I want to welcome Martha
O’Sullivan First I’d love you to introduce yourself.
Thanks for
having me, Barbara. I write sexy, contemporary romance with
traditional couples and Happily Ever After endings. My Chances trilogy
was published in September, October and November 2013 by Red Sage Publishing.
Tell us about your latest release.
My latest release is the conclusion of my
Chances trilogy, Last Chance. When I started writing Second Chance, a
trilogy was the farthest thing from my mind. Moira and Paul's story was
originally part of that first novel. But as Lindsay and Brian's
adventure evolved, I realized there wasn't room in the book to do Moira and
Paul justice. And since Delaney and Mike's Chance Encounter was dancing
relentlessly in my head, I put Moira and Paul on hold. Now it’s their turn for
Happily Ever After. What better way to conclude the Chances trilogy than
to come full circle.
Now I have a few questions for you – I have found readers do
like to know fun things about us writers.
1.) Who is your favorite villain – it can be from a book
(even one of yours), movie or TV show. And why?
Larry Hagman
from Dallas. He was frighteningly brilliant, cunningly manipulative. And that
wicked smile...But there was something endearing about him. You hated to love
him, but you did.
2.) Who is your favorite character out of your books? Why?
Moira Brody,
the heroine in Last Chance. Moira is strong and independent, yet
vulnerable on the inside. She is loyal to a fault and her tough love forces
others, and subsequently, herself out of their comfort zone. There’s probably more me in her than any of
my other characters.
3.) What do genre do you write? What made you pick that one?
I write
contemporary romance novels with traditional couples and happy endings because
that’s what I’ve always enjoyed reading. The stories are about finding true
love, not just lust, even in the wake of unexpected and seemingly insurmountable
circumstances. And trusting in that love enough to take the leaps of faith that
lead to happily ever after.
4.)What are you working on now?
I’m writing a
sweet and steamy Christmas novel set in Costa Careyes, Mexico.
5.) What got you to start writing?
I’m a
lifetime reader. I always found myself drawn to the
wire rack of slightly musty and lovingly tattered paperback romance novels at
the public library. The books took me to places all over the world where
effortlessly beautiful, wonderfully flawed heroines were swept off their feet
by dynamic, irresistible heroes. And if I found the ending disappointing or
abrupt, I would simply continue the story in my head. But why it all starting
clicking on that April night in 2008 beats me!
6.) Where do you get your ideas from?
I love
watching people and trying to figure out their story. Everybody has one. And
sometimes characters start dancing around in my head and won’t stop until I let
them out!
7.) What would people who read your work be surprised to
find out about you?
I revised Second
Chance, the Chances trilogy opener, at least a hundred times before I sold
it. Every time I was rejected by a publisher or discounted in a contest, I’d go
back and rewrite based on the comments. As disheartening as that was, it made
me a better writer in the end.
8.) Do you have any special talents?
Not
particularly. I’m not musically inclined or athletic. My greatest strength is
probably my ability to get along with all types of people. And I love words.
9.) What was the one piece of advice you received when you
were an aspiring author that has stuck with you? Why?
Never give up
on yourself. At RWA Nationals in 2010, Nora Roberts recounted going to book
signings on Saturday mornings where no one showed up. She remembered sitting
there with a stack of books, as the bookseller silently pitied her, wishing
away the day. But she never gave up on herself.
10.) If you could talk to any famous figure (present, past
or fictional) who would it be and what would you talk about?
Jesus Christ.
I’d ask him what I could do to live more in his likeness and why forgiveness
and faithfulness are so hard to come by.
11.) What song would you say describes your life?
The Time of My Life by Green
Day.
12.) If you could come back as any animal – what would it
be?
My Cairn
Terrier Butterscotch. No dog was more loved and spoiled. And she sleeps half
the day!
Martha O’Sullivan’s Chances trilogy is available now from
Red Sage Publishing. In Second Chance, star-crossed lovers
Lindsay Foster and Brian Rembrandt get a second chance at love amid the
brilliant blue waters of Lake Tahoe. In Chance Encounter, Delaney
Richards and Mike Savoy’s quest for love takes them from Tahoe’s fawn-colored
shores to the serpentine streets of San Francisco. And the heat in Last
Chance comes not from the blazing summer sun and rugged, white-hot
sand, but from the long-bridled desire between friends-turned-lovers Moira
Brody and Paul Webster. Here’s an excerpt from Last Chance:
Excerpt from Last
Chance
by Martha O’Sullivan
The black ice cast
an eerie sheen on the road ahead and the glare of the oncoming high beams had
Paul squinting as if at the summer sun. The weather was coming in fast and he
wondered if Moira had gotten home safely.
Or at all.
Or alone.
He should’ve gotten
her roses.
But he didn’t.
Because
she’s...Moira. Effortlessly beautiful, remarkably grounded, perpetually
good-natured Moira.
And tonight she
was something else.
Irresistibly sexy.
In tight-fitting
jeans and a scooped-neck top he’d never seen before.
With her freshly
washed, begging to be touched spiral curls skimming her shoulders.
And eye makeup.
With red lipstick.
She smelled pretty
good too. Like spring rain and lilac laced with desire.
All for the guy
begging for roses at the flower shop. For someone he’d been “interested in” for
a while. For whom he had a last minute arrangement thrown together.
From his cuttings.
For his girl.
Paul huffed out a
harried breath.
Is that what she
was?
Apparently not.
But he sure as
hell wanted her to be.
He slammed on the
brakes and the Beemer swerved, then leveled, sliding into the precarious
U-turn.
It took Paul twice
as long as usual to get back into town with the slick roads. And by then the
temperature had dipped enough to turn the spitting rain into pellets of steel.
A frigid, damp sleet akin to the block of ice that had staked a claim in the
pit of his stomach.
Turning the
high-curbed corner, he heaved a halfhearted sigh of relief when he saw no car
in the driveway and a hodgepodge of lights burning inside.
She was home.
Alone.
Unless they came
in one car, he prepared himself through gritted teeth.
Paul knew the
garage code, but didn’t want to scare her, so he opted for the conventional
route. He could see her profile through the slates of the plantation shutters
as he made his way up the flagstone path to the front porch. She was in the
kitchen fussing with something, still dressed up like she hadn’t been home
long.
Alone, it would
seem.
His throat muscles
contracted as his mind began to race. Had her date seen her home or had they
parted ways at the office? Gone somewhere for a drink after dinner? Made
another date? He looked on as Moira stepped back from the beaded board kitchen
island, arms drawn across her chest, and appraised her work. The midnight blue
jeans sat just below her hips, hugging every one of her curves from hip to ankle
and Paul found himself disturbingly covetous. The sheer shirt rested at her
waistline and when she bent over, the dimples at the small of her back implored
him to wonder what came next. And her breasts looked bigger somehow, like
they’d grown overnight. The mere thought of it made his heart skip a beat and his
cock begin to grow ridged.
Seemingly pleased
with her work, she reached for the dish towel flung over her shoulder and dried
her hands.
That’s when she
saw him out of the corner of her eye.
She did a
double-take, then mingled with his soulful gaze momentarily. He thought the
corners of her mouth curved slightly upward, but the distance between them was
too great to be sure. She shook off whatever she was thinking and walked toward
the front door. He visualized her on the other side, squeezing her eyes shut
and taking a few deep breaths before opening it. She greeted him with a wobbly,
“Hey.”
She looked
captivating in the amber light. Her eyes were languid and clung to his as if
unwittingly attached. Her lips were naked now and Paul told himself it was from
eating. The tendrils around her face had doubled, like some vagabond strands
had fallen from the clip at the crown of her head. Also from natural causes, he
forced himself to assume. “Hey,” he returned. “Can
I come in?”
“Of course,” she
invited blandly, ushering him in.
Stepping inside,
Paul rapid-fired, “I’m glad you’re home. I wanted to—”
“Where else would
I be at eleven o’clock at night?” she cut him off.
“I don’t know.”
His mind was suddenly a mare’s nest and his palms were beginning to sweat. “I
wasn’t sure what your plans were for the rest of the evening.”
“I’ve been home
for almost an hour,” she informed him crisply.
“Alone?” His eyes
scanned the house beckoningly.
“Yes,” Moira
patronized. “It was just dinner, Paul.”
On Valentine’s
Day, he silently added. “About that, I came by to apologize.” He wondered if
she sensed the audible relief in his voice. “I shouldn’t have assumed we’d see
each other tonight. And I certainly shouldn’t have assumed you’d be,” he bit
off the word, “available.” He looked away then, into the cottage-style kitchen,
and saw what she’d been working on.
Flowers.
His flowers.
She must have
acquired clairvoyant powers in those few seconds, because her tone softened and
she said, “I had to bring them home. They were too beautiful to waste.”
Like her.
No, like them.
With four wide
steps he advanced into the antique white kitchen he’d designed. “Where are the
roses?”
She followed him.
“At the office.”
“They’re not too
beautiful to waste?” he quickened in a thick voice, turning to face her.
“No, they are.”
Her breath hitched. “They’re just not from you.”
Her emerald
saucers were filling behind their licorice lashes and she was biting her bottom
lip, trying to hold back the tears. Paul couldn’t have stopped himself from
going to her if he’d wanted to.
“Moira, what are
we doing?” he entreated, gripping her forearms. “What have I done? Have I lost
you?”
She shook her head
from side to side and her eyes began to empty, leaving sooty tire-like tracks
on her china doll face. Tipping his head back in silent thanks, Paul took her
in his arms. She moved into his body, sobbing through sawed-off breaths.
“Tell me nothing
happened. Tell me there’s nothing between you and him,” he prayed out loud
after an affecting moment.
She answered by
burrowing her head deeper into his shoulder and wreathing his middle. He felt
her breathing level off and he kissed the top of her coal-black mane. She
smelled like a subtle version of earlier, infused with wine and garlic. Hope
replaced the uneasiness in his stomach and he heard himself say, “I had to
force myself not to go back there. I’ve been driving around for hours, going
crazy.”
She angled out of
his grasp just enough to make eye contact. Suddenly she was the girl he used to
know again, not the woman tying his insides into knots. Or maybe the perfect
combination of both. Her eyes began to shine and a satisfied smile curved her
lips. “You have?”
“Yeah. Like
outside my mind crazy.” He laid his lips on hers and tasted the salt from her
tears. She melted into the kiss, then the next. He wondered if she could sense
him growing behind the zipper. Or the spool of want unwinding into a thousand
frazzled threads in his gut. Gasping for air, he released her mouth and cupped
her face. “You make me crazy, Moira Brody. Absolutely crazy.”
Her breath caught
in her throat and her eyes began to swell again. She swallowed hard and
allowed, “Then I like you crazy.”
Resting his
forehead on hers, he let the night roll down his back like a recalcitrant
tumbleweed. Then he closed his eyes and appealed, “Do I need to fight for you,
Moira?”
She laughed a
little. “Well, Jason did bring flowers, dinner, wine.”
“I brought
flowers, dinner, wine,” Paul defended high-mindedly, straightening. “Did you
ever get the Chinese food?”
“Yeah, it’s in
there.” She nodded over his shoulder at the sub-zero they’d picked out
together.
“It’s your
favorite. Cashew chicken.”
“Thank God,” she
gushed, dabbing the outer corners of her eyes. “I’m starving.”
Paul’s nose
wrinkled. “Did Bernini’s have a bad night?”
“Not from what I
picked at.”
“Poor guy,” he
gloated through a chuckle. “Went to all that trouble for nothing.”
“I wouldn’t say
for nothing,” Moira demurred, her eyes dancing with innuendo. “He seemed to
enjoy the evening.”
“Oh?” inquired
Paul, stepping out of her embrace.
Gleaming now, she
raised her eyebrows mischievously. “Yeah.”
He felt his
expression plummet. “Did he kiss you good night?”
“He did,” preened
Moira.
Paul couldn’t
believe how much that bothered him. “Did you want him to?”
Her face instantly
sobered. “No,” she avowed, then finished with hushed care. “I wanted you to
come back.”
“I did.” As if
he’d had any choice in the matter. Paul drew her to him again and ran his hands
up and down her willowy back. “I had to.”
“That was all I
could think about during dinner,” she lamented into the crook of his shoulder.
“That I could’ve spent Valentine’s Day with you.”
“Don’t let it
happen again.” He leaned back and dried her tearstained cheeks with his thumbs.
“I know I won’t,” he warned gallantly.
“I didn’t want it
to happen to begin with.”
“Good to hear.” He
kissed her nose with the puissance of a snowflake. “Think he’ll call you?”
She shrugged
matter-of-factly. “Yeah.”
“What will you
say?”
“What should I
say?” Her voice was hopeful.
“No.” He reached
into his jacket pocket. “And thank you.”
Her eyes narrowed
in confusion as she took the red velvet box from his open hands. “What is
this?”
He gestured toward
the white satin bow-topped lid with a tip of the head. “Open it and find out.”
Moira obliged as
Paul looked on eagerly. A tiny gasp escaped her throat when she saw the studs
inside.
“I know they’re on
the small side, but you’re not one for flash.”
She glided her
fingertips over each diamond. “They’re beautiful.”
“Megan thought
they were perfect.” Just like you, he almost said.
Her astonished gaze
shifted upward. “Megan?”
“She’s not sick.
She found another sitter for tonight.” He paused to let the benevolent betrayal
sink in. “So we could spend Valentine’s Day together.”
“Oh, Paul! I’m so
sorry!” she effused. “I had no idea.”
Neither did he.
Until just now. And the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. “You can make
it up to me tomorrow night,” he told her extemporaneously. “We’re going on a
date. It’ll be our first one.”
Last Chance
buy links:
Bio:
Martha O'Sullivan has loved reading romance novels for as long
as she can remember. Writing her own novels is the realization of a lifelong
dream for this stay-at-home mom. Martha writes spicy, contemporary romances
with traditional couples and happy endings. She is the author of the Chances trilogy
from Red Sage Publishing. Her current work-in-progress in a sweet and steamy
Christmas novel set in Costa Careyes, Mexico. A native Chicagoan, she lives her
own happy ending in Tampa with her husband and two daughters.
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