Today, I thought I’d talk a little bit about writing “the book of my heart.” Whether you’re a writer or not, you probably know that authors are regularly advised to write what they love, not necessarily what they think they can sell. It’s wise advice, in that emotion is key to writing a good book (especially in romantic fiction), and if you don’t feel passionate about your story, chances are pretty good that no one reading it is going to feel passionate about it, either.

So, for me, the “book of my heart” is always the one I’m currently writing. Or, it should be.

But I have to be honest and say that, right now, the book of my heart is one I’ve already finished: Wickedly Ever After. Partly, this is because I adore the hero of this story more than any I’ve ever written. Nathaniel St. Claire, Marquess of Grenville, is a wonderful mixture of terribly wicked and deeply noble (not to mention tortured), not to mention witty, charming, and very intelligent. The heroine, Eleanor Palmer, is up to the challenge he presents in every way, even if she is just a bit of a stick in the mud to start with.

But the real reason this book will always be extra special to me is that it’s the one that sold my work to Kensington Books. It will be released, along with two companion novellas, in an anthology in the summer of 2009, and I couldn’t be more thrilled!

But summer of 2009 is a long way off yet, so you can get a preview of the anthology beginning this Friday, when Wickedly Ever After goes on sale at Cobblestone Press. It’ll be available for purchase from Cobblestone for six months, so you’ll want to move quick!

In honor of my release, I’ll be running a few contests over the next week or two. First of all, I currently have a contest for authors posted on my blog. If you’ve got a query letter you’re trying to polish up to submit to agents and/or editors, stop by and leave a comment to be entered into a drawing for one of two query critiques I’m giving away. If you’re not an author or you don’t need help with your query letter, there’s still something for you, though. I have an autographed copy of Brenda Novak’s Dead Giveaway to give to one lucky commenter. So please, stop by and check it out.

On Friday, I’ll be adding another contest for a free copy of Wickedly Ever After. So, check back in then for all the details!

And now, a sneak preview:

Nathaniel studied Miss Palmer’s delicate features as the footman beat his hasty retreat. The door clicked shut. She ought to be frightened, or at least alarmed, at the prospect of being trapped alone in a room with the notoriously amoral Marquess of Grenville. She ought to follow Beardsley out of the room as fast the long, slim legs concealed beneath the rose-and-cream-striped muslin of her day dress could carry her.

Instead, she stood her ground, meeting his regard with a steady gaze, her dark blue eyes sparkling with challenge and…was it excitement? The flush rising in her cheeks and the pulse fluttering visibly in her elegant throat suggested not fear, but interest. Perhaps even arousal.

How utterly unexpected.

“Surely, you do not expect me to remain here behind closed doors with you, my lord,” she said at last.

He gave her a negligent grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “I most certainly do.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “What else is a gentleman to do when a young lady accosts him in his private study without benefit of a chaperone but protect her reputation by means of ensuring her privacy?”

“I came only to tell you I would not look favorably upon your suit, in the event your friend Holyfield has given you cause to think otherwise.” The words came out in a rush, forced and a little breathless. She looked over her shoulder at the door. “And now I shall be going.”

She extended her hand, a clear request for him to return the letter. He looked down at it, still clutched in his hand, and reread the passage that had brought Miss Palmer to his lair.

Despite my need to break our betrothal, I continue to hold your daughter in the highest regard and would not wish my perfidy to adversely affect her ability to make an advantageous match. To that end, I observe that the Marquess of Grenville is once again in the pool of Eligibles, and, further, I believe he would make an excellent husband for Miss Palmer. I am aware you do not hold him in high esteem, but I am of the opinion that a lady of Miss Palmer’s faultless character could do much to temper his tendencies toward vice. Moreover, it cannot escape your notice that, should she marry Grenville, your daughter would one day be a duchess, a goodly step above the mere countess I should have made her.

A small smile quirked Nathaniel’s lips. He owed Alistair de Roche, who had absconded to Gretna Green just four days past with Nathaniel’s former intended, a singular debt of gratitude. Lady Louisa Bennett had been his father’s choice, after all, not Nathaniel’s. If Holyfield hadn’t done the ignoble thing and eloped with the girl despite their respective commitments to others, Nathaniel would have been sticking his head into the marital noose tomorrow morning.

Unfortunately, Holyfield’s second act of magnanimity was destined to go to waste. No matter how well he thought Nathaniel and Miss Palmer might suit, her father, Viscount Palmer, would never consent to a match between his daughter and a man he referred to as Marquess of Devil.

But then, Nathaniel wasn’t particularly interested in the sort of union that would require paternal consent. Marriage was not on his agenda. However, she’d claimed it wasn’t on hers, either. And she had come here alone. His cock twitched, stiffening at the thought.

Ambling round to her side of the desk, he crossed one ankle over the other and leaned against the corner, a deliberately indolent pose. Her eyes widened at his proximity, and her chest rose and fell more rapidly than before. Excellent.

When he stretched out his hand to return the letter to her, she stepped backward with a small gasp, then reached out to snatch the paper from him. He pulled it back toward his chest.

“Before I give it to you, tell me: why did you come alone?”

Her eyes narrowed, but her dilated pupils suggested she was more excited than annoyed. “I didn’t. My aunt is waiting for me in the coach.”

He made a mock frown. “I don’t believe the venerable ladies of Almack’s would consider a companion left out of doors to be any sort of chaperone a’tall.”

“Aunt Eppie gossips,” she admitted with a resigned sigh. “So I told her I’d come to return a parasol to Jane, and I’d only be a moment.”

Nathaniel nodded. Jane, his younger sister, and Miss Palmer had become particular friends when they’d met in the queen’s presentation queue two years earlier.

“I simply wanted to be certain you would not attempt to court me now that we are both free.” She held out a hand, her expression pleading. “May I have the letter now? If I don’t return soon, Aunt Eppie will wonder what’s become of me and come after me.”

Ah, but the moment was too delicious, too perfect to allow it to slip through his fingers.

“You must know I wouldn’t dream of courting you, Miss Palmer. To do so would imply that I have honorable intentions toward you, and we both know I am not an honorable man.” A slow smile curved his lips, one he knew was both wicked and beguiling. He turned and placed the letter purposefully on the desk behind him. “Which is why, if you want the letter, you’ll have to come and get it.”

“You can’t be serious!” Eleanor exclaimed when she found enough breath to speak.

His smile didn’t falter. “Of course, I’m not. I’m far too shallow to be serious. But even so…” He shrugged, indicating he didn’t intend to back down.

Drat him, anyway! If it was a game he wanted, then it was a game she would give him.

She darted forward and to his left, determined to go around him to gain access to the letter. He uncrossed his ankles and mirrored her movement, blocking her with astonishing ease. She managed to pull up short before colliding with him and lunge to his right. Again, he foiled her, but this time, she wasn’t able to halt her forward progress and landed tight against his chest. His heat and hardness and tangy male scent permeated everywhere their bodies touched, until it seemed she could taste him with her skin.

And, oh, he was delicious.

She ought to get away, ought not to stand there pressed against him in this near embrace. But the letter was right there behind him and once she had it, she could leave, her mission accomplished. She stretched her arms around the solid breadth of his torso, but he foresaw this gambit as well and gently grasped her wrists before she could reach her objective.

“I win,” he said, the words delivered so quietly, she felt their rumble in his chest before she heard them issue from his lips.

Her eyes widening, she glared up into his face, intending to deliver some stinging retort or other, though she hadn’t the foggiest notion what it would be. The impulse died in the hot intensity of his gaze, an expression she had never before seen on a man’s face—at least, not directed at her—but recognized anyway: desire.

The broad smile he’d worn earlier had become smaller and a little pained. “I demand a forfeit.”

“A forfeit?”

“A small one in exchange for the letter. Say, a kiss.”

Her heart jumped into her throat and pounded there like a butterfly beating against a pane of glass, desperate for escape. Only it wasn’t escape she wanted. Insanely, she pressed closer to him and tilted her chin upward. “Then do your worst,” she whispered, “and be done with it.”

He chuckled. “Oh, no. For you, Miss Palmer, nothing but the best will do.”

So, what about you? As a writer, do you write the book of your heart? As a reader, do you think you can tell whether the author is passionate about her story? Inquiring minds want to know!