Showing posts with label Australian author. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Australian author. Show all posts

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Pre-Order: Kidnapped by the Billionaire by @SassieLewis


Kidnapped by the Bil-LION-aire
By Sassie Lewis.
Blurb:
The moment the curvy goddess walked into the club, Crispin knew he’d found his mate. What he hadn’t been expecting to surround her was the unmistakeable scent of prey.

The wild-haired and golden-eyed hunk stalking toward Viv, flares an instantaneous attraction which seems to burn her mind…and melt her panties.

How can a Lion shifter convince a mere human she is his destined mate?

Perhaps a little light kidnapping, with a side order of incessant pleasuring will do the trick.


Warning
This book contains: a French lion shifter whose philosophy is "I licked it, so it's mine"; a curvy goddess who insists on calling him Simba instead of his actual name; and all the things good Catholic girls should never do.
If being tied to a bed and pleasured into submission doesn’t get you purring, then this isn’t the pussy for you.


Expected preorder date. 8/23/15 US.
Preorder will also be a sale price of $1.99 US



Cover






Teaser


About Sassie Lewis

Sassie Lewis is a born and bred Australian. She lives on the outskirts of Brisbane Queensland, with her husband, two daughters, one son and a dog that hates having a bath.

She swears like a sailor, and blames her ability to over share personal matters - matters that fall into that TMI category - on a faulty brain to mouth filter, that forgets to tell her “This isn’t appropriate dinner conversation”.

An avid reader since childhood. Sassie came across erotic romance in her mid-twenties, falling deeply, madly in lust with the genre instantly. And has had wet panties ever since.
With her somewhat skewed and unique view of the world, along with a little encouragement from her father, she thought what the heck! and she penned her first erotic romance.
She hopes to draw you into the world she’s created, and leave you as breathless and wanting, for her fictional friends, as she became, while writing them.


Stalker Links

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Nicky_Destinata_FB2 About the book: Destinata is the first instalment of The Valguard Trilogy. A sci-fi/fantasy packed full of drama, action, beings that aren’t quite human, and of course a little romance. Imagine being eighteen. You've just become an adult, you can do what you like when you like. You should be attending friend’s parties or studying for school. Well that's what Charlie Dawson thought her life would be like when she turned eighteen anyway. Instead she ends up parentless, living with her best friends and working at a nearby café. That is until her curiosity about her new mysterious neighbor gets the better of her. Following Zane into the woods that surround her home town of Tole one night, Charlie gets a little more than she bargains for when he lets her in on Tole’s best kept secrets. The human’s that reside in town aren’t alone. Among them walk the Valguard - a super-human race created by man centuries ago - and though they have been content to lay low in Tole for almost two decades, things are set into motion when Charlie is alerted to their existence that cannot be altered. But perhaps the biggest secret of all is that Charlie herself is part Valguard and also the Destinata - or the chosen one -who is fated to stop the Earth from certain destruction when the humans of the planet discover the truth about the Valguard. In the start of a battle that would surely see the destruction of the Earth, Charlie will have to survive against the odds. In the first instalment of the Valguard trilogy readers will follow Charlie’s adventure along with four of her closest friends that sees her maturing too quickly, losing loved ones, finding new love and having to face down not one but two enemies, because sometimes being born of both races doesn’t ensure your safety among them.
10619970_10152751532541639_1601200589767291579_oAbout the Author: Sunshine, surf and family are the corner stone of Nicky’s world. Being born and raised on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland Australia gave her the opportunity to chase her dream of photography and later novel writing. She fell in love with fantasy and dystopian and crafted stories with strong men and powerful women. Her debut novel Destinata will be released on October 15, 2014 with several short stories following. Her second novel is set to release November 6 and is being published through Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly. When she is not busy being an author, you will find her walking along the water with her husband or chasing after her two children.
 hardbackstandingstraight_890x1110 kindlefire_600x1024
To find out more about Nicole L Daffurn you can head to one of her numerous social media sites, or contact Bitten Press for more information.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Nicole-L Daffurn/240965966096004
Twitter: https://twitter.com/NickyLouise28
Wordpress: https://nickylouiseloveslife.wordpress.com/
Website: http://ndaffurn.wix.com/nicoledaffurn
Author Central: amazon.com/author/nicoledaffurn
Bitten Press: http://www.bitten-press.com/
And don't forget to check out the trailer here!

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back!

 I'm wondering how many of you read the title to the tune of the Welcome Back Kotter theme song? I know I did, and I haven't even seen the show. I just know the tune. 

So I'm finally reopening The Naughty Pages after a hiatus of a year. Almost to the day, actually. Almost. It's taken me this long to get even close to back to normal after a family tragedy last year that is still taking its toll. It's just one of those ones that I won't ever totally "get over". So I do ask for patience because sometimes, posts may be sporadic. I will try my best, though, to keep posting regularly. 

This time around, I'll be doing things differently. I'll be doing 2-3 posts a week, sometimes promo for others, sometimes guest posts, maybe the occasional review, or snippets from WIP's, or discussions of interesting topics. I want to keep the content fairly relaxed. So I will be open for suggestions on what readers want to see. I will be trying to keep the days the same, however. That may take a couple weeks or so to sort out and settle into. 

To kick the blog back off, I'd love to talk about The Return of Their Master. My second title, it was released in April of this year. A first peek at a different world of vampires, it's a chance to dip your toe into new waters. The Return of Their Master is stand alone at the moment, and follows Angie, her three sisters and the man she wishes she didn't love, Jake. Angie doesn't want to put Jake in danger, yet her choice is taken when her Creator, Vitalis, tracks her and her sisters down. She is forced to tell him her secret, and it's not as simple as "I'm a vampire."
When Mary, the oldest sister, is taken, Angie and her two remaining sisters are forced to team up with Jake, who is also a weapon enthusiast, to take on their Creator and get their sister back. Things aren't as simple as defeating their dark father, however, and Angie gets more than she bargained for. Can she forgo her future with Jake, or will she throw caution to the wind and risk dooming vampires and mankind alike?

Phoenix Johnson is an Australian author who has always had the passion for the written word. She had her nose in at least one book ever since she could read and would even scrutinize the back of the cereal box every morning at breakfast. It was only natural she take up writing.
After reviewing a few delicious titles for Naughty Nights Press as she wrote her first title, The Wolf in the Neighborhood, Phoenix was of one mind to submit it to NNP, and she hasn't looked back. The Return of Their Master now joins her first title for sale, and both books are receiving great reviews. Phoenix feels that being invited to write for the NNP blog is a great honour, and loves being part of the team!
You can get in touch with Phoenix on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Tumblr or view her website here, or buy her books direct from Naughty Nights Press, or other good ebook distributors.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Promo Monday with Jess Buffett

A lovely author whom I've had the pleasure of becoming friends with recently, Jess is a fellow Aussie like myself. She's here today to share with us her very saucy Cowboy's Chocolate Roses. Who wouldn't be drawn in by that title...




Meet The Characters Of
Cowboy’s Chocolate Roses

Name: Brianna “Bri” Evans
DOB: September 3rd
Height: 5”10
Eye Color: Lavender
Occupation: Accountant

Bio: Bri is the daughter of a wealthy businessman. She is strong and stubborn, but finds it easy to enjoy the small things in life. For two years she has desperately fought to overcome a horrific trauma, and she is now ready to take back her life.

Name: Joshua “Josh” Kell
DOB: October 9th
Height: 6”6
Eye Color: Honey-Golden
Occupation: Ranch and business owner

Bio: Josh is the older, more responsible brother. Taking over the ranch when his parents passed, he has built it into a multi-million dollar business. But he is a simple cowboy at heart and is more than ready to settle down with the woman of his dreams.


Cowboy’s Chocolate Roses

Joshua Kell signs a deal that will set his ranch up for life and then spends the night with the woman of his dreams. Waking up alone, he returns home, nursing a broken heart.
Brianna Evans struggles to overcome a horrific trauma. After two years, she's finally taking back control of her life, but she panics when she wakes up next to Josh.
Bri has to find him again, and when she does, hopes he'll understand and forgive her for running. She wants the chance to be happy again. But when a ghost from her past threatens to take everything away, Bri has to trust her cowboy will stop at nothing to keep her safe.


EXCERPT
God, she suddenly wanted nothing else. She allowed him to pull her onto the bed beside him. Josh rolled them, holding himself above her. Leaning down, he delivered a series of soft kisses along her jaw, leading to her lips. They parted on a lustful moan and Josh took full advantage, slipping his tongue in and tangling it with hers.
Pulling back, he panted, "I won't let him near you, I swear."
"I know. Please… help me forget," she pleaded, pulling him back down.
He kissed her leisurely, whispering, "Not allowed to forget this time."
"Josh," Bri gasped as he leaned down to kiss the tender flesh of her neck.
His hands slid up and down her sides, moving higher and higher until he reached the curve of her breasts. A deep moan spilled out when Josh finally brought them around to cup her mounds.
"Josh. Please, yes…" she whispered.
Josh traced his tongue over her throat, then to her ear, nipping at it lightly. Her breath caught when he plucked at first one, then the other nipple through the flimsy material of her gown. Her legs drew up around his waist, holding him more firmly to her. Josh continued to knead her flesh, his hands abruptly drifting downwards, leaving her feeling bereft. She groaned in disappointment.
Her moan turned into a gasp when he grabbed the hem of the nightie and yanked it up and off of her. Hooking his fingers into the cotton of her panties, he pulled back long enough to slide them down and off her legs before settling back into place. She now lay naked and exposed, and she revelled in the feel of his body on top of her. A small cry left her lips when he slipped a hand between her parted legs, his fingers stroking at her folds. It had been so long.
Feeling her ready for him seemed to snap his control and Josh abruptly sat up. He undid the button of his jeans, shoving them down his hips, taking his briefs with them. He kneeled between her legs, bare as she, his shaft leaking as it stood at its full length. He had to be at least nine inches. Lying on top of her, he dipped his head, his hot breath on her breast. She moaned when his mouth claimed her erect nipple, and she shuddered, clutching him tighter when he closed over the small nub and began to suck, sending shock waves of pleasure and excitement rippling through her.
Her need for him grew when his hand found its way lower and he pressed against the wet folds of her pussy again, this time parting them and finding her swollen clit. Stroking her with his thumb, he slid two fingers inside of her.
She cried out his name, "Josh!"
"God, you're so wet. So ready for me already," he groaned, thrusting his fingers deep.
"Yes. Please, I'm so ready. Take me, now," she demanded. She couldn't stand it anymore, she needed him now.
"Yes. Now," he rasped and positioned himself and drove into her.

Bri screamed out in ecstasy as she came.

That's certainly whet my appetite!

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Promo Monday with Kim Faulks' End of Dreams

I'm thrilled to welcome fellow Aussie author Kim Faulks back to The Naughty Pages. You may remember I reviewed some of Kim's work a while ago. Well, she's back with a new series, and book one was just launched yesterday Australian time. I had the absolute pleasure of beta reading and proof-reading it for her, and I can tell you, it's a hell of a book,  I was totally wrapped in it! So here are the juicy details to get you hooked and interested in getting your own copy!

Blurb:
 
An ancient prophecy is coming to fulfillment and events are being played out across the globe by two opposing factions of immortal beings. The fragile, divine balance of all things is at stake, and the world is the ultimate prize.

Drawn into this battle are two unlikely players - Young Eve dreams of being a good mother to her unborn son. Hard-bitten Queensland detective Adley dreams of justice for a string of murdered children. The killer, Edric, dreams only of his next kill.

The immortal seer, Rashda, has brutal dreams of a world where vampires rule.

Against a background of universe-changing events and an ensemble of vivid, unforgettable characters, Eve and Adley will begin to learn the truth of The Immortal Destiny.


Excerpt:

Fantastic cover by the lovely Stephanie White!
Eve tucked her hair behind her ears and straightened her blouse before stepping inside Hurrow’s Federal Hotel. Narrowed eyes and glassy stares followed her all the way to the bar. She sat down on a ruptured leather stool, listening to the juke box belt out some hit from back in the eighties. The song sounded vaguely familiar. Like something Mother had once listened to—before she became a Christian, before she found God.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender’s voice boomed beside her. Eve jumped and her heart sped. He gripped the counter, leaning forward. He was waiting for her to say something,anything. Eve opened her mouth. But no words came, so she closed it again.
This was her first drink. In her first bar. On the first night of her new life. She was finally away from her mother’s controlling rule once and for all—she was free. She stared back at the bartender as a feeling of hope fluttered low inside her belly like a weighed-down moth. Even his scowls wouldn't dampen her mood tonight. Eve couldn’t help but grin.
The bartender no longer glared at her, but exhaled, closed his eyes and swore. Beer? No. Sex on the Beach? I’m not saying that. Eve’s gaze danced along the row of bottles, trying to find something nice which didn’t look like liquid fire. “Umm. May I have a glass of champagne?”
His brows shot upwards, hovered there for a moment before his forehead creased. “Champagne? Does it fucking look like we serve champagne?”
Like a ghost, Eve’s confidence dissolved, as though it had never been there at all. Someone behind her laughed. A woman who called out behind her, “Champagne? Who does this bitch think she is?”
Eve’s face burned.
“Don’t give the girl a hard time, Trev. Can’t you see she’s nervous? Just give her something sparkling and make it expensive.”
Keeping her head still, Eve glanced sideways at the man sliding onto the seat beside her. He was older, by a lot. His pitted face and long, greasy hair matched a black ensemble of leather jacket and dirty jeans which covered his stick-like physique. He caught her staring and winked. Tiny black stumps she guessed had been teeth were revealed with a smile. She looked away and slid from her seat, her eyes drifting to the door. “No. I’m fine, thank you. I… I’ve changed my mind.”
The stranger caught her arm with a soft hold. His touch made her wince. “Nonsense, come on. You’ve come all this way. Just have one little drink.”
It wasn’t his conviction that made her hesitate—it was his words.
She had come a long way. A lot farther than the four-hour bus ride with one suitcase to her name. Her longest journey was the road she’d traveled within herself. Her fight for freedom, even though she was afraid to be alone, but more afraid she’d give in and go back, so the loneliness was bearable. You won’t survive, you’re too weak. Her mother’s parting snarl still haunted her.
Eve’s vision blurred and her throat thickened, cutting off the air to her lungs. She inhaled sharply, wheezing, coughing. The stench of sweat and nicotine filled her nose as tears blurred her gaze. She thought she’d be able to leave behind all the hurt and the hateful words. There was no new life, here or anywhere. Only the baggage of her old one she dragged behind wherever she went.
Her hair fell into her eyes and she shoved it away with the back of her hand, along with a tear. She’d never escape her father’s suicide, or the depression and Valium which followed. Eve took in the bar, now that her rose-colored glasses were gone. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong anywhere. But she had nowhere else to go.
The bartender slid the frosted glass toward her. The drink wasn’t champagne, but at this moment, she didn’t really care. Tiny bubbles surged from the bottom to break free on the surface. She’d tried to break free and yet somehow she still failed. The bartender waited patiently while Eve dug for a crumpled ten-dollar note. Her fingers skirted the tiny yellow pill lodged in the crease of her pocket, her weakness and her disease. She grabbed both the note and the tablet while the stranger beside her opened his wallet. His thick pile of bills was hard to miss. He pushed a twenty along the bar.
“No… please, it's okay.” She might be a lot of things, but she’d never be bought. Not for a drink in a bar, not for anything. “I can pay myself.”
She palmed the pill and slid the note across the bar. The bartender nodded snatched up her crumbled bill. “Looks like she be buyin’ her own drink tonight, Matty. You just run along now and leave the young lady alone.”
The stranger pushed off the stool to tower over her. A flash of rage filled his eyes and Eve was paralyzed. His lips slithered back over his gums. Her scalp quivered and her hands shook. He loomed over her, breathing heavily and pinning her with a piercing glare for what seemed like forever before he stormed away.
Her cheeks buzzed with heat and her hands trembled. She shoved the pill into her mouth and washed it down with the fake champagne. She wanted for one moment not to feel hurt and humiliation. She wanted for one moment not to feel anything.
For Eve, time wasn’t measured in weeks or days, or even hours. She counted time by the minutes and seconds it took for the magic pill to dissolve the grip clenching her insides, so she could breathe.
Valium and alcohol made for a dangerous combination. By the time she swallowed the last of the bubbles, she felt off-balance. The room spun out of control and took her stomach with it. Her heart beat frantically and the walls closed in around her. The barroom chatter became screams of laughter. The raucous roar was too much for her and Eve slipped from her seat, leaving the stares and snide comments behind, and stumbled for the doorway.
The November air was thick and warm. Eve fanned the bottom of her shirt to catch a breeze and headed for the alley which would lead her home. The haunting bay of a dog caught her attention. Her heavy thoughts were captured by that woeful sound while she turned and stumbled in the dark until hands dug into her back. She was shoved hard against the side of a building. The brick walls were unforgiving. Her head cracked against a wall and the pain slashed like lightening through her head. She stumbled sideways and lifted her hand toward the back of her head, her thoughts frozen. 
“Fucking stuck-up bitch! You think you’re too good for someone like me?”
Eve’s world seemed slow and thick, like syrup. The snarl in her ear became distorted. She didn’t understand his words, but revulsion shot like cold fire through her veins, fighting the effects of the pill. He pushed his hand inside her shirt to fumble at the cup of her bra. Her thoughts sharpened. She screamed.
The stranger from the bar invaded her field of vision. He gripped her jaw and squeezed. Eve ignored the pain and whipped her head from side-to-side in an effort to break free. But he held on, snaking his leg around hers to pull her tight against him. Please God, no. Not like this… not like this. “Get away from me! Let me go!
“I’ll show you. I’ll show you good, you stuck up little bitch!”
“No, plea—”
Her words were silenced by his mouth. Eve felt violated, filled with revulsion… sickened by his touch and the fear of what might happen next. His hands were everywhere. Not one part of her body was left sacred. His tongue slithered in and out of her mouth. His fetid breath, forced into her lungs, became hers as she struggled to breathe.
Valium fought against the adrenaline, pushed along by the rapid fire of her heart, Eve hit, scratched, and kicked with everything she had. Her arms felt like lead, her movements seemed as though she moved underwater. She tried to escape his touch, rolling her shoulders forward and tucking her chin down. He held her still, and his hands burrowed deeper, finding the soft flesh of her nipple. Eve's stomach rolled and the taste of acid filled her mouth. Her attacker stopped moving, his frantic fingers left her bra. Has he given up? Please God….
“I said, take your hands off her.”
A new voice bounced around the alley, low and threatening. Her attacker stilled, but he didn’t let her go. The sound of his voice reverberated against her body as he spoke. “You best be on your way. This doesn’t concern you.”
Eve thrashed, using her weight to break free. He held on, his grip on her mouth became harder, distorting her frantic words. “Pease, pease. Hep me.”
“Shut the fuck up,” her attacker growled into her ear.
The deep voice bounced around Eve once more. “I’ll not say it again. Let the woman go.”
“Or what? You best fuck off or—”
He pulled her forward and slammed her back against the wall. Her shoulders took the brunt of the impact and her head snapped back against the brick. Agony roared inside her skull, the pain took her breath away and dominated her thoughts. White lights sparked in her vision. She stumbled and her knees connected sharply with the sidewalk. Screams from her attacker filled the air. Eve lurched forward as hot wine and acid flowed from her mouth, spilling onto the pavement. Helpless, she rode the waves of panic and revulsion until only dry heaves were left.
She wiped her mouth and glanced sideways. Her attacker flailed on the ground. His body jerked and thrashed in the air and then was slammed to the ground by a blur of a hand. She caught a glimpse of a face, a beautiful face hidden behind savagery. Eve covered her ears, but his screams drilled through the gaps of her fingers. A loud snap fractured his wails. Eve looked up to the night sky. Please… please make this stop.
And the night became silent like the moon above her.
Scared to move, she stayed still and sneaked a glimpse at the fight. The streetlight cut a triangle across the alley entrance, dividing light from the dark. Shiny black shoes and the bottoms of perfectly-creased pants seem to glide toward her. 
“It is okay. I will not hurt you.”
Eve wrenched her hands from her ears to grip the edges of her torn blouse.
“You have nothing to fear from me.”
Her rescuer knelt before her, his hand outstretched. The street light illuminated his broad cheek bones, revealing arctic blue eyes and glossy black hair.
Eve searched those eyes for kindness and compassion. She found none. It's enough he just saved my life, isn't it? Her gaze shifted to the unmoving feet of her attacker.
“He is not dead, merely asleep.”
Eve turned back to her rescuer. He waited for her to take his hand, like he had all the time in the world. She reached out. Her own hand hovered in the air and trembled before she grasped his and he helped her to stand. The minute she felt steady on her feet, she snatched her hand away and gripped the edges of her shirt tightly. Forcing the words through the pain in her jaw, she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Please tell me you are okay. When I saw him hurting you I thought he had already—”
She cut him off, needing to stay the words for her own reassurance. She wrenched her hand from his grasp. “No. Thank God.”
He stared at her, his eyes reflecting the street light. He smiled. “Yes, thank God. Although you really should be thanking me.”
“I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Thank you, thank you so much, Mr…?”
He shook his head and smiled.
He doesn’t want to give me his name. He’s afraid I’ll drag him into this mess… Into my mess. Can I blame him? “I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I’m Eve.”
“Eve. That... is... a beautiful name. The name of the woman who begat the fall of man, if I remember correctly. How... fitting….”
He moved closer to her, drawing her into his gaze. In this moment, Eve no longer stood in the darkened alley with the remnants of cheap wine drying on her lips. Instead, she floated, caught in his ice-blue gaze.
Her mind slowed and then stilled. Her panic eased until everything apart from this stranger seemed to fade away. His words were hypnotic. “May I walk you home?”
“Yes.” She answered before she’d had a chance to think it over. Her response had been so automatic. Should I really allow a stranger to walk me home at night? Shouldn’t I be concerned? Those questions seemed to slip through the numbed fingers of her mind. Instead of fleeing in fear, she found herself nodding and taking his hand when he held it out once more.
He walked beside her, not too close so they touched, nor too distant, giving her space to slip away. 
“Are you afraid of me?”
His question was carried to her on the soft night breeze. Even though she wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard him, shame forced her to answer. This man had risked his life to save her. But she couldn't lie, not even to herself. Honesty forced her to accept the fact Valium was a way for her to cope, hiding the truth from her and everyone else—the truth that everything scared her.
“Look at me.”
She stopped, glimpsing the door to her apartment building in the corner of her eye. Keep walking, don't stop, said a tiny voice inside her.
“Eve. Look at me.”
There was something about his voice, something so spell-binding and compelling. It was hard not to look, impossible to not obey his commands. Eve turned toward him, yet somehow a part of her was urging her to run. But she couldn’t run, she was frozen. Eve stared into his bottomless eyes, unable to tear away from his gaze, or his touch.
“You are exactly what I am looking for, someone pure and so... tender.”
His accent was so strange, old-fashioned and rigid. It wasn’t Australian that she was sure of. It wasn’t anything she knew. He trailed his fingers down her jawbone. His finger hovered on the end of her chin and then lifted her face to his. His words were jumbled, whispered phrases she couldn't quite catch. All she could see were his perfect, soft lips. “Shall you succeed where others have failed?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he stepped closer, towering over her. “Well, we shall see, won't we?”
He stared into her eyes, as though he seemed to savor this moment, before lowering his head. “Ahh, humans,” he whispered, and then he kissed her.

(Gosh, I loved that scene... Oh who am I kidding, I loved them all! ~Phoenix)

Thursday, June 6, 2013

If Books Were Real with Alysha Ellis

Inspiration isn’t always divine.

I observed an on-line conversation recently about the writer’s source of inspiration.  People spoke seriously and sincerely about the nobility and purity of their calling.  I didn’t  contribute a thing. How could I? I don’t have a gracious lady wafting grand ideas into my subconscious mind. I have a bimbo in red stiletto heeled boots whispering smutty suggestions into  my ear. Others have a muse...I have an inner tart.

My inner tart is prepared to use anything for inspiration...and I do mean anything,  including the weirdness of some internet users. A little while ago I received an email from a fan.  This is a big deal for me. Fans are golden and must be treated as such. I was a little confused  when he (and yes, that was surprising in itself) said he loved how beautiful I was. 

At first I thought he meant I was a beautiful person, which is an odd conclusion to come  to from reading my books. A wicked person, a depraved woman, an irreverent trouble-maker: 
that would be understandable  -  but beautiful?  It turned out he thought the cover model on one  of my books was me and he had fallen in love. Actually, that would be lust, because he sent me a  detailed and somewhat icky description of exactly what he felt when he looked at the cover...and  I mean felt quite literally. Felt, stroked, squeezed...you get the picture.

Before I pressed the block user button, I sat back and had a think. What kind of person is  so inexperienced, so naive that they think the authors of books are the cover models? 

Or is it that we are so used to people making up avatars and images on the net, that we  now believe what we want to believe…and bugger reality? And if our interactions become more  and more virtual, maybe that’s the way we’ll go.

Maybe one day virtual reality will be indistinguishable from for want of a better word— real reality. So here’s a question for you. If you could step inside a fictional world, and live it as 
if it were real, what would you choose to do?

The answer to my own question—which book would I choose to live in? I’d never settle  for one. 

I’d start with Pride and Prejudice—which would immediately move to the crime fiction  genre because Eliza Bennett has to go. I’m not having any competition for Mr Darcy.

I’d almost certainly have a stay in my own book, Submitting to Him because I write the  kind of heroes I want. So if I get the chance to have them, no way would I turn it down. I want a  hot, dominant, modern Greek god, thank you very much.

And my absolute favourite hero, the one I MUST have is Dominique, Vidal from  Georgette Heyer’s Devil’s Cub.

So where are you going to dive in, and more importantly, with whom?

I must say that would have been an interesting piece of fan mail to get. Good point though, we're living our lives so much in the virtual now, it's easy to get confused between fiction and reality. 

Thursday, May 2, 2013

Author Chat Friday: A History Lesson with Alysha Ellis


The Scandals of our Past
“Do you recant your views?” The dean glared at the student who faced him across the desk.

“I stand by every word.” The boy, for at nineteen that’s all he was, stared back, defiance in his dark eyes. “The world is ready for atheism and men like me will help it spread.”

“Not in my college, at my university you won’t.” The dean pointed a finger to the door. “There is no place for you here.”

The student shrugged and strode out. He didn’t look back; he made no plea for clemency. Percy Bysshe Shelley had taken the first steps on a road that even one hundred and ninety eight years later in a far more hardened world, is scandalous.

Within four months he had eloped to Scotland with Harriet, a sixteen year old friend of his sister, not because he loved her but because she loved him and threatened to kill herself because she was so miserable at home.

Not surprisingly the marriage wasn’t entirely happy and Shelley abandoned Harriet and fell in love with Mary Godwin, daughter of the famous feminist and advocate of free love, Mary Wollstonecraft.

Mary Godwin had two half-sisters, Claire and Fanny. Claire had a liaison with Lord Byron.  Fanny fell in love with Shelley. Honestly, I don’t know what he had going for him but it must have been something pretty potent.

Shelley took Mary and Claire with him to Switzerland, where Claire introduced them to Lord Byron. Fanny, in misery at being left at home, killed herself.

In the meantime, Percy’s wife, pregnant now to another man and mistakenly believing he’d left her, killed herself by drowning in the Serpentine River in London.

So why am I telling you all this? Because just recently I had a conversation with a conservative person who claimed that “The moral decay of the twenty-first century” was the forerunner of all sorts of doom and gloom. “Nothing good can come of this,” the woman claimed. Apparently I, and all the erotic romance writers of my ilk were at least partially responsible for all the ills of the world.

I have a few objections to this.

First of all, we didn’t invent sex, we didn’t invent different ways of living or scandalous lifestyles.

BDSM has been around a long time. Open marriages are not new. As many of you know, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries particularly, morality was seen as a middle class virtue. Different rules applied in the upper classes. Appearances mattered far more than behaviours. If you could keep it quiet, you could do what you liked. People like the Godwins, Wollstonecrafts and Shelleys weren’t necessarily behaving all that differently to many others in society, they were just more open about it. Living their lives, not in defiance of the ways other people of the aristocracy behaved, but in defiance of their hypocrisy.

I see the same criticisms being levelled today at people who want to live in situations that differ from the majority of people. There is the obvious, and hopefully diminishing, rejection of homosexuality. It has always existed, but we should reject the hypocrisy that makes us have to hide it or to deny its existence.

Whether it’s BDSM, slave/master, polyamory or any one of a myriad of arrangements that are possible between consenting adults, this is not new. We’re just finally being honest and admitting it happens, it has always happened. The more progressive amongst us realise that one person’s relationship need not diminish or impact on another’s.

So that’s my first objection. None of this is a twenty-first century problem, if it’s a problem at all.

My second objection is against the assertion that nothing good can come of this.

Mary Godwin, Percy’s sixteen-year-old wild child lover became Mary Shelley, and Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, an recognised part of the literary canon. It has inspired hundreds of writers, poets and film makers with its exploration of the relationship between man and creator and what it means to be human.
The Shelleys and their friends rejected conventionality, but embraced creativity. Percy Shelley wrote poetry, as did Byron.

 Great minds are not always bound by the rules of others The artist as radical became a pretty well-established concept.

So what has this to do with me? And how did I get into the argument with my conservative critic in the first place?

I wrote two historical, ménage novellas - The Gardener’s Sins and a Boudoir for Three. My critic mailed me with a complaint - such an arrangement would not have happened in the time period I wrote about.

My response? “Rubbish.”

It happened. And the Shelleys prove it. Like all fiction writers I write, not the truth, but a truth. I explore aspects of human nature and while monogamy and one-on-one relationships are certainly touted as the norm, there have always been exceptions and in the case of monogamy, the exceptions are more numerous that we often admit.

So if I want to write historical ménage - I will; secure in the knowledge that what I’m writing probably isn’t even half as scandalous as what actually happened.

Extract From A Boudoir for Three www.total-e-bound.com
The blood-red wine splashed a little, but Christophe’s hand steadied hers and lifted the heavy crystal to her mouth. She took a sip, then a large swallow, needing the added courage. One more gulp and the glass emptied and she held it out for more. A smile briefly curved Armand’s lips and he tilted the bottle.
The second glass disappeared almost as quickly. Angelique’s head felt light but her limbs grew heavy. Christophe’s face, surprisingly close, seemed soft around the edges. “More wine,” she murmured.
Christophe took a sip of his own wine and touched his mouth to hers. She gasped. The instant her mouth flew open, wine, warmed from Christophe’s mouth, trickled in. Her eyes widened. Astonishment held her motionless, then her throat moved and swallowed. Warmth spread throughout her body pooling in hot dampness at the juncture of her thighs.
Without raising his lips from hers, Christophe pushed her back against the padded side-rest of the couch. He lifted her legs and draped them over his thighs. Hands— Armand’s, her dazed mind assumed—unlaced her shoes and slipped them from her feet. She felt strong fingers caress her arches, then slide upwards, lingering briefly at the backs of her knees before inserting themselves under the tied ribbons to deftly slide her stockings down.
Her ruffled skirt and petticoats were pushed up and moist kisses pressed on the, as yet, untouched skin of her thighs. Again she gasped and Christophe’s tongue, flavoured with wine and some sweet musky essence of his own, thrust into her mouth.
Armand, kneeling beside the couch continued his exploration, sliding upwards, his teeth taking small, devastating little bites, until he came to the slit in her silk draws. He probed into the gap. Angelique’s hips surged involuntarily upwards, and Armand’s tongue made a long, leisured journey between her wet, pleated folds.
Christophe broke the connection of their mouths to turn his head to watch. His breath rushed in and out, the rise and fall making Angelique aware of the hard rod pressed against her hip where he leaned over her. When she had been forced to feel the Marquis D’Arly’s cock, revulsion had made her snatch her hand away. Now she lifted one heavy arm and delved into the tiny space between herself and Christophe. She curled her fingers around the rigid cylinder and Christophe’s shuddering breath hitched and restarted with the force of a bellows.
At this sign of her power, a small delicate flower of desire began to unfurl. The hot rasp of Armand’s tongue shocked her to the depths of her soul, but she didn’t want him to stop. Tendrils of excitement wound deep into her brain.
Armand found a hard point she had not even known existed and flicked it with his tongue. Her limbs melted, her thighs dropped apart and pleasure flooded her. He flicked again, over and over with a rapid pulsing rhythm, drawing her tighter and tighter.
Christophe’s hands rubbed her nipples through the dress and his tongue continued its sensual exploration of her mouth. The world shrank to nothing more than this couch and the hot, hard bodies of the two men caressing her into a state of abandon.
Suddenly with the force of embers exploding into red hot shards in the fire, the tension snapped, burning through blood and bone and skin, leaving her gasping, shaken and quivering, seared with pleasure in a way she had never imagined. A misty cloud blurred her vision, and when it cleared she saw Armand nod, his chin and lips glistening, a measuring look in his eyes, as if confirming something to himself.
“Is that it?” she asked. “I am no longer a virgin?” It was easier and more enjoyable than she had been led to believe.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Author Chat Friday rehash


Ok, much like I began my first Author Chat with an apology, so too do I start this one. This time, due to unfortunate life circumstances, Delena Silverfox, who was scheduled to post today, will be unable to do so. And due to my own life circumstances, I lack time to write up an all new post. 

So I'm once again sharing my post on the importance of a good relationship between publisher and author. I'm also including snippet and blurb of The Wolf in the Neighborhood, which you should all know by now has been released and has cracked Naughty Nights Press's BestSelling list after only 4 days, and remains there still!

To get on with the post, I'd love once more to discuss the important relationship between author and publisher. Something many people don't think about, either because they aren't one of either, or they are but just don't see it as quite as important. But I can tell you know, neither would be able to succeed without the other. So it's very important that an author and publisher see eye to eye, and are both willing to meet in the middle when there is an issue. If the author has an issue with the contract TALK ABOUT IT to the publisher BEFORE signing. 

(Disclaimer: I might use a fair bit of capitalisation in this post, I'm just trying to really make a point here.)

Once the contract is signed, both author and publisher are bound to THAT EXACT contract. That's it. READ IT. Make sure you know what you're signing before you sign. 

So now we've signed the contract, and maybe time is dragging a little. Keep in mind something before you go off the deep end: publishers look after MULTIPLE authors, editors, artists, and numerous other staff. Things come up (and no, they don't HAVE to tell you unless it directly involves you! Some do, though, out of COURTESY), and so instead of wasting their time with your petty tantrums, let them use that time to sort out the issues! They're humans just like you and me. 

Now you're on to the editing process. They're not there to tell you what a great job you've done in writing the story. Their sole purpose: CLEANING IT UP. Any little error, big error, gaping plothole... any issue that might be in there, it's their job to point it out to you. If you don't like it, well that's pretty much too bad. If it's something, say, like capitalisation of a word that normally isn't, (for example, in certain scenes in my Wolf Smitten series, I capitalise Wolf when referring to Derek's Wolf), then don't get shitty if they request it changed. Just leave a comment stating that it's integral. If it's a legit grammatical error or plothole, or something that is just purely difficult to believe even given whatever strange circumstance your story might be set in, LISTEN TO THEM. They're trying to get YOUR story to the best state it can be so that the readers (who PAY YOU) don't feel that they've wasted their money. They aren't your friend, they are your editor. It is important to have a good working relationship and trust with them, yes, but FIRST AND FOREMOST: they are your EDITOR. LISTEN. 

Cover artist has now done the cover. Maybe it's not quite what you thought it would be. Or maybe there's a small detail not quite right. Again: BEFORE going off the deep end, consider: is it INTEGRAL? Maybe the eye colour is wrong. In which case send a CALM message saying "whoops, Character A's eyes are actually red, not purple. Great job though!" If it's way off, for example wrong city skyline, and maybe some readers wouldn't notice but a lot would, again, send a CALM message pointing it out. If it's not absolutely integral, however (maybe the hero is standing when you wanted him to be sitting? Or he's facing left with hand on hip, but you wanted him facing right with his arms crossed), then just LEAVE IT. THEY know what sells and what doesn't. TRUST them. 

All through the process, make sure you always take a breath and THINK before sending a message. Is it IMPORTANT? Can it wait? And ALWAYS make sure you're calm and respectful. Obviously if they aren't respectful when you genuinely have been, then you might get annoyed. But don't see that as an invitation to be disrespectful back. Maybe it was just a swamped day, and they didn't have time for the usual courtesies. You don't know. Unless there are serious red flags going up, then just bear with it. Publishing companies are looking after numerous other authors, all eagerly waiting to get their book out there. But they can't all go out at once. It just doesn't work like that. 

My main points are to READ the contract, SHOW and EARN respect, BREATHE, THINK and TRUST. Not something that is easy these days, but without any trust, society is just going to go to hell. I trusted, respected and, I believe, have earned respect by breathing and thinking and not being a tantrumy, impatient toddler. And now, I am about to see that all pay off with my debut release next week. I can tell you, it is worth every single second of waiting!

Excerpt of The Wolf in the Neighborhood, get your copy HERE. And feel free to leave a review, every little bit helps!

After a few more moments of sniping from him, Krissy finally convinced Derek that a nap might help him feel better, so she helped him off the couch. He pushed away her efforts to help him to her room, stating, “I sure didn’t need the help last night; I think I can make it today,” with a wink that made her giggle. She was astounded at how well she had taken this new aspect of him in her stride. She guessed it was just the exposure to werewolf novels and movies that had her desensitized.

Once they reached her room, she directed Derek to lie on his stomach so she could try to massage out some of the knots in his shoulders, tense from the double transformation. His breath groaned out of his chest as her hands – delicate yet strong – worked out some of the bigger kinks and she felt the vibrations through his back, making her recall his groans of pleasure from last night when she clawed his back.

She frowned in silent thought, wondering whether that had been man or beast enjoying that bit of pain, before she realized Derek had fallen asleep with one last groaning sigh. Krissy smiled as she watched his face, finally peaceful and frown-free.