One of my characters, Stein, from Unrestrained got nominated for the Mr Sexypants award!
Okay, I think the title is actually called 'sexiest hero' or something like that but I'm not good with details.
I'm excited because while I knew he'd win the 'oral sex while doing the dishes' and the 'telling naughty stories while supermarket shopping' award, I had no idea he'd get nominated for this one too.
And thanks to everyone who's a reader and who nominated on the ARRA blog. Romance readers rock! I can't wait until March now...
ARRC2015 will be held in Canberra in March 2015, more details are available here.
This'll be my first ARRC and I'm really looking forward to it. I'll be sharing air with some of my favouritest authors (Kylie Scott, Sylvia Day, Nalini Singh, Victorial Dahl and Kelley Armstrong) and meeting all the other awesome folk who live, breathe and read romance. What more could a gal want?
Fellow Escape author Ros Baxter writes fresh, funny, genre-busting fiction featuring feisty heroines, quirky families, and heroes to make you sigh and tingle. She also took time to answer some of the more important questions of our time.
RHYLL: If a book reading competition at Eurovision were held, which singer would you choose to lisp, screech or croon pages from your latest novel, The Seek?
ROS: Ani DiFranco. Not sure anyone else could get the profanity right.
RHYLL: Good grammar is sexy, agree or disagree?
ROS: Agree. I’m still scarred by the love letter I received at 16 that began “Dear Sweaty” (I choose to believe he was trying to call me ‘sweetie’, but the relationship died a swift death nevertheless). But, on the other hand, the recent elevation of Grammar Nazi-ness to some kind of higher calling shits me to tears. I’d still choose someone who can tell me a good story, kiss like a boss, or sing me a lullaby over someone who has a position on the Oxford comma.
RHYLL: How do you think a Thighmaster could be introduced into foreplay?
ROS: Hmmmm now, well, following my general theory that all exercise equipment is an unsexy thing, the first thought that comes to mind is to deliver emergency behavioural correction if he gets it wrong. But that seems kind of harsh.
So I’m thinking maybe as something unsexy to think about when you’re trying to make the moment last a little longer…? Let’s face it, nothing is guaranteed to cool your ardor quicker than thinking about your thighs or exercise. And both together? Ice bucket.
RHYLL: Tin foil underwear is best worn...
RHYLL: Thanks, Ros.
The Seek, the first full-length novel in Ros's sexy, engaging, groundbreaking SF Romance series will be released 8 November by Escape. Check it out here.
You can find Ros on her Facebook page or at her website.
What better way to show your love for your fellow November release Escape authors than to barrage them with silly questions? Author Victoria Black submitted with both good grace and humour.
Rhyll: You’re invited to a tentacle erotica party. Do you attend? What wine and nibbles do you bring and what do you wear?
Victoria: Okay, I am slipping into fantasy land here, where I have friends who would hold such a sexy party, and where I have the courage to attend. Ah, yes….
Yes! Of course I would attend. In my figure-hugging (this is fantasy, remember), black leather jumpsuit that reminds one of a very sexy seal. Okay, a sexy seal doesn't have too much to do with tentacles, but I'm trying to picture myself arriving dressed as an octopus with tentacles dangling everywhere, and I just don't see erotica, do you? The nibbles I bring are, of course, crumbed calamari. Plus Crystal champagne, bought at Dan Murphies at the bargain price of $299.99 for the bottle. You do get the image of bubbles and the sea?
Rhyll: Identify how a Thighmaster could be introduced into foreplay.
Victoria: God, I love these questions. Off to the fridge for another glass of wine…
"Darling," he murmured, as he removed my All-the-Way Support Pantyhose, "your thighs are…"
I giggled. "Oh, you're so naughty, Roger…um, Fred…"
He frowned. "Joshua."
"Oops, sorry. Yes, Joshua. Oh Joshua, what are my thighs like?" Smiling, I stroked the gentle line of my true love's generous tummy. My heart beat hard. More or less.
His pale blue eyes gleamed as he dragged a strange blue contraption out from behind his back and tried to flex the two halves, joined together by a black spring, towards each other. "Darling, your thighs are so…"
Oh God, what was that thing? What did my sex master want to do to me? As I grabbed another handful of Cheezels, I gulped, round-eyed. My heart beat…I tilted my head…sort of quicker. Maybe. Though heartburn sometimes did that to me…
Okay, that's enough, I don't want you getting too turned on now.
RHYLL: Who’s sexier, Cthulhu or T-rex? Why?
I have to admit, I had to google Cthulhu. But are you kidding me? Cthulhu, of course. All those long, dangly things in front of his face. And his brain half-exposed. And those two, huge bulging eyes.
Fanning myself now.
RHYLL: Thanks, Victoria!
V.K. Black is from the sunny state of Queensland in Australia and loves cooking, eating delicious food, and drinking wine. Strangely, all of these have appeared in every single one of her published works. She has a handsome hero husband who takes her snorkeling on the Barrier Reef from time to time, two lovely children who have married equally lovely spouses, and various animals, when said children bring them to stay. V.K. Black's Website
Her latest novel Unexpected Places releases on 8 November with Escape. http://www.escapepublishing.com.au/
When sweet, pretty Ariana knocks out wealthy CEO and treasure hunter, Luke Donahue, with a champagne bottle and steals his treasure map, he vows to get his map back, find the missing priceless emeralds – and exact a fitting revenge.
When he finally discovers Ariana in a dingy hotel on a remote tropical island, she’s in desperate straits and he finally gains the upper hand. Of course he will rescue her. His price? They act on the attraction that’s been simmering between them from the very beginning.
But all is not as it seems, and Luke’s sexy bargain turns up not only an unbelievable secret, but Ariana’s reasons for wanting the emerald. Suddenly, nothing is clear cut anymore, and map or no map, Luke and Ariana are sailing into uncharted territory.
Rhyll Biest interviews author NM Harris about the profession of forensic pathologist.
What are the traits of a good forensic pathologist?
Methodical attention to detail, a lack of squeamishness and steady hands! The capacity to render scientific terminology in layman's terms for court appearances is also useful.
Do forensic pathologists have their own jargon?
Like doctors and any scientist working with human biology, they have a lot of medical terminology at their disposal - though a lot of theirs relate more to organic systems that have ceased to operate and are in the process of breaking down. So they use words like lividity, antemortem, postmortem and the charming 'adipocere', which is "a waxy soap-like substance that forms on corpses during decomposition under specific conditions. Also known as ‘grave wax’"
I bet you really wanted to know that.
What do forensic pathologists dislike (i.e. it makes their job harder)?
Corpses unexpectedly proving to be not quite dead... and corpses that go missing. Fortunately, these things hardly ever happen. (Well, unless you write horror and crime fiction...)
Other than that? They're not fond of people demanding they work faster than is appropriate to get a thorough and correct result, or of those who might try to get them to find clues to fit the suspect rather than determining what really happened first.
I guess they're not too fond of not being able to determine the cause of death for any reason.
How do forensic pathologists like to unwind after slaving over cold corpses all day?
I think they'd like to spend the time with living people - having dinner, dancing, laughing, getting the most out of life - because they understand how precarious and precious life can be.
What do you think is sexy about forensic pathologists?
I think they value life, and how to live it well, because they know what the alternative is. As scientists, they're smart too, and I think intellect is very sexy!
Thank you for your time, Narrelle.
Want to know more about NM Harris? Visit her blog here.
Sky High, Bone Deep by NM Harris
Traditionally, leather is an anniversary gift. One couple is about to take that in a very non-traditional way...
Rory and Lily have been married for five years, and they have special plans to celebrate their anniversary: a little game involving a collar and a leash and some silky underwear...for Rory. A little light bondage can be just for fun — but beyond the play, there is love, bone deep and bright as the stars.
The irrepressible Georgina Penney coshed me as I was walking down a dark alley. When I came to, I found I’d been tagged. I figured I’d gotten off lightly as I still had all my internal organs.
Georgina gets around, you can find her here, here and here. And her super-funny, mimsy-friendly book is here.
What am I working on?
When I first started writing, I used to work on one thing at a time (to completion). But now I’m all like ‘fuck that shit’ and currently have three manuscripts on the go (yes, it's manuscript ménage). But all three have paranormal elements because I’ve discovered how much I love a kick-ass heroine, death matches and pariahs. But don’t worry, kids, there’ll still be plenty of dirty, filthy, crotch-rotting sex mixed in there.
How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I’m a big fan of all things unusual so you’ll find my work stuffed to the gills with that shizz. For example, I have cane-toad racing in one story and in another, a woman who tricks a man into paint stripping her house. And then everyone has sex happily ever after (because that's how all my stories end).
Why do I write what I do?
Life and other random sh*t . I mean sometimes you see or hear something and it just sticks with you, you can’t get it out of your head, and it’s fun to play with that image or snippet or whatever and see if you can’t build it into a story. I think a lot of authors have subconscious magpie tendencies in that we see a thing here, we read a thing there, and it all comes tumbling out in our stories.
I’m also guilty of writing to right wrongs. That is, writing things that don’t happen in real life but that I think should (according to my own weird ideas about social justice). So in my stories it’s the plain, narky girl who gets the handsome man (and boffs his brains out something severe). Sometimes she even gets two handsome men, woo-hoo! And if someone grows a pair of fangs, or wings, or slays the undead in between the boffing and the romance then I’m really happy because that stuff just doesn’t happen enough in real life.
How does my writing process work?
My brain oompa-loompas tell me what to write and I obey.
I would tag another author, but I honestly don't think there are any left in the world who haven't been tagged yet. If I'm wrong, leave a comment and I'll tag you.
Better put your seatbelt on, Floored is going to take you on one wild ride.
Driver, our heroine, comes with an interesting job and an even more interesting past.
Who’s the creep who manages to get hold of her new phone number after she changes it, and what’s the big, mysterious mistake in her past that forces her to work as a freelance chauffer?
A sense of shame hovers around Driver, its presence as pervasive as the stench of naphthalene in her apartment. Little wonder, then, that she fancies the idea of a hero in her life, even if it comes in the battered, dubious form of Black Pariah member, Fetch.
Fetch, too, has his secrets. Why does the bad boy biker try to keep a neighbor from getting his head stomped on by the Black Pariah club? And why doesn’t he take advantage of the high school Lolita who crawls into his bed?
Ainslie Paton reveals all in her trademark taut prose, and swims against the current stream of romances glorifying the motorcycle club lifestyle, preferring to focus instead on its nasty criminal underbelly. However, the story focuses much more on the relationship between Driver and Fetch, and how they come to know each other (in every sense of the word) during the long drive from the east coast to Perth.
In essence, this a fun road trip story for grown-ups.
Who are the naughty ninjas?
We’re six naughty authors...
With sneaky ninja powers... (Chuck Norris can deny paternity all he wants, but our mad ninja skills speak for themselves.)
Who’ve started a website...
And we’re on a mission to bring you the lurrrve.
Like a bit of romance, erotica or chick lit in your day? So do we!
Want to hear some opinions about the pressing issues facing the world? You know, the important ones, like what to make of Fabio's new hairstyle or how dodgy dinosaur erotica truly is? We’ve got so many issues to wrestle with that our super ninja hideout is running out of room, so we’ve stored them all at Naughty Ninjas Say.
Want to know about forthcoming releases? Check out Reading Ninjas where we salivate over what tickled our pleasure centres and glory in the naughty bits.
Love food? Really, really love food? Awesome! So do we! (See, we knew we’d all be friends.) Come with us for a walk around Eat Me, our ninja pantry. It’s packed with recipes for optimal ninja bowel health, awful aphrodisiacs, anatomical cakes, and all the best munchies excitingly shaped like genitalia. If you like a bit of plonk with your pudding, we even have a resident wine critic to give you the stealthy lowdown.
Are you staying up at nights wondering what the difference is between a snizz and a Ding Dong McDork? No fear! Our Glorious Glossary of Naughty Anatomy is here to rescue the day on a brilliant white charger with its kilt flapping and pectorals glistening.
Do you suffer from tiny hands? Are you anxious about twerking etiquette? Is your boss a giant bag of dicks? Yes? Well, never fear genteel reader, our advice columnist, Lady Fluffy Beaver, is an expert at ass-kicking a crisis.
Are you a member of the Nerd Herd? We’ve got you covered. (You can’t see us though, we’re sneaky.) Browse Grammar Ninja, Nerdy Ninja and Ninjitsu—it’s like ninja writing school... with rude bits. (Be prepared for the odd discussion on the literary merits of hedgehog ménage and porpoise snuff fiction.)
Fatigued from all the Ninja Awesomeness? Well there’s still Naughty Nature where you can delve into the mysteries of nonhuman courtship, plus the Ninja Horoscope where Madam Lady-bumps interprets your month according to the stars and her latest novel.
And let’s not forget the starfish gang-bang that is Ninja Love, where dozens of guest ninjas and a score of interviewees mingle and reproduce.
Sound amazing, awesome and hella sneaky to you? Fantastic! Because we want to share the love with our Launch Competition where we’re offering an $AU80 Amazon gift voucher prize.
Our launch is on February 14 and all you need to do to enter the draw is to sign up for the fortnightly Ninja Newsletter (we promise on our ninja mothers’ honour not to spam you, and you can unsubscribe whenever you want) before 14 March.
So come and join us in the giant ninja hot-tub, today! We’ll even let you take a turn at Jacuzzi karaoke using our rhinestone-studded disco stick.
From February 7 to 23 Rhyll Biest will have her eyes glued to the televised (buttocks of hot male athletes) Olympic Winter Games being held in Sochi, Russia.
Because Russia and Russians do special things for her lady-parts, she’s spent a little too much time thinking about all the fun things that could happen between randy Winter Olympics athletes and the locals, and is going to share some scenarios...
1. Georg the German luge superstar hurtles off his sled and slides two hundred meters down the track. He survives, but his lycra onesie is torn from his body and local spectator Ludmilla Sputnik must throw herself over him to preserve his modesty and Russian national pride. Romance ensues.
2. Under new Olympic rules, during each shooting round a biathlete must hit five targets and each missed target must be "atoned for" in one of three ways:
· Cleaning a local lady’s bathroom.
· Providing a vigorous foot massage to a single lass.
· Deflowering any spinsters over the age of 20.
Emil from Sweden misses two shots and, after deflowering Olga Snortoff and, to both her great surprise and satisfaction, cleaning her bathroom, romance ensues.
3. While watching the curling heat between Canada and Finland, 72 year old Maisy is struck by the similarity to lawn bowls and bares her breasts to the players in encouragement. When she requires hospital treatment for frostbite, she meets a lovely Sochi doctor called Yuri. Romance ensues.
4. No man has ever been able to resist the sultry blonde Sveta, and when she licks the plexiglass, Canadian goalie, Peter, is no exception. After a puck flies into the net between his inattentive legs causing his team to lose, Sveta and her trick pelvis console him for the next seven hours. Romance ensues.
5. During a practice pair camel spin with her ice skating partner, Fifi locks eyes with a tall, dark handsome security guard sitting by the ice rink. When her partner’s hand slips to touch her somewhere inappropriate during the following one arm overhand lift, the stranger smiles in gentle sympathy, stealing Fifi’s heart. Romance ensues.
If these scenarios warmed you up, head over to Jupiter Gardens and use the code “febheat” through 02/15 for 10% off the title Russian Heat.
January 31 in 2014 marks the celebration of the Chinese New Year in Australia. The lunar year of 2014 is all about the horse and, just by coincidence, one of the characters in Risk is hung like a horse. Just kidding.
Risk is, however, set in Shanghai and during the Chinese New Year there, Mike and Jane would no doubt be attending dragon boat races, enjoying the week-long evening fireworks, and digging into a lunar feast of Shengjian mantou and washing it down with Qingdao beer, possibly at a table with their Russian friends-with-benefits Lena and Vlad Orlov.
If you’d like to win a free copy of Risk, leave a comment beneath the excerpt below before the 7th of February.
The Russians are coming…
All his life, corporate risk analyst Mike Ransom has struggled to keep a lid on his love of risk in all its glorious forms—complex megaprojects, gambling and kinky sex with a cast of other players. Add a healthy dash of Catholic guilt to his zeal for hell-raising and Mike’s one conflicted man.
While he may have briefly enjoyed a three-way relationship in Moscow hot enough to melt the icicles off the Kremlin, since relocating to Shanghai he’s put all that behind him. So he certainly doesn’t want quirky IT über-babe and fiancée Jane finding out about the edgy submission and dominance games he played with Vlad and Lena Orlov, Moscow’s most enthusiastic swingers.
But his plan to distance himself from his past comes undone when the Orlovs, unaware of his new relationship status, arrive in town ready to pick up with Mike right where they left off.
By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.
An Excerpt From: RISK
Copyright © RHYLL BIEST, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
“Hey, gorgeous, rough day in the risk-analysis saddle?”
Mike Ransom leaned back in his swivel chair and smiled. He let the cool of his fiancée’s voice wash from the phone down his spine, her sweet, soft tones tempered by just the right amount of wickedness.
“Long. And hard.” He rubbed his smirk with the receiver.
There was a pause at the other end. “We are still talking about your day, aren’t we?”
“Get over here and find out for yourself. You still at work?”
“Nuh-uh, I left early in case the rain caused a traffic hellmouth from Pudong to Zhongshan. Had to patch a whole bunch of ports against a Trojan but got it done superfast so I’d beat the peak hour.”
He loved it when she talked geek, but the only port he was interested in patching was hers, preferably as he rubbed his face in her breasts and stroked the strawberry birthmark on her hip. And did his best not to imagine another pair of hands on her.
“How very cunning of you, wife-to-be.”
“Why thank you, husband-to-be.”
“There’s so much more to you than just a pretty face and a way with an egg beater.”
Jane’s sigh drowned out the sound of the photocopier down the hallway. “Those political correctness classes aren’t working, are they? I’m going to have to sit you down with a copy of The Female Eunuch again, aren’t I?”
He scanned the corridor outside his office and lowered his voice. “Keep that tone up and I’ll paddle your behind with it. Or is that what you’re hoping for?”
Thick silence. The air seemed to hold its breath along with him as he waited for her answer, his heart wadded thick and tight in his chest with uncertainty. Had he crossed a line?
“Only if you promise to fuck me like you mean it afterward.”
Ohhhhh. He let out a breath and retrieved the file in his brain marked Hot of Jane’s world-class ass. His cock’s imagination was miles ahead, tearing down the street, doing wheelies, his brain opening the throttle on visions of faxing a photo of Jane’s rosy buttocks to his entire department. Every straight guy in the office would succumb to an awe-induced embolism. And a few lesbians.
Ah fuck, when was his brain going to give up on such thoughts? ’Bout the same time he quit drinking those “few quick beers” on the way home. And then drinking a few more once he got there. Jane hadn’t said anything, but whether she’d noticed was another question…
“By the way, don’t bother coming home.”
His spine stiffened. “What?”
“A friend of yours called to invite us to dinner. Call me when you guys work out the details and I’ll pick you up from work. Give me an hour or so to wash my hair and change though, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” He allowed himself to picture her getting dressed at their Pudong apartment, looking eminently fuckable as she slid her favorite black dress over black silk stockings, the suspenders framing to perfection her deliciously pale, smooth thighs. Who gave a shit about dinner?
“Who called?” he asked.
“Vlad. You got his number to call him back? Or you want me to read it out?”
“Sorry, someone was talking to me.” He stared at his empty office doorway and ran a hand down his face.
“One of your Moscow friends, right?”
“Yeah. I’ve got his number. Did he leave any other message?”
“Said he had some news but he’d tell you over dinner. You’re okay to go to dinner, aren’t you? I know you kind of pulled up rough this morning.”
Ah, so she had noticed the six beers he’d had after dinner. And his hangover. “Your relentless sexual appetite is wearing me out.”
“Wiseass,” she said.
“Okay, I’ve got no comeback to that. Call me and I’ll pick you up.”
“Yeah, all right, thanks. Bye.”
In the dead fluorescent glare of his office, he stared at his computer screen and rubbed his neck. The risk-assessment matrix on the screen wove red and green lines into eye-bleeding complexity, casting red and green shadows on the desk varnish.
The tangle on the screen mirrored his feelings. Vlad.
Vladimir Semyonovich Orlov, to be precise. Vlad to his friends, Orlov to his acquaintances, Semya to his wife, and “that big motherfucker” to everyone else.
And wherever Vlad went, Lena was bound to follow. No pun intended. Well, maybe some. Damn. He looked at his risk-assessment matrix. He had two more pages to write on his milestone report. He’d finish the last figures on his chart and then call Vlad.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. How long since he’d seen them? A year? Though see was a pale euphemism for their last get-together. His cock twitched.
“Don’t start,” he muttered.
No, he’d left that life behind. They’d figure that out when they met Jane. He’d have to tread a conversational minefield to keep Jane from working out their exact former relationship. But he owed the Orlovs dinner, at least. And he’d attended enough business lunches to perfect the art of hiding behind a curtain of smiles and half-truths between entrée, main and dessert.
He focused on his screen with renewed determination.
July, August, September. October, November, December. He traced the red ribbons of his matrix model to risks, but under his eyes the ribbons thickened and changed, a fat rope worming its way into the linear matrix. He blinked and looked away but it was too late. Bondage paraphernalia in the guts of his risk calculations. Fuck. He slumped back in his swivel chair, pushing away from the screen to run an unsteady hand over his face, grimacing at the prickle of five o’clock shadow.
The rope flashed before his eyes again and he winced, reached for his coffee to block out the image and his stupidity. It was a lot to ask of instant coffee, to smother such a thick sediment of unwanted memory. He drained his mug and squinted at the intricate strands of the risk matrix.
Twelve legislative risks, fourteen capital risks and four supply chain risks. For one project. Whoever the project manager was on this one would need balls of steel. Oh, that was him. Right. He plotted the eighteen crosses on the risk matrix skein. How tempting to add another ten and then wait for the whole house of cards to come crashing down. Watch the whole thing devolve into an unholy shitstorm. How satisfying would that be? To watch the company flagship project turn Titanic? A shiver wound its way down his spine and excitement left an acid taste in his mouth.
That kind of fucked-up thinking had been crawling out of his subconscious to the fore far too frequently lately.
The demon creeper of anarchy that lived in his spine was unfurling new shoots. Some days he woke thinking about Vlad and Lena, all the edgy games they’d played, and the more he pushed the memories down, tried to put a lid on his longings, the bigger his sense of worthlessness and thirst. Not just any thirst, but a burning, epic craving that told him to drink himself unconscious with whatever spirits were on hand and then drink some more, preferably while betting on a horse or two or over a card game. Sad what could happen to a man when you took away his favorite fuck buddies.
He’d resisted a full-on drinking or gambling binge so far, but more and more often he found himself planning grotesquely elaborate complex projects and fantasizing about how they might come undone and take the company down with them. As if he needed to see the corporation unravel as spectacularly as he felt himself unraveling. Some days he nearly suffocated from the effort of holding himself under his self-imposed blanket of restraint. Hard to say whether Jane noticed the cracks in his facade. Like him, she didn’t always share what she was thinking.
Putting the thought aside, he listed mitigation strategies for each risk in the Notes field. A little sad to see all those beautiful risks diminished by forward planning. He frowned at the third supply chain risk. That one was tricky.
One of Lena’s porno-queen screams interrupted his train of thought, the breathy moan reaching a crescendo that sang through his veins and tingled in his balls.
Un-fucking-believable. He sighed and shut the file down. No use kidding himself that he could focus, he’d have to finish it tomorrow.
He looked at the phone on his desk.
Vlad meeting Jane. Or worse, Vlad and Lena meeting Jane. Not something he’d ever pictured. Not outside of his brain’s endless filthy scenarios, anyway.
What brought them to Shanghai? Respite from summer tourists in Moscow?
He shuffled the papers on his desk, moved them around into better piles then rearranged his paperclips and straightened his pens and pencils.
He hadn’t been in contact with either of them since he’d met Jane. Vlad hadn’t commented on his silence. Lena had sent rude emails. Fear kept him mute.
Vlad and Lena. What had they been doing with themselves? He’d bet any men’s magazine would be happy to publish the details. A grin split his unwary face.
If they had dinner he’d keep a tight rein on himself and limit himself to two drinks. Then nothing could go wrong.
Fingers moving by memory, he dialed Vlad’s number.
I've always been terrible at making decisions, which includes picking winners, so I'm just going to offer a copy to anyone who left a comment below by the 28th and who sends their email address to me at rhyll.biest at yahoo.com.
Hopefully you won't be too disappointed by the absence of Speedos and galahs in the story, now that I've whet your appetites!
Thanks to everyone for participating, and to Book'd Out for organising the event.
Since I think January in Australia is a bit too hot for flag waving, face painting or cane toad racing, I thought I’d instead list ten erotic romance Australia Day scenarios. That's right, any of the following scenarios could actually happen on Australia Day.
1. Fifi whips herself up a ravishing frock made from the Australian flag to wear to her local Australia Day party. Unfortunately, during her impromptu Macarena performance, several important stitches come undone and the hero is forced to fling his body over hers to cover her unmentionables. Romance ensues.
2. Lola is a professional lamington and pavlova sculptor. Since she’s just starting out in the business, there’s no way she can decline when the local BDSM club invite her to cater their Australia Day event. There’s trouble when several dungeon masters decide she’s tastier than her lamingtons. Felicity, a big-breasted dominatrix, fights them off with her cat ‘o nine tails to save her. Romance ensues.
3. Max, a lifesaver, is running across a car park to catch up with the Mr Whippy van when he trips over the lip of his Australia Day thong and is knocked unconscious. Kind-hearted Fay helps him to his feet, straightens his Speedos and takes him to the doctor. Turns out Max has amnesia from the fall so she lets him stay at her one-bedroom apartment until he regains his memory. Romance ensues.
4. When former copper, Mick, sees the way Jonno wraps his lips around a didgeridoo, he knows he’s found the man for him. But by the end of the Australia Day party the priceless didgeridoo has gone missing and Jonno’s in deep doo-doo. Mick uses his policing skills to help Jonno track down the missing didgeridoo. Romance ensues.
5. On Australia Day, Gemma from America decides to watch a three-day cricket match with her new Aussie friend. Not having had years to develop the required immunity to boredom, she falls into a coma on the second day. A handsome stranger leaps up from his seat and revives her with emergency cunnilingus. Romance ensues.
6. At the beach, Daisy uses her Australia Day face paint to write ‘eat me’ on her belly. Several fellow bathers take the message literally. Romance ensues.
7. Bianca and Toby eye off the same sausage at a sausage sizzle. They both make a grab for it, Toby gets his hand over it but Bianca wrestles him to the ground. She chokes him with a headlock until he passes out. She eats the sausage. He regains consciousness. Romance ensues.
8. At the Menage Appreciation Society’s Australia Day party, three strangers (Doris, Ben and Martin) compete in the ‘three-way kiss under the flag’ competition and win a free trip to Budgewoi for a week. Romance ensues.
9. After winning big at an Australia Day game of two-up, Meg gets rip-snorting drunk and wakes up with a male swimwear model. Never one to complain about the cards life deals her, she lures her new friend into staying longer with her fine cooking and Karma Sutra colouring-in book. Romance ensues.
10. When Delilah stays at her boyfriend’s place for Australia Day, she decides to bring her pet cockatoo with her. Wally the cockatoo finds himself trapped in a cage with Esme the Galah. Feathers fly, but during the day they overcome their species differences. Romance ensues.
If these Australia Day scenarios have whet your appetite for more Oz-themed erotic romance, leave a comment to win a copy of A Sporting Chance (a novella which takes place on Australia Day). In A Sporting Chance romance (and bodies) collide with the Aussie tradition of cane toad racing on Australia Day. Be on the alert for a snarky barmaid in steel-capped boots, swooning, amphibians and a super-hot ex-Soviet bar owner. (Take a peek below.)
Entries close midnight 28 January. To hop to the other Australia Day blogs, zoom over to the Book'd Out site here.
A Sporting Chance
In the outback town of Mount Tully, many a man’s had to squeeze into a frock after backing the wrong derby cane toad on Australia Day. But Mount Tully’s surliest bartender, Jane Ransom, has her steel-capped boots planted firmly on the ground, so there’s no way she’d risk her independence to accept a saucy bet from the sexy but bossy pub owner, Luka Belov … is there?
Whatever magic DNA spawned his lean, mean heavyweight frame also carried the bossy gene. Forget about the Slavic features that tugged on her libido like a rough hand on a choker-leash, because the bossy ones always thought they could change her, mould her into more of a “lady”. Wrong. And when the romance soured, she’d lose her job. Luka could never be anything more than eye-candy to her.
Speaking of candy…
Pulling the chocolate koala she’d bought at the bar out of her jeans pocket, she caught his disparaging glance. “What?”
“Stuff’s bad for you.”
She gaped at him. This from the man who’d served her microwaved fries? “And I suppose your body’s a temple?”
“Interested in the hours of worship?”
His tone was casual but his eyes held just enough heat to make her blink and stiffen. Unthinkable. He’d openly raised the subject of the hairy, heaving, lustful, elephant in the metaphorical room: sexual attraction.
For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of imagining a strong set of shoulders by her side, a lust-worthy body sharing (or, more likely, hogging) her rumpled sheets in the morning, someone to talk to at the end of the day.
A beautiful dream, but it never worked out that way, not for her. There was always the hurt of not being enough: not girly enough, not nice enough, not whatever enough.
She squared her shoulders, stiffened her resolve and set about repairing the walls between them. “Here’s a bet for you. If Germaine wins, you don’t talk to me for a week.”
An unholy glint lit his eyes. “You’re on. She loses, you wear a dress for a week.”
Not that again. If he loved frocks so much, he should wear one.
“She wins, you wear the dress and don’t talk to me for a week.”
Luka’s bark of laughter deepened her frown.
“You want total warfare, Jane? Fine. She loses, you do exactly what I say for a week, whether that’s dusting my house dressed as Fifi the French maid or giving me a foot massage.”
She froze, the moment amplified by each solid pump of her heart. A week at his bidding? Massage? Her brain froze with lust, refusing to let her move past the image of her hands running over his hard, bare flesh as he lay prone before her with eyes shut, big chest rumbling with satisfaction while she kneaded and stroked.
Impossible. She could never hide her feelings under those conditions, would never be able to rein in her hands to keep them from wandering off his spectacular contours and into more dangerous territory. And with that handsome face of his, he would get anything and everything he wanted from her, which was unlikely to be limited to cleaning duties. Her stomach churned at the very thought of being under his full control, physically, emotionally and sexually. What if he exploited the situation shamelessly? What if she enjoyed it?
And the winner of the Bunker-play Blog Hop is...drum roll...Karla Oleinikoff. Congratulations Karla!
And thanks to everyone who participated in the blog hop, may your plus fours be forever blessed.
And don't forget, Fairway to Heaven is the best romance that's almost about golf that you'll ever read :)
Rhyll Biest interviewed Lily Malone about her new release, Fairway to Heaven, and got the scoop on bag rats, worm burners and mashie niblicks.
Many people find golf about as sexy as cardboard. Will your story put the ‘schwing’ back into ‘golf swing’?
I should probably put up my teeny tiny hand (it’s a very delicate hand) and say right from the get-go, that there isn’t exactly a heck of a lot of golf going on in Fairway To Heaven. I mean, it starts on a golf course…and it ends on a golf course…and somewhere in the middle they play a round of golf. But it takes at least half the book before anyone we have learned to know and love actually picks up a club in anger.
That said… there is something about the Fairway cover that is very much schwingy! I still don’t know what search terms my wonderful graphic designer Googled to come up with a golf ball between a pair of boobs! This is why she earns the big bucks, and I just admire her.
Do any of your characters experience playing with a ball that is afraid of the dark (won’t go in the hole)?
No, but one of them has a number plate that reads: ‘hole-in-1.’ Does that count?
Children as bag-rats (caddies). Would your hero/heroine be for or against it?
For it, definitely. Jenn has a 14-month-old son, and there are several times when she comments about how golf courses are not particularly child-friendly. I’m sure once her toddler is taller than the golf club, Jenn would welcome him caddying for her. So would Brayden. Brayden loves kids.
‘Milking the grip’ is a term for lightening and tightening one’s grip on a club before beginning a swing. Do your characters approve of milking the grip?
Good grief no. It’s giving them visions of cow teats and dairies. Definitely no milking of grips goes on in my book. There’s gripping. But no milking.
Would your heroine expect the hero to ‘attend the flag-stick’ (hold and remove the flag-stick for her while she’s putting) or is she too independent for this?
It’s not about being independent, it’s about demonstrating good golf etiquette. Certainly Jenn would expect Brayden to attend the flag for her, and she would do it for him.
What would your heroine do if faced with a poorly trimmed fairway?
It wouldn’t worry her. She isn’t a long hitter, but she’s straight up the middle every time so she rarely finds herself in the rough.
Has your heroine ever been involved in a greensome?
Nope. Never. She doesn’t even know what one is and if she knew what one was, she wouldn’t want to do it. She’s someone’s mother for crying out loud.
A ‘skins game’ involves play in which each hole has a set value (usually in money or points). Do any of your characters get involved in a skins game?
And here I was thinking someone finally got to take off their clothes. Per your explanation above, the answer is no. If it comes down to my explanation on the other hand, then that’s a yes.
My favourite golf term is ‘worm burner’, a shot that is hit remarkably low and hard. What’s your favourite golf term?
“Drive for show, putt for dough.” AND “Get in da hole.”
I like worm burner too. It reminds me a lot of my own golf game. I’m a hockey player from waaaay back, and I sometimes blame that for my incredible lack of loft.
A ‘mashie niblick’ sounds dirty. Does anyone use one in your story? If not, please tell us what your heroine would say about a ‘mashie niblick’.
She would have to Google it, and right now her wi-fi connection is playing up.
Readers can win a copy of Fairway to Heaven, The Yearning and A Sporting Chance, along with other gift goodies (see Lily's gift basket to the left) by entering the Rafflecopter contest in this blog post. You can also win a copy of Risk by leaving a comment. I'll pick a winner on 21 January. For now, hop on over to the other blogs participating in the hop, they're all offering giveaways!
Looking for a fun and fab hop to join in? Look no further!
The Bunker-play Blog Hop & Giveaway offers a main Rafflecopter draw filled with prizes (those in the picture above and more) and each author participating in the hop will also offer a giveaway (which may or may not be sport-themed).
Posts should be be sports themed (preferably golfy) but we encourage you to stretch the theme to its limits. Some ideas (and your blog post need not be long) include:
Want to join in? This is how:
1. Sign up using the Linky form below.
2. Draft a post about golf, sport or the beach and post it on your blog by midnight the 10th of January.
3. Copy the banner (I'll email you the code or image) and paste it above/next to your blog entry.
4. Include the rafflecopter code on your blog post. (I’ll email this to you).
5. Please state whether your giveaway is international or not on your blog post.
1. Posts must be up by midnight on the 10th January.
2. Posts must include the linky list (which you can copy to your blog once you've entered), or the links to the next three bloggers, or a link back to this page. We want everyone to be able to hop to all the sites.
4. The giveaway you offer in your blog post can be anything but it must include either something book-related (print books, e-books, gift-cards, swag) or golf/sports themed.
5. Everyone is responsible for announcing their own individual giveaway. Participants need to announce their winners by January 15.
Signing up to have your blog in the hop closes 10 January, so jump on our little golf-buggy of love and enjoy the ride!
Rhyll Biest interviews Valerie Twombly about her latest release Amazon Heat
and gets the scoop on down and dirty demon sex.
Demons aren’t usually perceived as good boyfriend material, how does your demon differ?
Well first off, he looks nothing like we would think a demon should look. Instead he is tall, dark and delicious and knows how to please a woman. He is not what you would consider an evil entity, though some may dispute that.
What’s the romantic conflict for Damis and Katrina?
Their story starts with Katrina needing Damis’s help to save her father. Being the playboy that Damis is, he bargains sex into the deal. Katrina agrees, after all, she wants to save her father. They start off on the wrong foot from the beginning. Kat finds him sexy and she is unable to resist, but hates that he has control over her. Damis is in it for fun, until he discovers Kat is his mate.
Wild monkey-sex. How much of it can readers expect?
Damis is very needful so there is a lot of sex. Everything from gentle worship of Kat’s body to fast and hard in the middle of the jungle.
What made you choose the Amazon jungle as your setting?
I was trying to come up with a remote place one might look for a mystical stone. The Amazon seemed like the perfect fit. Not only do we think of the jungle as a mysterious place, but it was the perfect setting for hot, steamy sex.
Damis is an alpha male, what do you love about writing alpha heroes?
They are so over the top and do everything in a big way. I love finding that soft spot, they all have one and it’s usually a woman. When they finally realize she is the one and they can’t live without her, that’s when we see who our alpha really is.
Who’s your favourite character in Amazon Heat?
I love them all. However, I would have to say Katrina. She struggles with so many issues throughout this story yet keeps her chin up. In the end, she refuses to back down and fights for what she wants.
Have you got more demon books planned?
I’m currently busy with the second book in my Guardians series, but I do plan another book in the Demon Heat series in the future.
What would you rather become if you had a choice, vampire or demon?
My first love has always been the vampire.
What do you like to read when not writing?
I am a paranormal romance addict. I just wish I had more time to feed my addiction.
When Katrina faces the death of her father, she is left with only one choice. Hire a local demon to help her retrieve a mythical healing stone from deep in the Amazon. However, when the two finally meet, sparks fly. The man is a walking sex god and when he offers to pleasure her in exchange for his services, she finds it hard to refuse.
Damis only intended to have a good time with the beautiful blond who entered his office. Little did he know, the vixen was not only half demon, but his mate to as well. Can he resist the urge to bond with her? Or will his desire be his downfall.
As a child, Valerie would often get into trouble for peeking at her mother’s favorite TV show, Dark Shadows. She can still hear her mother saying “It will give you nightmares.” She was right of course, but that did not stop Valerie from watching. As an adult, her love of the fanged creatures never waned. She would watch any vampire movie she could find.
Being a true romantic, Valerie was thrilled when she discovered the genre of paranormal romance. Her first read was one of Lara Adrian’s, Midnight Breed series and from there she was hooked.
Today, Valerie has decided to take her darker, sensual side and put it to paper. When she is not busy creating a world full of steamy, hot men and strong, seductive women, she juggles her time between a full-time job, hubby and her two German shepherd dogs, in Northern IL.
Rhyll Biest got herself arrested by US Deputy Alex Marshall (the hero of Effie's Outlaw) so she could touch his, ahem, star and ask him what it's like to be a lawman. And check out the giveaway below.
What are the traits of a good deputy?
Honesty, Compassion and Patience
How does someone become a deputy?
I volunteered. Course my motive wasn’t for the right reasons. I just wanted revenge. But the marshal was appointed. He could deputize locals to assist him.
Lay some sexy deputy jargon on us (and a translation!)
I told Effie, “Darlin’ you’re one of the prettiest filly’s I’ve ever seen and you’re someone to ride the river with to boot!” by which I meant that she was the prettiest lady I’d ever met and someone who could be counted on as well.
How do deputies like to unwind after pursuing bad guys all day?
A cold beer, a soft woman and (if you’re lucky) a mattress to sleep on.
What do deputies dislike (because it makes their job harder)?
Fools that take bribes to protect criminals. You can’t arrest them for lying.
What’s the most difficult thing you’ve had to do as a deputy?
Refrain from just shooting the bad guys that hurt innocent people.
Lawmen have a reputation for being married to the job, is that you?
I was, but then I met Effie. Now I’m married to her and the perks of that job can’t be beat.
What’s the quickest way to a deputy’s heart?
For me, it was meeting a spunky woman who wasn’t afraid of who she was and what she wanted.
Want to spend more time with Deputy Marshall? You can find him in Effie's Outlaw by Karen Lopp for sale at Amazon.
Boston heiress Effie Sheridan takes matters into her own hands when her fortune is being stolen. The last thing she expects is to be kidnapped by a gang of train robbers. Forced to pretend to be an outlaw's lover to stay alive, she questions her sanity when she is drawn to the gruff, yet charming bandit who risks everything to save her.
U.S. Deputy Alex Marshall is mad enough to spit nails when the beautiful, city-bred girl lands in his arms. Unable to abandon her to the cruelties of the gang, he searches for a way out of the responsibility. But her courage and sweet kisses begin to chip away at the bitterness inside his heart and he must choose between revenge on the gang that slaughtered everyone he loved or redemption for saving a woman he can never have.
Available at Amazon. Or, leave a comment on a tour stop post to win a copy.
Steeped in a rich family history, Karen Lopp has always been drawn to the courageous lives of the women who lived through the hardships of the past and triumphed. A transplant from Oklahoma where she grew up on a farm just one mile away from where her great-grandparents settled in the land run, Karen now lives in the enchanted land of New Mexico and has a running competition with her dad on who can grow the tallest hollyhocks. Books and tales of ancestors were staples in her life and she fell in love with history. Enthralled with the short stories her grandmother wrote and passed down, she took the plunge (with encouragement from hubby and kids) into the world of writing. And is now hooked. Her inspiration comes from research into her family tree and their interesting lives. Visit her at Facebook or Twitter.
And the winner is...Jessica D! I'll contact you soon with your prize, and I hope you get that Dr Who version of Monopoly from Santa this Christmas.
Thank you to everyone who stopped by to comment.