Tell Me Why....

Why, when I have a million real world responsibilities to deal with, do I suddenly start getting all sorts of great ideas for new stories? I've added three new entries to my notebook in the past twenty four hours. When will I get to write them? Who knows?

Between grading, exams, projects and business responsibilities, I can barely breathe. The last thing I need is my muse whispering in my ear, right?

No. Let me correct myself. That's just the frustration talking. I really am grateful for these ideas - and grateful that I at least captured them in outline before they fled (as they do, if I don't write them down). It sometimes takes me months, even years, to grow a story seed into a full-leafed tale, but I often do get around to it eventually. It's interesting to browse through this notebook, which I've been using for a couple of years now, and see how many of the notions that I jotted down did eventually make it onto the page and into "print".

So I won't complain, just scribble down the inspirations as they come and get back to work. And hope that when the time comes, I'll be able to read my writing and understand my cryptic comments!

A Little Bit of Syn

By H.K. Carlton (Guest Blogger)

As I was trying to decide what to write about for my guest post with Lisabet, I realized that through all of my promo for If You Can’t Stand the Heat, I’ve concentrated solely on Sesto, the male protag and why he came to be in my dirty little mind. And I wondered why, I’d done so, when Syn is equally as interesting and just as hot and sexy as Sesto. I can only assume, that Sesto has been louder and more obnoxious, needing his ego stroked. But I have regrettably neglected Syn, which was silly on my part, when she is the more rounded character.

My mother was here for a visit this past week and we ended up having this deep conversation about where people come from. I don’t mean geographically either but rather how a person’s environment, upbringing and experiences, shape them. Why the things that we have experienced in life explains why we live the way that we do and why we make the choices we do.

We, as writers, do the same with our characters. Layer them. Give them depth. We try to give them a background so that the reader will understand where they come from and why they do what they do. Delve a little deeper into their past and you’ll understand what makes them tick. And then the whys and what-fors all become clear.

When I began to write If You Can’t Stand the Heat, it was intended to be a hot erotic romp, centred around a cooking competition. A handsome arrogant chef and a world-weary author of erotica meet and clash and tease each other. Sesto was already hanging out in the back of my mind, all swagger and ego, looking sexy and smug. But as I began to write the story and develop the characters, Syn’s background began to take shape and it dictated not only her behaviour but also her motivation and why she acts the way that she does. Why she holds men at arm’s length. It's all about sex and satisfaction, for Syn, no strings attached. Her past taught her to protect herself and she will do so at all costs. And my hot little romp turned into something a little more serious.

I enjoyed writing Syn. I wish that I was as quick-witted and unconcerned as she appears to be. One might think that in a way, she is like me because I created her, but that’s not true at all. I don’t think that fast on my feet, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have the guts to say it. I usually think of the perfect comeback the minute I walk away from a situation and then kick myself for not thinking of it in the moment. Syn stands toe to toe with the ego-maniac chef and not only holds her own, but puts him right off his arrogant game.

But as in most things, Syn is not what she appears to be. She comes off as a woman who craves attention, good or bad, just as long as she has it. She shows off her body in skimpy clothes and titillates her audience with her naughty language. She gives them what they expect. However, in reality, she is only trying to protect herself and hide behind the bigger than life illusion of Syn the author.

On a lighter note, the best part of writing this story was the sharp banter between Syn and Sesto.

Here’s a little taste.

Blurb:

Somebody’s about to get burnt…

An unlikely couple is brought together as celebrity judges on a new cooking show—Sesto Théodore, an American-Italian New York chef, and Syn Fully, a world-weary author of erotica. It’s instantly clear that they are complete opposites and their personalities clash, but physically, sparks fly and passion ignites.

However, after a video with some rather personal content surfaces on the Internet, Sesto immediately jumps to conclusions and accuses Syn of the breach.

Can the arrogant chef forgive and forget, or will his pride leave him out in the cold?


Excerpt:

Syn dangled the crustacean above her open mouth, making a great show for all the males watching, finally closing her luscious lips down to the creature’s tale, snapping it off with a pop. She chewed charmingly.

“I loved the display, the martini type glass with the sauce in the bottom. But it was a little on the hot side for my tastes.” Placing her hand delicately to her throat, she then said, “But you’re a little hot too, aren’t you Denny,” she flirted, shamelessly.

The kid grinned from ear to ear.

Sesto sent her a censorious glare. She merely stared back at him innocently.

“She just told you your food was shit, Romeo. And I tend to agree. No imagination. Any idiot can serve shrimp cocktail. Step back. Next!” Sesto gave his opinion.

“Next, we have Theresa.”

“I have prepared a mussel-stuffed mushroom cap with lemon and bacon.”

“Maksim?”

“More with the sea urchins. Bah!” He pushed the plate away.

“Syn?”

Still chewing, she rolled her eyes and swayed in the chair. “Oh. My. God. Theresa this is orgasmic.”

Sesto couldn’t help the cluck of his tongue. Did she have to be that way?

Syn shrugged, nonplussed then reached across the space and snagged Maksim’s mushroom cap off his plate, depositing it quickly into her mouth. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

“Chef?”

“It was well done, Theresa. My only criticism, watch your cooking time on the mussels.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, chef.”

“Next we have Rick.”

“My creation is a tofu skewer with a walnut pesto, for the vegetarians in the crowd.”

“Maks?”

“Yuk, no good. No flavour.”

“Syn?”

“Sorry, Rick, I’m not a big tofu lover. I like my meat.”

“Seriously?” Sesto turned, having endured enough of the crudeness. “Do you have to do that?”

“What?” she asked artlessly, fluttering her lashes.

“Make every sentence that comes out of your mouth sexual in some way.”

She smiled proudly. “It’s a gift.”

Facing the director, Sesto questioned, “You’ll edit that out, right?”

Thank you for having me back to Beyond Romance, Lisabet!

Buy Links:


If You Can’t Stand The Heat @ Totally Bound
https://www.totallybound.com/if-you-cant-stand-the-heat


Amazon http://www.amazon.com/You-Cant-Stand-Heat-ebook/dp/B00GDHKT6E/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1383335811&sr=1-3&keywords=If+you+can%27t+stand+the+heat

Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/If-You-Cant-Stand-Heat-ebook/dp/B00GDHKT6E/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1383335897&sr=1-3&keywords=if+you+can%27t+stand+the+heat

Amazon Canada http://www.amazon.ca/You-Cant-Stand-Heat-ebook/dp/B00GDHKT6E/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1383335924&sr=8-4&keywords=if+you+can%27t+stand+the+heat

All Romance eBooks https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-ifyoucan039tstandtheheat-1335008-149.html


Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/if-you-cant-stand-the-heat-hk-carlton/1117317977?ean=9781781848050

Author bio: H K Carlton is a multi-published Canadian author of erotic, historical and contemporary romance

You Can Find H K:

H K at Totally Bound

https://www.totallybound.com/index.php?route=product/author/info&author_id=240

Twitter https://twitter.com/AuthorHKCarlton @AuthorHKCarlton

Facebook www.facebook.com/authorhk.carlton

H K’s Blog Pick a Genre Already http://pickagenrealready.blogspot.ca

ARe (All Romance eBooks)  http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=HK+Carlton

Amazon Author Page http://www.amazon.com/HK-Carlton/e/B009KVR7EW/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1 

 Please

Writing for Good

First of all, I want to thank everyone who has comment so far on my post last week regarding Typhoon Haiyun. I'm keeping the offer open (you comment - I'll donate) until Thursday. Then I'll announce how much I'm going to donate - and I'll give away an ebook to someone who took the time to share his or her thoughts, too!

Meanwhile, if you are an author, I wanted to make you aware of an opportunity to do more for the victims of this terrible disaster. The altruistic erotica imprint Coming Together is rushing to put together an anthology of erotic stories focused on weather, to benefit Mercy Corps, one of the main charities working on the ground in the affected area.

Here are the details:

Coming Together: Through the Storm

Editor: Nicole Gestalt

Publisher: Coming Together

Deadline: November 30, 2013

Payment: Proceeds benefit Mercy Corps, which is on site wherever aid is needed, particularly when a natural disaster occurs. http://www.mercycorps.org

The Coming Together series has for many years raised money for various charities and the latest anthology will be raising money for Mercy Corps who take aid over to disaster areas around the world. The need is urgent and so there is a very short deadline on this anthology.

Word Count: Minimum 5k but can be very much more

Payment: Since this is a charity anthology there is no payment other than the knowledge you've helped, although all authors who have a story in it will get a copy of the final pdf.

Theme: All the stories submitted need to have a weather theme

Genre: This is an erotic anthology although I will accept romance based stories. Any pairing(s), gender or genre will be considered. Give me your best just make sure it has weather in there!

The No-No's: No scat, bestiality, under age sex, golden showers, rape or forced sex. If in doubt ask.

Email your submissions as a .doc,.rtf,.txt to reliefanthology 'at' gmail 'dot' com

Format of submission: Please send the submissions double spaced in Times New Roman, 12 point black font. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (using normal double spacing please do not add an extra line between the paragraphs). Please submit your final, complete and totally edited version of the story.

Deadline: 30th November

Editors page with a constant update on anthology: www.nicolegestalt.blogspot.com

Coming Together submission page: http://www.eroticanthology.com/throughthestorm.htm

*****

I know the deadline is tight but CT does accept previously published stories as long as you own the rights. 

If you have questions, feel free to contact Nicole, or me.

You don't get paid when you write for Coming Together, but let me assure you, there are other rewards. (And by the way, CT anthologies have taken honors in several EPPIE contests!)

Sneak Peak: A Dead Man's Debt by Grace Elliott

[I've got a juicy historical romance for my sneak peek today - A Dead Man's Debt by Grace Elliott. Nice long excerpt, with lots of period details and sexual tension! ~ Lisabet]

Blurb

After publicly humiliating a suitor, Celeste Armitage is sent from the ton in disgrace. Exiled to the country she discovers a sketch book of nude studies and is shaken to discover the artist is her hostess’s eldest son, Ranulf Charing, Lord Cadnum. This darkly cynical lord is exactly the sort of dissipated rogue she most despises – and yet her blood heats at the thought of him!

Ranulf Charing, Lord Cadnum is being blackmailed over his late brother’s debts. Whilst visiting his mother, he discovers her new companion, Miss Celeste Armitage, to be a woman of unusual perception and starts to fall in love. But then the jealous fury of the blackmailer is unleashed and Cadnum must cast Celeste aside in order to protect her. However, in underestimating her resolve to clear his name – Cadnum places his true love in mortal danger…

Excerpt

So be it. Cadnum gritted his teeth as he grasped the leading leg and pushed. It was like fighting against a brick wall, the calf barely moving. A lamb was difficult enough; how much more so a calf? Just as he was wondering if one man was strong enough, a shower of pebbles rattled down the bank. Concentrating on the calf, he barked to whomever approached, “Don’t just stand there. Get down here!”

“I beg your pardon!” a woman’s voice answered.

With a flash of annoyance, he glanced upward.

A wide eyed young woman wearing a straw bonnet peered down. “I say, is everything all right?”

“Does it look all right?” he muttered under his breath. All he needed was some sensitive miss fainting on him. “Go! Fetch help from the house.”

He saw her hesitate, biting her top lip. “But you need help now.”

A contraction clamped around his arm as the cow’s tail switched across his face, stinging his eyes like a cat-o-nine-tails.

In a flurry of muslin and lace, the miss slid down the bank, landing with a thud in the ditch.

“Ouch.” She rubbed her ankle.

Cadnum glared back, dark eyes flashing. “You should have gone to the house.” Damn it all, she could make herself useful then. “Hold the tail aside.”

Pulling a face, she limped over. His gaze lingered; up close, she merited a second glance. Of middle height with a tidy waist and curves where God intended them, she appeared quick-witted and bright-eyed. Without further ado, she stripped off her gloves, throwing them onto a bramble bush. Long, sensitive fingers grasped the muddy tail.

Practical, he thought, silently impressed. “Why didn’t you go for help?”

“There isn’t time.” Her bonnet slipped backwards, revealing a quirky face with a pointed chin, her lips finely drawn with an arched cupid’s bow. The sort of face an artist could lose himself in; all shades of the sea were found in deep emerald eyes framed by a tangle of chestnut hair.

Cadnum tightened his grasp and pushed. Sweat beading his brow. The calf retreated an inch.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was gentle and calm, if somewhat deep for a woman.

He guessed it would be husky in bed, whispering over a pillow after a night of passion. Her eyes were on him, deep green eyes, lively and entrancing. He suddenly remembered that he was undressed to the waist, her curious gaze on his skin as he imagined those lily-white hands gliding over his naked chest, her almond shaped nails digging into his skin. He shook away the thought, trying to remember her question.

She watched with innocence and interest, blushing faintly in a charming way; and yet, he realized, she was no wilting flower. He shook his head. The woman had asked a question; damn it, he would answer.

“The calf is breech,” he grunted. “I need to push her back into the womb to turn her.” He wanted to shock this stranger, to test how bold she truly was.

She stared back, biting her top lip, exaggerating her snub nose. “Ah!” Her gaze met his.

“Think of the calf as a carriage in a narrow driveway. To turn it around, you push it back into the stable yard.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” he growled.

Throwing him an angry look, she anchored the tail with a log and scrambled around to the beast’s head. After a moment’s thought, she placed her pelisse under the cow’s head, stroking the broad nose and crooning words of comfort.

“She’s relaxing.” Cadnum’s arm was numb from the contractions. He fell forward as the first leg finally slid back into the womb. “That helps.” His hair had come free from the ribbon, falling thickly about his shoulders. He glanced at the woman. She was leaning forward, her bosom straining a tight bodice, a satisfying cleavage between her breasts. He swallowed hard. She was odd looking, he decided, not exactly beautiful but eye catching nonetheless. Her face showed character and determination. Her complexion was too healthy to be fashionable, all rosy cheeked and peppered with freckles.

The woman glared at him now, her skin glowing bright pink. Had he been staring? His heart raced as he returned to the calving.

Timing his efforts, he used all his strength to push the second leg back. His shoulder felt as if it were being ripped from the socket. With gritted teeth, he found a slippery hoof and clung to it, guiding it from the womb into the birth passage. Grimacing with the effort, he found the other foreleg, dragging it forward to match its mate. Pulling first one leg, then the other, he inched them forward.

The muscles of his back burned as he braced, digging his heels into the damp earth. He pulled in time to the cow’s weakening contractions, but as her effort became more feeble, even that assistance was lost. The beast lay stretched on her side, head extended, breathing erratically and growing weaker by the second. It was going to be a close thing; all the effort would be for naught if he couldn’t pull the calf out soon.

After minutes of heaving, two small cream hooves presented themselves. Cadnum sat back on his heels, sweat dripping into his eyes. So intense had been his concentration that he’d completely forgotten the woman. But there she was, slightly pale but watching him intently.

“I need your help…” It wasn’t so very difficult to say. The woman nodded silently, her face so serious he almost laughed. “The cow’s spent, she can’t push any more. I need you to pull with me.”

Licking her lips she nodded weakly.

“Come here. Grasp my waist. Pull when I say.”

She stood and, with a whisper of skirts, was at his side. As her arms wound hesitantly around his waist, he suppressed a shiver of excitement. Her hands where peach soft and cool. She smelled of lemongrass.

“Hold tight.”

The thin feminine arms around the hard plain of his belly made his body ache unexpectedly.

“Pull as hard as you can, when I say,” he barked more gruffly than he intended. “Now.”

Digging his heels into the dirt, his muscles strained as he struggled to keep hold of the slippery hooves. But his attention was not wholly on the calf as he became aware of the press of her breasts against his bare back, of her sweet warm breath against his neck. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could feel her heart hammering against his ribs.

With a desperate heave, he pulled the calf and the woman pulled him. The calf moved another few inches, the forelegs exposed to the wrist joint.

“Again,” he urged.

Another pull and half the forelegs were out.

“Stop. I need to check if the calf’s head is coming nose forward.”

The woman released him. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed her pink tongue darted out of her mouth to moisten her dry lips.

Turning back to the cow, he knelt, feeling inside, satisfied that he could feel a muzzle lined neatly along the forelegs.

“Nearly there.”

The woman’s arms circled back around his waist, wiry with feminine strength. This time they fitted snugly, her cheek against his back. A ringlet had broken free of her chignon, brushing his skin. His groin tightened—much to his annoyance.

“Ready? Heave!” Never had he been more glad of the distraction from a woman’s unnerving affect on his body. He noticed her soft mossy eyes and sweetly tempting curves, yet her bravery and determination excited him most. Innocent, yet bold.

The calf slithered free with a slippery suck, sliding to the ground in a flood of fluid and membranes. Man and woman rolled backwards. Cadnum landed on her skirts, pinning her down. Her face was flushed, her pupils large. He stared into her eyes, which were framed with thick dark lashes now modestly brushing her cheek. He noticed her breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her neck, chest heaving.

Neither moved.

The temptation to lean forward and claim a kiss was dizzying. It was like looking up at a high church tower against scudding clouds, making him giddy.

Scowling, he turned away. When had he become such a cad that he’d consider taking advantage of an innocent stranger? He deserved to be horse whipped. It didn’t help that the throb in his groin reminded him of his weakness.

“The calf?” a small clear voice questioned.

It was a bull calf, steaming slightly in the cool morning air. Hooking a finger in the calf’s mouth, he cleared away the mucus.

“The cord. I need to tie off the cord. Quick, find me something.”

With a whisper of satin, she held out the ribbon from her bonnet.

“Will this do?”

When she didn’t immediately release it, it occurred to him that she was waiting for him to say thank you. He acquiesced. With a humph she handed over the ribbon.

As he worked, she stood, regarding the newborn with wonder. For some inexplicable reason he wanted to hold her tightly in his arms and smooth her hair, to kiss that perfect oval of a mouth. Damn her for distracting him!

Cadnum rounded on her, squaring his bare chest. She recoiled, threatened by his unabashed maleness. She shrank back, making Cadnum angry at himself for frightening her.

“Well don’t just stand there, now go and fetch help! Tell them to send men to the ditch between the five acre field and the hazel copse.” Her presence had become intolerable, eating away at his self-control. “Look sharp about it!”

She jumped and scrambled up the bank with a flash of neat ankle, but not before giving him on last angry glare.

A wave of heat washed over Ranulf, who silently gave thanks that her back was turned. It was not his habit to ravish complete strangers, especially those so obviously gently born. But for some reason that was exactly what he wanted to do to this mysterious chestnut haired stranger. Only as she disappeared over the brow of the hill did it occur to him to inquire who this practical Miss was and what she was doing on his land.

Available from

AmazonUS

AmazonUK

Smashwords

Author Bio

Grace Elliot leads a double life as a veterinarian by day and author of historical romance by night. She is housekeeping staff to five cats, two teenage sons, one husband and a bearded dragon (not in order of importance)

Fall in Love with History (blog) http://graceelliot-author.blogspot.com

Newsletter sign up (quarterly) http://bit.ly/V7T6Jd

Twitter: @Grace_Elliot

FB page: https://www.facebook.com/GraceElliot2?v=wall&sk=wall

Sunday Snog #100: Her Secret Ingredient - with Prizes!

Greetings, readers!

I'm continuing to celebrate the release of Her Secret Ingredient today with a snog full of sugar (literally). Leave a comment and I'll enter you into my grand giveaway, for one of three prizes. (See yesterday's post for details.)

After sampling my snog, please click over to Snog Central, run by the luscious Victoria Blisse, for more Sunday kisses.

And don't forget - if you buy Her Secret Ingredient from Totally Bound, you'll get my super-sexy extra chapter - exclusive to TB VIP readers!

Oh, one more thing! This weekend only, you can buy Her Secret Ingredient for only 99 pence. (Yeah - TB is a Brit company!)

Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion…

When the Tastes of France food channel offers Mei Lee “Emily” Wong a series of guest spots, she jumps at the opportunity to take her culinary career to a whole new level. Ultimately, she wants a show of her own, but first she has to prove herself to Michelin-starred network founder and effective dictator, Etienne Duvalier. A legend in the world of classic French cuisine as well as a domineering perfectionist, Etienne is sceptical about the culinary abilities of a woman from Hong Kong. To make things more difficult, the master chef is also so gorgeous that Emily can't help being attracted to him.

Emily tries to solve both problems by spiking her luscious profiteroles with an ancient Oriental aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, Harry Sanborne, the low-key, bespectacled producer for Emily's show, samples the delicacies she intends for Etienne's consumption. His powerful reaction to her secret ingredient comes as a pleasant surprise to them both. Harry turns out to be far more impressive in bed than on the set. However, he can't do nearly as much to advance her ambitions as Etienne. Emily tries once more to tempt the exacting M. Duvalier with her special cooking as well as her feminine charms. The outrageous results threaten to end her TV career forever—until Harry steps in to save her reputation and claim her heart.

“Hi, Emily! Got a minute?” Harry breezed into the studio kitchen, waving a clipboard. “Got a few things I need to go over with you, before tomorrow’s show. Do you want to be introduced as ‘Mei Lee’, or should we use your English name? And what about your certifications? Do you want the full list in the credits, or just your Michelin rating?” He stopped in his tracks when he saw the feast I’d assembled. “Holy smokes! That looks absolutely scrumptious!”

“Thanks. Let’s just hope that Etienne agrees.” I couldn’t quite keep the pride out of my voice. There weren’t many chefs who could put together a meal like this in four hours, without assistants and under pressure, in a kitchen not their own.

“Even our Monsieur le Chef can be swayed by great food. The desserts—oh, I’ve just got to try one of these…”

“No! Harry—”

Before I could stop him, though, he’d nipped a cream puff off the pile and popped it into his mouth. His eyes went wide as he chewed and swallowed.

“Unbelievable! Give me another.”

“Please, no!” I grabbed at his arm, but it was too late. He’d already devoured a second choux. “Those are supposed to be for Etienne.”

“Come on, you’ve made at least two dozen. He won’t miss one or two.” Harry made as if to reach for a third puff. I hung on, trying to restrain him, but he was far stronger than I. Under that dorky clothing, I felt his muscles tense and shift.

He halted, his fingers inches away from their target, as if suddenly aware of my touch. Turning away from the tower of pastries, he gazed down at me. Behind his glasses, his mocha-coloured eyes gleamed with powerful purpose.

“Harry?” My stomach did a somersault. My cheeks felt as though they’d just come out of the oven. Meanwhile he held me in that fierce, all-consuming stare.

I still had a grip on his left arm, near the shoulder. He reached out to rest his hand on my shoulder, as if we were about to dance. “You know, I actually see something a lot sweeter right here.” Sliding his palm down my back, he pulled me to his chest with a decisiveness that sent my pulse into overdrive. When he leaned in close, I smelled the almonds on his breath.

“Harry…I don’t think…”

“Shh!” He enforced this directive by fastening his mouth on mine in an energetic kiss.

He tasted, unsurprisingly, of sugar and cream. His firm lips moulded to mine while his tongue teased at the seam, coaxing me to open. I shouldn’t have given in, but I honestly couldn’t help it. He might look like a bit of a nerd, but this guy really knew what he was doing. Wet but not sloppy, forceful but not brutal, alternating between deep penetration and playful flickering, he kissed with consummate sensuality. All I wanted was to swoon in his arms, to let him take me over. He seemed eager to oblige.

Cupping my ass in his palm, he yanked my pelvis against his. I gasped at the size and rigidity of the lump pressed against my pubis. My nipples snapped into aching knots and moisture flooded my already damp panties. He laced the fingers of his other hand through my hair, using them to control the position of my head as he drank his fill of me.

His mouth slipped away from mine to nuzzle below my ear, somehow finding the precise spot that’s directly connected to my clit. Meanwhile he groped my breasts, squeezing hard—harder than I usually like, but now I actually wanted more.

Don't forget to leave a comment, with your email address! You've got three chances to win!

An Interview with Mei Lee Wong - with PRIZES!

Yesterday Totally Bound released my newest story, Her Secret Ingredient, as part of their What's Her Secret imprint. I'm celebrating all weekend! Today I have an interview with the intrepid heroine of the tale, Mei Lee “Emily” Wong. Tomorrow I'll be treating you to my 100^th Sunday Snog, excerpted from the same story. Leave a comment on either or both posts and I'll enter you into a grand giveaway. You could win one of the following prizes:

• >> Book pack of two autographed print books – Master Me anthology and Cream anthology
• >> Autographed print copy of the Switch anthology
• >> Ebook version of my classic first novel, Raw Silk

By the way, if you buy Her Secret Ingredient directly from Totally Bound, you'll get my exclusive bonus chapter – which is, in my opinion, the hottest part of the story!

Anyway, let's get on with the interview.

Lisabet Sarai: Welcome to Beyond Romance, Ms. Wong.

Mei Lee Wong: Please, call me Emily. All my friends do, and I should think you of all people would count among that number. And feel free to ask me any questions you like. After all, it's just us girls here, right?

LS: Thanks, Emily! To start with, I'd like to know why you decided to come to the U.S. You had a plum job as head chef at The Belvedere, which I understand is one of the most famous French restaurants in Hong Kong. Why give that up?

MW: Well, I'm only on leave at the moment. I'm not the sort to burn my bridges. Originally, I was just invited to do a couple of guest spots with the Tastes of France channel, a matter of four to six weeks. I didn't know I'd be offered a season contract.

LS: But you must have had hopes.

MW: Going international had its attractions. Hong Kong is a pretty small island (laughs). I figured that appearing with the renowned Etienne Duvalier on American television was pretty certain to help my career, regardless of the long term possibilities. And once I got a look at Etienne...

LS: Yes?

MW: You've watched his show, haven't you? Or at least seen him on YouTube? He's sophisticated, charming and oh – so attractive! His accent melts me like butter on a griddle, and his butt... Can I talk about his ass here?

LS: Sure. There are no heat limits at Beyond Romance!

MW: He's got these round, muscular buttocks – well, you get the picture. And he dresses impeccably, in tailored slacks that make the most of his assets. (Chuckles.) Sorry!

LS: So you had the hots for the network head even before you arrived in San Francisco?

MW: Let's just say that his good looks provided me with additional motivation to accept the network's offer.

LS: Did he live up to your expectations?

MW: He's just as gorgeous in person as on the screen. But he's not the easiest person to please.

LS: I've heard he has a reputation for being a bit arrogant and critical.

MW: He's a perfectionist about everything, most especially food – and a diehard traditionalist. According to Etienne, there's just one way to cook French dishes. He actually called my fusion recipes “sacrilege”.

LS: I gather you managed to win him over, though.

MW: With a little help from my “secret”!

LS: And what about Harry Sanborne?

MW: Ah, Harry! (looks dreamy for a moment)

LS: Yes? What's going through your mind, Emily?

MW: Sorry, just remembering the first time Harry and I … well, you know.

LS: An accident, as I recall.

MW: A most fortuitous accident! Sometimes I think my grandmother's Wise Ones are looking out for me – even when I make dumb decisions, things work out. I'm very fortunate.

LS: It's not all luck. Don't play down your talents.

MW: Oh, come on! I'm not the type to be humble. I know I'm talented, in cooking and in other areas. I'm the youngest person in Michelin's history to serve as head chef at a three start restaurant - not to mention one of the only women. But I don't always think things through... Sometimes I'm too much swayed by my heart.

LS: And what does your heart say now – about Etienne, and about Harry?

MW: My poor heart is very confused. Harry saved my reputation and my career, and despite his rather nerdy appearance, he's a fabulous lover. And there's definitely something more than just sex between us. He says he loves me, and I'm pretty sure I feel the same.

Still, there's something that draws me to Etienne as well... a sort of vulnerability under his imperturbable facade.

LS: Maybe you can have them both.

MW: Do you think so? I suppose that's up to you – you're the author.

LS: Just wait until the next book, Emily!

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Just Sex?

Several weeks ago I hosted an author who made some statements with which I strongly disagreed. I figured it wouldn't have been polite for me to engage her in an argument (although at least one commenter expressed opinions rather similar to my own unvoiced objections), but now that the dust has settled, I'd like to talk a bit about the issue, which actually bothers me a lot: the tendency for some people – some authors of erotic romance, in particular - to view erotica as somehow inferior to their own genre because (they believe) it's “just sex” - empty, meaningless, without the emotional impact one finds in the loving relationship that defines a romance.

In this post I want to try and correct what I see as some serious misconceptions about erotica as a genre. Of course, I recognize that these are my opinions and my definitions. However, I can back them up with at least some evidence from my own stories, which you can read online.

This particular guest wanted to draw a distinction between ménage (a commonly used term for erotic romance where more than two individuals are involved in a sexual or romantic relationship) and polyamory, which implies a long term, committed relationship involving three or more individuals. According to her, most romances with three or more participants should be called polyamory. The term ménage should be used to refer to “a tale that is nothing more than erotica, a string of artificial acts that really has no basis in reality”. It is “simple three (or more) way sex. Nothing more.”

The hair-splitting terminology is not my problem. I've written three way, so-called ménage, romances (for example Truce of Trust and Wild About That Thing) that I'm happy to call polyamory instead. No, what bugs me are the implications that:

1. Erotica is nothing but sex acts;
2. Erotica does not concern itself with emotions or relationships;
3. Erotica is somehow less worthy or serious or important than romance.

I've been publishing erotica (as well as erotic romance) for nearly fourteen years. While the lines between the genres are not nearly as clear-cut as some would like to believe, I agree there is a difference in focus. Romance focuses on love. Erotica focuses on the experience of desire, which may occur within or outside a romantic relationship.

However, there's nothing simple, superficial or “artificial” about desire. It can be as potent and transformative as love. Lust – satisfied or denied – can change a characters just as profoundly as love.

Contrary to what some people think, quality erotica is not primarily a description of inserting tab A into hole B. I'll agree that for the most part, anatomical accounts of sex acts are not, by themselves, particularly interesting. That's true of real world sex, too, at least for me. The intriguing, intoxicating, puzzling, mysterious aspect of sexuality is not what we do but how we react – what sex does to our minds and emotions. How do we feel about our partners, ourselves and the acts in which we are engaged? Joyful? Guilty? Desperate? Confused? Daring? Frightened?

Consider, for instance, a classic erotica trope, the bar-pickup-and-fuck-in-the-alley. How many stories with this plot have I encountered? Quite a few. On the surface this looks like nothing more than scratching an itch. The protagonists are strangers. There's no emotional or personal connection, right? It's all about physical attraction.

But look more closely. Why is this scenario erotic? It's arousing exactly because the people involved are strangers. There's an element of danger that adds to the excitement, not to mention the heady sense of breaking the rules. You're not supposed to fuck strangers in alleys. The transgressive aspect is part of what makes this a hot starting point for an erotic tale.

Look even deeper, though. Who are the two individuals and why are they doing this? Just lust? Unlikely. Perhaps the woman has just learned that her husband is having an affair and is out for revenge. Perhaps the man is terribly lonely, but this is the only way he knows to connect with another human being. Maybe they're irresistibly drawn to one another, with that weird chemistry that really does occur every now and then. Maybe he told her stories about what he planned to do to her, stimulating her fantasies, long before they stepped out the back door to actually the deed. And how will the story end? How will these two people be changed, after they've wiped away the spunk and the pussy juice, pulled their clothing back into some semblance of order, gone their separate ways?

Erotica explores these different possibilities. Unlike romance, which is constrained to have a happy ending, anything might occur. They might never see one another again – but remember the encounter for their entire lives. They might meet by chance on the street the next day, go for coffee, end up moving in with one another. The woman might decide to divorce her philandering spouse. Encouraged or energized by the experience, the guy might work up the courage to talk to his female co-worker the next day. You just don't know. Erotica explores alternative universes – fantasies that readers perhaps imagine but would never act upon – and then considers a whole range of possible denouements.

Is this simple? Artificial? I don't think so.

I promised you evidence. You can find plenty in the free reading section of my website. Consider, for example, the story “Perception”. A workaholic psychology researcher recovering from a painful divorce finds herself attracted to one of her experimental subjects. They have an intense sexual interaction, then he disappears. No happy ending – though there are hints. But Jessie is deeply changed by the experience.

Or try reading the bittersweet paranormal tale “Twentieth Century”. Sexy and sensual, but not at all trivial, at least not in my opinion. No happy ending - Beth's lover may not exist - but the encounter moves Beth into a new phase of her life.

Then there's “Butterfly”, about a young man who finds himself lusting after a dancer, only to discover that she used to be a he, and that he can't deal with that notion. Difficult. Probably realistic. And still very erotic.

As it happens, many of the free stories on my website are more romance than erotica, simply because that's my bread and butter. However, I assure you that if you buy a copy of my erotic mystery Exposure, or my short story collections Just a Spanking and Spank Me Again, Stranger, you'll find many more examples of just how complicated desire can be.

I sometimes think that romance authors who denigrate erotica do so because they're embarrassed or shocked by the notion of sex removed from love. Erotica is “dirty” because it permits the characters to have sex outside of a societally-sanctioned “relationship”. It's just a shade away from – heavens preserve us – porn! No self-respecting author would lower herself to write such filth. And yet as soon as the characters are “in love”, anything goes.

This strikes me as a bit of self-delusion, personally.

Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, of course. However, I feel more free reading – and writing – erotica, because there are more options. I can write about love – or guilt, disgust, anger, rebellion, a million other emotions that are all entangled with our sexuality. And whatever ending I choose, I know it won't necessarily be simple.