When I was sixteen, I discovered my grandmother's historical romances. At first I would just sit on the bed, spread them all around me and gaze at their lovely covers. And then one day I read one. It was bliss! Woodiwiss, Rogers, and eventually Garwood. I quickly became a romance book addict and never looked back. Isn't it wonderful? That tiny adreline surge upon walking into a bookstore and smelling all those books! And Library Book Sales . . . my heart slammed so hard inside my chest the first time I ever went to one of those--I worried I would faint before I filled up my dollar bag. Easily amused, I am. And cheaply, too.

I continue to love reading and writing romance in much the same fashion as I did when I first discovered the genre--unabashedly, without guilt, and always thirsty for more. However, the difference came in October of 2006, when I received a phone call, a precious phone call, wherein the lovely person on the other line told me they wanted to buy my manuscript. Was I stunned? You have no idea. I'm still pinching myself.