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You can reach me at KatieAshleyRomance at gmail dot com

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Atlanta, GA, United States
I am the New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon Best Selling author of The Proposition, Proposal, Music of the Heart, and Nets and Lies. I am represented by Jane Dystel of Dystel and Goderich for all books except for Proposition and Proposal.
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Wednesday, October 28, 2015

They're Baaaack!! A Proposition Series Novella Is Coming Oct. 30th!!!

7:29 AM | Posted by | Edit Post
Have you missed Aidan, Emma, and the gang? I know I have! Those characters mean so much to me. Since leaving them in The Pairing, I have so wanted to get back into their world. Over the years, I kept thinking that Casey needed a novella. In The Pairing, she's finally given in to Nate's desire for a child and is pregnant with a daughter due almost the same time as Emma(They end up being born a night apart because Caroline comes early!). I tried to think what motherhood would mean to a sexpot like Casey, and thus, the idea for The Predicament was born!! Unfortunately, I had other writing committments at the time, so it got pushed back. 

 But now it will be debuting on the 3 Year Anniversary of The Proposition's release, Oct. 30th, 2015!! 

 Here's the blurb!! 
Unlike her best friend Emma Fitzgerald, Casey Rossi had never been overly maternal. She much preferred parties with Patron to Pampers and pacifiers. Most of all, she enjoyed a healthy sex life with her husband, Nate. But all that changed with the birth of their daughter. While motherhood is a thrilling, new adventure and her love for Nate grows even stronger seeing him be a wonderful father, Casey can’t ignore how stagnant things have become between her once steamy sheets. Between her exhaustion and Nate’s schedule at the hospital, there’s little time or energy for sex. She can deal with sporting spit-up stained clothes and a few sleepless nights, but she can’t abide losing the white-hot connection with her hubs.
No matter what it takes, Casey is determined to resuscitate her flat lining sex life. She starts out seeking the advice of her friends, Emma and Megan. But she’s desperate enough to try anything that she even solicits the advice of reformed manwhore, Aidan Fitzgerald, which turns into a fiasco of epic proportions.
Will any of Casey’s intentions be successful at reigniting her lost bedroom heat, or will they fail and cause matters to fizzle even worse? It’s one hell of a predicament.


Here is an excerpt: 
After careening into the driveway on two wheels, Casey screeched her SUV to a halt just before dinging the garage door. Not even bothering with her phone or purse, she flung open the car door and sprinted up the familiar front walk. She gathered up the hem of her bathrobe to pound up the porch steps.
Just as she reached for the doorbell, she quickly recoiled her hand. Considering how late it was, she didn’t dare ring it for fear of waking Noah and Caroline. Instead, she started banging out a steady rhythm like Morse code on the wood. It took a few moments before the porch light flicked on, and the door swung open.
Standing before her with a bewildered expression etched on his handsome face was Aidan Fitzgerald. Barefoot and shirtless, he sported a pair of orange and green checked boxers—a subtle nod to his Irish heritage. In one hand was a longneck Corona and in the other was a baby monitor.

His blue eyes widened as he took in her disheveled appearance. When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. “Out of my way, douchenozzle. I need to talk to Em.”
Aidan didn’t protest as she blew past him through the front door. Nor did he give her any grief about calling him “douchenozzle”. While she had first used it as a derogatory term against him, it was now a more endearing nickname between the two.
Craning her neck down the hall, Casey questioned, “Em?”
“She’s not here.”
Casey whirled around. Placing her hands on her hips, she demanded, “Where the hell is she?”
“Down the street at Becky’s for Book Club.”
Casey grimaced. In her turmoil, she had completely forgotten that Wednesday night was Book Club. More accurately it was “a kid free night hanging out with the girls while the wine freely flowed”. Casey would have been there herself, but Wednesday was Nate’s early night from the hospital.
At the prospect of not getting to unload her traumatic troubles on her bestie, Casey stomped her house-shoed foot like a petulant toddler. “Motherfuckingshitdamnhell!” she screeched.
Aidan snorted in amusement at her cursing. After crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, “What could have possibly happened that warranted a ‘motherfuckingshitdamnhell’ situation?”
Gazing into his amused blue eyes, Casey did something she rarely, if ever did—she burst into tears.
Through her blurry vision, she almost laughed at the look of horror that stretched across Aidan’s face. As he shifted on his feet, it looked like he was debating tearing out of the room and sprinting down the street for Emma. That was something the Old Aidan from three years ago would have done—the one who broke out in a nervous sweat at the sight of any expression of female emotion. But thankfully, Emma had changed all that.
The New Aidan gave her the sweetest, sympathetic look.  “Oh hell, Case, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you. It’s obvious from your…” He motioned at her attire. “look that something is wrong.”
“No. It’s okay,” she reassured, as she swiped the mascara stained tears from her cheeks.
Placing a hand on her back, Aidan instructed, “Come over here and sit down.” With expert precision, he guided her through the maze of baby paraphernalia littering the living room floor.
When Casey sank down onto the couch, her ass emitted a high pitched squeak. She quickly reached under her to jerk out a fluffy pink toy. A smile played at her lips because her Olivia had one just like it. In spite of it being annoying as hell, it was the four month old’s favorite.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Aidan asked, as he sat down beside her.
Groaning, Casey tossed the bunny to the side. “It’s too mortifying.”
Aidan nudged her knee. “Come on. Nothing can be that bad.”
Oh fuck yes it can. Staring down at her hands, Casey decided to bite the bullet and tell Aidan the truth. As the flashback played in her mind, she pinched her eyes shut. “I kinda dozed off…” She swallowed hard. For a moment, she felt as bashful as Emma was when it came to talking about sex. “I dozed off for just a second while doing a…job.”
When she dared to look at Aidan, his blond brows were scrunched in confusion. “You fell asleep at work?”
Rolling her eyes, Casey then grunted in frustration. “No. Not at work.”

“Then what—”
“I fell asleep while blowing Nate, okay!” she blurted.
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Her words had the same effect on Aidan as if she had slapped him. He shook his head back and forth like he was trying to wake himself out of a daze. For the next few seconds, he just stared ahead without blinking.
Throwing up her hands, Casey demanded, “Well say something, dammit!”
“Motherfuckingshitdamnhell,” Aidan muttered.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015

So are you like ever going to put out a book again?

11:48 AM | Posted by | Edit Post
Hi guys!!

Yeah, the blog has been kinda sad, hasn't it? Like a tumbleweed blowing in the wind. Since Melody of the Heart's release and the announcement of the upcoming Subordination, there has been so much going on personally and professionally for me, which unfortunately correlated in me forgetting all about the fact I had a blog!!

First of all, I am so, so excited that my first traditionally published book, Vicious Cycle, is coming out in 19 days!!





Here's the PREORDER link and blurb in case you need some refreshing:

Deacon Malloy’s life is dedicated to the Hells Raiders motorcycle club. Tough, hard, and fast with his fists, he serves the group as sergeant at arms. But his devil-may-care approach to life is thrown for a loop when the five-year-old daughter he never knew existed lands on the club steps.

Alexandra Evans is devoted to all her students—but there’s always been something about Willow Malloy that tugs at her heart. There’s an aura of sadness about her, a girl in need of all the love Alexandra can give. When Willow stops coming to school, Alexandra’s search leads to a clubhouse full of bikers…and a father hell-bent on keeping his daughter always within sight.

The moment Deacon sees Alexandra, he has to have her in his bed—and he’s never met a woman yet who couldn’t be persuaded. No matter how attracted she is to Deacon, Alexandra refuses to be just another conquest. But it’s Deacon himself who could be seduced—into a brighter future for himself, his daughter, and the woman he’s falling for against all odds.
 

I know a lot of you guys have been waiting on this one since I did announce it before I took the book deal, and then publishing houses set up their own publication schedules. Since October, I have also had to deliver the 2nd and 3rd books in the series, along with copy edits and revisions on Vicious Cycle. So that has taken a lot of my time to work on an independent book. Also some personal issues(see below) sidelined me.


Here's the cover, blurb, and PREORDER link for Redemption Road, which releases October 6.




Looking for a walk on the wild side, Annabel Percy, the daughter of a powerful politician, gives in to an attraction to a sexy biker she meets one night. But she finds herself living a nightmare when she’s kidnapped and transported into a hell on earth she never could have imagined.

Born and bred into the Hells Raiders MC, Nathaniel “Reverend” Malloy lives and dies for his brothers. But when he becomes the unexpected savior of a rival club’s captive, Rev makes it his personal mission to nurse Annabel back to health—and to shelter her from the nightmares that torment her.

Once Annabel heals, she’s stunned to realize she is falling for the seductive man who saved her. Faced with their impossible attraction, can she accept the life he leads, or will Rev walk away from the only life he’s ever known for the woman he was never supposed to love?


The second big thing that has hit both professionally and personally is I'm expecting my first baby next month!! Right after Melody came out, I found out I was pregnant, and then about seven weeks into the pregnancy, the intense nausea and vomiting hit. Throwing up fifteen times a day took a lot out of me physically and emotionally, and I eventually had to get on medication, which limited me to throwing up only a few times a day. Thankfully, my baby girl is a strong, little trooper and is doing well. She should be here a few weeks after the release of Vicious Cycle.

SO, between my commitments to Penguin and a high-risk pregnancy, I haven't been able to get out Drop Dead Sexy or Subordination like I wanted to. Under my contract with Penguin, I can put out new titles in August, December, and January, and I'm hoping to get Drop Dead Sexy and Subordination to you in August and December.

THANK YOU  and BIG HUGS for reading my books and supporting me as an author. I think you're going to be really wowed with Vicious Cycle and the series. I'm immensely proud of how much I stretched myself as a writer to bring something dark, gritty, and unexpected to my readers.
Friday, November 7, 2014

Ready to submit? Check out my Dec. 15th release of Subordination: Chronicles of a Domme Part One

7:09 AM | Posted by | Edit Post
So I'm kinda excited about the fact I'm changing things up a bit...okay, I'm doing a 180 from my usual books with the story of Subordination---a male submissive and a female domme. 

 Here's the blurb: 

 For most people, the word Domme conjures up an image of tight black leather, spiked heels and snapping bull whips. A woman who emasculates men and drags them around metaphorically by the balls while literally tethering them to a sparkly leash. But it's so much more than that. I'm so much more than that. The men I take on as a sub aren't looking for the Mistress of the Dark. They want the kinky version of the American-as-apple pie, girl-next-door who'll make them do things they would never ask any wife, girlfriend, or lover for. After all, isn't it against nature for men to be submissive? History has shown us time and time again that men are the natural-born dominators of the world — conquering and subjugating mankind, animals, and nature to their will. 

But the truth goes back to when it all began — a ripe, delectable piece of fruit that became the first act of a woman's domination over man. Thousands of years later, it's still the same. Offer them a ripe piece of yourself — of your knowledge to what they desire — and they succumb every time. To bend a man's will is the greatest power and pleasure you will ever know. 

Outside the walls of the exclusive club where I work, I'm all the things my subs think I am. I'm the graduate student with a 4.0. The loving daughter of poverty-stricken parents. The very first one in her staunchly blue-collar family to have the opportunity to go to college — to claw her way out of the endless dead-end jobs and debt collectors. What the scholarships didn't cover, my earnings at the club did. I would go from teaching men to be submissive to teaching students. 

Just as I got ready to walk out of the club and embrace the new future I'd worked so hard to obtain, he walked through the doors. He sought me out among all the others. He wanted breaking. He wanted to submit. He wanted to be controlled. 

But like that forbidden fruit so long ago, his submission had a price. One that could destroy us both.
Here's a Teaser Trailer: 


And here's the Preorder link!

 http://www.amazon.com/Subordination-Chronicles-Domme-Katie-Ashley-ebook/dp/B00PB8VTNS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1415370755&sr=8-1&keywords=subordination+katie+ashley
Thursday, September 4, 2014

My "What If" Moment in Honor of Rebecca Donnovan's Upcoming Release What If: Suicide is real

3:29 PM | Posted by | Edit Post
What if I hadn’t turned the car off?


Then I wouldn’t be here today.






As part of the release for the very talented Rebecca Donovan’s novel, “What If”, I was asked to be a part of a group of authors to detail an important “what if” moment in our lives. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3ibScjPCdE&feature=youtu.be

We sat down for the taping at Book Bash back in June, and for weeks beforehand, I thought about which one I could share. Would I go for something humorous or serious? Maybe something related to my writing career?

And then it hit me. I needed to portray a true, defining moment in my life—one that had I gone through with it, everything would have been different. That moment also goes back to something I have supported and tried to highlight in my writing career: suicide prevention. I think it's more than a little ironic that this is all releasing in September, which hosts Suicide Prevention Day. 

If you know me in real life or from Facebook or Twitter, you know me for my sense of humor and light-hearted attitude. You might pass me in a crowd, see my smile or hear my laugh, and never imagine the agonizing pain I was in. You might see my pictures from book signings and think, “She has such a charmed life.”

Appearances can be so deceiving, and I’m a master artist of deception.

I’m a survivor of deep depression. Although saying you’re a survivor of depression is like being a recovering drug addict or alcoholic. You’re never truly cured. There’s still medication and therapy…there’s still the fear of finding yourself in the spiraling desolation again.








I am a woman who has contemplated suicide several times. I’m someone who came closer to ending her pain than most people could ever imagine. I’ve sat in a running car enclosed in a garage and refused to turn off the ignition. I’ve driven down the road and come close to careening in front of a transfer truck. I’ve thought about how I would really do it once I got all my affairs in order. Would pills be easier or should I use my late father’s pistol?

Unburdening myself of this is difficult. There is still such a stigma related to depression and suicide. As we’ve seen in the past few weeks with the death of Robin Williams, people have such animosity towards those who take their lives. They are selfish and weak. “What a waste!” they murmur, while shaking their heads disapprovingly. Until I endured my own private hell, I probably would have said the same thing. Of course, you really shouldn’t have to experience something to have empathy for someone’s suffering. It should be something innately with us to feel sorry for someone who is in pain. But so many people do not understand what true depression is. They think it’s an emotion that you could flip on and off like a switch.

My therapist would tell you that my depression is all loss induced. That if I hadn’t had to endure the deaths of my entire immediate family at such a young age, I would be fine. Once upon a time, I was born the very much desired child to two people who thought they may never have a child of their own. I grew up surrounded by the love of my both sets of grandparents, a great-grandmother, my mother’s sister who was a second mother to me, and my parents. I grew up the entertainer—I loved doing whatever it took to earn a laugh from those around me. The future writer in me was busy telling stories then, rather than writing them.

As John Lennon said, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans.” I learned that at an early age. When I was younger, I expected my life to turn out a certain way. I’d get married fairly young, have three children, teach school, and publish some novels. When they got old, I’d make my parents, who divorced when I was eleven, get along, so that I could take care of them. I teased them that as an only child, I was all they had, so they’d just have to suck it up.

But that sweet little dream world never came to fruition. The bubble burst fairly early along when my dad died of cancer two weeks from my high school graduation. The crippling pangs of loss had already visited me when I younger through the loss of my grandfathers, my grandmother, and great-grandmother. When push came to shove with my father’s death, I was already well-versed in the death rites of picking out caskets, cemetery plots, and headstones.

Regardless of my early experiences with grief, I was never someone who suffered from clinical depression as a child or teenager. Sure, I had some low moments of teenage angst but nothing truly serious. Although I lost my father to cancer when I was seventeen, I didn’t experience crippling depression until I was twenty three, and my mother died of a brain tumor. I was my mother’s entire world, and she was mine. Even though I was in my second year of teaching, I still lived at home. She was my best friend that I could tell anything.
Her death shattered me into a thousand jagged pieces. I was now an adult orphan—single and childless. When my mother’s sister and my second mother died just five weeks after my mother, I was left to pick up the pieces of shattered life with my grandmother and cousin.

By my late 20’s when the knight-in-shining armor hadn’t come, and I didn’t have the houseful of children I longed for, I went to a very dark place. As someone of extreme faith, I began to wonder what I had ever done to be punished like this—to lose everyone I loved and not have the prayers for a family of my own to be answered. And during that rock bottom moment in my life, I contemplated suicide. This is a piece from graduate school where I wrote about that moment...

She has come to a crossroads. With tears blurring her vision, she is unable to see the way ahead. Sitting in the garage, she entertains the dark thoughts she has so often pushed to the back of her mind. Thoughts that are fleeting when she is stronger, but ones that are morbidly interesting now she is broken down. What would happen if she didn’t turn the car off? How long before the carbon monoxide seeped through, pulling the curtain down on this tragedy that has become her life.

She is exhausted from the weight of keeping up a Jekyll and Hyde persona. Like a Jack o Lantern, she has a smile carved on her face, but emotionally she’s completely hollowed out on the inside.
Black mascara overruns her cheeks like the black cloud of despair that has consumed her life. “I can’t do this anymore!” she cries aloud. She knows nothing but loneliness awaits her in the house. The empty house bought with the blood money of inheritance. The walls lined with pictures of ghosts of the pasts silently mocking the empty life she now leads.

All the years of unanswered prayers, dashed hopes, and unfulfilled dreams converge this one moment. She thinks about her grandmother’s advice to pray. But she’s doubtful she can pray herself out of the quicksand. She has done her time crawling the floors, begging and pleading to be released from the prison of the torment, until the carpet seared the pain into her flesh. With angry fists pummeling the steering wheel she challenges God. “What more do you want from me?”

Suddenly the unseen hand that has been guiding her throughout her life pushes her to turn the car off. She continues to weep, but this time it is not from the pain. It is from the knowledge of how close she came. She will often look back on this moment—the moment she hit rock bottom and started climbing her way back up.


I'd like to say that was the last time I've ever dealt with suicidal thoughts. 2012 was not only the year that I finally had writing success, but it was also the year I didn't think I would survive. In May, my grandmother, who had become my mother after I lost mine, died very unexpectedly of a heart attack. I was at her house every day, talked her three to four times a day...she was my world. The last symbol of the once happy family I had. Without a husband or children, I felt completely alone. In the midst of having to change schools and deal with estate business, I hit a rock bottom I didn't even know existed. 

But once again, I crawled out of the abyss. From time to time as I wait for some aspects of my life to start, I deal with the dark thoughts. Sometimes even the strongest of characters have their resolve tested. Steel bends, marble cracks. 

That's when I have to say "But what if it gets better tomorrow?" "What if I meet my soul mate?" And then things look different once again. And I trudge on. 











Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Teaser Tuesday from Drop Dead Sexy coming October 2014

9:39 AM | Posted by | Edit Post
Today's Teaser Tuesday comes from Drop Dead Sexy. Here's the blurb in case you missed it. 

For Olivia Sullivan, love is more a four letter curse word than a sentiment. Growing up as the daughter of a small town mortician, guys didn’t warm to the fact there were dead people in her house. At thirty, taking over the family business and becoming the town Coroner helped to cement her undateable status. Of course her past sex history didn’t help matters either.

Attempt number one with her first love ended barely before it got started with a horrific latex allergy hospitalization. Attempt number two had him coming and then going with an undiagnosed heart condition. For the past three years, Olivia has closed up shop for fear of what might happen next in the bedroom.

After being forced to go single to her mother’s lingerie shower, Olivia stumbles into an out of town bar with one intention: find an able bodied stud to go home with to end her losing sex streak. Enter Holden Caulfield Mains aka Catcher, who earned his nickname not just from the book he was named for, but for the fact he was sure to catch the attention any woman who came within a five mile radius. Waking up after a night of the most mind blowing sex she could have ever imagined, a horrified Olivia runs away thinking she’s left Catcher behind.

When Olivia’s small town is wracked by its first murder, she never could have imagined her one night stand would reappear in the form of the GBI’s lead investigator. To her mortification, Catcher isn’t ready to let go of their sizzling chemistry, and he doesn’t understand the meaning of no. As things start to heat up between them, the body count starts to rise, and they’re led on a wild goose chase from back woods mountain Nudist Colonies to altercations with the Dixie Mafia. Can Olivia and Catcher survive to solve the murder while also not succumbing to their explosive passion?



And here's the snip from Olivia's POV. 

As I rounded the sharp curve, what appeared to be my salvation loomed in the distance.  Oh sweet heavens, it was a bar. Gunning the accelerator, I couldn’t seem to get there fast enough. I feared it was just another mirage in the desert of my datelessness that might evaporate the closer I got. But then it stayed a shining beacon of hope as I whipped into the parking lot on two wheels.

That’s when I got a good look at my alleged salvation, which at best could be classified as something from Nightmare on Hee Haw Street. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding in one frustrated pant that came off more like a grunt. Multicolored Christmas lights ran the length of the ramshackle roof that hung over a long, rectangular building.  A giant sign hung over the top of the bar with some of its bulbs burned out, so instead of reading The Rusty Halo, it said the Rusty Ho.

See, this is exactly what happens when you go off half-cocked searching for cock. Shaking my head free of my self-deprecating tirade, I glanced in the mirror to survey my reflection. Okay, so the Rusty Halo/Ho wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned on my quest to end my long suffering sex drought. It was the epitome of every backwoods dive of a honky tonk. But tonight, it was going to be Club 54 or whatever the hell the most happening hotspot was now. I was Dead Woman Walking when it came to sex—it was going to go down tonight and so was I.

Throwing open the car door, I grabbed my purse and then stumbled along the gravel pavement. Just as I passed a rusted-out Ford pickup, a hound dog bellowed in my ear, causing me to jump out of my skin and almost piss my panties. “Jesus!” I cried, glancing over at the long-eared, brown hound dog. Sitting behind the wheel, it looked like it was waiting to drive its inebriated owner home at the end of the night.

Once I got my wits about me again, I made it to the door.  Smoothing down my hair and dress, I drew in a deep breath.  Okay, Olivia Rose Sullivan, get a grip and get in there and get some!
With that internal pep talk, I pulled open the door and took a determined step inside. The moment my heels slid through the sawdust and peanut hulls that covered the floor, I knew I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. The happy hoots and hollers of the patrons brought my attention up from what had to be a blatant health code violation to the small stage across from me. As a Skynyrd cover band blared out the opening from Free Bird, lighters appeared out of the pockets of faded Wranglers and overall bibs, cutting through the hazy smoke rings. The firelight helped to illuminate the room, giving me a good look at my male choices for the evening.

My raging libido instantly shriveled at the sight of what had to be the reunion cast of Deliverance. Instantly the tune of Dueling Banjos started to play in my head. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. I could not bring myself to go home with a hillbilly, regardless of the state of tumbleweeds blowing through my nether regions.   

And then the crowd parted, and the banjo music playing in my head screeched to a stop. Sitting at a table alone was the living and breathing embodiment of my fantasies. Even though he was sitting down, I could tell he was tall because his knees bumped against the tabletop. His wavy dark hair fell across his forehead, which seemed to cause him great irritation because he kept pushing it back with his fingers.

Instead of Wranglers or overalls, he had on suit. The jacket was draped across one of the extra chairs while the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up at his elbows. His tie sat a little askew as if he had been itching to rip it off. Multicolored folders littered the table along with the foamy beer he was nursing.

Even though people bumped and jostled me in the crowd, I stood frozen to that spot, undressing him with my eyes. A wet spot formed on my chin, and I brought the back of my hand up to swipe it away. Oh yeah, I was drooling. After thinking of having to bed Toothless Joe, this was a dream come true.


As if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sinfully Handsome sensed someone staring at him, he jerked his head up, meeting my gaze. Then the most panty-melting smile imaginable stretched across his drop-dead-sexy face. And in that bright and shining moment, my poor, male-neglected vagina, which for so long had been flat-lining on life-support, coughed and sputtered back to life. The same jolt of electricity shuddered through its long dormant walls as if the paddles from a crash cart had been administered and a doctor yelled “Clear!”  Through a miracle I had actually found the Dr. Feelgood who was going to end my long suffering sex drought.  
Saturday, June 7, 2014

EPILOGUE for Strings of the Heart!

1:47 PM | Posted by | Edit Post

So when I finished Strings of the Heart, I knew it wasn't entirely finished. I knew you would see Rhys and Allison's wedding in Brayden's book. But some people really, really wanted some loose ends tied up, so I love to please my readers. 

 Here is the epilogue of Strings of the Heart
Strings of the Heart Epilogue
                                        Five Years Later

They say that dealing with small children is like trying to herd cats. That thought flashed like neon in my mind as I stood surrounded by my gaggle of child models who each had a mind of his or her own. Ranging in age from five to thirteen, most of the kids’ minds were working against me at the moment. With the clock ticking ten minutes past when the fashion show rehearsal was supposed to start, I was taking slow, deep breaths and trying not to have a meltdown.

I clapped my hands to try to get their attention to somewhat focus on me. “Okay guys, now I need you all to get in line and stay in line. We’re going to pretend it’s just like tomorrow, and there’s an audience full of people,” I instructed. Gazing over their heads, I stared desperately at Abby, Mia, Lily, and some of the other moms. They took the nonverbal cue, and each went to their child, or children, to give a last minute pep talk, or in some cases, come to Jesus talks.

Six months ago a charity fashion show to raise money for autism awareness and research seemed like a great idea. Now that it was the day before the show, I was having second thoughts. In fact, I was wondering what in the hell I was thinking. Not only was it being held at an exclusive venue like the Ritz in Atlanta where a red carpet would be rolled out for the celebrity attendees, but every media outlet from the local Atlanta stations to TMZ were running a story about it. I’d had more microphones shoved in my face the last few days than I had since Rhys and I had become an official couple. After all, the fashion and music world often merged together, and as the wife and sister of rock stars, I was a unique commodity.  

The past five years had been a whirlwind of professional and personal highs. After I went out on tour with Rhys, I had stayed true to my word by finishing my degree in fashion design, as well as getting so much on-the-job training. Rhys also kept his word by buying our own bus. I toured around the country with him and even the world. I kept right on helping out with Jax and Jules as well. Three years into our relationship, Rhys popped the question while we were on a trip to Scotland. Of course, I had said yes, and we got married six months later in Savannah. Although Rhys had wanted to tell his parents to fuck off when they broached the subject of a society wedding in his hometown, I managed to change his mind when I pointed out that I wanted to marry in Savannah since we truly came together for the first time as a couple there. In the end, he managed to cut most of his mother’s suggestions on the guest list to where he was happy with the venue in the city but without her snobbish circle of social elite.  

A year after the wedding, I got down to business working on launching my own clothing line—Allie Cats. It was an eclectic mix of styles that I’d been inspired by while in school at SCAD. While I had moderate success with it, I hit the fashion jackpot when I turned my attention to what all the Runaway Train children were wearing. On a whim, I did a small collection of children’s clothes called Allie-Beans, a nice homage Jake’s old nickname for me. It became an overnight hit, and at only twenty-five, I became a well-known name in the children’s fashion industry.

With the success of Allie-Beans, I wanted to do something to give thanks for the amazing blessings I’d been given. That’s where the idea for the charity fashion show came from. While Rhys had thought it was a brilliant idea and had encouraged me like he always did when it came to my career, neither one of us had realized that it would mean me staying home for a month from the latest tour to get the line and show ready. More than anything in the world, I wished he was with here to reassure me that everything was going to be fine. He wasn’t even sure that he would be able to make it in time for the show tomorrow, which was an issue for more than just him since all the guys’ children were modeling.  

Once the moms had stepped aside, the kids seemed to have a renewed determination. I got a thumbs-up from the stage manager, and I knew it was now or never. “Okay, guys, it’s time. Remember what you practiced, but remember to have fun.”

When the upbeat tempo of the house music started thumping out of the speakers, I slipped out from behind the curtain to stand out in the audience. Tomorrow I would be backstage checking outfits and cueing kids, but today I needed to make sure everything was flowing well.

First up was Brayden and Lily’s, Jude. At thirteen, he was modeling some of the Allie-Beans pre-teen line. With a shy smile, he started out from behind the curtain. It was hard to believe he was a teenager now, considering it seemed just like yesterday I was holding him as a baby. With his sandy blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and tall, lean figure, he certainly had the features of a model. Once he passed the awkward teenage phase, he was going to be a real heartbreaker. He was truly his father’s son in the fact that he had picked up a guitar when he was just five, honing his talent over the years. I could totally see him wanting to follow in Bray’s footsteps in the music industry.

Next up came my eight-year-old diva, Bella. She had insisted on wearing one of the pieces from the formal line that was yards of satin and beading. She had already asked me to design her Quinceneara dress, which was still seven years away. As Bella strutted down the runway, I couldn’t help grinning. She had inherited so much of AJ’s personality. Of course, it didn’t hurt she was a real beauty—a perfect mixture of AJ and Mia’s best features. Her glossy back hair hung down the back of her royal blue party dress. When she and Jude met up on the runway, Miss-Eight-Going-On-Eighteen winked at him, and I had to cover my mouth with my hand. Shy Jude turned five shades of red, but he didn’t mess up. I could totally see the day when the five year age difference wouldn’t matter as much…I just hoped AJ wouldn’t kill Jude, considering it would probably be his flirty, forward little girl making the moves.

By some sort of miracle, each child performed amazingly, and I could only hope and pray they would do the same thing tomorrow. Five-year-old Gaby wore a sparkly pantsuit. Nine-year-old Melody modeled a hat and sundress combo while six-year-old, Lucy, who was more of a tomboy, wore a sportier top and pants. I gave her a big thumbs-up when walked in front of me. She had come so far in her diagnosis on the autism spectrum.  

After Abby and Jake’s five-year-old twins made their debut in matching outfits—Jax in shorts and Jules in a skirt and sweater—, I headed back stage for the finale—the moment I would walk out on stage and then be joined by my models for the big finish. Of course, I had to make a pit-stop first for my last, and most favored model.

In Abby’s arms, a six-month-old baby boy sucked voraciously on a pacifier while appearing absolutely adorable in a rocker-themed outfit of black and white converse shoes, tiny, ripped jeans, a Runaway Train t-shirt, and beanie. The moment his eyes met mine, his face broke into a wide grin, causing my chest to fill with warmth I’d never before knew existed.

Samuel Rhys McGowan wasn’t bone of my bone or flesh of my flesh. He hadn’t grown under my heart, but instead, he had grown in it. When a roadie’s seventeen-year-old daughter came to us and asked us to take her unborn baby, our world was turned upside down. Rhys and I had only been married a year, and we didn’t plan on having children for a long time. Why she wanted us out of all the Runaway Train couples, I still have no idea. She said it was because she had liked the way Rhys and I interacted with Jax and Jules, along with the other Runaway Train children. Despite my original doubt, I knew from the moment I tentatively reached out to touch her extended belly, the baby was ours. Whether or not we would one day have kids of our own was still to be seen. For the moment, Sam was keeping us on our toes.

Taking Sam into my arms, I kissed his chubby cheeks. I took my walk down the catwalk, just as I would tomorrow. Once I was finished, all the kids came back out on stage, and we took our bow to the hoots, whistles, and applause of their parents. As I gazed around the group with Sam in my arms, tears stung my eyes at how incredibly blessed I was.  
                                                                                                ***
After everyone left the rehearsal, I took Sam and headed home to our apartment in Dunwoody. Jake had generously given Rhys and me ten acres of his land on our wedding day, and we had built a house just down the road from him and Abby. I rarely stayed there when Rhys was away. Even with Sam, it didn’t feel like home unless he was with me.  

Although I was exhausted, I didn’t collapse on the couch. Instead, I fed and bathed Sam, and when he was still not sleepy, I headed into my home studio. Since Sam wasn’t the type of baby who liked to be rocked to sleep, I eased him into his bouncer saucer to let him bounce out his excess energy. He was perfectly content to play until he practically passed out. I turned on the iHome on the desk, sending classical music throughout the room.

As stood behind my desk surveying some new Alley Cat designs, an arm snaked around my waist, drawing me against a familiar body. When his head came to nuzzle my neck, I sighed with contentment as my heartbeat accelerated. Rhys had made it home a day earlier than he had thought. The warmth of his tongue licked up my neck to the shell of my ear. “You better be careful about starting something. My husband is supposed to be coming home soon,” I said, trying to suppress my laughter.

Rhys tensed behind me. “What the fuck?” he demanded, as he spun me around.

I giggled as I threw my arms around his neck and then smothered his face in kisses. “Oh baby, I’m so glad you’re home.”

He snorted contemptuously. “Me too. I obviously need to spend less time on the road and more time ensuring my wife is faithful.”

Smacking him playfully on the arm, I countered, “Do you think between the fashion show and all of this—” I motioned to the stacks of design papers, scraps of clothing, and sewing materials around me. “That I have time for an affair?”

“Well—”

“Not to mention Mr. Demanding over there.” I jerked my chin over at Sam in his bouncy saucer.  
Rhys’s face lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler at the sight of Sam. For the moment, I was forgotten as Rhys’s “Daddy Vision” honed in on his son. He hustled over to Sam. At the sight of Rhys, Sam gave an appreciative gurgle and held up his arms. “Hey there, little man. Look how much you’ve grown.”

I couldn’t help laughing at his statement. “It’s only been two weeks since we flew out to see you, Rhys. And we’ve Skype’d every night.”

“It’s not the same,” Rhys countered, peppering Sam’s face with kisses. Like Jake, Rhys had worried about his ability to be a father and to a love a child, especially because of his childhood. But all his worries been in vain the moment Sam was born. Sam’s birth mother had let us be in the delivery room, so he’d been ours practically from the moment he drew his first breath. I could count on one hand when I had seen Rhys cry, but the moment Sam was put into his arms, he sobbed uncontrollably. And just when I thought I couldn’t possibly love him anymore, I fell in love with him all over again.

After Rhys raised Sam up to blow raspberries on his tummy, sending Sam into a fit of giggles, Rhys glanced over at me. “How’s everything with the show?”

“Good…I think.” I leaned back against my desk. “I mean, whenever you work with kids, it’s a crapshoot.”

Rhys chuckled. “That’s the truth. Of course, I’m pretty sure Jake, AJ, and Bray will lay down the law to their kids. And for the most part, the Runaway Train kids aren’t heathens.”

I laughed. “That’s true.” Turning back to my desk, I picked up an envelope that I knew would make Rhys really happy. As I waved it at him, I said, “Guess what came yesterday?”

Just like I had predicted, his dark eyes lit up. “The symphony season tickets?” When I nodded, a broad smile spread across his cheeks. It wasn’t so much that Rhys was such a mega fan of classical music, but more the fact that the tickets were for Ellie. Since she adored music so much, he had started flying her and Trudie up for the weekend, so that we could all go together. While I’d initially worried that she wouldn’t do well off her usual schedule and out of her comfort zone, Ellie truly enjoyed each and every minute in Atlanta. We even took her out to Jake’s farm, and then to our new house once it was finished. Rhys also stepped up to lend his name to several prominent autism charities. He even did a commercial and print ad with Ellie to give a name and face to the issue. I was so proud of him.

When it came to Sam, Ellie was just as mesmerized by him as she was by music. She would sit for hours,  stock-still, just watching him sleep. As Sam got older, he would reach out for her, which always caused her to smile. Regardless of the lackluster response by Elliot and Margaret about Sam’s arrival, Ellie showed how thrilled she was in her own special way.

“I think it’s way past someone’s bedtime,” I remarked, when Sam snuggled into Rhys’s chest with heavy, drowsy eyes.

Rhys kissed the top of Sam’s blond head. “I think so too.” After he closed the gap between us, the eyes, which had once looked adoringly at his son, turned over to give me a lustful gleam. “Why don’t we put him to bed, and then I’ll put you to bed?”

A shiver went over my body. Besides the one racy Skype chat, it had been two weeks since we had been together. My body ached for his hands, his mouth, his tongue, and most importantly his dick. Cocking his head at me, Rhys gave me a seductive grin. “Am I to consider that shudder as a yes?”


Licking my lips that had run dry, I hastily replied, “Yes. Oh yes.”  
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