Spotlight & Giveaway: Smooth as Silk by Alicia Hunter Pace

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Alicia Hunter Pace’s new release: Smooth as Silk

Hyacinth Dawson’s life runs like clockwork—and she likes it that way. Spreadsheets, lists and plans have never failed her, and now they’re going to help her get her bridal shop on the popular reality TV show All Dressed in White. But it won’t happen unless she can land a celebrity client…maybe one of those new NHL players in town.

Enter Robbie McTavish, a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants Scottish defenseman who can’t help but meddle when he spies a bride in Hyacinth’s shop wearing a completely wrong dress for her figure. Robbie’s family just happens to own the Scottish Highlands’ premier wedding venue, and he knows his way around bustled trains and buttercream frosting—even if his help seems to be less than welcome.

When a video of his infuriating interference goes viral, the TV producers decide to film at Hyacinth’s shop—as long as her “associate” Robbie is part of the package. Opposites might attract, but as far as Hyacinth’s concerned, no amount of chemistry is worth the way this particular plus-one threatens to blow up her carefully laid plans…

Good Southern Women

Book 1: Sweet as Pie
Book 2: Smooth as Silk

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Smooth as Silk 

Oh, no. Robbie was getting to his feet and grinning like he was about to bestow the Hope Diamond on Hyacinth.
He extended his hand. “Dance with me, lass.” Wasn’t the Hope Diamond cursed?
The song pouring out of the bar room was slow and mournful, Bonnie Raitt’s voice sandpaper and silk. No way was this was going to happen.
At her hesitation, Robbie inclined his face the barest bit toward hers and smiled a sweet schoolboy smile. “Come on. In the name of a truce. In the name of having a pleasant holiday.”
“I can’t,” Hyacinth said. “Raised Baptist. Baptists don’t dance.” Though that wasn’t her reason. She was too inhibited, too afraid she’d be clumsy and awkward.
He raised an eyebrow. “A religious conviction then?”
She shook her head; she wouldn’t lie about that. “No, but I never learned.”
“Ah, then.” His smiled widened and he took her hand. “Dancing isn’t for learning. It’s for doing. Every good Catholic boy knows that.”
“I told you, I don’t know how.” But for some reason she let him draw her to her feet and lead to the dance floor. Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was his hand, warm and strong, and the memory of their hands together earlier. But he wasn’t bulldozing her and refusing to take no for an answer. He was only coaxing her. So she went with him.
He drew her to him. “Just fall into me. I’ll take you there.” Words from a storybook, but this wasn’t a storybook; this was a bad idea. She was the tin man left out in the rain. “Relax, lass,” he whispered. “Lay your cheek just so.” When he reached to guide her head to his shoulder, he stroked her hair, sliding his hand downward until his fingers caressed her ear and his palm cupped her cheek. He barely moved the heel of his hand in a circular motion against her clenched jaw, until she allowed the tension to melt away and her face to press against his neck. Only then did he begin to dance slowly to the music, gently guiding her to move with him. It was a nice place to be. Warm. Safe. Just this side of exciting. He smelled like soap, pine, and—to be honest—beef jerky and clean sweat. She laughed a little at the thought.
“Who says a Baptist can’t dance?” he teased.
She looked up at him. “Maybe it takes a Catholic to take her there.”
He laughed low and sweet. “I’m going to buy you a St. Vitus medal.”
“A who?”
“St. Vitus—the patron saint of dancers.”
“Baptists would never have that—if they had patron saints at all.”
“Catholics have a patron saint for everything. Some do double or triple duty.” He sounded a little chagrined. “It’s only fair to tell you that St. Vitus is also the patron saint of those with nerve afflictions. Maybe you wouldn’t want that medal after all.”
“We can all use all the protection we can get.”
He laughed. “True enough. For a while there I thought I needed protection from you.”
“Or I from you.”
“You know, lass, I really did mean well this afternoon. And I am sorry I ruined the frock.”
Hyacinth had never given out a lot of points for meaning well, but why take up again? “Well, as you said, it worked out. It’s over.” It felt good to say that, mellowing. Mellow wasn’t something she usually kept a lot of company with.
Robbie cocked his head, seeming to listen to the music. “Do you think it’s true? What the lady is singing about? Does love have no pride?”
In Hyacinth’s experience, people asked philosophical questions because they wanted to express their own opinion—not hear yours. She would just go ahead and let him get on with it.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.” That was a surprise.
She considered. “I don’t think you can love something you don’t have pride in. I have pride in my bridal shop. I assume you have pride in your hockey. You seem to love it.”
He shook his head. “I do, but not the same. She means she’d throw away all her pride, do anything for his love. Do you see yourself doing that?”
“Anything covers a lot of ground. I’m not likely to rob a bank, or love someone who would want me to.”
“Anything within reason,” Robbie said.
“That can mean a lot of different things.”
“Within the law, then.”
She didn’t know how to answer that. Truthfully, the question confused her so she asked one of her own. “Have you ever loved someone enough to do that? Throw away your pride?”
“Not even close.”
“Not even as a teenager, with hormones raging?”
“I didn’t need to. I had a hockey stick and dynamite slap shot. How about you?”
“Not even close.”
“But I’ve seen it in action—the no pride,” he said.
“Directed at you?”
“No, no. Thank the good Lord, not. But I had a friend since I was a boy. Leith. From the time we were tots, Kyla loved him. She wore her longing like a veil and bore her love like a cross. I used to think it was pitiful, but now I wonder. Maybe that’s what real love is. Willing to do anything.”
“Sounds more like obsession to me,” Hyacinth said. “I think love is more about compatibility.”
He grinned. “Finding someone just like yourself? No wonder you’ve never been in love. There’s no one like you.”
Hyacinth didn’t know if that was a compliment or a dig, but she let the mellow wash away the wondering. And Robbie was wrong. She had found someone she’d been completely compatible with—twice, in fact. Chris and Sean. She thought of them as the Could’ve Been Maybes. Same goals, same attention to detail, same outlook on life—but she’d gotten bored with Sean and too busy for Chris. She didn’t want to talk about that.
“So this Leith and Kyra—did they have a happily ever after?”
Robbie shrugged. “After a fashion. He married Finola. They seem content. Kyla took the veil.”
“What? She literally became a nun?”
“She did.”
“Seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Who knows? Maybe she was meant for that all along, which is why she longed for someone out of her reach.”
“Why was he out of her reach? What was wrong with her?”
“Nothing, but Leith didn’t return her feelings. She scared him. To be loved like that is a hard job, I’d wager.”
And with that he tightened his arms around her and brushed his cheek against her forehead. The conversation was over and they melted into each other, and the tingle in her became a hum. She could have stayed like that for a long time.
Except the song abruptly ended, and was immediately replaced with the loud first strains of “Uptown Funk.” Jarred back to reality, panic shot through Hyacinth. “I really can’t do that!” She gestured to the couples around them who had broken apart and began to dance in fast rhythmic steps.
Robbie circled her shoulders with his arm. “You don’t have to, lass. Maybe after you have your medal?” He led her away. “Come on. I’ll give you some of my banana pudding.”
They didn’t speak any more about love, compatibility, and pride, but she had the feeling they’d been exploring something neither of them knew a thing about.

Excerpt. ©Alicia Hunter Pace. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 

Giveaway: One (1) mass market paperback copy of SMOOTH AS SILK by Alicia Hunter Pace. (Open to US and Canada)

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Meet the Author:

Stephanie Jones and Jean Hovey live in Alabama and write together as Alicia Hunter Pace.

Stephanie is an English teacher and native Alabamian who likes football, history, and people who follow the rules.

Jean is a former public librarian. She likes to cook but has discovered the joy of Mrs. Paul’s fish fillets since becoming a writer.

Stephanie and Jean write Southern contemporary stories and love to hear from readers.

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