_By Doris O'Connor
Many authors listen to music when writing. Some have specific play lists depending on which scene they’re tackling and what mood they’re trying to create.
I am not one of those authors! If there is music in the background it’s either children’s telly, some obscure teenage channel or the dulcet tones of my fifteen year old practicing the keyboard and singing off key as though she was auditioning for the X-factor. Actually she is quite good, if I say so myself. I can’t hold a note to save my life.
Lately my back ground also involves the snuffles and gurgles of our three month old. Actually when he does that not a lot of writing gets done, because he is far too cute a distraction. It’s a bit of a dilemma, as I cannot for the life of me write a sex scene when he’s awake. As my stories contain quite a few of those scenes, it causes a bit of a problem. In my current WIP the hero got so frustrated at having to wait they never made it inside—whoops!
I know what you’re thinking. Why is this mad woman blogging about music that made ‘this’ scene when she doesn’t actually write to it? Ah, well, I haven’t gone completely mad, I promise.
When I wrote my Erotic Romance Scandinavian Scandal, both of my teenage daughters listened to Kesha— a lot. One song stuck in my mind, because it pretty much encapsulates the feel of the story and the hero’s dilemma.
‘Kiss N tell’ was played an awful lot whilst I was driving the kids around and it always made me smile. In my mind’s eye I could see Sven and Sylvia and plot lines came to me really easily. To this day hearing the song takes me right back to that time. I loved writing this story. That is not to say that I didn’t have many arguments with Sven along the way. Being a typical alpha male, he sat on my shoulder the whole time and would not let up until he got ‘into Sylvia’s knickers’ as he put it. Needless to say, he does, repeatedly J
I have always been fascinated by the private life behind the official mask of celebrities. Like Sylvia I don’t read the papers and I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being hounded by paparazzi and having every aspect of your life dissected by the media. And I always wondered what would happen if an A-list celebrity would meet an ordinary mum. Sylvia is a thirty five year old mum of three and when she literally falls into Sven Larsson’s arms at an exclusive club, sparks fly. He is the original bad boy, haunted by scandal and kiss’n’tell stories, and not at all what he seems on the surface. Sylvia too wears a mask and they both carry emotional scars that run deep. The media circus, they find themselves embroiled in, is intense and hurtful, as old secrets and scandal threaten to tear them apart.
Can you see why the song fit?
_BLURB: Sven Larsson, international movie star, is out to repair his scandalous reputation. The last thing he needs is for an enticing bundle of curves to fall into his arms, making his libido sit up and growl Come to Papa. However, the instant sexual chemistry between them is hard to ignore…
Sylvia, young widowed mum of three, knows Sven is everything she doesn’t need in a man. Can she risk giving in to temptation and enjoy the no strings sex on offer?
With the paparazzi breathing down their necks and both of them scarred emotionally by their past demons, will they manage to heal each other...
I leave you with a little excerpt of the morning after they met:
Sylvia's heart beat so fast the blood rushed to her ears. What had she done? Not only was she plastered all over the newspapers, she had spent the night with Sven Larsson for god's sake. The man had a reputation a mile long, none of it good, and the bloody cow had named her--named her for fuck's sake! God, she had to get home. With a bit of luck, this would turn out to be just a particularly bad dream, brought on by too much champagne. Surely she would wake up in a minute back in her own bed with Timmy jumping all over her as usual.
The disdain in the male voice washing over her robbed her of that hopeful illusion. His accent was thicker now. How the hell had she not noticed last night? She may not go to the movies a lot, but Larsson was a household name. His height alone should have made her realize it was him, and, damn it, hadn't it been her mission to find him?
Congrats girl, you more than succeeded. You fucking excelled!
"You're going to kill who exactly, lady? Do enlighten me; I would love some insight into that deceitful little head of yours."
"I'm deceitful? Says the man who dragged me back to his hotel suite to do goodness only know what. Why the hell did you not tell me who you were? I'd never have gone with you, had I known."
"Oh, cut the bull, lady. Of course you knew who I was, but I've got to give it to you. You should go into acting. You certainly had this mug fooled. But what could I expect from the likes of you?"
The scathing once over he gave her body hit Sylvia like a physical slap. How dare he?
"I do not know who you think I am, but if you think for one minute that I would choose to be associated with a man like you, then your ego is even more inflated than I first thought."
His sneering laughter just annoyed her more. He turned his back on her, and she swallowed, taking in the tight butt, perfectly showcased in faded denim. Unwanted heat coiled low in her belly. She remembered that he hadn't bothered with underwear, and the equally tight black vest top he was now wearing only emphasized his broad shoulders. The muscles in his biceps flexed as he raised another beer bottle and swallowed its contents in one long gulp. God, the man really was sex on legs, and she had to get home and away from him. The best sex in the world wasn't worth this, and, besides, she couldn't remember a thing about last night, damn it. You'd think she would at least remember something for god's sake. What was the point of all this public humiliation and the tongue lashing she knew would be waiting for her at home, if she couldn't even remember sleeping with the man?
"If you just call me a cab, I'll be out of your hair."
"I don't think so lady. Vera is working on a gag order right now, and, until I hear from her, you are staying right here. There will be no kiss-and-tell story, lady. So sorry to disappoint you, but your neat little plan backfired. No pound of flesh today, other than the filth already spread by your reporter friend."
That did it!
"Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that? I can assure you Evelyn Jones is no friend of mine, and why on earth would I want to broadcast a kiss-and-tell story about you? Haven't there been enough already! Perhaps you should try acting for a change, instead of forcing yourself on unconscious women."
The low growl her shouted words elicited from him made her jump. She backed away as he advanced towards her, a murderous expression on his face. Oh, hell, he looked ready to kill her.
Good going girl, see what your big mouth has gone and done now . . . .
Larsson's temper was as legendary as his womanizing, and, right now, it was all directed towards her. He backed her up against a wall, one hand braced on either side of her head, caging her in. His breathing was as heavy as her own, and, heaven help her if his glaring down on her wasn't the sexiest thing ever. Sylvia clamped her thighs together and bit into her bottom lip to stop herself from reacting. But there was nothing at all she could do about the moisture between her legs and her nipples straining against the confines of her bra. His suddenly heated gaze travelled over her, and his mouth hovered over hers. God, he smelled so good. The faint woodsy scent of his aftershave mixed with his own pure male arousal. She shut her eyes to at least cut out one of her senses which was leading her astray.
His growled whisper against the fevered skin of her neck made her moan, even as his words both appalled and aroused her.
"I have never taken a woman against her will, and you can't tell me that you aren't wet for me right now, lady!"
The rasp of morning stubble against her neck sent a renewed burst of moisture into her already wet folds, and his knowing chuckle made her groan as he kissed his way along her jaw line.
"Open your eyes, and look at me, if you want to convince me of that, but your body gives you away, my sweet. I can smell you want me."
Sylvia did force her eyes open then, only to lose herself in the depths of the ice blue gaze that held her captive.
"That's as may be, but it doesn't mean I have to act on it." And, with strength she didn't know she had, she pushed him away from her and ducked under his arms, only for one strong hand to clamp against her arm and yank her back into his hard frame. Damn, there wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere on that torso, and the bulge in his jeans left her in no doubt that he wanted her as badly as she did him.
If only he wasn't this big star and she was free to just let herself go for once, but she couldn't afford to, she just couldn't.
"Please, just let me go. I need to go home. You won't need any gag order, I won't say anything. Please, I'm sorry about the pictures, but the bitch pulled me over the hot coals, too. I never wanted any of this. And regardless of what it says in there, I do not work for Whisper."
Damn, she was not going to cry. She was stronger than this.
"You expect me to believe that?"
His tone was cynical, but his bruising grip on her arm lessened slightly. He used one thumb to wipe away the single tear that managed to escape down her cheek.
"Quit the waterworks, lady. It doesn't wash."
But he gentled his grip on her further, and Sylvia found herself pulled into his frame once again as the tears started in earnest. She clung to his chest, grateful for his strength.
Don’t forget to leave a comment for your chance to win :-)
You can keep up with me on my blog http://thetardisscribbles.blogspot.com/
My website is here http://www.dorisoconnor.com/
Chat with me on twitter here https://twitter.com/#!/mamaD8
Scandinavian Scandal will be available through Noble Romance on 21st November and I’m giving one lucky commenter the chance to win a copy :)
_By Jan Irving
When I’m shopping for a book, sometimes a certain scenario that I enjoy will catch my eye even if I haven’t read the author previously. I enjoy captive/captor romances, virgin stories where he’s the virgin or she is, and cougar stories where an older woman has to resist the attentions of a hot, younger man.
What is the appeal of a cougar romance? I’m going to analyze why I like to read and write them—to date all my m/f romances are cougars, so I obviously like them!
The first thing is that as we get older, we can begin to feel like we’ve missed out on love. I was picking up ice cream from a specialty store I frequent when I mused about it to the manager there—my little town all knows I write romance so it’s often a topic of conversation—the manager of the ice cream store said she thinks older women/younger men work because all people want love. So a heroine may have lived focused on a certain goal in her life like in my m/m/f A Pastry Princess where Serafina is focused on building up her bakery business. She’s forced to take on more than pastry when her queen gives her two young male slaves and she’s ordered to continue her line.
In His Landlady, my BDSM m/f romance for the Subspace collection, Diana Moore has been busy defining herself outside her wealthy family. She owns a strip mall that she is making into a success and she has inherited a young boy, the orphan son of her best friend. So she’s a busy single mother. She dates, but her dates are strictly on her terms, with sophisticated men. What happens when she comes face to face with her bold new tenant, a young martial arts instructor who coaxes her to try out a touch of submission?
The second thing I find appealing about them is the idea of an attentive lover. Often the older women in stories have been focused on their goals and they are due for some TLC. Plus, on a biological level, that younger man is able to keep up with the sex drive of his older lady!
A cougar romance is having your cake and eating it too, and bonus, no calories—unlike my favorite amaretto sorbetto.
_Here is an excerpt from His Landlady:
Diana Moore hesitated outside the kickboxing studio, caught by the sleek body of a young male kickboxer, his leg straight up in a martial arts kick.
Although every muscle was warrior defined, it was the expression on his face that fixed her attention. He was gazing into the distance, a half smile touching his lips, a look of transcendent pleasure that didn’t make her think of the martial arts…
“Perv,” she muttered to herself. She had better things to do than stand here lusting over a beautiful man on a poster who was probably too airbrushed to be true. She adjusted her grip on her attaché case and almost walked into another young man, this one short and covered with black and red tattoos.
“You here for class?” he demanded. “Come back in an hour.” His street accent made the word ‘hour’ a match for ‘sour.’
Di gulped and stopped herself from taking a step back. The stranger had an aggressive energy that she could feel like a force field.
“No,” she said. “I’m strictly a yoga person.”
The man stared at her, unblinking, and Di felt as if she’d told a proud Doberman owner that she was the golden retriever type.
“We don’t do yoga here,” he said, crossing his arms.
“No, I know that…” She was flustered and it was stupid. But the studio made her uncomfortable. It so wasn’t her thing. “I’m the landlady of this strip mall. I’m here with some paperwork for the owner.”
“Huh.” He didn’t look impressed.
“Nath, behave!” A mellow voice interrupted. There was a thread of laughter in it that stroked down Di’s spine. “Hello, landlady. I’ve been waiting to meet you.”
A tanned hand was held out and when she automatically took it, calluses brushed against her palm. The grip was strong, confident, and didn’t crush her fingers; this was a man with no need to prove anything.
“Uh.” He was also the man from the poster. Except he was stripped down to black shorts and his dark hair was sweaty against his forehead. Almond shaped amber-brown eyes regarded her steadily, hinting at a slight Asian heritage while his unshaven jaw and shaggy brown hair were sexy mongrel. “I’m Diana Moore,” she said.
“My landlady is a Roman goddess, Diana the huntress,” he said and although those dark eyes didn’t move down to her full breasts, Diana felt as if they had. Her nipples peaked through her thin blue silk tunic. “Sloan Kent—owner and operator of Soul Kickin’.”
“Soul Kickin’,” she repeated, seeing with relief that the other man, Nath, had disappeared into the studio. He’d been a bit intense for her to handle before she’d had her morning espresso. “So you decided on a name.”
A smile tilted his perfect lips. If he’d caught her attention in two dimension, it was nothing to the real man. The real young man, she reminded herself. He looked to be in his early twenties and she definitely was not, at thirty-five.
“Yeah, I know I kept you waiting. But waiting can be good.” His brows rose as an expression that was part teasing and part earnest lit his eyes. “You gotta live in the present moment. Grab every second.”
“Ah…right.” Now she wasn’t imagining he was looking at her. She ducked her head, knowing with her curves she didn’t look as good as he did in shorts. More earth goddess than sports queen. “I brought the paper work over.”
Sloan nodded. “Come on in,” he invited, opening the glass door of his studio for her. She walked into what had previously been just bare brick walls, scarred from a previous incarnation as a sports retailer. The floors were half way through a polish job, stripped down to sawdust and bleached maple so the scent of wood was strong and tangy.
“Nath has been doing the floors,” Sloan said, as if he’d noticed her interest.
“They were a mess,” she admitted. In fact, she hadn’t been able to lease the space for months. She was glad she had finally managed it, despite her mild discomfort with the type of business that had taken the storefront.
When her father had given her the strip mall, she’d known he’d expected her to fail but Diana had put a lot of extra time into it, determined to make it the basis for a stable home for herself and Jeff.
“Nath’s gone for lunch,” Sloan said, picking up a towel and wiping his face as Diana took in the metal rails hanging across the ceiling and the heavy black bags suspended from them.
“I can’t imagine hitting something for fun,” she said.
“It’s liberating,” Sloan said. “It can give you confidence that spills into the rest of your life.”
She grazed a hand down one bag. “I’m not comfortable with aggression.”
Sloan’s expression was serene as he shrugged and she got the feeling that while he didn’t agree with her, he was comfortable enough with himself he didn’t need to argue about it. His confidence was beginning to get to her. He was so young…he shouldn’t be so self-assured. She cleared her throat and opened her attaché case, sitting it on a bit of finished flooring since the room was bare of anything else.
Suddenly a pillow was thrust at her face and she froze before looking into intimidating dark eyes under straight, heavy brows. She took the lotus shaped pillow, familiar to her from her yoga practice.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’ll need help sitting down in those sky scraper shoes,” Sloan said, cocking his head as his gaze ran down Diana’s long legs. He shocked her by kneeling at her feet and placing one warm, callused hand around her left ankle, running a finger under the rim of her ankle bracelet. His touch bypassed politeness and zapped straight to her sex, making Diana gasp.
“Hey, I just want to take your shoes off,” Sloan said, stroking the slope of her foot.
“Oh, yeah, but I can—"
Flustered, Diana watched Sloan as he slowly unbuckled each of the three black straps on her sandal. When he gently pulled her foot free, he massaged the sole, making Diana give an involuntary moan, but damn, that felt good.
“Probably these shoes aren’t the best thing for your feet but they look very hot on you,” Sloan said. He put down the liberated foot and reached for the other and dazed, Diana allowed it, her hands on his bare shoulders for balance now, making direct contact with hot, sweaty skin.
Sloan took his time with the second sandal, caressing the underside of her foot and eliciting another moan. Her feet seemed to be directly wired into her pussy, so he might as well have been touching her intimately.
When he looked up at her, she realized he knew exactly what he was doing, the effect it was having on her.
“Sit down, Diana,” he ordered gruffly.
Bemused, Diana sat down, smoothing her short blue skirt so she didn’t flash him.
Sloan was within kissing distance as she passed him the paperwork she’d brought over. She scolded herself for noticing, but her feet—and other parts—were still tingling from the unexpected foot massage.
He reached into a pocket in his shorts and pulled out a pair of glasses, slipping them on. They were a dramatic contrast to his tangled hair and hard, glistening body. He looked up through the lenses, his eyes sober now, back to business.
“I want to put the lobby there, by the door, along with a console for handling payments from clients,” he said, gesturing toward the front of the empty studio.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Diana said. “You’ve done a lot of amazing renovations already.”
“Motivation is not a problem for me when I see what I want.” He looked up at Diana. “Are you the same, Diana?”
She’d been chewing on her pen, something she’d broken the habit of doing as a college student. “I am definitely motivated to see this strip mall do the best it can,” she said.
“I think everything here is in order, but I’ll want some time to look it over before I send it back to you,” Sloan said, putting the paperwork aside and removing his glasses.
“Of course,” Diana said. She looked at her bare feet and her shoes, feeling awkward. The charged interlude was over and she had to put her shoes back on and retreat.
“Now that that’s done with…” Sloan’s voice was gravely. “You liked it when I touched you.”
Shocked again by Sloan’s confidence, Diana could only stare at him.
“It wasn’t an accident, where I touched you,” Sloan went on. “I used to give reflexology massage. I knew how to arouse you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. Take a moment, just breathe…” Now he reached out and stroked her arm as if he felt the sudden spike of her anxiety. But this couldn’t be happening. She’d seen him, she’d wanted him, but he was a fantasy. This couldn’t be happening…
“Breathe…” He was closer, sharing her breath. She couldn’t stop studying his face, those slightly exotic earnest eyes, holding her captive. He cupped her cheek. “You made quite an impression on me.”
She laughed when she remembered seeing his poster and the look of bliss on his face—she’d pictured him making love. Oh, yeah, he’d also made an impression on her.
“I should go.”
“This isn’t me.”
“I think it’s very much you. Ground zero.” He lifted her onto his lap, both her legs on either side of him, her body flush against his so she could feel the blunt shape of his erection through his tissue thin shorts.
Panting, she began to tremble. His hand felt hot against the silk of her skirt as he placed it on her ass.
“Easy,” he said, still with that assured manner. This was crazy. Why was she allowing him to do these things? She was always so guarded with men, peeking at them from behind her walls. “You have to do something, Diana,” Sloan went on in that same hoarse, silky voice.
She blinked and then frowned. “What?”
“Ask me to please you,” he said.
“I…” How could she? She’d just met the man. Now she was sitting on him and he was touching her. One hand moved down her body and under her skirt, lifting it as he held her eyes. His fingers brushed against her underwear, found her hot for him, a stranger.
Blurb for His Landlady:
“I know I should have waited, bided my time like a good boy but...I am not a good boy,” seductive younger man Sloan Kent tells Diana Moore the first time they meet, when the martial arts instructor lures her into an act of unexpected submission.
Diana Moore is edgy around new tenant Sloan Kent, owner of a kick boxing school. From the moment she glimpses a martial arts poster of the lean, beautiful man, she wants him, but she can't see a focused warrior athlete and an earth mother like her having much in common.
Sloan's calm Zen facade lulls Diana so that she submits to him the first time they are alone together. Diana has never had such an intense experience, but he's too young to be her master, isn't he?
Find His Landlady in the Subspace collection from Total E Bound here: http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1434
I hope readers will enjoy His Landlady and also my upcoming m/f romance Bird Bones, coming out at the end of February, which is an angsty forbidden romance between an older woman and younger man.
You can find my website here: http://janirvingwrites.com/
Jan Irving has worked in all kinds of creative fields, from painting silk to making porcelain ceramics, to interior design, but writing was always her passion.
She feels you can’t fully understand characters until you follow their journey through a story world. Many kinds of worlds interest her, fantasy, historical, science fiction and suspense—but all have one thing in common, people finding a way to live together—in the most emotional and erotic fashion possible, of course!
The contract is now inked. It's official. Noble Romance Publishing will publish DEADLY CAPTIVE: Collateral Damage. I've so excited and nervous! I can't wait to share the cover with you and I'm looking into all kinds of ways to celebrate the release--which, by the way, barring natural disaster is:
December 12th 2011
So soon! I almost can't wait! Well, actually, I can't wait! That's why I decided I'm going to give you a few sneak peaks, starting today!
So here you go!
_The comfort, the smooth ride, made me nervous. I'd stopped fighting and so had the boy. But why?
"I want to see him."
Vince patted my head. "You will see him. Soon."
Sit. Good dog. The guy was pissing me off. I wrenched away from him, still tangled in the blanket, and rolled to my side. "I will see him. Now."
One of the men snorted.
I couldn't say what came over me, but the atmosphere inside the van didn't instill a need for caution. All the knives were put away. The men had relaxed. It took an effort to be afraid.
Until Vince's eyes narrowed.
He reached down, fisted his hand in the blanket, and jerked me up to my knees. His face right in mine he snapped. "Behave."
I held my breath and waited, sure he'd slap me. Punch me. Something. For some sick reason, I craved the violence. The boy deserved more than my one, fumbled attempt. Maybe I could help him by staying alive. But I couldn't help him by doing nothing.
_The blanket held my arms at my sides and my legs together. So I cracked my forehead into Vince's nose.
He grunted. Then dropped me. Watched me worm free of the blanket as he touched the blood that trickled from his nostril to his upper lip. He licked his fingers clean.
I lunged. An arm barred across my bare belly. A forearm across my throat cut off my screams.
Vince hissed in my ear. "You have my attention."
I'm fussy about books. Can't help it. Time is short, work takes over, blah blah blah. But I had the privilege of read Cari Silverwood's Iron Dominance in it's early stages and literally fell in love with several of the characters. I don't read steam punk. It's not my 'thing'. But Ms. Silverwood showed me that it could be. With her delicious costumes and....my god the TOYS! Then add to it some get-down-on-your-knees-and-beg worthy Doms...yeah. Steam punk still isn't my thing. Unless she writes it.Today, she's taken the time to do a quick interview and answer my off the wall questions in a way that will show you why you need her books on your shelves.
Without any more of my gushing (yes, must gush, need more Danyko and I'm tired of waiting!) I give you Cari Silverwood!
First crazy question: What’s your favourite thing to watch on TV while being intimate?
If I said Gone With The Wind or something romantic I’d be lying. We’re talking ‘intimate’ intimate here, aren’t we? A porn video. I mean who can follow a plot when you’re making love? Though after a while even a porn video gets lost in the background hum, assuming you’re doing it right.
All right, imagine a very ordinary situation and find a way to make it romantic.
Ordinary? As in setting, I guess you mean. Since not everyone has a beach handy like our lovely Australian ones, how about a supermarket? The smallish local one and you know that Steve the guy who packs the shelves and looks after the cash register has the hots for you.
The gourmet olive oil in that fancy long bottle is way up on the top shelf.
I reach for it, feeling the stretch in my calves and going up on the tips of my worn-out runners. Just as my fingers close around the bottle of glistening yellow oil -- virgin olive oil -- Steve steps up behind me and runs his arm about my waist. I know it’s him as there’s no one else in the store this late at night. Plus I recognize his cologne and if it’s not him, my my, I don’t care anyway. That hot man’s hand splaying across my belly feels damn good. He slides one finger under the waistband of my little skirt.
“You sure that’s your oil, Jennie? Last I heard you weren’t a virgin no more.” Then he kisses the side of my neck, just below my ear, blowing warmth inside my ear and fanning strands of hair across my cheek. My lips part. I breath out, shuddering a little.
“Steve, what in hell are you --”
“Shhh.” He tugs me in tight against him. That hardness at my buttocks isn’t some new accessory at the front of his jeans. I can’t help nudging back into him, can’t help the way my nipples scrunch up and poke into my flimsy string strap top. Then he bites, like he means to draw blood maybe, on the long muscle of my neck and I groan.
“Steve, this isn’t the place,” I whisper. Why I whispered I had no idea. No customers at all. Me and him, alone, so long as no one’s watching on the surveillance camera.
If I thought he was planning to smooch only, now I found out otherwise.
He gripped the wrist of my hand, the one still holding the oil bottle and used gentle force, making me lower the bottle. I let him. My legs quivered when the top of the bottle touched the hem of my skirt.
“You are putting this under your skirt, between your legs. If I find out you’re wet, this bottle is sliding up inside you. The whole cold, hard length of it.”
My ribs heaved from my panting. The underside of my breasts brushed his rigid arm.
The way his tongue tip traced inside my ear while he talked dirty, the way he trapped me in his arms. I was confused by the myriad sensations, and so hot, so wanting. I squirmed, imagining how this would feel.
“Then in and out, and in and out, until I make you come. After that, maybe I’ll get you to kneel and open your mouth so I can fuck it, or maybe I’ll just take you from behind.”
I whimper. I was wet, how could I not be? My panties were damp and his words had made me even wetter.
… Ahem. Let’s leave Steve and Jennie to their store delivery.
Mmm...I like! Now...If you found a sexy man/woman tied up on your bed, what would you do with him/her?
Hmmm. Not sure. Could be interesting to experiment I guess. I’ve heard all about pervertibles so maybe now I can experiment with that kitchen spatula, the hairbrush, silk scarves, ice cubes, oooh and the clothes pegs. Yes!
Now...What do you consider the most erotic fruit?
Strawberries. I’ve seen so many pictures of lips with strawberries sliding into them.
Name a historical figure you admire. Explain why.
The White Mouse. The Australian super-spy, Nancy Wake, in World War Two. Very brave woman.
What mythical creature would you want to be? A mermaid -- I love swimming!
Beer, wine, or spirits? Wine. Champagne. But beer is nice too…Guinness, lager. And scotch on the rocks -- yummy. Can you tell I’m giving short answers because I wrote too much above?
If you had to choose between an angel and a vampire, which would you choose? Why?
Angel. It’s always sexy to corrupt the innocent.
Most people would say uniforms are sexy. Do you agree? Which is the sexiest in your opinion? They can be sexy on the right people. Both men and women. I don’t really have a favorite as I tend to judge on what’s inside them a lot. <g>
What’s your favourite action movie? If you don’t have a favourite, name one you didn’t hate.
The Fifth Element. Scifi action but so intense. Bruce Willis is great and so is the plot, the setting, in fact it’s one of my all-time favorites. I even loved that opera singer and the bad guy was awesome.
Name your favourite cookie. No, seriously, tell us what it is and give it a new name.
Muffins! Sorry. I love choc chip muffins more than cookies. The muffigalacious chomp? LOL
Who’s your favourite cartoon character? What do you like about them? The robot from Futurama. He is so nasty and hilarious at the same time. Bite my shiny metal ass.
What is the name of the last book you wanted to use as kindling? No. Mustn’t say. It was probably an erotic book and saying would be rude. Besides, I forgot the title, it was that bad.
What songs would you choose for the soundtrack of your life? Right now I’m in love with Muse and Warren Zevon so they’ll do. Love em all. Nightwish too actually. Not sure they describe my life exactly though. Something like a jingle might be better off for that. Or a five year old playing a harmonica really really badly.
Of all your characters, which one do you think would be best in a crisis? I’m ashamed to say all those strong ladies I wrote tend to be flawed and I’d rather trust one of the men. Sten, my latest in Lust Plague would be the nicest guy to trust even if he’s rather trigger happy with dragging his women onto the bed…the roof…and into the forest so he can tie them to trees. Hmm. Of the women, strangely enough, his partner, Kaysana, would be the strongest and most reliable in a crisis.
You so want more of this. So, since I like giving my readers what you want, I'll hook you up! ;) Swing by here: http://www.carisilverwood.net/ for another taste. Or better yet check this out:
Click on the cover if you need a hot read. Trust me. You want to click! And then you can join my campaign for Danyko's book! It must be written!
3rd Place~Beauty meets her Beast by Sophie Oak
For more of Sophie, please visit: http://www.sophieoak.com/
2nd Place~Doggy Style by Tymber Dalton
For more of Tymber, please visit: http://tymberdalton.com/
And the Winner of the Lover's Scare contest, as voted by you, the readers, is....
Cherise Sinclair with Capture Gardens!
For more of Cherise, please go here: http://cherisesinclair.com/default.aspx
Congradulations to all the winners and a big THANK YOU to the authors that took part in the challenge! From shifters to psychos, to ghosts and men who can make you tremble with a single word, we were given treats much better than anything you're find in a bag full of candy.
If you haven't read the entries, here they are!
~Chasing Love By Keta Diablo
~The Demon Side By Heaven Liegh Eldeen
~The Grove By R. Renee Vickers
~Beauty Meets her Beasts By Sophie Oak
~Rendezvous By Lisabet Sarai
~Doggy Style By Tymber Dalton
~Submissive Beauty By Eliza Gayle
~Catherine's Toys III By KevaD
~Lust Plague By Cari Silverwood
~Lily Mine By Annabel Joseph
~Taken Hostage By Ranae Rose
~Capture Gardens By Cherise Sinclair
~Weekend at Wilderhope Manor By Lucy Felthouse
~AETERNUS By J.S Wayne
All the winners for the contest have been chosen, so while you may still comment to show the author your support, you will not be entered to win any prizes. And don't forget to VOTE! All the winners (including the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place authors) Will be announced November 8th. If your name is there and you haven't heard from the author, your email didn't work. You'll have a day to contact me with the right email before another winner is chosen.
I hope everyone enjoyed the contest and added to their TBR list! I know I did! :)
Reader's Choice Links: