Guest Author – Libby Campbell, Winning Sadie

Check out the new release from the charming Libby Campbell! She’s been kind enough to answer a few questions about her writing process as well as sharing three excerpts from her brand new book!



He’s boardroom. She’s back room. Can they find common ground?


Sadie Donohue – gorgeous, sexy, smart and totally smitten with Simon Jacobson.

Simon Jacobson – gorgeous, sexy, smart, uber-rich and utterly smitten with Sadie Donohue. This sounds like a perfect match, so what’s the problem?

Sadie is from the wrong side of the tracks: working class neighborhood, public schools, sausages on the backyard bar-b-que. She was raised to fend for herself and bow down to no one, especially a man. Since meeting Simon, everything her liberated, independent mother taught her has flown out the window. Now Sadie is regularly over Simon’s knee for being her sassy, strong-willed self. And she loves it!

Simon hails from a world of wealth and privilege: gated communities, private schools, servants turning steaks on the bar-b-que. As the owner of a multinational corporation he is used to giving orders and getting what he wants. His life revolves around making millions and socializing with people whose flamboyant wealth intimidates Sadie. Still, she’s thrown into the deep end and told not to do anything to embarrass Simon. Or else!

At their lavish engagement party, Sadie’s hears her mother’s voice echoing in her head, reminding her that she will never fit in. Best intentions aside, Sadie will always be an embarrassment to Simon. That’s it. Engagement off!

Simon is in charge and he has other ideas. But will Sadie’s mother be their undoing? Can Sadie reconcile her past with her future?

This love story includes spanking an adult woman, explicit sex scenes and more. If such material offends you, please do not read this book.

Buy links:

AmazonBlushing BooksBarnes & Noble

Excerpt 1 (Rating: NC-17)

Simon stood and put his champagne flute on the table. His lips twitched, as if he was fighting a smile. “Let me guess when you started having these doubts. I’d pin them as starting about a week ago, maybe the day you drove out to the airport and picked up your mother?”

Without meeting his eyes, I took his outstretched hand let him help me to my feet. He’d pegged the moment precisely. I was lifting Mom’s suitcase off the carousel when she made the first jibe. She looked over my shoulder as if searching for someone.

With a lift of her chin she taunted, “Where is the legendary Simon Jacobson? Is he too busy to welcome me himself?”

To the outside world, Mom acted as though she admired Simon. She complimented how well he treated me, how lovely his house was, how generously he treated his guests. When it was just the two of us she cracked critical, undermining comments that bit like a thousand beestings.

She said things like, “Simon’s friends live in a different world. You can’t have him without them and they speak a foreign tongue.”

With a skill perfected over my lifetime, Mom eroded my confidence that someone like him could love someone like me, and that the rest of world would accept us. Her week-long campaign to make me question my future with Simon was a resounding success. The more time I spent in the company of his friends that weekend, the less I believed that I would ever belong there.

Now it was just Simon and me, a lazy Sunday afternoon, and an engagement to cancel.

I breathed in the soft savory smell of him standing in front of me. His hand was warm and strong as he held mine. He lifted my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “I asked you a question: did you start having second thoughts as a result of your mother’s visit?”

I turned away.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He kissed me on the cheek. “I think we need to discuss this. With you over my knee.”


Excerpt 2 (Rating NC-17)

I walked with plodding footsteps first to Simon’s bedside drawer to get the key to the safekeeping place, then to the bathroom. In the top left hand drawer on Simon’s side of the vanity, lay the neat row of implements. Simon wasn’t tempted to buy more, he said, because so far we had all we need. He didn’t want to mark or injure me, he just wanted to remind me who was boss. Besides if our collection wasn’t enough to deliver his message, there was always a belt handy.

I carried the hairbrush back to him, balanced on my upturned hands. He’d pulled a small stool in front of him and watched me with cool detachment. My heart sank. He’d only used that stool once before, when he was delivering a spanking of particularly long duration. He’d had me kneel on it and drape my body across his left knee. He pinned my legs with his right leg. The stool was so I could slide back and take breaks at intervals decided entirely by him.

I knew my confession of doubts wasn’t going to go down easy with him but I hadn’t expected anything this dire. Not the stool and an implement.

He put his hand out for the hairbrush. I gave it to him and he held it up to me. I kissed the back of it, part of the hairbrush ritual.

“Sit.” He motioned to the stool.

I frowned, not understanding.

“Sit on the stool, back to me.”

“Clothes on?”

“Clothes on.” He nodded, his face expressionless.

I sat between his legs, my head barely reaching his waist.

“Keep your hands in your lap,” he instructed.

I folded them together like a birds’ nest and reminded myself to breathe. In the next moment, he started brushing my hair. He wasn’t going to spank me. He had only wanted to scare me with the over the knee comment. I sagged, partly with relief, partly with disappointment.

“What’s worrying you, my love?” He drew the hairbrush past the base of my neck and down the length of my hair.

“You said once that I was never to embarrass you in public or in private. That it was just good manners not to. On our first date you spanked me for embarrassing you.” I gripped my hands tightly at the memory. “But over the past few days, I have to tell you that I’ve said many, many stupid things to your friends and business acquaintances. Things that I know would shame both me and you. I can’t live by that rule of not embarrassing you. I can’t even not embarrass myself. I don’t belong in your world.” My voice sank to a whisper.

The brush started again at the top of my head, genuine boar bristles massaging my scalp. It felt heavenly and I tried to imagine life without Simon. A nightmare.


Excerpt 3 (Rating: NC-17)

He walked back to my chair and rested his hands on my shoulders. “Do you have anything you want to ask me?”

His hands were warm on my skin. I thought about those long, square-tipped fingers, fingers that could make me dissolve in ecstasy or bounce in pain.

“I do,” I said, having thought about this moment for the past two days. I choked down the bitter lump in my throat. “Will you please spank me?”

I bowed my head, in shame at my thoughtless behavior and in shame at breaking every single principle my mother had tried to teach me about not letting a man rule my life.

“I will.” His voice was husky and he kissed the top of my head. “Stay there. I’m going to turn your chair around.”

With that he tipped my chair back and angled it to face the other one in front of the window. He sat opposite me. He was in his 007 suit, as I dubbed it. Dressed to kill. It was an Ermenegildo Zegna bespoke number that he’d had made in Sydney on our last visit. It cost as much as a small car and enhanced his best features: his broad shoulders and narrow waist. In spite of my predicament, I had to admire him. Only I didn’t let it show. I kept my face impassive.

“Why do you think I should spank you?”

“I dunno. It was your idea not mine.”

A smile played on his lips for a second before he pressed his mouth into a firm line. “Lord, Sadie! Before we’d even officially met, I knew you had a well-documented history of insubordination and disrespect for authority but you continue to astonish me with the heights you take it to. Was that really the smartest thing you could say right now?”

“At least I’m not boring,” I offered.

“For the record, you have accepted my leadership well, even better than I expected, in some ways. But, as I explained from our earliest times together, I demand obedience from you if you’re going to share my life. Also you must know by now that I’m continually raising the bar and will not cut you any slack. Is this clear?”


“And you’re still willing to work in this constantly changing landscape?”

“I am.”

“And be spanked for failure to comply?”

He was starting to piss me off. This long discussion was intended to draw the session out, to worry me even more and build on my anxiety. I just wanted to get past the worst and go have lunch.

“Didn’t I just ask for the damn spanking?” I snapped.

This time he didn’t hide his grin. “Before you add to the penalty, would you like to go through the reasons you are about to be spanked? I want to be assured that you understand why this is happening.”




 Libby Campbell, mischief maker and dreamer

Libby lives on the West Coast of Canada with her husband of over twenty-five years. An avid reader, she savors books that feature strong, independent women and the loving men who challenge them.

She loves mountain hikes, deep bubble baths, and all animals, but particularly small dogs with big attitudes and big dogs who think they are lap dogs. She’s a four season woman who enjoys winter nights in front of a fire, summer sunsets on the beach, and all the in between months.

She reads and writes for pure escapism. If you like her books, she hopes you will leave a review, to encourage her in her world-building.

Visit her website and blog here: Libby Campbell

Find her on Facebook –

Follow her on Twitter: @LibbyC26

Visit her Amazon author page:


Interview with Libby Campbell, author of Winning Sadie


Even though I have read your first book, Simon Says, can you tell my friends about your newest release?

Winning Sadie starts when the last guest from Simon and Sadie’s weekend long engagement party has gone home.

Accustomed to deciding what he wants and then getting it, Simon assumes all he and Sadie need to do now is finalize their wedding plans.

However, after a week-long visit from her mother, Sadie has started to question whether she should marry Simon.

When her mother and grandfather are injured in a car crash, Sadie hops on the first plane east and leaves Simon behind in Vancouver. He has to reach across the continent to try to win her back.

Even though Winning Sadie is book two in the Simon in Charges series, it can be read as a standalone novel.


And are you working on anything right now? Will you sneak and tell me about it? I won’t tell anyone if you don’t…

Generally I’m kind of superstitious about talking about any work in progress. It feels like an invitation to disaster…but my current one is almost finished so I’m happy to share:

Book 3 (as yet untitled) in the Simon in Charge series follows this lively couple as they try to settle down to a normal life on the West Coast. They need to find a home to call their own and plan a wedding. Sadie wants to return to her volunteer work with homeless people on the Downtown Eastside. Simon has agreed that they will travel less so that they can share a more regular life together.

They find their dream home quickly, only to discover big obstacles in their way. Sadie’s return to volunteer work lands her in a dangerous situation.

Wedding plans very quickly become a low priority.


So what inspires you?

Power dynamics in a relationship always intrigue me. With so many contemporary partnerships ending in divorce, I like to play with the notion of what brings people together as well as what drives them apart.

What books have influenced your writing most?

While writing this genre, which I’ve been doing for only a year, I like to immerse myself in the books of other writers who are doing it well. There really are too many to name but lately I’ve been enjoying the work of Amelia Smarts, Renee Rose, Louise Taylor, to list a few.

When you write do you ever model your characters after real people?

Simon’s gift for languages is based on two people I know, both men, both of whom only need 4-5 hours exposure to a language to develop working fluency. What a gift!

How did you come up with your title?

Simon was just so assured of his ability to command whatever he wanted in Simon Says, it was Sadie’s turn to have her name on the cover.  It was Simon’s turn to make an effort to charm her back to his side so Winning Sadie came easily.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Read. Read. Read. Write. Rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. And keep learning, sharpening your skills.

Cover reveal – Having Faith!

It’s finally here! The cover for Volume One of the third Ruttingdon series novel looks like this:


Having Faith will be released on 2nd August, and the concluding volume, Keeping Faith,  will be released on 3rd September! The story grew so large that I just had to split them into two, but down’t worry – there’s no massive cliffhanger, the story is completely resolved in Keeping Faith.

I’ve seen the mock up for Keeping Faith‘s cover and it’s even more amazing than this one!

Remember, you can read the first chapter of Having Faith right here, for free! Click here to read!

Having Faith will be released by Blushing Books, and available from their website as well as Amazon and!

Journal prompt: my worst holiday


Ah, young love. Makes you do all sort of wild and crazy things.

Such as, say, agreeing with your boyfriend that camping sounds like a wonderful idea for a few days despite the fact that:

  • you have really bad hay fever and sleeping in the great outdoors is likely to cause your face to explode with snot
  • you have your period, so access to showers is going to be really important and any ideas he has about sexy fun in the great outdoors are going to be nixed quite firmly.
  • you don’t leave home early enough to get to the campsite before dark, so you have to put the tent up by torchlight
  • he doesn’t let you help put the tent up, because he’s got his arse in his hand about leaving too late (totally all his fault)
  • because he’s the one that chooses the campsite and puts the tent up, he doesn’t notice that he chooses to do so in a ditch.


We were fine for the first night, because all I wanted to do was sleep. It started to rain on the second day. That isn’t unusual in Wales, where we actually export water to the rest of the UK because we have so much falling on us, usually during the summer. We drove around for a while, saw some sights, came back to the campsite, ate in a local restaurant and went to bed.

I wake up early the next morning to see my gym bag, containing all of my clean clothes and the copy of the book I was reading, floating across the inside of the tent. It was a large tent, made for six, so there was plenty of space for my bag to lazily drift across.

Boyfriend was woken and is tersely appraised of the situation. He immediately blames himself for the entire situation. I privately agree wholeheartedly, but remain dutifully non-judgmental as I wade to dry land in full view of other campers who remain safe, if not completely dry, in their own tents on slightly higher land. I sit in the car, dressed in some of his spare clothes, as he battles with both the rising water level and the uncooperative tent. We drive home mostly in silence, punctuated by brief cheery outbursts by me, trying hard to Put A Brave Face On.

I’ve never been camping since. Five star hotels have evolved for a reason, you know.

Journal prompt: I admit it: I enjoy…



I admit it: I enjoy watching those pimple-popping videos on Youtube. Blackheads are my favourites to watch being extracted, little solid dark worms of yuk being pushed out of some poor soul’s skin. I’m not too keen on anything bloody, but my tolerance for pus had increased sevenfold since I stumbled on these videos ages ago.

Thanks to these videos I can tell the difference between blackheads and dilated pores of Winer, epidermoid cysts and ganglion cysts and why it’s important to make sure that you’ve got all of the cyst wall out of the incision you’ve made.

I prefer it when people have gone to a doctor to be seen to, especially cheerful ones like Dr Sandra Lee, as you know they’re being dealt with hygienically and with sense. On the other hand, I must admit to a certain level of amusement at the videos pf people being gleefully pounced on by friends and family members at parties, on the beach and even in bars and having their spots and cysts squeezed.

I’ve always liked squeezing my spots. I was lucky enough to avoid acne as a teen, but I did (and still do) have greasy skin and blackheads were an integral part of my teen years. I rarely  got a chance to let loose at my face, however, as both my parents are pimple poppers par excellence and they took every opportunity to squish and squeeze my face free of spots. I have a mole in my hairline that my mother often mistook for a blackhead, and I spent many a happy hour of my childhood darting away from her probing fingers as I yelled “Mole! It’s my mole!” as she chased me around the living room table.

Ah, memories.

If you’re a happy popper like me, check out The commenters can be very annoying – they’re all armchair doctors who know everything about cysts, of course – but you get the best videos there. For blackhead videos, look for Dr Vikram’s posts. For cyst pops, try the lovely Dr Lee.

Enjoy, pimple poppers! If you spot (hah!) a good video, let me know in the comments!

Journal prompt: Are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

Mariana 1851 by Sir John Everett Millais, Bt 1829-1896
Mariana 1851 Sir John Everett Millais, Bt 1829-1896 


I suppose it’s not very fashionable to say this, but I really like the Pre-Raphaelites. Not the men themselves, you understand; they seem to have been quite a callous bunch, all told, especially towards their models.

I like works of art I can understand. I don’t want to try and find meaning in a red dot on a white background. I don’t know that that’s supposed to be. I don’t know what the artist is trying to say. With the Pre-Raphaelites there will always be little details in the background that will have allegorical significance that passes me by, but on the whole when I look at the painting, I understand what is happening.

This is Mariana, by Millais. When I first saw this painting in a book, in my teens, I didn’t know that Mariana was a character in Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure, pining for her lost love. I didn’t know that Millais displayed this painting with a quotation from a Tennyson poem next to it. I saw my own story in it – a young woman standing up from her work, stretching her back to work the aches out and looking plaintively out a window. As I was someone who was revising for exams at the time, and spent long amounts of time bending over a desk and wishing I was anywhere else, I felt a little kinship with the woman in the picture.

I had William Holman-Hunt’s Lady of Shalott on my wall at university. I loved the colours and the wild abandon of her hair. God only knows what she was doing with that massive embroidery loop, but you can see the mirror being crack’d, and Lancelot moseying by outside, unaware that the Lady’s life is now forfeit after she snuck a glance at him out of her tower. lady.jpg

In modern tumblr-talk, I suppose the Pre-Raphaelites are ‘problematic’ to like today. They tended to portray women as weak and feeble, pining for love or the loss of it. The artists themselves behaved terribly to their wives, mistresses and models, who often held all three positions at some point in their lives.

I like the pretty paintings, though. I understand what the artist was trying to say, mostly. I adore the red hair so popular with the artists and have spent most of my life since the age of twelve dying mine to look like it. There’s always something going on in the paintings, something new to catch you eye. They’re not at all modern and not at all sympathetic to modern women’s experiences of the world, but I do like them.

Journal prompt: tell us about your pets!


I think that anybody owned by a cat has suffered this kind of fate every time you have to round up the buggers and take them to the vet, but this is so reminiscent of the struggle I have with Alfred The Great that I had to post this very funny video. Please check out more of this amazing illustrator’s work, in both video and book form, You won’t be disappointed!

My cat is Alfred The Great, a large, neutered male grey tabby cat of indeterminate age and volatile disposition. Alfred isn’t my cat, technically; his owner, who rescued him from a semi-feral life after he’d been injured, has moved out of the country to work in the Middle East. She needed somebody to look after him temporarily – a week, possibly two – while two of her friends finalised the sale of their new house and they could adopt him.

That was three years ago.

Once Alfred had settled into the house, enjoying free run of all the rooms (none of the doors shut properly) and establishing his ownership of the garden (by biffing next door’s dog on the nose and chasing her back over the fence), it was just easier to leave him here.

It’s safe to say that Alfred has mellowed since moving to my humble abode, although as he will still bite you for no apparent reason, pounce on you when you’re carrying plates and glasses and take on two other cats at the same time in a vicious fight, it’s safe to say that he isn’t a nice cat. If I hadn’t let him stay with me, he’d have had to go to a shelter, which would have been terrible for him as he hates other cats with a passion. He also would have been very unlikely to have been re-homed, due to his lack of interest in playing nice with humans. I certainly wouldn’t trust him around small children.

He was never an indoor cat, we think. From when he was born until when he appeared in my friend’s garden, limping and in pain, he had to fend for himself. He’s not really used to humans, and how to play with us. When he bites and scratches he is trying to play, I think; he just draws blood and leaves scars. My furniture and wallpaper bear the brunt of his claws, although in the spring and summer he’s happy to be outside in the garden most of the day, patrolling his territory and failing absolutely to catch birds, butterflies or rodents. I was told that he brought down a seagull once. I’m very glad that he doesn’t love me enough to present me with one of those!

He does love me, in his way. For the first year he’d not get very close to me at all, but now he’ll sit very close to me on the sofa. Not in my lap, however; Alfred the Great is most definitely not a lap cat, and he’ll fight anyone that thinks otherwise. He is, however, a secret snuggler, and has taken to getting into bed with me at about five am for a cuddle. Only in the summer, though, when a large, furry hot water bottle is the very last thing you want. To do that in winter would be unthinkable!

His owner called him Alfie, I lengthened it to Alfred the Great, after my favourite Saxon king. It also suits his ego, which has him strutting around the place as if he owns it!


True to form, just after looking up at me with those adorable yellow eyes, he bit my hand. This is the cat that literally bites the hand that feeds him, folks, mostly because he knows that the hand is attached to a soft hearted idiot who loves him anyway.

Journal prompt: my last kiss

It was a goodbye kiss, although you probably thought it was a goodbye for now kiss, that there would be more in the future.

I knew differently.

This was a kiss goodbye to your inattention, your lies and your lack of care about my feelings. It was a kiss goodbye to waiting anxiously for you to text me, to remember that I existed. It was a kiss goodbye to the only person who wants and desires me, true, but it was also a kiss goodbye to the pain that your leaving causes me every time you walk out the door.

I wonder how long it will take you to realise it?

I knew it was coming from the first.

kiss goodbye.jpg

Journal prompt: a letter to the author of your favourite book

Dear Sir Terry,

I have so much to thank you for, which I’m sure would have embarrassed you if I’d ever told you so when you were alive. You seemed very humble and self-deprecating in your interviews, but it’s a real regret of mine that I never wrote that fan letter to tell you so.

I started reading your books because of my father, who had found you first and thought I’d appreciate your humour. I started with Witches Abroad, which introduced me to my personal heroine, Granny Weatherwax. I devoured every volume that my local library had of yours, and then started to buy them for myself when I kept wanting to re-read them. You can see from my bookshelves when I started earning a better Saturday job wage, as I started buying hardbacks instead of paperbacks!  The witch novels have always been my favourites, followed by the novels centred around the Ankh Morpork City Watch and the wizards of the Unseen University.

I think the reason why I love your books is because you wrote about people that I knew. Oh, they might be witches or wizards or Ephebian philosophers in their barrels, but I knew them. I recognised them as my family, my teachers, my friends and myself. You made your characters so human and realistic, even the ones that are orangutans and Wonder Dogs. You made me look critically at how I thought – you taught me about Second Thoughts and the secret of boffo, ideas that still guide my judgments and actions today. You made me laugh with your outrageous puns and sly references to the real world.

You exposed hypocrisy in governments and institutions but you were never cruel to the undeserving. You respected the Sam Vimeses of the world, who battle against their demons every day, and the Granny Weatherwaxes, who do the job that is in front of them, no matter what the personal cost. You were on the side of the little guy, when few often are.

When I needed a good laugh, I could rely on you. When I needed a place to retreat to from the harshness of the world, I could rely on you. You were more than my favourite author. You were a teacher, a guide and a friend. You didn’t ask to be, and I’m not sure you wanted to be, but you were, all the same. I don’t think I could have got through my teen years without my copy of Lords and Ladies. At a time when I was suffering from the stress of parental expectation and my own highly critical inner voice, Granny was going through the same thing. The price of being the best is having to be the best, every day, with all the expectations that went with it.  I got that. It spoke to me. It still does. Granny survived that pressure, so I did. You were the first person to be able to give words to the feelings that I had banging around my brain and I am so intensely grateful for that gift.

I met you once, although I didn’t get the chance to tell you all this. I’m not sure that I could have put it into words then. You were kind, and smiled and chatted as you signed my copy of Hogfather, the latest release. I heard you give advice to some amateur actresses who were putting on a Discworld play, and I’ve practically memorised what you said to them. I can’t remember what we talked about. Shock at actually meeting my hero, I suppose.

You’re gone now, and the fact that I’m crying as I’m typing this only goes to show that you mean so much more to me than I can explain. You went far too soon and I’m bloody angry about the books that we’ll never get to read and the jokes we’ll never laugh at. My loss is nothing compared to that of your family, of course, but you are mourned and missed by millions. You should know that. You should know how much you were loved. Everyone should know how much they are loved.

Thank you for everything you’ve given me, and keep giving me. Your books are a constant source of joy for me.You’ll always have a special place in my heart, and on my bedside table.


All my love and grateful thanks,






Journal prompts: what would your ideal flower crown look like?


It would look dead.

Look, I’ve got no problem with people who want to go around with flowers in their hair. It’s whimsical and feminine and a bit hippy-dippy, but it’s harmless. Plus, it easily identifies whimsical hippy-dippy types with unerring accuracy, so you can avoid them with ease and professionalism.

I’m not particularly whimsical or hippy-dippyish, so you won’t find me wearing a flower crown any time soon, but even if I were, I’d still have to avoid them. I suffer from hay fever quite badly, so the idea of waltzing around the place with pollen drifting down from just above my eyebrows is my idea of summer hell, to be honest!


Journal prompt: are you fussy about your book and music organisation?


I like to listen to music, but these days all my music has been imported into iTunes, so my actual CDs are in a few dusty cases under the desk in the office room. I tend to buy my music digitally these days, so all organisation is done by the computer. Not that I listen very much nowadays, come to think about it; I can’t listen to music with lyrics when I write as I get distracted, so I either don’t bother, or listen to classical music on Spotify. I listen to podcasts when I’m doing the washing up or cleaning the house, as I find that more interesting than just music.

My books though – they are organised to within an inch of their lives. Firstly, they’re organised by genre. Detective fiction in the front of the living room, science fiction and fantasy in the back, next to the bookshelves with classics in the canon of English Literature on one side and historical non-fiction and biographies on the other. On the bookshelves next to the bathroom are my non fiction reference books, with a few collections of cartoons in the bathroom itself for some light toilet reading. Upstairs in the office room are my bookshelves with professional books for my day job, my collection of children’s books and a bookshelf of romantic fiction. Inside each bookshelf, the genre is organised alphabetically by author, and then by publication date if the author has more than one book in my collection.

Obsessive? Perhaps. But I can always find any book I’m looking for in my house!