To feel pleasure and satisfaction, and relief, at any cost.” He held her gaze steadily. In my blood there is a hunger beyond all else to lose myself in something that is not I.

For me, Wyn and Diantha’s romance is one of those. I think all authors must have a few books they especially loved writing. And all though this journey of mine, Wyn and Diantha’s story unfurled for me, from their opposing goals that force them apart to the dangers-dangers from both without and within-that draw them together… closer and closer together… until without realizing it they reach the destination neither had dared to dream: love. I walked through the rain on emerald Welsh hillsides pillowed in shimmering fog, soaking my shoes, finding refuge finally in cozy pubs and tea houses whose cakes were the best I’ve ever tasted. I poked my nose into ancient farmhouses and tiptoed through the shadowed chambers of old abbeys, floors creaking beneath my reverent steps as I drew in the scents of beeswax candles and wood polish and baking bread. To write Diantha and Wyn’s love story I traveled the roads that they travel from England to Wales, wending my way down narrow country lanes bordered by woods or high stone walls thick with ivy or fields of fluffy white sheep. Road trips throw two people together in the most extraordinary circumstances, force them to make allies out of passersby and homes out of hovels, and impel them to depend upon each other for everything-companionship, safety, and even happiness.

I also absolutely adore road trip romances. Diantha Lucas came to me in the same way: as a girl so scarred by the mother who tormented and then abandoned her that her entire reality is bound up in finding that mother again and making things right. They appear before me fully realized, in all their integrity of character and agony of spirit, their heartbreaking disillusionment and aching self-deception and knee-jerk nobility.

I fell in love with Wyn Yale the moment he opened his mouth in When a Scot Loves a Lady (my novel featuring his best friend, Leam Blackwood). Well, I'll tell you: that author hurls them together on a harrowing road trip and lets them discover where the road will take them - together. What is that same author to do with a girl who peeks through the cracked open doors of another heroine’s book, speaks entirely without irony, and seems to have nothing whatsoever in common with that gentleman mentioned above? What is an author to do with a gentleman who appears on the page of another hero’s book and captivates her from his first teasing smile?

The Rogue by Katharine Ashe