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Introducing “Undone by the Star”

 

A brand-new Stephanie Browning Romance!

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As heir-apparent to one of London’s most exclusive hotels, Alexis Kirkwood is determined to uphold the family tradition.  But when American film star Marc Daniels saunters through the lobby of The Sadler Hotel, sparks fly.

First, she mistakes him for a plumber in his scruffy jeans and work boots.  And then her grandmother, The Sadler’s matriarch, plays matchmaker.  When she learns Marc shares her late husband’s passion for military history, she insists Alex take him to Portobello Road.

Although romance is clearly not on the agenda, Marc finds himself confiding in the prickly Miss Kirkwood.  He is tired of being typecast as a Hollywood action hero, and has come to England to direct his first film.  As they prowl the antique markets hunting for a particular lead soldier, a surprising intimacy develops…

“Vivid imagery, engaging characters and teasing promise…you had me at Chapter One!”  Nina Durfee

 

“Undone by the Star”

                  now available in print at Amazon

                                               and as an ebook on…

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And “Outbid by the Boss”

 

A Stephanie Browning Romance with a “twist!”

Outbid by the Boss

Business turns personal in Outbid by the Boss when Chas Porter catches his senior appraiser bidding on an antique candlestick that rightfully belongs to him!  Samantha Redfern should be in New York, not flying solo at an estate auction north of London.But this is no ordinary candlestick; it’s the perfect mate to the only possession of worth Sam’s beloved grandparents took when they fled England.  What she doesn’t know is that it’s part of a much larger collection Chas will do almost anything to recover.  Even if it means insisting the delectable Miss Redfern accompany him to Porter Hall…

“A tale of passion, obstinacy and grandeur with more than a hint of intrigue!  I loved it!”  Carol E. Vidal

 

“Outbid by the Boss”

                 now available in print at Amazon 

                                              and as an ebook on…

 

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“History and mystery mingle with a great romance…impossible to put down when you want to know what comes next!”  Carole Tanner

“Great characters, rich history, steamy parts are lovely!  More, please!”  Barbara Stolzenburg

 

About Stephanie Browning

 

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Like any heroine worth her salt (and a second look), our alter ego is strong, sexy, and passionate — with an independent streak a mile long and a killer smile.  That she’s a teensy bit on the stubborn side is nothing more than an endearing characteristic that keeps her focused on the job at hand…writing books for readers who love romance.

As Stephanie Browning, we have taken on a whole new persona, one part Anne Stephenson and one part Susan Brown, and it’s very liberating!  We can dare to dream and make those dreams come true for our fictional characters…and for us!

To come along for the ride, simply scroll down the page at Stephanie Browning Romance, and slip into a world where love really is. just a heartbeat away.

 

           With our very best wishes, Anne & Susan

 

 For a sneak peek at “Outbid by the Boss” & “Undone by the Star,” please take a look…

 Between the Covers       

 

 

 

Anne & Susan

Life Before Stephanie Browning…

 

 

Susan Brown

Susan Brown

Anne Stephenson and Susan Brown first met in the Honours Journalism program at Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada, where they found not only were they in the same classes, they were sharing the same teeny, tiny dorm room.  It could have been a disaster, but once Susan agreed to take the bed closest to the window, they quickly became fast friends, sharing excellent adventures both on and off campus, not realizing that when they graduated and went their separate ways, Anne to work in corporate communications, and Susan to write for a daily newspaper, they wouldn’t see each other for years.  And that when they finally did meet up, with husbands and children in tow, they would decide, over a glass of chilled chardonnay, how much fun it would be to write together.

 

Anne Stephenson

Considering they didn’t live in the same city, let alone the same country (and still don’t), they knew it was going to be a challenge.  But technology, and a common goal to succeed, saved the day.  Using phone, fax, and email, they wrote two highly-successful children’s mysteries — The Mad Hacker and Something’s Fishy as Ash Lake – and then adapted them for television, co-producing “Amber & Elliot” for the Family Channel.

 

When not collaborating, Susan and Anne have followed independent, yet similar career paths, freelancing, writing fiction and teaching workshops at the college and university level.

 

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But writing solo is never as much fun as sharing the laughter and hard work that goes with a career in publishing.

Enter Stephanie Browning.

Coming Soon

A new Stephanie Browning Romance…    

 

“Making Up Is Hard To Do”

 

“Aachoo!” Nicki sneezed, blew her nose for the umpteenth time that day and tossed the soggy tissue into the wastebasket next to her desk. The year-end report she was preparing for the Bedford County Golf Club could go hang. She was going to go home, have a long, hot shower and crawl into bed.

“Ms. Hamilton?”

Nicki raised her red-rimmed, hazel eyes.

Madison Carswell, Gammage & Associates’ young receptionist, hovered in the doorway.

“Dwat?” Nicki blew her bangs out of the way.

Madison frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Despite the fact that I sound like a fwrog, my hair is greasy and my nose is red enough to unseat Rudolph, I’m just tickety-boo.” Nicki lobbed the half-finished report across her desk. “Dwhy, what’s up?”

“There’s this man…” with a slight twitch of the head, Madison indicated the reception area behind her, “…he’s asking for Mr. Gammage.”

Nicki sighed. She really was tired and out-of-sorts and now here was Madison, her nineteen-year-old frame practically quivering with excitement over whatever piece of male flesh waited expectantly in the outer office. “You know the drill, Madison. Tell mister whoever-he-is that Doug is on paternity leave until further notice. If the guy stills wants an accountant, he can make an appointment to see me…”

Nicki peered at the clock on the wall. It was already close to four. “Tomorrow afternoon,” she said firmly. “When I am looking…and feeling better.”

“But…”

“But, what?” Nicki shoved her knuckles underneath her glasses and scrubbed. Her eyes were incredibly itchy.

“It’s just…he’s from out-of-town.”

The old-fashioned horned-rims stopped bobbing up and down. “So am I,” muttered Nicki.

Madison’s voice fell to a whisper. “But you’ve got to see this guy. He’s gorgeous.”

The heavy frames dropped back into place. “I know this is a small town, Madison.” Nicki said carefully, “but being thirty-one and single is not a crime. At least, not where I come from. Now go back and tell him…”

She reached for her appointment book and flipped it open.

“…that I can see him…”

Nicki never did discover what made her look up just then, but as she did, Madison shifted to one side of the doorway, leaving Nicki with a clear view of the man in the outer office.

He wasn’t quite as gorgeous as her enthusiastic receptionist had suggested, but there was definitely something about the way he stood with his back to them, discreetly watching the traffic crawl along Main Street while he waited, that captured Nicki’s attention.

And held it while she took in the broad sweep of his shoulders, the crisp lines of his tan chinos and the cotton shirt he so casually wore. She pegged him at about thirty-four or five. Unlike her own salon-styled highlights, which looked fabulous when freshly washed and disastrous when not, his sandy brown hair shone as though it had been touched by the sun. It was long enough to nudge the edge of his collar, but well cut so that it stayed in line. Except for one stray curl, a tiny golden cowlick determined to go its own way.

Nicki felt her fingers twitch in recognition. “Psst! Madison!” she whispered hoarsely, beckoning the receptionist closer. “Did he say where he’s from?”

“Yeah. Watertown.”

“As in New York?” Nicki squeaked. Her voice sounded as though it had risen an octave.

“Uh, yeah.”

Nicki frowned. She knew the Lake Ontario town of Eastport was crawling with tourists this time of year, many of whom were American. Besides, she reminded herself, half the population of Bedford County had family and friends on both sides of the border, some of whom spent as much time in New York as they did here.

The trouble was none of them ever made her palms sweat or her heart lurch with sudden longing the way this man did.

“He didn’t happen to tell you his name, did he?”

“Um, Ruther-something, I think.”

For a split-second, Nicki felt her world go black around the edges.

Not Ruther-something. Rutherford. Jack. Born Syracuse, New York. Mother American, father Canadian. Summers spent in Bedford County. Heart given to teenaged girl. Undying love given to him in return. Three passionate letters exchanged. A dozen more sent.

And then nothing.

For fifteen long years.

Nicki blinked.

Madison was speaking to her. “What do you want me to do?”

Short of telling Jack Rutherford to go away until she could whip home, wash her hair, put her contacts back in and lose five pounds, there was nothing Madison could do.

“Give me two minutes,” Nicki said firmly. “And then show him in.”

Damn. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. She should have been sitting in a sidewalk café sipping an espresso, or strolling along the Champs-Elysees on a beautiful spring day wearing an elegant dress and a wide-brimmed hat.

It was too late now.

Nicki breathed in deeply, squared her shoulders and tucked a lank strand of her shoulder-length hair behind one ear. She grabbed her summary page on the golf course and tried to study it, but her hands were shaking so badly, the carefully prepared columns seemed to morph into a solid block of black ink.

And then, suddenly, Jack was there, filling the doorway to her office. He seemed taller somehow. At least six-foot-two from where she was sitting, and he’d filled out. Everywhere. In the way a man does when he earns his muscles the hard way.

“Ms. Hamilton?”

His accent had softened. From upstate New York to somewhere neither here, nor there. With great deliberation, Nicki set the papers she was holding on top of the desk, and rose to her feet. The moss-green summer suit she wore nipped in at the waist and flattered her full figure, but the skirt, which stopped just short of her knees, did nothing to hide the tremble in her legs as she walked towards him.

Jack was smiling politely, holding out his hand.

“Jack Rutherford.”

“Mr. Rutherford.” Nicki broke out in a grin. Now that he was this close she could see the tiny lines radiating from the corners of his incredible blue eyes, and she found herself wondering where the intervening years had taken him.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

She stared at his hand for a moment, caught short by the formality of his greeting, and then she slipped her hand in his.

It was warm, and slightly calloused. She could feel the strength in his grip. It sent a delicious signal of familiarity to every nerve in her body. The yearnings of a sixteen-year-old girl roared to the surface of the woman she had become.

Sniffing away the tears of happiness, Nicki raised her glance to his once more. He stared down at her and she started, suddenly reminded of how truly revealing the colour of Jack’s eyes could be. From sky blue to cobalt and back again depending on his mood.

A sharp chill, as cold and grey as liquid mercury, rippled through Nicki’s veins. It wiped the goofy grin from her face and sent her heart into overdrive.

Jack Rutherford, the man she had loved unconditionally for nearly half her lifetime, had no idea who she was!

 

Watch this space for more Stephanie Browning Romance!

Between the Covers

Hope you enjoy this excerpt from Chapter One of

Outbid by the Boss

 

She stood with her back to him, wallet open, tapping the wooden floor with the toe of her high-heeled boot until the auctioneer’s assistant set her prize on the battered oak table.

The candlestick was in superb condition.

Just under nine inches in height with a circular base, swirling shell motifs rising up its stem and a petal-shaped lip surrounding the socket.  In a Outbid by the BossLondon sale, he would expect it to sell for another five hundred pounds.  At least.  A pair wouldn’t just double the price, it would triple it.

His gaze slid back to Sam.

He should be pleased that he’d hired one of the best eyes in the business, but knowing she wasn’t there on behalf of the firm any more than he was, rather tarnished his high opinion.  But why would she risk her position with Burton-Porter on this particular candlestick?

Chas felt a slow smile tug at the corners of his mouth.  This scene unfolding in front of him was about to get interesting.

Not knowing the sale’s payment policy, Samantha Redfern was waving a credit card about.  The equivalent of a red flag as far as country auctioneers were concerned.

The auctioneer’s wife took one look at Sam’s credit card and said, “Cash or cheque.”

“I’m sorry?” said Sam.

The woman jabbed her pen backwards to where a dog-eared sign hung limply on the back wall.  “Cash or cheque,” she repeated.

“Debit,” countered Sam.  She selected a bank card from her wallet and held it up for inspection.  “As good as cash…”

The pen pumped the air one more time.  “Read the sign.”

“But this is an auction,” Sam stammered.  “I go to them all the time…”

“Look,” the woman said quietly, “there are half-a-dozen people behind you waiting to pay.  Either you come up with the cash or the item will be offered to the next bidder.”  Her grey eyes slid over Sam’s shoulder and landed on Chas, flickered in recognition and then moved on when Chas shook his head.

He could almost hear Sam’s heart beat faster.  In the salerooms, her only giveaway when she was tense or dealing with him, was a gentle pulse near the soft skin of her left temple.

Maybe it was time to tap her on the shoulder and identify himself as the other bidder.  The candlestick would be his.  As it should have been in the first place.  Although she was pushing her luck on the New York trip, she was one of the best silver appraisers he’d ever hired.  Maybe he’d overlook this one.

At least, he might have, had Samantha Redfern not pulled a white envelope embossed with the Burton-Porter logo from the depths of her shoulder bag.

“Do you take American?” Sam asked.

“Nope.”

It was all Chas could do not to reach out and grab his errant employee by the scruff of her slender neck.  Instead he found himself sidetracked by the silky curls that had escaped her hair clip.

“Please…I have more than enough cash and…”  Sam rifled through her wallet.  “…I can do at least a third of it in pounds.”  She had dumped her entire bag onto the table and was pawing through its contents as if her life depended on it.  “I’ll pay the bank premium.”

Dark brows furrowed, Chas watched her toss aside a pair of designer sunglasses, her mobile, a half-eaten chocolate bar, a neon-pink cosmetic bag and what looked to be a balled up pair of black tights.  He saw no sign of a cheque book, but he did see a set of car keys with a familiar tag.

When Sam finally found what she’d been hunting for, a small change purse with an even smaller cache of banknotes, everything else went back in her bag.  Everything except the envelope with the American cash.

“All right then…” the auctioneer’s wife was muttering as she made her calculations.  Sam glanced at the total, removed a wad of hundred-dollar bills, and handed it over.

The deal was done.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Chas heard Sam say as she lovingly scooped up the candlestick.  “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking,” drawled the woman.  Her eyes slid past Sam’s.

But Chas Porter was already beating a retreat through the crowded hall – this was not the place to confront Miss Redfern no matter how much she deserved it.

Clutching the candlestick to her chest, Sam hurried for the exit.  She had a plane to catch.  And now, she realized with a frisson of panic, she not only had to nip back to her flat, she also had to stop at the bank.  It would take all her savings and half her rent money to replace the firm’s cash, but her purchase was worth every penny.

As she dashed through the open doorway, Sam remembered thinking how nice it was that the morning rain had given way to a sun-filled afternoon and then…

Woof!

She ran smack into a wall of solid masculinity, gasping as the base of the candlestick dug into her ribcage.

She staggered backwards.  A pair of strong hands grabbed her upper arms to steady her, holding her fast as she regained her balance.

And then he spoke.

The “thank-you” Sam was about to utter caught in her throat.

 

“In a hurry, are we?”  The voice was well-bred, well-schooled and awfully familiar.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

And began to mentally chant.

Please, please, please…anybody but Chas bloody Porter.  Please, please, please…

“Anytime…” the voice said, rudely interrupting her pleas to the goddess of single women caught in compromising positions.

Stupid woman must be on a lunch break, thought Sam.

Her lids fluttered open and she followed the buttons of the beautifully-stitched, pale-blue oxford-cloth shirt he wore beneath his soft leather jacket to the button at the base of his neck.  It was open.  Revealing enough of the man to make one feel that every inch of him would be just as enticing as the dark stubble on his chin, the slightly battered but still patrician nose and…the steel-blue eyes washing over her like an icy Arctic wind.

“Miss Redfern, isn’t it?” Chas Porter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  “I could have sworn you were representing us in New York this week.  You do remember the two-day sale at Sotheby’s?  Previews in….what?”  He removed his left hand and checked his watch.  “Twenty-four hours?”

“Which, allowing for the time change,” replied Sam choking back an urge to flee “gives me twenty-nine hours…

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The candlestick was hers. Or was it?

“Now, if you don’t mind…”  She pointedly eyed the hand grasping her left bicep, an amazing feat given the fact that her knees had turned to water and her brain was sending high-pitched alarm signals to every nerve in her body.

Chas dropped his hand and stepped back, his eyes resting on the candlestick nestled protectively between her breasts.  “Very nice workmanship.  Get it for a good price, did you?”

Sam flushed and like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, whipped the candlestick behind her back.  Which of course thrust her chest forward.

She raised her chin defiantly.

Chas Porter gazed down at her, his eyes slightly hooded, impossible to read.

She stared back at him.  The candlestick was hers.  Or was it?

 

 To purchase “Outbid by the Boss”, please click on Home.

 

 

 

 

And from Chapter One of Stephanie Browning’s latest book

Undone by the Star

 

After the gentle buzz of the hotel lobby, the intimate interior of the elevator was making Alexis Kirkwood much too aware of the man beside her.  She could see their reflection in the lift’s highly-polished brass walls.  Alex was proud of her height, but she liked the fact that he towered above her.  And he smelled unexpectedly good, like freshly-laundered cotton.

Her eyes slid to his mouth to find him grinning at her reflection.  “Shouldn’t we push the button?” he asked.

Mortified, Alex reached out and jammed the button for the fourth floor.  Four times.!cid_9427EDA3-0D7A-420E-B066-A575F1E21D27@gateway_2wire 1st draft

“That should do it.”

Her eyes shot to his and stayed.

It wasn’t too late to check his hands for callouses.  Even a little dirt under the fingernails would be reassuring at this point. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me, too.”

The elevator pinged.

They had arrived…..

If Marc Daniels had had any doubts about returning to England, the last fifteen minutes had proved otherwise.  This could be the best gig he’d ever had.  Especially watching Miss Kirkwood in action.

Marc grinned; he’d had no idea being a plumber had so many perks… like having The Sadler’s head concierge walk ahead of you in a well-tailored skirt and jacket which flattered her shape in all the right places.  Colour was good, too.  Reminded him of burnished steel. He liked the contrast of that strong metallic hue against the soft white skin of Miss Kirkwood’s slim wrists and elegant hands.  It suited what he’d seen of her personality as well, rapier sharp with him, but courteous and kind with her elderly charges.  He’d watched her shepherd them through the lobby, and the care she took matching her gait to theirs.

Now it was his turn.  She led him down a silent corridor to a short hallway with a single door.  The lock clicked when she swiped her card.  All efficiency, she pushed open the heavy door and walked into one of the most elegant suites Marc had ever seen.  And he’d been in quite a few.

“Here we are,” she said.  “I trust you’re up for this?”

He certainly was.  Whether or not he’d be able to fix the toilet was another matter.

She pointed toward a door to the right.  “Over there,” she said.  “I’ll be back to check on the repair as soon as possible.”

Marc’s gaze returned to the young woman.  Not yet thirty, he guessed, and all done up for business.  If he wasn’t on the job, he thought with deep amusement, he might be tempted to trail his fingers over that lovely skin and muss her hair until she…

“You may have all the time in the world,” Miss Kirkwood snapped, “but a rather important guest will be checking into this suite in less than…” She checked her watch.  “…an hour.”

That brought him up short.  This wasn’t a game for her, amusing though it was for him.  He really ought to come clean, and tell her who he was.  But damn it all, he’d enjoyed being in the company of a woman who didn’t know what he did for a living, who treated him like a regular guy with a regular job.  Well, not exactly, he smiled, remembering their exchange in the elevator.  She’d obviously picked up on the same vibes he had.  Unfortunately, once he revealed his true identity, those feelings would likely evaporate as quickly as they’d come, and if they didn’t, it would play out in the usual fashion.  They all wanted him to be the perfect, heroic guy he portrayed on the big screen, not the rather introspective, history buff he was in real life.

Although, Marc had to admit, as he eyed the delectable Miss Kirkwood, there was something different about this woman that suggested she might be more interested in who he was, not what he did.  The thought sent a shot of warmth through his veins.

At least it did until she raised her left arm and imperiously pointed her forefinger in the direction of the bathroom.  “Anytime.”

Fine, thought Marc, if that’s the way she wanted to play it, then so be it.  He’d jerry-rigged enough toilets in his day; why not this one?  Raising his own hand in mock salute, he was searching for an appropriately sarcastic response when the toilet suddenly flushed.  They stared at each other in mutual horror as the door to the bathroom swung open, and out walked what could only have been the real plumber, tools and all.

He took one look at the two of them and his jaw dropped.

“Miss Kirkwood!” he blurted, hoisting the back of his work pants up a notch with his free hand.  “I didn’t know you were…toilet’s fixed.  Needed a new flapper is all.”  He lumbered to a stop, took in Marc’s presence and frowned.  “Who would you be, then?”

Before Marc could answer, Alex had stepped forward, effectively shielding him from the other man’s view.  “Bert!” she addressed the plumber.  “We didn’t think you were available today.  You know what it’s like when we’ve got a full house.  All bust and no flush.  I’m afraid, I had to call for a…last-minute replacement.”

“That so,” said Bert craning his neck for a closer look at Marc.  “Well, he certainly don’t look the part.”

“He doesn’t, does he…”

She’s in full damage control, thought Marc in admiration.  She knows something’s amiss, and she’s already moving to correct it.

“Do me a favour, Bert…,” she was saying as she eased the plumber towards the door of the suite, “we’re obviously short-staffed…why don’t you sign on for the rest of the day and I’ll okay your per diem.”

“Right you are, Miss Kirkwood,” said Bert.  “Bound to be something needs doing around here.”  And off he went with Miss Kirkwood’s blessing.

Marc was not so lucky.

The woman who rounded on him was a blaze of fury.  The golden flecks in her brown eyes flashed like molten lava as she advanced towards him.  “Tell me you’re a con man,” she demanded.  “Or even better, tell me you’re a jewel thief masquerading as an incompetent plumber.  Or even a freelance journalist, I could forgive that, we get them all the time.  Just as long as you do not tell me,” she exclaimed, underscoring every word with a punch of her forefinger, “that you’re one of the very important guests we’ve been expecting.  Because then, I will have to regret this day for the rest of my life!”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why will you regret this day for the rest of your life?” he asked.

She went very still.  Her chest rose and fell as a myriad of emotions washed across her face.  Their brief encounter had to have meant something to her, because Marc realized with a slight shock of surprise, it had definitely meant something to him.  And for her to not know who he was had made it even sweeter.  He was right to come to England, to restart his career here.  Funny how this situation, this Miss Kirkwood, made it all seem possible.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last.  “I put you in an awkward position.”

She nodded.  “So, then,” she demanded, “who are you?”

Marc casually set his hold-all on the floor.  Who are you? was not a question he normally had to answer.  But then, he’d put himself in this situation, not her.  She’d made an honest mistake under what he now realized were trying circumstances.  While he…he’d indulged himself at her expense.  He moved towards her, his hand outstretched.  “Marc Daniels,” he said somewhat sheepishly.

She didn’t bat an eyelash, and the intriguing interplay of emotion had disappeared from her face.  She held his eyes as she slid her hand in his and gave it a firm shake.  “Welcome to The Sadler, Mr. Daniels,” she said.  “If there’s anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant, please let us know.”  Not even a tremor in her voice.  The hot-blooded woman had been replaced by the ever-so-cool professional.

And he’d thought he was the actor.

 

 To purchase “Undone by the Star”, please click on Home.

 

Stephanie Browning Unbuttoned

 

Why contemporary romance?

Shoes and beadsWe love romance and we love romance in the here and now – the possibilities that exist for all of us, no matter who we are.  That means a modern world with modern women.  We want to capture their passion and put it on the page, but only if it’s driven by love.  In a Stephanie Browning romance, you’ll find the bedroom door only slightly ajar…for now.

 

How do you choose your settings? 

Stephanie Browning’s world is a large and exciting adventure.  With ties on both sides of the Atlantic, our passports, and therefore, Stephanie’s, are well-stamped.  Whether it’s a daffodil springtime in London or a musty-sweet harvest in the vineyards of the new world, we want to share the locales we love as the backdrop for Stephanie Browning’s romances.  No matter where our travels take us, we’ll be on the look-out for new and intriguing settings to bring back to Stephanie’s readers.

 

So how do you write together?

With a lot of laughter, angst and “what if…”.  While we’re still not living in the same city (let alone the same country or even the same time zone), we do visit whenever, and wherever possible, even if it’s just for a quick coffee at Paddington Station!

But when it comes to writing together, we’ve tried it all – alternating chapters, scenes or each writing from the point of view of a particular character, until we developed a method that works for us.  We get together, usually on the phone, to discuss what our heroine is about to do, which one of us is going to write what, and when we’re going to deliver.  Our deadlines (which allow for our other commitments) are sacrosanct.  We rewrite each other’s scenes and we edit and revise together in marathon sessions, scrutinizing every line, every word, and every heartfelt sigh – until our hero and heroine live and breathe on the page.

 

What’s next for Stephanie Browning?

With Outbid by the Boss and Undone by the Star already capturing readers’ hearts, we’re breaking new ground on this side of the Atlantic with a steamy story of lovers reunited!

The first in a series set in the lakeside community of Bedford County, Making Up Is Hard To Do will leave you wanting more…

Because love isn’t just for city folk, it’s for small-town girls, too!

Contact Stephanie Browning

 

You can reach us via email at:

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Visit  Anne Stephenson Writer  &  Susan Brown Writes  to find out what else we do!

 

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