Well, today my most recent release, Guarding His Body, is out in print at Total-E-Bound. (Er, that is, if “today” is 9 November, mid-morning UK time.) This has been a bit of time coming, considering my first ever release was published in April 2007 (The Commander’s Slave by New Concepts Publishing), but I only have myself to blame as I only wrote novellas up to this point.

But, before I go any further, some shameless self-promotion:

Yves de Saint Nerin is a man in trouble. Hounded by a vengeful business associate who has no qualms about attacking his family, he visits Australia in a bid to escape Leonid Alexandrov’s ruthless tactics. But, not leaving things to chance, he also hires a bodyguard and gets more than he bargains for in the form of accomplished martial artist, Helen Collier.

I can’t remember exactly which blog it was that mentioned that female kick-arse heroines tend not to practice or sweat or do any of those icky things. Well, the first time we meet Helen is at the end of a training session where she admits to herself that she probably stinks. She exercises. The hero, Yves, is well-built, but doesn’t step into the breech to disarm the villain or get him into a sleeper hold. That’s because Yves hasn’t been trained to do it. That job belongs to Helen.

I like the alpha hero, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him have all the fun. Thee challenge in Guarding His Body was to keep the hero strong and capable yet aware of his own failings. And, for all that Helen knows how to manipulate a body in order to subdue it, underneath it all, she’s tender-hearted and vulnerable. Here’s part of the scene where they first meet:

But he was not here to run an admiring glance over his supposed bodyguard. He was here to prove that she simply didn’t have what it took to take care of him. There was nothing personal in the thought. He didn’t mind women around, of course, but in their proper places—and with one so attractive, on a hair-trigger as she walked by his side, there was no such place. But maybe, after he convinced her that they could not deal together, she might still be open for dinner as a consolation prize. While he was determined to remain in Australia till the police had time to thoroughly investigate Leonid Alexandrov, nobody said the time he spent here had to be celibate.

He smiled disarmingly as he faced her, but nothing so much as flickered behind those cool, assessing eyes. D’accord!

He moved with a panther’s grace, feinting in one direction then stepping in another, and had the satisfaction of seeing sudden surprise on her face before it was quickly masked. He didn’t have time to wonder why such a thought gratified him before he lunged at her again, this time catching her wrist in a vice-like grip. He expected her to scream, to say something, to stop, but she kept moving as if it didn’t matter that he held onto her in the kind of hold, he was sure, she could not break.

To his own surprise, she angled around to his back and he felt a stab of pain in his kidneys. He had no choice, he had to let go of her hand—the strike to his back both stunned and hurt him—and he felt a quick kick to the back of his knees.

He was still surprised as he felt himself falling, her hand on him—touching him, moving with him like a lover—as he fell through the air and hit the carpet. When he opened his eyes, she was crouched above him. Her hand tightened against his throat, fingers like steel cables against his neck, and one of her feet pinned down his right arm. He knew he could play the macho man now, and sweep her aside just as she’d managed to demonstrate her skills without hurting him too much, turning the tables on her and sneering in her face. Something in her face told him she half-expected him to do exactly that, and he was ashamed that she thought so little of his gender.

He relaxed his body, ceding defeat, and tried smiling up at her. This was no mean feat, considering she was still pressing her fingers against his windpipe, but it was enough, and she relaxed her hold and swiftly moved away from him, rising to her feet.

“Would that be enough of a demonstration, Monsieur Nerin?” she asked, unable to keep the silkiness out of her voice.

“Oui,” he replied, although he had the urge to cough. “You’re hired.”

So, if you’ve ever wanted to read a twist on an old classic, with a female bodyguard this time guarding a very male body, please be sure to try Guardiing His Body. I hope you like it.