Meet the lovely Serena Fairfax, author of Loving that Feeling and other contemporary romantic novels.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I spent my childhood in India, qualified as a Lawyer in England and joined a London law firm. Romance is hardwired into my DNA so my novels include a strong romantic theme. However, I broke out of the romance bubble with one (you’ll see which one when you visit the Books page), which is a quirky departure in style and content. I’ve also authored several short stories that feature on my blog http://www.serenafairfax.com/serena_fairfax_author_blog/
Fast forward to a sabbatical from the day job when I traded in bricks and mortar for a houseboat which, for a hardened land lubber like me, turned out to be a big adventure. Apart from writing and reading (all kinds of books), a few of my favorite things are collecting old masks, singing (in the rain) and exploring off the beaten track. I’m a member of the Romantic Novelists Association, which is a very supportive organization. My golden retriever, Inspector Morse, who can’t wait to unleash his own Facebook page, and I divide our time between London and rural Kent. (Charles Dickens said: Kent, sir. Everybody knows Kent. Apples, cherries, hops and women).
Take a look into her latest release Loving That Feeling
Seared by a bigamous love cheat, London designer Deborah Tremaine backs off sex. But when charismatic Serbian, Zoran Pavlović, who wants to demolish an art deco cinema she’s campaigning to save, crosses her path she’s up for a fling.
Zoran has clawed his way out of Serbia’s turbulent past but believes his background means he won’t find happiness simply because he can’t trust a woman to cherish him for who he is — a Serb. But he’s a hot-blooded Slav up for no-strings sex and Deborah sends him into overdrive.
Deborah’s finances are in meltdown when a customer goes bust. Zoran dangles a business deal based in Belgrade, Serbia that she can’t refuse. She’s confident the job won’t compromise the campaign and decides that Zoran is the guy who can jump-start her love life.
They embark on a sizzling affair but tension, erotically sexual and work related, skyrockets. Incidents trigger the revelation of their personal demons. Can they escape the black holes?
Ko je ta zena? “Who is that woman?” Zoran Pavlović trained his binoculars on the pigeon-haunted roof of the derelict cinema, his eyes zoning in on the endless blue-jeaned legs, the wind-blown auburn hair, the high, full breasts jutting against the thin fabric of her sherbet-lemon T-shirt. She was primetime. A hardening heat coiled through his groin.
“That’s Deborah Tremaine, sir, the interior designer who’s spearheading the campaign.” His aide sweated nervously in the summer sunshine. “I think we ought to…”
“I think,” Zoran said and dealt him a trenchant glance, “you should leave the thinking to me. I want you to stay here and monitor this lunatic fringe.”
Nice view, Zoran muttered as he assessed his options for handling her. She was brandishing a crimson flag emblazoned with the purple slogan Save Our Heritage Now! having scaled the ladder hauled into place by her supporters. Singing “We Will Overcome,” they’d blockaded the bulldozers and charmed the guard dogs into shadows with choice chunks of meat.
Zoran sprang from the Land Rover, a powerful body in black— denims, T-shirt, trainers—and cut a swift path over the rubble. Tipped off that activists planned to stage a long sit-in, they’d already spiked redevelopment for months—months that left him seriously out of pocket. It couldn’t go on, it wouldn’t go on. Action was imperative—action that would be characterized as friendly persuasion in his native Serbia, although possibly something quite else in England—but he’d ride out the storm. He’d ridden out worse.
“Quite the warrior princess, Boadicea,” he murmured as, storming the treads, he scaled the parapet with spider-like agility. He flicked her a cool, controlled gaze, his belly knotting as he registered the luminosity of her skin, the scent of lavender shampoo in the shining cloud of hair, eyes of lapis blue, a soft mouth that promised so much.
“I’m Zoran Pavlović. We haven’t met before…”
Their eyes swerved together and held, and suddenly Deborah’s heart was drumming with the most primitive sexual charge. She felt like melting ice, lost and floating in a warm flood. As the sensuous amber-richness of his cologne infused her senses, a wave of entrapment clutched her and she inched away. “I’m sure I’d remember if we had.”
She’d tracked him as he sharked across. The strong sunlight highlighted the glossy, cropped, raven-black hair, restless energy exuding from the long-limbed body, the T-shirt taut against wide shoulders. The polished skin with its hint of olive. She knew he owned the site and was once mauled by the media for his predatory style but now played them like a Stradivarius violin with his promise to deliver jobs and homes.
“Welcome aboard,” she added caustically. “So what’s on offer?” She tilted her head speculatively and lifted her chin. The dangling, animist-style earrings from central Africa clinked softly, the antique beaten silver contrasting with the sudden, bright color in her creamy skin as his glance stripped her naked. God, this wasn’t supposed to happen. She was a foolish, reckless nineteen-year-old again, easily aroused and prone to coup de foudre.
He was well armed for the fight. “We’ll talk when you’re down.”
Like what you read? Here’s how you can get more.
Siren BookStrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/loving-that-feeling
Apple iBooks: Available. Just search the title