Getting to Know Me
This interview ran on the Gracen Miller site earlier this month. In case you missed it, here it is. . .
1. What genre is your work considered to be?
I write contemporary & historical romance and erotic romance.
2. Why this genre?
I like to read these sub-genres.
3. What was the draw for you?
I like character-driven stories. So many times I’ve read novels where the plot was everything, the characters cardboard cutouts. I couldn’t get involved. When I read I want to cry, laugh, smile and be completely enthralled by what’s going on with the characters’ heads and hearts in the story.
4. If you could describe your writing with a word or phrase, what would it be?
Heat with Heart.
5. Please be creative and delve into the core of your writing to tell us what word or phrase you want readers to take with them when they’ve finished reading your story.
Again, heat with heart. I like my novels to be very sexy but there’s a deeply romantic story in all of them. It’s not all about the physical stuff that goes on between the characters, it’s mainly about what’s in their hearts and heads.
6. Do you prefer romantic gifts (flowers, chocolate, jewelry, etc.) or romantic acts (massages, dinners, fun night out, etc.)?
I prefer romantic acts. Anyone can buy you jewelry, not everyone can spend a day at the mall because I like it. Does that show through in your writing? Absolutely. If so, how? In my novel Adored
the hero knows the heroine loves this certain type of cherry chocolate. Not only does he surprise her with the candy during a very erotic scene, but he also has the company that makes it send a box to her apartment. And in my novel Deep, Dark, Delicious
when the hero shows up at the heroine’s house, she’s trying to fix her leaky sink – he does it for her. IMHO that’s very romantic. 
7. What school of thought are you when it comes to romance, love at first sight or that love takes time?
I’ve written both ways and believe either can happen.
8. Does this show through in your writing?
Absolutely.
9. If so, how?
In Adored the characters have known each other for years, but never really got together until the beginning of my story Their friendship has grown into deep attraction. On the other hand, in Deep, Dark, Delicious the hero/heroine were instantly attracted to each other.
10. When reading stories, many of us find secondary characters to be as interesting as or more interesting than the main characters. Are there any secondary characters that you plan on giving their own story?
Not at the moment.
11. Or any that readers have requested have their own story?
Most of my readers want me to bring back the heroes for another story – they like the guys I write!
12. Are any of them your favorites?
I really like my secondary character Trish Luna, my heroine’s best friend in Deep, Dark, Delicious.
13. Why?
She’s funny and is always rooting for the heroine, Eden, to go for the guy – to tear down her defenses and fall in love.
14. Of all of your heroes, who would you say is the most romantic and why?
Probably Rafe Zayas in Deep, Dark, Delicious – he’s so drawn to Eden, my heroine, he can’t stay away from her. He wants her for his own.
15. Of all of your heroes, who would you say is the least romantic and why?
I don’t write unromantic heroes…just wouldn’t be a romance if I did and wouldn’t be any fun for me to write.
An Excerpt of Your Newest Release Deep, Dark, Delicious
He moved closer but didn’t touch her. He wondered what type of a mother could willingly give up her own child. And what of her father? Had she known him or even met him or was he a shadowy figure her mother seldom mentioned? “Eden, are you certain you want strangers to live in your house?”
She stepped back, arms across her chest again, no sign of tears in her voice. “I don’t have a choice. In order to open my restaurant I took out several home equity loans. Grandma left the house to me free and clear. It kept appreciating and the restaurant was doing well. Until the economy tanked, I didn’t think I’d have any problem meeting the payments.”
He now understood the depth of her financial situation. She surely owed more than the home’s current worth and bankruptcy would forestall the inevitable for only so long. “Is the bank threatening to foreclose?”
“Not since you wrote me the check last night for your stay. Even if you end up hating it here and decide not to invest, I’ve bought myself a few months, more than enough time to get new vacationers. And no way am I losing this place. I couldn’t do that to Grandma.” She inclined her head to the sink, her voice stiff. “That’s not going to fix itself. If you’ve changed your mind, I can—”
Patiently, he interrupted. “I haven’t changed my mind.” He grabbed the industrial-sized flashlight from the counter and handed it to her. “You do know what to do with this, no?”
She tapped its head against her palm, making small thwacking sounds. “If you mess up my plumbing, I get to whack you over the head?”
He laughed. “You’re going to pay for that.”
The tapping stopped. Her skin pinked up nicely. She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “How?”
“That would be telling. Time for me to fix your leak.”
“Wait.” Her free hand went to his upper arm, her moist fingers hugging it. “It’s dirty down there. You’ll mess up your clothes.”
Heart pounding, he studied her fingers on him. “You want me to take them off?” His eyes slid to hers.
She stared at the dark hairs on his forearm, his navy tee and faded jeans. Her voice dropped an octave, becoming throaty. “I was thinking about putting a sheet down there for you to lie on. It’s what I usually do. The pipe’s hard to reach.”
“Very well.”
She didn’t respond or leave to get the sheet. Her thumb had reached the bumpy skin on his biceps, halting on the uneven flesh and then investigating again. “What’s this?” She lifted his tee’s sleeve. Air hissed through her teeth at the brutal scar. “How’d you get this?” Her dismay matched his mother’s and Victor’s whenever they found his behavior questionable. “Were you in an accident?”
Rafe regarded what he could of the discolored wound, eleven inches total, stretching from his upper arm to his shoulder blade, the surface craggy, ugly. “You find it disgusting?”
“What? Of course not.” Indignant, she slapped his forearm with the back of her hand, a lover’s blow.
He leveled his gaze on her. “Ouch.”
She laughed. Her features relaxed. “What happened, Rafe? Were you riding a motorcycle? Did a drunk driver hit you?”
“No.” He smoothed down his sleeve. “The edge of the wooden raft my parents used to escape Cuba tore my arm and shoulder when I fell from it.”
Her mouth formed a shocked O. “How old were you?”
“Seven.” He smiled. “A long time ago. Completely forgotten. Not worth mentioning again.”
She chided gently, “Liar.”
His smile fell away. At the sorrow in her eyes, his heart skipped several beats. “You want to know about it?”
“Do you mind telling me?”
He didn’t and did. Once more, she had him questioning his feelings. He ached for her to know him, to accept his past no matter how harsh it had been. On the other hand, he dreaded her pity.
Her steady, accepting gaze gave him the courage to continue. “The raft was little more than several doors nailed together, though big enough for me, my mother, father and older brother Victor. At the last possible moment, my mother’s only brother Gerardo begged us to take him and his family. It wasn’t a question as to whether we’d do it, but how we’d succeed in getting to this country. With the addition of him, his wife and three children, ranging in age from an infant to five years old, the raft was too crowded.” He recalled the waves jostling it. His thin shirt and pants drenched from the water’s spray. “My cousin Javier, the five-year-old, fell against me as the raft hit a swell. I lost my balance and tumbled over the side. The water was cold, yet I was strangely calm going under. It was so quiet. Never have I heard such an absence of sound. When I bobbed to the surface, a pain ran from my arm to my shoulder. It felt as if I’d been burned. I learned later the raft had hit me. In addition to the wood, several nails ripped through my skin. Uncle Gerardo reacted first, diving in to save me. He managed to get me back on the raft, but he wasn’t a well man. Too many years of poor nutrition and hard work had made him old. My father tried to reach him, but the next wave washed him away. He drowned.”
Eden heard the shame in his voice, his guilt for having caused such a thing. She rested her free hand on the side of his face, feeling the bite of his beginning beard on her thumb and palm. The bristles were so adult and male while his heart still grieved like a child’s. “It wasn’t your fault. You were a little boy.”
Although he nodded, his eyes said he didn’t believe her.
“Your first restaurant here was Querido Tío—beloved uncle. For him?”
He put his hand over hers. “You think me too sentimental, no?”
“I think of those many relatives you have working at your restaurants, your cousin Javier is no doubt among them.”
His quick smile pushed his cheek into her palm. “He’s the VP of marketing. In high school and college he was the valedictorian.”
Eden bet Rafe had been in the first row of the audience, cheering Javier on. She tried to imagine having such a devoted family and pictured Rafe with his own children, daughters and sons he’d adore, children he’d never give up. Perhaps he’d meet their mother after his thirty days here were over. He’d indulge himself in this house, holding nothing back. Eden wouldn’t either, but it wouldn’t go beyond sex. She’d miss him terribly when he left, she couldn’t lie to herself about it, but she’d move on. She’d done so with her mom.
His smile dimmed as though reading her mind or her face. “What is it?”
She lied. “I was thinking about your aunt. What happened to her?”
Gently, his fingers squeezed hers. “A few years after we reached Miami she remarried and had two daughters with her new husband. Her youngest is my godchild.”
Happiness for the girl merged with Eden’s sadness for children who weren’t as lucky. Not wanting to dwell on it, she backed up, removing her hand from his face. “I’ll get the sheet.” She laid the flashlight on the counter and padded into the utility room. The bed linen was still warm from her dryer. She held its fragrant cleanliness to her nose and mouth. In a little while, the cotton would smell of him.
A shudder ran through her. He’d been here less than an hour and too quickly she’d revealed things he had no business knowing and encouraged him to share his past, which increased her admiration and desire for him. Eyes closed, fingers fisted in the sheet, she ordered herself to get a grip, to stop her control from crumbling.
At the doorway to the kitchen, her step paused. He was on one knee, his head bent to the tool box, his tee slung over the stove’s handle, his chest naked.
Anticipation bubbled through her brazenly. Her fingers and toes tingled. Firm, bronze muscles draped his broad shoulders, biceps, pecs and torso. A mewl snagged on the back of her throat. Dark, silky hair peeked from beneath his arms. His flat nipples were nearly as dark as his eyes, his chest smooth, his skin flawless except for his scar and a few moles.
Hopelessly drawn to his male beauty and shocking wound, she stepped into the room, her pulse pumping crazily.
His attention moved from the epoxy putty and C-clamp in his hand to her. He smiled.
Eden sank to her knees and lifted the sheet to show him she had it, relieving her of having to speak or trust her voice. With jittery hands, she smoothed the brown-and-gold striped fabric over the bottom of the cabinet then sat back on her heels, waiting.
Related posts:
My Latest Books
Stay Up To Date
