Beverly Barton
Beverly Marie Inman was born on 23 December 1946 in Tuscumbia, Alabama, USA. Daughter of Doris Marie and Walter D. Inman Jr. A born romantic, she fell in love with The Beauty and the Beast epic at an early age, when her grandfather bought her an illustrated copy of the famous fairy tale. Even before she learned to read and write, her vivid imagination created magical words and fabulous characters inside her mind. Movies fascinated her, and by the time she was seven she was rewriting the movies she saw on television and at the local theater to give them all happy endings. By the age of nine she'd penned her first novel. She wrote short stories, TV scripts, poetry, and novels throughout high school and into college.
After her marriage to Billy Ray Beaver, the "love of her life", and the births of her two children, Beverly continued to be a voracious reader and a devoted moviegoer, but she put her writing aspirations on hold until her children were teenagers. At every age of their lives, from infancy to adulthood, the children had been a true joy to her. She devoted herself to her husband and children and considered herself one of the many selfless "supermoms" who put their family's needs first. She believed she had had it all, just not all at the same time.
In her mid-30s, Beverly returned to her former passion — writing — as a hobby, but before 40, she decided that she wanted to make writing a full-time career. And when she rediscovered an old dream — of becoming a published writer — no one was more supportive of her aspirations than her family. Her children were her greatest cheerleaders and her husband was her biggest supporter. After writing over 40 books and receiving numerous awards and nominations, as well as having books on the USA Today list and consistently on the Waldenbooks bestseller list, her career was indeed a dream come true. Having a fantastic family and fabulous friends, as well as making a living doing the one thing she had loved doing since childhood, she considered herself truly blessed. Beverly died suddenly of heart failure on 21 April 2011.
“He had wanted. He had needed. He had desired. And he had taken. But he had never loved.”
“Have you ever done any running or jogging?” Hawk asked.[...]“I walk,” she told him. “I’ve never had any desire to run or jog.”“Why not? Don’t you like to sweat?”“As a matter of fact, I don’t.” She smiled. “Besides, Southern ladies never sweat. We don’t even perspire.”“Then what the hell do you do?”“We glow.”
“The man towered over her five-foot-four-inch frame by a good ten inches. He was big, dark and deadly-looking, with piercing ebony eyes and long, silky black hair secured in a ponytail. Dressed all in black—leather jacket, cotton shirt and jeans—he blended into the night like a prince of darkness. Rorie shuddered at the thought. Whoever or whatever this man was, he was danger personified.”
“Joanna nodded in agreement, not resisting, not putting up a fight of any kind.”
“It's obvious Plott doesn't have any idea where he's going.”
“He was going to rip Plott apart, piece by piece.”
“Plott's every touch, whether he was beating her or caressing her, was a form of brutalizing manipulation.”
“Thankfully, Plott hadn't taken them very far inside.”
“He had to take Plott unaware.”
“We're getting married as soon as possible,' he said.'Is that what you call a proposal?''I'm not much of a romantic, honey, but you already know that. And I won't be much of a bargain as a husband, but I have a feeling you'll whip me into shape without too much trouble. Heck, by the time we have kids, I'll probably be downright domesticated.”
“She swung the Stetson around and around on her finger, lifted it and whirled it through the air. It landed right on target, sitting up straight over his arousal.”
“You'd think after seven years of riding, I'd have you broken in by now.' She licked him intimately.”
“Ride em, cowgirl,' he said.And she did.”