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Monday, May 3, 2010

#21 Confessions of the World’s Oldest Shotgun Bride

Secret Agent,

Since you represent contemporary romance authors, I hope you’ll consider my cougar tale, “Confessions of the World’s Oldest Shotgun Bride.” This 60,000 word manuscript was a finalist in the recent Dorchester/ America's Next Best Celler Contest, as well as several RWA chapter contests.

Katie St. John is smart, sexy, over 40, and about to hop in bed with an incredibly hot young guy, but she’s no desperate housewife. She’s not married, or even looking for commitment. She’s given up on love, which she sucks at, to focus on her red-hot career. All she wants from Steve Tyler, an incredibly sexy, surprisingly sweet Air Force pilot twelve years her junior, is a fun vacation fling. Sure, the chemistry between them is hotter than the Caribbean sun, but once this vacation’s over, her Inner Good Girl will muzzle her Inner Slut and she’ll go back to plotting corporate coups.

But Steve has other ideas for the glamorous “older woman” who lived next door when he was a kid. He’s lusted after Katie since before he was old enough to understand what lust was. Now that she’s finally moved from his fantasies to his bed, he’s not about to let her go without a fight – especially once he learns she's returned home with the mother of all souvenirs!

As a former Washington lawyer and Air Force officer, I’m very familiar with Katie and Steve’s world. I hope you're intrigued enough to ask for more. 

Thanks for your time and consideration.


A burst of red, green and blue tracers lit up the sky over George Town harbor, followed by a loud boom. There were still several hours left before midnight, but someone was getting a head start on celebrating the new year.

That was Kathryn St. John’s cue to get out of Dodge. She’d made an effort. Now she could finish her drink, go back to her hotel, get a good night’s sleep, and be fresh for the next day’s scuba diving. New Year’s Eve was a lousy time to be unattached, and she was feeling out of place, sitting by herself at the bar in the Hard Rock Café. A sign in front of the mirror behind the bar announced that this was the “home of the second best mudslides in all of Cayman.” She hadn’t tried the top-rated mudslides, but these were pretty damn good. She was on her second one, and feeling it.

Kathryn hadn’t planned to vacation alone. Best girlfriend Amanda Conrad was supposed to be sipping second-best mudslides with her. By now, bubbly blonde Amanda would have had an armada of desirable men surrounding them.

Men like that rowdy bunch of twenty-somethings near the door. Their accents gave them away as Americans, their short haircuts as military, and one’s brown leather jacket as pilots.

Kathryn wrinkled her nose. She’d developed a distaste for that breed when she’d worked at the Pentagon. The cockiness needed to keep them alive in combat made them obnoxious in other environments.