Monica McCarty
What do you get when you mix a legal career, a baseball career, motherhood, and a love of history with a voracious reader? In my case, a Historical Romance Author.
Like most writers, I’ve always loved to read. Growing up in California there was always plenty to do outside, but all too often I could be found inside curled up with a book (or two or three). I started with the usual fare: The Little House on the Prairie series, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Hobbit, Watership Down, Nancy Drew, and everything by Judy Blume. Once I cleared off my bookshelf, I started swiping books from my mom. Some, like Sidney Sheldon’s The Other Side of Midnight, probably weren’t the most appropriate choice for a pre-adolescent—although they were definitely illuminating. I can still remember the look of abject horror on my mom’s Catholic-girl-face when I asked her what a virgin was. After that rather brief conversation, she paid a little closer attention to what had disappeared off her book shelf, and steered me in the direction of Harlequin and Barbara Cartland romances. I was hooked. I quickly read through the inventory of the local library and was soon buying bags of romances at garage sales.
In high school, with the encouragement of my father (who I think was a little concerned about the steady diet of romances), I read over eighty of the Franklin Library’s One Hundred Greatest Books ever written—including Tolstoy, Confucius, Plato, and the entire works of Shakespeare. Some of them were tough going for a teenager, but the experience would prove an invaluable foundation for college. After reading War and Peace, I wasn’t easily intimidated.
For some reason Monica decided to go into writing and not fashion.
After graduation, I loaded up the VW (Jetta not Bus) and trekked down I-5 to attend the University of Southern California, majoring in Political Science and minoring in English (see why all that reading helped!). I joined the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority, and when I wasn’t studying or at football games, did my best to support the local bartending industry. Ah, the good old days.
With that kind of fun, four years of college wasn’t quite enough. So leaving Tommy Trojan behind, I traveled back up north to Palo Alto for three more years of study at Stanford Law School. Once I survived the stress of the first semester, law school proved to be one of the best times of my life—garnering me a JD, life-long friends, a husband, and an unexpectedly intimate knowledge of baseball. (See “The Baseball Odyssey” below).
Law School was also where I fell in love with Scotland. In my third year, I took a Comparative Legal History class, and wrote a paper on the Scottish Clan System and Feudalism. So I immediately dropped out of law school and went on to write Scottish Historical Romances…well no, not quite. You see, I always knew I wanted to be a lawyer. My father was a lawyer, I was a “poet” (i.e., not into math), and I love to argue. It seemed natural.
So I finished law school, got married, passed the CA bar, moved to Minnesota (with a few stops along the way), waived into the MN bar, worked as a litigator for a few satisfying years, moved back to CA, had a couple of kids, realized that a legal career and being a single parent for most of the year (due to husband's career) would be extremely difficult, and THEN decided to sit down and write.
And how did I end up writing romance? It’s not as divergent as it seems. What I loved about being a lawyer are the same things I love about being a writer—research and writing. The only thing missing is the arguing, but that’s what a husband and kids are for, right?
“He kissed her as if he couldn't get enough of her.”
“A wave of possessiveness came over him, almost frightening in itsintensity. Mine. The thought of another man looking at her was almostenough to make him change his mind about leaving.”
“Again.Apparently, three broken engagements weren't enough. It was her duty to marry, and marry she must.”
“She wanted to inhale him. Devour him.Lick every inch of his incredible body.”
“She read him better than he realized and eyed him warily. "Do you want to know?"He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nay." It was in the past. "Then I would have to kill him."Her eyes widened, his blunt statement surprising her. "You would do that for me?"The woman was daft. "I will kill anyone who harms you." He cocked a brow. "I hope that doesn't offend your delicate sensibilities?""No," she said hesitantly. "Though I'm not used to having such a fierce protector."He kissed her forehead. "Get used to it.”
“Her body sighed, taking him in as if she'd been waiting for this herwhole life.Perhaps she had.”
“His mouth slid over her jaw and down her throat, her skin as smoothand sweet as cream. "God, you taste incredible," he murmured, his tonguesliding a teasing path along the edge of her bodice. "I want to lick every inch of you.”
“His kiss was brutal, punishing, for making him feel like this. He wasdesperate. Out of control. Never had he experienced this kind of irrationalurgency. He needed her. Like a starving man needed food. Like a dying manneeded salvation. Now. Before everything went to hell. Before she could change her mind.”
“Her mouth was right on his ear, and she spoke her wicked thoughts aloud. "I want you inside me."That was it. With a violent growl, he snapped. "Damn you, Elizabeth.”
“And how do you propose we sort this out?" His voice was wonderfully hoarse.She smiled, a devilish glint in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure we can figure something out." Her gaze dropped to the hefty bulge in his pants.Dear God.Her mouth suddenly went dry. Her bravado faltered. She wasn't nearlyas confident as she pretended.Unconsciously, she licked her bottom lip. If possible, the prodigiousbulge seemed to grow a little bigger. He appeared to be in a great deal ofpain, but Elizabeth was discovering that she had a rather ruthless streakwhen it came to this man.She approached him slowly,”
“The next morning dawned cool and clear. The early mist had lifted, leaving a thick layer of dew clinging to the hillsides beyond the castle, shimmering in the morning sun like faerie dust sprinkled over a lush bed of emerald.Like his eyes.”
“You want to know what's wrong?" He took her chin, forcing her to look at him. She could feel the angry pounding of his heart through the soft leather of his jerkin. "I'll tell you what's wrong. I want you so bad, I can'tthink straight. My body is on fire. I can't look at you without wanting to pull you into my arms. I can't touch you without thinking of running my handsall over you." Her eyes widened. The raw desire in his gaze shocked her.Never had she thought herself capable of driving a man to such extremepassion. "But that is only half the problem." His eyes had narrowed to slits, the lines around his mouth etched white. The dark stubble of his beard cast an ominous shadow along his hard, square jaw.Whatever the problem, it didn't bode well for her. She tried to pull away, for the first time truly frightened, but he wouldn't let her go. His armswere like steel."You want to know what's really wrong, Elizabeth?" His face was only inches from hers. "I saw you kiss him." He spoke each word with damning precision.”
“He was right to fear.Patrick stood in the shadows, possessed by a rage so intense that it took every ounce of his control not to kill the bastard.He'd kissed his woman. Touched her. Held her in his arms.Patrick's fists clenched at his sides. Rage seethed inside him, filling his veins. Building and building until his muscles flexed and burned with the pressure to contain it.He wanted to be discovered. Wanted the excuse to vent his rage.Damn the consequences. After what he'd just witnessed, he'd probably lost what chance he had with her anyway.”
“It seemed she would not be able to ignore her duty; it had just arrived.”
“Her eyes heated with the anger and hurt that had been held inside herfor too long. "Your trips to the village have not gone unnoticed."A look of confusion crossed his too-handsome face. "What does mygoing to the village have to do with us?""I know there are women--"He swore and gripped her arm, jerked her up against his chest. "Whoput such nonsense in your head?"She didn't say anything, her throat hot and tight from the ball of tearsconstricting it."Finlay," he said flatly. She looked at him in surprise. " 'Tis no secretthat he despises me, but I am surprised that you listened to his venom.""It's not too difficult to believe. You are a man.""Aye," he said softly. "But I've not had another woman, Elizabeth."Her heart faltered. Her eyes shot to his, not daring to believe ... Hecradled her cheek tenderly in his big hand."How can I when I want someone else?"He hasn't been with a woman ... he wants me.”
“Why was she doing this to herself? She was too young to be locked away in this grim castle, weighed down with responsibility that was not hersto shoulder. She should be at parties, being feted, dancing, and enjoyingherself. Or be surrounded by bairns. My bairns, he thought fiercely.”
“Thief, brigand, outlaw, scourge: Those were names he was familiar with, not hero. Yet for a moment, this wee lass could make him want to believe that it was a possibility. Make him believe that there might be a flicker left in the embers of his blackened soul. That maybe there was still something inside him that hadn't died.He regretted that one day soon he would have to prove her wrong.”
“He was standing so close to her, all six feet plus inches of masculine strength. So solid and safe. Her valiant protector. It seemed only natural to seek the safe enclosure of his embrace. She ran into his arms, burying her head against the hard wall of his chest. He smelled ... wonderful. Warm. Of leather and pine needles and strength. Savoring the distinctly masculine scents, she closed her eyes. Only then did the tears start to fall.”
“As soon as the man had gone, Caitrina moved to stand before him, her soft feminine scent clouding his senses. Would it always be like this—this clawing need for her? The inability to think when she was near? The feeling that if he didn’t take her in his arms and kiss her, he would surely die?”
“What was she trying to do to him? Was this what being in love was supposed to feel like? Was it supposed to make him feel out of control? Was it supposed to rip him apart, pulling him in two opposite directions? Was it supposed to make him want to tear his hair out in frustration? If it was, he didn’t need it.”
“How could she have reacted like that? She didn’t understand what had come over her. She’d felt his passion and her own. It made her anxious. On edge. For something. Something that made her skin prickle whenever he was in the room with her. Indeed, she found it difficult to concentrate when he wasaround. He was big and strong and smelled incredible. She wanted to curl up against his chest and never leave. She’d never had such strong urges. But then again, she’d never met a man who made her feel so protected simply by his solid presence and his confident command of everything around him. His strength was strangely soothing. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d felt so…content.”
“The Laird of Coll was undoubtedly a hard man. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was as if the sun broke through the clouds. And he was smiling right now as she considered his question, knowing very well that she was enjoying herself.”
“You are too kind.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “But what has marriage to offer me that I don’t already have?”There were many ways to answer that question, but having care for her innocence, Lachlan refrained from the blunt one. One glance at that beautiful face and lush body, and he need look no further for a reason why the lass should be wed: swiving. And lots of it.”
“Taking Flora to his room, rather than any other, amounted to a public declaration of his intentions. She was his, and he was saying as much.Lachlan didn’t give a damn what anyone thought, he wanted her with him. It was as simple as that.”
“The danger wasn’t over.Rolling her around so that she floated on her back, he swam her to shore. A much easier proposition than on the way out. Reaching the safety of the beach, he lifted her in his arms, wrenching her from the steel jaws of the sea that had tried to claim her.He carried her a few feet up the beach and set her down carefully, kneeling beside her.“Flora.” He shook her shoulders gently. “Wake up.”She looked so still. So horribly still. “Flora.” He shook her gently, his chest squeezing painfully.“Please wake up. I need you to wake up.” I need you.Her eyes fluttered again and then—blissfully—opened. And he found himself looking into the achinglyfamiliar fathomless depths. He felt a rush of relief so strong, he could have wept. Instead he kissed her.He knew there wasn’t time, that he had to get her back, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know that she was alive.His mouth covered hers in a searing kiss, as if he could warm the cold from her lips with the heat of his passion. He kissed her with a raw desperation born of fear. With all the intensity of the emotions she’d exposed inside him. He told her with his lips what he couldn’t admit to himself.In that one brief instant, he told her so much.”
“She fit her hand around the curve of his whiskered jaw. “I’m sorry. But I knew you would not leave otherwise—”“Damn right I would not have left,” he said gruffly. “Don’t you understand what you mean to me? You are everything. Never doubt that. My place is with you, only you.”
“His eyes flared, and he tightened his grip on her arm. “Don’t press me, Meg.”She didn’t miss the intimate use of her Christian name, but there was no mistaking the threat this time.His voice was deep and liquid and seemed to wrap around her. She knew she shouldn’t provoke him, but he brought out a mischievous side of her long forgotten. Lifting one brow, she asked, “Or what?”Before the taunt had left her mouth, she was in his arms again and jerked firmly against the broad chest she’d just admired. She gasped. Not from shock, but from the realization of how much she liked being pressed against him. Of how she savored the sensation of her breasts and hips molded against the hard length of his body, of melting against him, of being secured in his arms. A wave of heated awareness shuddered through her.His eyes were hooded, his expression dark and full of promise. “Or I will prove to you just how innocent you are, my sweet, and how very little control you have over a man and a man’s desires.”
“Her eyes widened. “My.” She looked at him hesitantly and then bit her lip. “This might be more difficult than I realized. You’re a large man, aren’t you?” She blushed. “I mean, all over.”He managed to nod. Yes, damn it. And getting excruciatingly larger by the minute.”
“He gave her everything. Everything but the promise of a future. And she met his dark strokes with a plunder of her own, holding his gaze, raking his soul of its secrets. She knew just what she meant to him.”
“He stilled for a moment, savoring the sensation of being buried deep inside her, of filling her, of being joined together in God’s heavenly embrace. He held her gaze and pushed deeper, shuddering with a wave of pure tenderness. The look in her eyes stripped him to the core. He couldn’t move, wanting to preserve the moment, wanting never to forget how it felt to experience perfection.”
“Three weeks was apparently time enough to fall in love, but not long enough to fall out of love. Meg had this unfortunate truth drummed into her head each morning when she woke, hoping this would be the day that she forgot about Alex, this would be the day she could get on with her life and put Edinburgh behind her. She grimaced. Three weeks, three years, it didn’t make a difference. She would remember.Everything.”