Craving Erotic Romance...

is a group blog from several sassy erotic romance authors!

Find out about our latest releases, read scintillating interviews on Mondays, beat mid-week blahs with Hump Day Help Wednesdays, and see hot hunks on Fridays. Saturdays are "Open Mike" and full of surprises! And then, there's always our guests...!

Friday, March 29, 2013


I can't say much about this picture other than...gagh.  Why is it that a well-made male physique is made MORE attractive by scuffle and tussle?
Just my little gift to you to start the weekend off tight, I mean right.

Usual disclaimers apply in regards to this image (not mine, no copyright, will remove if asked, etc.). and for those who MUST know who this is;

Tom Lineham of Hull during the Super League match between London Broncos and Hull at Twickenham Stoop on March 23, 2013 in London, England.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013


At a recent meeting of romance writers we watched horses being groomed and dressed in their finery, to pull a buggy. This is what I wrote afterwards for the exercise.  I hope it puts a smile into your Wednesday. Have a great day, Cheers Virginnia.

The chilling mist of the evening seeped into her bones. It evaded her ermine collar, frosting her neck and forming dew-drops on her eye lashes.
 Beside her, the horse pawed the ground, impatient with their inactivity.  She leaned against the gelding, absorbing its warmth. Deep in her pocket she found an apple quarter and holding her hand flat she fed the horse. Its soft lips nuzzled her coat, seeking more and tightening her grip on the bridle she turned her head away from its steaming nostrils. Her cold hands reminded her she’d forgotten to wear gloves. The initial appeal of an afternoon assignation, away from prying eyes, now seemed a silly childish notion, made without grown-up consideration.
A movement in the shadows by twittering bird,  caused her to start and frightened her horse.  The bridle jingled and the horse mouthed the bit, the only sound in the still, cold air.
Was any man worth this wait? If Archie didn’t arrive shortly she’d ride home, taking the bridle path this time, around the lake.  The smooth surface would be safer, in the diminishing light, than chancing her horse breaking a leg from a misplaced hoof in a rabbit hole.
Tired of waiting she mounted.  The saddle, damp from the fine rain, slipped under her wool coat. She leaned forward, clicked her tongue, pressed her heels into the horse’s flanks urging the animal to move. He responded, breaking into a trot. She lowered her head to its neck to duck under the tree branches until the open space was reached. A firmer command had the horse move into a canter and she headed along the bridle path at pace. 
Never had home been so inviting, a roaring fire and a good meal – and never had a man been so infuriating as Archie St. John. His dark eyes held promises of love, his kisses spoke of suppressed lust, and his words soothed her mind like honey balm. Perhaps her responses had been too forward? Mr. St. John would find her unavailable when he next came to call, his hunting stallion calling to her mares, his hounds baying across her fields. 
 Did she need a husband or a lover? Having had the first, perhaps the second would now be the better choice.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Victoria, Your Twenty Minutes Start...Now!

At my latest writers' group meeting, we wrote onto slips of paper, a noun, an adjective, and an emotion, then dropped those words into separate bowls. Each person then ‘lucky dipped’ to choose her own three words, all of which had to appear somewhere in her story.
Vintage Girl
“Good afternoon, my sweet.”

My skin shivered as Mr Brown stroked my arm. I stared stonily out of the window. The day had seemed to lose its sunshine, yet I knew the sky was as blue as ever.

Gritting my teeth, I transferred my gaze back to my tormentor. My stomach roiled. His pale blue eyes seemed to devour me. Taut, white skin covered his thin, angular face, and made his eyes more stark, more cruel.

Could I really do this?

“Would you care for a glass of wine, before we, er, get down to business?”

Mr Brown’s sibilant, serpentine hiss frightened me more than his unwelcome touch. I nodded numbly and accepted the wine. Manners had deserted me.

He relaxed back in his plush, padded armchair, sipping from his crystal glass. As his gaze roved freely over my naked body, his tongue darted out to moisten thin, colourless lips. In the ensuing silence, my heart thudded so loudly in my chest, I felt sure he could hear it.

“You know, my dear, I was hoping for a more…now, what would be the word?…a more joyful union than what I now anticipate will occur.” His sharp, small teeth rested on his lower lip in a travesty of a smile. “Your beautiful face is quite pale.” His eyes lowered to my chest. Again his tongue darted out.

Something inside me shifted. Maybe the wine had given me courage. “Mr Brown,” I snapped, glaring into those cold, blue eyes, “this bargain, which I have agreed to, involves my body only. Blackmail won’t entitle you to any joy.”

He stood, eager now. I wished I hadn’t spoken. My revulsion, my hate, my weakness empowered him. “Then,” he whispered, “let the game begin.”

There was a loud knock on the door.

(My words were serpentine, sunshine, and joyous.)

(from Sultry Scribes Blog)

Friday, March 22, 2013


“What’ll it take for you to understand, McKenzie? What? I’m fucking sick of your nauseating selflessness! Where’s your breaking point? You goddamn martyr.” Michael, her Master for several months now, snarled the comments as he loomed above her.

McKenzie waited him out, head down, eyes on the floor, submissive. Master had been working up to this for weeks now, pushing harder, trying to push her away, force her to make the choice to leave, like all his other women. But she wouldn’t do it, despite how he kept ramping up the punishments for every real or imagined slight, kept her prisoner in the apartment and denied any other human contact. Forbidding nearly everything enjoyable, expecting everything and anything sexual whenever he wanted, with no thought to her pleasure, being a total asshole. And while she sometimes hated him for his behavior, McKenzie knew why he was acting that way. Master loved her and the realization scared him shitless. The selfish, self centered, arrogant sadist had succumbed to Cupid’s arrow and was fighting the awareness every step of the way. She knew she was so much smarter in the matter of the heart, and loved him far more than hated him, so she kept her own counsel while waiting for him to figure it out.

Master stormed out of the room and made a phone call, speaking in cold, measured tones, although making out the words wasn’t possible. It didn’t bode well. Returning, he crossed to push into her space, pulling her head back with a solid yank on her hair. She hissed with pain, and he looked down into her eyes with fury and resignation. In turn she studied his beautiful face, those sculpted features and sensuous lips imprinted in the depths of her brain, golden eyes with the hits of onyx staring right through any attempts made to shield her thoughts.

 Unzipping his pants with his other hand, he pulled his cock out, already hard and weeping for her. McKenzie opened her mouth wordlessly and he fucked her face without mercy, stretching her lips to the point of pain. His length pressed against her palate, stuffing her, forcing her to hold her breath, although she knew he was aware of her limits. Nose ground into the zipper and jaw aching, she endured and he finally erupted, pouring himself down her throat with a stifled groan. Pulling away, tucking his sated cock back into his jeans with shaking hands, he stared down with less rage but more resignation. Her thighs were soaked and she longed to rub them together and ease such need. He must smell her arousal. She waited. As she had been waiting. Maybe now he would do the right thing.

T.G.I.F...Thank God there's Jason Momoa!

What do you really need to know about Jason Momoa except that's he' such a gorgeous slice of man, it almost hurts to look at him?

According to Wikipedia, which I shamelessly copied and pasted here: "Joseph Jason Namakaeha Momoa (born August 1, 1979) is an American actor and model. He is known for his role as Ronon Dex (2005–09) on the military science fiction television series Stargate: Atlantis (2004–09). (In this series, he had these fabulous dreadlocks you see here). In 2011, he became recognized for his role as Khal Drogo in the HBO medieval fantasy television series Game of Thrones and also starred as the title character in the sword and sorcery film Conan the Barbarian (2011).[3]"

He's rocking a totally exotic look, due to be born in Hawaii. In addition to having native Hawaiian blood, his mother was also German, Irish, and Native American ancestry, and if you put the best of these features of these totally different ethnicities, you get this SUPER HOT GOD.

Jason is, as I said, totally hot and unfortunately for us, so is his wife Lisa Bonet, formerly of The Cosby Show, and formerly Lenny Kravitz's wife. They have made super hot babies together, featuring ultra cool names like Nakoa-Wolf.

If this photo continued down a little futher, and was not cropped, we'd all be in heaven!

Poor Jason was attacked to his beloved face with a beer bottle, and needed 140 stitches, while his attacker was charged, in 2008. If you see him in more recent work, you can see some scars. Don't worry Jason, you're still a total hunk.

Jason, with scars. Honestly, does he look even more handsome with them?

I know you are all licking your computer screen, as am I, so I w

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

There's a Lid for Every Pot!

To those that are unfamiliar with the saying, it means there is someone for everyone.

Sometimes as women, we look at Supermodels or celebrities and, they really have the life, and more than enough male attention to boot. And yet, every woman should be getting their fair share, because every man has different taste and preferences.

Are you full figured/BBW? Hop on a plane and go to Jamaica. Big, black, beautiful men are waiting for you!
A friend of mine was stopped on the street and begged to have a pic snapped of her 'beautiful' plus size body, and his feminine ideal. In fact, just google BBW and see all the ads.

Get on craigslist and see the wealth and disversity of ads.

I did and here's just a small sampling: "Love Small Breasts" "Love Big Hips" "Hairy woman wanted" "Tall ladies only"--it goes on and on.

So there is someone out there for every person, and some of the things we might be hung up on, is someone's total turn on. Don't change yourself.

Just find the lid to your pot....

Monday, March 18, 2013

Monday's Scintiallating Interview


Welcome to Craving Erotic Romance Blogspot.

 Today we’re presenting Author Lydia Michaels.

Good Morning! Thank you for having me. I must say, I am a huge fan of your work, Allyson Young. You really know how to make a man work for the goods!

1)      Have you always wanted to be an author?

No. When I was four I told my parents I wanted to be a picketer because we drove past a group of men and women on strike holding signs.  I think I knew even then I had something to say, but I couldn’t find a sign big enough so I wrote a book. Several years later I earned my degree in Elementary and Special Education. After that I owned an Event Planning Business. Once I became a mother, I discovered my love for reading and that led to my LOVE for writing.

2)      What genre(s) do you write?

Romance! I love erotica that doesn’t skimp on plot. I also dabble in YA, but everything I write is founded on love.

3)      Have you ever self published?


4)      Who or what inspired you to write your first book?

Life experiences. My first novel is YA and about abuse. It has never been published, but will some day. Of all my stories, that one is very near and dear to my heart.

5)      How many hours in a day might you write? 

Might? If life permitted I might write for 24 hours of the day. LOL. However, I do have a lovely family and someone has to do the laundry. On average, I’d say I write/edit/revise about 40 hours a week. That usually breaks down to 3 or 4 solid days of working on my craft.

6)      Are you a plotter or a pantster?

I’m a plontser. I start with a plan, but once it comes to life my characters run the show.

7)      Do you ever find yourself slipping away and becoming so immersed in your story it affects how you relate to others?

Yes. It is very difficult, sometimes, for others to understand that being an author, while being a great job, is a job. I often have to screen calls and decline invitations if my normal schedule is not respected. I can get quite grumpy when this happens, but eventually I climb out from under my writer rock and return to my normal, pleasant self. LOL

8)      Are you in any of your books? 

Ha! I think a little bit of me shows up in all my books, but I’ll never tell which characters I am.

9)      What do your friends and family have to say about you writing?  

They are incredibly supportive and love to read my work. Even my grandmother gets into my erotic romances—tells me my naughtiness, I get from her.

10)  Please share an excerpt from one of your books that totally spoke to you when you put the words down on paper…

All of my books speak to me for some reason or another. They are all little parts of my soul trying to break out. My most recent release, Chasing Feathers, truly tests the bounds of a husband’s love when Dean Harrison’s wife, Ellie is in an accident and forgets everything—who she is, who he is, what it is to be kissed… Dean adores her and refuses to let her go, but she fears he’s in love with a woman she doesn’t know. Here’s a peek at the prologue to Chasing Feathers.


Palm Beach, Florida 

The southern heat of the night had cooled marginally with the appearance of the moon. Silver reflections caught the lips of waves in the distance as even the Atlantic slowed its breathing, ebbing and flowing under an inky blanket of night threaded with sparkling buttons of stars.

The breeze off the coast fought to break through the crowds cluttering Clematis Street, fluttering the branded banners that decorated various establishments and swirling the narrow palm leaves like beribboned kite tails. Flags waved overhead languidly like streamers tied to a slow oscillating fan as the tourists fought the heat with slushy cocktails below.

It was easy for Dean to tell the locals from the tourists. Vacationers wore a sheen of dew over their pinkened flesh, badges of their over anxiousness to jump head first into their brief escape from reality, disregarding the intensity of the sun this side of the equator. Their jewels were all a little too new and their hair a little too done.

Money was exchanged for indulgences of all kinds. The tourists’ cash was the blood flowing in the veins of Palm Beach, the chatter and over liquored laughter creating the heartbeat of the land.

As Dean strode deeper inland his ears ignored the fast pulsing changes in music covering the soft-sanded sounds of what should be Florida’s lullaby.  About as peaceful as a fast turning dial on an old radio, voices, live bands, the chatter of traffic, and bustling businesses ricocheted between the buildings trapping the street.

But that was Palm Beach. That was where the nightlife never died and booze flowed like water. Dean required none of those things, but his Ellie did and anything she needed he would gladly provide. It wasn’t like being a firefighter pinned him to a certain location. He could do his job anywhere and that was where he would follow his Ellie. Anywhere.

By one a.m. the pokey, mulling, shuffle of patrons somehow always managed to clog the doorways as if their purposeful new sandals were treading over sludge in a bog rather than the baked cement. Dean stood below the canvas awning of Apples of Eve waiting for a gaggle of underdressed, overwatered cougars to topple out the entrance.

Cool air, music, giggles, and the click-clack of stilettos was the prelude to the halfhearted stumble that landed a long-legged brunette in a turquoise dress against Dean’s chest.

“My, my, what do we have here?” she purred.

Her breath smelled of top shelf liquor and the bridge of her nose was an angry shade of sun burned red. Her hair was wet and wiry around her face from the humidity.

Dean righted the woman, offered a pardon me, and stepped aside so she and her friends could pass. They hopelessly flirted and pouted and no doubt made some snide comment as he stepped out of hearing distance. He had no time for women like that. He spotted the woman he wanted the moment he reached the entrance.

Apples of Eve was a unique flavor tucked within the other restaurants of Clematis Street that tickled the tourists’ pallets. From the all organic menu to the artistic presentation of wild nectars swirling on painted plates, the owner had done a wonderful job of mingling new age dining trends with sophistication and quality. There were plenty of tofu pushing eateries in the area, but few captured the timeless air of class Apples of Eve maintained.

Similar to the French Quarters of New Orleans, the interior of the establishment was done in the most vibrant shades of nature. Deep grounding earth tones flecked with exotic greens and cerulean blues were accentuated with the glow of the red tinted blown glass sconces, leaving the main room in a perpetual sunset.  The interior bar sat on a glass stage with a backlit photo of the coral reefs below. The dining area to the right was the main dining room, full of secreted corners and simplicity.

Dean’s target was on the other end, sitting at the outer bar, alone and prime for plucking, like supple fruit weighing on the branches of Eden’s trees.

He nodded at the bartender who was preoccupied with a small group of women, too young to even recall Reagan, and he quietly sat next to the woman who caught his eye. Her hair, even under the blue light of the moon sneaking past the pagoda, burned brighter than the Texas sun. Deep crimson red shocked with silken threads of gold, her long hair was so alluring it seemed almost alive, such a potent declaration of confidence contrasting severely against her lilywhite skin. Her flesh was like a bed of freshly fallen snow, no freckles spattering its surface, just perfection, making all her other features over-punctuated points of beauty.

Her long spine curled at the tip of her tiny ass. The simple black cocktail dress caressed her curves and fell away below her right knee. Long fair legs entwined, crossing left over right and almost around again. The toe of her four-inch heel balanced precariously on the lowest rung of the stool.

Dean slid onto the stool beside her, her gentle scent mixed with the salty breeze coming through the windows. She ignored him, never once taking her attention from the papers she was reading.

Jillian, one of the female bartenders, placed a napkin in front of him on the lacquered bar. “Hey, Dean. Want your usual?”

“Hey, Jillian. Yes please, and whatever this lovely lady next to me is drinking, bring her another.”

Jillian smiled and stepped away as the redheaded beauty turned to face him. Her brow arched curiously above the most piercing set of blue eyes he’d ever seen. She said nothing, but gave him a look that told him he was full of himself and the chair he occupied had been vacant for a reason. Her full lips were painted in a deep sheen of red and didn’t twitch in the slightest of greetings.

“I’m Dean.”

She gave a slow nod and turned back to the papers.

 Jillian returned with their drinks. The woman reached for hers and the glint of her wedding ring caught under the dim lighting. She sipped the drink and returned to her work.

Dean’s thumb brushed the band of his own ring as he reached for his beer. He watched her as he took a long slow sip washing the taste of ash from his tongue. “Married?”

She nodded, but didn’t turn from her work. Her pen made neat marks along a column of numbers. The bartenders worked quietly tidying up their area for the next evening.

“Where’s your husband?”

Her pen paused and the fringe of her red lashes slowly closed over the crystal blue of her eyes. She took an irritated breath and faced him.

“He was called away for work.”

Dean held her gaze and nodded.

Her eyes slowly inspected him and returned to his face. “You’re not from around here, but you’re not a tourist.”

“No, ma’am. How is it you could tell?”

“You don’t have the normal vacationer look and your words have a slight southern lilt you won’t find this far east.”

His lip twitched. He hadn’t lived in the west since he was a boy, yet no matter how hard he tried to cover his slight southern drawl it sometimes still showed.

“You’re very observant. Most people assume I’m a born and raised local when really I’ve only lived in Florida for the past four years.”

A man came and sat next to the woman. She turned to look at the newcomer then turned back to Dean. “So you live around here?”

“Yes, ma’am. As a matter of fact I live real close. Care to walk me home?”

A slip of dubious laughter passed her lips and the man on her other side turned to better see the byplay.

“Walk you home? And why would I do that?”

“Well, seems to me the night’s almost over. This here bar’s about to close. And it can get a bit chilly at night without your husband there to keep you warm.”

At the mention of the lady’s husband the other fellow eavesdropping on their conversation drew up short. Her lower lip twitched as if she had a snappy comeback, but left it sitting on her tongue, tickling her mouth.

Before it worked its way past her lips he leaned in and said, “Let me make this real simple for you, darling. I live just above this bar, less than forty feet away. Now those shoes look a bit complicated to walk in, but I imagine they’ll be off before we even reach the second floor. Even if they’re on I’m bettin’ they won’t be a problem, as I’m planning on having you off your feet and against my door before it’s even opened. I imagine it will get a little chilly before I get you on your back, you know, that moment just after I peel this fine dress off your skin and toss you on my bed, but once you’re there I plan on covering you like a blanket all night long.”

The man to her left watched, astounded, and leaned back slightly so not to catch the backlash of the slap that would likely be coming. Recapping her pen she placed it on her papers and turned in her stool to face Dean. Her chin tilted up as she looked down her nose at him, a slight, seductive smile curling her red lips.

“And what, may I ask, makes you think I would allow some good ol’ boy who approaches me at a bar to take such liberties?”

“Well, because it would be a night you’d never forget. You see, us good ol’ boys are shameless when it comes to loving ladies. We got that charm our mommas had written into our bones before we were born. We like things slow and we always aim to please.”

“Awfully sure of yourself, cowboy.”

He purposely thickened his drawl. “Well, I can be, because I know once I get you out this door it’s gonna be hotter than two mice fuckin’ in a wool sock.”

She laughed and reproved, “So crass.”

“My confidence tells me I can be. No matter what, I know tomorrow morning you’ll be smiling like a gator at an old fashioned Baptism.”

She really laughed then, her red lips parting and her blue eyes sparkling.

He stood slowly and slid his beer back. “In all seriousness, darlin’, if you don’t let me kiss those sweet lips of yours right now I’m afraid I may never get over being so close to true beauty and not stealing a taste.”

She quieted and looked up at him, her blue eyes suddenly appearing too large for her face. He stepped close and moved a strand of her crimson hair behind her ear. His finger followed the line of her jaw to the tip of her chin, tipping her head back another degree. His lips brushed over hers, barely touching, and her mouth opened slightly as she breathed in.

His tongue slowly licked along the seam of her lips and he groaned at her sweet taste. Teasingly, he brushed his mouth with hers and whispered, “What do you say, pretty lady, can I keep you warm tonight?”

Her lashes lifted with the perfection of a slow sweeping feather. She stared at him with drowsy eyes and slowly nodded.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. He placed it on the bar and reached for her hand. As she slid off her stool he winked triumphantly over her head at the man enviously watching the exchange.

She stepped away from the bar and he placed his palm at the base of her spine, over her pert bottom, and led her out of the restaurant.

As soon as they crossed the entryway he slid his palm to her wrist and pulled her to his chest. He turned and pressed her back into the building and kissed her deeply. Her arms went to his neck and she moaned as he dipped his tongue into her mouth, drawling hers out to play. Her vivacious kiss did not disappoint.

Their heads tilted, trying to taste more of each other. Dean slid his hand down to her hip and squeezed. Her knee grazed along the outside of his thigh and he stiffened.

“This way.”

Breaking the kiss, he quickly led her to the small discreet door that led to his condo above. Making quick work of the locks he scurried her inside and quickly kissed her again, behind the privacy of the other door.

She moaned and threw herself into the moment. His right hand sifted through her long, silky hair as his left hand gripped her under her knee that he held at his hip. He pressed his arousal into the apex of her thighs and she made sweet keening noises as he ground himself there.

Her fingers tugged at the buttons of his jeans and he slid his left hand down her thigh to the silk that covered her sex. Her panties shifted. He pressed the material aside and ran a knuckle between her creases as she freed his cock. They each moaned.

Her hands worked him as he fondled her. He slid a finger deep into her and her head tipped back. His mouth kissed a trail down to her pale shoulder and he slid the strap of her dress down. Her hand fisted him tightly and pumped up and down.

“Now, cowboy,” she begged.

“Upstairs,” he countered in between kisses.

“No, right here.”

She released him and yanked the straps of her dress over her shoulders and down to her torso. Her beautiful bare breasts appeared almost blue in the silver moonlight that streamed through the skylight. The hall was private, only the one condo above. Her hands cupped her breasts and his mouth eased in to taste one peach tipped nipple then the other.

He withdrew his hand from her core and slid his palms over the smooth globes of her ass. Her feet left the ground as her legs wrapped around his back. The thud of one stiletto was followed by the clack of its twin hitting the floor. His fingers played at the slice of flesh peeking past the lace of her panties.

She shifted and reached between them, moving her panties aside and positioning his cock at her entrance. She entwined her fingers behind his neck and slowly seated herself.

He kissed her throat and thrust home. Her hot flesh gripped him as he pumped in and out. She felt like heaven. He knew she would.

Her fingers tugged at the scruff of hair touching his collar and found his mouth. She kissed him hungrily and pumped her hips. The small quiet hall echoed with their heavy breathing.

His palms gripped her hips and guided her up and down as he pistoned in and out of her slickness, faster and faster. Her dress rested forgotten over his hands, twisted at her hips, as a thin sheen of dew formed over her perfectly formed breasts. Her shoulders pressed into the wall and she cried out, her pants colliding into nonsensical moans. Her lithe arms raised above her head, fingertips entwined, pressing into the wall.

She was so completely his in that moment. Dean held her hips and pressed himself deep into her heat, all the way to the hilt. She cried out a scream of pleasure as her body tightened around him. Her inner muscles fluttered as she climaxed, her orgasm milking his own. He filled her with everything he had, needing to mark her as his and his alone.

Once they each finished he rested his damp head on her equally damp shoulder and they breathed. Just breathed.

Her arms slowly slid down the wall and wrapped around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, Ellie, my beautiful wife.”

He kissed her shoulder and slowly eased out of her. Her feet touched the ground and she quietly righted her clothes.

He turned and reached for her shoes. “How’d you make out tonight?”

“Good. I had to fire Dominique.”

They walked up the stairs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Well, what are you gonna do? I can’t have a sous chef that doesn’t listen to me. How was the fire?”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “It was okay. No one was home. Started in the bathroom. Looked like a curling iron left on or something.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re home safe.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his jaw. The door opened and their small Persian cat greeted them.

Ellie scooped her up and soothed, “Oh, did Dinah miss her mommy and daddy?”

Dean locked the door and smiled at his beautiful wife and her silly cat. She was his world, his balance, all that was right.


11)  Which actor/character(s) would play the starring role? 

In Chasing Feathers I could see the leads being played by Rachel McAdams and Chris Pine.

12) What five things would you take on a desert island? 

1. My daughter

2. My husband

3. Sunblock

4. Gloria…my iPhone (There’s Wi-Fi on the island, right?)

5. MacGyver Survival kit
Thanks, Lydia. You are an amazingly talented story weaver. Ally 

Find Lydia Michaels at:

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Bent Boot Road is Here!

Hello everyone!
Today I am taking over the blog to promote my new (and first!) book with Sweet Cravings Publishing; Bent Boot Road. Here's the blurb:

Lydia Back has problems; a dead end job cataloging artifacts no one wants to see, an office in a dusty basement storage room, and she’s just discovered that her friend is missing.  Adding to her frustration is the arrival of a too-charming private investigator who needs her help.
Carter Harris has no problems; he has his own successful business and is enjoying a few days in a scenic southern Ohio town to gather information on a missing professor.  But his local contact turns out to be an uncooperative woman who prefers traipsing around the forest to having a civilized conversation with him.
While working together, they begin to uncover the secrets that lurk under the surface of other people’s lives and also discover an inconvenient attraction.  When danger looms, Carter and Lydia realize it will be impossible to survive without each other.
Lynn Rae is a romance writer residing in Columbus, Ohio.  With professional experience in fields ranging from contract archaeology to librarianship along with making donuts and teaching museum studies, Lynn Rae enjoys incorporating her real-life adventures into her writing (except the naughty parts). This is her first novel with Sweet Cravings Publishing.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013




P lenty of time  
A n afternoon will do
S ome wine
S omething slinky to wear
I magination
O ne hunk of fruit, preferably handsome - and
N o inhibitions

Beat boredom until vanquished.
Fold in silk sheets
Mix together all above ingredients, stirring slowly (you may need to use your hands.)
Add fruits of passion, cherries optional.
A high heat level will help with the rising of this scrumptious dessert.

This delight is wonderful accompanied by wine. A sparkling white for daytime indulging and/or a smooth red for evening, are recommended. The wine can be imbibed or poured over the dessert before it cools. This will add to the richness of the experience. A covering of warm chocolate can also be applied.

Chef’s notes:
Wooden spoons optional, electrical appliances not recommended. Other ingredients may be added, depending on personal tastes and the seasonal fruit available at your location.
Do not set aside and leave in the middle of the mixing method unless you are prepared to face the consequences. Once all ingredients are assembled it is hard to stop the process.

Don’t email me if this recipe fails to please. Personal tastes vary.
Best Wishes
Virginnia De Parte
(writer of romances with a difference)

Monday, March 11, 2013

20 Questions with Melissa Keir

Playing Twenty Questions with Melissa Keir- Author

Which comes first, the story, the characters or the setting?  For me the story comes first.  It has to be compelling to me.

Are you in control of your characters or do they control you? The characters sometimes control me and other times…I guess they are just like my children!

How do you come up with the titles to your books? I like to look for a key phrase from the book or something unique about the story that makes a wonderful title.

What did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be a pop star!  But then I quickly realized that singing on my skateboard wasn’t going to make that happen, so I went into nursing and finally teaching.
Are you working on anything at the present you’d like to share with us? I am working on a story about a teacher who falls for a parent of one of her students.
Do you have any strange handwriting habits, like capitalizing all your “r”s or dotting your “I”s with heart (or anything like that)? When I actually use my own handwriting, I write in a mixture of cursive and print.  I tend to write quickly and it isn’t as neat as I’d like.
You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? I would erase the death of my mom.  I would love for her to be alive today to see her grandchildren.
When you looked in the mirror this morning, what was the first thing you thought? I haven’t gotten out of bed yet, but usually I avoid the mirrors until after the shower.
What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping- Teachers aren't supposed to be crabby from a lack of sleep!
What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten? Crocodile…tastes like chicken.
What do you want to know about the future?  I would like to know the lottery numbers so that I could spend my time writing.
What's your heritage? My family is English, Welsh, Romanian, and Swiss.  We are a mixed bunch.
What's your favorite pizza?  Pepperoni and Mushroom, please.
What's one thing scientists should invent? I would love for scientists to invent a way for us to travel without driving, like teleportation.  Long car drives with small children would be a thing of the past.
What do you do to relax and recharge your batteries?  I love to read and take naps.

Have you always wanted to be a writer? Yes, I’ve always wanted to be a writer.  I started out writing very sappy love poetry and my own songs.

If you weren't writing, what would you be doing? It is never too late but I would love to race cars!

Fill in the blank favorites (two word max!) - Dessert. Cherry pie.
City. Amherst, Ohio.
Season. Spring
Type of hero. Tough and sweet
Type of heroine.  Smart and sassy

What question would you love to answer that I didn't ask? What TV Show is your guilty passion?  Hawaii 5-0

Tell us about one of your books. Second Time’s the Charm is a tale of a woman, Lissa Vincent, who was beaten down emotionally after her divorce that she doesn’t believe in her own value.  She has two small children and a busy job that has monopolized her life.  When her best friend’s son ends up in a life threatening situation, Lissa gets to meet her friend’s ex-husband and soon falls for his charm. Second Time’s the Charm is a tale of finding love again but also about finding yourself and learning to see past others’ perspectives. 

What question would you like to have answered? Leave a comment and I'll answer it!

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Long Term Relationships...As Sexy As falling in Love

I don't know about you, but I always cringe when I hear articles talk about long term relationships settling into 'companionate love'.

Yes, early infatuation is very intense, and with the day to day grind, no one can sustain the constant high of that feeling of first falling in love. But companionate love? No, I don't think so.

I think relationships take work. I think there are ebbs and flows, peaks and valleys like everything else. Putting in overtime at work, moving house, and taking care of kids is going to affect any couple. But I think every one should strive to take a day, or even an hour or two, and put everything but their partner on the backburner.

That's one of the reasons I  love reading steamy romances. I love getting ideas of how to keep the passion and romance alive, that little zing reading about people falling in love, and thinking of my own relationship. Long term relationships are exciting, just as much as new love. You already know each other's fantasies, each other's turn ons and could probably make a map of each other's erroneous zones.

Plan something special for your partner, where you surprise or seduce them. Say words you never say, or dress up in something he has never seen you in. Surprise and anticipation is just as sexy in long time couples as in new ones. Think out of the box a bit.

Leave a written note in his lunch or a sexy text telling him what you'd like to do to him when he comes home later. Pack off the kids and take the phone off the hook. You know that camera feature on your cell phone? Use it. Or give him a little dance in person. You don't have to be any good, so don't worry about your dancing. Men react to women shaking ANYTHING at them, I've found (lol). They are visual creatures, so just give them something to see. Let him know how much you appreciate what he does for you, and show your appreciation.

Another article I read talked about men doing housework and found men who received more sex from their wives helped out more in the house. Very interesting. So, you see, the pay offs are enormous. Every investment made in your relationship comes back to you a hundred fold, in surprising ways.

Like maybe he cooks naked for you. Really, do you care if he burns the food?

I say fight against  settling into companionate love, and keep those home fires burning.

With just a bit of effort, you will at least have some fond memories when the kids are waking you up at 2 am, until the next time....

Friday, March 8, 2013

TGIF-Hunk Friday

Shaun Mark "Sean" Bean (born 17 April 1959) is from England.
Sean originally hoped to play professional football (the English kind) but relinquished that dream because of a childhood injury. He came across drama in college and graduated from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in 1983.

Sean and acts both on stage and screen. Best known for portraying Boromir in Lord of the rings, Eddard Stark in the HBO tv series Game of Thrones and Richard Sharpe as a British officer in the ITV tv series Sharpe. He also starred as Alex Trevelyan in GoldenEye and has been the villian in a variety of other films. His Yorkshire accent lends to his sexy persona. Remember him as that nasty jewel thief in Don’t Say a Word? Or as the nefarious treasure hunter in National Treasure opposite Nicolas Cage? And the list goes on. Love to hate him. And look at him.

He was voted the UK's second sexiest man in 2004; second to Orlando Bloom. He admits he does not mind being considered as a "bit of rough" by women. In addition to his image as a sex symbol, Bean has developed a reputation as a loner, a label he considers unfair. He has described himself instead as quiet, and interviewers confirm that he is a "man of few words"; a recent interviewer even called him surprisingly shy. Although he admits he can be a workaholic, in his spare time he relaxes with a book or listens to music, and is a talented pianist. He is also a keen gardener, and does both welding and sketching. Nice to see he has a sweet side.

Just looking at Sean Bean might make a woman want to tame him, or maybe the other way around.

Friday, March 5, 2013’s hunk: Sean Bean.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Hump Help Wednesday: Sepia Eye Candy

Hello everyone!  In my quest to make the middle of the week slightly less boring/tedious/painful/stressful/hectic I wanted to introduce you to one of my favorite ways to relax in between writing and checking email; visiting My Daguerreotype Boyfriend.  If you like good looking men and history, this is the spot to settle in and take a few minutes to appreciate the scenery.  Following is a link and after that is an example of the prime historic male goodness that awaits;

Daniel Tohill, a good-looking Kiwi.  Too bad he was arrested for stealing a bicycle and sentenced to four months hard labor.  He also was convicted of stealing ferrets.  Yes, that's right, ferret stealing. And these are the little details that make me love history.

Monday, March 4, 2013

Welcome Allyson Young!

Today we’re presenting Author: Allyson Young

1) Have you always wanted to be an author? I don’t know that I’ve always wanted to be an author. I’ve always been a storyteller. I could never just get to the point. I had to tell the story leading up to the event, the event itself and what happened afterwards! I probably made some people insane but never noticed anyone’s eyes glazing over. Except for my husband’s, lol. I’ve written all my life, from short stories as a kid to poems in high school. I wrote one poem in high school that caused the guidance counsellor to call my mom in for a “chat.” Apparently nice young ladies shouldn’t know that kind of stuff. I didn’t know it first hand, but I read a lot, so it was my mom’s fault! She let me read whatever I wanted.
2) What genre(s) do you write? I write contemporary dark erotic romance, no apologies. Love rarely comes easy-it takes hard work to maintain any relationship in my opinion. And I like a little kink. Or a lot. I don’t write humiliation or degradation. My heroines may have their hearts broken and repaired, but ultimately they have the power. The heroes eventually figure it out.
3)  Have you ever self published? Not yet. I’m moving in that direction though, because I might not find a publisher for a novel I’m working on.
4) Who or what inspired you to write your first book? I read an erotic romance, quite by accident. Truly. I just bought an ereader and was scrolling through the options to buy when I saw a free download. And I devoured it. Holy smokes. I knew I could write one too and I did. I dithered over submitting it though. I don’t have that kind of self confidence. I broke a cardinal rule-don’t submit to more than one publisher at a time. Didn’t know the rule. I got an acceptance from two and went with the first one to be honourable. And I’ve written 15 more since. I write because I love it. The money is secondary.
5) How many hours in a day might you write? As many as I can squeeze out. Sometimes I write five or six hours, sometimes eight, around my part time job and life. The days I manage only an hour are sad days.  But I do take weekends off. Discipline.
6) Are you a plotter or a pantster? I wake up with an idea or I’m driving and one pops into my head. Or I hear someone say something or observe someone or something and I’m off. I’m a pantster, big time.
7) Do you ever find yourself slipping away and becoming so immersed in your  story it affects how you relate to others? I absolutely do. My husband will say, “One of those characters pissed you off again, right?” Right. And it’s almost always the hero. Sometimes I weep, literally, when I writing a scene of heartbreak and angst.
8) Are you in any of your books? Nope. Although I’d like to practice more of the erotic scenes in private!
9) What do your friends and family have to say about you writing? My family are fine with it as long as I can tear myself away to engage with them, understandably. They see how much I love to write and are supportive.  
10) Please share an excerpt from one of your books that totally spoke to you when you put the words down on paper.

From: The Decision

I want to fuck you. Boy, sweet nothings in a woman’s ear. Not. That was absolutely not happening. A replay of her astonished and infuriated emotional reaction didn’t allow Stephanie to completely ignore the way her sex again drew up between her legs and dampened in response to remembering the blatant statement. It was also hard to ignore the way her breasts tingled, the tips tightening and shrinking into taut little nubs, when she remembered how Dace had kissed her, taken her breath and very nearly her resolve. I want to fuck you. Just like that. Near hysterical laughter bubbled over her lips and she clapped both hands on her mouth to muffle the sound. Wondering how many women Dace Reynolds said that to, and how many found a horizontal surface right pronto? Not that he’d need such a surface, Stephanie speculated. He was big and strong and could probably do it against a wall or on the edge of a desk and—what the hell was she thinking? The asshole had propositioned her. Actually, he’d announced his decision and expected her to accommodate him, period.        
“Good evening, Ms. Price.” It was unlikely his voice would escape her notice. Stephanie would know it anywhere. She was so screwed.
“Let go of my arm.” Her voice trembled a trifle, but not from pain. However, she was instantly released.
“I apologize. I hurt you last night.”
Was this the same arrogant piece of work? Stephanie spun to face him and wobbled. Dace’s eyes zeroed in as his hands shot out to gently catch her shoulders. Too close. She tried to ignore the sensual affect he had on her, conveniently blaming it on the alcohol. But waves of lust rolled up her body, starting right at the tip of her toes, and fever flushed her body. She shuddered against them.
“Have you been drinking?” Dace’s voice sounded equally amused and sceptical.
Stephanie straightened to her full height and gave her head the most imperial shake she could manage. Her world spun and she’d have staggered back without his hold. Dace’s body heat seemed above average and she wanted to curl into him, fortunately getting a grip on her ridiculous urge before acting on it.
“No.” That was all she could manage.
“You’re halfway to on your ass, sweetheart. C’mon.” Sweetheart? She felt herself guided over the curb and into a big black car. The other man holding the door actually winked at her and Stephanie squinted back in confusion before bestowing her best smile on him.
Once inside the limo, the world settled. “Where are we going?” Stephanie addressed the fine stuff of Dace’s suit. Even sitting, and with her head tipped back on the leather cushion, he towered above her.
“My place. We were to have dinner.”
Oh, that smooth, imperious tone. She heard it through her muzziness because the warning bells of self preservation rang, cutting through the stupor. Stephanie scooted to the far side of the enormous seat, struggling with the disconcerting feeling of her body not quite belonging to her, and narrowed her eyes on him.
“No. We are not.”
“Would you prefer we go to your apartment? It seems a shame to waste the food and effort I went to.”
Right, like she’d let him into her little nest. He’d be like a cuckoo, laying his mark against her will and leaving her to nurture the product. Not. “I was going to the diner.” Pretty specious but it was all she had.
“Nope. Not happening, Stephanie. Or should I call you Steffie? You’ve charmed Reg for him to be calling you by the diminutive.”
Slow neurons sifted through the implications of that. Oh my God. Her boss gave Dace Reynolds her number. It was untenable. Stephanie studied his implacable face and went for the gusto.
“I won’t whore for you.” Her announcement echoed in the closed quarters.
A noise between a snort and a choke emanated from the front of the limo. Dace’s attention snapped that way and immediately back to her. His face darkened, those light blue eyes icing over, and her stomach clenched, but she held her ground, locking her gaze on his, setting her teeth.

11) Which actor/character(s) would play the starring role? as Stephanie- Maggie Grace (Taken), and David Beckham as Dace.
Find Allyson Young on FB and on .
            Find Allyson Young on FB and on .

Friday, March 1, 2013

What Makes You Follow a TV Show?

Each year, the networks show off their new shows hoping that they will entice viewers to set aside time each week for their stories. We know that when a show becomes popular, it helps the networks earn more money for ads. But popularity can also catapult that new actor to stardom or spin off merchandising. Just think about True Blood. You can buy the True Blood drinks and who'd heard of Alexander Skarsgard before the show became popular?

Then there are the shows that are fan favorites but never seem to get the recognition it deserves and is taken off the air. It has a strong following but not the popularity that changes a show from interesting to a must-see TV night.

But if it was as easy to create a popular show that caused readers to fall in love with, every show would be a success. So what is the formula? What makes a show worth your time? Does the story have to have hot looking characters? Or is the gripping storyline more important?

Maybe it is a story that you can laugh at or shows the world in a "realistic" way. Do you identify with the characters? Do you long to be a part of their family? Or is it the fact that they are crazier than your family?

We'd love to hear from you. What shows do you have to watch? What makes a show a must-see?