Angela Quarles, her RITA, and MUST LOVE KILTS

Angela and her RITA with Margie Lawson
Photo courtesy of Margie Lawson

Author Angela Quarles recently returned from the 2016 Romance Writers of America conference in San Diego with some extra luggage...her first RITA award! The RITA is to authors what the Oscar is to actors. It is the quintessential proof that an author's hard work has true meaning. 

Angela stopped by my blog to share a brand new book that follows her award winning book Must Love Chainmail, her second book, which followed Must Love Breeches (I love that title!) 

Here is the Book Blast about her new release
Must Love Kilts.

The Genre: Time Travel Romance

Release Date: July 6, 2016
Length: Novel (80,000 words)
Ebook Price: $4.99
ISBN: 978-0-9905400-6-9
Content advisory: Adult language, explicit sex

Blurb

The Jacobite Rebellion--not the best time to get drunk, hook up with a guy, and lose your sister.

A drunken bet...

When computer game designer Traci Campbell gets too close and personal with a bottle of Glenfiddich while vacationing in Scotland, she whisks her kilt-obsessed sister back to 1689 to prove hot guys in kilts are a myth. Hello, hundred bucks! But all bets are off when she meets Iain, the charming playboy in a to-die-for kilt.

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong name...

Iain MacCowan regularly falls in love at the drop of his kilt. The mysterious red-haired lass with the odd accent is no different. But when his new love is discovered to be a Campbell, the most distrusted name in the Highlands, his dalliance endangers his clan's rebellion against King William.  

It’s all hijinks in the Highlands until your sister disappears...

Traci thinks men are only good for one thing--thank you, Iain!--but when she awakens once again in Ye Olde Scotland and her sister is gone, she must depend on the last person she wants to spend more time with. He wants to win a heart, she wants to keep hers, but can these two realize they're meant for each other before the Jacobite rebellion pulls them apart?

Excerpt from Must Love Chainmail

    That night, Traci lay curled up in the huge, dark-timbered, four-poster bed, hearing every scurrying noise in the rambling stone edifice that Iain’s clan called home. Let’s be real, it was a friggin’ castle. And it was just so damned...quiet. Outside and in. As if the quiet were a heavy weight, so that every whisper of a noise became a giant ripple through that weight, kicking her heart, her nerves.

    Who knew that even a curtain moving in some unseen breeze made a noise? Well, it did. A kind of swish-thurr. And there were curtains on all four sides of her bed. A weird mixture of safety and fear infused her, being enclosed like that. As if she were wrapped in her own cocoon made up of just her bed, its covers, and pillows. But, on the other hand, she couldn’t see what was on the other side of those heavy curtains. What if that scrrritching was a seventeenth-century rat coming to gnaw on her shoes? Or to steal up into her bed and gnaw on her bare toes?

    She pulled her feet deeper under the covers. Man, if it was a rat, she’d friggin’ lose it. She shivered. She’d hated rats ever since she’d been introduced to her creepy cousin’s pet rat Ivan. Ivan the Terrible, she called it, because her cousin had trained it to sneak up on her whenever she was alone and press its disgusting, whiskery nose on her bare feet. Her cousin apparently lived for her shrieks.

    A much louder sound than some would-be rat ricocheted through the room, and she stiffened, her heart pounding. A drawn-out creak followed.

    The door. It was the door opening. Iain. It has to be.

    She’d gone to bed much earlier—on purpose—to avoid the awkward moment when they had to go to sleep separately. But then she’d lain awake for several hours, trying to absorb all that had happened, her mind unable to shut up.

    A soft glow of light bloomed from the direction of the door, muted by the thickness of the bed curtains. A rustle and a thump. A muffled curse. The light bobbed and shifted from the left to the right side but didn’t come closer to the bed.

    It was Iain, right?

    She eased back her covers, careful not to make a noise. She bit her lip and rolled up onto her side, placing her head near the gap in the curtain to her right. She reached forward and edged the fabric back, just a fraction.

    She sucked in a breath but clamped her lips shut.

    Oh. It was Iain all right. He stood, three-quarters of him facing her, highlighted by the orange glow of the lingering peat fire, his candle perched on the mantel. That light, mixed with the moon’s feeble glow from the lone window, cast his form in shifting shadows. But, oh boy. It was enough to see.

    See as he unclasped his kilt where it draped over a strong shoulder. See as the fabric rustled downward to pool in drapes along his back side. See as he grasped his linen shirt and dragged it up by slow degrees, revealing his powerful torso in the dim light. His muscles bunched and flexed as the fabric swished over his head.

    Oh, what a lovely chest. So she had remembered that correctly.

And then... And then his long, strong fingers settled onto the belt holding his sporran and plaid, the light sprinkling of black hairs across his powerful chest narrowing down to a point where his hands had paused. His chin raised, and his eyes lifted to her position, but with her nestled in the dark depths of the bed, he couldn’t possibly see her. All the same, she felt the heat of his stare, and she squirmed.

    The light played across the planes of his strong hands and forearms, allowing her to note the miniscule shifting of muscles signaling his next move. His shapely fingers moved with practiced ease, and he unclasped the belt. The kilt dropped.

Book Links

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More About Angela Quarles

Angela Quarles is a RWA RITA® Winner and USA Today bestselling author of time travel and steampunk romance. Her steampunk, Steam Me Up, Rawley, was named Best Self-Published Romance of 2015 by Library Journal and Must Love Chainmail won the 2016 RITA® Award in the paranormal category, the first indie to win in that category. Angela loves history, folklore, and family history. She decided to take this love of history and her active imagination and write stories of romance and adventure for others to enjoy. When not writing, she's either working at the local indie bookstore or enjoying the usual stuff like gardening, reading, hanging out, eating, drinking, chasing squirrels out of the walls, and creating the occasional knitted scarf. 

Connect with Angela here:

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Paranormal Unbound, the group blog I belong to is HERE

Nancy Lee Badger Interviews Author Angela Quarles

Angela Quarles stopped by to share intimate details about her life and her latest book. Must Love Chainmail is a time travel romance and was released on July 12, 2015. Please tell my readers a little bit about your book.

Angela- It’s a medieval time travel romance that throws a modern woman who likes to have everything planned out into the middle of Madog’s Rebellion of 1294 in Wales. The first quarter of the book takes place in Castell y Bere, a now-ruined former Welsh castle. The hero is half-Norman half-Welsh and is a bit bitter, but is really a sweetheart. I enjoy writing in this subgenre because I feel like my two major strengths are my modern voice and my love of history, so I’m able to have at least one character bringing that modern voice and perspective to explore and reveal the past through that character’s eyes. It’s not the only subgenre I write. I’ve published a steampunk romance, and my current project is more mainstream. I also have a historical mystery that I might be putting out soon. My first publication was actually a contemporary paranormal geek romance

Nancy- When did you start writing toward publication? 

Angela- I would say I really started working with that in mind in early 2010. I’d written 2 books by then and some Jane Austen fan fiction, but it wasn’t until that second book came out of me, that I thought I had something to pursue publication with. That book ended up being by debut novel release, Must Love Breeches.

Nancy- Having achieved your goal to be a published author, what is the most rewarding thing?    

Angela- Interacting with readers and hearing them talk about which books they loved and why. Especially when they get the themes and what I was trying to convey. Hearing I kept someone up all night? Gold!

Nancy- Please Share three fun facts about you that most people don’t know. 

1) I rebuilt a carburetor once in my old ’67 Karmann Ghia

2) I drove a car in a former President’s motorcade (I won’t say which one)

3) I once knitted a whole sweater for a college crush and I never gave it to him

Nancy- What’s next for you?

Angela- I’m about to start drafting Must Love Kilts, which will be book 3 in my Must Love Time Travel series

BOOK BLURB  

Trapped in the wrong time, she needs a knight in shining armor, but this damsel in distress might be the real savior.

A damsel in distress...

With a day planner attached to her hip, the last thing Katy Tolson wants is a romance that threatens her well-ordered life. She's set to marry the safe--but bland--guy, but something's not quite...right. A careless wish thrusts her through time into medieval Wales and into the arms of...

A knight in somewhat shining armor...

Sir Robert Beucol, half-Norman and half-Welsh, lives with the shame of his father's treason and vows to reclaim his family's holdings and thereby his honor. To prove himself to his king, he must be more Norman than a full-blooded Norman. What better way to show loyalty than to fight his mother's people? He has no desire to be sidetracked by the mysterious wench with pink toenails, peculiar habits, and passion smoldering behind her cool, collected exterior.

A rebellion that challenges both...

The Welsh uprising fits perfectly into Robert’s plans. Katy’s on the other hand? That’s a no. As they embark on a perilous journey through the heart of Wales, each passionate encounter pulls them closer together, but farther from their goals. When everything they value is at stake, can they save each other and their love?

Excerpt

Excerpt from Chapter 3 – Meets the hero

Katy slowly closed her eyes, let the cool ground soak into her hands and butt, let the uncomfortable pebbles make themselves known. She counted to three and opened her eyes.

Intact castle wall? Still there.

A frantic fluttering whipped through her chest and choked her throat. “No, no, no!”

Her whole body shaking, she pushed up on a nearby rock and stood. She tugged on her coat’s zipper and yanked it up to her neck. She gazed at the castle.

No freaking way. Intact castle walls soared skyward, not stumpy, crumbling stone courses pockmarked with bird’s nests and tufts of grass. She whipped around. No deck steps arching over the once-ruined entrance.

She shoved her hand into her coat pocket.

Dread curdled in her stomach.

Shit. No case.

Oh God. The case worked. The case transported her back in time. Just like it had with Isabelle. Sweat bloomed on her skin in the chilly air, overheating her in her winter coat.

But she hadn’t made a wish. Had she? Then her whispered words of a moment ago came back to her: What should I do, Isabelle? I wish I knew why I’m not as happy as I should be.

Shit. Shit. Shit. She spun around and raked her gaze along the hillside. This crazy-ass, zapped-back-in-time thing could all be fixed with a quick wish.

But...she dared not move. Getting turned around and missing it because she was searching in the wrong spot would suck. Big time.

She scrutinized the ravine, keeping her breathing steady. If she didn’t panic, everything would be okay. Just a little blip she could laugh about—to herself—later, and get a spike of adrenaline thinking of her narrow escape. Yep. Mm-hmm. The guy line securing the thin veneer of her control strained and creaked.

Okay. She’d come along that path, and had, oh God, made that wish on the stupid case. Smooth, Katy. Then the queasiness. And a gust of wind. She’d started sliding down the incline and...flung out her stupid-ass hands. With the case probably sailing away.

So, with the right hand doing the flinging... She charged up the hill and inched along its edge, on the lookout for a shiny glint of silver.

An odd, pounding noise sounded behind her, and the ground vibrated slightly. What could...? Oh God, no. She wheeled around, her pulse beating frantically, and yep, the hugest, scariest war horse she’d ever seen galloped straight for her. She assumed it was a war horse, well, because it was so...large, and it had...Jiminy Cricket, it had chainmail on it. And, of course, some guy on its back, with chainmail and some kind of tunic, as well as a clothes-iron-shaped shield and friggin’ sword.

Her muscles tightened, shivered, and she almost—swear to God—peed herself.

She scrambled down the ravine. Find the case. Find the case. And the scary man on horse would be gone. She slipped and landed on her ass, sliding the rest of the way, her hands scraping and stinging on the rocks.

The horse stopped above her, snorting loudly. She scowled over her shoulder—was she about to get skewered? Cuz she’d want to know. Not that she could do much against a muscle-bound, medieval guy bent on running her through with a sword. Or worse. Except find that case. She had maybe twelve feet of distance on him.

He lifted his helmet free with two mail-clad hands, the clang of metal against metal loud, and let it fall to suspend from a chain at his belt. Helmet removal was a good sign, wasn’t it? At least it wasn’t sword removal. The early afternoon sun shone from behind him. She couldn’t see his face.

Gibberish popped from the dark shape. Coupled with his arm pointing away from the castle.

Er, what the hell kind of language was that?

Fear and a bit of oh-shit-what’s-happening slithering through her, she rose and faced him. “What?” Peering right and left with only her eyes, she searched for the stupid case. Her only salvation.

He cocked his head and spouted more nonsense. Slower, sure, but still nonsense. She edged back and continued to search the ground, pebbles clicking against rock as her shoes scattered them downhill.

More gibberish, but it grew closer. She looked up. He’d dismounted and was stomping down the hill.

Oh, hell no.

She sprinted along the ravine, praying she’d see her case but knowing she probably wouldn’t. Blood pounded in her ears, as jarring as her frantic footfalls along the hard ground. She sucked in short gasps of air as his steps drew closer. C’mon, all those gym sessions had to count for something.

A strong arm clamped around her waist, yanked her back against a solid wall of chainmail-covered man, and lifted. She slid down his body until his forearm nudged the underside of her breasts. She instantly stilled, breathing still panicked, because she’d read enough romance novels, and damned if she’d be one of those annoying heroines who got all feisty unprovoked. Pissing off someone who hadn’t yet hurt her would be epically stupid.

He inhaled sharply. Melodic, darkly-rich words vibrated from his chest to fill her ear, his warm breath sending chills across her skin. She could hear the question in them, but not knowing what he so softly demanded, she remained frozen.

She’d need any ally she could get, because yeah, she’d gone and wished herself back in time. All because she’d second-guessed her plans.

He grunted and marched up the hill, easily carrying her against him. At the top, he whistled and...his horse came to him. Of course. Then he draped her in front of a saddle like none she’d ever seen, jumped on, and galloped across the rocky terrain. But not before she saw her case, winking in the sun as they passed.

“Hey— Wait! Shit.”

Oh, crap, this was not comfortable. She clamped her jaw tight, afraid she’d bite her tongue with all the jouncing. Brief flashes of scenery and activity stuttered by. Flash—a white flower between two rocks. Flash—a cluster of colorfully clothed people. Flash—a woman with two children, one on her hip. Flash—a man driving a donkey laden with baskets. And all, all of them, hurrying. Hurrying in the same direction, into the castle. Behind its walls.

That couldn’t be good.

How can my readers buy your book?

Readers can go to my book page HERE 

Check out my book trailer HERE 

Buy Links…

Amazon    ARe    Kobo 

Barnes and Noble   Apple 

MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

Angela Quarles is a geek girl romance writer whose works includes Must Love Breeches, a time travel romance, and Beer & Groping in Las Vegas, a geek romantic comedy in novelette form. She has a B.A. in Anthropology and International Studies with a minor in German from Emory University, and a Masters in Heritage Preservation from Georgia State University. She currently resides in a historic house in the beautiful and quirky town of Mobile, AL. You can find more information about Angela Quarles here:

WEBSITE    BLOG    Twitter 

Facebook    Goodreads    Pinterest 

Amazon Author Page 

Nancy Lee Badger Presents Angela Quarles

Angela has published a book I have waited for, for some time. She had mentioned it on various writer loops, and I could not help but fall in love with the title, Must Love Breeches. Take it away, Angela!

I know a common question writers are asked is: Where do you get your ideas? So I thought I’d share how my time travel romance Must Love Breeches came into being.

The original germ for this story was wondering who would be cool to meet if I went back in time. I’d originally conceived going back to Jane Austen’s era, but that idea has been well-trodden. But I knew I’d like to go back to around that time, so I kept noodling around for historical figures in that era that the heroine might meet. When I came across Ada Lovelace, I had my answer. Born Augusta Ada Byron, she was the only legitimate daughter of the famous poet and bad boy Lord Byron and his wife, Annabella Milbanke. What a tumultuous and intriguing marriage that was! I had a hard time reining in Lady Byron in this story, as my interpretation of her personality is not favorable, and she was just oh-so annoying to me. I had many more scenes with her, as she lent herself easily to being an antagonist, but this novel isn’t supposed to be a rant about her and they were cut.

At first I toyed with the idea of having the heroine be a love interest for Charles Babbage, and that the heroine would then be the reason (inspiration) for him completing the Analytical Engine. But I was fleshing out this story in October for NaNoWriMo, and I knew that in order for him to be the hero, much more research into his life and personality would have to happen than I had time for before the competition started, so he was dropped as the hero (poor Charles). I’m glad I made that decision! Babbage does appear in one scene though, so there’s that. Ada, however, remained as a main secondary character and I had a lot of fun researching her and her accomplishments.

The title took me until the third draft or so, however. It started out as A Heart for Every Fate, which was a line from a poem by Lord Byron, but it didn’t fit the story’s tone. Then it became To Our Future, but that suffered from the same problem. I work in a bookstore and was making up puns off of titles in the store, and Must Love Dogs had me think of Must Love Breeches and I knew I had my title.

I have asked Angela to share 3 things readers might not know about her:

1)  I once tried learning Irish Gaelic! Whoah, was that a challenge! And that’s coming from someone who’d once learned Finnish, which is often touted as one of the more difficult languages. But yeah, Irish Gaelic was definitely much more difficult and I gave up after a bi

2)  In my twenties I directed a small local history museum outside of Atlanta.

3)  Patrick Henry, of “Give Me Liberty, Or Give Me Death” fame, is my 5^th-great uncle (I’m descended from his sister)

BOOK BLURB

She's finally met the man of her dreams. There's only one problem: he lives in a different century.

"A fresh, charming new voice" – New York Times bestselling author Tessa Dare

HOW FAR WOULD YOU TRAVEL FOR LOVE?

A mysterious artifact zaps Isabelle Rochon to pre-Victorian England, but before she understands the card case’s significance a thief steals it. Now she must find the artifact, navigate the pitfalls of a stiffly polite London, keep her time-traveling origins a secret, and resist her growing attraction to Lord Montagu, the Vicious Viscount so hot, he curls her toes.

To Lord Montagu nothing makes more sense than keeping his distance from the strange but lovely Colonial. However, when his scheme for revenge reaches a stalemate, he convinces Isabelle to masquerade as his fiancée. What he did not bargain on is being drawn to her intellectually as well as physically.

Lord Montagu’s now constant presence overthrows her equilibrium and her common sense. Isabelle thought all she wanted was to return home, but as passion flares between them, she must decide when her true home—as well as her heart—lies.

Excerpt from Must Love Breeches

A reenactment ball was the perfect setting for romance. Or not.

Isabelle Rochon fidgeted in her oddly-shaped-but-oh-so-accurate ball gown, surrounded by women who’d sacrificed historical authenticity for sex appeal. Red carpet ball gowns in the nineteenth century, really? Once again she was like the dorky kid participating in dress-up day at school when everyone else had magically decided it was lame.

“Gah. I feel like a green robot with strange battle armor.” Isabelle pointed to her dark green dress, the shoulders flaring out almost to a point, exaggerating their width. “What were the fashionistas in 1834 thinking?”

“I have no bloody idea.” Jocelyn squeezed the poof of fabric at her shoulder. “These huge-ass sleeves are ridiculous.”

“Ah, screw it, we’re having fun, right? I’m not going to self-sabotage the ball. Not after all the time I spent obsessing over my costume.”

“And obsessing over the etiquette rules.”

“That too.” Besides, how fun was it to learn Jocelyn shared her obsession with guys in period clothes and bodice-ripper romances?

Isabelle eyed a guy strolling past in tight-fitting, buff-colored pantaloons. She pitched her voice to be heard over the string quartet. “Hmm. How about the clothes on that daring derriere?”

Jocelyn sucked on her olive and plopped the empty stir stick into her martini. “Oh, yes. Definitely a breech-ripper.”

Isabelle choked on her Bellini, the champagne fizz tickling her throat and nose. This was the first opportunity they’d had to socialize outside work, so she treated this moment delicately, afraid to puncture the mood. No need to point out he sported pantaloons, not breeches.

She should ease up on the drink, though. She didn’t want to get plastered at the Thirty-fourth Annual Prancing Through History Reenactment Ball. Especially since her new colleagues would be around. And her boss. She needed to impress him.

How can my readers buy your book?  

Amazon (universal)    Kobo     ARe   

iTunes    Google Play   Nook   

What’s next for you?

Now that I've embraced being an indie, I plan to indie publish my steampunk romance, Steam Me Up, Rawley, set in Mobile in 1890, in January/February of 2015. After that, it will be Book 2 in the Must Love series, which will be Must Love Chainmail, another time travel, this time set during Madog's rebellion in 1294 Wales. 

More about the author

Angela Quarles is a geek girl romance writer whose works includes Must Love Breeches, a time travel romance, and Beer & Groping in Las Vegas, a geek romantic comedy in novelette form. She has a B.A. in Anthropology and International Studies with a minor in German from Emory University, and a Masters in Heritage Preservation from Georgia State University. She currently resides in a historic house in the beautiful and quirky town of Mobile, AL.

You can find more information about

 Angela Quarles and her book, 

Must Love Breeches 

at:

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