You won't believe this email. I'm sitting in a French safe house, eating caviar and drinking champagne with a handsome government agent, Niko Reynard. He's wearing nothing but silk pajama bottoms and mega doses of sex appeal. I'm in big trouble, little sister. He's kissed me several times and given me a foot massage that nearly caused spontaneous combustion. I'm feeling strangely virginal compared to the sexual prowess this thirty-year-old man exudes.
When I came to Paris for a bit of adventure, I never imagined I'd foil a bombing attempt, karate-kick two men, and run from terrorists while wearing a new pair of stilettos. I've met a German musician, a gay poet from Australia, and the most delightful older French woman.
Don't worry. I'm safe--the jury's still out on yummy Niko, though. The more champagne I drink, the less reserved I feel. What an unforgettable fortieth birthday!
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FIND ME ONLINE AT http://www.vonniedavis.com
Niko perched on the stool at Alyson’s feet, opened the first box and deftly flicked back the tissue paper on a pair of black kidskin pumps with skinny gold looking heels. “It’s rumored Da Vinci invented the high heel.” He removed her Birckenstocks and placed her bare foot on his thigh. Warmth from his muscled leg flowed up hers, causing her foot to give an involuntary wiggle.
His gaze lifted to hers and locked. Slowly he slid his hand from her heel up her leg to cup her calf. Thank God she shaved her legs that morning. “Stop.” The rawness of her voice surprised her. His touch made her very aware of her body, and her body was very aware of him. She couldn’t count the years since she was touched in such a manner—if ever.
Still, it was nice to know she could respond to a man’s touch. Thanks to her ex-husband’s avoidance, she thought herself sexually dead, certainly sexually unappealing.
“High heels do wonders for a woman’s figure, Aly. They make the legs look long and shapely, lift the bottom and make the hips sway.” His hands moved in a descriptive manner while he talked. “They make a woman look sexy and confident. Men’s eyes naturally pivot to a woman in stilettos.” Niko shrugged. “We can’t help it. We are men, after all. Weakened by women.”
Alyson stared at him. Men made weak by women? She’d never heard such talk, especially from a male, a very virile male if looks meant anything. He was gorgeous, arrogant as all get out, but gorgeous just the same.
Niko slipped the shoes onto her feet, stood and extended his hand. “Stand. See how you like the feel.” His gaze focused on hers again and for a second or two, when she looked into his eyes, her world stopped.
She vetoed the four-inch stilettos Niko favored in five painful, toe-pinching steps. Good Lord, a girl could get nosebleeds in those things.
Ten minutes later, Alyson wobbled in front of the cashier ready to pay for the black kidskin three-inch Pradas she wore. As soon as she saw the bow at the back of the heel, she fell in love with the shoes. Gwen called her a “bow freak.” When Niko reached for his wallet, she elbowed him. “Look, as long as they take Visa, I’ll pay for my own shoes.”
“Please, allow me.”
“Absolutely not. I planned on having an expensive birthday meal at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant tomorrow. With all that’s happened today, that plan is ruined, too. So I’m rationalizing since I won’t be paying for my birthday meal, I can pay this ungodly amount for the shoes.”
Niko placed his hand over hers. “I don’t mind. Let me treat you since I goaded you into buying them.”
“Really, that’s not necessary. Even my husband…er…ex-husband never bought me things. I’ve always paid my own way.”
He leaned an elbow on the glass counter and looked at her. “You’re kidding me. He never bought you little surprises? Little treats? A woman like you should be spoiled, treasured—” his voice lowered as he slowly trailed a finger up her arm “—loved often and well.” Merciful heavens, he was trying to seduce her in a shoe store. Gwen would squeal in delight when she told her about this.
“Down, buster. American women are different than French women. We’re not so easily seduced by glib words or smooth moves.”
His eyebrow arched and his demeanor turned insolent. “You think I’m trying to seduce you?”
Typical male. He touched her almost nonstop since they stepped into Minelli’s. Now that she called him on it, he wanted to deny everything. “I think you’re toying with me, seeing if you can make an old, lonely American woman quiver at your feet.”
“First of all, you’re not old. Second, if you’re lonely, that’s your fault. Third, if I wanted to make you quiver—” he leaned in, his lips against her ear “—I damn well could.”
Now for the interview...
Welcome Vonnie Davis!
Welcome Vonnie Davis!
I’m a retired technical writer who has a case of arrested development. I started college at 44, found the love of my life at 55 and had my first book published at 63. I’m just a tad slower at achieving milestones than others. I live in southern Virginia with my husband, who also writes, and one spoiled cat. We enjoy traveling—my husband and I, not the cat.
Q: What do you like most about the genre you write in?
I love romance; it’s what I read 95% of the time. I love the sensual dance two people do as they waltz toward their happily-ever-after. Romances are stories of hope and escapism. Don’t we all hope we find that special someone? Don’t we all need to escape from the drudgery and problems of everyday life?
My problem is I don’t know which sub-genre of romance to stick to. I write contemporary, historical and romantic suspense—and thanks to a pair of glowing, golden eyes, I also write paranormal. There’s a story behind that I’d like to share for I never thought I’d have the imagination to write paranormal.
About a month after I had a cancerous cyst removed from my saliva gland, I began to see two glowing spots in the back of my mind. Cancer, I thought. After their constant presence for two weeks, I was about to call the doctor to make an appointment, when the golden spots blinked. Eyes, I thought. Those are eyes? They stared and me, blinking from time to time. Watching…waiting…willing me to comment.
Then one night, a bear took shape at the foot of my bed and he had those same golden, glowing eyes. I wasn’t alarmed since this is how all my heroes come to me, late at night when I’m in that fluttery, fragile state between wakefulness and sleep (I’m telling you, folks, the men just won’t leave me alone! And as soon as you’re through laughing over that bit of nonsensical bragging, read on…).
I studied the bear for a minute before I spoke. “Sorry, I don’t write children’s stories.” The bear shook his head. “Oh, you’re not that kind of bear?” He shifted into a brawny man wearing a kilt (now, you’re talkin’). Then he sauntered to my side of the bed and lifted the covers to crawl in beside me. I scooted over against hubster to make room. Hubster groaned and kept on snoring. “You’re still in the wrong writer’s bedroom. I don’t write paranormal.”
“Aye, lassie, but ye will. Let me tell ye how bears came to be extinct in Scotland.”
So, that’s how I came to write my first paranormal. It’s not finished yet, but the first 20 pages finaled in the Golden Acorn Writing Contest. As soon as I finish the last book in my romantic suspense trilogy, I’ll work on this light, often humorous paranormal.
Q: Where is your favorite place to write?
I usually sit in my recliner with my laptop.
Q: What’s your next project?
I’m working on the last installment of the romantic suspense trilogy I mentioned earlier. Each book has its own romantic couple, yet has The Red Hand terrorist group creating havoc through all three. Book one, MONA LISA’S ROOM, set in Paris, released two weeks ago. RAIN IS A LOVE SONG, set in Paris, Budapest and Asheville, NC has a cover, but no release date from the publisher yet. The book I’m plugging through now is JAZZBEAT OF SURRENDER. My heroine, strong, independent woman that she is, went off on her own and got captured by The Red Hand. Next thing I knew she was taken to Syria—something I hadn’t planned on—so now I’m deep in research into the weather, topography, social attitudes of Syria. My characters rule my life, so it seems.
Q: How do you feel about Dr. Pepper?
Is he that yummy podiatrist with dimples and a get-your-sex-here swagger??? ‘Cause I could use a good foot massage…
Thanks so much for being here today, Vonnie!
Thanks so much for being here today, Vonnie!