Sharon's INSPIRATIONAL Short stories of Faith and Romance can be found HERE or visit her
Facebook Page, which also has the links in the comments.)

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Dear Oliver with Lori Graham

Hello and welcome to another episode of Dear Oliver! Today’s special guest is the senior editor of the Crimson line of The Wild Rose Press, Lori Graham. You don’t want to miss her pet peeve, especially if you’ve ever had to deal with a pesky reporter. So, come on in and belly up to the bar. And while you’re eavesdropping on Oliver’s sound advice, why not treat yourself to one of his legendary martinis! You’ll find his impressive venue listed on the sidebar. Not a martini fan? Not a problem. Oliver will make whatever drink strikes your fancy and serve it with a wink and a smile. And rumor has it that his tortilla chips and salsa are spicier than a pot of his Cajun Jambalaya. With no further ado, let’s give a warm round of applause to Lori Graham!

Oliver: What can I getcha to drink, love?

Lori: Anything…everything…and keep ’em coming!

Oliver mumbles under his breath, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…” But when he turns to Lori after shaking up a James Bond martini, he flashes the charm with a wink and a smile. There we go then love. With a flick of his 007 remote, Casablanca plays on the big screen behind the bar. When Lori downs her JB and points a finger to her empty glass, he leans a little closer. Why so glum, chum?

Lori shrugs. Let’s talk about something nice so that my drinks don’t get watered down.

Oliver raises an eyebrow. Given the way you poured that rather potent JB down the ol’ hatch without coming up for air, I dare say the chances of that happening are pretty darn slim. He takes a minute to watch Humphrey Bogart kiss Ingrid Bergman before presenting another perfectly chilled martini. As long as you think you’re woman enough to handle another JB, here you go love. Knock yourself out.

Lori coils her fingers around the martini glass in a death grip and sighs. I am just so glad to be here. Let’s not talk about reporters until another day.

Oliver shoves a heaping basket of his tortilla chips and spicy salsa in front of her and smiles a beguiling smile. Best have a bite to eat, love. Remember how tanked the boss lady got when she so foolishly thought she was woman enough to handle more than one James Bond martini. As if! Oliver pumps his biceps and hums a verse of As Time Goes By. Plucking a chip from the basket, he dips it in salsa and feeds it to Lori. Then another. Now about your pet peeve with reporters, love. But since you’re not ready to rant and rave just yet, who can I play for you on the jukebox to chase your blues away?

Lori smiles: Maybe something from ZZ Top like Sharp Dressed Man after you, Oliver

Oliver presses a button on his JB remote and the requested song plays. With a wildly wicked wink, he plucks Lori from the bar stool and whisks her onto the dance floor. In moves that John Travolta himself would envy, Oliver shakes it loose.

Cutting loose with a throaty cat call, Lori gives Oliver a run for his money, pointing as she belts it out for all she’s worth.

“clean shirt, new shoes, and I don’t know what I am gonna do, silk suit, black tie, I don’t need a reason why, they come runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cause every girl is crazy about a sharp dressed man…”

Oliver tugs on his black tie and grins. The bar rocks with hoots and whistles when the Dancing with the Stars couple take a sweeping bow.

Oliver: Thank you for the dance, love. Whew, I dare say I’m in need of a drink after that rather electric dance. Oliver fans himself. Now, back to the subject at hand. when did you develop this pet peeve with reporters?

Lori: Well, to be honest, this month has been rather rough.  My daughter is a high school student and there was a shooting.  A suspended student came back to the school with a gun and killed the assistant principal and wounded the principal.  (Lori shivers as she remembers.  Oliver pats her hand affectionately.)

Lori: Through the week that followed I was so impressed by the students.  They rallied around the administration, holding prayer vigils and over half of the student body being at the funeral (around 800 kids).  The first day back to school, the upper classmen gathered outside the school, cheering, singing the school song, all to enter the school in mass to show their support of the school and their own solidarity.  It was something to watch.  But every day, the reporters were there.  They couldn’t be on school property but they were on the streets lining it.  I watched one keep cornering the students and not taking no for an answer.  A couple of dads waiting for their kids stepped in, creating a barrier for the students leaving.  I have always known that reporters play a role in this world and I know they have a job to do. What I don’t get is why they have to pick on people until you want to shove that microphone into a place it wasn’t designed to go.

Oliver: OUCH. That would certainly smart. But I agree about certain reporters acting like pit bulls, chasing pedestrians down the street, teeth chomping, just to get a bite for the evening news. And the worst part is, half the time the media doesn’t even get their story straight. But virtually attacking already traumatized highschool kids like that is a downright disgrace. There oughta be a law.
And it’s not just in this country, either. Unfortunately, it’s a universal problem. Would you believe that I once had a reporter chase me down the back streets of Bangladesh, hounding me to give up my identity when I was working undercover for the FBI? Oliver pumps his biceps and winks. But I wouldn’t budge an inch. As if. He leans a little closer to Lori. Come to think of it, reporters are a pet peeve of mine, too. Whistling a 007 song, he makes a pitcher of James Bond martinis, shaken, not stirred. Still whistling, he fills two chilled glasses. Propping his arms on the bar, he gazes into Lori’s eyes. Tell me, sweet thing, where do you think utopia is?

Lori: Ahh, sitting here being waited on by you, my dear Oliver, is pretty close so I think I’ll just stay here awhile. I know you have another “appointment” coming in soon but sitting here in the corner will be just fine by me.

Oliver winks as their glasses clink in a toast. Here here! Now, how can I help, my pet?

Lori: You do it each time you show up, my friend. (Lori leans forward and whispers, unless you have an exploding microphone that I could borrow…well to be honest, you wouldn’t get it back) I’ll have another one of those lovely concoctions please.

Before filling Lori’s glass with yet another JB, he stashes his 007 exploding microphone in the hidden pocket of his black suit jacket.

Lori smiles. As I am sitting here, maybe I’ll dream up a story of my own to write – maybe a serial killer who is targeting reporters…hum, that sounds rather promising.

Oh hey, Oliver, have you seen Sharon around? I have a submission call out for Crimson Rose that is right up her alley. We only have room for six so really hoping to see something from Sharon for that release. Crimson Rose definitely needs some spicing up at Christmas time and we all know just how good she is at that

Oliver glances over his shoulder before lowering his voice to a whisper. Just between us, love, she’s still nursing that rather nasty hangover from a few weeks back when she tried to drink me under the table. As if.
When Lori points to her empty glass, Oliver obliges and continues. But she told me in case you asked, to tell you that she is upstairs in her office, pounding away on her keyboard, trying to meet the March 1st deadline for your Red Christmas submission.

Lori (slurring her words just a bit) Well, I might give her until the morning of the 2nd but only if you ask nicely, Oliver. 

Grinning, Oliver snatches a Santa cap from behind the bar and plops it on his head. And guess who’s starring as Detective Santa?
 Lori? Love? Are you all right?

Lori Graham is the senior editor of the Crimson line of The Wild Rose Press and she has a challenge for all creative writers.

Red Christmas Someone’s Ready to Kill the Holiday is due by March 1st. We are looking for manuscripts that are between 7500 and 60,000 words and involve a Santa as one of the leading male characters. We only have room for six for that release. Crimson Rose definitely needs some spicing up at Christmas time.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Dear Oliver with Hywela Lyn

Hello and welcome to another episode of Dear Oliver! Today’s special guest is my dear friend Hywela Lyn. You don’t want to miss her pet peeve, especially if you happen to be a UK author dealing with the IRS! So, come on in and belly up to the bar. And while you’re eavesdropping on Oliver’s sound advice to Lyn, why not treat yourself to one of his legendary martinis! You’ll find his impressive menu listed on the sidebar. Not a martini fan? Not a problem. Oliver will make whatever strikes your fancy. And rumor has it that his chocolate bridge mix is out of this world. With no further ado, let’s give a warm round of applause to Hywela Lyn!

Oliver: What can I getcha to drink, love?

Lyn: Well, a glass of mead always goes down well, Oliver, and one of your flashing smiles. What a winning combination!

Humming away to one of his 007 theme songs, Oliver presents a goblet of mead to Lyn with a wink and a smile. He skims his hand along her face. Why so glum, chum?

Lyn:  I am so fed up with ‘Red Tape’! We have enough of it in the UK, and now I find it’s just as bad in the USA. Oliver, do you think I exist?  The IRS doesn’t. I have to fill in form W-7 and I need to prove my identity with a Passport or Driving license. I can’t afford foreign holidays, so I don’t have a Passport, and the only transport I own is my horses. They don’t need a vehicle license, although ironically, they both have horse passports! (Compulsory in the UK), although they don't travel abroad either, and it's really a form of animal licence. Since I have neither drivers permit nor Passport, it seems I am a non-person! Perhaps I’m just a figment of my own imagination!

Oliver: Hmm…given the way you downed that rather large goblet of mead I just poured in seconds flat, I would say you must definitely exist, my sweet. He pours more mead into Lyn’s glass. When her eyes glaze over and she coils her fingers around the stem of the glass in a dead lock grip, Oliver shoves a heaping dish of his chocolate bridge mix in front of her and smiles a beguiling smile. Best have a bite to eat, love. Remember how tanked the boss lady got last week when she so foolishly thought she was woman enough to handle more than one James Bond martini. As if! Oliver pumps his biceps and hums a verse of Nobody Does it Better from The Spy Who Loved Me. Plucking a chocolate covered peanut from the dish, he plops it into Lyn’s mouth. Then another. Now about your pet peeve with the IRS, love. I’m truly sorry about all the red tape and paper work. I can only imagine what a headache it is for you. Perhaps the American Embassy can straighten it all out for you. In the meantime, who can I play for you on the jukebox to chase your blues away, my sweet?

Lyn: Dearest Oliver – so thoughtful. How about Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers singing ‘Islands in the Stream’? That always makes me feel more cheerful. Maybe if I close my eyes I can forget about Red Tape and imagine you’re singing to me as we drift along in a little boat on a beautiful lake in the sunshine. I’m wearing my ‘Oliver’ teeshirt and sipping Chai tea from my Oliver mug.

Oliver presses a button on his JB remote and the requested song plays. Flashing Lyn a smile designed to melt hearts, he whisks her in his muscular arms as they glide as one across the dance floor. In a husky voice, he serenades her. “Islands in the stream, this is what we are. No more in between… we can sail away where we make love to each other…”

The audience explodes with hoots and whistles when the song ends and the couple take a sweeping bow.

Oliver: Thank you for the dance, love. Whew, I dare say I’m in need of a drink after that rather cozy dance. Oliver fans himself. Now, back to the subject at hand. when did you develop this pet peeve?

Lyn: Oh, just before Christmas last year, when my Publisher wrote to all UK authors telling us that anyone published in the US but living overseas has to have an ITIN number in order for them to continue to pay us our Royalties, however small those may be. *sigh* and it’s not just my own US publisher who is involved, but each and every one! So any UK author published in The States has to obtain this number, which involves filling in forms and travelling to the American Consulate in London with proof of identity *another sigh*.

Oliver: That sounds like a royal pain in the you know what! I wish I could cut away the red tape for you, my sweet Lyn, truly I do. He fills her goblet with more mead. As an after thought, he pours himself a glass. Propping his arms on the bar, he gazes into Lyn’s eyes. Tell me, sweet thing, where do you think utopia is?

Lyn: Utopia would be a place where Red Tape is forbidden. Completely and utterly. Where form filling is unheard of and where old fashioned things like Birth Certificates and Marriage Certificates are still accepted to prove I’m who I say I am, and that I’m not telling ‘porkies’. Where all animals and children are wanted and loved and well cared for – (I threw that in because I can’t bear to hear of little helpless souls being abandoned or ill treated) and where you, dear Oliver, would gaze at me in adoration and wait on me hand and hoof – I mean foot.

Oliver: Amen to that. Their glasses clink in a toast. Here here! Now, how can I help, my pet?

Lyn: Well, another glass of mead perhaps? And maybe some tea – yes, some Chai tea, lovely.  And chocolate – I need chocolate, how about a slice of that Black forest cake you and I both love so much, and which you bake with such finesse! And then perhaps if you could just give me a little shoulder massage … ooh Oliver, I swear you remind me of that Ray Bradbury Science Fiction title, ‘I Sing The body Electric’. You certainly do have the electric touch! 

Oliver: Your wish is my command, love. He presents the treats with a roguish wink. After feeding a fork full of decadent Black Forest cake to Lyn, he works his magic with his fingers, easing the tension from her aching muscles.

Lyn:  Oh… you meant about the Red Tape?  Dearest Oliver, any suggestions or advice you can give would earn you my undying love and devotion.  (Oh yes, of course you have that already. Well I’m sure I can think of something.)

Oliver: Lyn, my sweet little cumquat, unfortunately, no matter what country, there will always be red tape and hoops to leap through. I ought to know, being a secret agent man and all. In the meantime, have more mead. Why do you think there are pubs in every watering hole in the world? To chase your blues away!


Hywela Lyn lived in Wales for most of her life, and its beautiful countryside and legends inspired her to write. Although she now lives in a small village in England, she is very proud of her Welsh heritage and background. She enjoys weaving romantic tales of the future, and distant, mysterious worlds.  Her pen name is a combination of her first two names. 'Hywela’ is Welsh and her first name but it was never used and she has always been called by her second Christian name, Lyn. One thing remains constant in her writing:  The power of love.  Love, not only between her hero and heroine, but between friends and siblings, and for their particular world and the creatures that share it.  

She is crazy about all animals, especially horses. She lives with her long suffering husband, Dave, and her animal family includes two horses, two ferrel cats and an adopted Jack Russell terrier called Bouncer.

Hywela Lyn’s first novel, 'Starquest', a futuristic romance was released by The Wild Rose Press in 2008. The sequel to ‘Starquest’, 'Children of the Mist' released in 2009.  Both are available in Ebook format or print and she is currently working on the third stories in the series. She is also one of nine authors who each contributed a story about one of the nine Greek muses in the Wild Rose Press anthology ‘Song Of the Muses', with her story about Terpsichore, Muse of Dance, ‘Dancing With Fate.

Lyn loves to hear from readers and fellow authors, and you can write to her at
Visit her at her website:
You can purchase her books on her Wild Rose Press Author Page:  where you can also download a free copy of her short fantasy romance ‘A Bargain With Death.’

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Dear Oliver

Hello and welcome to Dear Oliver! As you know, for the past two years, I’ve been interviewing authors and editors on Wednesday Spotlight. You’ve all been charmed by my too sexy for his own good cyber butler Oliver who will serve you your favorite drink with a wink and a smile.

So, with the dawning of a new year came the launching of a new endeavor, featuring the man of many talents. Every Wednesday, those who have something to rant and rave about are invited to come into Oliver’s bar, order your favorite drink and vent to your heart’s content. Oliver promises to lend an ear and offer up a heaping portion of sound advice. But you know what they say about being forewarned and forearmed. Take   his advice to heart or take it with a grain of salt. But whatever the case, take it in the spirit with which it was given and roll with it. Who could be brave enough to be Oliver’s first vic…I mean customer? You guessed it, yours truly. Gulp. Excuse me while I belly up to the bar. Wish me luck Here goes nothing.

“Hey, boss, what’s up? I dare say you look a little more stressed out than usual. What’s got you so tangled up in blue?”

Sharon plops her weary body down on a bar stool and sighs. “Oh, Oliver. I‘ve had the worst day you can imagine and wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“You can begin with ordering a drink. Shall I brew you a cup of that spicy Chai tea you can never get enough of?”

Sharon taps a long, perfectly manicured fingernail on the solid mahogany bar. “As much as I adore my Chai tea, today I’m afraid I need something a bit stronger.”

“You got it, love. Name your poison and I’ll serve it right up with a wink and a smile.”

Sharon rolls her eyes. “Spare me the theatrics and whip me up one of those martinis you’re always bragging about. What do you recommend?”

Oliver pumps his biceps and grins. “A James Bond martini, but of course.”

“I don’t know,” Sharon ponders. “Maybe one a little less potent like an Orange Blossom or a Mango Passion or how about a Pomegranate, yes, that’s what I want, give me a Pomegranate martini, shaken not stirred.”
Oliver raises an eyebrow. “I think you need a JB. I promise to make it weaker than one I’d make for myself. You’ll love it, just you wait and see.”

“Well, all right,” Sharon heaves out a reluctant sigh. “But remember, just a light one.”

“You got it, love,” Oliver whistles as he pours gin, vodka, dry vermouth and two dashes Angotura bitters into an ice filled shaker. Once he’s shaken it, he pours into a goblet an adds a thin slice of lemon peel. With his legendary wink and a smile, he presents it to his boss. “There we go, love, now tell Dear Oliver what’s on your mind.”

Sharon takes a hearty gulp of her JB and lets it fly. “Well, Oliver, as you are aware, ten years ago, I lost my vision, and while modern technology is great, it still has its downfalls.

“Like?” Oliver props his muscular arms on the bar. “Do tell.”

“Take for instance my new cell phone, it’s good for nothing.”

“How so?”
“They keep getting smaller and smaller for one thing, and another thing that really irks me is the panel is so flat I can’t feel the numbers. If I can’t see them, I should at least be able to feel them, don’t you agree, Oliver?”
“You betcha, boss. Whatever you say. But why not get a voice activated phone. Seems to me, that would solve everything.”
“Because,” Sharon gulps back the rest of her martini. “I don’t happen to like voice activated things, they get on my nerves. I happen to like buttons. So is that too much to ask? That the numbers on the panel be raised the way they were a few years ago? Now be a dear and shake me up another JB martini.”
Shrugging one of his sinewy shoulders, Oliver obliges. As an after thought, he shoves a dish of pretzel mix in front of Sharon.  “Eat something before you get tanked. You downed that JB in less than a minute. So are you all through venting?”

“Heck no, I’m just getting wound up. The phone was just the tip of the iceberg. Then I lost my Internet connection, right when my interview went live. And the helpful tech who turned out to be anything but helpful, asked me how many lights were on. I explained that I’m blind and unable to see the lights. After telling me he was sorry to hear that, he asked me again how many lights were on! But here’s the best part. When I demanded to speak to his manager, he actually had the audacity to mumble something about me being high maintenance. Tell me, does that beat all or what! Do be a dear and get me a bag of chips, the sour cream and cheddar, you know the ones I like with the ruffles.”

With a smirk, Oliver yanks a bag of chips from behind the bar and slides them across the counter toward his boss.

“Then I was treated to twenty two minutes, count them, of elevator music for my listening pleasure. I swear, Oliver, they just don’t play any good tunes these days.”

Raising an eyebrow when he sees that She’s already downed her second James Bond martini, Oliver flips the switch on the jukebox. Live and Let Die  by Paul McCartney vibrates off the walls.

“Oh, and while I’m on a rant,” Sharon slurs her speech a tad. “When the manager finally did get on the phone, she didn’t speak one word of English.”

Humming, Oliver hits another button on the jukebox. He smiles a beguiling smile when Carly Simon’s sultry voice undulates through the bar with The Spy Who Loved Me.

Sharon stifles back a chortle and bites into a crunchy chip. “So,” Agent 007, I must admit you were right about one thing…you sure shake up a mean JB. So how bout shakin’ me up another… one…hic.”

Oliver pumps his biceps and grins. “Not on your life, boss.”
“Whatever,” Sharon lays her head on the bar. “So, tell me, Dear Oliver, any final words of wisdom for your boss?”

“Only what I thought since the first day I met you,” Oliver winks a roguish wink. “That you are in serious need of therapy…and after you beat on your shrink’s ear, you might consider joining AA.”

I hope you enjoyed my first edition of Dear Oliver. If you have something to rant and rave about, or perhaps one of your characters does, email me to schedule an appointment. Please put Dear Oliver in the subject line and send to

And to read Oliver’s story where he is an ace detective solving a jewel ring case to save his lady love in tropical Hawaii, you don’t want to miss reading

Charade of Hearts
Oliver’s story!

And don’t forget to check out his Valentines Contest for a chance to win an Oliver goodie bag, including a box of chocolates.
Details on my website

Monday, January 3, 2011

Paying tribute to our uniformed heros

Hello, Friends! I hope you will join me today in honoring our uniformed heroes. I am taking part in January Interview—Book Brew at Coffee Time. Today’s theme is those folks in uniforms of many kinds who form our net of safety and protection, putting their lives on the line for us. They make great heroes and heroines and we cannot honor them enough for all they do! I am proud to take part and will be chatting all day long about HER BIGGEST FAN, PART OF THE MEN IN UNIFORM SERIES BY THE WILD ROSE PRESS. My interview gives a behind the scenes scoop on why I chose a sheriff as my romantic hero. Throughout the day, I will be chatting about music setting the scene with my creative muse, the fallen angel that inspired me to write Her Biggest Fan, not to mention some Sharon Donovan give aways! So I hope you’ll help me pay tribute to the uniformed heroes in our lives

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Close up and personal with Oliver

Hello and welcome! Today I have a very special guest. Our very own Oliver has agreed to be interviewed. So come into the parlor and join me for an up close and personal with my suave and debonair butler. And here he comes now. Oliver, darling, come on out! Oliver saunters out, grinning. Dressed in a black t-shirt and low rider jeans, he takes a seat on the sofa, crosses one muscular leg over the other and blows kisses to his adoring fans. The women scream for him to flex his biceps. With a wicked wink, he obliges. A cacophony of feminine shrieks and howls erupt from the audience, rattling the double pane windows and crystal chandelier. In between chanting his name, Oliver is bombarded with red roses, lace thongs, pictures and hotel keys. A real lady killer, Oliver scoops up handfuls of the souvenirs and takes a gallant bow. Sharon: Thank you for agreeing to an interview, Oliver. Now, since the roles are reversed, I’ve mixed up a batch of your favorite drink, the James Bond martini and your favorite munchies, Macadamia nuts. Sharon pours the martinis into two chilled glasses and they toast. Oliver: Perfect, just the way I like it. Shaken, not stirred. He scoops up some nuts and kisses his fingertips. Ambrosia! Sharon: All right, now I know the ladies are dying to learn all about your life before joining my employee, so let’s get started. Tell us your full name and where you’re from. Oliver sips his martini and winks. My name is Oliver Rodrigues Carvalho. I was born in Tuscany, but was raised in Hawaii. My sweet mama, God rest her soul, was a feisty little Italian woman with a heart as big as the day is long. Papa was born in Madrid, Spain and was a legendary bull fighter until his dying day. Sharon: Sigh. What a family history. And tell us, Oliver, with all that hot blood surging through your veins, did you ever entertain the notion of carrying on the legend? I’m sure all the ladies out there can visualize you as a very sexy matador, taunting the bull with your red cape. Inquiry minds want to know. Oliver: I remember watching Papa a few times as a boy, and being both fascinated and horrified. A raging bull is not a pretty sight, especially when he’s charging full steam ahead at a loved one, determined to stomp him to death. No, not once did I wish to pursue Papa’s career. Sharon: You know, something I’ve always wondered about, Oliver. Why the color red? Correct me if I’m mistaken, but aren’t all animals color blind? A seductive chuckle erupts from the back of Oliver’s throat. I always wondered who decided animals are color blind? To my knowledge, they can’t speak for themselves. But I can speak the truth about the red cape that is flapped in their face. It isn’t the color that annoys them. The bull gets stimulated by the flapping of the material. It enrages them and makes them charge. Sharon: Well, thank you for clearing that up, Oliver. Are you ready for another martini? Oliver winks. Keep them coming. Sharon tops off the chilled glasses. Now, tell us how you came to be a part of my employee. And remember, darling, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Oliver clinks his martini glass and smiles a beguiling smile. Would I lie? The truth is, I love to cook and clean and am a connoisseur of fine wines. If there’s a drink or martini out there I don’t know about, I’ll learn and mix it up faster than I can pump my biceps. So when I saw the ad you were running in the paper, what choice did I have? Obviously, your mama didn’t raise no fool, and you hired me on the spot. And if I might be so bold to say, working for you is the best. Sharon beams a brilliant smile. Why, thank you, Oliver. How sweet of you to say. I am the best boss, right? Sharon bats her eyelashes, still beaming. Oliver: Well, there’s that. But I was actually thinking about all the hot babes you interview that I get to wait on hand and foot. Sharon pouts. But of course. But tell them the real shocker, what you do at night. Oliver grins and pumps his biceps. I’m a private investigator. I work undercover and have done a variety of surveillance work from tracking cheating spouses to some shady deals I am too much of a gentleman to discuss. Sharon: And this makes you all the more dark and mysterious. Now, no doubt the ladies are curious about your love life. Are you or have you ever been married? If not, are you dating? Oliver winks and grins? I’ve never been married and am still waiting for the woman who holds the key to my heart. The women sigh. Sharon: And just what type of woman might that be, Oliver? Oliver: I’ll know her when my heart beats for her and only her. The women gasp. Sharon: Well, it’s either getting hot in here or thick in here. She fans her face. But obviously, our darling Oliver isn’t about to budge an inch. So on to other subjects. What kind of music do you like? Oliver: I love all music. It speaks a language all its own. It can be romantic, energetic, sad or thrilling. But outside of rock and roll, jazz crawls beneath my skin and makes me feel alive. But when I’m thinking about a case or a woman, I prefer classical music. Sharon: Lovely. And how about a date. Where do you take a woman on a date to impress her? Oliver: It all depends on the woman. I prefer a woman that knows her mind and isn’t afraid to let me know her passions. But a selfish woman or self-serving woman is a real turn off. For a first date, I enjoy a quiet dinner, soft music and a nice bottle of wine. Talking is good. And a woman must have a sense of humor, but above all, she must have a heart that echoes her joy. Sharon: clutches her heart. What a man! What about reading and movies? What are your preferences: Oliver: Raises an eyebrow. You’re asking a PI that question while he’s sitting here drinking a James Bond martini? He winks. I love a good who done it, James Bond is my hero and I prefer to watch historical documentaries in my spare time. Sharon: Do you have a hobby? Not that I give you any time to pursue one, but we all have a passion. What’s yours? Oliver grins. I suppose it’s my Italian blood from Mama’s side. But I enjoy growing my own grapes and making wine from my own vineyards. When doing this, it’s something that I created with my own two hands. And wine is very good for you and a special bottle for the right occasion adds the perfect ambiance. Sharon: Oliver, you are a jack of all trades. And tell us, do you have a favorite wine? Red or white? Oliver: They say red is good for the blood and my personal preference is Tuscan Red. He kisses his fingertips. Delicioso.. Sharon: How sweet. Well, that just about wraps things up. And while I run in and brew your favorite coffee, chocolate almond and bring out your favorite dessert, a black forest cake smothered in cherries, you can entertain the ladies. Thank you for a most revealing interview, Oliver. And if I don’t say it enough, you’re the best. Sharon leans over and plants a kiss on Oliver’s lips and saunters to the kitchen, swooning. CHARADE OF HEARTS OLIVER’S STORY! PART OF THE JEWEL OF THE NIGHT SERIES AVAILABLE NOW! THE WILD ROSE PRESS