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| What they're saying about Wild Blue: |
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| "I still don't know your name," Troy declared, a little shocked by the realization. She didn't answer, and for a long moment it seemed she wouldn't. But she didn't draw back, didn't seem to move so much as a muscle, when he stepped from the graveled alleyway onto the thick and overgrown, sun-scented grass of her back yard. Knees quivering more than ever, he moved toward her, shocked for a second time when he realized he couldn't stop. His feet seemed guided by some strange and irresistible force outside of him...some enchantment, perhaps, or a witch's spell the nameless, rosy woman had cast upon his heart. Something that held him in thrall as he strode ever forward, barely breathing, toward some destination or some fate he hadn't yet imagined. Still, she said nothing. Made no sound or movement, not even when he came to a stop a mere arm's length from her. The world had stopped dead. Stock-still in its orbit. All life outside this place, this moment, had stopped. Or maybe the world and life had ceased to exist altogether, leaving only what lay within the confines of this small, dark place. When he stopped, Troy had no idea what he should do next. Wait for her? Make the next move himself? Then the rosy woman raised her arms, and he felt himself hurtle forward, once again urged on by some thing that seemed to have nothing to do with him, or with conscious thought. Her arms closed around him. "The hell with names, anyway," he muttered, his head already bent over hers. "Maureen." Her voice shook. VIolently. Like his gut. "What?" His mouth was close to hers. So close. All he could really think about...really concentrate on...were her lips. Ready lips, waiting lips. "My name. It's Maureen. Maureen Molinaro." Again, the world seemed to grind, shuddering and stuttering, to a sudden and inexplicable halt, and Troy thought he heard it hold its breath. "That's a beautiful name." What in Christ's name was he babbling about? And why the hell was he so hoarse? So shaky, and... His lips were still close to hers. But he couldn't convince himself, couldn't feel the courage, to close that infinitesimal yet unimaginable gap. "It's an old lady's name." She backed away from him suddenly, with a jerky and unsteady motion that hinted she'd been unnerved at least as badly as he'd been. She stepped into a patch of faint light from some source that wasn't immediately apparent, and now he could see her a little more clearly. Opalescent and luminescent against a background of all-engulfing night, she was exactly as he'd remembered. Vivid. Colored in a million shades of cream, and rose, and gleaming, almost painful-to-the-eye coppery-gold. As Troy watched, his heard pounding hard enough to shred itself into a million ting and irreparable bits, his breath caught jagged and stabbing in the back of his throat, she reached between her legs with one hand. |
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| "Ms. Starr is a rising star to be sure - 4 1/2 ROSES and SEPTEMBER '03 REVIEWER'S CHOICE!" - Miriam, loveromances.com |
| "Strong, in depth and engaging characters, intriguing story, love along with steamy erotic sex..." - Tracey West, The Road To Romance |
| "Hot, steamy, and a thoroughly enjoyable read." - Rose, Romance At Heart |
| Certain she's looking only for action and a good time, Maureen Molinaro steps out of her rented Rehoboth Beach cottage...right into the path of Troy Donoghue's speeding motorcycle. And nothing will ever be the same! |
| cover art by Martine Jardin #2 artist Preditors and Editors poll, 2003 |
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