It’s 1862, and Elle Burns is not what she seems. Ostensibly a slave working in a Confederate senator’s Richmond home, she’s actually a plant gathering intel to aid the Union cause—when she encounters Malcolm McCall, another spy, a dashing Scotsman by way of Kentucky, who simultaneously infuriates and interests her.
You know who doesn’t get enough love? Gentlemen in wigs.
I'm glad you stopped by, because there's something I want to get on the record: Fabio, for all his immense fame, simply has not been on that large a percentage of the romance novel covers through history, and he hasn't worked as a model in years. And if you reduce the genre to his pecs and flowing blonde locks, you…
For decades, romance was a tried-and-true avenue for talented, creative women to bring in some extra money. (Or, in some cases, a fucking fortune.) But the business has changed, with the proliferation of digital publishers and self-publishing options. How's one author handling it?