Tag Archives: guest blog

Charlotte Stein Tells Us About Her Novella, Restraint

It’s my pleasure to welcome back to A Hopeful Romantic, one of my very favourite authors, Charlotte Stein, who will be telling us about Restraint, her yummy novella from the Xcite’s Secret Library collection, Hungarian Rhapsody Anthology. Welcome back, Charlotte!

Hungarian RhapsodyRestraint came about because of two things: one, Xcite asked me if I’d like to be a part of this fantastic project, and two, I really fancy Armie Hammer and wanted to write a story about him being a repressed maniac. And so I did!

Basically, my hero is all uptight about sex. My heroine is not uptight about sex. Shenanigans then ensue. I have to say, I absolutely loved writing this story – it came quite easily, because as you may or may not know, I love tales about girls teasing guys to the point of insanity.

So there you have it! My contribution to The Secret Library, in a nut shell. Here’s some links for it, if you fancy having a gander yourself:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Secret-Library-Hungarian-Rhapsody/dp/1908262125?&linkCode=waf&tag=wp-amazon-associate-20

http://thesecretlibrary.co.uk/?page_id=8772

http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hungarianrhapsody-788380-166.html

And I would, because not only am I in this anthology, but so are Justine Elyot and Kay Jaybee. It’s practically a must buy!

And if you’re still unconvinced, go here:

http://thesecretlibrary.co.uk/

How amazing is The Secret Library? Look at those velvety covers! They’re divine.

Excerpt:

‘Artie, just fucking let go of me,’ I say, but he won’t, he won’t. And then somehow it’s just me and him, squirming and thrashing around in the bubbly water, limbs getting tangled, everything getting more and more frantic until…until…

We both go very still, all at once. I don’t mean to. Most of me wants to keep trying to get away, but once I feel the thing that’s very definitely happened I can’t even manage a weak wriggle. And as for him, well…he’s gone beyond rigid and into some state of temporary paralysis.

I turn my head just a little to see if I can make out an expression on his face, but there isn’t one. He’s just blank—so much so that I’d assume he was dead if I couldn’t see the flush creeping up over his cheeks.

And if I didn’t know what the hard thing was, that’s currently pressing right up against me.

He has an erection. Dear God, he has an erection. I can feel it against my thigh, so heavy and so obvious I don’t even need a paradigm shift to figure it out. It’s just there, like a pointed finger:

Artie is turned on. The squirming or the words or fuck knows what has turned him on, and now his big stiff cock is apparently super-glued to your thigh.

‘Okay, well—’ I start, though I’m not sure how. I’m almost grateful he interrupts me, because God only knows what words I would have used to finish that sentence. I thought you were a Eunuch, maybe? I can’t believe you’re actually able to achieve stiffness, perhaps?

I just don’t know, and apparently neither does he.

‘Please don’t say anything,’ he says, but strangely he doesn’t blurt the words out in a mean way. He hardly sounds angry at all, anymore—just mortified. And though that’s perfectly understandable, I can’t help thinking even stranger things, as we lie like that in a sea of bubbles.

I’m practically on my back, over the little plastic seats beneath the water. And he’s almost over me, his legs between mine and his big chest pressed against my breasts. I’ve got one arm around him, though I don’t know when that happened, and the second I shift just a little I realise he’s got an arm around me, too.

We’re almost in some sort of weird embrace. Somehow, we’ve struggled and shifted until we’ve locked our bodies together in a very familiar shape, and the longer this silence goes on for the more obvious that fact becomes.

His hand is pressed to the small of my back. The way that men do when…you know. They want to get a bit of traction and maybe fuck into you harder. And I can feel something in him, too—a kind of tension, vibrating through his body. As though we were in the middle of a good screw and I suddenly told him to stop.

Don’t come yet, I think, mindlessly, and this giant awful thrill spills through me.

What if he is about to come? What if he jerks and spurts all over the insides of his shorts—or even better, all over me? I can’t for the life in me imagine what someone like Artie would look like, if they had an orgasm, but I can feel my mind trying to gather the image together anyway.

That tight, tense face of his, suddenly slack with pleasure. God, that mouth. Would he bite his plump lower lip, maybe squeeze his eyes tight shut? Someone like him would never moan, but the thing is—what if he did?

I’d die. I’d die.

Sommer Marsden Talks Cooking Shows

It’s always a pleasure to have Sommer Marsden on A Hopeful Romantic. Today Sommer is talking about her tasty tale, Taste It, from The Secret Library anthology, The Game. Welcome back, Sommer. My mouth is watering already!

 

Strong Woman + Hunky Guy = Heat in the Kitchen

Or at least in the cooking studio. The story behind my story Taste It is born of many, many, many nights (and days!) spent watching reality cooking shows on TV. I have a list as long as my arm, if you ask me, of TV cooking shows to which I’m addicted: Chopped, Top Chef, Iron Chef, Restaurant Impossible, Next Food Network Star and my favorite (at the moment) Around the World in 80 Plates. There are more, but my mind is shutting down and I’m having that junkie itch to try and find one on demand and watch it RIGHT NOW!

I was in the middle of a long stretch of watching and rewatching such shows—there happened to be a whole slew of them going at the time—when I got the call for The Secret Library. I tend to get hooked on shows and then if they rerun them, I’ll leave them on as background noise. Bubble gum for my brain. Something to do when I look up from writing.

I always give myself a moment, when I get a specific call, to shut my eyes and quietly sit there. A silent second to let whatever might be lingering just below the surface of my thoughts float to the top. It’s often the best way to get the idea for a story, in my humble opinion. What did I see behind my closed eyelids?

Chefs! Duh!

When I started to write Taste It, I discovered two things. Firstly, there is a sweet and situationally (think I just created a word) inappropriate attraction between Cole and Jill. And secondly, both of these people have something to prove—to  themselves more than anything. They are both witty and strong and determined, but once the connection between them is made due to the weight of attraction and the beauty of blind fate…well, once that happens, I also discovered they are both very giving.

I love when two noble characters with big hearts fall for each other, don’t you? I know what you’re thinking, “Well, you are pulling the strings, Sommer.” I can see why you’d believe that, but it’s not 100% true. The real story behind any story, for me at least, is that I’m not really pulling the strings at all. I’m just along for the ride. Following the characters my brain has conjured to wherever it is they might be going. In this case, they were going straight into love…and possibly the kitchen!

XOXO

Sommer

Excerpt from TASTE IT:

Jill suppressed a yawn and it was true they were contagious because a second later Cole did the same.

He stroked her hair and she realized why cats always looked so smug and satisfied. It felt good.

“Who are you proving yourself to?” he asked lazily.

The sheet was the only thing on them and the heat off his body was keeping her warm and toasty. The hotel stayed fairly warm but the outside temperature in D.C. was roughly thirty degrees.

“The general public,” she admitted. Then she confessed the whole messy sous chef thing and the scandal and the way it had felt to have people questioning her restaurant and the integrity of her staff. “One person ruined my reputation and I want it back.”

He nodded showing he understood and moved on to stroke her back. Even through his tee it felt good to have his hands on her. It pleased her more than she’d ever admit that he remembered her from the cooking demo they’d both attended. Jill had thought she was the only one who recalled their former meeting—no matter how brief. She’d thought him very handsome and way too interesting even then.

“How about you?” she asked, tickling her fingertips along the ladder marks of his flat stomach. The man worked out, that was for sure. Jill wasn’t so used to the chefs she worked with being so…ripped.

He blew out a long sigh and said, “Myself.”

“That’s it? Yourself?” she said, grinning. She gazed up into those amazing blue eyes and when she saw the look on his face her grin faded.

“I used to be a drunk.”

All the words left her and she simply watched him talk. Her heart beat had sped up and a tiny bit of anxiety worked its way beneath her skin.

“I had a marriage that failed and too much stress in a restaurant that also failed—thanks to the marriage—and I stared drinking. Heavily. About a bottle of vodka a day.”

Wow.

“And I ruined a lot of stuff and hurt a lot of people and then…I got my shit together.” He shrugged again and continued to stroke her long hair with a gentle touch.

“So now…” she waited.

“So now I am proving to myself that I have fixed my problems and am back to myself—better, actually—and deserve all the good things that are happening to me.”

“So when you said you don’t drink anymore…”

“That was why.” He touched her nose. “And if you want to you can totally sta—“

Jill sat up, fear blazing a yellow trail through her gut. “I do have to go. I won’t sleep here. I won’t sleep because it’s a strange room and because,” she nodded down at his fine bare form, “you’re all naked and hot and stuff.”

“You think I’m hot?”

She smiled wide and when he echoed it with his own smile her heart knocked hard in her chest. “I think you left cute behind about eight bus stops ago,” she said, parroting his kindness from earlier.

“It was six bus stops,” he said, touching her bottom lip in a way that made her think sinful things.

“Mine is eight,” she said, rising up fast to kiss him.

He cupped her face and made her slow down. He made her kiss more leisurely and lazier and God, so much more intensely. Then she ran like the devil was on her heels. She was terrified. Terrified!

Cole Roberts made her almost wish for him that he’d win Best Chef. She almost didn’t care if she saved face. And what…the hell…did that mean?

Buy The Game from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
The Book Depository

Bio:

Best selling author Sommer Marsden has been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler), “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen),and “Erotica royalty…” (Lucy Felthouse for Blog Critics Books).

Her erotic novels include Restless Spirit, Big Bad, The Best of Sommer Marsden, Hard Lessons, and Angry Sex. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for Xcite Books, eXcessica, Ellora’s Cave, Pretty Things Press, Resplendence Publishing and House of Erotica. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning, wannabe runner author writes work that runs the gamut from bondage to zombies to humor.

Sommer’s short works can be found in over a hundred (and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines–both in print and online. Visit sommermarsden.blogspot.com to see what she’s up to.

Antonia Adams On Editing The Secret Library

The GameI was lucky enough to have been given the job of editing The Secret Library novellas as well as being asked to write one myself.  And what a fabulous job that was.  I had several hours of happy, not to mention, very hot, reading.  We, at Xcite, only commissioned writers who we knew would come up with the goods: alpha males, feisty heroines and a strong plot with heaps of sexual tension. Oh and great writing, of course – so it goes without saying I’ve never had so much fun in my life.

I got to choose the covers for the ebooks too – which meant spending an afternoon or two searching for images of fit, semi clad men. It’s a dirty job but someone’s got to do it!  Honestly, I don’t know why my friends are so jealous when I tell them what I do for a living!

 

On writing my novella

As for my own novella, One Of Us, here’s how it came about.   I live in Dorset, which has one of the most beautiful coastlines in the country, so the setting was easy.  I knew straight away I wanted my story action to play out on beaches, and I’d always fancied the idea of setting a love scene in the sea.

My heroine, Natalie Crane, is an artist, who is doing an exhibition in Bournemouth when she meets the enigmatic composer, Will Falcon.  There is intense chemistry between them from the outset despite the fact that her friend and agent, the very camp Anton doesn’t trust Will one little bit. Natalie’s not entirely sure she trusts him either. But Will wants to buy a painting and, against her better judgment, Natalie agrees to go to his house to discuss what type of painting might suit.

 

Excerpt from One of Us by Antonia Adams

‘Just through here,’ Will said, and opened the door opposite the lounge.

She was so close behind she almost cannoned into him when he stopped just inside the doorway. So much for running away. She couldn’t wait to get into his bedroom.

‘I thought maybe –’ He turned and their faces were so close that …

‘Sorry.’ She was in his personal space – or was he in hers? All she knew was that they were not in a bedroom. She wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. They were in a big L-shaped room full of musical equipment: speakers; a keyboard; wires that snaked across the floor from a plug to an amplifier. And was that a grand piano in the bay window? The air smelled of something spicy and exotic – no, that was him. So close. So close, so close. But in that heartbeat of a second it no longer mattered which room they were in, because in the next moment they were in each other’s arms. She didn’t know who had engineered it – maybe her, maybe him. She only knew it didn’t matter. It felt right that they were in each other’s arms.

He bent his head ‑ even with the heels she was still not quite tall enough to be on eye level with him ‑ and she looked up into his eyes and saw another flash of lust there, which she knew would mirror what he saw in hers. Mirror it exactly. Then his lips were on hers – surprisingly gentle at first, and his hands were cupping the back of her head, drawing her closer, drawing her deeper into the kiss. She softened beneath him, welcoming his tongue. She hadn’t been kissed like this for so long. And it felt amazing.

When they finally broke for air and he looked at her the lust had softened into a dark ache of longing. For a moment they just stared. Eyes were different close up. She could see the tawny flecks of gold she’d noticed earlier and other colours too – hazel, a hint of green. He had eyes like a big cat and they were very expressive. Alongside the longing there was curiosity, a kind of wondering.

He was probably as surprised as she was – that things had progressed so fast. She had never in her life done anything like this before and she had the oddest feeling, despite the fact that they were still in each other’s arms, that neither had he.

Biography

Antonia Adams joined the Xcite team in 2010, but she is no stranger to writing.  She uses various pseudonyms and her work has been published extensively in the UK and abroad for the last 25 years. She also lectures in creative writing at events around the country.

Links:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/One-Of-Xcite-Romance-ebook/dp/B008754YWK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1340253652&sr=8-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Antonia%20Adams&search-alias=digital-text

Penelope Friday Tells the Story Behind the Story of Her Novella, Just Another Lady

The Story Behind The Story

The fabulous Penelope Friday is joining us today to tell us the Story Behind her hot regency offering, Just Another Lady, her novella from  the Secret Library anthology, One Long Hot Summer. Welcome, Penelope.

 

So, when you’re writing a story, you start at the beginning and move through the middle until you reach the end, right?

Um…

That would probably be a sensible way to do it. In fact, I know a lot of writers who write that way. But I’m not one of them. I mean, what am I supposed to do when I don’t actually know what happens next? Wait around hoping for inspiration to strike? Tidy the house? (Actually, that would probably make for a considerably more tidy house than I currently live in!)

Instead, I write another bit of the story. A bit which I do know. And then, when I run out of inspiration for that bit, I write another bit. And another. And another. And then… well, I suppose I ‘join the dots’. Because now that I know that – say – my heroine is going to meet her hero for the first time in chapter 1, but that they’re actually a couple by chapter 3, it’s easier to work out what happened in between.

Okay, I know that sounds odd. The scary thing is how long I’ve been writing in this way, though. When I was at school, I had a tendency to approach essays in the same manner – writing the bits I knew and then joining them up. In those pre-computer times, I had to ‘guess’ how much space I would need on pieces of paper, which was sometimes interesting: I ended up with quite a few essays which had little stars on the paper and another paragraph on a separate sheet which belonged in the starred place. Believe it or not, I was actually reasonably academic and ended up with decent marks, unusual methods notwithstanding 🙂

More surprisingly still, the ‘joins’ don’t seem to show too much in my stories, either. I would challenge anyone to spot the places where my sections have been joined: as I sometimes get inspiration for bits of conversation, the join may come part way through a scene, not just at the beginning of a chapter! If you think you spot one, feel free to email me – penfriday@gmail.com – and I promise to tell you truthfully if you’re right…

One Long Hot SummerBlurb

Regency lady Elinor has fallen on hard times. The death of her father and the entail of their house put Elinor and her mother in difficulty; and her mother’s illness has brought doctor’s bills that they cannot pay. Lucius Crozier was Elinor’s childhood friend and adversary; and there has always been a spark of attraction between the pair. Now renowned as a womaniser, he offers a marriage of convenience (for him!) in return for the payment of Elinor’s mother’s medical bills. Reluctantly, she agrees. But Lucius has made enemies of other gentlemen of the upper echelon by playing fast and loose with their mistresses, and one man is determined to take his revenge through Lucius’s new wife …

Excerpt

The feel of Lucius’s fingers running down her spine made Elinor want to shiver. Even though she was protected by layers of clothing, the knowledge that he was stripping her – that shortly she would be naked in his company – made every touch tingle with what Elinor had to acknowledge to herself was excitement as much as embarrassment. As he unfastened the final button, she wriggled impatiently and the dress fell in a pool at her feet. The petticoat she could divest herself; the corset, however, needed Lucius’s aid to remove. Elinor could feel his breath warm against her neck as he teasingly took his time to undo the strings. When at last it expanded around her, Elinor took what felt like the first decent breath since that morning, almost moaning her relief.

‘You looked beautiful in it,’ her husband (her husband!) murmured in her ear, ‘but even more so out of it.’

He pushed it off her shoulders, so that she stood dressed only in the light cotton shift in front of him. As he turned her to face him, Elinor was suddenly made all too aware of her semi-nude state compared to Lucius’s full dress. She could feel her nipples peaking against the cloth, almost begging for Lucius’s touch.

Penelope Friday – http://penelopefriday.jigsy.com; http://penelopefriday.livejournal.com

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