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Sandra Brown is the author of fifty-six New York Times bestsellers, most recently Play Dirty which was published in August 2007 by Simon & Schuster and debuted at number two on The New York Times hardcover fiction bestseller list. Her other recent bestsellers include Ricochet (2006), Chill Factor (2005), White Hot (2004), Hello, Darkness (2003), The Crush (2002), Envy (2001), all of which have jumped onto the Times bestseller list in the number one to five spot. Her new novel Smoke Screen will be published on August 12, 2008.
Brown began her writing career in 1981 and since then has published nearly seventy novels, most of which remain in print. As of 1990, when Mirror Image made The New York Times bestseller list, each subsequent novel, including reprints of earlier books, have become Times bestsellers. Her novel The Witness was recently optioned by Twinstar Entertainment for a major motion picture. Brown now has seventy million copies of her books in print worldwide, and her work has been translated into thirty-three languages.
A lifelong Texan, Sandra Brown was born in Waco and raised in Ft. Worth. Before embarking on her writing career, she worked as a model at the Dallas Apparel Mart, and in television, including weathercasting for WFAA-TV in Dallas, and feature reporting on the nationally syndicated program "PM Magazine." She is much in demand as a speaker at book festivals and charity functions throughout the year. Court TV (now tru TV) also sought Brown to host the 2007 premier of its popular series "Murder by the Book."
Awards and commendations include a 2008 honoraryDoctor of Humane Letters degree from Texas Christian University, the 2007 Texas Medal of Arts Award for Literature, the American Business Women's Association's Distinguished Circle of Success, B'nai B'rith's Distinguished Literary Achievement Award, and the A. C. Greene Award. Brown is a member of the Writers Guild of America, the Authors Guild, Mystery Writers of America, Literacy Partners, and is a founding member of International Thriller Writers. She will be honored as the ITW's "ThrillerMaster" in 2008.
She and her husband live in Arlington, Texas.
Karen Ziemba's Broadway credits include Contact, (Tony, Drama Desk, and Outer Critics Circle Awards) Steel Pier, Never Gonna Dance, Chicago, Crazy for You, 42nd Street, & A Chorus Line. On television: Law & Order, Law & Order: Criminal Intent, Law & Order: SVU, Scrubs, PBS' Sondheim: A Celebration at Carnegie Hall and My Favorite Broadway: The Leading Ladies.
From such modest beginnings, Brown has evolved into multimillion publishing empire of one, the CEO of her own literary brand; she towers over the landscape of romantic fiction. Brown has used her growing clout to insist her publishers drop the bosom-and-biceps covers and has added more intricate subplots, suspense, and even unhappy endings to her work. The result: A near-constant presence on The New York Times bestsellers list. In 1992, she had three on the list at the same time, joining that exclusive club of Stephen King, Tom Clancy, J. K. Rowling, and Danielle Steel.
Her work in the mainstream realm has taken her readers into The White House, where the president's newborn dies mysteriously; the oil fields and bedrooms of a Dallas-like family dynasty; and the sexual complications surrounding an investigation into an evangelist's murder. Such inventions have made her a distinct presence in a crowded genre.
"Brown is perhaps best known now for her longer novels of romantic suspense. The basic outline for these stories has passionate love, lust, and violence playing out against a background of unraveling secrets and skeletons jumping out of family closets," wrote Barbara E. Kemp in the book Twentieth-Century Romance & Historical Writers . Kemp also praises Brown's sharp dialogue and richly detailed characters. "However, her greatest key to success is probably that she invites her readers into a fantasy world of passion, intrigue, and danger," she wrote. "They too can face the moral and emotional dilemmas of the heroine, safe in the knowledge that justice and love will prevail."
Critics give her points for nimble storytelling but are cooler to her "serviceable prose," in the words of one Publishers Weekly reviewer. Still, when writing a crack page-turner, the plot's the thing. A 1992 New York Times review placed Brown among a group of a writers "who have mastered the art of the slow tease."
Staggeringly prolific, Brown found her writing pace ground to a halt when she was given a different assignment. A magazine had asked her for an autobiographical piece, and it took her months to complete. Her life in the suburbs, though personally fulfilling, was nonetheless blander than fiction. That may be why she dives into her fiction writing with such workhorse gusto. "I love being the bad guy," she told Publishers Weekly in 1995, "simply because I was always so responsible, so predictable growing up. I made straight A's and never got into any trouble, and I still impose those standards on myself. So writing is my chance to escape and become the sleaziest, scummiest role."
When she started writing, her goal was always to break out of the parameters of romance. After about 45 romances, the woman who counts Tennessee Williams and Taylor Caldwell among her influences told The New York Times that felt she had reached a plateau. In fact, she doesn't even look at her books as romances anymore. "I think of my books now as suspense novels, usually with a love story incorporated," she said. "They're absolutely a lot harder to write than romances. They take more plotting and real character development. Each book is a stretch for me, and I try something interesting each time that males will like as well as women."
"Uh-oh," the man remarked. He was a New Yorker and accustomed to the practical jokes the city played on the citizens. "Another blackout."
Laney McLeod didn't comment. The man obviously expected her to say something. She could feel him turn and look toward her. But speech and movement were beyond her. She was paralyzed with fear. She rationalized, telling herself that it was her claustrophobia that made the situation so horrifying, that she would survive, that such stark terror was juvenile and bordered on the ridiculous. It didn't help.
"Are you all right?"
No, I'm not all right, she wanted to scream at him. But her vocal cords were frozen. Eight well-manicured nails were digging into two sweating palms. She realized that her eyes were squeezed shut. But forcing them open made no difference; there was no light in the suffocating confines of the apartment building elevator. Her breath was rasping loudly.
"Don't worry. It won't last long."
His calmness infuriated her. Why wasn't he panicked? She wanted to demand if he could guarantee that the power would be restored shortly. These blackouts could last for days, couldn't they?
"I think I'd feel better if you'd say something. You are all right, aren't you?"
She sensed a hand groping in the darkness only seconds before it made contact with her arm. She jumped.
"It's all right." Quickly he withdrew his hand. "Are you claustrophobic?"
Frantically she nodded her head, illogically thinking he could see the motion. He must have sensed it because his voice took on a lulling inflection. "There's nothing to worry about. If the power isn't restored in a matter of minutes, the fire department will be looking for stranded people like us."
She felt the air stir and heard the soft rustling of clothing. "I'm taking off my coat. I suggest you do the same."
When he had boarded the elevator, she'd gotten only a brief impression of gray hair, a tall frame, a slender physique, and clothes too studiously casual not to be outrageously expensive. Not speaking, not making eye contact, she had watched the lighted numbers over the elevator door as they ticked off their descent.
She had known that he watched her for several moments after he got in, though he Hadn't spoken either. They had been subject to that universal awkwardness that comes between two strangers sharing an elevator. Eventually his eyes had joined hers counting down the floors of the building. Now she heard his jacket land on the plush carpet.
"Need any help over there?" he asked with forced cheerfulness when she didn't move. He took a step toward the sound of the heavy, irregular panting and raised his hands. He heard her thump against the paneled wall as she backed away from him. He touched her rigid body and tentatively felt his way to her shoulders. "Hey." His voice was silky soft. "Everything's going to be fine." His hands gave her tense shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Then he moved.
"What are you doing?" Laney hadn't thought she could speak until she heard her own gasped question.
"Helping you off with your coat. The hotter you are, the harder you breathe, and the more likely you may start hyperventilating," he said. "My name's Deke, by the way." The suit jacket she had bought at Saks only the day before was eased off and dropped to the floor. "What's your name? Is this a scarf?"
"Laney." She raised leaden hands and fumbled against his fingers. "Yes. It comes off." She unwound the tie from her neck and handed it to him.
"Laney. That's an unusual name. Maybe you should unbutton a few buttons too. I don't think your blouse will allow much ventilation. Silk, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Very pretty too. Blue, if I remember."
"Yes."
"You're not a New Yorker," he remarked casually. He was working at the cuffs of her blouse, unbuttoning the pearl buttons and rolling the sleeves up her arms.
"No. I've been visiting for a week. I'm due to leave in the morning."
"You were visiting someone in the building?"
"Yes. My college roommate and her husband."
"I see. Now, isn't that more comfortable?" He adjusted her opened collar around her throat. "Would you like to sit down?" He lightly touched her waist with both hands.
"No!"
Dammit. Deke Sargent cursed himself for moving too fast. Mustn't panic the panicked. The woman was still plastered against the wall as though she were facing a firing squad. She was breathing as though each inhalation were her last. "All right, Laney. You-"
The lights flickered like a strobe, then came on full strength. The gears of the elevator were engaged with a gentle bump, and they were moving again.
Two strangers stared at close range into each other's eyes. Both pairs were dilated. Her face was pale. His was creased with concern.
He smiled crookedly and returned his hands to her shoulders. She looked ready to fly into a million pieces. "There! See? I told you. Everything's back to normal."
Instead of returning his smile, resuming the aloof detachment of a stranger, thanking him for his patience with her silliness and restoring her clothing, she slumped against him. His shirtfront was clutched in tight, damp fists, and she uttered an anguished cry against his chest. He felt her convulsive trembling.
God bless her, she had forced herself to hold on to her composure as long as she could. But when the danger was over, her nerves had given way to her terror of the dark, confining elevator.
They came to a gliding stop at the lobby level. The door whished open. Through the plate glass windows of the lobby, Deke could see people milling about on the sidewalks. The avenue was thronged with traffic halted by inoperative signal lights. Chaos reigned momentarily.
"Mr. Sargent-" the uniformed doorman began, rushing toward the elevator.
"I'm fine, Joe," Deke said brusquely. The last thing this woman needed was to be thrown out on the street in her condition. He didn't want to make any lengthy explanations to the doorman. "I'm going back up."
"Were you in the elevator when-"
"Yes, but I'm fine."
He propped Laney against the wall and leaned backward to press the Door Close button and the one designating the twenty-second floor. The doors closed and they surged upward. The woman had been impervious to it all. She still slumped bonelessly and hiccupped soft sobs.
"You're all right. You're safe. It's okay," Deke murmured as he held her to him. She smelled very good and he liked the feel of her hair on his neck and chin.
The elevator opened onto the hallway of his floor. Splaying a hand wide over her chest to keep her from collapsing, he bent down to pick up their discarded jackets, the tie of her blouse and her handbag. Then he swept her into his arms and against his chest. He carried her down the hall to the corner apartment and set her gently on her feet.
"Almost there," he whispered as he took his key from his pants pocket and inserted it into the lock. The door swung wide. He scooped the woman in his arms again and strode inside, depositing her on a sofa whose deep cushions almost swallowed her.
When he turned to leave, her arms lifted as though imploring him to stay. "I'll be right back." Unthinkingly he brushed a kiss across her forehead. He hurried back to the door and punched a sequence of numbers on his alarm system, which would have gone off in fifteen seconds had he not. Their clothes and her handbag were retrieved from where he had left them in a pile in the hall. He closed and relocked the door, flipped up a switch that turned on the indirect lighting and adjusted the dimmer down. The room was lit with a suffusion of pale gold.
He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt in front of the sofa, taking her hand between his and chafing it. "Laney?" Her eyes were closed, but they came open at her name. "How are you?"
She looked at him blankly. Two large tears rolled down her cheeks. Then she covered her face with her hands and began to sob. "I was so scared. It's stupid, childish, I know. Claustrophobia ..."
"Shhh." He got off his knees and sat down beside her. He gathered her in his arms, pressed her face into his neck and stroked her hair. "It's over. All over. You're safe." He kissed her temple. He kissed it again. His hand smoothed down her back and she snuggled closer.
Abruptly he pulled away and cleared his throat roughly. "What you need is a brandy."
He sure as hell needed one. He slowly extricated himself from her clinging hands and went to the small wet bar in the corner. As he poured the aromatic liquor into snifters, he watched her. It was as though her tears had cleansed her not only of panic but of energy too. She had turned sideways on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her hips and resting her cheek against the back cushion.
Of all the damn things, he thought with a wry smile. Deke Sargent rescuing a woman in an elevator? An absolutely gorgeous woman who had to be helplessly carried into his apartment and was at his mercy? He shook his head as he made his way back to the sofa. No one would ever believe it.
What else could he have done? Turned her out on Manhattan streets in the aftermath of a blackout? But what was he going to do with her?
It never occurred to him to start calling other residents in the building in an attempt to locate the friends she had been visiting. Nor did he examine the possessiveness he felt toward her. He recognized it; he just didn't analyze it. But he thought it had something to do with the sweet curve of her hip as she reclined on his couch and the way her honey-blond hair spilled over the tangerine-colored velvet cushions.
"Here, Laney, drink some of this." He sat beside her again and, cupping her head in his hand, raised the fragile snifter to her even more fragile lips. Her lashes fluttered open. Blue eyes, disoriented but no longer haunted, stared at him for a moment before her lips parted and she took a sip of the finest brandy in the world.
Her face didn't testify to its quality: Her features screwed up comically and Deke chuckled softly as she coughed and sputtered. She wasn't sophisticated, though her well-cut raw-silk suit indicated discriminating taste.
"More?" he asked.
She nodded and surprised him by covering his hand with hers and guiding the snifter back to her mouth. She sipped daintily until most of the brandy was gone. Then she leaned her head against the cushions and sighed deeply. The gesture was innocent, but the swell of her breasts beneath the clinging blouse aroused far from innocent desires in Deke.
Setting her glass on the lacquered coffee table, he drank a long sip of his own brandy. Her condition being what it was, it wasn't fair for him to stare, but he had never professed to being anything but human.
He studied her as she lay against the cushions, head thrown back, throat arched and vulnerable, eyes half closed, lips fragrant and moist with expensive brandy. Her face was too angular to be considered beautiful. The nose was a bit too short. Her mouth ...
Best not to linger too long in consideration of her mouth.
Her neck was long and slender and showed off delicate collarbones. In the triangle between them beat a steady, if a bit rapid, pulse. Her breasts looked soft, natural, touchable, beneath her blouse, but she was wearing a brassiere. He could see hints of weblike lace and satin straps. Her waist was model-thin. Thighs and hips likewise. From what he had seen of her calves, they were well shaped and encased in pale stockings. His palms itched to stroke them. She was wearing beige suede pumps with a butterfly embossed in shiny thread on the vamp.
Even as he watched, she moved the toe of one shoe to the heel of the other and pushed it off. The other shoe followed. They thumped almost soundlessly to the thick carpet. He dragged his eyes from the slender feet back up to her face. She was watching him with a notable lack of curiosity about her surroundings or about him.
"I couldn't breathe." A row of straight white teeth clamped over the trembling lower lip to still it.
He touched her hair, slid his fingers down her cheek. "That's a terrifying sensation, but it's over now."
"It was so dark." Her frail voice gave out on the last word and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Deke moved quickly to enclose her once again in his arms. "You were frightened. I'm sorry."
Her pliant body conformed to his hard one and mentally he groaned because his responded. Suddenly she was not just a woman who needed comfort and understanding: she was a woman who was soft and feminine and who felt better than any woman he had held recently. He spoke her name aloud.
She raised her head. Her eyes were the color of fog rolling in off the ocean. They were wide and pleading. "Hold me."
"I will," he vowed fervently. She seemed satisfied and nestled her face in his neck. When her lips brushed his skin, he felt the contact all the way down to his manhood. "I'll hold you."
Unconsciously he was raining light kisses over her hair and along her cheek. It seemed natural that he place one finger beneath her chin and tilt her head back. His lips grazed hers lightly before they rested on her mouth. He breathed in the aroma of brandy that lingered on her lips. Only a eunuch could have restrained himself. Deke had never been mistaken as such.
His lips pressed hers. He felt her stiffen momentarily, but then she relaxed against him again. He slowly separated her lips with his tongue and ventured inside. At first his investigation was tentative. When she touched his tongue with hers, his control broke. Making a low growling sound in his throat, he became more aggressive. His tongue claimed the sweet cavern of her mouth for its own, touching everywhere, flicking, stroking.
Her hands knotted handfuls of his shirtfront between clenching fingers. Her legs stretched out over his. She purred. God! Was he having some kind of marvelously erotic dream?
His hand coasted down her front, intending to go around her back for a tighter embrace. But her breast was too much of a temptation and he paused to caress it gently. Regretfully he moved his hand away.
"That felt good. Please do it again."
His head sprang up and Laney was impaled with disbelieving green eyes. The women who usually enjoyed his caresses considered themselves sophisticated. They played at sexual games. Every one had a role and spoke the right dialog. Never had Deke heard such an honest, direct request.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Words of Silk by Sandra Brown Copyright © 1984 by Erin St. Claire. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Good story line, impeccable writing skills obviously this is based on more than just this one novel. I'm a big fan of sandra brown, this is clearly explained as one of her older novels. However it is still a great read, pretty happy ending predictable but then again who doesn't enjoy happy endings? It is true there is a lot of sex, but I'm not complaining as long as it's written well and not repetitive. Great romance read, expect some older terminology like the others for some reason didn't notice it is one of her firsts.
1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
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Posted March 14, 2012
From start to finish it was a nice short story. I enjoyed both characters and, liked the way that Deke handled different situations. Overall a good easy read.
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Posted February 17, 2012
If you do not view it in the light of current day optics and just let yourself go on the waves of vintage romance it is quite a ride. Sandra always writes about people you would like to get to know...I enjoyed it with a cup of herbal tea on a nice sunning day.
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Posted December 25, 2011
This was my first S.Brown book and i really enjoyed it!
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.I am a long time SB fan. I enjoyed the book as a rainy day read but I would not mention it in topical conversation or add it to my permanent library. It was just one of those books you "happen" across and enjoyed it. More along the lines of a lifetime movie feel.
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Posted April 9, 2005
Very disappointing. I find these two people very lacking in character and background. Okay two people are trapped in the elevator, then one thing leads to another. Laney finds herself with child. Deke comes back and demands to be a part of their lives. I find that Deke just RUNS Laney's life and acts that it's something....common, I just couldn't help but feel resentful. And I so 'do not like' the character of Deke. Sorry but big disappointment to me.
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Posted September 30, 2004
I think this is the worst of Sandra Brown's work. The story is about nothing but sex, boring!
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Posted September 25, 2004
I expected better of a Sandra Brown novel. This book was just so bad. There was nothing that engaged me as a reader. The sex scenes were overdone. There's not the same level of sensuality as with her other novels. (Granted it is an older novel.) But I was very disappointed
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Posted August 11, 2004
I now am completely versed in lovemaking and all the words that go with it. Sandra Brown has written a love story that is completely about two people in bed. While she has the beginnings of a GREAT story, the focus of Words of Silk was mainly on how many times Deke and Laney could find themselves entangled in a hot passionate embrace. The story begins in a 10 minutes black out in an elevator in New York City. The sparks that ignited between a very claustrophobic Laney McCloud and Deke Sargent are the makings of a story about a gentleman to the rescue of a damsel in distress. He takes her back to his apartment to help her calm down and they end up in bed. OK, a great way to start a romantic novel. But for the next four and a half CDs, every other sentence is about them in bed. There are small portions of Laney¿s life as a kindergarten teacher and Deke¿s as a lawyer but the main focus of the book was how hot they were for each other. I kept hoping that Ms. Brown would expand on their lives and how they worked out their two vastly different lifestyles. I was hoping that Ms. Brown would allow Laney¿s character to want to find her father and expand on that subject matter. I was hoping that Ms. Brown would expand on Deke¿s large family and loving chaos that goes with it. Unfortunately, none of this happened. In short, this is a bedroom book and the story line goes lacking. In Ms. Brown¿s book, Hello Darkness, she wrote a wonderful plot and the characters didn¿t find it necessary to fall into bed at every turn. In Envy there were a few references to bedrooms scenes but there was a plot and she developed it. Seduction by Design was a book that sounded like it would be totally involved in the bedroom but was not. And, finally The Switch was a murder mystery involving twin sisters. Again, none of these books involved a total commitment to sex. I had hoped Ms. Brown would continue to write in this manner in Words of Silk but was disappointed.
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Posted July 8, 2004
I fell in love with the characters of the book. It's so romantic ,I wish I was struck in the elevator with a handsome man like Deke Sargent.
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Posted June 3, 2004
This story seems to be written 20 years ago, before cell phones, sonograms and DNA. It's the old Sandra Brown romance novel, full of sex and a feel good ending. Made me wonder if she found this hiding under some old books in the attic. Not her best work, but entertaining nonetheless.
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Posted June 15, 2004
This story was originally written in the early 1980's when I first starting reading romance novels. It was wonderful to see this classic reprinted.
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Overview
From the #1 "New York Times" bestselling author of "The Crush" comes a classic love story about a woman whose life drastically changes after she steps onto an elevator.