Hi. I’m Charlotte McPherson. I’m 17 and I’m…what? No, I wasn’t named after Charlotte from Sex and the City—as if! My brother, Nick, told me I was named for the spider in a story about a pig, but he said that because I was scared of spiders when I was a little kid. I was really named after the writer who wrote Jane Eyre. I think that’s cool, but I pretend I haven’t read the book. It’s not cool to be smart.
Where are you from? I’m from Summerville, NY, a boring little city at the edge of the most boring of the great lakes (Lake Ontario) in the most boring part of New York state.
What is Something More about? It’s about what happened when I ran away from Nick’s condo in New York City. See, my parents died in a car crash. Well, they weren’t really my parents, but I didn’t know that until the funeral. Everyone knew and everyone frakking lied to me! Everyone! God, I was pissed. Still am a little bit. So anyway I learned about that. Then Nick said he wanted me to go live with him in the city. No way. All my friends are here! So I left and stayed with my boyfriend.
Oh, you wanted to know more about Nick and Nora.
What did you think the first time you saw Nora? She’s pretty cool for an old lady. I think she’s like 40 or 50. Anyway, did you know she beat Nick up? After I ran away, I needed money, so I went to the restaurant where I used to work to get my last check. Nick was waiting there. I ran into the women’s bathroom. Nora was in there. Nick came in after me. Can you believe it? He came right into the girl’s bathroom! Nora thought he was pervy, so she did some sort of martial arts move and put him on the ground! It was way cool. Then I stole her car keys—she had a Volkswagen key fob, so I knew I could figure out which car in the lot was hers—and took her car so I could get away.
What was your second thought? That I shouldn’t steal from someone who just beat up my brother. He’s been in prison. He’s tough.
Did you think it was love at first sight? No way. Being beaten up by a woman has to be a lust kill. Then again, Nick can be weird.
What do you like most about Nora? She doesn’t tell me what to do. I needed advice once, and she gave me the straight dope. She didn’t tell Nick either.
How would you describe her? I think she’s cool. David, her nephew, says she’s an ass pain, but he lives with her.
How would she describe you? Don’t ask. After I took her car, Casey—the douche bag ex—totaled it. I’m not her favorite person at the moment.
What is your biggest fear? That Nick is lying to me when he says he wants me to come live with him when he really just feels obligated to take care of me. He lied to me all my life, why would he suddenly tell the truth now?
Who's your favorite fictional character and why? Don’t tell anyone, cause it’s so uncool, but I love Six from Battlestar Galactica. She just so in charge of herself and everyone else. David says I’m like Starbuck. I hope he’s wrong. She’s pretty frakked up.
What is the best piece of advice you ever received? Nora told me once that everyone gets several, maybe dozens of chances at love, and to not throw away future opportunities because I’m scared no one else will want me.
To Keena: What movies or books have had an impact on your writing? One of the best openings to any novel I’ve ever read is, “I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Hills” by Isak Dinesen (Out of Africa). It tells you where the book takes place, that she’s no longer there and that she wishes herself back. I still want to write such an evocative opening line.
Keena Kincaid likes to say she writes romances in which passion, magic and treachery collide to create unforgettable stories. The truth is she’s usually kidnapped by tall, handsome men (who are totally into someone else) and held hostage until she helps them win the woman of their dreams. For more information about her books, visit: http://keenakincaid.com/
And now, an excerpt from Something More . . .
Nora was either spinning or falling. Perhaps both. His mouth brushed hers again. The heat and taste of peat from the Scotch lingered on her lips as Nick placed a series of soft kisses along her jaw, her chin. He nipped her lower lip and pressed her against the rail, a gentle movement that knocked the air from her chest with the promise of what was to come.
Anxiety slithered over skin. She couldn’t do this. Hadn’t done this since her divorce—actually for years before that. She was going to embarrass herself if she kept going.
“Nick—”
He tilted her chin upward with one finger, shifted the angle of his body until the solid heat of his erection burned through her jeans. Bones melted. Doubts faded. His lips worked over hers in a heady blend of skill and desire.
The hand beneath her sweater slid upward, over the bumps of her ribs until his fingertips traced the lace of her thin bra, catching her nipple between finger and thumb. His tongue tangled with hers. He took his time, drinking her like fine Scotch and running his hands over her body with exquisite slowness. Her head spun from a primitive demand for sexual satisfaction. She’d forgotten what it was like, this incandescent, all-consuming need for another person. She pressed her palm against his chest, felt the heat of his skin, curled her fingers against hard muscle. His heart thumped hard and fast against her hand. He broke the kiss and leaned against her, his face against her hair. He smelled spicier than before, warmer, too.
“Are you certain?”
Pulling back, she studied him, trying to decipher the flicker of doubt on his face. “Who would’ve thought the wild boy of Summerville High would grow up to be so staid?”
