Romance Readers Book Of The Week
September 26, 2005
ARCHIVED FEATURE
UNFINISHED
BUSINESS (from the UNDRESSED anthology)
by Suzanne Forster
Genre: Romance (sizzling)
Format: Mass Market Paperback
ISBN: 0373836791
Publisher: Harlequin
Buy This Book:
Available at
Suzanne
Forster's Website
BarnesandNoble.com
Amazon.com
FROM THE BACK COVER:
Writer Melissa Sanders never dreamed
she’d wake up to find a handsome stranger beside her…and a ring
on her finger! Blame it on the rum cocktails, but after one wild
night in Cancun, she suddenly had a husband! In a panic, she
took the first plane out of Mexico, vowing to put Tony Bond out
of her mind…though she knew her body would never forget his
touch.
To years later, Melissa has written a sizzling book based on
sexual tricks she’s done with her “husband”…tricks she still
longs to do. She even dedicated the book to him! But when Tony
shows up for her book tour, ready to play the devoted spouse,
she doesn’t know whether to kill him—or kiss him. Especially
once Tony makes it clear the honeymoon isn’t over….
WHAT OTHERS ARE SAYING ABOUT THIS
BOOK:
“…Forster’s story will leave
readers…sighing with pleasure.”
--Romantic Times
"...fans of heated contemporary romance tales starring a
pragmatic female with a starry-eyed male (nice gender bender for
a change) will appreciate UNFINISHED BUSINESS. The clash of
opposites make for a fun time for readers as the male romantic
tries to persuade the skeptical female that he meant his vows
and plans to prove that every day for the rest of their lives."
~Harriet Klausner
MEET THE AUTHOR:
Acclaimed
author Suzanne Forster is living proof of Shakespeare’s maxim
that the uses of adversity are sweet. Suzanne’s writing career
began by accident. Literally. A car accident ended her dreams
for a career in clinical psychology. During her recovery, she
began writing to fill the hours, and before she was well enough
to return to graduate school, she’d sold her first book and
launched a new career.
Since then Suzanne has written twenty-plus novels and been the
recipient of countless awards, including The National Readers’
Choice Award for Shameless, her mainstream debut. She’s received
recognition for outstanding sales from Waldenbooks and Bookrak,
and her twelfth novel, Child Bride, was that year’s top-selling
Bantam series romance. Her romantic thriller, The Morning After,
hit top spots on several bestseller lists, including the New
York Times extended, USA TODAY, Waldenbooks, Borders and Barnes
& Noble.
Suzanne has a Master’s Degree in Writing Popular Fiction, and
she teaches and lectures frequently. Her seminars on Women's
Contemporary Fiction at UCLA and UC Riverside were rated
outstanding, and her most requested workshop, "The High-Concept
Synopsis," is based on personal experience. Her breakout novel,
Shameless, sold on a synopsis that triggered a bidding war and
garnered her a six-figure contract.
Suzanne has received considerable media attention, including a
feature segment on Extra, NBC's news and entertainment magazine,
and an Emmy Award–winning "Special Report" on CBS Channel 23
News. Her many print appearances include the L.A. Times, the
Philadelphia Inquirer, Redbook and Orange Coast Magazine.
READ AN EXCERPT:
“I’ll be fine. I can do this,” Melissa
Sanders said. She sat next to Jeanie on the Green Room couch of
Wake Up, America, patting the publicist’s tightly clasped hands.
“I really like the idea of picking couples from the audience and
giving them the Naughty Sex Quiz. That should be fun,” she
enthused, although in truth she felt a bit leery about the idea.
“Are you ready for some tough
questions?” Jeanie asked. “In the last segment, Bobbi will take
questions from the audience, but even she doesn’t know what
they’re going to be. The show’s producers don’t want to lose the
element of surprise.”
“I don’t think I could be surprised,” Melissa said dryly. “I’ve
memorized the damn book.”
“Where’s your hubby, Ms. Sanders? How are you going to answer
that one?”
“He’s in London on business travel. I’m hoping he can join me
soon.” Melissa smiled and flashed the band on her finger at
Jeanie. “See, I’m ready for anything. I’m even wearing a wedding
ring.”
“Hey, good thinking,” Jeanie said. “That didn’t occur to me.”
Melissa felt an uneasy twinge as the gold ring glinted in the
lights, but decided not to share its history with Jeanie. Maybe
that’s why it was still on her finger—to help her pull off this
crazy tour.
“You thought of everything else,” she told Jeanie. “It’s going
to be fine.”
Of course, Melissa was certain she would be stricken with
hysterical blindness during the broadcast and not be able to see
the host or the cameras or anything. But other than that, it was
a classic case of role reversal. Jeanie seemed more nervous than
Melissa. There was more at stake than Melissa wanted to think
about, so she was concentrating on being grateful that the
booking hadn’t been cancelled. Antonio still hadn’t been
located, but the marketing department had made an executive
decision to go ahead without him. Wake Up America was too good a
gig to pass up, and Melissa had finally convinced them she would
be able make excuses for her missing husband.
Please, God, let him stay missing. It was much safer that way.
The green room door popped open, and the show’s
guest-wrangler—the harried young woman who’d been squiring them
around all morning—beckoned for Melissa. “C’mon! You’re up
next!”
Melissa squeezed Jeanie’s hand. “I can do this,” she whispered.
“I won’t let you down.”
Jeanie squeezed back, and some color returned to her ashen face.
She began to straighten Melissa’s clothing, dusting the
shoulders of her navy pinstripe pantsuit and straightening the
starched collar of her man-tailored blouse. She even gave
Melissa’s shiny brunette pageboy a smoothing. It was probably a
reflex action, but Melissa was encouraged that Jeanie was acting
more like herself. Jeanie was about thirty-five and the perfect
publicist, part brilliant sales strategist and part mother hen.
There hadn’t been much strategizing going on this morning, but
at least she was starting to make familiar clucking noises.
The guest-wrangler grabbed Melissa’s hand, dragged her out of
Jeanie’s clutches, and quickly led her through the wings.
Melissa heard a countdown, and then she was gently pushed onto a
television set to tumultuous applause. The lights were surreal,
like the spaceship landing in Close Encounters, but she could
see a woman who looked like Bobbi Start rising from a couch and
waving at her. She’d never seen the host through anything but
her television screen. Now she looked as if she were a mile
away. Was that a symptom of hysterical blindness?
Melissa wouldn’t have placed a bet on her chances of getting
over there, but somehow she made the trip in seconds, and
miraculously, there were no disasters. She didn’t trip or fall.
Her fly didn’t unzip itself and her jacket didn’t catch on
anything and rip off her body like stunt clothing. Did they have
obedience schools for imaginations? She should have sent hers
years ago. Down, imagination, down.
“Here’s our sex expert!” Bobbi rushed over and hugged Melissa as
she stepped up on the pedestal set. Bobbi’s exuberance nearly
knocked them both over, which the audience loved. They clapped
and cheered, making Melissa feel as if she were in friendly
company. She wasn’t surprised the show was a hit.
Bobbi projected that same sort of
welcome to everyone. Tiny and boundlessly perky, the former
Olympic gymnast was morning television’s bright new face. She’d
brought Wake Up to the number two spot in the ratings, and it
was swiftly gaining on number one. Who needs coffee with Bobbi
Start in the morning? That was the show’s teaser.
“Melissa, Melissa, Melissa,” Bobbi gushed as they sat down. “You
naughty girl! This book of yours is quite an eye-opener. Or
should I say mind-opener?”
Bobbi held up 101 Ways, and Melissa blushed, mostly with
pleasure. She’d been coached by Jeanie to think of herself as
excited rather than nervous, which must mean she was really
excited. Her insides were vibrating like one of those
coin-operated motel beds.
“Please, yes, call it a mind-opener,” Melissa said. “My goal
with the book is to help women think out of the box, so to
speak, when it comes to their love lives. I believe we should be
as creative in our quest for sexual enjoyment as we are in our
quest for bargains at the mall. Think how happy everyone would
be—and how skinny. You know sex burns nearly seven-hundred
calories an hour. That’s better than the treadmill.”
Bobbi chortled. “But who could have sex for an hour?”
She doesn’t know Antonio, Melissa thought.
One of the cameras had a blinking red light, which Melissa had
been told meant it was on. She glanced at it and smiled, hoping
to send Jeanie a signal. See, I’m doing fine out here. Piece of
cake.
“Why don’t we have some fun with the folks in our audience?”
Bobbi suggested. “Let’s give a lucky couple the ‘Naughty Sex
Quiz’ and see how they do. Do we have any volunteers?”
Hands shot up all over the studio, but
one of the show’s pages was already out in the audience with a
couple who’d volunteered before the taping. The page introduced
the couple as in their thirties, married ten years and stuck in
the sexual doldrums.
Melissa scanned the crowd nervously. Okay, so she’d invented the
quiz for her book, but it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d be
conducting man-on-the-street type interviews. She greeted the
couple with a smile, pretending it wasn’t at all unusual to be
casually probing into the intimate details of their lives.
“Do you indulge in sexual afterplay as well as sexual foreplay?”
she asked them. “In other words, do you talk about your
lovemaking afterward and tell each other what you liked?”
The man blushed, but the woman spoke right up. “What I’d like
is to have sex,” she said.
The audience tittered, and Melissa found herself smiling, too.
“Not to worry,” she said. “It sounds like a case of sexual
batteries going dead. What you need is a jump start.” She rubbed
her hands as if warming them. “To get the current flowing again,
try something I call erotic flash-forwards. They’re fun, highly
stimulating, and they’ll help you discover your own secret turn-ons.”
“What are erotic flash-forwards?” Bobbi asked.
The husband seemed perplexed, too. “I flashed someone once,” he
said uncertainly. “There was a census-take at the door, and it
was hotter’n hell that day, so I flapped my bathrobe to create a
breeze—”
Bobbi jumped in again, apparently to save the audience’s
delicate sensibilities. “I’m guessing Melissa is talking about
visualizing the kind of sex you’d like to have with your
partner. Right, Melissa? Fantasizing?”
“Yes, exactly.” She turned to the crowd. “And here’s a homework
assignment for all of you. Next time you’re stuck in traffic or
waiting in a line, use that time to daydream about what would
thrill your soul if you were alone somewhere with your partner.
It could be something you saw at the movies or read in a book,
but don’t limit it to the obvious. Sure, you could have your
partner brush your hair, but maybe you’d rather have him warm
your bottom with that hair brush.”
“Just when it was getting interesting!” Bobbi clucked with
disappointment as the show’s theme music began to play. “We have
to take a short break, but stay tuned. Coming up next? How to
make him sit up and beg for booty.”
As soon as the cameras were off, the set buzzed with activity. A
rather morose young man refreshed Melissa’s water glass and
Bobbi’s iced tea. Flowers were fluffed and pillows plumped. A
sound woman checked the boom mikes, and a group of staffers
huddled in discussions off to one side.
Melissa looked to Bobbi for approval and got a thumbs-up as the
host leafed through her notes. “The next segment should be even
better,” she said. “I see we have some great surprises in store.
These producers of mine are geniuses.”
The guest-wrangler dashed out to powder Melissa’s nose so there
was no chance to find out what Bobbi meant, but she wasn’t too
concerned. Things seemed to be going pretty well. Even the
married couple had been cute without trying to be. When you
talked about sex, you had a real advantage, she’d discovered.
The subject was a minefield of double entendres. You couldn’t go
far without stepping on something. It was dangerous—and
exciting.
“ . . . three, two, one—”
Melissa barely got a sip of water before they were back on the
air. Bobbi held up the book again, and one of the cameras zoomed
in for a close-up. The cover appeared on the monitor, and the
name Melissa Sanders appeared on the screen. It gave her quite a
jolt. That was her book! There’d been a flurry of activity
getting ready, and it hadn’t dawned on her until now that she’d
be seeing her own book on TV. It almost felt as if they were
talking about someone else, and she was here by mistake.
“Let’s talk about Chapter Five, Melissa. Some of these games
sound like carnival rides: Joy Ride, Spin Cycle, Express Train
to Blissville, Wing Ding Swing and Sexual Paste. Oh, and how
about this one—the Velvet Tongue. Care to tell us about any of
those?” Bobbi said with a coy wink.
“Well, the Wing Ding Swing involves having your partner push you
in the swing, but not with his hands.”
“My, My.” Bobbi laughed. “Sounds like good coordination is
required. How about Sexual Paste, hmm? You must tell us about
that one.”
Melissa laughed, too. “Sorry, you’ll have to read the book.
Sexual Paste is triple X-rated and much too hot for daytime TV.”
“Okay, but tell us this at least—which one of these games made
your husband beg for more? Was it the Velvet Tongue, maybe?”
Melissa blushed. The interlude that had sparked the name Velvet
Tongue was still achingly vivid in her mind, even after two
years.
“Actually, Antonio inspired that game,” she said softly, “but
I’m not sure I should tell you how.”
Bobbi rose, glancing toward the wings from which Melissa had
emerged. “Well, then,” she said in a tone lilting with intrigue,
“maybe Antonio will tell us himself.”
“What?” Melissa stared at Bobbi, who was now talking directly to
the camera.
“Yes, folks, we have a surprise for Melissa. She doesn’t know
anything about this, but we’ve brought her husband over from
London, where he was traveling on business. We thought everyone
would want to meet the man who inspired the Velvet Tongue.”
Bobbi flung out an arm. “Welcome, Antonio Bond!”
***
No one gasped louder than Melissa as a
tall, dark and exotically handsome man walked onto the set of
the talk show. His glossy black hair was a little longer than
current trends dictated, but he’d never seemed the type who
cared about trends. It caressed the nape of his neck and fell
onto his forehead, making him look ever so slightly
disreputable, but in the sexiest possible way.
On the other hand, he could have been a spokesperson for the
line of clothes he wore. The casually tailored slacks, black
silk shirt and woven leather sandals gave him the look of a man
who’d just flown in from the south of France. The shadowed jaw
beautifully carved his angular face. This was not the waiter
who’d dropped to his knees in front of her and proposed. And
yet, it was. This was Antonio. He had that same intense,
prepare-to-be-swept-off-your-feet quality.
He walked to Bobbi first and shook her hand, then turned to
Melissa, who had not yet managed to stand up. His dark gaze
locked in on her, glinting with dangerous lights. Apparently he
was in no rush. The set’s blinking red bulbs and ticking time
clocks didn’t seem to faze him as he watched her efforts to rise
with undisguised interest.
With a tug of his hand, he pulled her to her feet and said for
everyone to hear, “Cara, it feels like years since I’ve held
you.”
The audience sighed as he drew her into his arms. Melissa
couldn’t even breathe. Her pulse throbbed so hard it hurt, but
this wasn’t pleasure. She didn’t know what it was. Fear,
excitement, wild anticipation?
The audience couldn’t hear what he whispered, and Melissa didn’t
catch all of it either, but it sounded like, “Don’t expect to
walk away from me again. Ever.”
She glanced up at him, startled, but all she caught was his
fleeting smile. Lord, he was impossibly gorgeous. Still. That
mouth of his was every bit as smolderingly gorgeous as the night
he’d laid a trail of fiery kisses all over her nude, trembling
body. Why was this happening to her? On national television?
“It’s just as beautiful as the night I put it on your finger,”
he said.
Melissa wasn’t sure what he meant until he brought her fingers
to his lips and kissed the woven gold band she wore. Her heart
froze like a stone. It was the ring. She was jinxed, cursed. She
would never escape him as long as that ring was on her finger.
She could feel her imagination spinning away with her, and she
made a desperate effort to stop it. Jinxes and curses were pure
superstition. It was him, not the ring. He was her problem.
She needed some distance from him, but it felt as if she’d
stepped onto a merry-go-round. If not for his arms around her,
she would have tumbled off. The set swirled, and so did her
thoughts. What had he actually said, and more to the point, what
did he want from her? Maybe she was spinning out again, but
could this be some kind of blackmail attempt? Was he after
money? He’d never struck Melissa as that kind of man, but how
well did she know his true character? Jeannie should have
thought of all this before she tracked him down. Why didn’t she
tell me she’d found him?
Antonio sat down next to her, and never in her life had Melissa
been forced to gather her wits so quickly. She knew they’d been
looking for him, but she hadn’t been prepared for him to show up
this way. In all honesty, she hadn’t been prepared for him to
show up at all. She hoped he’d been coached and knew what he was
supposed to say and not say, but there’d been no sign of that so
far.
She had no idea what to say either, especially to him. Have
mercy, lord, don’t ravish me and fling me into the volcano? That
should bring down the house.
“I can see this really is a surprise for Melissa,” Bobbi
chirped. “Just look at her. She looks— Are you all right,
Melissa?”
“I’m speechless,” Melissa managed. “How did you find him?” No,
never mind! Don’t answer that.
Bobbi was already addressing the audience. “Somehow, I have
trouble imagining Antonio begging for anything, don’t you?” she
asked them. Heads nodded.
“Call me Tony, please,” he said. He graced Bobbi with a fleeting
smile, then shot a penetrating glance at Melissa. “I think my
bride should answer that. Have you ever heard me beg, Melissa?”
Melissa tossed him a bawdy wink. “Well, of course. My whole book
is based on research.” She was not going to let this man
intimidate her on national television. He was supposed to be her
well-satisfied husband, according to the book, and if he didn’t
know it, she would have to make that point somehow.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Tell the truth, if you
dare. And by the way, according to your book, I can arouse you
to the point of orgasm this way. Is it working? Maybe you’d
better let the audience think it is if you want to sell books.”
Melissa whimpered, but not in ecstasy. Every single eye was
glued on her. She considered doing her best imitation of Meg
Ryan in When Harry Met Sally, but the humiliation factor was too
great. She couldn’t make those noises when she was having sex.
Well, except with him, the rat, and she didn’t intend to give
him that satisfaction now. She was already having flashbacks of
their wedding night. In Technicolor and Surround Sound.
She could hear the sensual growl in his throat when he’d stolen
inside her toga with his hand and found her naked skin for the
first time. She could smell the body heat rising off his skin,
and feel the rush of her own blood as she realized how addictive
his touch could be. Somehow she had to hit REWIND and turn this
video off!
Stalling for time, she reached for her cup of ice water. Her
hand was shaking so hard, she could barely hold it steady, which
gave her an idea. But could she do something that crazy? No, it
was outrageous, much too risky. Yes, she could do it. She had
to. It was the only way to put him off-balance and regain any
kind of control. She sucked in some air, flashed Antonio a
nervous smile—and emptied the entire mug into his lap. It had to
be freezing cold, but he didn’t move a muscle that she could
see. He just sat there, breathing through his nostrils, and did
nothing while the audience gasped.
Bobbi sprang into action, looking for something to blot up the
mess, and the guest-wrangler dashed over with a towel. She held
it out to Tony, but Melissa grabbed it. “It’s okay!” She held up
the towel, addressing Bobbi and the audience. “We’re playing a
game called Oops! You spill something on the gentlemen’s lap,
and then you get to clean him up. It’s very sexy. Right, Tony?”
Tony’s glance had gone darker than a creature of the night’s.
Dracula didn’t have eyes that black and endless. In an ominous
voice, he said, “I don’t know about Oops, but we have played a
few games. The one I like best is the Runaway Bride and the
Furious Groom—who takes his revenge when he catches up with
her.”
Melissa gulped. She had little doubt that he was furious, and
that she would pay for this in some unspeakable way. But that
wasn’t the only thing that concerned her at the moment. The
audience had all been given free copies of 101 Ways. She hoped
no one would notice there was no such game in the book.
ROMANCE READERS CHATS WITH THE
AUTHOR:
What is a typical writing day like
for you?
That's pretty easy, actually. I just write A LOT. When I'm on a
deadline, I'm in what I call my "every waking hour" mode, which
means if I'm awake, I'm working. It's grueling, and I've been
known to do that for up to a month, if necessary. The dh leaves
food at the door and runs. <g>
The important lesson I've learned in the last couple of years is
pacing. I have to give my brain breaks. Can't force it. When I'm
starting to fade and I find myself struggling, I do some email
or get up and stretch or go out and visit my flowers. If I'm
really stuck, I take the afternoon off and go to a movie.
Listening to music is good. Anything to fill the well back up.
Actually, the quickest way for me to get unblocked is to take a
shower. My brain is perverse. It loves to "shower" me with great
ideas when I can't get my hands on a pen to write them down.
Happens when I'm driving the car too. Something to do with beta
brain waves?
I'm not the disciplined type who starts at six in the morning
and works until early afternoon, takes a break and then spends
her evening researching. I yearn to be that type. I'm just not.
When I find myself procrastinating, I set a daily page/scene
quota, and that immediately flips me in the obsessive-compulsive
mode, which is when I'm at my most productive. But my writing
schedule is never set in stone. I just work A LOT.
You write in several genres now. Would you please go into
more detail?
I write in everything from suspense thrillers like THE LONELY
GIRLS CLUB, which has a romantic subplot, to full-on romantic
suspense like EVERY BREATH SHE TAKES and THE MORNING AFTER.
I also write sexy romantic comedy for Harlequin's blaze line and
most of my novellas fall in the romantic comedy area. One of my
Blazes, UNFINISHED BUSINESS (reissued in the UNDRESSED
anthology), is being made into a movie by the Oxygen Network, to
be aired late in 2005 or early 2006!
It's definitely a romantic comedy, and they've changed the title
to ROMANCING THE BRIDE, partly to reflect that. It has not been
easy to get any information about this production, but
Harlequin’s Isabel Swift, who’s coordinating with the producers,
did tell me about the title change, and that they are sticking
with the premise, which they love—a woman waking up naked—and
very confused—in bed with a man who tells her they were married
on a dare. Isabel also said that one of the female stars of
"That Seventies Show" has been cast as Melissa Sanders, the
heroine of UNFINISHED BUSINESS, but unfortunately, we don't yet
know which actress. We're also waiting to find out who plays
Tony Bond, the very sexy and mysterious hero.
I also just finished one of more challenging projects of my
career. It's an erotic novel called TEASE, which will launch
Harlequin's new Spice line. The launch date is May 2006, and I
have to say, I went outside my comfort zone for this one! It's
about a woman advertising exec who gets roped into using a very
exotic and sophisticated Manhattan S&M club for a photo shoot,
and before she's done, she gets roped into a few other things,
so to speak. Lots of fun. Shocked myself a few times, I must
say, but in the nicest possible way. <eg> Adored the hero.
Do you find that your writing style has changed since you
first became published?
Yes, my style has changed, and it's intentional. I'm a
recovering perfectionist, and it was really getting in my way. I
was overwriting everything! Someone once described the tendency
as wearing so much jewelry you couldn't see the individual
pieces. They weren't talking about my work specifically, but I
could see the tendency very clearly, and it was slowing me down
to a crawl. I would fuss over a word or a line or a paragraph
for hours.
Now, my motto is "crap can be fixed," and I send virtual thanks
daily to Nora Roberts for that sage bit of advice. I only allow
myself one bit of elaborate description per page, sometimes per
scene, and sometimes none at all, depending on the purpose of
the scene. Action and transition scenes don't allow for much
description. I try not to let myself go over the prior day's
work, although that's pretty tough to enforce. I'm much better
than I used to be, though. And I try never to use a big word
when a smaller one will do just as well. In other words, my goal
is simplification. I want to tell a story, not write beautiful
words, although doing both can be very satisfying, as long as
it's not very often. <g>
Who has inspired you the most?
I was a psych major, so my main influences were personality
theorists like Freud and Jung and Adler. It's probably taken me
in a slightly different direction, but I don't regret at all
having that as a background. I suspect in many ways it's been
more beneficial than English could have, and it's definitely
made me endlessly curious about the human psyche and how to
delve into the secrets that we all hide, even from ourselves.
Which of all of the genres that you write for do you most
enjoy?
I love them all for different reasons. The novellas are quick
and fun, almost a slice of the characters' lives. They're
probably easier in the sense that you don't have to delve as
deeply into character, or plot the story as intricately, but
that can make them difficult too. It can be challenging paring a
story down to size and making it work for a novella. I can't
explain how it's done. I think it's mostly in choosing right to
begin with, and after doing a few, you get a sense for what will
work and what won't.
Probably the toughest novels for me to write these days are the
short series. I'm long-winded, as you can probably tell, lol,
and my series stories tend to get away from me and want to be
longer, bigger, deeper stories than they can be for the format.
I have to be really disciplined when I'm writing series, and I'm
struggling with that right now. I love them, though, because
they give me a chance to tap into my romantic comedy instincts
in a way that single title doesn't.
The single titles are a joy to write because I can do darker
characters and really dig in and excavate. But single title has
its own inherent problems, and even a big book can have too much
going on and become over-complicated. I love complications, and
I really have to watch myself and stay focused on keeping things
linear. I think simplicity in plotting often lends itself to the
richest and most fulfilling drama, but my nature is to want to
tweak things. I just can't resist a plot twist!