The Contemporary Romances that Made this Historical Romance Author Write One of Her Own
I am a born historical romance author. For years, I couldn’t even contemplate writing a contemporary. There wasn’t one in me. Anywhere. Believe me. I looked.
But as time went on, my TBR pile kept filling with delectable contemporary romances filled with heroines who reminded me too much of myself and heroes who were just this side of perfect and all the more scrumptious for it. The urge to write a contemporary romance grew and grew until it couldn’t be ignored any longer. As I gave my 20s a rocky send off, I burned with stories to share of the pressure women are under in our day and age as social norms change and technology creates new possibilities and dangers. Not only did I have a contemporary romance to write, I crafted an entire trilogy from contemporary romances I could no longer push aside.
What contemporary romance novels pushed this historical romance author over the edge? Let’s look at the top five.
- Rising Tides (The Chesapeake Bay Saga, Book 2) by Nora Roberts
- The Next Best Thing by Kristan Higgins
- The House on Tradd Street by Karen White
- Our Husband by Stephanie Bond
- Something About You by Julie James
What are your top five favorite contemporary romances?
When She Knows: Franconia Notch Trilogy Book One by Jessie Clever
His latest problem is her newest assignment.
Shannon Wynter has it all figured it. Abandoned by her mother and left to care for her agoraphobic father, Shannon focuses on building her career as a journalist to the detriment of all else including her love life.
Ian Darke has his own problems. Battling past failures, Ian sets his eyes on launching a new factory for his father’s defense firm. But it’s the very father he failed that will do anything to sabotage Ian’s progress.
And when Shannon follows an anonymous tip that leads her to Ian’s factory door, the last thing she expects to discover is what she already knows.
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About the Author
About the Author:
In the second grade, Jessie began a story about a duck and a lost ring. Two harrowing pages of wide ruled notebook paper later, the ring was found. And Jessie has been writing ever since.
Armed with the firm belief that women in the Regency era could be truly awesome heroines, Jessie began telling their stories in her Spy Series, a thrilling ride in historical espionage that showcases human faults and triumphs and most importantly, love.
Jessie makes her home in the great state of New Hampshire where she lives with her husband and two very opinionated Basset Hounds. For more, visit her website at jessieclever.com.
Social Media Links:
“But fraud for a defense contractor is serious. You don’t want to defend your reputation as a provider to our armed forces?”
It took him a minute to realize that clicking noise was her following him over the pavement. He spun around, his arms coming up once more to gesture his acquiescence, only she was standing too close, and instead of gesturing with authority, he ran into her, his arms striking her shoulders and knocking her against him.
He froze, feeling the length of her body collide with his, the scent of her shampoo invade his senses, her breath fall across the exposed skin above his shirt collar. He felt her hesitation, the hitch in her breath, before she shoved against him, pushing herself away.
“I’m very sorry,” he said, his hands moving uselessly in front of him as if to help her regain her balance.
She stood with her pad held against her chest like some sort of shield, and he felt his anger drain into annoyance.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, much more carefully, “I don’t have a comment, and I need to get back to work. Please excuse me.”
He turned slowly this time, resuming his walk to the loading dock door.
“What is it that you’re using this factory for, Mr. Darke?”
He didn’t answer. No matter how much he wanted to turn around and rail about his stupid brother’s stupid decisions, he did not. He kept walking.
“Fraud, I mean, come on, that’s-”
And then he did turn.
“If you want a comment, you can call our PR department.”
“Great!” she said, and he almost smiled at her enthusiasm as she pulled up a clean page of her notebook. “What’s the phone number?”
He shook his head at her and let his feet carry him back to where she stood on the pavement, notebook poised for the phone number.
“Shannon, was it?” he said when he was close.
He had felt her breath hitch when she had bumped into him, and now he dared to step a little closer than politeness would have dictated. He saw it again, the slight hitch in her chest, and he felt a smile spread over his face. He leaned in, dropping his voice to a soft, rich level.
“Have you heard of the Internet, Shannon?”
“Yes,” she whispered softly, her eyes locked on his.
“Use it,” he said and walked away, leaving her standing in the parking lot, her pen completely still.