The beginning of the month means that it’s time for another guest blogger, and I’m really thrilled to welcome the ever-popular Liz Fielding, in whose shadow I have been trailing for many years now.  A wonderful writer, Liz was winning a RITA® before I even knew what it meant, and her name was above mine on the silver rose bowl awarded to the winner of the RNA’s Romance Prize each year.  And although Liz has very kindly congratulated me on my 50 books below, in fact, she has reached that landmark ahead of me yet again!  In spite of all the fuss, mine won’t be out until October, but Liz not only hit the 50 book mark in January, but is now celebrating a double achievement with the publication of her 50th Harlequin Romance,® The Bride’s Baby, this month,  – some people always have to go one better!!  Here she is to tell you about it herself, and there’s a chance to win a copy of her book with a really interesting competition at the end!

So, many congratulations to you, Liz – shine on, and keep leading the way to the next 50 books!

“Many, many congratulations on your 50th book, Jessica.  It’s the most fantastic achievement.  I know how much dedication, hard work, how much midnight oil it takes to produce such a body of work.  The aching back, the sore eyes, the woolly numbness in the brain as you spend way too many hours at the keyboard when a deadline is looming.   The nerve-jangling wait for editorial approval. 

Just believe me when I tell you that we, your fans, appreciate the effort, although with awards from both sides of the Atlantic, the RITA® for Christmas Eve Marriage and the Romance Prize for Contracted: Corporate Wife,  you already have solid evidence that your writing touches readers in the parts that other books just can’t reach.   I can’t wait for book # 51 – make it soon!

Okay, I said that I know how it feels to have written fifty books and that’s because my own fiftieth Harlequin Romance, THE BRIDE’S BABY, the first book in the A Bride for all Seasons quartet, is published this month.

All authors are asked where they get their ideas from.  In this instance, I started with a request from my editor for a “spring wedding” book.  That’s all.  No suggestions as to theme.  All that was required was the spring wedding.  I actually enjoy that.  It sharpens the focus so that you’re not distracted by all those plot ideas lurking idly in the back of the mind – the ones that refuse to show up and put in the work.

Weddings are always fun.  It’s every woman’s dream to design a no-expense fantasy for the biggest day of her life, isn’t it?  Actually, for Sylvie Smith, the wedding planner at the top of every A-List bride’s wish-list, it’s her worst nightmare. 

She’s five months pregnant and everyone wants to know who’s the father of her baby.  Bad enough.  Then there’s the fact that the location for this fantasy is Longbourne Court, once her ancestral home.  But she can’t refuse.  Gossip-mag Celebrity are making a huge donation to the Pink Ribbon Club, a charity founded by her late mother, for this feature and even though the noblesse had gone well and truly down the pan, the oblige just refused to quit.

Then, just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, she discovers that Tom McFarlane, the billionaire tycoon who does not have fatherhood on his agenda, is the new owner of Longbourne Court.  

Sylvie turned to find her way blocked by six and half feet of broad-shouldered male and experienced a bewildering sense of déjà vu. 

A feeling that this had happened before. 

And then she looked up and realized that it was not an illusion.  This had happened before except on that occasion the male concerned had been wearing navy pin-stripe instead of grey cashmere.

“Some billionaire…” Laura had said, but hadn’t mentioned a name.  And she hadn’t bothered to ask, pretending she didn’t care. 

She cared now, because it wasn’t just “some” billionaire who’d bought her family home and was planning to turn it into a conference centre. 

It was Tom McFarlane, the man with whom, just for a few moments, she’d totally lost it.  Whose baby she was carrying.  Who’d grabbed her offer to forget it had ever happened.  She’d expected at least an acknowledgement...

‘Tell me, Miss Smith,’ he said, while she was still struggling to get her mouth around a simple “good morning”; using exactly the same sardonic tone with which he’d queried every item on her invoice all those months ago.  The same look with which he’d reduced her to a stuttering jangle of unrestrained hormones. 

Despite everything, she hadn’t been able to get that voice, the heat of those eyes, his touch, the weight, heat of his body, out of her head for weeks afterwards.   

Make that months.

Maybe not at all...

The man she most wanted to see in the entire world.  The man she most dreaded seeing because she’d made a promise and she would have to keep it.

‘What?’ she demanded, since they were clearly bypassing the civilities, but then there had never been anything civil between them.  Only something raw, almost primitive.  ‘What do you want?’

Stupid question…

He didn’t want anything from her.

‘To know what you’re doing here?’ Then, presumably just to ram the point home, because he must surely know that it had once been her home, ‘In my house?’

‘It’s yours?’ she said, managing to feign surprise.  ‘I was told some billionaire had bought it but no one thought to mention your name.  But then I didn’t ask.’  And because she had nothing to apologise for, she’d not only been invited here, but was taking part in this nonsense at great personal inconvenience and no little expense, she said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, Mr McFarlane?’

She’d been so right to keep it businesslike.  

He didn’t move, but continued to regard her with those relentlessly fierce eyes that were apparently hell-bent on scrambling her brains. 

The man she dreaded seeing.  The man she longed more than anything to see, talk to.  If he would just give her a chance, let her show him a scan of the baby they’d made.  His daughter.  But maybe he understood the risk, the danger of being sucked into a relationship he’d never asked for, never wanted. 

She’d given him that get-out-of-jail free card and could not take it back.  And since he was studiously avoiding the subject, clearly he had no intention of voluntarily surrendering it.

‘I have a lot to get through today,’ she said, unable to bear it another moment and indicating that she wanted to pass.  She'd meant to sound brisk and decisive but the effect was undermined by a slight wobble on the h-h-have.

She might have a lot to get through, but the dress would have to wait until she’d had enough camomile tea to drown the squadron of butterflies that were practicing formation flying just below her midriff. 

Except that it wasn’t butterflies, but her baby girl practicing dance steps.

His baby girl...

I have a copy of THE BRIDE’S BABY and a useful little sewing kit (every bride should have one!) to give away.  You’ll remember I told you how I love to have something to focus on when I begin to plan a story?  For a chance to win, let your mind take wing;  tell me what title you’d like to see on one of my books and I’ll write it.  I can’t promise to keep the title – Mills & Boon have the final say on that – but I will dedicate it to the winner.

Now back to Jessica...

Thanks, Liz!  Email your answers for Liz to me and I'll pass them on.