By Sabrina York (Guest Blogger)
I love writing romances, and happily
write in any genre. When readers ask if I prefer writing historical
or contemporary, I simply cannot choose. But I will say this, writing
contemporary steamy romances takes a lot less research!
For example, there is no need to
research what kind of underwear women might wear in the early 2000’s,
because I have a pretty good idea. The Regency period? Not so much.
And when you’re an erotic author little things, like bloomers,
become suddenly significant.
This probably wouldn’t be a problem,
if I weren’t a history nerd. I love to read dusty old tomes and
snoop around on historical websites looking for tidbits I can roll
into one of my stories. I go off to look up one little fact in the
morning, and next thing I know, it’s time to make dinner and I
haven’t written a word. Well, I have pages and pages of notes, but
those hardly count.
I made a lot of historical errors in my
first Regency, Folly, but fortunately my publisher employs excellent
final line editors with an eye for anachronisms, and I received a
long list of things to fix (see aforementioned bloomers). I had to
rewrite three scenes because of those stupid bloomers.
When I started on my second erotic
Regency, Dark Fancy, it was a little easier. I had my cheat sheets to
make sure bloomers and the dreaded Tantalus did not appear. But I
still made some interesting faux pas, using terms or words that were
not in use during that period.
For example, people did not “fantasize”
about things back then, because that word was not used in that
manner. One of my favorite resources when writing historicals is the
Online Etymology Dictionary:
http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=entomology.
If you’re a history nerd like me, you’ll love it.
My third Regency, (Dark Duke, the 3rd
book in the Noble Passions Series) is out now. And yes. I did do
research on whether or not a lord of the realm might occupy his time
writing naughty novels with even naughtier pictures. I even found a
wicked Earl to base him on!
As far as researching my contemporary
stories, that can be just as much fun. And tax deductible. For
example, though I’ve been before, when my characters happen to
visit that famous restaurant on the wharf below Pike Place Market in
Seattle, it stands to reason I should check it out. You know. Just to
make sure I got the details right. I make it a point to take photos
of my meal, so I can show them to my accountant. If she asks.
In Devlin’s Dare, Tara is horrified when a food critic slams her bakery for not having gluten free pastries. So naturally, I did a lot of research on gluten free baked goods. I have to admit, I introduced the element into the book because I needed to learn more about how to sate my ravenous appetite for pastries when I couldn’t eat gluten. You would be surprised at how many options are out there like Cream Cheese muffins and Chocolate Cake with no flour. I discovered that there are lots of great ways to create tasty gluten free foods. Cauliflower makes an awesome pizza crust and delicious fried “rice.”
The research methods and needs may vary, but regardless, it’s always fun investigating the elements of a new book, whether it’s historical or contemporary or fantasy, or a space opera. I feel fortunate that, as an erotic romance author, I can explore multiple genres and write the stories as they come to me, regardless of the time period. Or planet. Or dimension.
Happy Reading!
Dark
Duke by Sabrina York
Dark
Duke by Sabrina York
Noble
Passions, Book Three
Edward
Wyeth, the Dark Duke of Moncrieff’s life has been turned on its
end. His well-ordered home has been invaded. By destitute relatives.
From Scotland. How on earth can he write Lord Hedon’s salacious
novels with hellions battling in the garden and starting fires in the
library? But with the onslaught has come a delicious diversion. His
cousin’s companion, the surprisingly intriguing Kaitlin
MacAllister. He is determined to seduce her. Using her desperate need
for funds and her talents as an artist, he convinces her to draw
naughty pictures for his naughtier books…and he draws her
into his decadent web.
But
Kaitlin has a secret. She’s fled Scotland—and a very determined
betrothed. When Edward’s cousin is kidnapped and held in her stead,
Kaitlin is honor bound to return to her homeland and rescue her—much
to Edward’s chagrin.
Because
suddenly he can’t bear the thought of Kaitlin marrying another man.
He can’t bear the thought of losing her at all.
A
Romantica® Regency
historical erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave
Excerpt
Edward
skirted the mêlée in the garden and made his way to the far end of
the estate, where there was nothing but flowers and trees and a
placid little pond. Nothing to attract diminutive fiends bent on
mischief. He would sit in the folly until his temperature returned to
normal.
Perhaps
until spring.
Dear God.
He’d had no idea having the Wyeths of Perth take over his house
would be such a nightmare. If he had suspected as much, he would have
turned them away at the start. They would probably have crawled in
under the door. Through the cracks in the flue. Vermin had a way of
finding entrance.
But now.
Now they were here.
Entrenched.
He had to
get rid of them.
Perhaps he
could send them back to Scotland.
Scotland
would revile him for it, but he had little use for rocky tors, lochs
and sheep.
Then he
thought of Violet and his heart lurched. It would crush her to be
trundled back to what she referred to as “the bleak wilderness.”
She was looking forward to a glittering season in London. She was
seventeen. She needed a husband. A husband of quality. That might be
difficult to find in the wilds of Scotland.
And Ned.
Ned was twenty. He was just starting to find his way with the ton.
He’d made some friends—decent fellows. He’d even been receiving
invitations to game at White’s.
The two of
them—the normal two—deserved better than being lumped in with the
rest.
He whacked
at a rosebud as he passed. It exploded into a flutter of petals. He
refused to feel any sympathy.
He
couldn’t send them packing.
Then what?
Hell. He
was a duke of the realm. He had six houses spread throughout the
empire. Why hadn’t he thought to purchase a spare in London?
Aha!
That was
brilliant.
He would.
He’d buy them their own house. Move them all, lock stock and—well,
maybe not the barrels, as the older boys did like to drink. He’d
move them all into their own domicile.
With Aunt
Hortense. Let her manage them.
His life
would once again be orderly. He would be the master of his own abode.
Free to pursue the life of a wealthy dilettante.
Perfect.
He rounded
the bend with a satisfied smile on his face. The trickle of the
fountain in the pond was a balm to his tormented soul. Birds sang in
the trees. The sun—well, it almost shone. It was a beautiful day.
Soon, the
world would be right again.
Soon, they
would all be gone.
He skipped
up the steps of the folly with a lightness of heart he hadn’t felt
in ages. A book on the bench snagged his attention and his mood
dipped, but only a bit. Someone had been here. But they were gone.
He picked
it up and flipped through it and stilled.
Good God.
It was a
sketch book.
The first
page was an attempt at this scene. The flowers and trees, the pond
and the little fountain. Not very good. But the second arrested his
attention. It was a simple line drawing of Violet. And it was
stunning. The artist had managed to depict her beauty, but also
captured that glint in her eye, the particular quirk of her lips.
Her
soul.
The next
sketch was one of Ned, showing a brash young man, standing
insouciantly with his hands shoved into his pockets, whistling a
silent tune. The next was of the twins—whatever their names
were—dark heads together plotting some manner of mayhem.
It was so
realistic Edward expected them to leap from the page and whack him
with a cricket bat.
But it was
the last sketch in the book that stole his breath. It was a portrait,
in profile. His own face. But not an Edward he would ever recognize.
This man was heroic, tragic, a solitary soldier. It was only a few
lines drawn in charcoal, but it revealed so much about him. Things he
didn’t want anyone to ever know.
It was
horrifying. And remarkable.
“Your
Grace.”
He snapped
the book shut and spun around.
Of course.
What’s her name. The girl. The owl. From last night.
“Oh, you
found it.” She stepped into the folly and took the book from his
hands. He did not know why he let it go.
“You
left it here.” An accusation. Really? He hadn’t intended for it
to come out like that.
She
chuckled. “I had to go rescue Hamish. I was coming back.”
“What…why
did you have to rescue Hamish?” This was her work? She saw him like
that? And hell, she was a damn fine hand. How he would love to turn
such talent to…darker purposes. What a pity she was such a prude.
The kind of work he could offer her would make her rich—rich enough
to quit serving as Violet’s companion.
But she
would never do it. No decent woman would.
He must be
crazed, truly crazed, to even think on it.
The
gripping sketch of his wounded countenance lingered in his brain. If
she could do that, if she could see through to his soul and bring it
to life on paper—
“And
then he got stuck. In the tree. So I had to rescue him.”
Lord.
She’d been talking. He’d missed the entire explanation. No
matter. The question had been purely rhetorical.
“How
long have you been drawing?”
She
winced, clutched the book to her breast. He recalled what fine
breasts they were. “I… What?”
“How
long have you been drawing? You’re quite good.”
“You
looked at my book?” She squawked as though he’d just admitted to
peering up her skirts. The lemony face returned. A beetled brow and
pursed lips. It was, upon reflection, rather adorable.
“It was
lying here.”
“You
shouldn’t look at someone’s sketchbook.”
“You
shouldn’t leave it where it can be found.” He crossed his arms
over his chest and grinned at her. Damn, he loved her accent.
She
sputtered. “I told you. Hamish and Tay—”
“Tay?”
“Taylor.
Hamish and Taylor were building a fort in a tree—”
“Yes.
Yes. I know. You had to rescue him. Tell me, have they always been
this much trouble?”
She blew
out a breath. “You have no idea.”
They both
laughed. It was a nice moment, because it seemed, for that brief
flash of time, they were friends, bound in mutual misery.
And then
he went and ruined it by letting his lust intrude. “So tell me,
what did you think of that book?”
She tipped
her head. “What book?”
“The one
I gave you last night.”
She
blinked several times, as though she had to try very hard to
remember. “Oh. That
book. I didn’t read it.”
He stepped
closer. “Ah. You like to look at the pictures, then?” He knew the
sort.
“Look at
the… What? No, your Grace—”
“Edward.”
He infused his voice with a low thrum.
“Your
Grace. I didn’t have a
chance to open it.”
Why
petulance curled within him, he had no clue. “What do you mean you
didn’t have a chance to open it?” She was supposed to have read
it. Or at least looked at the pictures. She was supposed to be gazing
at him, right now, with a dewy look.
She
brushed an invisible speck from her skirt. “There was…a
distraction.”
Well hell.
“What kind of distraction?”
Her lips
pursed. The look she shot him was not dewy in the slightest.
Still, he
wanted to kiss her.
He wasn’t
sure why. She was certainly not the most beautiful woman he’d ever
seen. But her face had character and charm—especially when she
smiled. Her figure was full—the way he liked them—but she didn’t
show it off to its best effect. In fact, if he hadn’t known what
lay beneath the thick layers of crinoline and bombazine, he would
have been fooled. She was prickly as a hedgehog and smacked him down
at every turn.
So why did
he want to pull her into his arms and smother her mouth with his?
Perhaps
because of all those things.
Then
again, perhaps just because.
So he did.
He took
the girl—whose name he could not remember, whose face he could not
forget—into his arms and kissed her. It was a gentle buss, as
kisses went, but extremely sublime. Because he’d surprised her.
Her lips
were open, as though poised to speak. He took full advantage,
sweeping in his tongue to dab at hers, nibbling and licking and
tasting her sweet breath.
The prick
at his side was not a surprise. He’d expected it.
He lifted
his head and stared down into her eyes. Her expression was dazed and
determined and perhaps a little dewy. “Not this time, darling,”
he murmured. He took the knife from her hand and tossed it aside and
then pulled her more fully against him.
And ah.
She was soft. Sweet. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hips
molded the cradle of his groin. Of course, he was the one doing the
molding, but she didn’t fight him.
No. She
sighed and tipped her head to the side so he could deepen the kiss.
She tasted like ambrosia. A tantalizing flavor of cinnamon and woman
and surrender. His ardor rose, and with it, his cock. He rubbed it
against her belly.
She
stiffened and tried to push away, muttering something into his mouth
that sounded like “No.”
He changed
his tack, running his lips down her cheek and along the line of her
jaw to nestle in the crook of her neck. She shuddered. Some
groan-like sound emanated from her throat. She clutched at his hair.
Thusly
encouraged, he sucked at the tender skin of her neck. Nipped.
“Oh!
Saints preserve us,” she whispered.
“The
saints don’t care,” he responded, switching to the other side of
her neck. He found a spot that delighted her even more and feasted
there. In her distraction, she didn’t stop the palm skimming over
her ribs to cup a breast.
He encased
her. Ah. Exquisite. Full and round and pliable. He thumbed a nipple,
testing its rigidity. She dipped as her knees gave way. He caught
her. Swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bench.
From long
experience, he knew better than to give a woman a moment to think. So
as soon as he had her settled across his lap and firmly braced
against the wall of the folly, he kissed her again. With one hand, he
stroked her nipples while with the other, he slowly drew up her
skirts.
About
Sabrina York
Her
Royal Hotness, Sabrina York is the award
winning author of over 20 hot,
humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range
from sweet & sexy erotic romance to scorching BDSM. Connect with
her on twitter @sabrina_york, on Facebook
or on Pintrest.
Check out Sabrina’s books and read an excerpt on Amazon
or wherever e-books are sold. Visit
her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com
to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Free
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Speaking of releases, my paranormal
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