin, and Edie loves that little has changed.

Just as she’s about to close up for the week, an unexpected guest arrives in the form of the outrageously gorgeous and very charming Rohan Kapadia. Edie knows Rohan is running from something, but she cannot possibly imagine that he is a mega-star actor in India’s Bollywood, and that the demise of his engagement to the stunning-but-spiteful Neha Sharma has all but gutted him.

Tired of the malicious lies in the gossip rags, Rohan has absconded to Ireland, where he shares a magical night with Edie at the fairground. Unable to deny their burning attraction, Edie and Rohan embark on a passionate love affair. Their sexual bliss comes to a crashing halt with the arrival of Rohan’s ex and a swarm of paparazzi. Edie must decide whether she trusts Rohan enough to disregard the stories in the magazines, or whether their relationship is doomed before it even begins.




Edie didn’t know what on earth compelled her to invite Rohan to join her at the carnival. Besides the early years, when she had attended with a group of girlfriends, Edie had always gone alone—and that was exactly how she liked it. Then, straight out of the blue, she’d gone and extended an invite to Rohan Kapadia, who had arrived at the guest house less than an hour before.

She had no way to retract the invitation now, especially when Mr. Kapadia seemed so pleased to have been asked in the first place. Yep, just about everything today broke away from Edie’s usual traditions. She could almost hear her mother’s wizened voice reminding her about how best-laid plans never went smoothly.

Irish summer nights were bright, and dusk didn’t fall until well after eight thirty. There was no point in heading down there before nightfall, before the whirling, dancing, flashing multicolored lights were visible in their full splendor.

She filled her afternoon with plenty of attempts at reading but got nowhere. Her gaze fluttered over the words, which became blurred as her mind began to wander. Why had she felt compelled to invite Rohan into her private rituals? It wasn’t mere pleasantry, because she had never extended any sort of invitation to one of her guests before. She didn’t want to admit that Rohan’s spectacular good looks could have been a contributing factor. Or the way his presence in her dining room made her pulse race. Or how his tongue licking sweet icing sugar off his finger caused a different sort of pulsating altogether.

When darkness fell, she met Rohan in the entrance hall. Having taken her advice, he wore an older but no less expensive pair of shoes. The faded denim of his jeans clung to his thighs, stretching the fabric. He looked so good her mouth went dry. Maybe it was the allure of a mysterious, foreign man, or maybe it was just that Rohan Kapadia was a perfect example of masculinity, but Edie was flustered. Most unsettling of all was how absolutely polite he was, smiling at her merrily, opening the door to assist in her exit.

“How will we get there?” Rohan asked as Edie locked the front door. The evening was dry and warm, perfect conditions for a night of funfair exploring.

Edie gave Rohan a look, a slanted, wry smile. “This town doesn’t stretch more than half a mile in any direction,” she told him. “We walk, of course.”

Rohan followed her down the garden path. “What can we expect at this fun park?” he inquired, his impenetrably dark eyes smiling down at her.

“The usual,” said Edie with a shrug. “Bumper cars, a waltzer, magic carpet, haunted house.” She was thirty-three years old but still felt a fizzle of excitement as she pictured the fairground.

“Sounds enchanting,” Rohan replied, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

They walked in companionable silence, with Edie taking note of the many second glances afforded to Rohan by strangers as they wandered down Main Street toward the vacant field that Farmer Bailey leased out to the O’Driscoll family. From there, the music began to filter to their ears: rowdy dance remixes, the sound of muffled voices through microphones, squeals and whoops from the various rides. Edie was elated, her pace increasing.

“Whoa, you really love the fair, don’t you?” Rohan remarked, matching her hurried stride.

Edie flashed a smile. “There’s nothing quite like it,” she insisted as they reached Killymalin’s limits and the spectacle of O’Driscoll’s Travelling Fairground rose up before them in a psychedelic display of bright, flashing lights. It was like coming home, in an odd way. Although Edie had never left her home, the two weeks that the funfair was in town reminded her of a simpler time, when things were good. When she was contented and not torn apart with feelings of inadequacy and insecurity. Edie always longed to be younger, but every year, at the end of May, she almost convinced herself that she was.

Two ticket booths were erected outside the metal fence. Turnstiles prevented ticket-dodgers from getting through. A line formed, which Edie and Rohan joined.

“It certainly smells inviting,” Rohan remarked, leaning close to whisper this titbit of information. His breath fanned against her cheek, causing Edie to flush hotly at his proximity.

“Candy floss and hotdogs,” Edie surmised, swallowing against her suddenly dry throat.

“I have no idea what candy floss is,” Rohan told her, still standing close. “But you can be sure I’ll try it.”

They reached the ticket booth, and a grubby, bored-looking attendant demanded thirty euros for them both. Before Edie could reach for her wallet, Rohan placed his hand on hers. His gentle touch sent a jolt of pleasure through her whole body, as though repressed desire had awoken within her. Their gazes met and stayed fused for several, pregnant moments.

“I’ll get this,” he insisted, his voice suddenly quiet.

Rohan paid the attendant, and they were each handed a paper ticket stub and plastic wristbands that said Admit One. Edie suspected the tickets were just for nostalgia’s sake. She tucked hers into her pocket and fastened the wristband around her arm.

They stepped through the turnstiles into the midst of all the marvelous chaos. Edie didn’t know where to look first, even though all the attractions were exactly the same as they’d always been. She turned to Rohan, who was having the pleasure of experiencing it for the very first time. She watched his face, studying him. He swept his gaze across the field, greedily taking everything in. The various flashing, blinking bulbs reflected his features in a very flattering light. Edie pressed her hand against her belly, willing away the butterflies. She hadn’t experienced those feelings in a very long time.

“I’ll let you decide where we go first,” she told Rohan.

Although the funfair had only just moved into town, the grass underfoot was already well trodden. The ground was muddy, traversing a natural path through the amusements. Edie and Rohan stood at the beginning of the path.

“I’m not sure where to start,” he admitted with a low chuckle. “I can see why this appeals to children.” His eyes settled on the waltzer: spinning, whirling cars that seemed to rotate in an oddly choreographed dance. “Let’s start there,” he decided.

Edie was grateful she hadn’t eaten recently. The waltzer always made her stomach twist and lurch. She settled next to Rohan as the safety bar was placed across them. Their thighs touched, so cramped was the small car. Edie enjoyed the unexpected closeness and almost leaned into him as the music began and the ride started to whirl. The intensity increased, faster and faster, until the lights were a spinning blur and the wind was blowing against her hair, taking her breath away.

Rohan screamed, an elated, childlike whoop. Round and round, the warped faces of spectators flew by, and Edie settled into the joyous wonder of the waltzer. The dance music pulsed a frantic rhythm in her chest, making her heartbeat pound in her ears.

By the time the ride stopped, Edie was breathless with exhilaration and pleased to see the same impish delight written across Rohan’s face.

“Wow,” he breathed, staggering unsteadily from the ride.

Edie laughed, bracing her hands on her thighs as she struggled to control her ragged breathing.

“That was awesome!” Rohan exclaimed, sounding like a fifteen-year-old kid. They rested against the wire fence that acted as a barricade around the ride’s motors and generators.

“Oh, Rohan.” Edie laughed. “You’re just getting started.”






Snarkology Fun 2016


I love Halloween – more so as an adult than I did as a kid. It’s not just all things spooky, but the atmosphere of Halloween. I love the burnished leaves, the coldness, the smell of sulphur from fireworks and sparklers. I love orange decorations and experimenting with my artsy side with pumpkin carving (a pleasure I discovered only in recent years!)


Happily, this Halloween is also the time when myself and some friends have released a paranormal themed box set called Emerald Isle Enchantments! Not only do I love, love, love Halloween, but I also love Ireland – my homeland – and the setting for these seven spooky stories. That’s why I decided to participate in Melissa Snark’s amazing Snarkology Halloween Blog Hop.

I’ve been mulling over what I should blog about and I decided to share with you all an excerpt of my Emerald Isle Enchantment Desire and the Djinn. As well, I am offering a chance to win a $20 Amazon Gift Card.

I hope everyone will follow the hop, and leap onward to the next blog! All the participating authors will be hosting amazing giveaways and spotlighting their books – so the journey will be worth it. After you enter my giveaway, by commenting GIVEAWAY in the comments and following my blog, you can click the link below for Melissa’s landing page! Have fun and Happy Halloween!

 Giveaway ends 31st October 2016 – so get entering!  Good luck!


Excerpt for Desire and the Djinn


“Welcome to the O2 messaging service—”

Ciara hung up, silencing the automated voice. She was in such a foul mood that she’d barely noticed the regal beauty of her suite. Enraged, she’d thrown her shoes in a corner, stripped off her sodden clothes and stood naked in the middle of the room. In her weekend bag she’d packed three gorgeous sets of lingerie; delicate wisps of silk and lace, naughty and seductive. Now, as the skies darkened outside and the temperature dropped, she longed for the old flannel pajamas she’d bought in Primark five years ago for less than ten pounds.

She heard a knock on the door and hurried to the closet, wrapping herself in the thick monogrammed bathrobe she found within. Wooden hangers clattered noisily as she crossed the room and opened the door.

“Good evening ma’am,” said a young lad. He carried a shiny ice bucket, from which the neck of a bottle poked out. “Compliments of Kayla on Front Desk. She…” The boy cleared his throat. “She seems to think you might be in need of this, tonight.” Ciara accepted the bucket he thrust towards her, smiling slightly at the self conscious way in which he swept his fingers through his dark hair.

“Thank you,” Ciara said, easing the door shut. Ice cubes clinked as she pulled out the bottle of wine and read the label; a nice sweet rose, exactly the kind she would have bought from the local liquor store at the corner of her street. Pleased at how well Kayla had picked for her, Ciara immediately poured herself a glass. Gulping a hearty sip, she located her mobile phone on the vast king-size bed and switched it off. “Two can play that game,” she said aloud, raising her glass in salute to her newfound determination. This might have started as a romantic long weekend for two, but there was no reason why Ciara couldn’t enjoy the rest and relaxation alone.

Ciara hefted her bag onto the bed and began removing the clothes she’d packed with maximum seduction in mind. Her fingertips brushed over the soft silk fabric of the brand new negligee she’d purchased – paying far too much money for it – on a whim. On the store mannequin it had looked like a work of delicate art; falling over slim limbs like liquid, draped over pert breasts. In a moment of delusion, Ciara had thought it might look just as good on her. Maybe it would have, if she lost fourteen pounds. Tossing it away, she continued to unpack her bag, pausing occasionally to swill wine from her glass.

At last, she turned her attention to the antique bottle, wrapped in sodden tissue papers. Carved into the bronze was a beautiful floral pattern that adorned the whole body of the vessel. Ciara’s fingertips traced the impossibly detailed pattern, marveling at the petals, the interwoven stems, the curling leaves and even the jagged thorns. A single, thick stem twisted around the neck in a helical spiral, ending only where the stopper began. “Beautiful,” whispered Ciara as she fully appreciated the elaborate mandala top.

She pulled hard on the stopper, surprised when the pointed end came away from the neck with a decisive popping sound. Almost at once, a fine wisp of smoke unfurled from the bottle – beginning as a twisting ribbon and continuing until the entire suite was shrouded in a cool, thick mist. Terrified that the opaque, odorless smoke was toxic, Ciara dropped the bottle and searched the bed for a t-shirt to cover her face with. She coughed, edging towards the door, waiting for smoke alarms to begin blaring, half expecting her second soaking of the day when the sprinkler system came on.

The plume of smoke began to coalesce, moving as though compelled by an invisible force. Ciara, stunned at the spectacle unfolding before her eyes, dropped her guard for a moment and lowered the t-shirt from her face. In the middle of the suite, the mist took form, the rounded edges solidifying into an unmistakably human form. “Holy shit…” Ciara said, pressing herself hard against the wall. She flicked an anxious glance at the door, trying to decide whether or not she should run for her life – but her feet were rooted to the carpet. “This cannot be real.”

The smoke had transformed into a human being – a living creature standing in the middle of her hotel room where, moments ago, she’d been entirely alone. The uninvited guest, a broad shouldered gentleman of well over six foot, was heart-stoppingly gorgeous; dark-skinned, south-Asian in race with long black hair and a spectacularly angled face. Ciara was as much beguiled by his beauty as she was by whatever trickery had caused him to be in her bedroom.

When he spoke, he did so with a lilting Irish accent that was entirely unexpected. “Still here?” he said, sweeping emerald green eyes around the room. “Well, this is a turn up for the books, isn’t it?”

“Er, excuse me…” Ciara, recovering from her surprise, found she was really quite annoyed. “Is this some kind of joke?”

The man squared his shoulders and rolled his neck, oblivious to her bewilderment. “Where did you find me?” he asked, leveling his gaze on Ciara for the first time. “What year is it?”

“This isn’t funny,” Ciara snapped, marching across the room to the door. “Get out. And let your colleagues know I will be writing a stiffly worded letter to management about this.” She pulled the door open, but the man remained stationary, his expression neutral. “I said get out!” Ciara screamed, her hand trembling on the doorknob.

“C’mon now, sweetheart. Calm yourself.” The man turned in a circle, located the chaise lounge positioned beneath the windows, and threw himself onto it with dramatic aplomb. With unselfconscious ease, he fluffed a tasseled pillow behind his head and folded his hands casually over his torso. “Not to be an arse, but you’re not being very courteous.”

“Courteous?” Ciara echoed in disbelief. “Courteous? Are you fucking kidding me? Get out of my bedroom, you lunatic!” An elderly couple, arm-in-arm, strolled past Ciara’s open door, and turned their heads to survey the commotion.

“Are you all right dear?” the woman said, angling her head past Ciara, looking for the source of her ire. Her gaze landed directly on the tall man lying prone on the chaise but, as though he were entirely invisible, her eyes moved on.

“No,” Ciara said. “I am not all right. This crazy person won’t leave my room.”

The couple exchanged worried glances.

“They can’t see me, darlin’.” He picked at an imaginary thread on his long sherwani tunic, then chuckled as though he’d told himself an amusing joke. “Ah, I missed this part.”

“Would you like me to get someone for you, my dear?” the elderly gentleman had removed his fedora, clutching it against his chest, like he were somehow mourning Ciara’s lost sanity.

“You can’t see him?” Ciara asked, gesturing to the chaise. The couple looked beyond her, frowning. “Oh I get it… this is some kind of practical joke, isn’t it? I’m on candid camera, right? I have to say, this is all in bad taste.” She stepped away from the door, striding furiously across the room. “All right guys, where’s the cameras. Got me. Funny ha, ha, now if you all don’t mind, I’d like some privacy.”

Aghast, the couple stared in openmouthed silence. Finally, the woman cleared her throat. “Joseph, I think we should go get someone.”

“Yes! Security, that’s a good idea,” breathed Ciara, throwing a disdainful glare at the infuriating man residing in her room.

The couple shuffled off, whispering to each other. Despite their advancing age, they moved quickly. A few seconds later Ciara heard the chime of the ancient lift and the rattle of the inner gate. Then silence, as she realized she was alone with a deranged stranger.

Ciara clutched her bathrobe right across her chest, achingly aware of her nakedness beneath the terrycloth. Green eyes followed her across the room, sweeping with unmasked appreciation over her body. Somewhat resigned, Ciara pressed her back against the wall – as far away from him as physically possible. “All right,” she cajoled. “What do you want? How can I make you leave?”

The man sighed, turning his head away from her, peering up at the ceiling. “What year is it?” he asked calmly, and somewhere in her mind she recalled him asking his previously, too.

Just play ball, she thought. “Twenty sixteen,” she told him.

“Twenty sixteen,” he repeated, letting his eyes fall closed as he considered this. Ciara couldn’t help notice his long eyelashes, the curved shadow of which fanned across his cheeks. “Fifteen hundred years of this, and still nothing surpasses human stupidity.” He made a sound with his tongue – disappointed, dismissive, a little impatient perhaps. “To be honest, I was expecting Straight Jacket Anton to conjure me.” He looked at her again, a lengthy, imploring gaze that made Ciara feel totally naked.


“Don’t be apologizin’,” he swung long, thick legs over the chaise. “You’re far easier on the eye.”He stretched long legs outward, crossing at his ankles. Ciara absorbed the image of him, dressed in a long black tunic made of silk and matching pants. The fabric was embroidered with intricate designs, from the high collar all the way down the front in a narrow strip to the hem. The stranger was entirely bare-footed. His brown feet were long and slender.

She felt her chest tighten with indignant rage. “I wasn’t apologizing,” she snapped. “I meant ‘excuse me?’ as in, could you please explain what the fucking hell you’re talking about.”

He made a face. “Really? It wasn’t inferred. That’s a lot of subtext for two words, isn’t it?” His smile, if he weren’t such a pain in the ass, was disarmingly handsome; perfect, straight white teeth in a Cheshire Cat-like grin. The kind of smile that could wangle a man out of an awful lot of trouble. “Straight Jacket Anton was a psychiatric patient from St. Clements who escaped in November 1927.” The man rested his forearms on his broad thighs. “He’d gone a bit dolally searching for the elusive Djinn of Shiravar. Folk were sick of his ramblings that The Chichesters held a djinn captive in their castle. So they committed him.”

“See, you’re talking. I can see your lips moving, but I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.” Ciara, having lost some of her earlier fire, had lowered her defensive stance.

“I am speaking English, right? One time, I swear, I thought I was speaking English to Sir Henry – turns out I’d been rambling in Hindi for three quarters of an hour.”

“That’s not even possible,” replied Ciara, her eyes falling upon the bronze bottle on the floor. Was it heavy enough to conk him on the head with?

“It really is. Sir Henry leans over to me and says,” the man affected an accent of British aristocracy, “‘My dear boy, if you’ve lost your marbles, I’ll put you in that bottle and never let you out.’.” He laughed. “Decent man, the old fella was. I suppose he’s dead now.”

Ciara sighed. “So, now I’m all caught up on your version of history – and don’t get me wrong, it was fascinating. Would you mind leaving? See, this is supposed to be a private, intimate weekend—”

The man straightened. “Oh la la,” he said with faint whistle. “I got the subtext this time. Loud and clear, Mistress. When should I come back? Is Alastar still here? He’ll be thrilled to see me, I’m sure.”

“Come back? Why would you come back?”

When he stood up the gold thread embroidered into his sherwani seemed to glimmer, as though somehow enchanted. “Lady, I’ve been a perfect gentleman. I don’t enjoy making anyone feel stupid, but you’re making it really hard for me. I don’t how long I can mosey around waiting for realization to dawn on you. You found this,” he swiped the bottle from the floor, swinging it before her face like a pendulum. “You opened this. Big dramatic scene, room fills with mysterious smoke, I appear from nowhere – dressed like this,” he gestured to his elaborate Indian attire. “The clues are all there, really.” When Ciara didn’t supply the answer he was waiting for, the man tossed the empty bottle on the bed with a groan of frustration. “Djinn. I am your djinn.”

Ciara felt as though the world has descended into chaos. The entire day had been nothing short of bizarre, from Matthew’s sudden absence, to almost colliding with a tractor, to finding the bottle, dipping mud all over the castle foyer, meeting the bizarre Alastar, Guardian of the Library, in the hallway and now this. She felt as though she’d slipped and banged her head, or been spiked with some potent hallucinogen. Nothing made sense; up was down and front was back.

“I don’t even know what that is,” she said. “If this is a practical joke it’s lost on me.”

He made a sound, throwing his head back. “My name is Kamal and I am a djinn, you know… a genie.” He pointed to the bottle. “Genie in the lamp… or in this case, bottle.”

Ciara stared.

“This is insane,” she pinched the top of her nose, warding off the headache forming behind her eyeballs. She was tired, hungry and nowhere near drunk enough. “Listen pal, I came here for a relaxing weekend. This whole production you’ve got going on is, admittedly, quite impressive. But I’m over it. Enough.” He opened his mouth to protest. “Enough,” Ciara insisted, lifting her hand to ensure his continued silence. “I wish to be left alone, just me, two bottles of wine, room service and a great movie on TV. Is that too much to ask?”

Kamal shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s a perfectly reasonable wish, albeit something of a waste. But as always, your wish is my command.” He lifted his large, dark hand and with the same special effects employed for the bottle trick, a plume of smoke rose from his palm. And then he was gone, disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Ciara started, searching the suite for wherever Kamal had disappeared to. She yanked open the closet, burst into the bathroom, pulled back the shower curtain – and found nothing. She was alone – for a few seconds at least, until she heard a knock on the door.

The young lad from earlier was back again, but in place of his beatific smile he seemed decidedly reserved. “Room service, ma’am?” he said, pushing a cart laden with domed plates into her room. Another ice bucket contained two bottles of the same rose wine from before, already de-corked. “While I’m here… Alanna, the general manager asked me to check that you’re… all right? A couple of guests reported you might be in distress.”

Ciara flushed, lightheaded with confusion, hot with mortification. This weekend was not turning out as planned – at all. And now the entire body of staff at Castle Tullamore had been made privy to the lunatic woman in the east wing. “I assure you, I’m fine. Thank you.” She accepted the docket, scrawled her name across the receipt and rummaged in her purse for a twenty euro note, which she pressed into the lad’s hand. “Have a good night,” she said, ushering him to the door. “One more thing,” she added as he stepped into the hallway, tucking the twenty into his breast pocket. “Who ordered this food?”

Blue eyes widened in surprise, and Liam took a step back. “I’m not sure ma’am. I could check for you. I would assume… you did?”

“Yeah…” Ciara concurred. “I must’ve done.”

“Yes, well, goodnight.” Liam hurried off at a light jog, the urgency of his departure more than apparent. Ciara closed her door, sliding the chain into place, making absolutely certain there would be no more unexpected guests in her suite tonight.





Happy Sunday, everyone!

This month, some friends and I have released a paranormal romance boxset called Emerald Isle Enchantment – 7 stories set in a magical castle hotel called Castle Tullamore. The books are available on Amazon, Kobo Books, and Barnes and Noble, and feature ghosts, vampires, griffins, and my character – a handsome djinn called Kamal who has been summoned to grant Ciara any three wishes she wants.

To celebrate the release of our steamy books, I am hosting an emerald isle themed giveaway; a sparkly emerald shamrock necklace. All you have to do to enter is follow my blog (there’s a wee button at the bottom of the screen!) and comment on this post with “GIVEAWAY” and I will pick a winner on the 31st of October.



Of course my friends and I would just love it if you would check out Emerald Isle Enchantment. You’ll get 7 amazing stories for just 99c on Amazon.



Good luck in the giveaway! Don’t forget, follow my blog and comment GIVEAWAY on this post! 🙂


A little bit o’ Irish magic

I love Ireland. For anyone who has visited or, like me, is lucky enough to live here, there is a definite sense of all things mystical here; from the endless green fields, to the sometimes absolute quiet, to the constant rain, to the ancient castles – some still standing, some crumbling ruins. Everywhere you go, from the gorgeous Antrim coast to the sandy beaches of County Kerry, you will feel the myths, the legends and probably, if only for a moment, believe any one of them are possible.

I have so many memories of my childhood, travelling around this gorgeous island. It is now, as an adult, I fully appreciate all those weekend caravan trips my dad used to take us (my sister and me) on. Our parents would listen to the constant chorus of are we there yet? and somewhere along some narrow off-the-beaten-track our dad would finally lose his patience and tell us to put a sock in it. (Or fuck up, if you want the non-PG version!) I fondly remember those rural towns, the quaint villages, stone bridges, thatch-roofed cottages and hand-built stone farm walls. I feel so lucky to have experienced it all, because the atmosphere in this beautiful, haunted isle is simply one you have to experience. It’s impossible to ‘get’ it otherwise. I can’t count how many times, even as a kid, I had the sense of not being alone – even when I was dandering off on my own exploring. Ghosts, I believe, really are everywhere.

It is my amazing experiences of Ireland that made me feel so delighted to be invited to be part of Emerald Isle Enchantments, which releases this October 11th – just in time for all the spooky goings-on of Halloween. When Katalina Leon, author of Lord Griffin’s Prize sent me a private message and asked me if I wanted to be part of the group, I waited all of 2.5 seconds to say I’M IN!

My story, Desire and the Djinn, combines two things I am very passionate about; Ireland and India. I enjoy writing about the Indian hero; tall, dark, brooding men with fabulous accents and smouldering eyes to die for. Enter Kamal, the troubled djinn from Desire and the Djinn, who has found himself inhabiting a bottle that’s been on the Emerald Isle for over a hundred years.

Emerald Isle Enchantments is a series of books set in Castle Tullamore, a gorgeous castle estate set in County Donegal (my favourite of all the counties, except perhaps County Antrim, because it’s home, after all…). Many of my childhood holidays (a lot of Easters) were spent in Donegal, and we even stumbled across a very private beach that, to this day, I believe almost no-one has access to. (It involves a forty-five minute trek through rough farmland terrain, through sheep cattle, sidestepping still steaming patties of poop, climbing through not one, but two barbed wire fences, reaching the summit of a sand-dune and then descending said sand-dune, just to reach the gorgeous, unspoilt north-facing beach with nothing but a shipwreck for company.) I’m pretty sure it also involved some trespassing, but the farmer was always nice to us. Maybe he pitied us, trundling through his sheep with our cooler boxes and deck-chairs. (We always cleaned up our barbeque remnants and other litter!)

I’ve went off on a tangent. Donegal is truly as spectacular as all the very talented writers of Emerald Isle Enchantments portray it to be – so I sincerely hope you will join us on October 11th 2016 when our boxed set releases.

Stay tuned for updates, cover reveals, giveaways and various opportunities to score yourself some fabulous Emerald Isle themed swag!

Don’t forget to follow my blog for updates! —————–>

Much love,

Rea x

P.S. have a look at some photographs I managed to procure from my dad’s stack of old pictures. This is ‘Our Beach’. Thanks for the adventures, dad.

The blue shipwreck, circa 1992
Stunning vista, including what remains of the shipwreck. (2012)
Unspoilt Irish Beauty


‘Our Beach’

Making a Writing Schedule

It occurs to me that there isn’t enough advice/help for writings who need encouragement to keep a schedule (me!). I think one of my biggest tags in my tag cloud is PROCRASTINATION. I am terrible at it. My mind wanders and I struggle to tether myself to a single task or idea. The problem with this is nothing ever seems to get completed, and after years (YEARS!) of falling into this trap, I decided I need to set myself a proper schedule… to keep myself motivated and in line.

A few weeks ago I bought myself a couple of white boards from Poundland. As the name would suggest, they were £1 each. I imagine there’s an equivalent in most countries. Initially I was going to use them as story boards, which is another thing I need to get into the habit of. I’m a ‘seat-of-my-pants’ writer, for the most part. Anyway, here’s it is:


So, what are my plans? Well, I have decided to look into the terrifying world of Indie publishing. This requires a lot of extra work on the part of the writer, marketing and such. So as well as actually writing the story, I need to factor this into my weekly planner. Today is Monday, it’s a good day to plan. Here’s a quick list of things I need to fit into my week:


Writing blog posts

Sourcing covers


Social media updates


I aim to write at least 2,000 words every day. I know this isn’t a lot by other writer’s standards, and last week I was averaging at least 3,000 per day. However, 10k a week is better than putting tonnes of pressure on myself and getting nothing done! Other things may come up, but for now, these are the things I want to focus on. Cover art is a big deal for me, and I know there are so many cover artists out there, so I need to spend a bit of time researching the best in terms of product and price.

Anyway this is my plan for the week! Lets see how it pans out!

Emerald Isle Fantasies: TIMELOST LOVER


Any writer will tell you, there’s fewer things more exciting than Release Day – which comes after the writing, the editing, the cover reveal and the final edits. It’s that moment you’ve been waiting for, since the concept first appeared in your mind. Today, Susanna Stone has released TIMELOST LOVER, a new addition to the fabulous series Emerald Isle Fantasies. It’s been ages in the making for Susanna, but Release Day has finally arrived, and what an incredible offering she has brought to the series from Ellora’s Cave.

If you’re interested in checking it out (and let’s face it, of course you are!), all the information is below, along with links to Susanna’s blog where you can catch up on her other awesome releases.




When Tannis first sees an iconic painting by Irish nationalist artist Brendan Pearse, she’s stunned that the naked woman in the picture looks exactly like her, even down to the intricate Celtic tattoo on her breast. Seeking answers, she travels to Castle Tullamore, an ancient Irish stronghold steeped in magic, where the artist lived and worked a hundred years ago. Inexplicably, she is whisked back in time and meets him face to face.

Brendan doesn’t know what to make of this otherworldly woman who seems to have come out of nowhere to be his model. But he knows she’s exactly the woman he needs for his Irish Freedom trilogy. At the risk of endangering his master work, and against all his own rules, he knows he can never hope to capture her essence on canvas without first possessing her body in the flesh.

But their time together will be heart-breakingly brief, because Tannis knows Brendan died tragically young, and there’s nothing she can do to change history.



The old detachment of modeling came back to her with ease, reminding her of the days she’d been comfortable standing naked in front of a dozen or more students, some working with a life model for the first time. She smiled at the memory of the first-year men in particular, scarcely more than boys, studiously avoiding her eyes—even more her private parts—pretending to be blasé about it all. Then actually achieving that nonchalance.

And here, now—though when was now?—she stood posing for one of Ireland’s greatest artists. Who would believe it? Well, no one, of course, because one part of her mind still held a modicum of disbelief, no matter how much her senses told her it was happening. The legendary Brendan Pearse using her for his classic work. His eye assessing everything he saw and transmitting the image to his hand to create the marks that represented her lines and highlights and shadows.

He was clearly lost in that element of creation, no more aware of her as a woman than she was of—

He looked up at the very moment her eyes were resting on his face.

And everything shifted for her.

They held each other’s look for a million nanoseconds. His hand stopped for perhaps two beats of the heart, and then he resumed his work with no obvious change in pace or demeanor.

Tannis, however, had felt the swing of her own feelings from inward to outward, right to left, turned upside down. Suddenly very, very self-aware.

Aware of him as a man. Aware of her own nakedness.

No longer a model, a detached professional. Every square millimeter of her flesh felt exposed to this fully dressed man, this icon, this stranger. Alone with him in this isolated room, she felt almost shy of him.

Never in her life, either as a model or a lover, had she felt so on display, flaunting herself and her sexuality. She ached to cover her body.

She would be in a blatantly exposed position. Full frontal nudity, to use that modern term than he would never hear in his life.

How much longer could she bear it? Every second she stood here exposing herself tore at her nerve endings. Her composure was in shreds, her heart pounding in trepidation of what might happen next.

The only thin bright spot was that Brendan himself seemed oblivious to her sexually, unaware of her anguish. His lips tight, his eyes hard, he continued to pour his energy into the sketch before him.

She grabbed hold of her composure and forced herself to remain standing naked before him.


Sweet Saint Brigid. What the hell had just happened? All he’d done was catch her eye, and some unseen energy had sent a shock straight into his libido. He no longer saw his vision of Ireland’s tragedy and courage, but simply and totally a flesh and blood woman of unbelievable erotic potency.

A woman whose sheer sexuality flowed from every pore in her flesh.

He must have been blind. Blinded by the idea of her as his Celtic spirit, blinded by his artist’s vision, to the point where he had failed to see her as a person.

At what point had the primitive male kicked aside the artist?

He willed his nerves to settle down, his unruly ardor to back off. If he could just keep his mind on the project and away from imagining— Never mind.

“All right, turn around for me.” He put iron and detachment into his voice. She rearranged herself to display her back. Gripping the sketchbook as though it could protect him from her, he began to recreate the elegant curve of her back, the dip at the base of her spine—

Stop thinking, damn it. Just draw.


Visit: to get a copy now!

You can connect with Susanna at her blog-site, where you can keep up to date with her other releases:

How to break bad Internet habits


I have a love-hate relationship with the Internet. Before I had it, I used to write at least double the amount of words I write nowadays. Of course, it’s great for downloading music and always having something new to listen to. However, it is also home to: Facebook, pointless cat videos, newspaper sites, endless memes and plenty more time wasting activities. I find myself rotating aimlessly from Facebook to The Daily Mail (a newspaper I absolutely and completely loathe, yet compulsively peruse), Listverse and my emails. When I have finished one, I will begin the cycle again, while my manuscript remains forlorn and ignored.

I also find the internet increasingly depressing. People use it is a platform for complaining and bitching. Facebook is a manic depressive’s dream and newspaper sites are nothing but political propaganda. Cat videos are cute, but let’s face it, hardly inspiring. The memes of Grumpy Cat seem to encompass most of my feelings regarding the internet, these days. I have two Facebook profiles – my author one and my real-life one… most of the time, I prefer the author one because people are inspired, upbeat, hardworking and rarely complain. I like that.

Today, I am going to turn my internet off.  Yes. Off. By the router and force myself to go cold-turkey. Today I will have only CDs for musical company and no way to update followers and friends with inane thoughts or viral photographs. The Daily Mail can piss right off with their usual racism and tri-daily homage to Kim Kardashian. Today it’s going to be just me and my Word document, my loyal friend who is always waiting for me to return, to shower some attention upon her.

Facebook and everyone’s first world problems will still be there tomorrow, and who knows, I might even ignore them tomorrow, too!

Rampant in the Rain Forest

ImageI really love spring time. When the weather is nice and the nights begin to draw out, it fills me with bounce and enthusiasm. I’m writing something new and really enjoying it, too! Of course I spend half my time searching YouTube for suitable music to listen to – and at the moment it is relaxing jungle sounds. That’s a BIG fat on-the-nose clue about where my current project is set! I am rather enjoying the discomfort of my two main characters, as they plunder through the rain forest. I quite enjoy their attempts at ignoring blatant sexual tension, too!


Keep an eye out for an upcoming giveaway, which I will be announcing in the next week or so. I promise it’ll be super sexy and a little bit naughty, just as you would expect! You can keep yourself up-to-date by following this blog or following me on Twitter – @ReaThomas – where I will post when the giveaway is live. 


Much love,

Rea x 

Saint Patrick’s Day GIVEAWAY!!

happy-st-patricks-day-pot-of-gold-graphicHappy Saint Patrick’s Day!

What a day for fun, frivolity and drinking too much!

I’m just dropping by to tell you about a fabulous little giveaway being run by my friend Dena Garson and a number of other writing buddies. As part of an Emerald Isle Fantasies promo, these awesome ladies have got together to invite you on a treasure hunt! If you head over to Dena’s blog to get started on this super Saint Paddy’s Day adventure – there’s a brilliant prize at the end of this rainbow!


Hint: You’ll be wantin’ to keep yer eyes open for shamrocks! 

Introducing… Dena Garson’s “Mystic’s Touch”

ImageI’d like to take an opportunity to spotlight my friend Dena Garson’s fabulous new book Mystic’s Touch. (Have an ogle at that gorgeous cover art!) Dena has had a number of releases with Ellora’s Cave, from Moderne Naughty Nooners to her Paranormal novel for the sexy series Emerald Isle Fantasies. This wonderful new book combines sensual romance with paranormal elements and is as beautifully written as all her others. Blurb and excerpt are below! You can visit Dena at her website, and enter for her goodies giveaway!!




When Prince Ceros returns home to take his place on the throne, he falls prey to a mysterious malady that leaves him unable to speak or move, though his thoughts and awareness remain intact. Danet, a talented healer, realizes the prince is alert inside his body. The two are able to share thoughts telepathically. Unfortunately her connection with Ceros may bring unwanted attention to her abilities and result in her banishment from the city.


Their unique bond grows as Danet races to find a remedy for the prince’s condition. Desire turns to love, which makes Danet fear for their future when he awakens. They seek out the villain attempting to take the throne and endeavor to find a way to stay together.


Inside Scoop: Ceros’ secret shifter status adds complication and intrigue to their budding romance.




An Excerpt From: MYSTIC’S TOUCH

Copyright © DENA GARSON, 2013

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.


Danet turned to look at the prince. He was a handsome man. It was a shame to see him trapped in his body this way.

Don’t try to distract me, the prince said.

How was I distracting you?

You were thinking of touching my hair.

I was not.

Yes, you were.

Danet harrumphed. What was your second reason?

My second reason?

You said you had two reasons for asking about my family but only mentioned one.

Ah, yes. I was trying to figure out how your family could be so intertwined with mine, but I don’t remember meeting you before now.

We were introduced once, long ago. As I have already explained, it would have been improper for me to have served you or spent any time in your company. Besides, you have been away from home for many turns of the suns.

Why is it acceptable for you to be in my service now?

I am no longer an innocent maid. I was married for a short time. Besides, completing my apprenticeship allows me a great deal of freedom even though I am not mated. I believe your mother is more concerned with your well-being than any sense of impropriety. Besides, there is little danger of your ravishing me while in this state.

How does she know that you won’t ravish me while overseeing my care?

She shot him a look that would have spoken volumes had he been able to see it. Because your mother knows me better than that.

Does she?

Yes. With one word, she made sure there was nothing to argue.

How unfortunate.

An image flashed through her mind of her straddling his very naked body, both of them sweaty and flushed. Danet tripped over her own feet. She quickly stamped the image down, not knowing if she had conjured it or if he had.


To purchase Mystic’s Touch, visit Ellora’s Cave!