GIVEAWAY!!!

As some of you are aware, my first new release in two years was out yesterday and I'm in the mood for a giveaway.

I recently had my favourite quote from a movie ever, tattooed on my arm.... "That ain't tactics, honey. That's just the beast in me." Which is from my favourite Elvis movie, Jailhouse Rock.

Leave a comment below, telling me your favourite movie quote and the movie it came from, and I will give away a copy of The Gardener and the Movie Star in the format of your choice, to the first three my glamorous assistant (my 13 year old if I can drag her away from YouTube!) pulls out of the hat!  Don't forget to leave your email in the comment.

Happy quoting!

Blurb: 

Drew Singer, aka Brock Kipwell, had played Slade Donovan, action hero, for five years. After a shooting at the premiere of his new Slade outing, which resulted in the death of his personal assistant. Drew left L.A. for the little village where he grew up, in North Yorkshire, to nurse his shattered hip and broken heart. All he wanted to do was spend some time with his grandmother shut away from the world. But there was one thing he hadn’t counted on… the presence of his childhood friend, and first love, Cameron McDonald.

Cameron McDonald was Yorkshire born and bred. He still lived and sometimes worked on his parents’ farm, while he ran his own gardening business. Life was plodding along nicely, until he walked into Marty Singer’s kitchen to find she had a new house guest. The two of them had been boyhood friends, best friends, until the final summer when they turned fifteen and they’d become so much more.

Ten years have passed and their attraction to each other is as strong as ever. But Cam is dealing with his troubled friend, Ed’s, problems, and Drew is carrying so much survivor’s guilt he can barely stand the weight of it. Is this their second chance? Will either of them grab it with both hands? Or is there something waiting in the dark that neither of them expected?

Excerpt:

“Cameron David McDonald! If I have to call you one more time, I’m coming up there with a cricket bat to beat you out of that bed!”

Cam groaned into his pillow. He really must talk to his mother about her indecisiveness. That was the third time she’d changed the method of how she was going to get him out of his pit. Although the cricket bat did sound preferable to the colonoscopy she’d threatened to give him ten minutes ago.

He rolled over onto his back and immediately wished he hadn’t. Sunlight spilled through the gap in the curtains, directly onto his face. He swore through gritted teeth and threw his arm over his eyes before they burned out of his skull. Okay, a little dramatic maybe, but he didn’t really care about opinions on his turn of phrase.

He did, however, care about getting his hands on Edward Maybury III, the so-called ‘best friend’ who was responsible for his current tender condition. Maybe he could get his mother to try out her colonoscopy skills on Ed. He smiled inwardly—too afraid to try a real one in case his head exploded—at the thought of his mother, dressed in the head-to-toe hazmat suit she wore for sheep dipping, and Edward Maybury naked on a trolley with a tube up his—

“Are you trying to make me kill you?”

“Mornin’ Mum,” Cam mumbled.

She ignored him completely. Of course, he’d expected nothing less.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” she blustered as she stomped around his room. He quickly pulled the duvet over his head, knowing from experience he had nano-seconds before she opened the curtains. “You think I’ve nothing better to do than waste God knows how long in a courtroom, explaining to a bunch of strangers why I beat my only son to death with a copy of Gardeners World!”

He didn’t need to come out of his duvet cocoon to know she was now stood at the edge of the bed with her hands on her hips, worrying at her lower lip to stop herself from uttering the profanities queuing up on the tip of her tongue.

“Ed made me—”

“You’re a little old to be using the “Ed made me do it” excuse, aren’t you?”

“But it’s not my—”

“You’re twenty-six!” she countered. “Of course, it’s your fault!”

“I gotta say, Mum,” Cam said sarcastically. “You know those sensitivity classes you’ve been taking? I’d demand a refund.”

“You’re hilarious,” she deadpanned. “Now get up, or you’ll be late.”

“Late for what?” Cam was confused. “It’s Sunday.”

“I promised Vera Newman you’d put those shelves up in her dining room today. I did tell you three times this week.”

“Crap.”

“You forgot.” Beatrice shook her head in despair.

“I did not forget,” Cam replied, venturing slowly out from under the duvet. He squinted until his eyes had adjusted to the light and blinked a few times to bring his mother into focus. “I temporarily misplaced the information.” If he hadn’t, it would have influenced his response to Ed’s constant whinging that they hadn’t had a lad’s night out for ages.

Her lips twitched, and he grinned. Luckily for Cam, Beatrice adored her only son, otherwise she’d have beaten him to death with Gardener’s World long ago. God knows he’d given her enough reasons. Especially during the terrible teenage years.

“You stink.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Go on, you lazy sod, get in the shower. If you’re lucky, there might be some breakfast waiting for you when you’re done.”

Cam winced as his stomach made its feelings perfectly clear on that subject with a triple somersault and a backwards roll. “I’m never eating again.”

“If I had a pound for every Sunday morning I’d heard that….” Beatrice didn’t even bother finishing the sentence. “Now shift.” She padded across the room to the door and opened it, pausing to add with a wicked glint in her eye, “You’ll feel much better with some greasy bacon and a couple of snotty eggs inside ya.”

“Ugh,” Cam complained as a wave of nausea washed over him. He glared at Beatrice as she closed the door on her smiling face. “You’re evil,” he shouted. “I’m going to report you to Social Services!”

Her response floated up the stairs. “If I had a pound for every Sunday morning I’d heard that….”