Kate's Blog

Ruthless!

I'm having an interesting discussion with a reader over on the eharlequin boards who couldn't stand Cormac, my hero from Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife. It's interesting how different readers react to different things/characters--my books seem to have touched a sensitive point with some people, which I've come to the conclusion is not necessarily a bad thing...

Of course, in general you want people to love, love your books, no holds barred, no criticism at all. But at the same time I recognise that not everyone is going to do that (huh? really??) and I'd rather people reacted strongly in a negative way than in a bland 'whatever' way... or so I keep telling myself, as I posted something similar a few weeks ago!!

It's interesting too to me to see how my own books have changed-I wrote Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife a year ago now and the books I've written more recently have slightly softer Alpha heroes and a bit stronger heroines, which is both an editorial and personal directive. They're still on the dark and angsty side, although not quite so much.

And since that might intrigue you, I thought I'd give you a snippet from my current wip, when the hero and heroine meet for the first time since their brief affair four years ago:

"Hello, Khaled." Lucy surprised herself with how calm and even her voice sounded. Unconcerned. She turned all the way round, one hand still resting on the stone balustrade.
Khaled just stared. Scowled, even, almost as if he were angry. Yet he couldn't be angry... anger and indifference were two entirely separate emotions, worlds apart.
"I didn't think anyone was here," he said tersely, and Lucy inclined her head, gave a small smile.
"I needed some air. The room was very hot."
"I'm sorry you weren't comfortable." They were the words of a cordial host, impersonal, distant, forcing Lucy to half-apologise.
"No, no, everything has been lovely. I'm not used to such star treatment." She paused, and gestured to the moonlight-bathed gardens behind her. "The palace gardens look very beautiful."
"I will have someone show you them tomorrow. They are one of Biryal's loveliest sights."
She nodded, feeling somehow dismissed. There was a howl inside of her, a desperate cry for understanding and mercy.
After everything we had...
But in the end, it--she--had meant nothing to Khaled. Why couldn't she remember that? Why did she always resist the glaring truth, try to find meaning and sanctity where there had been none? "Thank you," she managed, and then lapsed into silence as the night swirled softly around them.
Khaled said nothing, merely looked at her, his gaze sweeping over her hair, her face, her dress. Assessing. "You haven't changed," he said quietly, and surprised by what felt like a confession, Lucy blurted,
"You have."
Khaled stilled, and Lucy hadn't realised there had been a touch of softness to his features in that unguarded moment until it was gone. His smile, when it came, was hard and bitter. "Yes, I have."
"Khaled..." She held one hand out--in supplication--then dropped it. She didn't want to beg. There was nothing left to plead for. "I'd like to talk to you."
Khaled arched one eyebrow. "Isn't that what you're doing?"
"Not now," Lucy said, suddenly wishing she hadn't started this line of conversation. "Tomorrow. I just wanted you to know... perhaps we could arrange a time..." Her voice trailed away as Khaled simply stared, his lips pressed in a hard line, a bleakness in his dark eyes.
"I don't think we have anything to say to each anymore, Lucy." Startled, she realised he sounded almost sad.
"You may feel that way, but I don't. I just need a few minutes of your time, Khaled. It's important."
He shook his head, an instinctive gesture, and Lucy felt annoyance spurt through her. She hadn't come to Biryal to be rejected--again--and for something so little. Was he not willing to give her anything? Would she always feel like a beggar at the gates when it came to Prince Khaled el Farrar?
"A few minutes," she repeated firmly, and without giving him time to respond--or time for her to betray herself with more begging, pleading--she moved past him. Her shoulder brushed his and sent every nerve in her body twanging with remembered feeling as she hurried back into the palace.


What do you think??

posted by Kate Hewitt at 1:58 PM