Angeline Hamilton loses her home and everything she cares about when her father dies. She visits the new owner in a fit of temper only to be asked to live there and work as Sebastian Tremaine's personal assistant. As she tries to build a new life an old flame carrying a grudge stalks her. He's determined to make her pay for leaving him years ago.
Lynette Rees builds a tale full of great characters. Angeline is portrayed as a usually mild mannered woman with brains, passion and a temper to match her red hair. Sebastian is a strong, capable, usually kind man suffering the pain of losing his wife and child in a fluke accident that left him temporarily blind. Angeline’s kissing cousin, Will, Sebastian’s sister Marsha and housekeeper Daisy are unique personalities who add much to the story. The villain is a nasty man who kills for fun and sexual gratification, a real psychopath who lusts for blood.
The author doesn’t give Sebastian and Angeline an easy time. They’re attracted from the beginning, it just takes them a long time to admit it.. By the time they do we’re deep into the mystery of what James King will do at the ball to act on his hatred of Angeline. No matter how much security surrounds them, or what Sebastian does to try to protect her, the ex fiancé seems able to circumvent it. It almost gets comical as someone is always distracted or late or slips up or turns their head or something happens to make it easier for evil to take control.
But that’s the fun of it. She keeps us believing that he just might pull it off because he’s gotten past them so many times in so many ways. This is a darned good story.
Overall rating:
Sensuality rating: Very sensual
Reviewer: Dee Dailey
October 6, 2008
http://theromancestudio.com/reviews/reviews/watchingyourees.htm
Evil is watching you, Evil is coming for you….
Angeline Hamilton and Sebastian are thrown together after the loss of her father, along with her inheritance and her home. Through a case of mistaken identity, she ends up being employed by him.
Sebastian Tremaine, now the owner of her home, and dealing with his own emotional and physical loss, steps in as Angeline’s guardian angel. He soon realizes all is not what it seems.
Unbeknown to Angeline, evil and death follow her. Sebastian is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep Angeline alive, but can he secure her love and save her? For she is earmarked as the “NEXT” on the killer’s list.
These amazing characters also prove that your second chance at love might just be your first. I really enjoyed this book.
But her confusion over the unexpected romance soon gives way to fear. Someone wants her dead. Soon she’s embroiled in secrets, seduction and a simmering love affair.
Stalked by evil, Angeline and Sebastian try desperately to hold onto their new found love…and their lives.
It's been almost a year since my darling boy, Danny, went missing. If you don't know the story you can read about it in the blog archives for June 2007.
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Hope
~ Lynette Rees ~
Hope is expectation of the unseen
Hope is having faith to believe
Hope is found in the name of one man
Hope is a gift from God
Hope is a burning candle in the night
Hope is a belief that things will turn out right
Hope is eternal – it never fades away
Hope is a gift from God
Hope is here today – right now with you
Hope is within and without ever true
Hope is all – both Alpha and Omega
Hope is a gift from God
Hope is one man who has a blessed name
Hope fills an empty space where despair has been
Hope gives meaning to our lives full of care
Jesus is that gift from God
Jesus is our hope, diminishing despair
Jesus is our light in the darkness out there
Jesus is our precious gift from Him
Jesus is our hope, our eternal King.
In my humble opinion, The Sopranos was the best show aired on TV for ages. In fact I enjoyed it so much that I went out and bought each series and watched them four times over! Every time I watched it, I learned something new.
So what is it about the programme that appeals to me?
Well for a start, the characters are believable and their situations interesting. Who would have thought that a show about a mob boss who suffers from anxiety attacks would get such massive ratings? Or that the final ending would cause so much controversy?
As a writer, who pens both fiction and non fiction, here's what I learned from The Sopranos:
1. Not to make my villains all bad
There's no doubt about it, mob boss Tony Soprano is a bad guy, after all, if you cross him you're liable to end up six foot under. Now if he was an out and out hit man with no redeeming features, he would not be such a likable character. Likable? Tony Soprano? I hear you cry. Yes. The guy does have some redeeming features. He likes animals. Remember how he got upset when he found out that the family dog had not 'gone to a farm' as he thought, but was given away to his father's mistress and son? Or the time, the race horse, Pie-0-My, bought by his cousin, Ralph Cifaretto, gets sick. Tony rushes over to the stables and pays the bill. The vet has been withholding treatment because Ralph hasn't been paying him. Tony stays and comforts the horse. Tony is absolutely devastated when the horse eventually dies in an insurance-fiddle fire at the stables.
So Tony cares about animals but does he care about people? Yeah, sure he does. He cares about his children. He wants them both to have good lives. Whether he truly cares about his wife, Carmela, is of course debatable because of his constant affairs. He also shows kindness to his mother even though she plotted against him and to Uncle Junior in some respects, even though he shot Tony.
So, he's not all bad. He has a vulnerable side and that's what we like about him. We laugh with him and we cry with him.
2. My plots need to be character led
Plot evolves from character. Have you noticed how if Tony has a bad day then everyone else is going to know it and his actions have a ripple-on effect? He might shout at his son, AJ, for example, let his wife Carmela down by sleeping with another woman, walk out on his shrink Dr. Melfi in the middle of a session, or even worse, put a bullet in the back of someone's head!
I have learned that character drives plot. Not only that, but character is plot and even certain settings can become characters in themselves. For example, The Bada Bing club can evoke feelings of menace at times when something sinister is afoot, or equally, it can feel a light hearted place depending on the mood of the plot. Or what about Tony's swimming pool at home? Look at the time the ducks arrived. The pool and the ducks seemed to represent how he felt at that particular time coinciding with his mood. When the ducks left he became depressed.
3. Not to sleep with the fishes
Okay, not many of us want to end up sleeping with the fishes in the ocean like Big Pussy Bonpensiero. He was like the older brother, Tony never had, but of course Tony felt justified in getting him bumped off having found out he was an FBI informant. Tony's haunted by it later of course. But that aside, 'not sleeping with the fishes' here, with regards to writing, I'm talking about is not letting my manuscript gather dust in the drawer or languish on disc. If it never sees the light of day then I've little chance of seeing it published. I need to take a chance and send it out somewhere and if it gets rejected, then back out it goes again and again until it finds a suitable home. Some times it might need some revision to make it publishable but that's not always such a bad thing if it makes my story even stronger. I need to be in it to win it!
4. Keep the reader guessing
The ending of The Sopranos has to be one of the most controversial endings of all time. There are those who felt cheated by it and those, like myself, who have read something else into it and feel in retrospect that it was a brilliant ending.
Many fans anticipated a bloody massacre for emotionally tortured New Jersey captain, Tony Soprano, his mob, and even his family.
David Chase, the show's creator, who wrote and directed the finale, chose to cut to a blank screen which left many viewers wondering if the connection to their television sets had somehow worked loose. As the ending is ambiguous, there is another way to look at it of course, that maybe Tony and his family just had an uneventful evening at the diner after all and that the suspicious looking man who left to go the gentleman's room [a scene reminiscent of The Godfather] did just that, went to relieve himself and did not go there to grab a gun hidden in the cistern to shoot Tony and co while they were in the middle of eating a plate of onion rings! This scene gave the viewer the impression that Tony would be forever looking over his shoulder in the future.
We shall never know for certain of course. I prefer to think of Tony, Carmela and the kids still alive and living somewhere in a parallel universe. But that's the beauty of David Chase's ending, he left the reader guessing. There's nothing worse than a predictable ending and that one was anything but! So in summary, the things I've learned are that villains shouldn't be all bad, character drives plot, manuscripts need to get sent out and to keep the reader guessing!
Honey is not far from the sting.
Fran Santini has a secret she keeps from her family. During the day, she works as a waitress, but at night, she is a honey trapper for the Peace of Mind Agency, working for women who suspect their partners are cheating.
Travis O’Connell is minding his own business, enjoying a pint of Guinness at his local pub, when he is accosted by Fran who believes he is her intended target. After all, he has a goatee just as his “wife” described.
Fran, a hopeless honey trapper, fails to realize she has set up the wrong guy. What’s more, when the penny finally drops, she is forced into a compromising situation, begging the question: can Fran’s job stay a secret for much longer?
At the risk of incurring the wrath of Fran’s brother, Antonio, Travis finds himself attracted to sultry Fran Santini. Will the secret draw the couple together or drive them apart?
I imagine Antonio Santini to look like the actor Mark Bannerman. This is probably subconsciously because the character of Antonio is a chef at The Vine Tree restaurant, which also featured in A Taste of Honey and Mark worked in his family's Italian restaurant in Eastenders.
The man looked up. The first thing she noticed was his eyes; they were so soulful, fringed with heavy, dark lashes. She found it hard to take her own off them. They were the kind of green you could lose yourself in. For a moment, she forgot why she was here. Her mouth dry, she said, “Er, do you mind if I sit?”
He said nothing, just shook his head, indicating she could sit down if she wanted. Boy, she had a feeling this was going to be hard work.
Out of his pocket, he pulled a battered tin and some cigarette papers. Taking some tobacco, he deftly placed it in the middle of one of the papers and made a roll-up. She watched as he ran the tip of the paper across his tongue and sealed the cigarette. Now was her chance. She leaned forward, so he would get a flash of her ample cleavage, and used her huskiest voice, the one she used for jobs like this.
“Do you mind?” She placed one of her own cigarettes between her lipstick-painted lips. She didn’t normally smoke, but knew it looked seductive and, after all, she had been forewarned he was a smoker.
“Mind what?” he replied, in what sounded like an Irish brogue.
“I was hoping you would give me a light.”
“Oh.” He took a match from the box and struck it. She leaned even closer as the flame touched the tip of the cigarette. “You have to inhale at the same time.” The corner of his lips curved upwards into a half smile. She felt foolish, but she was right about one thing—he was Irish. “Now, you’re not really a smoker, are you?”
“I am,” she replied indignantly and inhaled deeply to prove she was, prompting a coughing fit. If ever Francine felt like the ground should swallow her up, it was right at this very moment.
“Here.” The man handed Fran her drink. She observed he had a tattoo of a shamrock on the back of his forearm. As she took the glass from his outstretched hand, his fingers brushed against hers. A tingly feeling danced over the surface of her skin, taking her by surprise. This wasn’t going to be easy. He didn’t seem the type of person she thought he was. But his wife’s description had been accurate: collar-length, dark brown hair, green eyes, goatee beard, smoker. But no mention of a tattoo. How strange.
Now what? “Come on, you’ve got lucky.” She licked her lips. If she could just get him outside in a compromising situation, a photographer awaited to snap a picture of them together.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I thought you might like to come home with me for a night cap?”
“I don’t usually go off with strange women, darling!” His eyes widened and he drained his pint, then slammed it down on the table.
So that was his game, was it? He had probably guessed his wife had someone following him.
Fran tried to keep her voice controlled. “Isn’t that what lecherous men like you want? A mistress, while your poor wife stays at home looking after the children?”
He gave her a hard stare, as if she had a screw loose. “I don’t know what you’ve been drinking, but I reckon you should make that your last one. I ain’t the marrying kind. And I certainly don’t go around picking up strange women with all the morals of an alley cat.”
Well, he would say that wouldn’t he? If he suspected something.
He got up out of his seat and grabbed his combat jacket from the back of the chair. Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, he pushed past her.
Immediately, Fran was on her feet. “You no-good, two-timing son of a bitch!” The pub chatter ceased and everything went deadly quiet. She hadn’t realised how far her voice would carry. It felt as if time had stopped and all the pub’s regulars were on freeze frame. This was so not how to do her job. It was unethical, but she just couldn’t help herself. The man was arrogance itself.
She watched as his shoulders tensed up. The back of his neck appeared to shrink down into his shoulders. Slowly, he turned.
People were giving him the evil eye and whispering. Good. What did she care if everyone in the pub knew about him?
The man took a deep breath. “Lady, I have never seen you before in my life and, if I ever see you again, it will be too soon.” Then he pushed his way through the crowd that parted like the Red Sea to allow him to pass.
Fran followed close after him. Once on the street, she gave a thumbs-up sign to the photographer slouched against the wall across the road, to indicate he should follow them. One thing was for sure, the Irish bloke could walk at a hell of pace. For someone who smoked, he seemed ultra fit. Fran’s high-heeled shoes pinched her feet and one of her heels got wedged in a crack in the pavement.
“Stop!” she bellowed at the top of her lungs. “I want a word with you.”
The man paused and turned to face her, then burst out laughing as she toppled over and lay spread-eagled on the pavement. Any dignity she had now disappeared. Her dress hitched up around her thighs and her stocking tops were on full view. Fran felt her face heat up.
When his laughter ceased, he ran over and helped her to her feet.
“I can manage, thank you.” She brushed the dirt from her new dress. She had torn it and broken a fingernail into the bargain.
He steadied her, taking no notice of her protests to keep away. Aware of his closeness, she shivered. Brought back to reality, she heard a click behind them. Oh no, she had forgotten—the photographer.
“What the…?” The man furrowed his brow, his lips tightening. “I don’t know what your game is, little lady, but you’d better keep away from me before I do something I might regret.” He quickly walked away.
“Yeah, run away,” Fran shouted after him. “That’s what men like you do. You’re all the same!” She remembered the photographer. “Did you get that?”
“Yep. I fired off a few shots from across the road, but the best one was when he steadied you after you had fallen.” The photographer frowned. “Hey, I’m not too happy about setting this chap up.”
“You’ve done it before, Ralph. Why the pang of conscience?”
“Something doesn’t feel right. Are you sure you had the right bloke?”
“Let me tell you, Ralph, I’ve been in this game for some time now and I know we got the right man.”
* * *Camille Johnson fingered the large black and white prints and handed them back to Francine. “It’s not him.”
Fran’s stomach flipped over. “Are you sure? Take another look…”
“I think I’d recognise my own husband. I’ve never seen that man before in my life.”
“But I was so sure after the description you gave me. You said where he would be drinking and that he had a goatee beard.”
Mrs. Johnson raised her eyebrows and threw her shoulders back, now towering over Fran. “I said nothing of the sort.”
“Yes, you did. You said, ‘collar-length brown hair, green eyes and goatee beard’.”
Mrs. Johnson looked up at the ceiling in desperation. “I said, ‘collar-length brown hair, green eyes and that he would go to bed’. I meant he would go to bed with the woman in question. I can assure you that my husband does not have a goatee beard!” She flared her nostrils in disgust.
Fran looked at the floor. “Oh! Sorry. It’s just that you don’t see many men with goatee beards these days, so I just assumed.”
“Never assume, dear. It just makes an ass out of you and me. I shall expect a refund, of course.”
Fran swallowed. Now she would have to explain to her boss why she’d failed on this particular assignment. She had been so sure, too. Never mind, she was hardly likely to see the man again, was she? It was his local and she never drank there. She also made it a rule not to return to a pub where she had set up a honey trap. This one she would just have to chalk up to experience.
