• Barbara Elsborg

Kiss Interrupted

I've just got my very last MF book back from the publisher. Now I'm completely self-published. To think that once upon a time, to get an offer from a publisher was my dream! Sadly, all but two of the five companies I was once published by have gone out of business. Having been cheated out of a sum of money by one publisher, it left me wary about what might happen with the others. So here I am, on my own!

Kiss Interrupted has been revised and has a new cover that is much more in keeping with the mystery of the story. Finally, I can bring the price down to something far more reasonable. I don't blame the publishers for the high prices. They have overheads, I understand that, but readers are not going to pay so much when they have a choice of lesser priced titles.

This story is dear to me because I set it in Leeds where I used to live. I used a flat where my son used to live as the home of my heroine. I know this city BUT not the city it becomes in the story.


Not his type, not her type, but when faced with the inescapable and inexplicable, all they have is each other.

Not his type.

It should have been simple. A temporary move from London to Leeds to manage the office while a boss is sick, but as Fyn watches the workforce enjoy a summer party, he feels more than guilt over the looming downsizing.

He's tasked with making many happy people redundant, and that includes Libby Pasternak, who has her face painted as a tiger, wears boots on a summer’s day, has an ear full of piercings and is so distracting, she almost bowls him out at cricket. Unthinkable.

Most conflicting of all, why is he even thinking about seizing the moment, instead of his rule concerning getting involved with employees--especially with one so not in his league?

Not her type.

Libby likes blond surfer dudes with big dreams and even bigger smiles, not a guy like stick-in-the-mud Mr Sensible, otherwise known as Fyn Marlowe. Then he gives her a lift home from the office party, and she finally has to admit to herself the depth of her Grand Canyon-sized crush. One that chokes itself to death two days later, when he erroneously accuses her of screwing up a major account. She may be a bit different, but her work is always the best.

Their blazing row results in her getting sacked, ending any chance of exploring where things could have led.

His type, her type—none of the preconceived ideas of a perfect partner matters when the world—literally—comes crashing down.


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