“…stories want to be told. Stories have a power of their own … you can’t write a story until you’ve felt it. Breathed it in. Walked with your characters. Talked with them.”

“Should I talk to her friends?’ he asked softly, because he had to say something to take his mind away from the feel of her body against his and the rising desire to kiss her.‘No, don’t,’ she turned her head and her mouth was suddenly tantalisingly close, lips moist and inviting.‘Jax,’ he murmured. He smoothed hair from her brow. Her eyes met his, wide and surprised. She straightened, moved and his hand slipped from her shoulders. Mistake. Don’t make it again. She didn’t want more than comfort from him. Friends was as far they would go.”

“I love a sunburnt country,A land of sweeping plains,Of ragged mountain ranges,Of droughts and flooding rains.I love her far horizons,I love her jewel-sea,Her beauty and her terror –The wide brown land for me!”