Ramblings From This Chick: Interview with Author Ally Blake and Giveaway

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Interview with Author Ally Blake and Giveaway

Today I would like to welcome Ally Blake to RFTC. Ally is currently on tour celebrating the release of When Honey Got Married Anthology and has stopped by to answer a few questions. Please give Ally a warm welcome.

Australian writer Ally Blake is a redhead, a footy fan, a devotee of the language of Aaron Sorkin; she is addicted to stationery and M&Ms, weak in the face of Italians and firefighters, married to a spectacular and ever-patient man, mum to three beings of pure delight, and a firm believer in love, luck, and fairies. She is also a best-selling author with more than twenty-five fun, flirty romance novels under her belt with over three million copies of her books sold worldwide. For Ally's take on life, writing, and other fancy stuff, head to www.allyblake.com.

Places to find Ally:

A la Twitter style, please describe your book in 140 characters or less.
Everything came easy to Griff; everything except his brother's girl. Pippa's back; will she run again before he has the chance to tell her?

What types of scenes are your most favorite to write? What are the scenes that are the hardest?
The scenes I most love to write are the ones I don't see coming. The moments when my fingers are running so fast over the keyboard the story just flies onto the page. I've honestly had moments when I've written with my mouth hanging open in shock I've been that surprised by how the story's turned. Bliss!

If you could have dinner with any three authors (alive or dead), who would you choose and why?
I'd honestly love nothing more than to actually sit down and break bread with the three women with whom I wrote When Honey Got Married... I'm lucky enough to catch up with Anna for spritely lunches every now and then, and Kelly maybe once a year, but Kimberly lives in Alabama and we've never met face to face! They are such a talented, fun, game-for-anything crew, I truly believe you could stick us in a small room with a tray of mimosas and it would be one of the more hilarious nights of my life!

What are you favorite types of stories to read?
Fast, funny, warm, sexy, surprising, big-hearted romances!

Last question, are you working on anything right now?
Always! I've only just turned in a completed book - which is such a fabulous feeling! But as many jobbing authors will tell you, that gives you about half an hour of relief before the need to get writing again kicks in ;). I have three stories on the go right now. Down time - what's that?

Four high school friends and a high society bride reunite to celebrate the wedding of the year with the sexy, successful men who steal their hearts and set their skin aflame...

A wedding planner should never mix business and pleasure, but Grace couldn't resist breaking rule number one for a hot night with her high school crush!

Eve hoped to make one last play for the groom-who-got-away…but instead the down-on-her-romantic-luck actress instead found herself in dark corners with his successful, seductive cousin.

The sister of the bride needed a date of convenience and who better than her hazel-eyed, mysterious co-worker? If only Nina could keep her hands off his perfect body until she learned his true identity…

The groom proposed to her eight years earlier, but it was the steamy kiss that Pippa shared with his brother the night she left town that haunted her memories. Now she's back and sharing much more than just kisses.

Nothing was going to ruin Honey's wedding to the man of her dreams. And she has just the wedding surprise for her beloved groom!

Purchase: | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo |

Pippa remembered standing outside the Delacroixes's five car garage one summer holidays. The Firebird's hood was popped so she could gaze in wonder at the engine, barely able to believe the car she'd scrimped and saved to buy from the guy with the swamp was hers. It was her ticket to freedom. To choice. To the world.

Then came the crunch of footsteps on the gravel behind her. She'd known it was Griff before she'd even turned around. Something about the lazy strides, the prickle of skin at the back of her neck, the wave of heat that hit her before his large body had blocked out the sun.

He'd leaned beside her then, his big hands curling around metal. Then he'd laughed and shaken his head. “Pipsqueak,” he'd said in that deep Louisiana drawl that did exquisite things to the backs of her knees, “what have you gone and done?”

“Bought and paid for my own car, which is more than you've ever done.”

He'd turned to look at her then. His dark shaggy hair haloed by the afternoon sun. Dust motes dancing in a ray of sunlight. The thick scent of bougainvillea and summer in her nose. His face mere inches from her own.

“You got me there, Pipsqueak,” he'd said, his voice husky and deep. She hadn't dared breathe for fear of fracturing the moment.

When she'd sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, his eyes had moved to her mouth. Had darkened. And he'd breathed in long and slow, his nostrils flaring, his head shaking ever so slowly, as if he couldn't help thinking bad bad thoughts.

She'd been seventeen years old and it was the first moment she'd known what true desire felt like. Not a crush. Or puppy love. But grown up, hot, luscious, rich, decadent, dangerous need.

Then Brent had arrived, twirling the keys of the BMW his folks had bought him the day he got his license. He'd bounced up to them, flung an arm over Pippa's shoulders, like a buddy would, and, grinning, said how cool her car was, and dragged her away to meet the gang for ice cream.

She'd looked over her shoulder, half expecting Griff to be watching her walk away with that dark brooding thing he did so deliciously well, but he'd grabbed a rag, and some kind of long stick thing, and begun fiddling with her engine.

It wasn't the last time she'd found him beneath her hood that summer. And at the end of those holidays her car had started for the first time.

She shook her head hard, as if to rid it of the memory for good.

The minute she got back to LA she was selling the damn car. Hell, maybe she'd push it back in the swamp in which it had been found before she even left the city limits. Then she'd take a bus to LA. She'd hitch if that's what it took.

Then no regrets, no loose ends, no looking back, she could get on with her life for real.