Barbara Samuel
Barbara Samuel is a multiple RITA award-winning author with more than 38 books to her credit in a variety of genres. She has written historical and contemporary romances, a number of fantasy novellas with the likes of Susan Wiggs, Jo Beverley and Mary Jo Putney. She now writes women’s fiction about families, dogs, and food as Barbara O’Neal.
Her work has captured a plethora of awards, including six RITAs; the Colorado Center for the Book Award (twice); Favorite Book of the Year from Romance Writers of America, and the Library Journal’s list of Best Genre Fiction of the year, among many others.You can find a full list of all titles here.
Now living back in her hometown of Colorado Springs, Barbara writes in a study overlooking Pikes Peak, a pin that draws her home from her travels. She shares her home with Christopher Robin, a British endurance athlete, a gorgeous and lovable chow mix named Jack; a very, very old Siamese named Esmerelda; a rescued street cat who has become the fattest silver tabby on the planet, and the wonder twins, two tuxedo kittens from a local shelter, whose names have changed several times. Yes, a lot of animals.
An avid photographer, cook, and traveler, Barbara keeps a log of travels, recipes, and photos at her blog, A Writer Afoot, where she also sometimes posts writing advice. You can follow her on Twitter and Facebook, but she doesn’t promise to be particularly interesting there.
“There is so little joy in any life, I will take this time with you until I must go." He smoothed a lock of hair from her face. "In our old age, we'll remember and be glad.”
“It only takes one man to make a woman a fool.”
“Maybe not. But maybe that's how the world changes, Isaiah. One father, one child, at a time.”
“How could you carry the inside of a person with you and not call them a friend, no matter what the rules said?”
“Seems to me people are mean or evil because they're scared, mostly, or in pain, or afraid they're going to lose something.”
“Mattie watched him cross the clearing with long-limbed ease, his movements loose and calm. His hair shone in the sunlight. Her heart caught. Strider.Yes, she loved him. It wasn’t logical or sensible or anything of those other things. He was not the kind of man she’d daydreamed about all of her life, safe and stolid and dependable, but he was the one. The One.”
“He looked up at the rain and closed his eyes, his hands still wrapped around her back. Mattie knew with an acute awareness that she would always remember this moment: both of them nude in the falling twilight of a mountain summer, sated and yet still hungry, Zeke’s strong face tipped to received the gift of rain, his broad hands warm on her.”
“She came apart, and Zeke let go, driving into her without restraint, thrilling to the cry that escaped her throat. Her body convulsed around him, a roaring filled his ears.He splintered into a billion pieces.His heart, made of thinnest glass, shattered.”
“His mouth was wet and hot and intensely demanding, so sharp and piercing with need that it broke through Mattie’s defenses the way nothing else could have. A burst of excruciating hunger made her almost frantic with wanting him. She shifted in his arms and met his kiss wide open, giving as furiously as she took.“Oh, Mattie,” he said against her mouth. “I’ve never wanted a woman in my life like I want you. You’re driving me crazy.”
“The man was in his late thirties, with coarse black hair and a powerfully angled face. The horse with him made a sudden noise, a high whining sound, and its graceful head tossed, jerked. The man let the reins go, and the horse galloped to the fence where Zeke stood waiting.Mattie glanced at him. He’d climbed onto the fence and leaned over the top, softly whistling a series of notes. On his face was an expression Mattie had never seen—equal parts joy and sorrow.”
“He kissed her violently, wanting to somehow inhale her into himself, unable to stop the fury of his reaction, the trembling rocking hunger for her—so vast and all-encompassing, he couldn’t stand it.Mattie, flowing all around him, met his savagery. He clasped her hips hard against him, found himself biting her neck, laving her breasts with his tongue. He felt such unblunted, furious desire he thought he might die of it.”
“He kissed her before he knew he would do it. Cupped her small head against his hand and bent to touch her lips with his own, lightly tasting that sensuous mouth. He closed his eyes to feel it better—the moist plumpness of unseasoned lips, flavored with coffee and sugar and something that belonged only to her. And like an exhausted man sinking with gratitude into the down of a pillow, he sank into the softness, losing himself as he explored the edges and corners, the sensitive inner edge. He suckled gently and heard her sigh as she inclined her head to take him more fully.”
“She wanted him. Not in the sweet way of poetry, though there was that music in the symmetry of his body, in the careful meshing of bone and sinew and flesh that made him.Her want was raw. Physical. She felt it in the palms of her hands and the flesh of her lips and the heaviness of her breasts.In her life, she’d been hungry, and thirsty. She’d needed sleep. She had never, in her life, needed to touch a man.”
“His mouth. It touched hers lightly, just touched at first. And it seemed every nerve in her body suddenly rushed toward her mouth to join the explosion of sensation his lips brought. He moved his head and his mouth slid one way, then the other, and his fingers tightened around her neck, pulling her closer.”
“Yesterday in the restaurant, she’d seen his sex appeal and roughness. At her house, she’d seen his danger. This morning, at the river, she’d seen his beauty and teasing, and again that danger.Of all of them, the tenderness she saw now was the most compelling. And terrifying.”
“It's not being a woman I mind so much," she said slowly. "'Tis the way men seem to always order my life." She leaned earnestly toward him. "Your hand, Papa, has wielded a sword and cradled a child and held power over hundreds of men." She held up her own hand. "This one has far fewer adventures before it.”