What can you tell my readers about yourself that they might not know from looking on your bio or reading in another interview?
I met my husband, my every-day hero of epic proportions, in Regensburg, Germany. Where, either by complete coincidence or an odd quirk of fate—depending on your perspective— my parents also met. Considering I was born and raised in the Twin Cities, MN, one would not want to bet on the odds of that happening, in any case.
What do you enjoy doing on your down time?
Down time is an all-too-rare commodity for most authors. I cram it into my schedule any which way I can, because I desperately need it in order to refill my creative well.
I’m a passionate knitter (some of my heroines share my fiber obsession). I enjoy a wide variety of music (as do some of my characters) and attend concerts of all kinds regularly. I’m an avid swimmer, fortunate to live near an excellent health club. I dabble in Zentangle and coloring (the latter since my teens—am delighted to see it’s come into fashion). And of course, I love to read.
What is your Favorite part of writing?
I love it all. I love ideas that come to me in the middle of the night, in the shower, while driving. I love meeting my characters and “watching” them develop. I love researching everything from settings to psychological conditions. I love studying my craft and honing it. I even love editing—the excising and polishing, making my story shine. Creating is a rush beyond equal.
Do you have any certain routines you must follow as you write?
The first thing I do every morning without fail, unless I’m too sick to get out of bed, is hand-write three pages of whatever is on my mind (Morning Pages, for anyone familiar with Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way). Worst case, I’ve dumped my negative thoughts, best case, characters and story lines develop and birthdays get remembered.
What are some of your Favorite books or Authors in the Urban Fantasy/ Paranormal Genres?
Oh, all the usual suspects, I suppose: Anne Rice, Joey W. Hill (vampires and mermaids), Gail Carriger, J. R. Ward, Kresley Cole, Karina Cooper, Nalini Singh, Dianna Gaboldon, Kim Harrison, Jim Butcher, Charlaine Harris.
My problem, alas, is that all of these authors’ books are series. I need a lot of variety (in reading and writing), so even if I love an author, it’s rare for me to read more than a book a year by any of them.
How would you pitch Melting Shadows to someone who has not heard of it before?
I’d ask them if they enjoyed Romantic Suspense with a fantasy or paranormal twist. If they showed any sign of interest, I’d ask how they felt about violence, profanity, and fairly graphic—if not quite explicit or terribly frequent—love scenes. Provided I still had their attention, I’d ask if they liked to read romances between unlikely couples—nerdy heroines and super-hot heroes.
By this time, I’d have dug out one of my book cards with blurb and my website address and suggested they read an excerpt. I’d also encourage them to sign up for my very occasional newsletters with great drawing prizes.
Can you tell us a little bit about the world that Melting Shadows is set in?
It’s primarily a contemporary (mystery/suspense) romance. However, the heroine, Prudence, is the author of a medieval-set fantasy series. Since her writing plays an integral part of the book, bits of pertinent scenes are included.
Do you have a favorite scene in Melting Shadows?
The romantic in me loves the club scenes. The part of me that craves magic likes the fantasy scenes. The comedian in my is tickled by by early parts of the book when Prudence and Max are getting to know each other. My dark side enjoys the scenes where we learn what made Prudence the way she is, along with the action scenes.
Which one character out of all your books was your favorite to write about? What about the hardest to write about?
Since my books are character-driven, and my characters are muse-driven, I can honestly say they all pretty much wrote themselves, once I got to know them.
What Other Projects can we look forward to reading from you?
Sitting on my editing desk is the rough draft of my first fantasy in a non-contemporary setting. It’s about a thousands-year old time-and-space-traveling witch reunited with her beloved, a forbidding and powerful wizard.
I’ve also begun development of a time-travel romance featuring a pop star thrown back to the 18th century at sea.
__________________________________
Award-winning author Rhea Rhodan resides in Minnetonka, Minnesota. She’s been telling herself stories since long before she learned to write. She attended the University of Minnesota with a focus on Journalism, then Brown Institute for Broadcast Journalism. After many adventures, misadventures, and a couple of short marriages, she found the love of her life in Regensburg, Germany, and has been living happily ever after since.
She journaled those adventures extensively (some might say rabidly) beginning in middle school, but didn't combine her writing and story-telling until several years ago, when one of the stories grabbed her by the throat and shook her like a rag doll until she gave in and wrote it. Having tasted freedom, her muse refuses to return to the confines of her head, and has successfully turned the tables, keeping her at the keyboard to appease it.
She welcomes feedback and fan mail :>). You can join her on Facebook and Goodreads, too. Rhea is always happy to meet new friends.
Find Rhea and her books
For (very) occasional updates with great contests, subscribe to Rhea's
newsletter on her website
__________________________________
__________________________________
Melting ShadowsAmazon BN iBooks Kobo Amazon U.K. ARe
When fantasy and reality collide, only love can be believed.Excerpt:
Shattered by a brutal attack and forced to flee, painfully withdrawn Dr. Prudence Marsh buries her emotions under numbing logic. For years, her escapes to a fantasy world created to survive her hellish past have been nothing more than a guilty pleasure. But when the host of the safe house turns out to be a dead ringer for her dream warrior, she fears she’s lost her precious mind along with everything else.
Ex-SEAL Max Delaney has been known to dabble in a hot, delicious mess—or two, or three. He has no idea how to handle a cold, sour one. Blackmailed into babysitting Dr. Marsh in his hidden bunker while she finishes a top-secret project sucks. Until he falls for her. Then it blows. Every clue Max unravels only buys him more questions. Every step forward lands him two steps back, flat on his ass.
Demons past, present, and future haunt Max and Prudence as they stumble along the twisting path to love. Merciless enemies and shifting alliances drive both to desperate measures, tumbling them over the border between shadow and substance—where each must choose what, and whom, to believe.
He whispered praise in her ear, “That’s it. Now don’t you feel better?”
She shivered in response, though her hands at his back had warmed. He smiled into the fresh scent of her hair and wrapped her more tightly in his arms. She was his now; even if she didn’t know it yet.
With firm, subtle pressure, he brought her head to rest on his shoulder. Her hands tightened around him, then, finally, her body relaxed fully into his.
Her sigh was what did him in, what scrambled his brain and sent the jolt to his heart, then racing lower, hotter. He swallowed hard. Patience was suddenly a whole lot scarcer than it had been a minute ago.
The Balconies. Any one of the half dozen private patios facing the ocean would do. Each of the double doors was chaperoned by a broad back discreetly turned from the couples enjoying the seclusion they offered. It was one of the unique and best features of the club.
With experienced ease, he guided his plunder across the dance floor to the nearest unoccupied one. “You’re a bit flushed. Would you like some ocean air? The view is great.”
She blushed and murmured something indistinct he chose to take as assent. Another covert tip and nod to the bouncer—the same one who’d been at the VIP gate, still wearing the frown—and their path was clear.
The moon cast a diamond-strewn path across the water and glimmered in her depths of her eyes. He wanted to climb into that fire and stay there until Judgment Day.
After a few gulps of the salty night air, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Delane. I’m afraid the effects of the alcohol may have—”
“It’s Delaney." He squeezed her hand. “Calling me Max would solve the problem, you know."
“I’m still not certain I’m comfortable—”
“We can’t have that. I want you very comfortable.” He kept his voice low and soothing, ran his hands up her tantalizingly bare arms to cup her face. She gasped at his touch, her eyes widened and her lips parted.
He’d meant the kiss to be subdued, a simple brushing of mouths, and that’s how it started. But he couldn’t stop what followed. Couldn’t keep his hand from gripping the back of her head; holding it at the best angle for his access; from tracing her lips with his tongue and gently opening her mouth to accept it; prevent his other hand from roaming between the cool satin of her hair and the warm silk of her dress to the swell of her sweet, tight ass; squeezing it, and pulling her close. Close enough for her to feel the rock hard extent of his hunger. Close enough for him to feel the moist heat of hers—God help him with what control he had left.
Her arms circled his waist, her delicate, surprisingly strong hands pressed into his back, stroked, pulled at him in helpless, inexperienced little tugs that made him want to push up her dress and set her on the railing, wrap those long legs around his waist, and—
“Please, Delane.” The desperate ache in her plea squeezed him like a fist and echoed all the way to his toes. He shook with the effort to clamp down on his lust.
“‘Max.’ Say it, Prue. Say it and I’ll take you to paradise, sweetheart. C’mon,” he whispered it into her ear, then nipped it tenderly. Understanding why he needed that particular surrender wasn’t important, winning it was.
He slipped the hand on her ass under her dress, ran his finger under the lace of her panties, reached to stroke the hot velvet, teasing her, driving himself to the knife edge of desire.
“Oh…ah…M-M-Ma—”
A warning rush of overused air boxed his ears a few seconds before a shrill voice pierced them. “There you are, Max, darling! I thought this was our balcony. Remember? A couple of weeks ago we…”
Bam. Just like that, Prue froze in his arms. He opened his eyes and saw the shutters slam over hers, dousing the lighthouse, leaving him at sea in empty darkness.Tour Wide
