"Hope Tarr is an intriguing new voice in the romance genre. A Rogue's Pleasure is reminiscent of the lusty epic romances of the eighties, and it is guaranteed to sweep the reader away into the past."�-� Jennifer MacBride, Compuserve Romance on A Rogue's Pleasure.
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December 01, 2006
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Excerpt from It's a Wonderfully Sexy Life by Hope Tarr
Sunday, December 24
Baltimore Museum of Art
Hours to Christmas: approximately six, oh, joy! Countdown to New Year's Eve, the hands-down worst night of the year to be thirty and single: exactly one week. Calories consumed: 8,000 give or take. (It's only 5:30 p.m.ýcrap!) Evil bosses on list for strangling: one, but could never get hands around thick, bulldog neck.Yet another dream dies on the vine. (Sigh). Times so far today mother looked up at velvet painting of Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus and asked when am I going to settle down and start having babies like a good Catholic girl: only five so far but haven't been home since breakfast.
THE MUSEUM'S VISITOR PARKING AREA was filling up with BMWs and Porsches when Officer Mandy Delinski turned off Art Museum Drive and pulled into the lot. Bypassing the valet parking guys, she swung her squad car into one of the staff only spaces next to the catering truck, stole a quick glance in the rearview mirror, and then reached across the passenger's side to the glove compartment where she'd stashed her diary and, most importantly, her lipstick. Why I bother I don't know, she thought, and then rolled the lipstick on anyway. She didn't usually wear bright colors, let alone red, but somehow the name, Blaze, seemed to promise all sorts of wonderful, sexy fantasies come true, including a much thinner version of herself decked out in Santa cap, fur-lined red minidress, and black fishnet stockings crooning the lyrics to "Santa Baby" to an as yet faceless, nameless hunk.
Mandy, you've got to get a hold on your libido. Better yet, you've got to get a hold on your life. Your love life, specifically. Actually, first you'd better get a love life, and preferably before your head blows off your damned shoulders.
Capping the tube, she tucked a curly red strand of hair behind her ear and stepped outside to join the glitterati of Baltimore society filing up the steps to the columned entrance. Inside, she moved through the marbled foyer, following the crowd toward the bank of elevators. Before she'd left the precinct, Boblitz had filled her in on the details, including the event locationýthe museum's West Wing, which housed its collection of contemporary art. Accordingly, she stepped off the elevator onto the second floor and followed the signage to the stark concrete-and-aluminum foyer. Aside from a few stragglers, the West Wing was deserted; certainly no one from museum security was in sight. She was just about to turn back when a cut-paper silhouette woman caught her eye, the projected image taking up an entire stand-alone wall. Drawing closer, she read the caption card, "Salvation" by Kara Walker. Framed beneath a tree's sheltering bow, the woman waded through a pool of still water, the bend of her naked body and outstretched hands suggesting she was almost to her destination, perhaps hailing something or someone waiting for her within the near reach of shoreline.