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Susana: What inspired you to start writing?
Sofia: I always thought it took a degree of some kind to qualify as a writer. When I realized it really came down to having the passion to write and then the life experience to draw from, that was that. It didn’t just have to be a dream. I was a teenager when I first considered it. I was right on the last throes of being a teen when I started at 19.
Susana: How long have you been writing?
Sofia: Nine years so almost a decade. I can’t believe that either. Seems so much shorter some days. And like eons on others.
Susana: What advice would you give to writers just starting out?
Sofia: Don’t let anyone tell you what your voice is. Don’t question it. It’s there. I promise. Trust that it’s there and it’ll show up on the page.
Susana: Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?
Sofia: Yes. The only way to get over it is to write through it. I might call on a friend to help me through a rough patch in plotting or character, but at the end of the day the only cure to writer’s block is to stop whining about having it and sit down and write.
Susana: What comes first: the plot or the characters?
Sofia: Character is story and usually you get your plot from that. I’m definitely a character-driven writer.
Susana: Are you a plotter or a pantser?
Sofia: A bit of both. Just depends on the story. Some I can just sit down and pound out until I’m done. Others I have to break index cards, Scrivner, spreadsheets just to get a slight idea of what the story will be about and how it should be written.
Susana: Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.
Sofia: The heroine becomes a bartender and tells dirty jokes to the locals.
Susana: Are you working on something at present that you would like to tell us about?
Sofia: I’m currently working on a con man book, which is so out of my comfort zone but I’m loving it. The characters are reformed but it’s still an interesting insight into society.
Susana: What are you reading now?
Sofia: Taste For Temptation by Phyllis Bourne
Susana: What author or authors have most influenced your writing?
Sofia: Every single one I’ve read. That’s good and bad. I was a reader well before I decided to write.
Susana: What is your work schedule like when writing?
Sofia: Whenever the words are there I’m writing. Unless my kids need feeding or I just fall asleep right where I’m sitting.
Susana: What did you want to be when you grew up?
Sofia: I wanted to be a doctor. Unfortunately I have a phobia to math that prevented me from pursuing that line of work.
Susana: What is your favorite food? Least favorite? Why?
Sofia: I love pizza. I hate peach cobbler. Or pretty much anything with cinnamon in it. For the former, it’s pizza. Come on. The second one, I don’t know. I just don’t like the taste of it. In anything.
Susana: What is one thing your readers would be most surprised to learn about you?
Sofia: I’m only five feet tall. Tallest student in my class in the third grade but everyone else kept growing.
Susana: Is there a writer you idolize? If so, who?
Sofia: At the moment, it’s Shonda Rhimes. That premiere of Scandal made me dribble and ramble for days.
About Hot Knight in Paradise
Stranded in paradise with no way to get home, Leah Smith needs a miracle, and fast.
Instead, she gets Marshall Jackson, surely the sexiest man alive. Too bad he’s got an emotional wall around himself–and her only hope of getting off the island … Marshall has a strict no damsels in distress policy, but there’s something about Leah that makes him want to break his own rules. He agrees to let her work in his bar until she earns enough to get home. But the more time they spend together, the harder it is to deny the scorching attraction between them. Soon hot island nights provide balm to their wounded souls, but will these two flawed exiles make peace with the past in time to claim the future they deserve together–or will paradise be lost?
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“I find it hard to believe a man like you would consider bartending his calling.” She gave him a dubious look. “And I’m feeling like a margarita. Got some limes?”
“Of course.” He opened the compartment where he kept the salt. Using some of the tequila, he lined the lip of the glass.
“How’d you know I wanted salt?”
“If you want lime, you want salt.” He took his time making the drink. “You’d be amazed how listening can change the world.”
He cut the lime in quarters, placing one on the rim, the rest in another cup. “Now I didn’t say you didn’t get something out of what you do. I said it’s probably not your calling.”
The weight of his past darkened his tone and he leaned against the bar for support. “You can save someone’s life by what you say.”
She sipped her drink and then sucked on the lemon. Her breath whooshed out. “You make a damn good margarita.”
“Thanks.” He nursed his bourbon as he tried to beat back the memories, but then her hand was on his face, bringing him back to the now.
“Hey, where’d you go? We’re debating.”
“Political analyst,” he said.
“I’m not that cynical about mankind,” she said.
Her tongue flicked out, licking at the salt from the corner of her mouth. His mind blanked. When his brain came back online he could only wonder if the tartness of lime would complement her taste. She must have noticed the expression, because her gaze went to his mouth.
Her tongue lashed out again. “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable when you look at my mouth with an I-want-tobite-you expression,” she said quietly. “Though I want to say my eyes are up here, but—”
She bit her lip, and his gaze followed the action. He wished she’d look away, make a joke…anything to break the moment, but his heart rammed against his ribcage.
“I’m insane,” she murmured
Marshall frowned, finally tearing his gaze from her mouth. Leah pushed their drinks aside and leaned over the bar, and then her mouth was on his, and he couldn’t think. His lips parted automatically, and she was there, supping on the taste of him. Leah’s tongue explored urgently, as if they’d been kissing for eons, and he matched her rhythm.
“Wait,” Marshall said, pulling back, which was probably the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his life.
He knew if she had enough time to consider what the hell they were doing, she’d end it and run. He took advantage of her moment of confusion and untied the scarf holding back the soft curls.
“There,” he sighed.
This time, he claimed her mouth. The kiss lost its urgency, and still the taste of her seared his tongue. He had the time to nip and lick, noting the softness of her lips and how the lime only made her taste better. He couldn’t be anywhere but in that moment. He tightened the hold in her hair, forcing Leah still and allowing him to deepen the kiss. He made illicit promises with his teeth and tongue until she moaned in his mouth, and it took everything in him not to have her there on the counter.
With the little room he allowed, she pulled back. “Wait.”
He loosened the hold on her hair. Leah climbed the counter, knocking over the stool in the process. Once settled in front of him, she fisted her hands on his shirt and yanked him forward. Forgetting honor, he pressed against her, felt the heat between her thighs along his erection. Keeping a hand in the curly strands, he exposed her neck. He sucked softly at first and then hard on the flesh between her neck and collarbone. Her legs tightened around his waist, binding him to the heat. Trailing kisses up to her ear, he bit the lobe. She gasped.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she moaned.
About the Author
In 2004, Sofia Harper began her writing career as a romantic suspense author. A bit problematic because she couldn’t write anything mystery-like to save her life or even her characters. On a whim, she penned a contemporary where there was no dead body or explosions to save her from the dreadful middle slumps of a book. It was only the characters and what they had to deal with. She hasn’t looked back since. She continues to write contemporary romances, mainly under a different pen, filled with sassy heroines and unlikely heroes. These stories are filled with one-liners, but heartfelt and sexy.
Outside of writing, Harper works as a mail clerk for the federal government, has a paralegal certificate (that she has more use for as a dust pan) and is a mother of two rambunctious children. She lives in California where the wine is good and, despite popular belief, is not always sunny. Harper plans to spend the rest of her days writing, raising her children and drinking good wine. Occasionally she’ll brush her hair and get dressed, but that’s optional.
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