"I cried, laughed, got angry and marvelled at these two people with abrading rough edges who managed to, through soul searching and much difficulty, file them down to smooth living." ~ Ginny

"To me it was a most emotional book, sometimes funny, sometimes sad and certainly poignant." ~ Patricia

"I like SuperRomance as they have those other interesting characters or supporting casts. I also liked the humour, it got better and better as the story went on." ~ Lynne

"Your writing is smart, clever, funny and talented." ~ Christine

"I really like it when my hubby says, 'You're gonna love this book.'" ~ Pat

"Please write more, and more, and more. Loved a great first book. It made me laugh." ~ Allison

"I reread the ending three times." ~ Rebekah

"It was one of the best books I've read in a long time.  Thank you so much - I was laughing and crying at the same time.  I can't wait to read the next two." ~ Jan

I love reunion stories, especially when first loves meet years later. All those undercurrents as two people, older, (but not necessarily wiser), meet again, armed with stronger emotional defences against being hurt.

It’s hard to go back and resolve old conflicts, so much easier to run away and build another life under a different persona. Psychologist Alfred Adler said, "It is easier to fight for one's principles than to live up to them," and every character in Mr Imperfect has to dig deep to win happiness. And there’s always the continuing sexual attraction to make things interesting while they do it...

Mr Imperfect was a book I wrote having no idea what would happen. I knew my first paragraph and I knew my last but the journey in between was full of unexpected twists and turns that took me by surprise and I think results in a much stronger book for the reader. At the point you discover Christian’s real problem, so did I.

All I knew was that I wanted to begin with a strong man crying at a funeral. Funnily enough I just read an article which said male tears are now considered a sign of strength in heart-rending circumstances, and no, this doesn’t yet include the national team losing a sporting fixture.

I also wanted to set the book on the Hauraki Plains, a small New Zealand farming community with BIG skies. I spent a lot of time there as a child holidaying on my grandmother’s farm and the landscape offers a wonderful sense of freedom contrasting with a close-knit community, that could also feel claustrophobic to adventurous teens.

Sometimes you have to grow up to appreciate that what you left behind was what you wanted all along.

CHRISTIAN Kelly cried at funerals. For a man who never wept it had been an appalling discovery. He figured the combination of somber hymns, gentle sobbing and church rituals struck some sentimental Irish chord and caused him to blubber like a baby.  He solved the problem by never attending them, which solidified his reputation as a hardened sinner. So it was a testament to his affection for Muriel Medina Rose that he came back to the New Zealand hometown he loathed, wearing the darkest pair of shades he could find, and stole into the last pew midway through a stirring rendition of When The Saints Go Marching In.

  Kezia Rose appreciated the irony. Knew her grandmother would have too. Still, it started a fit of giggles she fought to control - hysteria wasn't far away. It didn't help that she stood in full view of the congregation, shaky hands clasped, waiting to do her reading.

  She dug one spiky heel into the top of her other foot until tears came to her eyes. Then looked at the coffin and had to force them back. Not yet. Not until she'd done her grandmother proud. 

  Why hadn't she expected him?

  When she felt herself under control, Kezia looked again, coolly now, to where Christian sat - a big city cat amongst country pigeons. Maturity had chiseled his features back to strong bone, his thick black hair finally tamed by an expensive cut. Underneath a pair of reflective sunglasses he held his full mouth tight, almost disdainful. In thrall to a newer, stronger grief, she looked - and was not burned. A small sigh of relief escaped her.

  The music faltered to a stop in that ragtag way of amateurs and the minister gave her the signal. Three steps to the podium, deep breath. She found her place in the Bible's tissue-thin pages.  

  Her voice cracked on the first line; she stopped. Began again, one word at a time, found a rhythm, shut out emotion. The mantle of responsibility soothed her, reminded her who she was. A pillar of the community – teacher, chair of numerous country guilds, churchgoer, new owner of a hundred-year-old ramshackle hotel in Waterview.

  The bone-dry Hauraki Plains town had sprung up around the Waterview pub, both named by Kezia's Irish forbears in a fit of whimsy and not - as Christian had once joked - to provoke a powerful thirst in the locals.

  Not thinking about him right now.

  The words on the page ran out; the last full stop looked like a bullet hole signaling the end of one of the happiest times of her life. Dazed, she looked up to see Christian's wide shoulders and long body, clad in classic Armani, disappear through the arched church doors. And she was glad. Glad he'd made the effort to come, gladder he'd left without making contact. She had enough to cope with today without saying goodbye to someone else she had loved.

  And lost.

It takes a funeral to drag bad boy Christian Kelly back to his rural New Zealand hometown.  He'd do just about anything to blow out of town for the last time.  And never see Kezia Rose again.  His first love.  And the only woman he'd ever hurt.

But when they find out Kezia's going to lose her family's century-old hotel, Christian genuinely wants to help.  Except Kezia won't let him.  And neither will her grandmother - according to the last will and testament and a long-forgotten IOU he'd given the dear, exasperating old woman.

If the will says he can't buy out the hotel, he'll just have to turn it around by the end of the month.  And maybe by then Kezia will understand why he left... and why being near her is breaking his heart all over again.

What if you discovered that all you ever wanted were the things you left behind?