As usual remember to leave a comment and you'll be entered into a prize draw to win an eBook copy. Take it away, Gina.
Hi Kiru and thanks so much for inviting me to be here today and for the opportunity to talk to readers about my brand new release ‘Life After 6 Tequilas’ (Thornberry Publishing, 4 March 2013). Essentially, this story is a romance, loaded with conflict and injected with humour – a kind of ‘chick lit with issues’ and ‘unlikely opposites attract’ scenario that I hope you’ll all enjoy.
Beth Johnson’s sole quest in life is to pursue her career so she can provide the best care possible for her baby son, Jacob. She’s a single mum in London with a sympathetic boss and the full, loving support of her parents. She’s upbeat, organised and in control. Life is good. Life is happy.
What could possibly go wrong?
Beth’s meticulous childcare system collapses ‒ that’s the first thing of many ‒ at the worst possible moment and the nanny agency provides her with their sole option, Georgian migrant carpenter, Davit Kacharava. As looks go, he’s a hunk, but he’s lacking in every other department. He’s the wrong sex, speaks dodgy English, and although he’s a regular all-round nice guy, he has no relevant childcare experience. Culturally, he’s way off the radar. Worse, he’s a total stranger.
A temporary arrangement, that’s all it is, although conflict vs attraction play havoc with Beth’s common sense.
She takes the plunge and soon finds she is drawn to empathetic, housetrained Davit. To him, Beth is a princess. To Beth, Davit is a support system she’s sorely missed, even though she’s suppressed the need. He’s a strong, straightforward, honest guy, reliable and protective – baby Jacob loves him and Davit (did I mention he’s gorgeous?) loves Jacob right back.
Why wouldn’t life be perfect for the three of them from here on in?
Sparks don’t fly, that’s why. Davit’s honesty ethic becomes the stumbling block when Beth reveals a secret that shadows her life – a secret with which Davit cannot live ‒ and their fledgling relationship teeters. It’s up to Beth to get it back on track, but can she do what she must do, before it’s too late?
‘Life After 6 Tequilas’ is available in ebook right now, and will shortly be released in paperback format.
Baby Jacob crawls towards me and pulls himself up to a wobbly standing position. Clutching my skirt with one hand, he reaches up with the other.
“Bub,” he says. I pick him up, turning him onto my hip.
“Do you have any experience?” I ask Davit.
His grey eyes, like dark steel, are intent on my mouth. I’m thinking aircraft carriers, the North Sea in winter, and all the Eastern Bloc baddies in 24.
He thinks for a moment. “I have small brothers, sister.”
I wait. Nothing. He looks down at his boots.
“Are you a professional nanny, um, Davit? Child carer?” I ask.
He looks up quickly, his face blank. I try again. “What job do you do?”
“You cut down trees?” That would explain the massive arms and the tan. But I’m having trouble working out the link between tree felling and baby care.
“I cut furniture,” he says.
I look at my kitchen and imagine the cupboards, table and chairs reduced to kindling in the flash of a wielded axe, possibly lurking in the bag at his feet – a bag that looks like a cross between Goliath’s golf bag and a size XXL body bag.
“Carpenter,” he says, rapping broad knuckles on my prized little butcher’s block trolley. It rocks with fright. “I make.”
I turn to Fenella. “Fenella.” I drop the “Ms Forsythe” in an attempt at authority. “He’s a carpenter, not a nanny. And, by the way, he can’t speak English.”
“Neither can Jacob,” she retorts, reaching into her bag for a mobile phone that’s singing an aria from La Traviata. I glimpse a pack of Benson & Hedges. She ignores the bit about carpenter versus nanny, concentrating on her phone.
“This is Trevor,” she says. “Time to go.” She ducks away, the phone to her ear. “Absolutely fine, Trevor. We’re on our way.”
Like hell. I’m numb all over, except for a small twisting, panicky knot in my tummy. The clock ticks on.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
Fenella’s eyes narrow, stretching her face to breaking point. I fear backlash from the ponytail. She stretches out her arms, and pats the air in front of her, like the Pope.
“Everything will be all right, Beth.”
“I wouldn’t leave my child with a stranger for one minute!”
“Many people do.” She’s using a calm, slow, warning tone, like she’s talking me down from a ledge.
“Oh, but they do.” She folds her arms, furling the wings.