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?
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.
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Scandinavian Scandal will be available through Noble Romance on 21st November and I’m giving one lucky commenter the chance to win a copy :)