Spotlight & Giveaway: Brock by Roxanne St. Claire

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Roxanne St. Claire to HJ!

Hi Rocki  and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Brock – 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes Book 5!

 
Hi Junkies!! Love to visit here when I have a new release! Thanks for always being so welcoming!
 

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

BROCK is book 5 in a multi-author series featuring the 7 Blackthorne men (a mix of siblings and cousins all raised together). The Blackthornes are a wealthy, well-known family that made money in whisky (they’re from Scotland, so no e!), boatbuilding, and car racing. Each book in the series stands completely alone and has been written by a different well-known author. Characters cross over, there’s a very simple subplot that connects the books, but we’ve worked hard to make sure each book is a story that will make you sigh and swoon and fall in love with a Blackthorne. Brock Blackthorne’s job is to make sure the company name is polished to a shine – he’s the keeper of the “brand.” So when a young woman shows up with the intention of writing a “tell all biography” about the family, Brock must keep a close eye on her. Jenna’s determined to uncover the family secrets and save her career. But to find out the truth, they have to work closely together…and that gets complicated, hot, and forces them to face their fears before they can risk their hearts!
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

The transition from King Harbor to Boston was never nice and easy for Brock Blackthorne, but tonight it felt particularly wrenching. Leaving the family estate on the peaceful, picturesque coast of Maine and making the two-hour drive to the pressure cooker of Blackthorne Enterprises in the heart of the city always felt a little like crashing through a plate-glass window very much like the one behind him. Although, as always, the shades that covered the commanding view of Boston were closed tight, making sure Brock didn’t catch even a glimpse of the skyline or harbor, a nausea-inducing fifty-three stories below.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• Writing the book meant researching WHISKY! I had a great trip to a local distillery and *really* enjoyed sampling the products!
• Did you know that during Prohibition, when the mafia killed someone due to a war over bootlegged liquor, they kept the dead person’s teeth and made jewelry out of them? There’s a not-so-fun fact I learned while researching the book.

Please tell us a little about the characters in your book. As you wrote your protagonist was there anything about them that surprised you?

They both have quirky irrational fears. The hero has a fear of heights and the heroine has a fear of storms. Of course, they both had to face those fears to prove their love. That was fun to write! Oh, and this story kicks off with something I rarely write — a one night stand between strangers. But it was so *right* for the conflict in the book and I think it really worked!

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would you use for the audition of the main characters and why?

Definitely the first meet – it’s cute and fun and would make a great opening scene to a movie!

Once he finished reviewing everything on his desk, Brock headed out to the private elevator that took occupants of the executive suite down to Clarendon Street, intending to walk back to his condo. But when he stepped out of the elevator, he realized maybe he should have looked out the window at least once. Now, he just stared at the city street and let out a soft curse.
Torrential rain turned the pavement black, wet, and slick, while cars sprayed rooster tails as they sped by. His driver, Hoyt, would be home with his family on this weekend night, and Brock wasn’t about to yank the man away just because of a rain shower.
Only, this wasn’t a rain shower…this was a downpour.
He opened the door and winced when rain splattered his T-shirt and jeans and turned his glasses into wet windshields without wipers.
Just as he backed into the building to get an Uber, he spied the white light of an open taxi cruising down Clarendon. Without hesitation, he made a run for it, instantly blinded by sluicing, splashing, relentless water.
Squinting into the rain, Brock saw the cab slow down even before he raised his hand. When the car stopped completely, he jumped a puddle and snagged the passenger-side back door, whipping it open at the very moment that someone did the same to the door on the other side.
“Oh no!” A woman as wet and bedraggled as he was sputtered the exclamation. “Didn’t you see me?”
He swiped at his lenses. “Can’t see a thing. It’s okay,” he said, backing away. “You take it.”
“No, no. I hailed it, but I guess you technically opened the door first.”
“It’s fine,” he assured her as the water seeped into his docksiders. “I’ll catch the next one.”
“Tonight?” She slipped into the seat, the light of the cab giving him the first real look at plastered hair and streaky mascara. “We can share. I mean, unless you’re a serial killer.”
“I can assure you—” A bolt of lightning flashed white and sudden, illuminating a look of shock on her face and giving him a millisecond to see her big blue eyes pop with surprise at the flash. “I’m not a serial killer.”
She waved him in. “Quick, then. Get—”
“In or out, buddy,” the cabby called in a thick Boston accent, making no effort to hide his exasperation.
“I’m only going to the Colonnade Hotel,” the woman said, blinking away some water. “Please get in out of the storm.”
Making a snap decision spurred by the cold rain soaking through his shirt and shoes, as well as the tantalizing spark in her eyes, he climbed into the cab and pulled the door closed.
“One Dalton,” he said to the driver. “But take this lady wherever she wants to go first. I’ll pay.”
“That’s not—”
He held up a hand. “Please. It’s the least I can do to be saved from drowning.”
She gave him a smile, but the inside of the cab was too dim for him to take a better, longer look. He caught a whiff of something fresh and floral and noticed she wore a skirt or dress—something that had ridden up high enough to show half a bare thigh—toned, tight, and wet from rain.
“It was clear skies when I left New York.” She scooped up a handful of what was probably light blond, but soaking wet, hair and squeezed it so some water dribbled down her top.
“It was clear skies an hour ago when I left home.” He threw her another look as the cabby cut off a van to get back into traffic. “You from New York?” he asked.
“I am, but I’m in Boston on business. I take it you’re a local?”
“Born and raised.” A lifetime of self-protection adopted by anyone saddled with a recognizable last name prevented him from saying more, but he could feel her curious gaze on him.
“Where’s your Boston accent?”
“I travel a lot,” he said quickly. “Where’s your New York accent?”
“My mother was in television and insisted I lose it,” she told him with just enough of a smile for him to notice how attractive she was, despite what the weather had done to her hair and makeup.
He let his gaze linger a moment, then asked, “So what brings you out on a night like this?”
She squished her nose as if she didn’t really want to say why she was there. “Had to…get the lay of the land.” Her tone was vague enough to be intriguing. That bare thigh was intriguing, too, come to think of it.
“What business are you in?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.
“Publishing.” The single-word answer trumpeted disinterest—or a plea for privacy—so he nodded and tried to look out his window, but sheets of rain blocked any view as the driver made a wide right turn onto Stuart.
What the hell? Was this guy’s vision more blurred than Brock’s? Leaning forward, he peered out the front windshield and frowned. “Hey, man, you’re going the wrong way.”
“This is fast—oh damn!” the man exclaimed as a set of headlights blinded him.
“It’s one way,” Brock insisted through gritted teeth, gauging the speed and distance of the oncoming car and praying like hell the other driver could see through the shimmering wall of rain.
“I screwed up.” The cabby slammed on the brakes, making the back wheels fishtail wildly, knocking the whole back bumper into a mailbox, bringing them to a noisy, sudden stop.
“What the heck?” The woman next to Brock grabbed his arm as the driver swore again.
The oncoming car lay on the horn for a deafening five seconds as it careened by, clipping the side-view mirror and earning a stream of foul language from their driver.
“Whoa, buddy, take it easy.” Brock automatically put a calming hand over the one clutching him. “This is why I hate cabs,” he muttered, looking around to figure out exactly where they were.
The other car came to a stop as their cabby shoved his door open, letting in a spray of water.
“Good God.” Brock and the woman both backed away from the water and sounds of an escalating argument. “This is going south fast.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “They’re going to fight in this weather?”
“Never underestimate a ticked-off Boston cabby.” He was only half kidding, but cringed when the F-bombs started exploding outside. “Want to make a run for it?”
She took less than two seconds to decide, giving him a quick nod in the direction of his door, away from the escalating argument.
“Stay with me.” Brock took her hand, wrapping his fingers around her slender ones, and got an unexpected jolt from the touch of wet, warm skin.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

Same as always! Fall in love, have fun, laugh, sigh, wipe a tear, and go looking for more!

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m back at work on the Dogmothers series, the spinoff series from my populare Dogfather series. Look for the next book, THREE DOG NIGHT, in October!
 
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

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Excerpt from Brock – 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes Book 5:

Here’s the rest of the scene from above:

She took less than two seconds to decide, giving him a quick nod in the direction of his door, away from the escalating argument.
“Stay with me.” Brock took her hand, wrapping his fingers around her slender ones, and got an unexpected jolt from the touch of wet, warm skin. He tugged her toward the door, flipping the handle, and stepping into yet another three inches of water from Back Bay’s notoriously crappy drainage system.
As they ran, another bolt of lightning flashed brightly, making her gasp and stumble. Instantly, Brock put an arm around her and guided her close to a building, under an awning that protected the front door of a bakery. He let the rain hit him, but at least she was somewhat protected.
“Here, there’s room,” she said, pulling him under the tiny overhang, even though it meant he ended up pressing against her.
“We have to get inside somewhere,” he said, looking left and right, partly to get his bearings but mostly because it allowed him to avoid looking right into the eyes of a completely wet stranger less than a centimeter away.
She reached behind her and shimmied the large handle of the glass door. “Locked.”
“It’s Sunday night,” he said, giving up the fight to look down at her.
“We could—” The suggestion was cut off by another bolt of lightning, making her smash her face into his shoulder and muffle a soft scream.
“It’s okay,” he said, automatically putting his hand on her head. “The storm isn’t that close.”
Slowly, she pulled back with an embarrassed laugh. “I hate lightning. Hate storms.” She squeezed his arms as a rumble of thunder punctuated her announcement. “Hate.”
“Got it.” He did get it, too. Storms certainly didn’t bother him, but he felt the same kind of stress on bridges and in skyscrapers and, hell, the widow’s walk at the estate. He used his forearm to wipe water off his glasses so he could get his bearings of the neighborhood. “Okay, there’s an Irish pub on that corner,” he said, thinking of a place that Blackthorne employees were known to frequent after work. “Can you make it?”
“If we don’t get struck by lightning.” She bit her lip and blinked more water out of her eyes, suddenly looking incredibly…beautiful. Drenched, scared, but something about her reached into him and flicked a switch that sent way too much juice firing through him.
“I won’t let you get struck by lightning,” he said under his breath.
Her expression softened, and her eyes widened just a tiny little bit like she’d been struck by a whole different kind of lightning. “You can’t promise that,” she whispered.
But in that single, crazy flash of an instant, he wanted to promise her…something. A kiss, a touch, more time in the rain.
“How about a drink if we make it to safety? I can promise that.”
She gave in to a slow smile that showed some dimples and genuine interest. “Yes, please.”
He studied her for a moment, knowing all too well that Brock Blackthorne, keeper of an untarnished reputation, didn’t hook up with sexy strangers he’d met in the back of a cab. But tonight, in the rain, with the freedom of Maine still clinging to him and the constraints of his Boston life still one more night away…well, this was a hell of a good way to end the week.
Just then, another bolt of lightning lit the night sky, making her squeeze her eyes shut and let out a squeal. “If we live that long.”
He chuckled and eased her a little closer, hyperaware of every curve as she pressed into him. “No more than a hundred and fifty steps,” he said. “Don’t let go, and I promise you that lightning is ten miles away. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Three…two…”
“One!” She wrapped her arm around him, and they took off, the rain like curtains of water in their faces, making them both gasp a little for air and laugh and tighten their grip around each other.
They leaped over a puddle, stepped to the side when a car rumbled by to make things worse, and finally reached a door with the requisite shamrock etched in frosted glass.
Brock pushed it open, and a blast of air-conditioning and the smell of beer and corned beef wafted out, along with the noise of a crowded restaurant and a bar packed with locals watching a Red Sox game.
But it was blissfully dry, and they both stood in the vestibule, dripping, staring, and, suddenly, laughing.
“We survived to tell the tale,” she announced, throwing her drenched head back with a musical giggle.
“A couple of Boston rats nearly drowned, but not…” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Struck by lightning.”
She gave him a look that was no less meaningful even with her streaks of mascara. “Struck by something.”
That was for damn sure.
He just held her gaze for a few heartbeats, both of them completely still except for the rise and fall of their chests as they caught their breath after the run. And in those few seconds, his whole world seemed to shift a little. Everything felt off-kilter and unbalanced and…warm.
She let out a little sigh and inched away. “I think I’ll find a ladies’ room,” she said, finally looking away from him.
“Yeah, it’s…there.” He spotted the sign toward the back of the restaurant on the opposite side of the bar. When she turned her head to follow his gesture, he let his gaze slide away from her high cheekbones and shapely lips to appreciate the way a yellow cotton dress stuck to every delicious inch of her.
As she turned back, he looked up, but he knew from the glimmer in her eyes, she’d caught him. “Maybe I’ll just stand under the hand dryer for an hour,” she said with a dry laugh.
He managed a smile, not bothering to act like he hadn’t been looking. “Not on my account.”
That made her laugh again as she stepped away and pointed to his chest, then let her finger slowly go south. “You’re just as wet…Harvard.”
He plucked at the decade-old T-shirt he wore with his alma mater’s famous emblem, feeling a smile pull. “I hadn’t even noticed.”
She backed a step away, still holding his gaze. “What’s your name, by the way?” she asked.
He almost told her the truth. Almost. But Brock was an unusual name, and women frequently changed if they knew the last name that went with it. He didn’t want anything about this encounter to change.
“David,” he said easily, using his common middle name, as he often did with strangers. But once he knew her—if he ever knew her—he’d tell her his real name.
“I’m Jenna.” She gave a little wave and then held up a finger. “One minute. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Watching her walk away, he realized that maybe coming back to Boston could be nice and easy after all.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Meet the Blackthorne men, who are as hot, fast, and smooth as the whisky that built the family fortune, and the yachts and race cars that bear their name. From proud Scottish stock, Blackthornes never lose. But, one by one, the seven sexy men in this family are about to risk everything when they fall for strong and beautiful women who test their mettle in life…and love.

Brock – Book Five
With proud Blackthorne blood in his veins, Brock Blackthorne loves his job as the keeper of the “brand.” His job is to protect the family name, to keep the company’s reputation as clean as possible, and ensure that skeletons stay well-hidden at the family compound in King Harbor, Maine. So when an ambitious and inquisitive biographer is tasked to pen a revealing “tell all” book about the Blackthornes, Brock decides to personally guide the beautiful writer far away from any family landmines. But the more time he spends sharing the history and heart of his unusual clan, the more he wants this captivating woman in his arms…and in his life.

The daughter of renowned investigative journalists, Jenna Gillespie’s job, reputation, and advance money is on the line if she doesn’t unearth something scintillating and surprising about this dynasty built on whisky. Unfortunately, the maddeningly sexy Brock Blackthorne is doing everything he can to make sure that doesn’t happen. But when she uncovers a lead about the family’s multi-million dollar whisky recipe having been stolen, Brock decides to help her, certain they will finally remove a cloud that hangs over the family name.

As Jenna and Brock get closer to the truth, they also get closer to each other. And when the real story is finally revealed, one of them will have to sacrifice all they think they hold dear if they have any chance for a lifetime of love.

Don’t miss these sexy, heartwarming, emotion-filled books by bestselling authors: Barbara Freethy, Julia London, Lynn Raye Harris, Cristin Harber, Roxanne St. Claire, Christie Ridgway and Samantha Chase.

Devlin #1 – Barbara Freethy
Jason #2 – Julia London
Ross #3 – Lynn Raye Harris
Phillip #4 – Cristin Harber
Brock #5 – Roxanne St. Claire
Trey #6 – Christie Ridgway
Logan #7 – Samantha Chase

Book Links: Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Kobo | Google |
 
 

Meet the Author:

Published since 2003, Roxanne St. Claire is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than fifty romance and suspense novels. She has written several popular series, including The Dogfather, The Dogmothers, Barefoot Bay, the Guardian Angelinos, and the Bullet Catchers.

In addition to being an ten-time nominee and one-time winner of the prestigious RITA™ Award for the best in romance writing, Roxanne has won the National Reader’s Choice Award for best romantic suspense four times, as well as the Maggie, the Daphne du Maurier Award, the HOLT Medallion, Booksellers Best, Book Buyers Best, the Award of Excellence, and many others.

A mother of two but recent empty-nester, Roxanne lives in Florida with her husband. She loves dogs, books, chocolate, and wine, especially all at the same time.
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