Fanning the Flames of Romance: The tug of self-preservation insisting I eat the damn soup...

The tug of self-preservation insisting I eat the damn soup...

Taken With the Enemy is the book of my heart. What does that mean, the book of my heart?

For me, that means it's the book an author has to write even if no one wants to publish it. It's the book that an author drops everything for, including their current projects, to complete because they are feeling the story that strongly. It's the story with characters and a plot that is so much a part of the author that if they didn't put it on paper, the story would haunt them and they would never be able to move on to write something else.

In the end, it's the book that an author loves best of all their work.

Taken With the Enemy is the book of my heart.

Inspired by a dream I had, Taken With the Enemy is a contemporary spin of those old historical novels where the heroine ends up falling in love with her captor. I had locked myself in my basement to write this book, completing it in about one month, during the holidays, knowing full well that the story might never see a printing press due to its "politically incorrect" nature.

I mean, this is the 21st century; you do not fall for your kidnapper.

But is it possible that true love could form under such circumstances? Could a solid, secure, healthy relationship develop around abduction? Especially in a modern world where psychological conditions like Stockholm syndrome exist—a term often used to describe any attachment a person might feel for their abductor?

I like to believe it’s possible, at least for the characters in my story. (LOL!)

I’m a hopeless romantic. I’m an avid believer in the concepts of love at first sight, of love conquering all, and that if two people are meant to be together, true love will bloom regardless of the circumstances.

I am a romance author.

Cheers!
~Tia

* * * * *

Yanking the covers away, he grasped my arm and pulled me off the mattress. I was so shocked, I didn’t object when he dragged my ass into the dining room. He shoved me down into the chair at the head of the table.

“You will eat. Now,” he growled.

Staring at the steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and the glass of fruit juice before me, I instinctively touched the spoon resting on the napkin, but drew my hand back. The thought of putting something in my mouth made me feel queasy. I really just wanted to go back to sleep. I was exhausted.

At the other end of the table, he angrily slid the heavy wooden chair out, marring the air with the shriek of scratching marble. I flinched, hating the sound that echoed through the room.

He sat and stared me down. “I said eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled.

“I don’t care.”

The edge in his voice, the hard set of his jaw, and the dark gleam in his eyes cautioned me not to press the issue. But amongst the inner chaos that consumed me—including the tug of self-preservation insisting I eat the damn soup—was the overwhelming urge to rebel against his demand.

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned, raising a dark brow.

What was I? A wayward child? If I wasn’t hungry, I wasn’t friggin hungry.

I shook my head.

“Eat.”

It was all too much.

Frustrated, I slammed my hands down on the table’s surface. “I’m not eating this.”

“Yes, you are.”

I swept my arm across, knocking the bowl and the glass off the edge. They hit the hard floor in a shattering, splattering mess.

The gratification was short-lived.

Quick as lightening, he was out of his chair and in my face, as dangerous as the first time we met.

“I’m going to let that slide,” he growled, “because apparently, not having food for five days has made you irrational and far braver than you should be, given the circumstances.”

I glanced away.

He pounded the tabletop. “Look at me!”

Flitching, my gaze immediately jumped back to his, my heart thumping in fear.

“I am going to get you another bowl and you are going to eat,” he continued, enunciating each syllable with careful restraint. “And if you don’t, I will tie you to that chair and force feed you. Am I making myself clear?”

~Excerpt from Taken With the Enemy by Tia Fanning

* * * * *

Night Owl Romance


“I am a fan of Tia Fanning and her work. She pens wonderfully entertaining stories that don’t disappoint her readers. This story was extremely engrossing and had me wondering the entire time what was going to happen to Brenna. I will definitely add this one to my library...”

--Diana Coyle, 5/5 and a Reviewer Top Pick, Night Owl Romance