Today is the 2nd anniversary of my blog! I can't believe it's been that long. I started blogging sort of on a whim and had no idea how much I would come to enjoy it. But I discovered such a wonderful community of readers here -- lots of really smart women who love books (especially romance) as much as I do. And the great recommendations! Ah! JMC gave me Carla Kelly. Rosario gave me Susanna Kearsley and Eva Ibbotson. Li gave me Sharon Shinn. Wendy gave me Lani Diane Rich. Kristie gave me J.D. Robb. Nath shares my love of Kelley Armstrong and is trying to sell me on manga. Cindy always makes me laugh (and she gave me LORD OF DANGER, too). :D I could go on and on, but I want to send blog hugs (Twin coined the term blugs) to all my fellow readers. Blugs to everyone!
Enough with the mushy stuff, now for the important part. A contest!
I'm giving away 2 gift certificates for Amazon (or whatever ebook retailer the winner wants) each for $25. I'm calling this my meet cute contest. I've listed below 8 excerpts from books. These are the moments in each book where the hero and heroine first meet, usually under unusual circumstances. I've taken out all proper names to make it a little harder. All you have to do is tell me what book each excerpt comes from, and who wrote it.
One gift certificate will go to the person who gets the most correct. And everyone who enters will be put into a drawing for the other. So even if you have no clue, take a stab. You can even just guess an author. Any guess will get you into the drawing for the 2nd gift certificate.
So, again, here are the RULES.
1) Email your answers to me. jenniesbooklog (at) gmail. Do NOT put your answers in the comments.
2) Answer should include each book's title and author.
3) Don't use google, people. Because that's just wrong. You'll go to hell, you will. :p
4) Contest closes at 10 pm (EST) on Thursday, Feb. 21.
5) Anyone and everyone is welcome to enter!
And here are the excerpts:
He said, not aggressively but not politely, "This is private ground, you know. Perhaps you'd be good enough to leave by the way you came? This only takes you up to the terrace, and then more or less through the house."
I got enough breath to speak, and wasted neither time nor words. "Why were you shooting at that dolphin?"
He looked as blank as if I had suddenly slapped his face. "Why was I what?"
"That was you just now, wasn't it, shooting at the dolphin down in the bay?"
"My dear g---" He checked himself, and said, like someone dealing with a lunatic, "Just what are you talking about?"
"Let it be on the instant," [the hero] said, "or I miss the tide."
"My lord, it shall be!" the landlord assured him, and bustled out.
[The heroine] heard the door shut, and turned. [The hero] had thrown down his whip and gloves, and was watching her in some amusement. "Well, Mistress Discretion?" he said. "Do you take off that mask, or must I?"
She put up her hands to the strings, and untied it. "I think it has served its turn," she said composedly, and put back her hood.
The smile was wiped from his face; he stood staring at her. "What the devil---?" he began.
[The hero] sat down and waited, a prey to curious sensations. Presently there was a noise of footsteps, and the prisoner was brought in, attended by a female wardess. She took the chair opposite to [the hero], the wardess withdrew and the door was shut. [The hero], who had risen, cleared his throat.
"Good afternoon," he said unimpressively.
The prisoner looked at him.
"Please sit down," she said, in the curious, deep voice which had attracted him in Court.
Chains clanked. A dark figure rose. A very tall, dark figure. [The heroine] could not make out his features in the gloom. Surrounded by protectors, she had no reason to be alarmed. All the same, her heart picked up speed, her skin prickled, and every nerve ending spring into quivering awareness.
"Mr. Beechey," she said, her voice not as steady as she could wish, "are you sure this is the man I want?"
An impossibly deep voice, most definitely not Mr. Beechey's, answered with a laugh, "That would depend, madam, on what it is you want me for."
She opened the first two doors and shoved the clothes apart to search the back of the closet.
A man stood there.
[The heroine] turned to run, and he slapped his hand over her mouth from behind and yanked her against him. She kicked back and connected with his shin, and he swore and lost his balance and dragged her to the carpet as he fell.
He weighed a ton.
"Okay," he said calmly in her ear, while she struggled under him, trying to pry his hand from her mouth before her lungs collapsed. "Let's not panic."
"Because I'm really not this kind of guy," he went on. "There's no criminal intent here. Well, not against you."
The redhead shot into the room like a sleek bullet. She shrugged out of a light jacket while she talked to the captain, then shrugged into a bulletproof vest. All her movements lightning quick.
[The hero] couldn't hear what they were saying. And he couldn't take his eyes off her.
Purpose was the first term that came to his mind. Then energy. Then sexy, though the third was mixed into the first two in equal portions. She shook her head, looked toward [the hero]---long, cool stare with cat-green eyes.
She studied the man currently making soothing noises over the subject's weeping. Former employer and landlord, she deduced.
Young for it, she mused. Very cute guy who looked as if he was trying hard not to panic.
He knocked on the door and waited. After a long moment, he heard light footsteps on the stairs.
"Who is it, please?" came a small voice behind the door. She sounded apprehensive, and he couldn't marvel at that, considering the lateness of the hour. The old widow probably didn't have much male company, especially with two spinster daughters.
"I am [hero's name], and I own this property," he said a little louder, in case she should be hard of hearing. "Could I come in? I think Tibbie Winslow was not expecting me so soon."
The key turned in the lock then, and the door opened upon the prettiest woman he had seen in years, perhaps ever. . .
On one of the tables the candles were still burning. And on the edge of the table, swinging his legs and licking strawberry ice cream out of a silver ladle, sat a young man who could only be one of the senior royal pages.
He was a nice-looking young man in a wine-colored velvet doublet with rather tousled hair. [The heroine] stopped just inside the door.
"Hello," said the nice young man.
"Hello," said [the heroine].
They looked at each other in the candlelight, and the nice young man smiled. It was a nice smile that made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, and [the heroine] smiled back. She had a rather nice smile herself, and it wrinkled her freckled nose.
"Were you looking for something?" inquired the young man.
"Nuts," said [the heroine]. "For Mr. Pemberthey," she explained.
The young man looked puzzled. "Mr. Pemberthey?"
"He's only a squirrel," said [the heroine], "but he's a particular friend of mine, and he is extremely fond of nuts."
"Oh, I see," said the nice young man, quite as if he did.