Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Last Dance (Part 2)

The Last Dance (Part 2 of 4)
an original short story by Amber Lea Easton
(a story about what ifs, longing and regret.)  

       “Our wedding day was the happiest day of my life,” he whispered against the top of my head.  “I know I haven’t been the best husband.  I know I've screwed up with all the lying and the drinking.  I have my priorities straight now.  I know what I need to do to make your life and the kids’ lives better.”
“Marshall, I—"
“No, just listen to me.”  He held me tighter.  “I need you to listen to me.”
“I’ve heard this all before.”  Tears burned my eyes, but I fought against them.  
There had been too many tears.  
         I can’t do this anymore.
“You need to know how much I love you.  Tell me that you know how much I love you.”  
He sounded desperate.  He knew how oddly he acted on our vacation with the disappearing acts, the pacing on the beach, the refusing to dive, the sleeping all day instead of playing with the kids, the erratic moods.  
“I know you love me, Marshall.  How many chances do I give you?  How many times do we need to have the same discussion?  Nothing ever changes.  I love you, too, will always love you.”  I moved my hands over his chest.  I loved the way he felt.  Solid. Warm. “I just can’t be married to you anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
He nodded and stepped away.  His blond head bent, he leaned his hip against the dryer.  
I struggled against the urge to touch his hair. I fisted my hands at my sides. 
        I can't touch him.  He breaks my heart over and over and over again.   
“Here.”  He handed me a crumpled note from the back pocket of his long shorts. “I need you to read this.  I wrote it on the plane home.”
I didn't want to read it.  I stared at it suspended from his shaking fingers.  “What is it?” 
“Just read it.  If you read that and still want me to go, then I’ll go.”
We stared at each other in the small space.  A decade worth of hurt filled the void between us.  A decade worth of love whispered in my heart.  
I took the note, but I didn't really understand what he wanted to say.  He wrote of losing his way, of being confused, of loving the kids and me with all his heart, of wanting us to have a happy life, of feeling like a failure, of knowing how the lies have destroyed my trust, of wanting to turn it around, of needing serenity, of being tired of fighting, of wondering if heaven looks like the clouds outside the plane window. He promises to do whatever it takes to make us happy.  He wrote...God, grant me the serenity
I've heard all of this before.  Maybe not these exact words, but some version of them over the course of time.  
(continued with Part 3 tomorrow)

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

The Last Dance (Part 1)

The Last Dance (Part 1 of 4)
an original short story by Amber Lea Easton
(a story about what ifs, longing and regret.)  

       Too bad it was a fucking holiday weekend…if this were any other Monday, I'd file for divorce as soon as humanly possible. I only needed one more day…one more day until I could end this roller-coaster hell ride we called a marriage.  One more day.  We were all out of second-chances.  
I ripped a napkin to shreds as I watched Marshall unload luggage from the back of the SUV.  Despite the anger I felt, the sight of him still took my breath away.  And therein dwelt the fundamental problem:  I knew that I would always love him, divorced or not.  Marshall defined the term 'handsome devil'.   
“Dad said we can plant trees this afternoon,” Sam said with a grin on his 7-year old face.  “I already have some places picked out in the yard.”
“Good, sweetie,” I answered, mind swirling with decisions yet to be made.  
“Mommy, can I keep my braids in until school starts again?”  Vanessa asked, her blonde head streaming with Caribbean braids that dance along her shoulders as she bounced around the kitchen.
“Sounds good.”  
I tried to grin back at him when he walked into the house carrying our bags.  I tried…but from the look in his eyes, he knew I faked it.  Our trip to the Bahamas had been awkward, to say the least.  So much for trying to save our family at an all-inclusive beach resort.   
“Can you help me with these?” he asked, blue eyes full of sadness.
I hated seeing him so sad all of the time.  It didn't matter what I did, what I said, how I looked, how the kids behaved, how much money he made…sadness clung to him and sucked the energy from every room he entered.  I hated the sadness and resented him for not snapping out of it.  
I grabbed a bag and followed him to the laundry room.   God, he’s handsome.  The width of his shoulders, the long legs, the blond hair, the way he walked…he oozed sexiness.  Yet we hadn’t kissed…hadn’t really kissed in months.  I missed being kissed until I couldn't breathe, missed feeling safe in his arms, missed knowing what the hell was going inside his head.  
He dropped the bags in front of the dryer.  I leaned against the doorframe, effectively blocking him from exiting.
“You didn’t say much on the plane ride home,” I said.  
“There’s not much more to say, is there?”  Blue eyes met mine.  “I love you, Alyssa…but I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
And I melted like I always did when he looked at me like a lost puppy needing rescue.  I wanted to reach out and hold him but…been there done that too many times with no result.  Just more sorrow.  I was so tired of trying to fix him.  Ten years of in and out of rehab, of him falling down and me picking him up, of walking on egg shells, of loving him so desperately I no longer knew who I'd been before meeting him.  
“You need help, Marshall.”  I busied myself with unloading the kids’ bags, laundry falling around my feet, grains of white sand mixed in to the bundles.  I ignored the shaking of my hands.  
“I know I do.   I need you.”
His hands were on my shoulders.  
Damn it.  
His breath caressed the back of my head.  
I want…I wish…
“You need professional help, Marshall.”  I didn't give in.  I didn't lean back.  
         Good for me.  I'm strong. Immune.  
“C’mon…I love you so much.”  And there it was, the knowledge that he loved me as best as he knew how.  I understood that, but it wasn't good enough.  “I'm sorry.  Just tell me that there's hope.  I need to know there's hope.”
“I can’t tell you that.”  I moved away form his touch.  Some things are simply too difficult to bear. 
I know what I need to do.  Laundry, lunch…
“I need you to know how much I love you.”  He turned me in his arms and held me.  
And then we danced like we used to dance.  We moved in a circle to no music. Our feet tangled in discarded swim suits and shorts that still smelled like the ocean.  I held him because I liked holding him, relished feeling small against his chest, enjoyed the hardness of him beneath my cheek.  I wanted to keep dancing like this.  It was easier to pretend that we were happy when we were dancing, especially when we danced to no music at all.
(continued with Part 2 tomorrow)

Monday, November 28, 2011

For the Love of Quinn...a guest post by author Tammy Dennings Maggy

Today I'm hosting Author Tammy Dennings Maggy to Kisses, Caresses and Whispers in the Dark.  She's got moxie--which we all know I love!  Enjoy her interview with one of her favorite characters from, For the Love of Quinn, as well as an excerpt (adult content) below.  Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy! 

Book Trailer For the Love of Quinn

One of my favorite characters in For the Love of Quinn is Anthony Mancouso.  He’s Steve’s best friend and former right hand man and in fact was in love with him at one point.  He’s gone on to be a very successful business owner on his own, partnering with Steve to open a few shops.  Anthony has many talents that we will learn more about in For the Love of Quinn and the other books in my Now and Forever series.  Here is a glimpse at a conversation I had with him recently. 

Today I’m off to Pier 39 in San Franciso to visit a bit with my good friend Anthony Mancouso, owner of Anthony’s Aromas.  I’m ashamed to say I haven’t stopped in to have him develop a scent for me and he’s been open now for a little over a year.  This should be a lot of fun.  Besides getting a basket of goodies made up from the scent he comes up with for me, I get all the latest gossip on our friend Steve Eischer and his lady love, Quinn.
As I walked through the door of his shop, I was surprised by the fresh clean smell.  I was prepared to be assaulted by a wave of strong perfumes and musks competing for my attention.  You know the fog that can envelope you as you walk into the cosmetic area of any major department store?  Well, rest assured you won’t need fog lights to navigate through Anthony’s Aromas.  
“Well, look what the tide brought in!”  
I looked up from the display I was checking out to see my friend casually leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and flashing the smart ass smile I love so much.  The always impeccably dressed and tanned shop proprietor was even more handsome than the day we first met.  He shook his sandy blonde head as he walked over to me. I noticed right off he was wearing the diamond studs I sent him for Christmas last year.  Nothing but the best for my Anthony!  “Your shop is amazing!”
He pulled me into a bear hug that took my breath away.  “I was beginning to think you divorced me.  You’ve been keeping yourself locked away with your writing.  It’s about time you stepped away from your laptop.  I’ve missed you!”
“Really?  Rumor has it, you’ve replaced me with a new one.  Quinn’s her name right?  I tried not to act jealous, but Anthony saw right through that.
“Darlin’ I could never replace you.  Besides, you will love Quinn.  She’s just like you in so many ways, beautiful, forever busy, and she has the heart of not one, but two men.  Sound familiar?”
My face flushed.  This was going to be a fun afternoon!  Anthony took me to the first station in the store to get started on developing my very own scent and I started in with the questions.
Me:  So the woman who has Steve all in knots is also in love with another man?
Anthony:  Honey, you don’t know the half of it.  On the same night she met our Steve, she met Jacob Hartley.”
Me:  “Eric’s brother?” (I remembered meeting Eric the year before and briefly met his brother Jacob.  I could see why Quinn was torn between both men.  Holy shit!)
Anthony:  “The very same.  In fact, Jacob is more your type.  He’s the classic bad boy covered in tattoos and piercings.  Speaking of tattoos, Steve had one done too.  He’s got a portrait of Quinn on the left side of his chest.  Derek did that one.”
Me:  Derek did one of my tattoos too.  There’s another hottie for ya!  
Anthony:  Don’t get me started!  You know I’ve had a huge crush on that one for the last 8 years or so.  Did you know that Derek was adopted by Quinn’s family?  It’s such a sweet story, but one you will have to get directly from him.
Me:  You are such a tease, Anthony!  So what do you think of Quinn and Steve?
(Anthony grabbed several more vials of scents and placed them on the counter.  It looked like he was going to mix at least a dozen of them for me.  Hell if I knew how he was going to make them into something that didn’t stink to high heaven, but he knew what he was doing)
Anthony:  Stephen’s gorgeous emerald green eyes are sparkling again and he spends time living now instead of always in some meeting.  He hasn’t been that way since his first marriage and it was great to see him smile.  I missed that, especially after his illness.
Me:  That was a scary time for everyone, but he’s been healthy for the last 10 years, Anthony.  It’s time he got to enjoy life.  I’m happy he’s found someone he can share it all with.  
Anthony:  Quinn is perfect for him but she’s been through a hell of a lot in her life.  She’s come to let herself fall in love with Steve, but if he doesn’t tell her soon about his illness…
Me:  You think it could change things between them or is it the fact that Jacob is still in the picture that has you worried?
Anthony:  Good question, my friend.  I want everyone to be happy, but there is a lot more that has to play out between the three of them in order to get there.  I for one plan on being around to see what happens.  You game?
Me:  Of course!  I don’t envy Quinn one bit.  Having to choose between two men can tear you up inside, even if one is a billionaire.  The heart wants what the heart wants, even if you end up losing yourself in the bargain.
(Anthony hugged me tight to him and kissed my forehead.  I could see he was fighting tears.  Both of us have had our share of heart break over the years and finally both of us were in relationships with our own soul mates.)
Anthony:  Come on, darlin’.  Let’s turn these vials in to my technicians and have them get working on the formula for your scent and then you can tell me all about what you are writing now. 
Me:  Well, I’m working on the next books in the Now and Forever series…

An excerpt of the erotic romance For the Love of Quinn (adult content)
now available at 

As soon as the doors closed, he pinned her in the corner. “I’ve wanted to do this from the moment I saw you step out of the elevators tonight.” His lips touched hers once again, softly at first, and then after teasing her a little with his tongue, he dove right in, picking Quinn up at the waist and lifting her up so that she was sitting on the railing. His hand trailed up her thigh and under her dress. His fingertips gently teased her clit a bit, making her gasp, breaking their deep kiss. “I knew it. Your dress fits you like a glove. No way in hell you were wearing anything under it.”
“I’m glad you approve.” Quinn wrapped her legs around his waist as he picked her up off of the railing and carried her through the doors into his suite, the penthouse suite, no less! Now their lips and tongues battled each other for control, neither one of them willing to yield just yet. Quinn could feel his cock straining to get out of his pants and into her. Her pussy throbbed and cum already started to coat her inner thighs. She forced herself to come back to earth. “We need to slow down a second.”
Steve smiled again and her mind nearly went to mush. He put her back on her feet, keeping one hand on her waist, while the other pulled a condom out of his pocket. “Like the boy scouts say, always be prepared.” 
“I knew there was something I liked about you besides your killer smile.” She wrapped her arms around his neck tighter as his mouth crushed hers once again. She loved the feel of his hands on her body and the heat that zipped through her with every single touch and kiss. She wanted more, so much more.
“Quinn, I don’t know if I can wait much longer. I have to have you, baby.”
“What’s stopping you?” She bit his earlobe a little, and that was all the signal he needed. He lifted her up into his arms again and pinned her against the wall in the entryway. Quinn held on tight to his neck and shoulders while he unbuckled his pants, freeing up his huge cock. He ripped open the condom wrapper with his teeth, and before Quinn could catch her breath he nearly split her in two as he entered her. She was already hot and so wet that he slid in quickly. She was so surprised at his size that she dug her nails into his back a little too hard. Quinn didn’t think he minded one bit. He groaned as his cock filled her cunt completely, stroking every single inch of her. Her body shuddered wildly as the first orgasm hit her. She moaned as Steve broke their kiss, leaving her a bit breathless.
“Good god, your pussy is fucking fantastic. I can feel every single inch of you pulling me in.” He shifted positions so that he had her legs over his arms, and he spread her wider. He kept pounding her against the wall, thrusting deeper still. He felt so good stroking her and hitting every sensitive spot. Wave after wave of ecstasy ran through her. She came over and over again, her cum continuously squirting out of her and over Steve. “You’re so hot and wet. I can’t get enough of you.”
“Jesus Christ, your cock is so fucking big. Harder, baby, harder.” Quinn was lost in her own climax, and then Steve’s arms tightened around her as he groaned against her tits. His thrusts slowed, and he pulled back to look into her eyes. Both of them were panting trying to catch their breath. His cock was still buried deep inside of her and rock-hard. Now he kept eye contact as he moved in and out of her. He changed position again so that he had her wrapped around him and his hands on her ass, moving her up and down his shaft. Quinn straightened her legs and pointed her toes as a very powerful orgasm hit her, and she couldn’t hold back a scream. That did it for him. He came right along with her, their bodies shuddering together.
Steve leaned into her, a smile gradually forming on that gorgeous mouth of his. “Goddamn, woman. If this is any preview of what we will be doing together the rest of the night, I don’t know if I am going to be able to let you leave here in the morning.”
Quinn nibbled on his stubbly chin a bit before pulling his mouth back to hers. “How about you give me a tour of the rest of your place and we will just let things happen as they happen.” 
Steve moved both of them away from the wall but still kept his hands firmly on Quinn’s ass, letting her legs slowly slide down his body until her heels hit the floor again. “You better hang on to me for a little longer. I don’t know if I can walk normally just yet.”
He moved his fingers lightly up and down her bare back, sending shivers through her once again. “I don’t think that will be a problem at all, Quinn. You’ve put some kind of spell over me, and I can’t keep my hands off of you.”
“Well, your hands feel awfully good on my body, and so do your lips, your tongue, and that welcoming committee you have stuffed in your pants!” Good lord! Quinn had never fucked anyone with a cock that big, and he sure did know how to use it. Miranda was going to faint when she heard about this!

Learn more about Author Tammy Dennings Maggy on her webpages, 
In the honor of cyber-Monday, BUY her erotic romance novel, 
For the Love of Quinn, today at 

Sunday, November 27, 2011

An interview with Jon and Grace from Kiss Me Slowly (followed by an excerpt from the novel)

Setting:  Onboard The Wanderlust as the sun sets behind the Florida Keys.  The sea is calm.  The only sounds are the waves lapping against the hull, some Springsteen tunes coming from below deck and ice jingling against the sides of our glasses. 
Me:  Instead of talking about the diamond smugglers, embezzlement set-up, etcetera, I'd like to take this moment to talk about your history.  You two were high school sweethearts, right?  How'd that come about when you were from such drastically different backgrounds?

Jon:  Sailboat races every weekend in the Keys.  She sailed like a bat out of hell.  Reckless.

Grace:  He likes to say I was reckless because Jerry and I kicked his ass every weekend. (she laughs)  We used to have big bonfires on the beach after the races...celebrating our win, of course...and he and his brother Craig would show up.

Jon:  Those were some amazing nights...we got down and dirty in the sand more often than not.  She couldn't resist me.

Grace:  It was the other way around...he followed me around like a lost puppy until I gave in.

Jon: She likes to revise history.  Anyway, that's how me met...sailboat races, bonfires, making out against palm trees...

Me: And you were each other's first loves?

Grace: (She looks toward the islands in the distance and rests her glass of rum punch on her bare knee.)  Yeah, but what did we know about anything?  We made plans to sail off together when we turned 18...I showed up with all the money I had, a passport and naive heart full of big dreams.  It was raining...

Me: Did he show up?

Jon: Let's not talk about that. (He pulls a Miami Marlins baseball cap low over his eyes and stares into his drink.)  It's not something we like to rehash.

Grace:  Yeah, he showed up.  He said running off with me would ruin his life...that I was too poor, too wrong for him, that we'd end up with a kid before we were 20...that it had all been a lie...some summer time fun and that's it.  He left me standing on the dock like a fool.

Jon:  She likes to I said.  It was like it was...I was young and stupid...It was a long time ago.  We're all grown up now with bigger problems than sailing off on some adventure.

Grace:  You sailed anyway...alone.  (She finishes off her drink before looking at him.)  You're right, it doesn't matter. Happy endings are for fairy tales, I know that now.

Kiss Me Slowly book blub: 
Trapped in a set-up that could have him in jail or dead by Monday, Jonathan Alexander trusts no one in his inner circle.  It’s Saturday.  His only hope is Grace Dupont, the best forensic accountant in Miami.  But there’s a glitch with that idea. She's also his ex-girlfriend who would rather watch him drown than throw him a life vest.  Going to her feels desperate...because he is.  

Grace enjoys seeing Jonathan squirm.  On your knees boy, she thinks as he pitches for her help.  Always a sucker for the dark-haired-blue-eyed boys, she risks her precariously balanced life of secrets to help him.  Helping him slaps a target on her back--she's the key to proving his innocence and that's a bad, bad thing. 

Tangled up in whirlwind of conspiracy, murder, million dollar money trails and diamond smuggling, Jonathan and Grace flee to the sea to stall for time to prove his innocence.  Romance sizzles beneath Florida Keys’ sunshine.  Both scoff at happy endings.  Both doubt justice.  Both know each kiss could be their last.

An excerpt of Kiss Me Slowly

“I’ve thought about you over the years, too. Always wondered about you, hoped you were miserable and lonely.” She glanced up at the clouds dotting an otherwise flawless sky. “You were the first boy I ever went all the way with, in case you ever wondered.”
“Me, too.” He touched her shoulder, a light touch, but enough to burn her skin. “I had no idea what the hell I was doing.”
“Yeah, well, we were only seventeen. High school. What did we know about anything? Everything was so intense.” She looked over her shoulder at him.
The sea breeze had dried his hair in crazy disarray. The color of his eyes matched the sea. His various bandages, from his shoulder to his ripped up feet encased in water shoes, only made him more endearing. She refused to look at the scratches on his chest. 
“It’s pretty intense right now, too,” he whispered. “I don’t give a damn about what’s right or wrong and I don’t think you really do either.”
“Don’t start thinking you know me or what I’m thinking.” 
“Sunday night when you kissed me—”
“We kissed each other.”
“Whatever. I can’t stop thinking about it. And then yesterday morning on the boat. I could have kissed you all day. Wish I would have.” His finger stroked a line down her bare back. 
Her gaze focused on his mouth. Her skin shivered where his fingers touched. Sun warmed the back of her neck. And she decided to be honest.
“It would be so easy to say to hell with it all and wrap myself around you.”
“Easy. What a concept,” he said, his gaze locking with hers.
“There are things you don’t understand. Jerry—”
“What does Jerry have to do with whether or not we kiss each other? He’s not here.”
“No.” He put his finger over her lips. “Don’t call me Jonathan. Call me Jon Ryan or sailor boy. Don’t call me Jonathan.”
“You’re bad for me. Very bad for me.”
“You said we had a free day, so let’s just pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Just for today.” His hand curved over her hip, a finger strayed beneath the fabric of the bikini bottom. “And you always liked being bad. Still do, if I’m right.” 
“Jon, don’t.” She smoothed her hands down his biceps. 
“I know this is wrong. I know I shouldn’t want you so badly. I know we should be working, thinking, keeping our distance, feeling guilty for things out of our control”—his hands moved over the sides of her waist—“yet I cannot stop wanting to be inside you.”
“Don’t say that.” 
“It’s true. You want me, too. Deny it.”
“Jon.” This wanting burned inside her chest like a hot branding iron. “I want you, too. I want you so badly, but this is insane.”
“What are you really afraid of?” He kissed her shoulder as he untied the strings of the top. “Me? Jerry? The smugglers chasing us? The cops looking for me? All of the above?”
“No.” She kissed the side of his face. 
“Then what?” His mouth slid over hers. 
“Everything else.” 
Hands fisted in his hair, she opened her mouth to his. Hot. Moist. She knew it was wrong, realized she would miss him, understood they could never last beyond the next two days. Knowing all of that, she no longer gave a damn. 
He pushed her to her back, one hand on her breast and the other propped above her head. Their mouths merged in a sweet dance of longing and savoring. 
She needed his hands on her body, his mouth on her skin, and him inside of her. His mouth tugged on her breast. Teeth grazed her skin. Passion obliterated thought. 

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Breaking free of the computer

Being a writer is more than creating stories, working the craft, editing for pace and revising for clarity.  For me, being a writer is about living life, meeting people, developing relationships and breaking free of my comfort zone--which, to be honest, is what I call "my cave" located in the downstairs of my house. I won't develop much as a person if I stay hidden away in my cave chained to the computer--more than that, eventually, my stories will fall flat.

I make it a point to get out of the house despite the deadline looming on the horizon.  I recognized my out-of-balance lifestyle about six months ago when I realized that all I did was write, edit, parent, sleep, repeat every day.  All work and no play not only make Jack a dull boy, they make me a boring writer.

To avoid the rut, I've started taking road trips, with or without the kids, to places I've never been before.  The latest adventure led me to Santa Fe, NM and SW Colorado for five days.  I said no to the computer, loaded up a cooler, grabbed a map (yep, the old-fashioned kind because I wasn't sure about GPS down there), some snacks, the kids and off we went into the unknown.  Boy...not only did I open my mind as a person, I ended up with a notebook full of story ideas.

I've also started attending cultural functions in Denver that cost a bit more ticket-wise, but have repaid me with food for the mind and soul.

I go for walks, let my mind relax from social media chatter, and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other while enjoying the neighborhood.

I force myself--yes, I said 'force'--to exercise to reconnect with my body instead of constantly dwelling in my head.

As a writer, I need to look up from the keyboard and immerse myself in the life going on around me.  I write about multi-dimentional characters leading lives in a vivid world.  To do that successfully...I's imperative to live a full life myself.

Working from home is a blessing, I know.  I'm grateful that I make my living as a writer with freedom from a daily commute and a boss breathing down my neck.  It's easy, though, to get trapped in a routine of pajama pants, tweets, edits, writing projects, diet soda, and hours that pass without notice.  I simply need to give myself permission to hit "save" and "shut down" in order to embrace what's happening beyond my "cave" so that I'm a better, more well-rounded writer...and person.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Bella Italia!

Today I'm highlighting the work of author Jo Linsdell.  

What could be more romantic than Italy?  The ancient buildings...narrow roads...breathtaking views around every corner...the special Italian light that seems to give everything a golden hue...and the beautiful-too-sexy-too-cool-for-words Italians...well, that's a given.
But, as a tourist, have you ever felt that the phrases you've learned lead to more mockery than communication?  Have you ever stumbled over a too long and most likely too proper sentence to the exasperation of both you and the poor soul you're attempting to talk to?  (And, let's face it, when you're trying to soak up the beauty around you, the last thing you need is aggravation!)  Well, that's where Jo Linsdell's book, Italian for Tourists, comes in handy.

Born and raised in the UK, Jo moved to Rome with her husband in 2001 where they currently live with their two children. The idea for Italian for Tourists came after people told her she should write a book consisting of phrases tourists really need to know.

As a British transplant in Rome, Jo has adapted to the pace and energy of her adopted country.  She's worked in hostels, as a tour guide, taught English as a foreign language and now works full-time as a freelance writer.  When it comes down to knowing what tourists "need to know"....Jo knows and has put all of that knowledge into her book, Italian for Tourists, which is available at and at

Be good to yourself!
Article written by Amber Lea Easton

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Book Trailer for Kiss Me Slowly

As I've stated before, being a newbie in the publishing world has been an exhilarating experience for me.  The learning curve has been steep, but I keep amazing myself with each new accomplishment.  A few weeks ago, I heard about a "book trailer" and thought "what the hell is that?" Well, now I know.  It's actually pretty cool.  Thanks to my 13 year old son who showed me the ropes of iMovie, I let my creative juices flow.  

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Wetting the lips

Anticipation...the breath before the kiss...the sizzle of an accidental touch....eye contact that strips you naked even though you're across the room surrounded by a's all a part of the dance of sexual tension.

As an author who writes contemporary romantic suspense, sexual tension is as important to the story as the suspense plot.  Sure, I let them fool around here and there, but there's always a twist that delays their satisfaction--like a murder, psychological torture, dangerous secret, nutty ex, general get the idea.   Just like with the suspense plot that needs to keep the pages turning with one twist after another, it's my purpose as an author to make the characters squirm for as long as possible.  

Sexual tension is underrated, both in life and in writing.  There needs to be a realistic build up that doesn't cross the line into frigidity or hostility.  After all, both in reality and in fiction, the point is to fuel interest not kill it in its tracks.  When writing sexual tension, it's important to treat it like you do the natural progression of the plot.  Keep it real, don't force it, let it flow.  (That works with real life, too.) 

Once the time comes for consummation--KaBoom!  Light that baby on fire.  Don't hold back.  The point of the build up is satisfaction.  Can the tension remain after the big bang?  You bet, but it requires a bit more effort.  Just be conscience of that.  

Flirting is good for the soul--in real life and in writing--yet seems to be forgotten after the botta-bing of an orgasm.  Seduction is a sensuous game that should be savored, no matter what stage the relationship is in.  That's what romance is all about--wetting the lips with a teasing kiss, whispering a promise of what's to come and keeping up with the twists and turns that come along.