**A wonderful interview of my good friend, Patricia Rosemoor by author: E. M. Powell
Originally posted May 31, 2018 on “The Big Thrill” blog seen here.
Patricia Rosemoor calls her new release EYES OF THE TIGER a “reincarnation romantic thriller,” but such a snappy description doesn’t do justice to this multi-layered, fast-paced read.
When the mother of jewelry designer Gemma Hewitt is brutally murdered, Gemma inherits her late mother’s famed jeweled collar. Yet the collar is not just a valuable memento of a beloved parent—Gemma has a gift. Gems and jewelry speak to her, providing inspiration for her designs and sending her on adventures across the globe. Now that gift may give her something that is literally priceless—the chance to find her mother’s killer and bring him to justice. But her search doesn’t only send her across physical distance. It sends her through time as well, as she’s thrown back to 1901 India where she sees a young woman about to be married with a pendant that matches her jeweled collar. The intrigue grows when 21st century Gemma is hired to track down the entire bridal suite of jewels and is joined by an enigmatic man who promises to help her on her quest.
As well as being a gripping thriller, the book has a plot that will satisfy romantic suspense and paranormal readers, and those who enjoy historical fiction too. It speaks volumes of Rosemoor’s huge talent as a writer that she can handle so many genres within one novel with equal balance and skill. This is something that she more modestly puts down to a lot of experience. “Writing 100 books has provided me with opportunities to try just about everything,” she says. “And I have!”
If a statement by a writer ever deserved a pause for celebratory acknowledgement, then it must surely be the above. Yes, EYES OF THE TIGER is Rosemoor’s 100th novel. The road to those extraordinary triple digits has seen Rosemoor a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author and more than 7 million copies of her books are in print.
Read the full interview here…
EXCERPT ( Originally published on April 18th on blog “Happy Ever After” see here. )
Spread out over the black velvet interior, the jeweled collar spoke to Gemma in urgent whispers, like a rush of multiple voices that only she could hear. It pressed her to don it, but in lifting the jeweled piece from the box, a jolt of something dark and primal flashed through her. For a second, she saw her mother’s pale face and terrified expression, as if from a great distance, before it flickered out. Unnerved, she quickly set the necklace down on the table. Then she noted the disturbed velvet bedding in the box, revealing a fold of paper. Lifting the velvet, she found a handwritten note and a business card.
The note was from her mother to her.
My darling Gemma, this treasure from the British Raj has been passed from mother to daughter for five generations.
British rule over India had lasted nearly ninety years. Five generations of women… the necklace must have been created halfway through the British Raj.
When the jeweled collar is finally yours, I hope it will open your mind… and your heart to what really counts in life. Love you, honey. Mom
What did Mom mean? What kind of power did she believe the necklace held, other than perhaps to give Gemma a glimpse of its history? Had her mother some inkling that she was about to die?
A shiver ran through Gemma. Hesitantly, she picked up the necklace and stared into the depths of the rubies and emeralds and sapphires. The darkness she’d experienced faded. Instead, jewel colors flashed and danced deep within her mind. Her fingers rippled with sensation as if a current ran through them. Holding up the necklace, she looked at the reverse side where she found the etched face of a tiger with eyes that were slivers of smoky green cat’s eye gems. Her breath caught, and she ran a fingertip over the tiger. The touch was electric. The necklace suddenly came alive in her hands with a power she’d never felt from any other artifact. She couldn’t put it down if she tried. The connection telegraphed through her, enveloped her.
Her hands shook as she fixed the collar in place around her neck.
Would she see him now? Her mother’s murderer? Would she see his face?
Would she somehow be able to make up for her part in the tragedy?
The moment the jewels settled around her neck, the room around her faded. She entered an unsettling darkness, where an ominous presence threatened her. The breath caught in her throat even as the darkness receded, replaced by the murmuring of women’s voices coming to her through the ages.
Brightly colored silks flashed before her eyes.
“So, what do you think of this fabric?” Red silk flutters around the shop owner, making her look like an exotic bird in flight.
Gemma started. Rather than just seeing this vision as if from a distance, she was part of it, sitting on a pile of cushions on the floor, in a room with other women wearing colorful saris and exotic jewelry….
1901, Jopar, India
Her arms, filled with a cloth perfect for a bridal sari, real gold spun into its trim, the shop owner shuffles barefooted across the palace’s marble floor to where I sit near the open windows.
I hide the grimace threatening my lips and stroke my pet tiger, who lies beside me, his head against my hip. Three years old and already weighing more than a large man, Kadaku will soon reach maturity. Will soon be caged for the rest of his natural life, just as I will be. Despite the fresh morning breeze, the air feels stuffy, threatening to choke me.
Forced to participate in this travesty, I stare at the billowing silk with indifferent eyes and try to find the proper words that will sway my mother to put an end to this.
“Beautiful,” Mother says, and, as if to chastise me, adds, “Mayura, tell the woman.”
“Beautiful,” I repeat with a stiff smile.
Then her expression softens and she turns to the shop owner. “Perhaps something else?”
“If you like, Maharani, you can come with me and look through the fabric I had delivered.”
The moment the women leave the room in a swirl of colorful saris, my younger sister, Dhara, hops down from her perch on a windowsill to confront me. “You have not liked anything.”
“I have not disliked anything.”
“Except for your groom.”
Her expression disapproving, Dhara stands over me as I retreat further back into the mound of silk pillows. Kadaku follows with a protective growl. I fear nothing or no one can save me now.
“You are lucky to be given to a man as rich and influential as Azim Kahn,” Dhara says. “I do not understand how you can be so… so… indifferent.”
I feel anything but indifferent, and Dhara is too romantic for her own good.
Given.
Yes, that exactly describes what will happen to me if I can’t change Father’s mind somehow.
I will be given to Azim, who is unlucky for any woman.
I heard the rumors about his temper. And then, a few weeks ago, Azim visited Jopar Palace with an entourage to negotiate with Father for my hand. I saw him in the open market, where he struck a female servant who displeased him when she paid too much for the wealthy prince’s spices.
“Then what is wrong?” Dhara demands, whirling barefoot across the carpet and dropping onto the pillows next to me.
“I had no say in the matter.” I look down at the mangalsutra pendant I grip in one hand. “Father sold me like one of his possessions.”
“You should be honored that you can help to strengthen the Jopar family through your marriage.”
Honored? To be given to a man who would strike a woman? I told Father about the incident and, to my horror, he dismissed it as an exaggeration.
I stare at the necklace in my hand—gold-trimmed with a large central diamond as well as pearls and other colored gems. A woman wears her wealth when she goes to her husband, but I have not yet so much as tried on any of the pieces Father had made for me.
The shop owner reenters the room, Mother directly behind her. “Here are more materials of the very best quality.”
“Come, Mayura, surely one of these will please you.”
I stare at the bolts of sari fabrics set on the carpet before me and see only a future of unhappiness. “Your taste is impeccable, Mother.” Indeed, she looks every bit the regal maharani in a silk sari of dark green shot with gold. “You pick one.”
I turn the mangalsutra pendant and rub a fingertip over the jeweler’s stamp—a tiger’s head with smoky green cat’s eye gems. The designer is a mystic, said to make pieces that contain his magic. A shudder rips through me. If only I could harness that magic, I might be able to change the course of my life. I rise from the floor pillows and throw down the pendant. I walk to the window, and Kadaku follows. He presses against my leg as I look out through the carved marble screen.
I glance down at the courtyard, where I spot the Honorable Captain Harry St. Cyr, a British officer and a doctor at the military hospital in my father’s domain, exit the motor vehicle he drives to the palace. A week ago, Father invited him to a dinner party, where I met him while in my family’s company.
I sense Captain St. Cyr is a kind man. A healer. Someone who will never lift a hand against a woman who cannot defend herself.
A breeze ruffles his golden blond hair around his handsome face. The breath catches in my throat as he lifts his head and looks straight my way, and I imagine he can actually see me through the carved marble, meant to hide the women of Jopar Palace from men.
I lock onto the honest gaze in his brilliant blue eyes. My stomach tumbles and I feel a strange flutter in my chest. As if he can feel my excitement, Kadaku bumps my leg and makes a friendly chuffing sound through his nose.
My pulse rushes and I keep myself from calling out.
Suddenly, I realize I would gladly sacrifice anything—palaces, jewels, everything—to be with a man who makes me stir so inside.
Manhattan
Gemma came back to the present in her suite, both disappointed she hadn’t seen what happened to her mother as well as a strong connection to this Mayura. Though she often saw bits and pieces of the past through touching an old object, she’d never experienced anything quite so intense before. It had been like watching a scene in a movie. Only different. More personal. She’d been part of the scene. It was as if she’d been Mayura.
About Patricia
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Patricia Rosemoor has written 100 novels for eight publishers, has more than 7 million books in print and is fascinated with watching, reading and writing about “dangerous love.” Patricia won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and two Reviewers Choice and two Career Achievement Awards from RT BOOKreviews, and in her other life, she taught popular fiction and suspense-thriller writing, credit courses at Columbia College Chicago.
Find out more at Patricia.Rosemoor.com.
