Name Paige Thomas

Age 44

Where are you from

I’m originally from Sydney, Australia, but I relocated to the central coast of New South Wales not long after my son was born. I have some family on the coast and spent a lot of time with them when I was growing up. It’s actually one of the locations I’ve used in my novel Starstruck. It’s much quieter than city life and the beaches are beautiful— not crowded like those in Sydney. Some days I can walk along the sand for half-an-hour without seeing another soul.  

Fiona: Tell us your latest news?

I was signed with a publisher in the US in 2012, but at the beginning of this year I went out on my own as an indie author. I’ve recently re-released two titles, Starstruck and Count Me In. I’m not sure when this interview will be published, but the short companion story (Count Me In) is being offered for free until Feb 15 – US Time.


Fiona: When and why did you begin writing?

I’ve always been drawn to writing. I’m a voracious reader and my passion for literature started at a very early age. I devoured every book I could get my hands on. When I was in my early teens I dabbled with a few silly stories of my own, though it wasn’t until I reached my 30’s that I began to take it seriously.


Fiona: When did you first consider yourself a writer?

When I received the acceptance letter from my old publisher. Up until then, I didn’t think my work was good enough. I’m my own worst critic and I don’t think that will ever change. If it wasn’t for my sister’s encouragement and persistence, my books would probably still be sitting on my hard drive gathering dust.


Fiona: What inspired you to write your first book?

Music! My father was a popular musician in his hay-day so music has always played a large part of my life and inspires a lot of my creative endeavors. Also, at the time I thought about writing a novel I was reading a lot of stories by amateur authors. It didn’t take long for me to sit back and think to myself, yeah, I could do that.


Fiona: Do you have a specific writing style?

Others have told me I do, that they can recognise my style after reading the first paragraph of something I’ve written, but I don’t know what it is exactly that separates me from any other writer. I guess it’s like personalities; everyone is different and has a unique stamp that is just “them”.


Fiona: How did you come up with the title?

I love titles which play on words or have double meanings. Count Me In involves a drummer so that title was an obvious choice for me. It fits with the storyline and it’s also what a drummer does at the beginning of a song. It was a no-brainer. For Starstruck, there’s also a double meaning. A fan can be star struck when meeting their idol for the first time, and it’s also referring to the hero and heroine’s love being written in the stars by fate.


Fiona: Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

Never give up hope of finding “the one”. Starstruck is ultimately about fate…destiny…whatever you want to call it, correcting a path gone wrong and two soul mates finding each other, even when they live continents apart. And that path is not always an easy one, but the reward at the end far outweighs the struggle it took to get there.


Fiona: How much of the book is realistic and are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

I think the characters are realistic. The situations? Maybe if you’re fortunate, or unfortunate as the case may be in some instances. The book is purely fiction, but there are little splashes of me peppered throughout. I put my heart and soul into that book so it was inevitable that some of me would bleed onto the page.


Fiona: What books have most influenced your life most? a mentor?

I absolutely LOVE Stephen King and anything he’s written. He’s my hero and if I could have just an ounce of his talent I would be an extremely happy woman. Sometimes I wish I could just curl up inside his brain for a little while and see how his imagination works. I’d say “I’m his #1 fan”, but that may give people who have read (or seen) Misery the wrong impression. He’s my mentor…in my dreams, anyway. In regards to the romance genre, Romeo and Juliet is a big one. I first read the book when I was very young and the beautiful, yet tragic storyline still lingers in my mind.

Fiona: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest and who  is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

I recently read Paula Hawkins The Girl on the Train and really liked it. I’ll be buying whatever she releases next. And I think you already know who my favourite is. I also like Dean Koontz, Megan Hart, J.K. Rowling, Suzanne Collins, John Grisham and J.R. Ward, just to name a few. There isn’t only one thing that strikes me or stands out about any author. I just enjoy good storytelling. I read many different genres and I also enjoy the odd autobiography.


Fiona: Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members.

Social media! It was the last place I expected to find such generous, genuine support from people I didn’t even know. I can honestly say that I’ve made lifelong friendships with many I’ve connected with. Some of them I now consider as my best friends. We’ve taken our friendships out of Twitter and Facebook and call each other on a regular basis. I’d be lost without them and their love and support has kept me going when I wanted to throw in the towel. I owe them everything.


Fiona: Do you see writing as a career?

Most definitely, though the pay is often shit. LOL ‘Scuse my French. We need a union or something to regulate these things and fight for standardized wages. Maybe I should start a picket line. At least the words written on our cardboard signs would be awesome, if nothing else.


Fiona: If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

No, not a thing. I won’t spoil the ending for anybody who may care to read it, but there’s a silver lining in everything if you look hard enough, even when dealing with death.


Fiona: Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?

My earliest memory of reading a good book, besides children’s Golden Books, fairytales and the like, was Enid Blyton’s The Folk of the Faraway Tree. I was only about five or six years old and I can still remember sitting in my bedroom after I’d finished it, talking to myself as if I was being interviewed as a famous writer. That was the moment the dream was sparked.

Fiona: Can you share a little of your current work with us?

Sure, but you might want to put up a warning or something considering it has some sexual content. I don’t want to be the cause of scarring some underage person for life. Here’s the Prologue of one of the novels I’m currently working on. It’s the sequel to Starstruck. I’m keeping the title a secret until it’s closer to being released, but it’s a huge play on words and I love it dearly.

Prologue

The past…

 

Rick Bradshaw shivered as he softly rapped his knuckles on the icy window, finally rousing his best friend from sleep. A small lamp lit the bedroom from within before the glass pane opened with a faint squeak.

Jesse’s tired eyes widened with instant panic. “What the hell happened? What’s wrong with your hand?” he whispered.

Dressed only in jeans and a t-shirt, Rick was dying to get out of the cold. Shoving Jesse out of the way, he fell into the room, making sure to land on his good side—the side of his lanky fourteen-year-old body that didn’t hurt quite as much as the other.

He clenched his teeth when he came to rest on the floor and cradled his throbbing wrist against his chest. “The usual, but I think this time he broke it. My ribs don’t feel so good, either.”

He was used to physical pain, though what hurt the most was the knowledge he wouldn’t be able to play his old, beat-up guitar for at least several weeks. He’d always wanted to learn the drums, but never dared ask his parents for such an expensive instrument. There was no point. He already knew the answer.

His wrist continued to swell right before his eyes and, with every breath, pain tore through his torso.

Jesse’s eyes were pleading. “Please, let me get Mom. You can’t hide it this time. You need to go to the hospital.”

“I can’t. The doctors will want to know what happened and I can’t tell anyone. They’ll take me away and put me in a home. I couldn’t handle that. I’d rather die. I’ll just—“

“No! We have to do something. He can’t keep getting away with it. Mom and Dad will help, I know they will. And your wrist doesn’t look right, at all. What if it sets bad this time? How are you gonna be able to play then, huh? What about our band?”

Rick shook his head as he cautiously sat up. He hated to admit it, but he was licked, his hopes squashed by reality and Max Bradshaw’s fists. “The band’s just a pipedream, Jess…for me, anyway. Kids like me don’t make the big time. I’ll end up workin’ the factories, just like my old man.”

After a brief respite, his frown slowly turned into a subtle smile. “But, you’ll do something great, Jess. Whether you become the greatest rock star who ever lived or some millionaire business tycoon…you’ll be someone great. And I’ll be able to tell everyone that I used to know you. And I’ll say it with pride.”

Jesse’s anger flared, his arms ramrod straight by his sides while his hands balled into tight fists and his cheeks burned bright. “Take that back, Ricky. Take it back, right the fuck now,” he growled. “We’ve worked damn hard and we will make it one day, I know it. And you’re coming with me or I’m not going at all.”

Rick slumped and the small amount of energy he had left diminished like a puff of smoke in the wind. They lived in two totally different worlds, even though there was only a single street separating their homes. Jesse was a born leader and reared for success, something Rick couldn’t fathom ever attaining for himself, not in this lifetime. He knew there would come a day when his friend would eventually outgrow him and see him for the pathetic piece of shit he really was.

If his own parents couldn’t love him, how could he expect anyone else to?

Jesse’s anger melted as quickly as it had appeared and his gaze showed no pity, only concern. “Look, your wrist is really swollen. You think Mom and Dad won’t notice? You think the teachers at school won’t notice? They already suspect something’s up.”

Rick shrugged. “I’ll think of something. I always do.”

“No, dammit!” Jesse’s hoarse whisper raised a decibel. “This has gone on long enough. Let us help you. I’m your best friend, Ricky. Let me help you.”

Rick’s sigh was heavy with defeat. He was too tired to even think anymore. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, man. Okay? I really need to sleep for a bit.”

Grumbling under his breath, Jesse grabbed the first-aid kit he kept stashed underneath his bed for such occasions and flipped open the lid as he sat on the floor in front of Rick. “At least let me bandage that up, for now. I’ll get to kickin’ your ass in the morning.”

The corner of Rick’s mouth twitched but the smile never came. He allowed his friend to strap his disfigured wrist and hand as he hissed from each wrapping of white cotton.

“There, all done.” Jesse helped Rick stand. “You can take the bottom bunk tonight.”

“Thank God, this hurts like hell.”

“Yeah well, God may love you but everyone else thinks you’re an idiot.” His smirk was weak as he tried to lighten the mood, tapping two Tylenol into Rick’s hand before passing him the bottle of water from the bedside table.

After returning the first-aid kit to its hiding place, Jesse switched off the lamp and climbed into the top bunk.

Rick was safe in the Maurello house. It was the only place in the world he could sleep with both eyes shut. “Thanks, cocksucker.”

Jesse snorted. “Night, dipshit.”

As Rick tried to force sleep, his mind assaulted him with memories he wished he could erase. He’d been in this situation many times before, but tonight there was one difference. He had no more tears left to shed. They’d dried up along with what little love for his parents he’d previously clung to. He couldn’t live with the torment any longer, the anticipation of the abuse he’d suffer the next time his father blew up and took all his frustrations out on his only child.

Oh, in his own way Max was always sorry the following morning, leaving a dollar bill on Rick’s dresser. That’s all his health and wellbeing was worth, one measly dollar. Over the years, he’d secretly saved those bills—hiding his stash beneath the floorboards in his closet—and finally had enough to run away from home. Three hundred and sixty-four dollars should be enough to get him to New York and put food in his belly for a few weeks until he could get some kind of work. He had no definitive plan, he just wanted out of the hell-hole he’d called home. His only regret would be leaving his one true friend behind.

Early the next morning, he was jostled from a wonderful dream of playing a bitchin’ set of drums to a sold-out stadium.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Who did this to you, Ricardo? I swear to all that is holy if you try and tell me one more time that you tripped I will tan your skinny hide myself.”

He pried his weary eyes open and was met with Lia’s troubled face. “Mrs. M?”

“Good grief, what’s happened to you, boy?”

He tried to sit up but failed miserably. His ribs must have taken a harder beating than he’d thought. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

“Hush, now, I’ll have none of that. Don’t apologize, just tell me the truth.”

Jesse jumped down from the top bunk and stood beside his mother. He didn’t have the telltale signs of someone who had just risen. No, his eyes were wide and alert, as if they’d been open for quite some time. The fucker hadn’t woken Rick so he could sneak out before the rest of the family got out of bed, which was their usual routine after one of his late night visits. For a brief moment, the stab of betrayal pierced his heart, though he knew Jesse was looking out for him the only way he knew how.

Rick attempted to sit up again and when her hand glided over his shoulder to help him, he flinched with a deep groan.

Her eyes snapped to his. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He slowly maneuvered his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the pain spiked with every movement. She reached for his good hand but he waved her off. “I can do it.”

Trying not to grit his teeth too much, he eventually forced himself upright.

A scowl was etched into her forehead as she looked him over. Taking him by surprise, she lifted the front of his shirt and gasped. “You’re covered in bruises, and not all of them are new.”

He peered down at his exposed stomach. “Ah…aww, hell.”

Large purple bruises, mottled with patches of sickly-yellow, covered his abdomen and ran halfway up his chest. There was no hiding it from her this time, and by the determination set firmly on her face, her beautiful blue eyes blazing, she wasn’t going to accept any of his lies either. Ashamed, he’d curl into a ball if his injuries would allow it.

She turned to Jesse. “We’re taking him to the hospital. Go and tell your father to bring the car around. And let your brothers know they’ll have to get their own breakfast this morning.”

The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint the woman he’d so often wished was his own mother, but he was dreading going to the hospital. His instincts were telling him to run. “Please, don’t be angry with me. Don’t let them take me away.”

She sighed, barely applying pressure on his skin as she hugged him in a gentle embrace. “I’m not angry with you, dear heart. You’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t ever think that. You’re safe now. No one’s ever going to hurt you again, I promise.”

He hadn’t allowed himself to cry in so long, but the years of neglect, emotional turmoil and built-up rage finally overflowed, cascaded down his cheeks like torrential rain. His body went limp, seemingly boneless as her arms tightened and enveloped him with unconditional love, lending him strength. It was the first real hug he’d ever received and his broken heart basked in the warmth she offered.

After he’d permanently moved into the Maurello house, Max Bradshaw never got another chance to hit Rick again, and his mother Betty, made no attempt to reclaim him. He unofficially became Lia and Dino’s fourth son from that day forward.

 

It was during his early twenties when he finally saw his dreams come true. Jerico, the band he and Jesse had fantasized about, became a reality and by Rick’s twenty-eighth birthday he was living the good life. There was no shortage of huge paychecks, fast cars, willing women and drugs…for those who cared to indulge.

And indulge he did.

Jesse hated drugs—his constitution unable to tolerate anything harder than a joint—but Rick had found solace in cocaine. He could afford to buy nothing but the best and the pure white lines were a godsend. He no longer woke in a cold sweat from nightmares of his childhood. These days, he hardly slept at all.

She purred as he slowly stripped the sinful mini dress from her sleek, bronzed body before taking his shirt off and flinging it behind him. He couldn’t remember her name, but he doubted she cared. She was flying high, blissfully naked, and he couldn’t wait to join her.

Lying back against the crisp linen sheet, she spread her legs and beckoned him closer with a crooked finger.

He smirked from the foot of the bed. “You are a greedy little thing, aren’t you, baby? Didn’t get enough of me at the club, huh?”

“I could never get enough of you. Your little girl needs you, Daddy.”

Fuck!

He hated being called that. He was nobody’s father, never would be.

It seemed like every second woman he’d been with of late had daddy issues and it made his stomach churn. If he wasn’t so hard already he’d consider throwing her out earlier than anticipated, but he knew exactly what he needed to keep his mind on the prize she was offering.

He dug the small glass vial from the front pocket of his jeans and pulled the cap off with his teeth, spitting it across the room. “Stay very still, sugar. I’m about to rock your socks off.”

“But I’m not wearing any.” She lifted her head from the bed, a salacious smile upon her lips as he rubbed a small amount of powder over his teeth with his pinky. “I hope you’re saving some of that for me.”

He chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get yours. Just the way you like it.”

After crawling between her legs, he settled on his stomach and wrapped one arm around her thigh, holding her in place. He licked her slick folds from bottom to top with his flattened tongue and then teased the tight little bud until it swelled. She dropped her head back and moaned, clutching the sheets for dear life.

When he was satisfied with his preparations, he spread her open with his fingers and tapped the contents of the vial onto her clit, forming a small mountain of white heaven. Blocking one nostril, he carefully snorted half the blow up the other, and then repeated on the opposite side. He collected what remained with the tip of his tongue, swirling a little coke beneath her clitoral hood.

Her hips jolted off the bed. “Oh God, that feels so good, daddy,” she mewled.

He didn’t care what she called him anymore. The only thing he cared about was riding the high…and riding her.

Pushing up onto his knees, he undid the button of his jeans when a loud knock on the hotel room door broke his concentration. He’d hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign, even though the staff knew by now not to bother him. And besides, it was after three in the morning. Choosing to ignore the interruption, he reached for his fly, but whoever dared to intrude on his quality time was proving to be insistent, knocking a second time.

“Jesus Christ.” He huffed as he leapt off the bed and trotted to the door, reefing it open. “This better be damn—“

A fist came out of nowhere and smashed into his face.

“You lying son-of-a-bitch,” Jesse spat. “You’ve promised me time and time again that you’d stopped this shit and I was stupid enough to believe you…again.”

Rick doubled over in agony, covering his face with his hands. “What the hell! I think you broke my fucking nose.”

“Be grateful that’s all I broke.”

When Rick rose to his full height, blood dripping from his nostrils and running into his mouth, the look of utter disappointment he was met with hurt more than the punch. “Jesse, I swear I didn’t—“

Liar!” Jesse pushed past him as what’s-her-name squealed and tried to cover herself with the scrap of material she called a dress. “Next time you might want to get rid of the evidence from your face before you open the door.”

Rick wiped beneath his nose, small traces of white powder visible amongst the smear of red on the back of his fingers. “It was only a little, and I hardly touch it anymore, honest.”

Jesse shook his head, a menacing laugh bouncing off the walls. He turned toward the woman who had managed to slip her dress back on. “I think you’d better leave, honey, and forget you were ever here. I have a drummer to fire.”

She raced by both of them, heels in hand, and slammed the door on her way out.

“Please, Jess, just listen to me for a minute. I can explain.”

“Cut the crap, Rick. I’m so sick of your bullshit excuses. How many times have we been here, having this same conversation? I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to help you this time. You’ve let this get out of control and it’s not just hurting yourself anymore, or me, it’s crippling the entire band and everything we’ve worked so goddamn hard for. You’ve been playing sloppy for the past year. You’re skippin’ beats, losing your rhythm, and I’m not the only one who’s noticing anymore. How many rehearsals did you miss before the last tour? I can’t let it continue. I won’t. You’re out.”

“You can’t be serious,” Rick yelled, frantically grabbing tufts of his hair and pulling hard at the roots. “We made this band together. You can’t kick me out, you have no right.”

Jesse stalked toward him. “I have no right? Really? Who fronted the money in the beginning? Who booked our gigs until we got a manager? Who landed our recording contract? Who’s overseen everything this band’s ever done? Who writes most of our songs? Who writes your paychecks? Who’s looked out for you and loved you like a fucking brother since we were six years old?” His gaze plummeted to the floor as he exhaled a loud breath of resignation. “And who’ll be the one left to bury you when you do yourself in?”

Rick crumpled beneath the weight of the words, falling to his knees. “You don’t mean it. You can’t mean it. You are my brother. Your family is the only one I have. You promised you’d never leave me, remember?” A hot, lone tear rolled down his cheek, searing his skin like acid.

Jesse refused to look him in the eye. “I’m done, this is over. I can’t help you anymore,” he said, heading for the door.

Rick watched in horror as Jesse turned the doorknob. “No. Please, I’m begging you.

Jesse froze but didn’t turn around. “What makes this time any different from the rest? I’ve asked you repeatedly to get professional help, but you won’t. I can’t do this for you, Rick. You have to want to help yourself.”

“I’ll stop this time, for good. I’ll go to rehab. You can even drive me so I don’t bolt. I’ll do anything you ask if you’ll give me one more chance. Just one more chance, that’s all I need. Please.”

Jesse’s head fell forward and tapped the door in front of him. The dead silence which followed was deafening to Rick’s ears, seeming to last for hours as his heart raced in his chest while he waited for an answer.

“Don’t let me down this time, Ricky. But most of all, don’t let yourself down. You’re better than this,” he said before quietly exiting the room, not looking back.

Rick collapsed into a heap on the floor, wretched sobs tearing him from the inside out.

Rock bottom never felt so hard.

 

It was a long, long road, but a road worth traveling. The first and last time his best friend laid a hand on him in anger was the kick up the ass he needed to see straight.

It took three extended stints of rehab before his mind absolutely cleared, but when it was over he was finally able to make promises he knew he could keep.


Fiona: Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Sometimes it’s difficult to find the right emotions or sensory information I need for situations I’ve never personally experienced. When I hit a wall I research my little heart out. If I can’t find what I need online then I turn to people who have that info. Surprisingly, asking nicely causes most people to open up to me and share their knowledge. I’ve been very lucky so far.


Fiona: Do you have to travel much concerning your book(s)?

Is walking from my bed to my writing desk considered travelling?


Fiona: Who designed the covers?

I did. When I’m rich and famous, maybe I’ll let someone else with far greater Photoshop skills than I possess take over and do them for me.


Fiona: What was the hardest part of writing your book?

Writing through the tears as they clouded my vision. I’m extremely attached to my characters and I feel every bit of their pain. Sometimes I wonder why I torture them so much.


Fiona: Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?

That I do possibly have enough nerve and determination to make a real go of this writing thing. I’ve always been stubborn and that’s a trait which comes in handy with this occupation.

Fiona: If any of your books was made into a film who would you like to play the lead

Hmmm, that’s a tough one. I really don’t know. If that ever were to happen, I think I’d want some fresh faces, give some new talent the opportunity to shine in their own right. Yeah, I’d do that.


Fiona: Do you have any advice for other writers?

Read. Read. Read. If you haven’t got time to read, you haven’t got time to write. Reading is the greatest tool we have. You learn something new with every page you turn and you take those lessons with you when you sit down to write your own story. I really can’t stress that enough. Oh, and don’t give up if you find a rejection letter in your inbox. You won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s okay, but remember that agents and publishers are people too and they have their own personal tastes. Some of the most famous writers in the world have had to deal with countless rejections, but one thing they all have in common is they never gave up. Believe in yourself and others will too.


Fiona: Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Just thank you. Thank you for taking a risk on an unknown writer. Thank you for buying my books. Thank you for reading them.

Fiona: What book are you reading now?

I’m not reading anything at the moment. I’ve been too busy so far this year preparing to relaunch my books and now I’m in the middle of promoting them. But the first chance I get I’ll be diving into Stephenie Meyer’s The Chemist. A good friend, one of the one’s I mentioned earlier, gave it to me for Christmas and I can’t wait to get stuck into it.

 

Fiona: Do you remember the first book you read?

It was a rhyming counting book with Chipmunks. I can’t remember what it was called but I was four. I still like a good rhyme.

Fiona: What makes you laugh/cry?

I’m a complete sap so absolutely anything can set me off. Sometimes I think I’m overly empathetic and it can be a real pain in the arse in certain circumstances. Some people see that as a weakness but I feel things, deeply. It’s not hard for me to put myself in another person’s shoes and feel their pain. If you cry around me I’m a goner. I’ll be the first to give you a hug and cry with you. I also cry when I’m really angry. It’s like my tear ducts are directly connected to my heart. It’s much harder to make me laugh, that takes real talent.

Fiona: Is there one person pass or present you would meet and why?

I may have a “thing” for Jon Bon Jovi. I’ve been in love with him since I was a teenager. It’s okay, my husband completely understands. If I were ever to meet him in person I think I’d just drown in my own puddle of drool. But I would die happy.

Fiona: What do you want written on your head stone and why ?

“You’re standing on my face, get off!” LOL Just because I’d rather people be happy than sad.

Fiona: Other than writing do you have any hobbies ?

I like anything creative. I’m kinda sad my son isn’t a little boy anymore and doesn’t need me to do all the crafty parts of his homework. I sketch, when I get time. I love music and I dabble on the guitar. I read a lot, of course. And chatting with my friends is a hobby in itself. It’s not uncommon for me to be on Skype for a few hours at a time.

Fiona: What TV shows/films do you enjoy watching?

I don’t watch a lot of TV anymore, but I do buy box sets once a series is over so I can binge when I feel like it. I like a lot of different types of shows. Favourite TV comedy would have to be Seinfeld. I’ve watched every season countless times and still find it funny. I also like The Black List, Game of Thrones and Vikings, to name a few. I recently watched the first episode of This is Us and I really enjoyed it. Movies are a mixed bag. I like to be surprised when I watch one. I’m that annoying person who predicts what’s going to happen, and it usually does. I’d be rich by now if I had a dollar for every time my husband says, “You should write this stuff.”

Fiona: Favorite foods / Colors/ Music

I’m not a vegetarian, but I love my vegies, the more variety the better. And bacon. Who doesn’t love bacon! My favourite colour has always been blue, but I’m also partial to purple and certain shades of green. Music is a hard one to answer because I love so many different styles and it would be cruel to ask me to pick a favourite. Depending on my mood, you’ll find me listening to almost anything but country. I’m not a country music fan. My current playlist has Queen, Newton Faulkner, Pink Floyd, The Black Keys, Muse, Amy Winehouse, Paloma Faith, Ed Sheeran, Bon Jovi, Bernard Fanning, Damien Rice, Bruno Mars, The Beatles, Adele, Led Zeppelin, James Bay, Paramore… I could go on forever.

Fiona: If you were not a writer what else would you like to have done?

Animation. Apart from dreaming of being a writer I always wanted to be a part of making cartoons. I’m just a big kid, really.

 

Fiona: Do you have a blog/website? If so what is it?

www.paigethomasauthor.com – there’s a link to my blog on there too.

Links

 

Facebook official author page: https://www.facebook.com/PaigeThomasAuthor/

Facebook fan/fun friend page: https://www.facebook.com/PaigeThomasWriter

Twitter: https://twitter.com/PThomasAuthor

Web site: http://www.paigethomasauthor.com/

Amazon author page: amazon.com/author/paigethomas

Universal Amazon book link for Count Me In: myBook.to/CMI (CMI is exclusive to Amazon)

Universal Amazon book link for Starstruck: myBook.to/Struck

Starstruck: iBooks – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1198614235

B&N – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/starstruck-paige-thomas/1114804824?ean=2940154168486

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/au/en/ebook/starstruck-46

 

Blurbs

 

Starstruck…

 

The faceless woman who haunts rock legend Jesse Maurello’s dreams is just a myth, a steamy byproduct of his vivid imagination and too many days on the road. Yet something about the green-eyed vision he meets on the plane to New York calls to him, in more ways than one. He will have her beneath him—or on top of him—tonight.

Career-driven graphic artist Samantha Raven has many talents, her psychic abilities among them. But nothing could’ve prepared her for the talents of a sexy rock god who seduces her into his bed—or the obsessed fan who threatens her life. Her sizzling night of passion with the infamous Jerico front man is purely chance…or is it? Betrayal and danger follow their wild ride of orgasmic exploration. Seems fate had a plan neither Jesse nor Sam saw coming.

 

Count Me In…

* Features characters from Starstruck *

Rock star Ricky Bradshaw is simply going through the motions. Though surrounded by people—many of whom are good friends—he feels alone, empty. Then he finds a naked fan in his bed, and figures…why not? He’ll show the gorgeous woman exactly how he earned his sex symbol status while losing himself for a few hours in soft curves, hot flesh and sweaty sex.

Chelsea Wainwright has never wanted for anything. Her life has been easy—up until now. After one devastating diagnosis, she’s living on borrowed time and making every second count. With only weeks left, Chelsea’s crossed every item off her to-do list save for one—a single night of wild, raw, uninhibited sex with the most famous drummer of the twenty-first century.

What’s the old expression? Saving the best for last? Oh yeah. That.

 

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