Chérie De Sues is a "critically acclaimed" and "award winning" author of thrillers, paranormal and contemporary suspense romances from sensual to sizzling heat levels. When Chérie takes a break from writing novels, you can find her at book signings, online, or traveling to research her next novel. She shares her home in San Diego, California, with her Irish terrier, Reilly.
Hello Romance Readers,
I'm Cherie De Sues, a romance author of suspense in many genres such as paranormal, contemporary and thrillers. When you read one of my novels, you'll feel the building of a character's anxiety and stress from the first page. Frankly, if the novel doesn't contain action, adventure, heated romance and suspense, I'd fall asleep writing the manuscript. So I write to please myself and found that romance readers enjoyed the ride too.
You'll find the characters in my books, complex with good and bad faults, just like people. To me, a novel must have an outstanding character framework to attach a deep plot. To balance the suspense romance, a villain must have a bigger than life focus to attempt to destroy the hero and heroine. A good read needs the comfort of love and the anxiety of someone who wished to spoil that comfort. Good and bad are always gray in my novels, no hero is perfect, no villain is all bad.
I write all my characters with care and passion, often using lesser characters as turning points in my stories. Imitating real life isn't magick in novels, understanding that many people have an effect on my hero or heroine's decisions is paramount. Just as I listen to my best friend or get advice from a parent or teacher, the same is with my characters. Expect a great deal of realism in all my books, I strive to reflect the diversity in life.
One of my latest novels with Noble Romance is, "Dangerous Curves", a contemporary suspense novel. I enjoy taking risks when I write and Dangerous Curves was risky, because the heroine is a full-figured supermodel touring through Europe. Her grit and determination got her to where she is and Serena Russo won't give up her shot as the new spokesmodel for a Parisian designer after death threats. I'll give you an example from the first chapter.
The attractive man sitting across the aisle watched passengers as they boarded the airplane. Selena Russo used his preoccupation to observe him again more fully. She'd been riveted earlier, when he'd walked down the aisle in snug jeans accentuating his strong thighs and long legs.
He'd met her gaze with unusual amber eyes. If she hadn't seen the cameras he carried, she would have mistaken him for a model. His strong jaw and cheekbones gave him a sculptured look, one used by numerous designer houses.
Surreptitiously, she studied his muscular chest, which strained against the white shirt he wore. The casually rolled sleeves exposed honey-colored hair on his forearms that matched the boyish tousled locks across his forehead. She wondered what his hair would feel like if she wove her fingers through the strands.
She sighed, pleased at the thought, then felt her face flush when he looked her way, catching her mid fantasy. Mortified, she turned away and heard him chuckle softly. Selena forced herself to move slowly, gracefully, as she took out a magazine. With gaze lowered, she blindly flipped through pages.
What had she been thinking, staring at him like that? Her pulse raced, and with a fingertip, she dabbed at the perspiration beading above her lip.
She hid a coy smile—all this physical reaction from only the thought of touching him. Her imagination was in high gear today. She flipped another page, stifling a sigh at her response to his masculinity.
Sadly, he had no reason to feel the same carnal thoughts about her.
Selena chewed her lower lip as her self-esteem took a momentary dip. Even after all this time, there were still moments when she let others make her feel like a rube, a fake.
A full-figured model didn't garner the same attraction as the leaner models enjoyed. She had to be content making great money, traveling to exotic locations, and turning a cheek at insensitive jokes. There would always be those who snickered, or worse, but she'd survive.
Thank goodness for her father. As a family practitioner, he'd encouraged her to embrace her healthy Italian curves. While everyone else in her family had long, lean bodies made for running, she'd been voluptuous at thirteen.
Her father insisted she took after his side of the family, where the women were curvaceous. Selena looked forward to meeting the Russo's, when the tour visited Rome. At last, she'd meet her Italian relatives. Her violet eyes were supposed to be a hereditary gift from her Russo ancestors.
The foot traffic died down, and passengers took their seats as the pilot gave preflight instructions to the attendants.
Within minutes, the plane climbed to thirty thousand feet for the long, transatlantic flight. She clandestinely explored her first class passenger seat, puzzled how the cushions turned into a bed for the journey. The European flight and first class accommodation would be a first for her.
She sighed, content within the soft seat, and folded her magazine into her carry-on bag. A clause in her contract guaranteed the elegance of first class for the next three years. Hairdresser, makeup artist, and wardrobe mistress too—she had entered a new chapter as a model.
She would have everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. The start of her new glamorous life waited for her in Paris. She was satisfied she'd left the death threats behind her in New York—she wouldn't give up her dreams.
There were millions of women tired of draping shapeless fabric on their luscious curves. Available clothing in the stores lacked style, or worse, supplied the same style as apparel designed for the slender. The time had come for a designer to dress women across the world, regardless of size, who wanted and needed more glamour.
The charismatic cameraman stood with a rustle of jeans, then walked toward the front of the plane. Selena inhaled a hint of his earthy cologne as the scent filled the air behind him. She leaned into the aisle, checking out his muscular butt before he disappeared into the small kitchenette.
Her body hummed deliciously at the sight. Why deny her eyes the pleasure? The man could be the template for sexy alpha male. When he vanished from her line of sight, she felt free to imagine his lovemaking as he tapped the energy of those glutes.
She took a breath and blew out some of the estrogen building up in her bloodstream. Clearly out of her league, he no doubt had his choice of beautiful, slender, and vampy women.
Kevin, one of the two bodyguards who'd been assigned to her, rose from behind her seat, moving stealthily past to the same little room between aisles. Intrigued, she tapped a polished red nail on her armrest, waiting for the two men to return. The attendants passed out drinks, nuts, and chocolate candies as she bobbed her head to keep a keen eye.
What would draw two large, muscular men to such a small space? She rose and headed toward the restroom that took her past the kitchenette, with Justin hot on her tail. Her jaw tightened. The security was unnecessary. Justin, the other of her new ex-Marine bookends, was crowding her style.
Who needed bodyguards after a couple of threatening letters?
Selena blamed her overly protective agent for her current, smothering situation; Gloria hadn't asked before making sure two bodyguards had appeared in Selena's contract. Any one of a hundred, international, full-figured models could have sent the letters. No doubt some were royally pissed she'd become the new Romantix spokesmodel.
Of course they were angry; Romantix handed her a multimillion-dollar ad campaign for a new clothing line in Paris. She would have been surprised if there were no threatening letters. Models didn't compete for congeniality awards. At twenty-four, she beat out mostly younger models, and that fact hadn't been lost on her.
Justin tailed her too closely. Selena paused to look back, giving him a withering look. He didn't blink.
"I'm on my way to the bathroom. What could happen?"
He smiled patiently and motioned for her to lead. She sighed. Since the moment she'd met her guards, they hadn't allowed her to go anywhere alone.
She purposely slowed, only steps away from the kitchen door, and heard two men talking. She casually glanced inside—the handsome stranger stood speaking with Kevin. She frowned and slid into the restroom, then took some tissues out of the box for her handbag.
What would two strangers have to talk about only thirty minutes into their flight? Did they know one another? Interesting. A photographer or photojournalist, maybe . . . .