Would you tell us about yourself?
I live in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio. When I’m not writing about sharp women, you might find me watching a baseball game or attending an orchestra concert. I love scenic drives along a lake shore or through farm country. In my spare time, you might also find me enjoying a good meal with a glass of wine or a martini along with family and friends. I love to knit, garden, cook, bake – most things domestic except dusting – LOL.
Where can we visit you online?
My contact info:
e-mail dellaroseromance@outlook.com
web page and blog dellaroseromance.wix.com/della-rose-romance
Facebook www.facebook.com/dellaroseromance
Facebook author page www.facebook.com/pages/Painted-Love/889514987744318
twitter twitter.com/DellaRose228811
Would you tell us about your latest release?
Painted Love Part 1 Logan: Vee Wentworth spends her life in the Cleveland art scene with her coterie of close friends: James, her boss and father figure, her sassy best friend Claire, and Omar, her ever-steady shoulder to lean on. Vee’s comfortable life is swept away when a sexy new artist blows into town. Talented and passionate in the studio and the bedroom, Logan Colchester sweeps Vee off her feet and into the sheets! But when this bad-boy cowboy doesn’t add up, Vee learns who really has her best interest at heart. Painted Love Part 1, Logan is a tale of friendship, romance, self-love, and knowing what, and who, truly matters.
In Part 1, 2, and 3 of the Painted Love series, Vee, the main character, becomes more and more self aware. She overcomes enormous tragedy and her own insecurities finally uncovering what is truly important to her in her life. She finds strength and happiness with the people she loves and creates looks forward to a bright, serene future.
Do you prefer writing your heroes, your heroines or do you like writing both equally?
I enjoy creating the heroes and heroines on an equal basis. My very favorite characters to create are the bad boys. Sometimes heroes and heroines have small bad streaks, but bad boys are mostly bad, like Logan Colchester in “Painted Love Part 1 Logan”. He’s smooth, sexy, but a con artist and a user. He knows how to put himself in the center of the heroines heart, in this case, Vee Wentworth, and then suck out everything he can take. Creating the bad boy also means I get to get rid of the bad boy and that part is satisfying. The hero and heroine rule!!!
When you’re writing, who is more in control, you or your characters?
This is a very interesting question. Something I really pondered. Much of my “writing” happens when I’m trying to fall asleep or when I’m doing something that doesn’t take much brain power, like weeding or sweeping the floors. Sometimes, a character or story line comes into my head and I just let it flow. The trick for me is to get the thoughts down on paper, or in computer as the case may be, before I forget the details. So, I’d have to say, my characters are in control most of my writing time.
What are your favorite research resources?
If at all possible, I love to travel to places for first hand views of scenery I’d like to use in a story. It gives me the chance to really feel the place, the mood, the smells, the angle of the sun in the sky, the sounds of the scene, all of it.
If I can’t physically go to a location, I use travel guides, the Internet, books, and descriptions I get from talking with friends who have traveled.
“Painted Love Part 1Logan” sample
BANG BANG BANG on the front door. James nearly jumped out of his shirt. He ran to the front to find Sylvia Gordon and her artist client waiting. Sylvia was wearing black silk pants and matching jacket with an olive green and sequin knit top. Her hair was dyed a new shade of platinum and cropped short to her head, very attractive and chic on a women her age. She wore little make-up, just some natural color lipstick, and no jewelry.
Logan Colchester was at least six and a half feet tall with bright blue eyes like Paul Newman. I haven’t seen too many Paul Newman movies, but I’ve seen pictures of him and those eyes were special. Logan Colchester has them, too. He carried himself like Jon Hamm from Madmen, cool, suave, sophisticated, but with a Texan twist: he wore worn out brown cowboy boots, a brand new pair of boot cut Levi’s, a white button-down shirt, a brown leather bolo tie with a silver and turquoise longhorn steer clasp, a brown leather belt, and the world’s largest bronze belt buckle in the shape of the state of Texas. His light brown hair was a bit shaggy, and his smile revealed a set of bright white Chicklets that positively glowed.
“Sylvia! Darling! So glad you could finally make it,” James said sarcastically. “Honestly, Sylvia. You nearly gave me heart failure with your timing.”
“James, honey. Have I ever let you down?” Sylvia teased.
“True, true. But you’ve come dangerously close tonight.”
“Let me present Mr. Logan Colchester,” Sylvia addressed James and me.
“Present, indeed. Mr. Logan Colchester, you cut quite a fine figure. I think our guests this evening will be very impressed, and not just with your artwork,” James crooned.
I greeted Sylvia with a kiss-kiss on each cheek as she introduced Logan. His voice was low and silky smooth, his hand shake firm. Sylvia took the lead and ushered Logan into the gallery to do a quick walk through.
“Easy cowboy,” I said to James. “I don’t think that boy rides the horse the same way you do.”
“Yes, it’s a pity,” James replied with a sigh. He then brightened and said, “Perhaps this is your knight in shining armor, or should I say, knight in bronze belt buckle?” We both giggled a little.
“Really, Vee. He’s totally hot in that rugged cowboy sort of way. Now that I see him, I really have a better understanding of his work. You should give him a go. It’s been a long time since you’ve had any fun, and that man is fun with all caps blazing.”
I just rolled my eyes. James was right, it had been a long time since I had any fun, as he so subtly put it, but I’m just not a one-night stand kind of girl. I really hadn’t been involved with anyone since Cooper, my now lost fiancé. I want it all: the relationship, friendship, that person to rely on and the great sex, like I had with Cooper. I’m just not interested in the proverbial “roll in the hay.” I just haven’t been able to find it anywhere. Not that I’ve really tried. Of course to find, one must look, but since Cooper, I haven’t had the heart to take the plunge.
The fashionably right-on-time set began to stream in. It was show time! Husbands and wives, partners and friends, all strolling in the gallery, some arm-in-arm, smiling, drinking wine, munching on appetizers, made their way around the gallery, dressed impressively in chic black and silver, nodding recognition to those they’ve seen before, and stopping to chat with those more familiar. It was an event to see and to be seen. The art critic from The Cleveland Plain Dealer was in attendance along with the perverted staff photographer who tried to cop a feel when I walked past him. He just smiled and grabbed me as I passed. He does this every time I see him. You’d think he’d be over it by now, since this was probably the millionth time he’d been here at the gallery.
James was right on it, relaxed now that the artist was in the house. He has an instinct for knowing who to speak with and when. The show was only an hour old, and he already sold two large paintings. He was on fire this evening, sincerely listening to guests, asking about their newest art acquisitions, and explaining the significance of a certain Logan Colchester piece. He was in his glory.
Logan Colchester’s larger-than-life persona fascinated some of the crowd. I could tell by the way some of the women looked at him that they thought he was sexy, maybe a bit of a bad boy. A few overtly flirted with him. Some of the men looked a bit intimidated by Logan Colchester. After all, his actual physical size was large and well-developed. I had the feeling Logan brought back little boy fantasies of being a rough and rugged, rootin’, tootin’ cowboy for more than several of the men in attendance.
The gallery was buzzing with enthusiasm. The guests were enjoying themselves and the service staff had everything well under control. The wine flowed and the background music was occasionally overcome by an outburst of laughter.
I walked around the gallery to view Logan’s paintings. Much of it was seductive, but not dirty. A group of three very pale women in sheer nightgowns holding hands while standing in a straight line viewed through a thick fog. The muscular torso of a well-built black man far off in the middle of a hay field with dark clouds above. One painting called “Sinister” was raggedy red stripes painted across a huge piece of white rock. It was captivating, if you like that kind of thing, and I like that kind of thing.
I decided to make a pit stop, but as I neared the restroom, I heard someone inside say in a lusty voice, “Deeper – deeper – touch me there – yes.” I knew my creature comforts would have to wait. This was not unusual at a show opening. People get a little drunk, they look at some provocative art, and their horny hormones get all worked up. I checked on the servers and found all was in order, so I decided to take a break out back and get a breath of fresh air.
I stepped out the back door into the dimly lit alley behind the gallery. James and I park our cars in this alley along with most of the other shop owners along our stretch of Euclid Avenue. Not many people know about it, but those that do frequent it because the alley has easy access to the theaters in the area and is free to park. It’s great, as long as you don’t mind the occasional open bag of garbage and the scurrying noises that go along with it.
I leaned up against the rough, brick wall of our building and heard a smooth male voice say, “You needed a break, too?” I looked over to see Logan approaching me from across the alley. As he neared, I saw he was smoking. He came closer and offered me a hit. He was smoking a joint. Now, I’m not unrealistic about drugs—I just don’t like them. I know plenty of people smoke grass all the time but not me. The most I ever do is drink one too many martinis. I had many friends ruin their lives because of drugs, and I didn’t want to fall into those ranks.
“No, thanks,” I said and turned to go back inside.
“Hey, beautiful. Don’t walk away. Let’s talk,” Logan said.
“I need to get back to work.” Something about him, his aura perhaps, gave me an unsettling feeling. I didn’t feel afraid, just cautious. He walked up close to me and said, “You sure don’t look like you’re dressed to work, unless you work the streets.”
The insult stung and I was going to make sure he knew it. I reached up to slap his face, but he caught my wrist before I landed my palm on his cheek. He held my arm tight but with a gentleness that came with an overwhelming charge of electricity. We held each other’s gaze for what seemed to be forever and then he moved in and kissed me. His lips were moist and he pressed them hard against my lips. He still held my wrist and moved my arm down to his side. With his other hand, he reached around my back and stroked my long wavy hair.
His breath was steaming across my face. At first, I resisted, but the longer he held my lips to his, the more I weakened. I could feel myself on fire, that feeling between my legs, moist and needy, and he knew it. He pulled his mouth from mine and let go of my wrist. He cupped my face in his hand while still stroking my hair with his other hand and said, “Still want to go back to work?”
I kept my eyes locked on his incredibly blue, intense eyes, but I stepped back towards the door to the gallery. As I put my hand on the doorknob, I could hear James shouting my name. I pulled opened the door, whooshing the air around it, stirring up alley dust, and went into the gallery without saying a word to Logan.
James needed me to help a customer make arrangements for the delivery of a painting she just purchased. When he saw me come through the back door, he looked inquisitive and then he smiled like the Cheshire Cat. He motioned that my lipstick needed some rearranging, a by- product of the kiss. I took care of my make-up and got back to work.
The show was a huge success. I was so happy for James. Sylvia was practically skipping around the gallery totaling up her commission on all the sales. Logan had been approached by two collectors to do some private individual pieces. Sylvia was happily plotting out the contract arrangements for these paintings.
I was busy getting the gallery cleaned up with the help of the servers. Clearly, the guests enjoyed the wine and food. Only a few pieces of fruit and a couple of avocado concoctions remained. Every time I turned around, there was Logan watching me. It was a bit unsettling. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was he amused, bored or what?
Sylvia noticed and took me aside. “Vee, honey. I think the artist in residence has a special something for you. My advice, sweet pea, is go for it. I have a feeling the man is hung like a bull and knows how to use it. You don’t think all those nude women he paints were paid models, do you?” She raised an eyebrow as she walked away. Sylvia is like that. She’s been around, in more ways than one. She reads people accurately and says it like it is.
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