The Fire in the Heart is the Hardest to Fight…

Posted in Lexxie Couper, New Releases with tags , , , , , , on April 28, 2015 by Lexxie Couper


Harsh, rugged and unforgiving, the Australian Outback is the perfect place for Evan Alexander to hide. Up in the air, fighting fires from the cockpit of his helicopter, no one sees the scars that run clear down to his soul.

When a massive fire breaks out in a nearby national park, Wallaby Ridge becomes a media staging ground, and Evan’s daring piloting skills the center of attention. Evan finds it easy to dodge every reporter—except one. A woman from his past.

Jenna McGrath can’t believe the quiet, withdrawn man declared a hero is the same arrogant, cocky pilot she fell in love with six years ago. A cruel betrayal caused Jenna to remove herself from his world, but she’s never been able to erase him from her memories.

Their long-suppressed attraction reignites, but the walls Evan has built around himself are high. And while Jenna easily overlooks the scars on his body, she begins to wonder if molten desire is enough to melt the emotional scars binding his heart.

Warning: It’s not the flames devouring the landscape that will stir your soul…it’s the wounded, broken man fighting them from the air.

Amazon ~ Barnes and Noble ~ iBooks ~ Kobo ~ ARe

“This isn’t a long read, but man is it a great one. There aren’t many authors that can grab your heart as hard in these few words as well as Lexxie has. I highly recommend this book and series!!! I can’t wait to see what else she has coming from these guys of Wallaby Ridge.” ~ KcLu, Guilty Pleasures 


No way.

Jenna’s stride, normally utterly confident, purposeful and commanding, betrayed her. She stumbled, her four-inch Manolo Blahniks scraping over the gritty concrete, her mic slipping from her loosening grip.

Reflexes contracted her fingers around the microphone before it could fall to the ground. Her cameraman, Theo Theodopolis, snared her upper arm before she herself could tumble in that direction.

“Gotcha, boss,” he muttered, laughter in his voice.

She tried to shoot him a grateful smile over her shoulder, tried to show her appreciation for his quick action, but she couldn’t seem to drag her stare from the man in the baseball cap and battered bomber jacket standing near the helicopter.

There was no way it could be who she thought it was.

No way.

For starters, the Evan Alexander she knew five years ago would never hide under a baseball cap. Evan Alexander only ever stood tall and arrogant, smile smugly charming, oozing sexy-as-sin cockiness and surety.

That Evan, the one her best friend had married—correction, so-called best friend—had married would never wear his collar up hiding half his face.

Evan Alexander knew he was too good-looking to deny the world his countenance. Evan Alexander preened when the world looked at him. Evan Alexander would not, repeat, would not turn his back on a reporter making their way towards him like the man in the bomber jacket was doing now.

Which meant the man Wallaby Ridge was hailing a hero couldn’t be Evan Alexander, right?


So what’s with the punch-to-the-tummy sensation then, Jenna? The same punch-to-the-tummy sensation you always got every time your eyes connected with Evan’s back when you still hung out with him and Tracey?

Drawing in a slow breath, she straightened her spine and continued towards the man so very obviously ignoring her approach. There was no way it could be Evan. No way. It was a freaky trick of light, is all. A snatching glimpse of eyes similar to Evan’s. Hell, what with the way the man was wearing his baseball cap so low over his face, and with the cocked-up bomber jacket collar, she was lucky to have seen his eyes at all, especially in the darkness of the evening. Where were all the streetlights in the Outback? Surely the helipad should have some kind of illumination? How did they see anything out here at night with so little electric light? By the gazillion stars overhead?


She flicked the tall man standing beside the one ignoring her a look. He smirked at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

Jenna swallowed, casting her gaze over him from eyes to boots and back to eyes again. Charlie Baynard, Wallaby Ridge’s Senior Constable. A ripple of apprehension shot up her back. She’d spoken to him only a few moments ago, trying to track down the hero of Wallaby Ridge. He’d been intimidating then, shielding a small group of firefighters just in from the massive blaze from a frenzied gaggle of print-media reporters desperate to get a story.

“Senior Constable.” She licked her lips, her belly tight. Why, she had no idea. There was no reason for it. The man with his back to her wasn’t Evan. She indicated towards that broad back with her head, gripping her mic tighter. “Is this who I’m after?”

Charlie Baynard nodded. The shoulders of the man refusing to look at her stiffened.

“It is,” Charlie said. “But I don’t think he’s in the mood for talking. And I wouldn’t call him a hero if I were you.”

Jenna frowned. “But he is. Everyone is talking about the helicopter pilot who risked his life to save the team on the north line of the fire. Even his own captain says they’d all be dead if he hadn’t…” Huffing into her fringe, she tore her focus from the smirking police officer and reached out to tap on the other man’s shoulder. What was she doing wasting time with Baynard? “Excuse me, I’m Jenna McGrath from Chanel Eight News. I’m wondering if you’d permit me a few moments to talk about what you did out there?”

The man half turned his head, enough to grant her a glimpse of what little profile the low baseball cap peak and high collar allowed. “I just did my job,” a deep voice, scratchy and husky from smoke, no doubt, declared. “There’s no story here.”

The tension in Jenna’s stomach fluttered. Her throat thickened.

In amongst all that scratchy timbre was a voice she recognized, one that had stayed with her long after she and Tracey had parted ways. One that visited her often in her dreams and when her hands took care of the yearning in her body.

She stared at the glimpse of a profile. At the downcast eyes refusing to look at her.


His name slipped from her lips, doubt and confusion tripping over the syllables.

The broad shoulders encased in beaten leather stiffened. She saw his eyes squeeze shut. Saw his head dip a fraction, as if weighed down by a fatal sense of acceptance.

And then the man every member of the media here in Wallaby Ridge wanted to talk to turned and faced her fully. Fixed her with eyes as piercing as they’d ever been despite the dark shadow thrown over his face by the peak of his baseball cape, and Jenna forgot how to breathe.

“Hi, Jenna.”

A lump lodged itself in her throat. Got stuck there, fast and tight.

She caught sight of white twisted flesh beneath his left eye, over his cheek. Saw a hint of the same on what little of his jaw and the side of his neck was visible behind the cocked collar of the bomber jacket.

Are they…are they scars?
The shocked thought ran through her head at the very second she realized just how long she’d been staring.
Amazon ~ Barnes and Noble ~ iBooks ~ Kobo ~ ARe

What to do when you see the train coming…

Posted in Lila Dubois on February 9, 2015 by Lila Dubois

… But can’t get out of the way?

There are a limited number of truly life changing events that you can see coming. Those that you can–starting a new job, getting married–you can prep for. And if you hate your new job or your new spouse you can’t just quit that bitch!

The ones that you don’t see coming, that you can’t prep for–illness, getting fired–usually rock your world so hard that you just deal in whatever half-assed way you can.

One week from today (Monday) is my due date. As far as I can tell I’m about to get body slammed by the worst of both kinds of change. I know it’s coming, and I’m prepping, but I know no matter what I do I won’t really be ready.

I tried to convince Farm Boy that we should not have kids, get another cat, and travel the world. He said “er…” And then looked pointedly at my rather large stomach.

T-minus one week people. This is not a drill.

Here’s a progress shot of the nursery.


Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Posted in Lila Dubois on November 27, 2014 by Lila Dubois

Happy thanksgiving to all my US based pals! To everyone outside the US, remember to have a Turkey sandwich today.

I’m starting the day off my hauling myself, and this big lump under my shirt, through a 5 k in support of a food bank.

Please ignore how tired I look. Pretend I look perky and excited!


And wish Farm Boy Press luck, as he’s running the 10k with an actual time based goal in mind.

Recovering in Ireland

Posted in Lila Dubois on August 24, 2014 by Lila Dubois

Ireland may not seem like the place to come to recover when you’re feeling crummy, and frankly, it’s probably not. Unless you’re me, and going to Ireland means sitting close to the stove, eating homemade bread and then getting babied by your mother-in-law (yes, Farm Boy’s mom is seriously the best.) I’m currently in Ireland, looking out the window at a bush and the cows beyond, and thankfully, for the first time in a while, feeling like all is right with the world.

And how could I not when we take daily trips to amazing places like these?

Newgrange (passage grave)

Newgrange (a famous passage grave 500 years older than the pyramids)

Kerb Stone at Newgrange

Kerb Stone at Newgrange

The Boyne River (a little tributary)

The Boyne River (a little tributary)

The village of Trim (view from inside Trim Castle)

The village of Trim (view from inside Trim Castle)

But, you may be wondering, what’s WRONG with you, Lila? Why isn’t “C is for…” out? What about the 5th Trinity Masters book? Why have you disappeared from Facebook and twitter?


I promise you I have a very good reason. A reason I will tell you about…





Posted in Uncategorized on June 23, 2014 by Lila Dubois

Last week I had the opportunity to visit RomCon for a day. I wasn’t attending as an author, but I was able to go to the booksigning. After many booksignings where I’ve sat hoping someone would at least come talk to me, I went a bit mad and bought books in genres I don’t read, simply because I was having empathy pains. I kept stopping by Lexi Blake’s table to show her my purchases.