Guest Blog: TD Hassett

Please welcome author TD Hassett, who is here to share her book, Isabel’s Awakening. Take it away, TD.


TD Hassett: I wanted to write a classic fairy tale but my daydreams of rock stars in hot leather pants dripping with tattoos and piercings kept distracting me. After about two weeks I gave in and started writing a sweet and naughty story. My hero was an easy character — I just merged a young version of Jon Bon Jovi with a young version of Sting and voila, Thomas Becket flashed across the page.

But who to pair him with? What woman would be able to break through his defenses and steal his heart? After a lot of post it notes and glasses of wine the image of bookish Isabel Warren appeared. She was shy and studious but not a doormat. She wanted to see the world and grab opportunities as they came but was always too distracted by her responsibilities.  I would just have to find a way to force her to meet someone outside of her comfort zone and take a chance on a wild romance. She’d never go for a rock celebrity… if she knew that was who he was.  Please read a blurb and excerpt from Thomas and Isabel’s story.


TDH_IA_HiRes_F smallWho didn’t know the biggest rock band in the world?

Singer and front man Thomas Morgan was destroyed by the loss of his brother and total destruction of his marriage.  To avoid entanglements with others, even his young son, Thomas focused on promoting his music and newly formed record label. He thought he had everything at a safe distance, at least until Isabel literally slammed into his life.

High school teacher Isabel Warren finds herself falling head over heels in love with the sexy-as-sin singer for the rock band Becket. Soon Isabel’s orderly world of lesson plans, thesis writing, and student loan debt is competing against desire, passion, and her vulnerable heart.

As the sex sizzles, the two lovers will have to decide which parts of their dreams they will sacrifice for their fledgling relationship.


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Excerpt Thomas perspective

“How can you tell you’re lost when everyplace always looks the same?”




Thursday, 5:30 p.m.


Thomas Becket Morgan was cranky and bored with this place already. His band was playing two shows in this tiny state over the coming weekend, and the small city lacked decent lodgings for the first night’s engagement, so the tour manager had set them up in this suburban hotel from hell.

The town appeared to be a bedroom community, ritzy houses set in quiet neighborhoods and one main road crowded with shopping malls, gas stations, high-end eateries, and designer outlet stores. Drive six miles down the road, and the view became tenement houses just like those in the depression-era book a photographer he admired named Riis had put out. This place was reasonably close to New York City—its one redeeming value—and had he known how close it was in advance, he would have commuted here for the show from his flat in the city.

Gordon, or Gordy as Thomas preferred to call him, acted as both babysitter and tour assistant. He stood in a ridiculously long line at the Five Guys burger place while Thomas looked for something to read. He was sick of hotel food and just wanted bangers and mash but would settle for a decent burger and fries. It had been dreary and raining all day, and they couldn’t even set up and do sound checks at the stadium until Friday morning. Today had been a wasted day.

He envied Rick, the bassist. F***er. He was staying in his own home with his wife and children and just showing up to do the area shows. That bloke had brains and talent.

Thomas’ most prized possession, a 1963 Fender Telecaster custom guitar, had traveled with him to thirty-two states and twelve countries over the last twenty-four months, and he was sick of it all. He missed his boy and his house, which was now owned by his ex-wife, Sasha, the cheating coke-whore b***h. Thinking about Sasha left a bad taste in his mouth. At this point he even wondered if crazy should be added to the litany of insults against her. He had been receiving odd postcards mentioning his personal skeletons and offering to keep quiet in exchange for joining the sender in “making a real family.” She’d been just unhinged enough since the divorce to try mess with his head and send him that kind of sh**t.

He’d slept on the plane from Toronto today for too long and woken up with a kink in his neck and an urge to read the next book in a series he’d started reading some years back. Thomas didn’t know why he loved Herbert’s Dune series. Maybe it was the made-for-television movies they’d done on two of the books but whatever. All the desert scenes made him want to visit the Sahara or some big sandy place and ride a camel or some such foolery. Besides, for the rest of the East Coast portion of Becket’s tour, he would be stuck on buses with hours of boring highway scenery with few days off in between shows.

He grabbed a couple of books off the shelf and read the backs to kill time; he was already holding what he’d planned to buy.

The place was quiet; some soft pop canned music played over the store speakers. Sounded like a f***ing Justin Bieber song. The walls were the standard beige with framed prints of famous books and movies scattered about. The DVD section had the largest number of shoppers, so the section with the science fiction novels was all his, although he thought he should buy some movies since hotel selections could be trying. He wouldn’t mind picking up the director’s cut of THX.

Just as he switched books, he saw a young woman walking toward his area. She was tall, early twenties or maybe late teens trying to look older, with wet hair hanging out of what he thought must have been a bun-sort of updo, that or one of those new styles. She looked so distracted in her wet blouse and severe long brown skirt. He idly wondered if she would bug him for an autograph and gush like so many of the others her age did. For the first time in forever, he actually hoped she would. It was not something he usually liked; he detested fan meet and greets. But this girl… She just looked yummy.

Her breasts were full. They were practically falling out of her bra through the thin, wet shirt, and her hips were what his granddad would have called “good breeding hips” in his day. She wasn’t all stick shaped and harsh angles like his ex; this girl was curvy and feminine. Her mouth was overfull, with lips that most women would have had to pay a surgeon to pump full of silicone, but somehow, he just knew they were natural. He didn’t think she was wearing makeup, and her skin looked so milk-pale and flawless. Absently, he wondered if she realized that the long, tight skirt down to her ankles made men think more about what was underneath than if she had been wearing a tight mini with fishnet stockings. He watched her like some sort of stalker while pretending to decide between two books.

She walked down the aisle, coming closer to him, and the whole thing was like an auto accident in slow motion. He knew she was going to fall but couldn’t believe she didn’t see the librarians’ step stool in front of her. One, two, three, and down she went, barreling into his chest as he reached forward to try to stop her headfirst descent. She landed in a partial kneel, breasts—oh those breasts—plastered right onto his stomach. He grasped her upper arm and elbow and tried to bring her back level. He slid her body up his shirt and felt hard nipples through the fabric of their clothes. As she stepped back and righted herself, he could see why. Her soaked shirt clearly showed her tits as if the shirt wasn’t even there. Her bra must have been ripped because her nipples were swollen and visible in all their pink glory. Oh, how he loved the pale girls. Such lovely contrasts they had.

She spoke, fast and nervous, but with a young voice. He couldn’t help but feel bad for her; he could tell she was mortified. Thomas pushed her back to her feet gently. He really would have preferred to keep those tits pressed to his chest a bit longer, but instead, he gave her the polite response his mum would expect. Twelve years of all this rock-and-roll s**t and a whore-bag of an ex hadn’t left him totally jaded, just mostly.

She spoke, but it took his head a minute to let the words sink in. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. This girl didn’t need cosmetics. Adding anything more to such kissable lips would be fatal to mankind. They shared a couple more inane comments and…

Oh f**k, she’s going.

He didn’t want her to go. Why had she come down this aisle anyway? Books, yes, books. Ask her about the books, his distracted brain hinted.

Well, f**k me, he muttered silently. She reads Herbert.

And now she was going, just walking away. He couldn’t explain an exact reason for all the proverbial tea in China, but he wanted to see her again and just couldn’t let her walk out of the shop. If he couldn’t get a girl’s attention with free concert tickets then it was time to pack up his guitar and go home for good, wherever that really was.

He followed her toward the register and had to call her name twice before she realized anyone was speaking to her. When she turned, her expression resembled a nun sucking a lemon slice before downing a tequila shooter. Not a good sign.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to the concert tomorrow night.”

Her blank, sort of confused expression stared back at him.

She flushed so red it made her eyes—a deep green or maybe they were more gray in color—stand out.

“You want me to go to a concert?” She froze then flushed even brighter, and then after a quick pause, she said, “Oh, you mean you have some tickets you need to sell?”

Thomas realized that Americans sometimes had trouble with his accent, but he certainly didn’t think he sounded like a f***ing scalper.


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2 responses to “Guest Blog: TD Hassett

  1. Reblogged this on Tiffany Dawn and commented:
    I had a great time at Allie Ritch’s blog site talking about how I got my inspiration for the character of Thomas in Isabel’s Awakening. Stop by.

  2. Pingback: Fun One-Liners | Allie Ritch, author

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