Author Spotlight: Jenny Gilliam

Today's author in the spotlight is Jenny Gilliam and her newest releases, The Truth About Roxy and Under My Skin.



Jenny began writing at the age of twelve, when she realized the voices talking in her head were characters, not a result of pre-teen induced psychosis. She’s been writing on and off for almost twenty years, but actively pursuing publication for the last three. She lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. She is the author of four novels.

Jenny loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her at http://www.jennygilliam.com/










The Truth About Roxy


Blurb



Roxy Palmer is a walking, breathing cliché. And darned tired of it.
Working as the assistant librarian in her small, Southern home town, Roxy also anonymously pens the local love column, Ask Paula Rockwell—Thorton, Georgia's answer to Dear Abby.

But when the door leading to Roxy's lifetime dream is slammed in her face by one of the good ol' boys, Roxy brings out the big guns--and turns the genteel town upside down with her racier, feminist, home-wrecking new format.

Paula Rockwell is making Sheriff Noah Kennedy's life crazy. He's got angry husbands lined around the block, demanding the cancellation of the column, fights breaking out and women catching their boyfriends' trucks on fire. If he ever gets his hands on that woman…

But he's got his hands full of Roxy at the moment, and if he ever discovers the truth about Roxy, all hell will break loose.


Excerpt



As Roxy and Mary Lou loaded the heavy bags into the back of the Honda, a shout rent the air. Roxy looked up, her eyes tracking the sound. Next door, Merle Granger stood in his Saturday golfing best, hands on his hips while articles of clothing rained down on him and the lawn.


“Now, Charlene, honey, be reasonable.”

“I’ll show you reasonable, you controlling bastard!” From the second-floor window, a golf club went sailing, missing Merle’s head by mere inches.


“Damnation, woman!” Merle shouted. “That’s my best nine iron!”

“You can take your nine-iron and shove it up your ass!”


“Oh, my,” Mary Lou breathed, coming around the back of the Honda. She stood next to Roxy.

“Looks like that rumor is true.”


“What rumor?” Roxy asked, mesmerized by the sight of Charlene Granger tossing a stuffed fish out the window. It bounced off the hood of Merle’s brand new Expedition and caused the banker to spew another litany of curses.

“You know,” Mary Lou said, “that Charlene is Restless in Primrose Valley.”


Oh. That rumor.

At the time, Roxy had written it off as grist for the mill. After all of the publicity her article had generated, she figured any married couple within the city limits had the potential to be used as fodder. But, now, as Charlene sent a package of golf balls raining down the street, Roxy wondered if the universe could really be that kind.


“Is this about that silly little column?” Merle shouted to his wife.

This seemed to throw Charlene into a rage, since items began sailing from the window with increasing speed, each punctuated by fierce words from Mrs. Granger.


“That.” A shoe landed out in the street. “Article.” Here came its mate. “Was.” Antlers. Antlers?

“Not.” Picture frame. “Silly.” A vase came crashing down, clipping Merle in the shoulder. He howled in pain. “Or.” A dozen roses rained down. “Little!” This last statement was followed by the obvious coup de grace: the mounted head of a buck.


Roxy didn’t know how Charlene managed to wrestle the large animal’s head out of the window, but apparently rage gave people all kinds of strange powers. Roxy slapped a hand over her mouth as the buck landed on the hood of the Expedition with a crash. The windshield buckled inward from the impact.

“I wonder what the insurance company will have to say about that,” Mary Lou commented.


A crowd had gathered across the street to watch the display. Old men stood next to their wives, whispering behind their hands. Kids in the middle of summer play stopped to stare, awestruck by the screaming and destruction.

In the distance, Roxy heard the sharp song of a police siren. “Uh, oh. Here comes the heat.” She hoped Noah wasn’t the one behind the wheel. One altercation with the police a day was enough for her. “Maybe we should go.”


Mary Lou stared at her like she’d gone batty. “Are you nuts? This is like an episode of Cops.”
As the police cruise pulled up—not Noah, thank goodness—Mary Lou started singing, “Bad boys, bad boys; whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you…”

“You know what you can do with your fancy dinner parties, Merle?” Charlene shouted. “You can stick ‘em! I am done with you! You hear me? I was not put on this earth to play housewife to some man!”


O-kay. She’d just paraphrased the Paula response. Definitely Restless in Primrose Valley. Roxy eyed the mounted head on the hood of the Expedition and the pile of clothes on the front lawn. Well, she’s not restless anymore.

“I’m calling the shots now!” Charlene leaned out the second-story window and did the unthinkable. Well, the unthinkable for a society wife in Thorton, Georgia, that is. She climbed up on the windowsill and dropped her slacks, baring her behind for the world to see. She twisted her head around and yelled, “You can kiss my ass, Merle Granger!”


Who would have known one little article would incite such bedlam?

Want More? Buy THE TRUTH ABOUT ROXY at: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/




Under My Skin



Blurb


When coffee shop owner Rachel Crowe overhears her neighbor being murdered, she doesn't think her life can get any more complicated. But when the detective on the case turns out to be the very man she kicked out of her store the night before, she realizes she's wrong. From the moment Detective Alex Williams laid eyes on the raven-haired owner of his favorite coffee shop, he's been drawn to her. When she becomes the key witness in his homicide investigation, he takes it upon himself to protect her at all costs. As the killer closes in on Rachel, the couple are thrown into very intimate and dangerous situations. Can Alex convince her to trust him before the killer catchesup with them?



Excerpt




Inside the old elevator, the silence was charged, edgy. Rachel Crowe was the first woman he’d been attracted to with such intensity in a long time. He’d cared for Francie, but not enough. And he was tempted to pursue this amazing feeling. With a witness.



He closed in on her, satisfied when he saw desire flare in her eyes. She looked up at him when he was half a foot from her. He placed both his hands above her head, caging her in.



“Tell me, Detective Williams,” she said breathlessly. “Do you make it a habit of kissing all of your witnesses?”



“You’re the first.”



“You might get in trouble, right? We shouldn’t be doing this.”



His mouth hovered an inch above hers. “You’re right.”

"I don’t want it to stop.”



"Me, either.”


She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged his mouth to hers, immediately seeking entrance. She thrust her hot, slippery tongue into his mouth, swirling inside, then retreating. He groaned and dropped his hands to her sides, fascinated by the taste of her. Coffee, cinnamon, and passion.

Rachel ran her hands along his torso and up his shoulders, looping her arms around his neck and drawing him closer. With their bodies so close, she couldn’t mistake his reaction to her. To his surprise, she rubbed herself sinuously against him, threading her fingers through his hair, her breathy little moans driving him fairly insane. His hand closed over her heavy breast, her nipple distended into a little pebble. As he rubbed the turgid peak, she took a sharp intake of breath.



“Excuse me.”



They separated so quickly, it would have been humorous had it not been a uniform standing at the open elevator door.



“Damn,” Alex muttered.



“Sir,” the uniform said.



“Uh-oh,” Rachel said. “It’s not his fault. I kissed him. He was totally like, ‘hands off, lady.’ But I just couldn’t control myself,” she babbled. “I mean, look at him. Well, I guess you really wouldn’t since you’re a guy.” The elevator door began to shut, and she shoved an arm out to stop it.



“Unless you’re gay, which is fine, great. I mean, I’m totally down with the rainbow.”



“Shut up, Rachel.”



“Yeeaah. Night, Detective.”



The uniform gave him a high-five-nice-goin’-buddy smile as the doors slid shut.



What a cluster.

Want more? Buy UNDER MY SKIN November 28th at: www.amirapress.com/shop