Book Review of More Than Just Desire by Summerita Rhayne

 

 

A Passionate Romance 

by 

Summerita Rhayne 

More Than Just Desire

Blurb 

 
The Bollywood diva who ran away


Piya walked out of an explosive situation three years ago. She married Arfaaz for security but left him facing chaos she created. Now she’s back in Bollywood and searching for the crown she gave up when she ran away. In the competitive world of starry glamour, the only way she can begin her career anew is to trash the past and get a divorce.

The man who wants her atonement
 
Arfaaz is determined to get his revenge on Piya for making a farce of their marriage and leaving him to face the mudslinging. He forces her to keep up the appearances and stay with him so she can play the loving wife and repent on her sins. But Piya drives him crazy with her antics. On the top of that, the attraction between them sizzles and threatens to make him forget reason.
 
A passionate conflict
 
Piya knows she has lessons to learn but she cannot let this man enter her heart. There is too much to risk and she cannot afford to forget the real reason she has come back. Success is her mantra and her worship. She can be faithful to only her goal…
 

                                 Book Review :

More than just desire is a passionate romance written by sensuous and historical  romance writer Summerita .I  have lost the count… I am fascinated at the way in which she keeps her readers hooked on to her stories .More than just desire is one such book  served to us with  some of her special ingredients like love , lust , throwing attitude and behaving independently .

‘Piya’ the female protagonist of this book is strong with a lot of fears pent-up in her heart. How she handles it  by signing a bond with her husband  Arfaaz and so on … is cool to read.  More than just desire  now  has become a good read book in my TBR list because writing a  scene of conflict  is very though   for any person as  conflicting emotions like good vs bad and divine vs devil should be written in right proportion , then only  the book   sells like hot cakes in the  market . I  love Arfaaz protectiveness towards his wife Piya   .

The situations and dialogues are crisp like a paper roast .It is a great book to read  . Summerita you have a way to make readers like me yearn for  more…. Good Luck Madame Authoress 

I  thank Summerita and Rubina of TBC  for sending in the ARC of this book 

 
 
 
Prologue


The limo slid through wrought iron gates and came to a stop in front of the entrance of the huge house designed like an ultra modern Italian villa.


‘I’m not getting out here. I’ve booked a room and I want to go to my hotel.’ She averted her gaze and stared straight ahead as Arfaaz held the door open. 


For answer, he paused. An inhalation expanded his chest, drawing her unwilling gaze. He’d discarded the ridiculous narrow jacket and the white dress shirt drew taut against his pectorals, sending something threatening and alien coiling through her. 


The next moment he’d swooped down and picked her up, taking advantage of her inattention. 


His hands went under her as he gathered her in his arms as easily as he would a bird in his hand. She had to duck her head to escape the side of the car and then he was slamming the door shut with a foot kick. 


‘How dare you!’ She flailed at him furiously, pent-up frustration escaping. ‘Let me go. Now!’


He was warm, too much so. She found her throat clogging for some unknown reason. 


Before she could react anymore, he let her slide down, but she was struggling and squirming so much, she lost her balance and fell, smack against his body. 


He stepped back as though she burned him and mortification swept over her skin at the implied rejection.  


‘You can’t force me to do what you want!’ she bit out, breathless from effort. 


‘I’ll get what I need to know out of you anyway I can.’


‘What do you want to know? Why am I here? Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s to lay down this ghost between us. This meaningless tie…’ She made a gesture to denote contempt and tipped up her chin at him. ‘I want a divorce, Arfaaz. And I want it as quickly as possible.’


‘Very well.’ The soft agreement dropped in the silence with thunderous force, like a rock thudding down from the mountain. ‘Don’t doubt it, Piya. You’ll get it.’

 

Grab your Copy @
or grab this book free at #KindleUnlimited 
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

 
 

 

 
 Summerita Rhayne writes contemporary and historical romance with lots of emotional conflict. She first got published in 2013 and has won contests with prestigious publishers such as Harlequin and Harper Collins India. She firmly believes if the inspiration is strong enough, the story characters will find a way to make the writer pen them down, even when writing time is in short supply. When cerebrally confronted with the sizzling interaction of two Alpha characters, the only way to get peace is write their book!At heart, she’s a family person and even though she loves her medical teaching profession, she happily becomes a homemaker when not at work. She loves winding down with music, romcoms, cricket (strictly watching only) and social networking.

 
 
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Book Blitz of All of Me by Jonali Karmakar

*~* Release Day Blitz *~*
Title: All of Me
Author: Jonali Karmakar
Length: 69 pages
Publication Date: May 29, 2016
ASIN: B01G0P8JGK
 
 

Book Blurb:

All of Me is a collection of thirteen little stories that have been gleaned from real life as well as imagination. Exploring a range of genres, these throb with everything primal to human nature: fear, angst, joy, love, and longing. Some stories are designed to elicit smiles, chuckles, and maybe even a belly laugh or two whereas some are meant as a reality check. Universal in nature, each story provides a glimpse of what women empowerment or a lack thereof can mean in a person’s life.

From a small hamlet in India to the roads of Australia; from a mother’s betrayal to a daughter’s confession; from an extra marital affair to a same sex relationship learn for yourself the what, how and whys.



Originally written for anthologies and ezines, these stories have been revisited and updated for this new collection.  




Excerpts from stories in All of Me:


1



Instead there were so many questions that started to raise their bantam heads. Why did she drive the winding lanes into the past to warm herself? What was it that she was hoping to find? Had she really blamed Palash for naught? Over the years had she made him less a person who had lived and breathed and more the dream of one? It was not impossible what he had accused her of. 

Ira looked at the man before her and matched him to her memories of him. They seemed two very different beings! Waves of humiliation washed over her until she was rigid with misery. The purpose of this trip was lost on her.

For a while she let his words run through her head like cool water on a headache and dared to examine her sentiments in the privacy of her thoughts. She let the long buried memories surface and in the one moment saw everything and wanted not to, wanted to make it go away, to unknow. In finding closure she had unearthed a truth that she wasn’t willing to face ever. 

 
 
2
 
She liked her job. It was good. Brought in quick money. Left her enough hours for cramming her boring science papers. What else can one expect? There were quite a few perks too. Posh parties where cocktails, five star food and good contacts flowed uninterruptedly not necessarily in the same order. Whatever. It was fun.
Okay it wasn’t a job to be proud of she agreed. But she wasn’t ashamed of what she did. Still it was a put-outer when people shriveled their nose after learning about her profession. As if she reeked! So she didn’t advertise her work much. Clients came in on their own. She had a reputation. Word of mouth was her advertisement. 
Namita was one of the best. A little pricey but satisfaction guaranteed. Naturally her clientele list included only a handful. She liked to stick to her regulars. Knowing each other intimately created a comfort zone which she thought was essential. Mutual enjoyment was her mantra. She diligently noted their likes and specially their dislikes. Their preferences for toys. The usual. 
It was a little tricky with the fly-by-night customers. It usually meant a day call. She preferred evenings. If the money was good she accepted. But she didn’t compromise with her three-days-a-night policy. In such situations Namita ditched one of her regulars by calling in sick. A little ditching was healthy especially since her work was so damn physically tiring. She only accepted them after seeing their medical certificates. It irked some but she never budged. She didn’t want to pickup something nasty from them. If they wanted her it was on her terms.
 



About the Author:

Jonali Karmakar is a fiction writer with a Masters in English. Writing is not just her passion but her way of dealing with life. She loves being able to escape into the worlds she creates. Everything that she writes becomes a part of her and she wants her readers to know the woman behind those words. In addition to being an educator, she works as a content editor for a local news portal. She has been providing editing, proofreading and translation services for the past few years.

Jonali’s work has been published in several journals, anthologies and poetry collections both national and international. An avid reader, she loves flipping pages of anything and everything on the table and reviewing the same on her blog Eclectic Moods. She feels that reading and writing are the flip sides of the same coin. Writing is her way of communicating with the world. When she’s not writing or teaching she loves to experiment with her paintings.

She has quite a few accolades to her name.

 
Contact the Author:
This Feature is a part of the Blogger Outreach Program by b00k r3vi3w Tours




Interview with Nirvaan – The Charimastic Lead of My Last Love Story by Falguni Kothari

 
About the Book:

Perfect for fans of Jojo Moyes’s, Me Before You, My Last Love Story is a heartbreakingly romantic tale about the complexities of trauma and whether love can right a wrong.

 
I, Simeen Desai, am tired of making lemonade with the lemons life has handed me.
 
Love is meant to heal wounds.
Love was meant to make my world sparkle and spin.
Love has ripped my life apart and shattered my soul. 
 
I love my husband, and he loves me.
But Nirvaan is dying.
I love my husband. I want to make him happy.
But he is asking for the impossible. 
 
I don’t want a baby.
I don’t want to make nice with Zayaan.

I don’t want another chance at another love story. 

                                  Character Interview With Nirvaan


Nirvaan Desai is my  favorite character from My Last Love Story  by Falguni Kothari .He is a combination of perfect friend and a loving carefree husband who loves his wife Simi Desai to the greatest possible extent  .Despite his fight with  big C  he is still in  full form teasing Simi .

Want to have husband like that , Ladies ? Hmm Chalo then…I  will start with the interview now .

Nirvaan are you ready with your answers .OK lets begin…

1.Hey Nirvaan, how are you doing today?

 

Hey babe! I’m doing great. My new meds are great. I feel energized and am raring to take the Jet Skis out for another spin. Shh. Don’t tell my wife what I’m planning.

 

2.What is the secret behind your quirkiness?

 

You think I’m quirky? That’s the wrong adjective, sweetheart. I’m sexy, awesome, extraordinary. That’s who I am. And I was born this way. 😉

 

3.What flaws in Simeen Desai turn you off?

 

Not a thing. My wife is perfect for me. Though, I wish she’d learn to trust herself again…to trust me again. She shut down after that night and…I don’t know how to reach that bold and risky part of her.

 

4.If you get cured miraculously after your wife remarries someone, whom you hate, then what will you do?

 

I’d kill the bastard and steal her back.

 

5.What aspect of yours does Simeen admire the most?

 

I’m to keep it PG for this interview, right? Then, its my awesome sexiness. She can’t resist any of my charms. She never could.

 

6.Do you want to have kids if you win battle against the big C?

 

Oh, we’re having a kid regardless of the cancer, babe. I want what I want and I want it now has always been my mantra.

 

7.Why do you hate coming back to our country India?

 

I don’t hate it. I love India. It’s our freaking Motherland. I resist going back because I know how painful it is for Simi when we visit. That’s one reason. Another is that I feel India’s in a time warp. It has all the makings to be a great nation, a leader, and yet it always manages to take one step forward and several steps back. I have no time for procrastinations, literally. And I feel that India is one giant procrastinator.

Thanks buddy  for dropping in and sharing your thoughts on the questions asked by me . Hope to see you more often here on this blog Romance Writer With Wallnut Cup Cakes

Bye,

See Ya  Nirvaan

 

 
Book Links:
 

Read an Excerpt:


Dear Readers, thank you for coming along on the My Last Love Story Blog Tour. Here’s an excerpt to enjoy.
 
ONE
“Love is a dish best served naked.”
As a child, those oft-quoted words of my father would have me rolling my eyes and pretending to gag at what I’d imagined was my parents’ precursor to a certain physical act. 
At thirty, I’d long ago realized that getting naked wasn’t a euphemism for sex. 
Neither was love.
It wasn’t my father wording the meme just now but my husband. Nirvaan considered himself a great wit, a New Age philosopher. On the best of days, he was, much like Daddy had been. On the worst days, he was my tormentor. 
“What do you think, Dr. Archer? Interesting enough tagline for a vlog? What about ‘Baby in a Petri Dish’?” Nirvaan persisted in eliciting a response from the doctor and/or me for his ad hoc comedy, which we’d been ignoring for several minutes now.
I wanted to glare at him, beg him to shut up, or demand that he wait in the doctor’s office like he should’ve done, like a normal husband would have. Khodai knows why he’d insisted on holding my hand through this preliminary checkup. Nothing of import would happen today—if it did at all. But I couldn’t perform any such communication, not with my eyes and mouth squeezed shut while I suffered through a series of uncomfortable twinges along my nether regions. 
I lay flat on my back on a spongy clinic bed sheeted with paper already wrinkled and half torn. Legs drawn up and spread apart, my heels dug punishingly into cold iron stirrups to allow my gynecologist’s clever fingers to reach inside my womb and check if everything was A-OK in there. We’d already funneled through the Pap test and stomach and chest checks. Like them, this test, too, was going swell in light of Dr. Archer’s approving happy hums. 
“Excellent, Mrs. Desai. All parts are where they should be,” he joked only as a doctor could.
I shuddered out the breath I’d been holding, as the feeling of being stretched left my body. Nirvaan squeezed my hand and planted a smacking kiss on my forehead. I opened my eyes and focused on his beaming upside-down ones. His eyelids barely grew lashes anymore—I’d counted twenty-seven in total just last week—the effect of years of chemotherapy. For a second, my gaze blurred, my heart wavered, and I almost cried. 
What are we doing, Nirvaan? What in Khodai’s name were we starting?
Nirvaan stroked my hair, his pitch-black pupils steady and knowing and oh-so stubborn. Then, his face rose to the stark white ceiling, and all I saw was the green-and-blue mesh of his gingham shirt—the overlapping threads, the crisscross weaves, a pattern without end. 
Life is what you make it, child. It was another one of my father’s truisms.
Swallowing the questions twirling on my tongue, I refocused my mind on why we were here. I’d promised Nirvaan we’d try for a baby if he agreed to another round of cancer-blasting treatments. I’d bartered for a few more months of my husband’s life. He’d bartered for immortality through our child.
Dr. Archer rolled away from between my legs to the computer station. He snapped off and disposed of the latex gloves. Then, he began typing notes in near-soundless staccato clicks. Though the examination was finished, I knew better than to sit up until he gave me leave. I’d been here before, done this before—two years ago when Nirvaan had been in remission and the idea of having a baby had wormed its way into his head. We’d tried the most basic procedures then, whatever our medical coverage had allowed. We hadn’t been desperate yet to use our own money, which we shouldn’t be touching even now. We needed every penny we had for emergencies and alternative treatments, but try budging my husband once he’d made up his mind.
“I’m a businessman, Simi. I only pour money into a sure thing,” he rebuked when I argued.
I brought my legs together, manufacturing what poise and modesty I could, and pulled the sea-green hospital gown bunched beneath my bottom across my half-naked body. I refused to look at my husband as I wriggled about, positive his expression would be pregnant with irony, if not fully smirking. And kudos to him for not jumping in to help me like I would have. 
The tables had turned on us today. For the past five years, it’d been Nirvaan thrashing about on hospital beds, trying in vain to find relief and comfort, modesty or release. Nirvaan had been poked, prodded, sliced, and bled as he battled aggressive non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I’d been the stoic spectator, the supportive wife, the incompetent nurse, the ineffectual lover. 
And now? What role would I play now?
As always, thinking about our life left me feeling even more naked than I was in the open-fronted robe. I turned my face to the wall, my eyes stinging, as fear and frustration bubbled to the surface. Flesh-toned posters of laughing babies, pregnant mothers, and love-struck fathers hung from the bluish walls. Side by side were the more educative ones of human anatomy, vivisected and whole. The test-tube-like exam room of Monterey Bay Fertility Clinic was decorated in true California beach colors—sea-foam walls, sandy floors, pearl-pink curtains, and furniture—bringing the outdoors in. If the decor was meant to be homey, it wasn’t having such an effect on me. This room, like this town and even this country, was not my natural habitat, and I felt out of my element in it. 
I’d lived in California for seven years now, ever since my marriage, and I still didn’t think of it as home, not like Nirvaan did. Home for me was India. And no matter the dark memories it held, home would always be Surat.
“All done.” Dr. Archer pushed the computer trolley away and stood up. “You can get dressed, Mrs. Desai. Take your time. Use whatever supplies you need. We’ll wait for you in my office,” he said, smiling. 
Finally, I can cover myself, I thought. Goose-flesh had erupted across my skin due to the near frigid clinic temperatures doctors tortured their patients with—like a patient didn’t have enough to suffer already. Medical facilities maintained cool indoor temperatures to deter inveterate germs from contaminating the premises and so its vast flotilla of equipment didn’t fry. I knew that. But knowing it still didn’t inspire any warm feelings in me for the “throng of professional sadists with a god complex.” I quoted my husband there. 
Nirvaan captured my attention with a pat on my head. “See you soon, baby,” he said, following the doctor out of the room. 
I scooted off the bed as soon as the door shut behind them. My hair tumbled down my face and shoulders at my jerky movements. I smoothed it back with shaking hands. Long, wavy, and a deep chestnut shade, my hair was my crowning glory, my one and only feature that was lush and arresting. Nirvaan loved my hair. I wasn’t to cut it or even braid it in his presence, and so it often got hopelessly knotted. 
I shrugged off the clinic gown, balled it up, and placed it on the bed. I wiped myself again and again with antiseptic wipes, baby wipes, and paper towels until the tissues came away stain-free. I didn’t feel light-headed. I didn’t allow myself to freak. I concentrated on the flow of my breaths and the pounding of my heart until they both slowed to normal. 
It was okay. I was not walking out with a gift-wrapped baby in tow. Not today. No reason to freak out.
I reached for my clothes and slipped on my underwear. They were beige with tiny white hearts on them—Victoria’s Secret lingerie Nirvaan had leered and whistled at this morning. 
Such a silly man. Typical Nirvaan, I corrected, twisting my lips. 
Even after dressing in red-wash jeans and a full-sleeved sweater, I shivered. My womb still felt invaded and odd. As I stepped into my red patent leather pumps, an unused Petri dish sitting on the workstation countertop caught my eye. 
The trigger for Nirvaan’s impromptu comedy, perhaps? 
Despite major misgivings about the Hitleresque direction my life had taken, humor got the better of me, and I grinned. 
Silly, silly Nirvaan. Baby in a Petri dish, indeed.
 
About the Author:
 
 

Falguni Kothari is an internationally bestselling hybrid author and an amateur Latin and Ballroom dance silver medalist with a background in Indian Classical dance. She writes in a variety of genres sewn together by the colorful threads of her South Asian heritage and expat experiences. When not writing or dancing, she fools around on all manner of social media, and loves to connect with her readers. My Last Love Story is her fourth novel.








 
 

 

Giveaway

Book Review of My Last Love Story by Falguni Kothari

 Book Review :

My Last Love Story is the latest release by Falguni Kothari .The book has become a hit  amongst “All the Bloggers  ”  within a few days from now .My Last Love Story is a very good book to read .It is a mix of heart ache , loss , acceptance , fight of anxious , belief and courage .The story takes us through  the emotion of characters and  the situations in which they are put in  .And How these Awesome Threesome sail through it is written in a commendable fashion .My Last Love Story by Falguni Kothari is an intelligent book to read by all .The one thing I  like about Falguni ′s writting is that she never makes her characters feel upset over something for a long time  .

Some quotes /sentences from  this book which I  like are  

As well be hung for a sheep as a lamb ,my father  would′ve said .

“Miss squezzing a pair of double D silicon melons and−−−”

5 lemons for this book .

Recommended  Read.

I thank the Author Falguni and Deb Datta Sahey for sending in the ARC of this book for reviewing .

 

 
About the Book:
 
 
 
 
 

Perfect for fans of Jojo Moyes’s, Me Before You, My Last Love Story is a heartbreakingly romantic tale about the complexities of trauma and whether love can right a wrong.

 
I, Simeen Desai, am tired of making lemonade with the lemons life has handed me.
 
Love is meant to heal wounds.
Love was meant to make my world sparkle and spin.
Love has ripped my life apart and shattered my soul. 
 
I love my husband, and he loves me.
But Nirvaan is dying.
I love my husband. I want to make him happy.
But he is asking for the impossible. 
 
I don’t want a baby.
I don’t want to make nice with Zayaan.

I don’t want another chance at another love story. 






 
Book Links:
 
Interview
 
 

Read an Excerpt:


Dear Readers, thank you for coming along on the My Last Love Story Blog Tour. Here’s an excerpt to enjoy.
 
ONE
 
“Love is a dish best served naked.”
As a child, those oft-quoted words of my father would have me rolling my eyes and pretending to gag at what I’d imagined was my parents’ precursor to a certain physical act.
At thirty, I’d long ago realized that getting naked wasn’t a euphemism for sex.
Neither was love.
It wasn’t my father wording the meme just now but my husband. Nirvaan considered himself a great wit, a New Age philosopher. On the best of days, he was, much like Daddy had been. On the worst days, he was my tormentor.
“What do you think, Dr. Archer? Interesting enough tagline for a vlog? What about ‘Baby in a Petri Dish’?” Nirvaan persisted in eliciting a response from the doctor and/or me for his ad hoc comedy, which we’d been ignoring for several minutes now.
I wanted to glare at him, beg him to shut up, or demand that he wait in the doctor’s office like he should’ve done, like a normal husband would have. Khodai knows why he’d insisted on holding my hand through this preliminary checkup. Nothing of import would happen today—if it did at all. But I couldn’t perform any such communication, not with my eyes and mouth squeezed shut while I suffered through a series of uncomfortable twinges along my nether regions.
I lay flat on my back on a spongy clinic bed sheeted with paper already wrinkled and half torn. Legs drawn up and spread apart, my heels dug punishingly into cold iron stirrups to allow my gynecologist’s clever fingers to reach inside my womb and check if everything was A-OK in there. We’d already funneled through the Pap test and stomach and chest checks. Like them, this test, too, was going swell in light of Dr. Archer’s approving happy hums.
“Excellent, Mrs. Desai. All parts are where they should be,” he joked only as a doctor could.
I shuddered out the breath I’d been holding, as the feeling of being stretched left my body. Nirvaan squeezed my hand and planted a smacking kiss on my forehead. I opened my eyes and focused on his beaming upside-down ones. His eyelids barely grew lashes anymore—I’d counted twenty-seven in total just last week—the effect of years of chemotherapy. For a second, my gaze blurred, my heart wavered, and I almost cried.
What are we doing, Nirvaan? What in Khodai’s name were we starting?
Nirvaan stroked my hair, his pitch-black pupils steady and knowing and oh-so stubborn. Then, his face rose to the stark white ceiling, and all I saw was the green-and-blue mesh of his gingham shirt—the overlapping threads, the crisscross weaves, a pattern without end.
Life is what you make it, child. It was another one of my father’s truisms.
Swallowing the questions twirling on my tongue, I refocused my mind on why we were here. I’d promised Nirvaan we’d try for a baby if he agreed to another round of cancer-blasting treatments. I’d bartered for a few more months of my husband’s life. He’d bartered for immortality through our child.
Dr. Archer rolled away from between my legs to the computer station. He snapped off and disposed of the latex gloves. Then, he began typing notes in near-soundless staccato clicks. Though the examination was finished, I knew better than to sit up until he gave me leave. I’d been here before, done this before—two years ago when Nirvaan had been in remission and the idea of having a baby had wormed its way into his head. We’d tried the most basic procedures then, whatever our medical coverage had allowed. We hadn’t been desperate yet to use our own money, which we shouldn’t be touching even now. We needed every penny we had for emergencies and alternative treatments, but try budging my husband once he’d made up his mind.
“I’m a businessman, Simi. I only pour money into a sure thing,” he rebuked when I argued.
I brought my legs together, manufacturing what poise and modesty I could, and pulled the sea-green hospital gown bunched beneath my bottom across my half-naked body. I refused to look at my husband as I wriggled about, positive his expression would be pregnant with irony, if not fully smirking. And kudos to him for not jumping in to help me like I would have.
The tables had turned on us today. For the past five years, it’d been Nirvaan thrashing about on hospital beds, trying in vain to find relief and comfort, modesty or release. Nirvaan had been poked, prodded, sliced, and bled as he battled aggressive non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I’d been the stoic spectator, the supportive wife, the incompetent nurse, the ineffectual lover.
And now? What role would I play now?
As always, thinking about our life left me feeling even more naked than I was in the open-fronted robe. I turned my face to the wall, my eyes stinging, as fear and frustration bubbled to the surface. Flesh-toned posters of laughing babies, pregnant mothers, and love-struck fathers hung from the bluish walls. Side by side were the more educative ones of human anatomy, vivisected and whole. The test-tube-like exam room of Monterey Bay Fertility Clinic was decorated in true California beach colors—sea-foam walls, sandy floors, pearl-pink curtains, and furniture—bringing the outdoors in. If the decor was meant to be homey, it wasn’t having such an effect on me. This room, like this town and even this country, was not my natural habitat, and I felt out of my element in it.
I’d lived in California for seven years now, ever since my marriage, and I still didn’t think of it as home, not like Nirvaan did. Home for me was India. And no matter the dark memories it held, home would always be Surat.
“All done.” Dr. Archer pushed the computer trolley away and stood up. “You can get dressed, Mrs. Desai. Take your time. Use whatever supplies you need. We’ll wait for you in my office,” he said, smiling.
Finally, I can cover myself, I thought. Gooseflesh had erupted across my skin due to the near frigid clinic temperatures doctors tortured their patients with—like a patient didn’t have enough to suffer already. Medical facilities maintained cool indoor temperatures to deter inveterate germs from contaminating the premises and so its vast flotilla of equipment didn’t fry. I knew that. But knowing it still didn’t inspire any warm feelings in me for the “throng of professional sadists with a god complex.” I quoted my husband there.
Nirvaan captured my attention with a pat on my head. “See you soon, baby,” he said, following the doctor out of the room.
I scooted off the bed as soon as the door shut behind them. My hair tumbled down my face and shoulders at my jerky movements. I smoothed it back with shaking hands. Long, wavy, and a deep chestnut shade, my hair was my crowning glory, my one and only feature that was lush and arresting. Nirvaan loved my hair. I wasn’t to cut it or even braid it in his presence, and so it often got hopelessly knotted.
I shrugged off the clinic gown, balled it up, and placed it on the bed. I wiped myself again and again with antiseptic wipes, baby wipes, and paper towels until the tissues came away stain-free. I didn’t feel light-headed. I didn’t allow myself to freak. I concentrated on the flow of my breaths and the pounding of my heart until they both slowed to normal.
It was okay. I was not walking out with a gift-wrapped baby in tow. Not today. No reason to freak out.
I reached for my clothes and slipped on my underwear. They were beige with tiny white hearts on them—Victoria’s Secret lingerie Nirvaan had leered and whistled at this morning.
Such a silly man. Typical Nirvaan, I corrected, twisting my lips.
Even after dressing in red-wash jeans and a full-sleeved sweater, I shivered. My womb still felt invaded and odd. As I stepped into my red patent leather pumps, an unused Petri dish sitting on the workstation countertop caught my eye.
The trigger for Nirvaan’s impromptu comedy, perhaps?
Despite major misgivings about the Hitleresque direction my life had taken, humor got the better of me, and I grinned.
Silly, silly Nirvaan. Baby in a Petri dish, indeed.
 
 
 
About the Author:
 
 

Falguni Kothari is an internationally bestselling hybrid author and an amateur Latin and Ballroom dance silver medalist with a background in Indian Classical dance. She writes in a variety of genres sewn together by the colorful threads of her South Asian heritage and expat experiences. When not writing or dancing, she fools around on all manner of social media, and loves to connect with her readers. My Last Love Story is her fourth novel.








 
 
 

 

Giveaway
 

Interview with Summerita Rhyane

We all know Summerita Rhyane as a sensuous and passionate romance writer ,but today she will throw some light on her likes and  on writing a complicated scene .So please welcome the voice of Romance Summerita Rhyane on  our blog Romance Writer With Wallnut Cup Cakes here  as she will be speaking to me  about her likes , writing and some other stuff  related to her books.

A brief Tea-Tell session with Summerita 

Good Evening Summerita and welcome to our blog i.e. Romance Writer With Wallnut Cup Cakes. I  hope your journey to our blog was hassel-free … one 

Photo Source : quotesgram.com

Have your chai first ….

OK lets  start with your interview  now , I hope  the chai isn′t that hot  .

1.Tell me something about yourself?

Hi Niharika! Thank you for having me on your blog.

I’m a romance author with a leaning towards writing historical and contemporary subgenres. I’m also a doctor, who is working on the administrative and teaching side of the profession. I grew up wanting to be a writer but somehow ended up as a medical person. I live in Punjab with my family i.e. my husband and two teens. I’m quite traditional in outlook, except when I’m not. I love junk food, probably as much as my kids do, and indulge in movies and TV serials a lot. I guess stories attract me in any form. I play a little chess and watch cricket on TV for my quota of sports. I’m a very indoor person – guess that’s why I am a writer – my usual outdoor activity is taking a walk.

I have published two historical romances and three contemporary ones, besides a short story collection.
2.Why do you like historical romances?

I loved history as a subject. I would read all the chapters in my history textbook which the teacher said were out of syllabus. I devoured comic books in Hindi like Amar Chitra Kathayein. Growing up, I read every Barbara Cartland book that I could lay my hands on. When they were done, I got addicted to Harlequin historicals. One day I just thought of how rich and romantic the Indian historical culture was – and a germ of an idea began. I wrote the story of a slave girl on Malabar coast. However, I couldn’t do justice to the story. Then another idea began and Hidden Passion – the story of Princess Rukmani took shape. After about a year, I thought of publishing it and gradually reworked over it and finalized the book.
3.What percentage of ‘the humor content’ should be there in a romance novel?.

I don’t believe there is any ‘should’ in writing. I would love to laugh while reading a romance. The more laughs the better. However, emotional exploration is intrinsic to a romance novel and it should never be forgone for humor.
4.How to create a conflicting situation in between the characters while penning a romantic tale?.

Contrary to what everyone says and thinks, ‘Boy meets girl’, does not make a romance. It doesn’t even constitute a love story. The backbone of romance is conflict. Are your characters on the two sides of a situation? Are they on the opposite sides because of a choice they made in their lives? Until you have a convincing and believable conflict, you don’t have a romance. No matter how many dates and kisses you describe, no one will feel like reading on until there is a driving factor to the story. The conflict must be unique to your characters while also evoking sympathy for them in your readers. You can have the heroine trying to save her grandmother’s shop while the hero is building a mall in the vicinity. But unless the hero has a good enough motive, you will run the danger of making him appear a villain. This is the conflict in one of the stories in Unexpected Valentines, my short story collection. The heroine is out to libel the hero until she discovers the truth of why he is acting like he is.

5.Which is your favorite quote from ‘More Than Just Desire ‘

These lines she says to him,

“…when you touch me, I feel like I’m precious. Someone who can be gold. Glittering, blazing gold…”

Thanks for hooking our readers here , It is indeed a pleasure to have you over and over .

With Lots of Hugs and Kisses ,

Romance Writer With Wallnut Cup Cakes Team 

 

Guest Post by Summerita Rhyane

Today the guest on our blog Romance Writer With Wallnut Cup Cakes is a sensuous romance writer who has penned many sweet and passionate romances like More Than Just Desire, AGAINST ALL RULES,HIDDEN PASSION, THE ELIGIBLE PRINCESS And some short stories collection  like UNEXPECTED VALENTINES and HIS CHRISTMAS DELIGHT.

The She Guest  is none other than Summerita Rhyane , who will charm you all by penning a beautiful guest post for us here .Thanks for agreeing  to write  a special guest post for us today here on Romance Writer With Wallnut Cup Cakes Summerita  !. It indeed a great honour for us .

Make yourself comfortable here and start … penning by dreaming  about your latest heroine ‘Piya ’

Over to you and my readers ,See Ya Guys !.

 

Tell me the unknown fact about ‘Piya’ — female lead from your latest release More Than Just Desire?

Hi Niharika! Thank you for having me on your blog.

Piya is an actress who has had a successful career in films. Her own go-getter nature impelled her to frame some lies and add to that a certain fear and she did something which caused her to leave the film scene and escape to the US. She put her marriage at risk with her actions and subsequently absconded from the scene.

It is hard to empathize with such a character.

But the fact is, that there is a bit of Piya in all of us. When circumstances grow adverse, we try to find an easy way out. Who hasn’t told excuses to a friend to get out of a sticky situation? When you forget the ‘thing’ your child told you to get, do you confess that it skipped your mind? What about being late for work? Have you caught yourself working on some explanation while hurrying to a meeting? Often we take our own compulsion for granted and fail to consider the repercussions on other people.

Of course, Piya’s doing goes deeper than lame excuses, and in the initial stages of writing this book, I had a hard time coming to terms with her actions. An editor promptly rejected her even without reading a sample of the story, because in romance, do-gooder heroines are the done thing and any other with more ‘human’ shades was to be shied away from. Flawed heroines are better dealt with in humor loaded chic-lits only. But are we really so white in our lives as we expect our fiction characters to be? Anger, jealousy, frustration rules us all too easily, causing us to make a mess of any situation which could have been dealt with understanding and compassion. The truth is, we need love and caring to bring out the love and caring in us and when it is not available, we turn into the dark side of ourselves.

That’s what Piya is. The dark part that needs nurture and care to become someone worthwhile.

Thanks for penning a wonderful  guest post  for  us Summerita !.I  hope our readers   here must have  enjoyed reading your post  while I had gone out for some work .

With Lots of Hugs and Kisses ,

Romance Writer With walnut Cup Cakes

 

Spotlight of More Than Just Desire by Summerita Rhayne

 

 

A Passionate Romance 

by 

Summerita Rhayne 

More Than Just Desire

Blurb 

 
The Bollywood diva who ran away


Piya walked out of an explosive situation three years ago. She married Arfaaz for security but left him facing chaos she created. Now she’s back in Bollywood and searching for the crown she gave up when she ran away. In the competitive world of starry glamour, the only way she can begin her career anew is to trash the past and get a divorce.

The man who wants her atonement
 
Arfaaz is determined to get his revenge on Piya for making a farce of their marriage and leaving him to face the mudslinging. He forces her to keep up the appearances and stay with him so she can play the loving wife and repent on her sins. But Piya drives him crazy with her antics. On the top of that, the attraction between them sizzles and threatens to make him forget reason.
 
A passionate conflict
 
Piya knows she has lessons to learn but she cannot let this man enter her heart. There is too much to risk and she cannot afford to forget the real reason she has come back. Success is her mantra and her worship. She can be faithful to only her goal…
 
 
 
 
Prologue


The limo slid through wrought iron gates and came to a stop in front of the entrance of the huge house designed like an ultra modern Italian villa.


‘I’m not getting out here. I’ve booked a room and I want to go to my hotel.’ She averted her gaze and stared straight ahead as Arfaaz held the door open. 


For answer, he paused. An inhalation expanded his chest, drawing her unwilling gaze. He’d discarded the ridiculous narrow jacket and the white dress shirt drew taut against his pectorals, sending something threatening and alien coiling through her. 


The next moment he’d swooped down and picked her up, taking advantage of her inattention. 


His hands went under her as he gathered her in his arms as easily as he would a bird in his hand. She had to duck her head to escape the side of the car and then he was slamming the door shut with a foot kick. 


‘How dare you!’ She flailed at him furiously, pent-up frustration escaping. ‘Let me go. Now!’


He was warm, too much so. She found her throat clogging for some unknown reason. 


Before she could react anymore, he let her slide down, but she was struggling and squirming so much, she lost her balance and fell, smack against his body. 


He stepped back as though she burned him and mortification swept over her skin at the implied rejection.  


‘You can’t force me to do what you want!’ she bit out, breathless from effort. 


‘I’ll get what I need to know out of you anyway I can.’


‘What do you want to know? Why am I here? Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s to lay down this ghost between us. This meaningless tie…’ She made a gesture to denote contempt and tipped up her chin at him. ‘I want a divorce, Arfaaz. And I want it as quickly as possible.’


‘Very well.’ The soft agreement dropped in the silence with thunderous force, like a rock thudding down from the mountain. ‘Don’t doubt it, Piya. You’ll get it.’

 

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

 
 

 

 
 Summerita Rhayne writes contemporary and historical romance with lots of emotional conflict. She first got published in 2013 and has won contests with prestigious publishers such as Harlequin and Harper Collins India. She firmly believes if the inspiration is strong enough, the story characters will find a way to make the writer pen them down, even when writing time is in short supply. When cerebrally confronted with the sizzling interaction of two Alpha characters, the only way to get peace is write their book!At heart, she’s a family person and even though she loves her medical teaching profession, she happily becomes a homemaker when not at work. She loves winding down with music, romcoms, cricket (strictly watching only) and social networking.

 
 
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