So I’m sitting down with author Martha O’Sullivan to talk about her latest book and more. Thank you for joining me today, Martha. Let’s get started…
What kind of research did you do for Last Chance?
All three books in my Chances Trilogy are set in Lake Tahoe and/or San Francisco. I have spent a great deal of time in both places, specifically summers in Lake Tahoe, so much of my “research” was really personal experience. However, Last Chance takes place in the winter and since I’m not much of a skier, I used the internet and some locals to keep things authentic.
Awesome! Visiting San Francisco is on my bucket list. What do you prefer: ebook or print? Why?
I’ll date myself by saying print. There’s still something about holding a book in your hand, falling asleep with it on your chest. But I understand the appeal of ebooks. They are immediately accessible, easily portable and almost always at hand. Maybe the best answer is a little bit of both.
Same with me. I like them both. How long have you been writing? When did you decide to become an author?
I’ve been writing for about twelve years, but not full-time like I am now. I was a stay-at-home mom and that always took priority. I took a break for a few years and until I started writing again, I forgot how much I missed it, how much it had become a part of me. I don’t remember ever deciding. It was always in the back of my mind and more a matter of timing. I was rejected for many years, something I wouldn’t trade now. I used the rejection and feedback to make myself a better writer.
Interesting! What did you do when you received your first Acceptance Letter?
I had to read the email over three times because I thought I was hallucinating. I was standing in the deli line at Publix and almost started screaming and dancing around!
Oh, yes. That first acceptance letter doesn’t really sink in on the first read. Any advice for the aspiring authors out there? Particularly those who are feeling a little discouraged?
Go with your gut and never give up. Believe in yourself, gamble on yourself, invest in yourself. And anything is better than a blank page.
What is your favorite book? Favorite author?
My favorite author is Nora Roberts and I loved her Born in Trilogy in particular. But one of the first romance novels I remember reading was Heartbeat by Danielle Steel. I still have it; it’s held together by a rubber band. I must have read it a hundred times!
It’s embarrassing for me to say this, especially since they’re legends in the genre, but I’ve never read a Nora or Danielle book. I’ve heard so many good things about those authors, though.
Thank you again for visiting, Martha. It was a joy to talk with you!
Moira Brody knows Paul Webster better than he knows himself. But neither one of them know that he is as desperately in love with her as she is with him. Still, she isn’t going to wait around forever, especially on Valentine’s Day. When Paul learns that the hard way, he has no choice but to take matters into his own hands. He can’t lose her. Or let the past dictate the future.
So Paul and Moira will have to do something they’ve never done before—go on a real date. A first date that turns into a passionate night, something for which Moira has waited a long time.
These friends turned lovers will have to look at each other with fresh eyes and brave hearts. But not everybody is on their side. And Paul will have to choose between following his head and listening to his heart. Or risk losing Moira forever.
He should have 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. Incredibly sexy. In tight-fitting jeans and a silky top he’d never seen before. With her dark, thick, begging to be touched curls skimming her shoulders. And eye makeup and red lipstick. She smelled pretty good too. Like spring rain and lilacs. All for the guy begging for roses at the flower shop. For someone he’d been “interested in for some time.” 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 SUV swerved, then leveled, sliding into the precarious U-turn.
It took Paul twice as long as usual to get back to Reno with the slick roads. And by then the temperature had dropped enough to turn the spitting rain into steely pellets. A frigid, damp sleet akin to the block of ice that had staked a claim in the pit of his stomach. Turning the corner onto Moira’s street, he heaved a half-hearted sigh of relief when he saw no car in the driveway and a hodgepodge of lights burning inside. She was home. Alone it would seem.
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 slats of the plantation shutters as he made his way up the path to the front door. She was in the kitchen fussing with something, still dressed up like she hadn’t been home long. 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 kitchen island, arms drawn across her chest, and appraised her work. The fancy jeans sat just below her hips, hugging every one of her curves from hip to ankle and Paul found himself disturbingly envious. The sheer shirt rested on her slim waist and reminded him of holding her in his arms when they danced at Lindsay’s wedding. And her breasts looked bigger somehow, like they’d grown overnight. The mere thought of touching them made his heart skip a beat and his cock begin to swell.
Seemingly pleased with her work, she reached for the dish towel flung over her shoulder and dried her hands, inadvertently catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. She did a double take, then held his 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 door. He visualized her on the other side,
squeezing her eyes shut and taking a few deep breaths before opening it. She greeted him in a wobbly voice, “Hey.”
She looked mesmerizing in the amber light. Her emerald green eyes were soulful and clung to his as if unwittingly attached. Her full lips were naked now and Paul told himself it was from eating. The coal-black tendrils had doubled, the errant strands falling in sexy waves around her fair face. Also from natural causes, he told himself. “Hey. Can I come in?”
“Of course,” she invited, 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 evenly.
“Alone?” His eyes scanned the living room.
“It was just dinner, Paul,” Moira patronized.
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 kitchen, and saw what she’d been doing. Arranging 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’re too beautiful to waste.
With four long strides he advanced into the kitchen and glanced around. “Where are the roses?”
She followed him. “At the office.”
“They’re not too beautiful to waste?” he asked in a thick voice, turning to face her.
“No, they are.” Her breath hitched. “They’re just not from you.”
Her eyes were filling behind their dark 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 implored, gripping her forearms. “What have I done? Have I lost you?”
Martha O’Sullivan has loved reading romance novels for as long as she can remember. Writing her own books is the realization of a lifelong dream. She is a graduate of Illinois State University where she wrote for the school newspaper and was a member of Zeta Tau Alpha. She is also a former Acquisitions Editor at MacMillan Computer Publishing. Martha writes contemporary romances with male/female couples and happy endings. Her Chances Trilogy is available in print and digital formats at retailers everywhere. Her current work in progress is Christmas in Tahoe. A native Chicagoan, she lives her own happy ending in Florida with her husband and two daughters.