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Saturday, July 30, 2011

Absolute Decision by Megan Slayer

“I almost forgot how wonderful you are.”

Ned tilted his head to kiss her and explored the soft skin of her back with the pads of his fingers. “I want you to come home with me tonight.”

He handed the valet attendant his ticket and pulled Andie closer. He couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted to kiss her, maul her, own her, right there in the parking lot… maybe even forever.

Ned removed his black tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around her thin body. The air was unseasonably warm that December evening, but he knew the chill would freeze her solid soon enough.

He didn’t care if he didn’t know her well; he was a territorial son of a bitch and not about to share. She was for his eyes only.

Shivering slightly, Andie curled into his body. She glanced up at him with heavy-lidded, smoky eyes and a pleased grin.

“What?” he asked and returned her grin.

With her arms not yet in the sleeves, she reached behind her head and undid the clasp holding the top of her dress in place. As she brought her hands back down, she slid her fingers over her bare breasts. Sheer luck, determination, and Ned’s quick reflexes held the jacket in place around her shoulders.

He wrapped his arm tighter around her to prevent onlookers and used his other hand to caress the silky soft flesh of her breast. His lips grazed her jaw and earlobe.

“We need to get back to your apartment fast,” she whispered and parted her crimson lips slightly.

Ned’s fingers caught on the ring in her puckered right nipple. A matching ring adorned her left one as well. He raised a brow in delicious surprise. “Nice.”

She tipped her head back in pleasure and closed her eyes. “Tug.”

His hand abandoned her breasts to cup the back of her head. He lowered his lips to hers for a crushing kiss. “Let’s keep this up where there aren’t so many on-lookers,” he said in a primal, claiming voice. “I want you… bad, good, and every other way possible.”

When the attendant returned, Ned covered her taut breasts with the jacket and opened the car door for her. Andie grinned and slid onto the seat.

Ned crossed around the hood and settled himself behind the wheel. “Ready?”

She nodded.

“Come here,” he asked in a commanding tone and held his arm open.

She slid over as far as the seatbelt would allow and rested her head on his shoulder. Her hand resumed its exploration of his lap and groin. He clenched his hand on the steering wheel and prayed they’d make it back to the apartment in one piece. He pulled to a stop in front of the building. “You’re mine.”

“All yours.” A wicked grin curled her lips and she glanced at both the door and his lap before gazing into his eyes. She licked her lips slowly, with teasing movements.

Blood surged to Ned’s groin. He helped her out of the car, locked it and led her to the elevator. “You’re an addiction,” he rumbled in her ear as they entered the car. “I promise to satisfy you tonight and cook breakfast in the morning before we satisfy each other all afternoon.”

Andie dropped the coat and leaned against the wall of the elevator car. She released her hair from the barrette and shook it down over her shoulders. One arm went over her head to slide down the wall, while the other fondled her breast.

“Do you like what you see?” She pinched her nipple.

Ned moved to cage her body between his strong arms. “I’d be dead not to,” he growled and claimed her neck with searing hot kisses.

She moved her hands down to caress the growing bulge in his pants. “You make me think things I have no right to think about.”

The bell rang signaling Ned’s floor and jolted the couple back to reality. Bending to kiss her breasts, he picked up the coat and covered her body.

Ned opened the door to his apartment and ushered her inside. “It’s not much, but it's home.” Without giving her time to consider leaving, he crushed her against the door. “I can’t wait any longer,” he gasped and hiked up her skirt. His voice took on a low, primal quality he barely recognized. “I need to feel you.”

He found the zipper at the hip of her dress and tugged. Soon the garment pooled at her feet, leaving her naked except for her spike heeled sandals.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered and knelt before her. “And you taste perfect.” Ned hooked her right leg over his shoulder and began to tickle her clit with his tongue. One hand snaked up to grasp her breast. Andie shivered.

“Do you like this, Andie? Tell me you like it. Tell me you love it.” His right hand kneaded her ass.

A shudder ripped through her body. “Yes,” she hissed and tangled her fingers in his hair.

“What about this?” He slipped a finger into her moist depths. Her inner muscles clenched around his digit. Holy fuck it felt good.

“Oh, Ned,” she moaned and bucked against his skilled tongue. He slipped another finger into her pussy and stroked intently.

“Yes, Doll. Come for me,” he coaxed and increased his rhythm. “Let it wash over you and come for me.”

“Oh,” she squealed. Ned suckled on the sweet release of her body until Andie crumbled in a boneless heap next to him. With heavy-lidded eyes, she stared at him. “I’ve never had an orgasm like that before.”

Ned grinned. “Good thing I plan on practicing all night long.”

He carried her sated, naked body to the bedroom and flicked on the table lamp. Deposited on the bed, Andie curled up on the bed and and wrapped the comforter around her body.

“Doll?” He toed out of his shoes and tossed his wallet onto the nightstand.

“I’m waiting for you to be as naked as I am,” she replied and slipped out of the comforter. “Strip.”

She slid her hand along the line of buttons on his dress shirt and button by button releasing him. “I’ve waited too long for this,” she purred and flicked open the fasteners. Andie bent to take one of his pebbled nipples into her mouth. “Umm,” she hummed and flicked the sensitized skin with her tongue. “I need to explore.” She dropped to her knees in front of him.

Explore away, baby… Ned drew in a sharp breath as she popped open the fly of his pants. Andie tugged his trousers and boxers down his thighs, releasing his cock. He stood up to remove the clothing and kick off his socks, but she stilled his hands.

Her eyes lit up and she licked her lips once more before running her tongue slowly and tantalizingly along the vein. He gripped the back of her head and threaded his fingers in her hair. “Yes, Doll… take it all in the sweet mouth of yours. Fuck, yes.”

She teased his dick for a bit longer before kissing the knobby head. “You’re good, too.” She slid his length to the back of her throat.

“Yes,” he hissed. Inadvertently he tugged her hair to gain better access and pump furiously. What he thought would detract only spurred her on all the more. She stroked the sensitive skin of his sack as her mouth worked on his dick, prolonging the sensation and build-up to his orgasm. “Oh, God, I can’t wait any longer,” he moaned and clenched his fists.

Andie took him once more to the back of her throat and greedily devoured his come.

Doll, you are a dream come to life. His his semi-hard cock slid out of her mouth. I could love you, Andie.

She rose from her knees and slid along the length of his body until she faced him, skin to skin. Her hair fell around her face as she curled her body around his. He stroked her hair and pulled the comforter over their slick, heated bodies. “Stay forever.”

“Sounds perfect.” She kissed his neck and closed her eyes. Before long, her breathing slowed and she was fast asleep.

Ned wrapped his arms around her body and held her tight. He wanted everything. He brushed his cheek on her forehead and replayed the events of the past twenty-four hours in his mind.

Am I in love with her?

Silly thoughts began to cloud his mind and he tried in vain to tamp them down. Did Andie care about money? Would his job push her away, too? Then it occurred to him – he didn’t know her last name.

So we have a lot of talking to do in the morning over—no—after breakfast. Nibbling on her body would be the perfect morning meal. He closed his eyes and gave in to sleep. No doubt, he’d fallen in love.

About the author: When she's not writing the stories in her head, Megan Slayer can be found luxuriating in her hot tub with her two vampire Cabana boys, Luke and Jeremy. She has the tendency to run a tad too far with her muse, so she has to hide in the head of her alter ego, but the boys don't seem to mind. When she's not obsessing over her whip collection, she can be found picking up her kidlet from school. You can visit her by going to her blog:

Author Interview: Victoria Cannon

Whipped Cream is pleased to bring you Victoria Cannon, whose Child of Fallen Angels was released from Dark Roast Press. It is a fictional account of gray magic and I asked Victoria to tell us a little about it.

Careful what you wish for...

When Diana discovers the world of magic, her wishes don't go quite as planned. Each wish ultimately comes true in some shape or form, but not without a price. Leaving a trail of people in her path, Diana searches for true happiness within love.

Diana's first lover, Amy, introduces her to this new world, but Amy warns Diana that a love spell is not something she should try because true love, after all, should conquer all without any interference from magic. Amy's failure to adhere to her own advice causes a path of destruction. When circumstances lead Diana to try one anyway, Diana's world now turns upside down as well. Innocent people, however, get caught up in Diana's circle of disaster. With Diana's life now on the line too, Diana soon finds out if true love is really able to conquer all.
Victoria grew up in the New Orleans area before relocating to Maryland, but still considers herself very much a N'awlins girl.

"How do you personally distinguish between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography?" I wondered.

"Pornography lacks a good storyline. With erotica/erotic romance, there is still an intriguing story even if all the sex scenes were taken out of it," she explained. "Erotica is explicitly sexual literature. The focus is more about the sexual adventures or life of one person rather than a relationship between two people. Erotic romance focuses more a particular relationship or love interest. It has the 'happy ending' we all wish we had."

In fact, for her own stories, she holds herself to the standard that the story has to be able to stand on its own without the graphic sex scenes. But when it comes to her personal life?

"Sometimes you just want to fuck and there isn't necessarily anything wrong with that," she told me.

She knows when her own work is good when she needs either a cold shower or her lover next to her at multiple points throughout the story. She also likes hands on research.

"I'm a kinesthetic learner," she explained.

When it comes to what the public believes about erotica, Victoria thinks that it's underestimated how much people read it and enjoy it.

"I think it is slowly coming out of the shadows," she told me, "as more people start to embrace it and talk openly about it."

I asked her how she started writing erotica.

"I won't say any names, but basically the most beautiful man in the world built up a lot of sexual aggression in me and I needed an outlet before I exploded... Circumstances surrounding our lives prevented us from ever acting out on each other, but that's okay... I'll find him in the next life."

He also sent her the best text she ever got. "It simply read XXX. If only his tongue could have gone through the phone too..."

X is now her favorite letter.

Victoria doesn't limit her writing to just erotica. She has a non-erotic short story published once, with a theme of how a broken road can lead you to some of the best people.

"I didn't find it challenging to write at all," she said. "I like writing for different audiences or about different things. It keeps life interesting."

" What does your family think of your writing?" I asked. "Do they read it?"

"Hell yeah! My mom is ready to collaborate with me on some erotic stories. My children can read it in about ten years. I write a wide variety of stuff, though, so my family reads things off and on. When I was little, I use to send old fashioned letters via the post office to all my cousins and aunts. Writing has always been a big part of who I am even as a small child, so my family has always seen me as their little writer."

Her writing career has evolved as a way of dealing with life and communicating with others.

"It came from a lot of pain, loneliness, disappointment, education, humor, and dreams," she said.

On a personal note, if Victoria could be anyone she wanted, she would choose to be herself, "but nationally recognized as Zane/Noir's archrival when it comes to topping ebook sales," she said.

Victoria has three children, with a pair being full term twins. She told me she just paid $10,000 for a new fake belly button as a result of her pregnancy. It's no wonder, then, that if she had a pierce a body part she would choose her new belly button.

"Some people notice eyes. Other people notice asses," she explained. "I always notice stomachs first. Abs are very sexy!"

In men, give her the bad boys over the preppies.

"Give me the men with the long hair and tattoos and the felony record! And nice abs don't hurt either!"

For eating off those nice abs?

"Whipped cream, so you can lick it out the creases."

"What about other body parts?" I wondered.

"It depends. Sometimes I want chocolate. Sometimes I want strawberries. Being from New Orleans, I should try gumbo just for the hell of it one day. Sometimes a drizzle of wine running down a hot man's chest is fun to follow with your tongue."

She's willing to try any food once.

"You'd be surprised - the stuff that looks like it is the worse is actually the best. Sometimes I find the same concept with men. The ones you are less attracted to initially become the better lovers over time."

She can easily tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi and, with her being a Southern girl at heart, I was not surprised at her preference.

"Pepsi stinks," she said bluntly. "Coke has more of a fizz to it, and it tastes better. Even the Coke aftertaste is better than Pepsi. Who drinks a Pepsi Icee? It has to be Coke. Case closed."

"What is your strangest habit?"

"I'm constantly checking that I turned the faucet water off. Even with the OCD, I have flooded the bathroom twice in my life. Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts and just forget to turn the cold water off with the hot water."

When she's not writing, she loves to walk.

"I'm a walk-o-holic, which is why at 110 pounds I was mad as hell that three doctors said I still needed a tummy tuck," she told me.

She never paints her toenails, because she's fortunate enough to have toenails and fingernails that naturally look professionally manicured and she sees no reason to cover them up.

Finally, I asked Victoria, "If you could give a new writer one piece of advice, what would it be?"

"Do not give up! For every rejection letter, find something that you can improve. Writing is a lifelong journey. Even the best can always be better."

You can keep up with Victoria on Facebook,

Friday, July 29, 2011

Friday Spotlight: Silvia Violet

For my final dinner with a hero, I’ll be cooking for Marc Devlin, captain of Shifter’s Station. Marc grew up in a coastal Terran town and often laments that he can’t get good Terran seafood on his remote space station. Tender, melt in your mouth scallops are his favorite so I’ll make those, coconut couscous, and roasted asparagus. We’ll finish the meal with a dense piece of cheesecake with cherry topping.

I love these seared scallops from Alton Brown.

Coconut milk gives couscous a delicious creamy flavor.

Roasted Asparagus: Break off tough ends of asparagus stalks. If you hold the stalk in the middle and snap the end with the other hand, it will usually break in the right place. Place the stalks on a foil-line baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with coarse salt. Place under the broiler for approximately 10 minutes or until they start to brown and are tender.

This cherry cheesecake is amazing!

Excerpt from Book 1 of the Shifter’s Station Collection

The commander cut off whatever Captain Devlin was going to say. "I have the ability to probe your mind to determine if you're telling the truth. And if you are lying, I can compel the truth from you."

Larissa studied him for a moment. He seemed sincere and somewhat dismayed by the captain's brusque manner. "Do it."

She felt pressure on her head, as if someone were mashing the heel of their hand against her forehead. Then the pressure turned to pain. It grew sharper until it felt like a needle was boring into her skull.

She felt tension radiating from Adesta. "Stop fighting it."

"I... can't. I don't --"

Then the pain spread as if her skull had cracked. She fell to her knees, panting. The world began to go black. But just before she passed out, the pain disappeared.

"Fires of hell, she's strong."

The captain snorted. "Did you get through?"

"Yes, she's telling the truth."

Thank the gods. They would have to let her go now. Larissa heard the men speaking, but they sounded very far away. A dull pounding still echoed in her head. Nothing like the tearing pain of the scan, but she still wasn't sure she could stand.

Then she felt a hand on her arm. It was the commander. She wanted to refuse his assistance, but she didn't want to be on her knees in front of the captain. He was arrogant enough without her prostrating herself like a slave.

When the commander helped her to her feet, she stepped away and forced herself to focus on Devlin. His dark eyes were narrow and cold. "Who taught you to shield your thoughts?"

"My boss."

Devlin raised his brows. "You need this ability often on cargo runs?"

"When you take these kinds of jobs, you do."

He laughed. "I suppose you are right. Federated Transport isn't exactly a legitimate business."

"And yours is?"

Adesta's lips curled into a wicked smile. "You seem to be losing your touch, Captain. You usually have them trembling in their boots by now."

Larissa just managed to keep from rolling her eyes. The captain might be one delightfully put together man, but she had no intention of rolling over for him. "Can I go now?"

Devlin scowled. "No."

"The commander has established my innocence."

"He has established that you were unaware that the weapons were faulty. But I still have one dead crewman and several more injured. Someone has to pay."

"Yes. That someone is my bastard of a boss."

"But he's not here, and you are."

"Captain." The warning glare in the commander's eyes gave Larissa hope he might convince his superior to let her go.

“She stays."

Larissa's heart pounded. "You can't be serious."

He gave a cold smile. "I'm always serious."

Larissa clasped her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. "You can't just keep me here."

"I can do anything I damn well please."

"But --"

The captain stepped toward her. She stabbed her nails into her palms, hoping the pain would dull her fear and help her hold her ground.

Devlin grasped the single braid that hung down her back and jerked her head to the side. "I am the law here. No one questions what I do. If I wanted to shove you out an airlock, that's exactly what I'd do. No one would dare protest."

She held her breath, and commanded her suddenly rubbery legs to keep her upright.

He let her go and stepped back. "Fortunately for you, I have something far more pleasant in mind as repayment for your crimes."

Larissa's lungs burned, but she couldn't seem to fill them with air. She forced herself to look him in the eye. "I have no intention of letting you punish me for a crime I didn't commit."

Adesta smirked. "I like her spirit."

The captain stared at her intently. "So do I. The spirited ones are so much more fun to break."

Larissa's heart hammered against her chest. She knew her eyes were wide and her fear shone all too plainly. She felt like a rabbit cornered by a wolf -- a big bad wolf with plans to eat her.

Now why the hell did that thought make her body feel hot and tight? She was so damn wet she'd likely soaked through her flight suit. What was wrong with her?

Devlin took a long, deliberate inhale. "Mmm. I think she likes us more than she wants us to know."

Shit! The last thing she needed was for him to be aware of how she was responding to them. She needed to convince them to let her go. But before she could think of anything to say, Devlin's lips curled up in a wicked smile.

"Since you seem so interested in the issue of fairness, why don't we strike a bargain?"

"What bargain would that be?" Larissa mentally cursed the quaver she heard in her voice.

His smile widened. "I will spend the next two hours convincing you that you want to stay. If you can resist, you go free. If you can't, you agree to remain on the station as my servant for the next month."

Larissa took a deep breath. Her initial reaction was to tell him to go to hell, but something told her this might be her only way off the station. "How will you convince me to stay?"

"That's my secret, but you have my word you will come to no harm."

"Why should I trust you?"

The captain's face froze, and a sound too like an animal's growl rose from his chest.

Larissa glanced at Adesta. He shook his head. "I wouldn't go down that road if I were you."

"Fine. If I were to lose, which I have no intention of doing, how would you expect me to serve you?"

The captain's smile returned instantly. "With every last inch of your naked body."

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Thursday Spotlight: Silvia Violet

I’ve invited panther shifter Conner Langley over for dinner. Connor, one of the heroes of Accommodating Desire, grew up eating whatever was put in front of him, usually something pre-packed and flavorless. But after taking the job as Ian Hadley’s security chief and becoming Ian’s lover, he’s been developing more sophisticated tastes in food. One night, early in their relationship, Ian surprised Connor with dinner. They had tuna steaks and Connor fell in love that night. So I’ll help him reminisce by serving tuna steaks, sesame kale, sweet potato fries, and apple butterscotch tart.

These pepper-crusted tuna steaks are incredible.

Sesame Kale

1 bunch curly kale
2 t sesame seeds
1T olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
2t tamari
1T rice wine vinegar
1T maple syrup
1t sesame seed oil

Toast the sesame seeds in a hot, dry skillet until fragrant and slightly brown then set aside. Chop or tear the kale leaves into small pieces. Stir together tamari, vinegar, syrup and sesame oil. Heat oil and saute garlic one minute. Add kale and tamari mix. Saute until kale is very wilted. Top with sesame seeds.

Sweet Potato Fries – Cut four large sweet potatoes into strips lengthwise. Place the strips on a foil-lined baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and cumin. Toss to thoroughly coat. Bake at 450F for approximately 30 minutes or until tender. Stirring occasionally.

I discovered this recipe for Apple Butterscotch Tart after going apple picking and now make it every chance I get.

Excerpt from Accommodating Desire

Ian Hadley opened the door to the reception area for the Alkestis offices. A Vindolesian with the characteristic grass green hair and onyx eyes burst out of Ms Vasilia’s office. “Stupid bitch,” he yelled as he threw a nano tablet at the receptionist, narrowly missing her head.

“If that slut thinks she can keep us out of her fucking market, she’s even stupider than I thought.”

Ian stepped into his path. “You would be wise to retract that last statement.”

The Vindo shoved at Ian’s chest. “Fuck off, asshole.”

In one swift motion Ian drew his plasma gun and shoved the man up against the wall, weapon pressed under his chin. “If I or one of my employees hear you refer to Ms. Vasilia like that again, those will be the last words you ever speak.”

“Jeez, lighten up man. You fucking her or something?” Ian shoved the weapon harder against the man’s chin. The Vindo made a choked gasp. “Fine. Fine. I’ll lay off your girlfriend.”

“I respect the women I do business with, and I will defend their honor even if that means some asshole has to die. Don’t let me see you on this station again.”

Ian stepped back and the Vindo scrambled to the door and disappeared down the corridor.


Lucy Vasilia electronically signed a document and folded her nano tablet before looking up at Ian Hadley. She made a final, slow perusal of his well-toned physique, suppressing a sigh that their meeting had come to an end. “That should conclude our business. I’ve sent a copy of the contract to your ship’s computer.”

He smiled, a slow, sensuous curve of his lips. “Excellent.” He made no move to leave her office.

“Did you have further questions?” Lucy managed to keep her tone professional though he made her want to purr.

“I do have one question.” He paused, his bright blue eyes hot and unrelenting. “Would you like company?”

Lucy titled her head and stared at him. “For what?”

His smile deepened. “When I fuck you.”

Lucy sucked in her breath. “Presumptuous, aren’t you?”

“I’ve seen your eyes drifting down to my cock. You want this as much as I do.”

She stared pointedly at his crotch. His erection threatened to burst one of the seams of his expensive suit. “You certainly are making a rather impressive display.”

He smirked. “Indeed.”

“I assume you’d like your Head of Security to join us?”

“Ah, so you did do your homework.”

“I never meet with anyone I haven’t researched thoroughly. You hired Langley at Captain Devlin’s suggestion.” It was a statement, not a question.

Ian nodded. “Devlin said to tell you hello by the way.”

“Did he indeed? I take it Chief Langley isn’t fully human.”

Ian shook his head. “He’s not, but I have the impression you won’t be disturbed by his particular needs.”

She grinned. “I’m not as fragile as I look.”

“I never thought you were. So what will it be? How much hard use are you game for today?”

She nearly choked. “I can take whatever you and your lover want to give.”

“You may live to regret that statement. When?”

She held up a finger signaling him to wait and pressed a button on her desk unit, paging her receptionist. “Cynthia.”

“Yes, Director?”

“Cancel my next two appointments.”

Ian raised his brows, studying her curiously.

A sharp voiced erupted from the comm. Unit. “With all due respect, Director, the delegation from-“

“My business with Mr. Hadley is taking longer than expected. I will simply have to reschedule.”

“Yes, Director.” Cynthia sounded resigned.

Lucy looked at Ian, fighting the urge to tremble. The sexual heat in his eyes was devastating. She’d never slept with a business associate, and she’d certainly never cancelled an appointment so she could get a quick fuck in her office.

Then again, she couldn’t recall a man who’d ever turned her on as hard and fast as Ian did. She’d glimpsed him with his lover as she’d headed to dinner the night before. Connor Langley was a glorious mix of beauty and pure animal power. He moved with a panther’s grace, but she had no doubt he could kill most men one-handed. She’d been working her ass off. She deserved a treat. “Call Langley now.”

He pressed a button on his wrist unit. “Langley, you’re needed in the Director’s office.”

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“No, we are simply in need of a . . . consultation.”

“I will be right there, sir, ” Langley responded.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Wednesday Spotlight: Silvia Violet

Today I’ll be cooking dinner for the darkly sexy Kajinek, hero of the recently released Seduction of the Captain . Since his self-imposed exile, Kajinek has missed the spicy, aromatic cuisine of his home planet, Lalatia. I thought he’d enjoy Indian food so I’m going to make him an Indian feast including tandoori chicken, chick pea curry, naan, raita and kheer.

I love this recipe for Tandoori chicken made on the grill.

I make Naan using the basic bread recipe from Artisan Bread in Five Minutes A Day.

Raita, a cooling yogurt dish is a great accompaniment to spicy food.

Silvia’s Husband’s Chick Pea Curry

2T oil
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic minced, or more to taste
1T curry
1T tomato paste
1 15oz can chick peas, drained
1/2T lemon juice
½ t salt

Heat oil. Saute onion until slightly browned. Add garlic and cook 1 min. Add curry and tomato paste and cook 2 min more. Add chick peas, liquid, and lemon juice, salt, and pepper to taste. Cook 10 minutes or until chick peas are soft and flavorful. Serve over basmati rice.

Kheer is an Indian rice pudding.

Excerpt from Seduction of the Captain

Kaj opened the door of his resort-class suite and nearly stumbled as a heady female scent hit him with tangible force. He’d yet to probe the mind of the woman who’d interrupted his quiet afternoon, but her submissive needs screamed at him, begging him to take notice. His cock hardened instantly.

Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a braid that reached her waist. He fought the urge wrap it around his hand and crush her against him. Her skintight flight suit left little of her body to his imagination. Her muscles tensed under his gaze, and her green-gold eyes studied him suspiciously. She reminded him of a feline preparing to spring. He could smell her desire. Apparently he was affecting her as much as she affected him.

“Kajinek of Lalatia?”

He nodded, not sure he could keep the predatory growl out of his voice.

“I’m Captain Saida Alexander of the Allied Mercenary Corporation ship the Ascendant. I’ve come to offer you a job.”

Kaj smiled. He’d heard of Captain Alexander. She was well respected as a hard-ass leader who always accomplished her mission objective. For a captain of her standing to show up unannounced at his personal quarters, she must be desperate for his help. This must be his lucky day. “Do come in.”

He pressed at the edges of her impressive mental shields and gleaned just enough information to confirm what was already clear to him. While he doubted anyone else realized it, Captain Alexander longed to find a man strong enough to dominate her. She was desperate for the release she could never find with a partner who refused to test the limits of her strong will.

He’d not met a woman this compatible for his needs since leaving Lalatia. And he wasn’t about to let her get away. Before this day ended, she would be his.

“Have a seat, Captain.” He gestured toward the plush chairs in the small seating area near the window, which overlooked the station garden. “I’ll order us some refreshments.”

The sexy captain moved through his quarters with silent, controlled grace. He suppressed a shudder of anticipation as he imagined how she would move under him as he thrust deep in her body. If he didn’t watch it, he wasn’t going to be able to focus on the business at hand. He’d take whatever job she was offering, but he doubted she’d like his terms.

He knew his smile must be particularly predatory when her eyes widened. By Varin, she was going to be a feast. “Would you like some coffee?”

She still looked wary, but now he saw a hint of a smile. “Real, honest-to-God coffee?”

He laughed. “Of course.”

“Yes, please.”

He walked to his comm unit and pressed down the button that connected him with the resort concierge. “Please send up coffee and an assortment of pastries immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Captain Alexander smiled, briefly losing her controlled exterior and looking almost girlish. “You needn’t go to the trouble, but I do appreciate it. I haven’t tasted real coffee in months.”

Her joy at this simple gesture stirred something in him even stronger and more potent than lust. Hearing her cry out his name as he whipped her ass would be delicious. But satisfying her enough to bring that smile to her face might feed something more than physical hunger in him. The thought unnerved him but made him no less determined to have her.

He sat in the chair facing hers. “So you’re in need of a pilot?”

The captain nodded. “The last pilot I hired proved unsatisfactory. We have a job in three days. I’d like you in the pilot’s chair.”

“What is this job?” His sensitive ears heard her pulse accelerate. What was she up to?

“We will act as escort for three ships intent on sailing through the Rebel-controlled sector of Quadrant 16. They’ll appear to be private cargo ships, but they’ll be manned by Imperial Intelligence agents.”

Kaj snarled. “I don’t do Imperial jobs.”

Captain Alexander arched a brow and held his gaze. The delicious smell of her fear belied her confidence. “I’ve heard you’ll take any job as long as the price is right.”

He gestured at the opulent room. “Does it look like I’m in need of work?”

“Lovely as all this is, you don’t strike me as a man who likes to sit on his ass. I think you need to fly. I think you need the rush of danger.”

He smiled, knowing she could see the swirl of orange and yellow flames in his eyes, a sure sign of a Lalatian’s anger or lust. “I do enjoy a thrill, but I can get that right here. You seem like a rather dangerous woman.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. The scent of fear deepened.

The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of coffee. Kaj was thankful for the distraction. His cock was harder than a steel rod, and he was close to pinning Captain Alexander to the wall and taking exactly what he wanted. His lack of control was appalling, but she was doing things to his libido that made him feel like a boy with his first trainer.

He took the tray from the delivery bot and poured coffee for the captain. As he handed her the mug, he let his fingers brush hers. He was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath.

The contact distracted her, and he felt her fear ease, supplanted in part by lust. He couldn’t help but smile as he sat down, taking a sip of the delicious, strong coffee he’d grown addicted to.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Tuesday Spotlight: Silvia Violet

Yesterday I made dinner for Jason Fleetfoot, hero of Sex on the Hoof . Today I’ll be feeding his sister’s lover, Officer Wolf Savage, hero of Savage Wolf . Wolf is a alpha werewolf who likes to eat like a man’s man. In his wolf form, he only eats raw meat, but as a human he can handle a rare steak or a hamburger grilled until it’s no longer bleeding. He’s even been known to eat a vegetable or two as long as they’re flavored with meat. Bacon and ham hocks will be your friends if you are cooking side dishes for Wolf. And dessert? After a long day’s work at the precinct, he’s capable of putting away a whole cake or pie in one sitting. So for tonight’s dinner, I’ll be serving Wolf country style pork ribs, collards cooked with bacon, mashed potatoes, and chocolate cake.

These crock pot Country Style Ribs are easy to prepare and so delicious. They’ve become part of our regular dinner rotation.

Collards with bacon can be found at Simply Recipes, one of my favorite food blogs.

Silvia’s Mashed Potatoes

10-12 small red-skinned potatoes, cut in quarters, (I often leave skins on but you can remove them.)

½ t salt (or more to taste)

4T butter

2T plain yogurt (could substitute buttermilk)

approximately ½ cup milk

Boil potatoes until easily split with fork. Drain water. Add salt, butter, yogurt, and milk. Mash or use an immersion blender until they are well-blended and as creamy as you like them. Add milk if needed.

This is my favorite recipe for chocolate cake.

Excerpt from Savage Wolf :

I’m Wolf, Officer Aidan “Wolf” Savage. I’m a werewolf. But unlike most of my kind these days, I’m one of the good guys even if I do scare the hell out of most people the first time they meet me.

I’m a damned good cop. If I’m tracking a criminal, he doesn’t stand a chance of getting away. I love the chase, the take-down, the chance to be scary-as-hell, but there’s one thing I hate about this job: stakeouts.

That’s what tonight is all about, sitting in a hot, muggy car, eating doughnuts and watching the woods for signs of life. Man what I wouldn’t give for a beer right now. And a warm house and a warm woman. Ok, that train of thought isn’t doing a damn thing for me. Because my partner and I are stuck right here until we see something, or the sun comes up.

Jacobson, my partner, crushes his paper coffee cup and tosses it in the bag that serves as a trashcan. “I so don’t want to do this shit tonight.”

I don’t think his comment deserves a response so I take a sip of my own coffee, which is damn near empty too.

Jacobson stares hard at the fence outside his window. “Do you actually think we’re going to see anything? Anyone could have dumped those bodies by the park. Why would they come back now?”

We’re parked along the outer perimeter of City Park. In it’s heyday it was a place for city residents to relax, have a picnic, get some exercise, and remember what trees actually looked like. When the economy went south, the city stopped maintaining it. Now it’s an overgrown eyesore used primarily by the homeless, drug addicts, and kids looking for a thrill.

The department is constantly getting complaints about the vermin that thrive in the undergrowth, both animal and human. But recently, the volume of calls about trouble in the park has increased, and two teenagers were found dead at the park’s northern gates last night. They’d been shot, execution style.

I take another sip of coffee before responding to Jacob’s questions. “We’ve had too many complaints and none from the usual suspects. Something’s up.”

“Gang initiation?” Jacobson suggests.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

His eyes narrow. “You smell something, don’t you?”

I nod. Under the smells of sex, beer, and greasy food, there’s an odd chemical odor. I can’t place it, but I’m certain it doesn’t belong in the park. It hadn’t been there a few months ago when I’d pulled the short straw and been sent to run off a bunch of kids who’d come out here to party.

Before I can describe the smell to Jacob, I hear distant footsteps pounding the pavement. “Someone’s running this way. Someone fast.”

Jacob nods. I doubt he can hear a thing, but he’s learned to trust my non-human ears without question. A few seconds later, a woman comes into view. She’s wearing a sundress and a pair of high-heeled sandals so I doubt she’s running for her health. Not that any sane woman would be at night in this part of town.

She has straight, reddish-brown hair that swings past her waist. Her heavy, round breasts are barely contained by her dress. Long shapely legs reach out for the ground making my cock sit up and say hello. Her strides are so long she’s practically leaping.

She’s moving faster than any human should be in shoes like that. The wolf inside me begs me to chase her for the sheer thrill of apprehending such a hot piece of flesh. But my cop instincts tell me this woman is our key to what’s actually going on in the park.

Jacobson reaches for the door handle, but I lay a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Not yet.”

“She’s not out for an evening jog, Wolf. Someone’s chasing her.”

“Exactly. And we need to know who and why.”

Monday, July 25, 2011

Monday Spotlight: Silvia Violet

I’m excited to be here at Whipped Cream this week. If I’m not writing or reading, you’ll likely find me in the kitchen trying out a new recipe or baking up sweet treats. I have a deep and abiding love for food. I think eating a really good chocolate cake is one of the most erotic experiences anyone can have. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that as I get to know my characters one of the first things I ask them is what they like to eat.

These details don’t always make it into my books, but I can’t really understand a man until I know what I would cook for him if he came to dinner at my house. So each day this week, I’ll be sharing a little about one of my heroes and a dinner I would make for him.

Today I’ll be cooking for Jason Fleetfoot, deer shifter and hero of the recently released Protect and Serve: Sex on the Hoof. When he’s in deer form, Jason is forced to be an herbivore, but when he’s human, he’s a fan of classic diner food: burgers and fries, chicken-fried steak, oozey grilled cheese and lots of pie. If I were having Jason over for dinner I’d make him a bacon cheese burger, thick cut fries, and blueberry pie.

Silvia’s Bacon Burgers

To 1lb of ground beef, add approximately 1t garlic powder, 1T Worchestershire sauce, ½ tsp cayenne pepper. Divide into four patties and grill until desired level of doneness. When almost done, add thick slices of cheddar. Top with caramelized onions, crispy bacon and anything else you like.

Thick Cut Oven Fries

Preheat over to 450. Slice four Russet potatoes lengthwise until you have 8 wedges from each potato. Spread on a foil lined baking sheet. Drizzle olive oil over them. Then sprinkle them with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Toss until all the wedges are well coated. Cook until tender, shaking the pan every 15 minutes to prevent them from sticking. They’ll cook approximately 40 minutes.

The Best Blueberry Pie


2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
pinch of baking powder
10T cold butter, cut in cubes
8T ice water with a touch of lemon juice

Mix flour, salt, baking powder.  Rub in half the butter by hand.  Use pastry blender to mix in the rest of the butter until pieces are the size of peas. Do not overmix.  Add water and mix with a fork.  Turn out on a cutting board or other hard surface.  Split in half and form into two flattened disks.  Refrigerate for at least 3 hours or up to 2 days.

4 cups blueberries
1.5 T cornstarch
1.5 T instant tapioca
1/2 cup sugar

Mix sugar, cornstarch and tapioca. Pour over fruit and mix together, tossing lightly.
Roll out one chilled crust.  Fit into a 9in pie pan.  Pour in filling.  Roll out top crust.  Cut vents. Put top crust on pie. Bake at 425F for 15 minutes.  Reduce heat to 350F and cook up to 45 minutes more or until filling is bubbling in center of pie.

Excerpt from Sex on the Hoof

I’m Jason Fleetfoot. I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes in my life. The stupidest of all was taking a job with some assholes intent on manufacturing illegal chemical weapons.
My sister, Natalie, lost her job when her company folded, and I lost mine because my fucking boss was a bastard. I’ve got authority issues. And control issues. Alright, I’m seriously fucked up, but I wasn’t going to let my sister starve because I couldn’t keep it together.
So I made a deal with the devil and damn near got myself and Natalie killed. She saved me, she and her cop boyfriend, Wolf. The name’s not a joke. He’s a werewolf. Did I mention we’re shifters, Natalie and I. Deer shifters. If you think my human form is impressive, you should see me as a ten point buck. So yeah, a werewolf and a deer shifter. Somehow they’re making it work.
As much as I hate being beholden to Wolf, I wouldn’t be where I am now if it wasn’t for him. Once the cops cleared me, Wolf helped me get a job in the crime lab where I can use my knowledge of chemistry and computers for the good guys.
As the newest hire, I work nights, babysitting the equipment and working on what comes in during the wee hours. For the most part, I like it. It’s quiet and I get a chance to play around with new techniques and do a bit of programming. There’s only one problem, Detective Drew Danvers.
He works nights too. Not because he’s new, because he’s a God-damned vampire. They say he was Changed against his will. But what the hell was he doing picking up a vampire at a bar? I certainly have no intention of fucking a vampire. No matter how damn fuckable Drew is. Yeah, I like men, what of it? And Drew is a fine specimen of a man, like some Viking warrior. He’s at least 6’3” with sculpted arms and pecs that make him look like he could lift a truck one-handed. Considering he’s a vamp, he probably can.
Getting involved with Drew would be stupid on too many levels to count. And I’m finished with making stupid decisions. So why does my body want so desperately to be impaled on him – his cock, his fangs, anything he’d like to stick in me. Natalie’s right, my dick really doesn’t communicate with my brain. I don’t just want to fuck him, I want to be taken by him, and I never want that. Like I said, I have control issues. But with Drew . . . No, there’s never going to be anything with Drew.
I hear the buzz that signals someone entering the lab. I glance around from behind the mass spec machine. Shit! Speak of the devil or in this case his undead minion.
My pride will not let me hide even though I want to. I’m not afraid of him, even if I should be. I’m just afraid my unruly cock will give away my interest.
His gaze slides up and down my body. He’s looked at me like this before. But I have never been sure whether it’s sexual interest or him salivating over me like I’m a piece of the lush chocolate cake my grandma used to make on Sundays. “You alone in here, Fleetfoot?”
Shit, maybe he does mean to make a meal out of me. No point in lying though. He probably already knows the answer. Aren’t vampires supposed to be damn near omnipotent? “Newton called in sick, and everyone else is out in the field.
“Good.” Danvers smiles, still eyeing me like I’m prey. If I was in deer form I’d bolt, white tail flagging danger. But I’m a man and his ice blue gaze has me glued to the spot. God above, he’s gorgeous when he smiles. My cock is starting to get uncomfortable in my jeans.
My heart pounds as I try to interpret his response. Does he mean “good I’m going to give you to the best fuck of your life” or “good I’m going to drain your blood and leave you for dead”.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Shoot Me by Elyzabeth M. VaLey

“Shoot me.”

Mary aimed the gun at him. She released the security lock on the weapon, but she hesitated.

“Shoot me, Mary.”

Mary gulped. She had done this dozens of times and yet she could not bring herself to press the trigger.

“Well,” he growled, “aren’t you going to kill me already?”

Mary cocked the gun. Her hands were starting to feel sweaty.

“Kill me now, Mary, kill me and end this agony for both.”

She shook her head slightly. Agony for both? He was the only one in agony. This was her job; this is what she had been fighting for.

“Please, kill me, Mary.”

Perspiration trickled down her back.


Her mouth went dry. Why did he have to say her name like that? Enough. She lifted her head and looked squarely into his eyes. Big mistake. His blue eyes bore into hers full of pent up passion and a promise…

“Shoot me now, Mary,” he whispered huskily.

Her eyes fell from his eyes onto his full mouth. An urgent desire to nibble his lower lip and dip lower along his body until he begged her to stop entered her mind. She licked her lips and swallowed trying to will the image away.

She raised her eyes again and the gun almost fell from her grip. Godric was no longer a few feet away from her. He stood with the barrel of her gun pressed against his abdomen.

“Give me the pain you think I so deserve. Shoot me now, Mary.” Goosebumps rose on her arms.

“Shoot me, now,” he demanded. All she was able of doing was staring up at him.

“Either you shoot me now,” he said, his voice dropping into a sensual drawl, “or I will do something which I won’t be able to undo.” He grinned. Mary’s heart skipped a beat while a wild fire began to burn inside her at the prospect of his threat.

He was upon her in the blink of an eye. “No,” she cried. It was too late. His lips crashed against hers. They were warmer and softer than she had imagined, yet also commanding.

A moan caught in her throat as he nibbled and licked her lips. She heard the gun clatter onto the floor and felt Godric kick it away from them.

Free of the weapon he took her hands into his and pulled her into his embrace. They stumbled until her back hit a wall. She gasped as Godric pressed his body against hers, his hardness resting between them. She moaned. Her hands entwined on his long locks as she explored his mouth in depth. Then, reality slammed into her. With a mighty shove, she pushed Godric away.

Godric stepped aside and looked at her. She stared back, her eyes roaming over his face and finally stopping on his fangs.

“You bring the best out of me,” he said with a wicked grin.

“You tricked me,” she spoke at last, her voice hoarser and shakier than she expected.

Godric did not reply; he watched her impassively.

“You, you,” she stammered at a loss for words while she searched the tidy room for her gun. “You hypnotized me,” she said more to herself than to him.

“Is that your excuse?”

Before she could reply, he had gripped her. Mary yelped in surprise as he twisted her arms behind her back.

“Tell me, huntress, do you really believe I tricked you?” Godric accommodated her against him, his hard cock pressed against her backside. Mary said nothing, desire once more cursing through her body at the contact of his body next to hers.

“Mary, you’re the best hunter of your generation, and yet, you cannot bring yourself to kill me,” he whispered. Very softly, he nipped at her earlobe. A moan escaped through her pursed lips and Godric laughed heartily. Angry, she tried to disentangle herself from his grip. They grappled, and for a moment, she was free. Mary tried to run, but Godric grabbed her waist and drew him to her again. She struggled against him but the fight was becoming a playful tussle as their bodies crashed against each other, heightening their desire. Finally, he took hold of her and slammed her against the wall. With a firm grip he held her hands over her head.

“We have met countless times for the past 10 years. You have killed dozens of vampires, and yet”, Godric panted into her ear, “you have never managed to kill me.”

With renewed violence, Mary tried to disengage herself from his hold, but Godric was unmoving. She glared at him. Their eyes locked. Mary closed her eyes. Why wasn’t she afraid? She had been in the hands of some darn crazy creatures throughout her life and always some fear cursed through her, but this feeling… Never in all her years as a hunter had she felt this.

“Look at me, Mary.”


“Why do you think you can’t kill me?”

“Because you spell bound me,” she said weakly.

Godric laughed. “Even you don’t believe that. If I would have wanted to cast you under my spell, I could have done so ages ago. No, my love, you are not under any magic. Think, my huntress, I am one of the eldest, one of the strongest and yet today I let you storm into my house and point at me with a gun. You could have killed me then but you couldn’t, Mary. You can’t bear the thought of killing me. I am more to you than a vampire, more than an obsession, you think of me day and night, Mary.”

She shook her head.

“You dream of me, and don’t you dare deny it because I’ve watched you sleep, my huntress. I’ve watched you touch yourself and whisper my name in the darkness of your dormitory. You whisper my name just like I whisper yours, Mary.”

“Stop saying my name that way,” she cried between clenched teeth.

“Why, Mary?” he asked, saying her name in that slow sensual way which caused liquid to pool between her legs, “why should I stop saying the name of the woman I love?”

Mary opened her eyes and stared at Godric. His eyes bore into hers, but not in that hungry, animal-like way she was used to seeing in vampires. Instead, she saw vulnerability, kindness and…

“No.” she cried, once more trying to wrestle against him. Godric chuckled and Mary’s protest was drowned in his mouth.

She forgot everything: his fangs, her hatred, her fears…everything narrowed down to them and their passion.

She realized he had released her hands the moment she touched his chest. He removed his shirt and her toes curled at the sight of his naked chest. Hard, sculpted, like the perfect body of an athlete. She raked her nails on his back and he responded shoving his tongue deep into her mouth. Pieces of clothing flew in all directions. Their movements were quick, hungry, eager, like two starved animals that hadn’t eaten in ages. Lust rushed through her like it had never done before.

“Mary, I…”


With a growl, he picked her up. Mary entwined her legs around him as he pressed her against the wall. His large cock slid inside her in a single thrust.

“Godric,” she cried as he drove in and out of her savagely.

“Say it again, Mary, say my name again,” he urged her.

“Godric,” she moaned.

“Mary, I have waited so long for this,” he whispered in her ear.

He nuzzled her neck and she dug her nails onto his back.

“Godric, I don’t…” she began. Mary shrieked as an orgasm rattled her body and Godric bit her neck. She felt the warm blood trickle down her neck. While he greedily drunk from her, she heard Godric grunt and felt his release. Her body still shaking, her last thought before passing out was that this was the best mistake she’d ever committed, even if it had cost her her life.

Mary woke up to find Godric next to her in bed.

He smiled at her. “Welcome home, huntress.”

Mary smiled. After so many years, she had finally found her place. She was a hunter, yes, but all these years she had been hunting the wrong prey. All those years following Godric, aiming to kill him, yet dreaming and fantasizing about him… she had been pursuing her soul mate and had no idea, until now.

Godric was looking at her curiously, as if waiting for her reaction. Her eyes travelled down the solid build of his body, stopping at his cock. She watched in amusement as it slowly rose to her stare.

“Will you shoot me, now?” she joked.

“Only after you kiss me.”

About the author: Appearances are deceiving. By day usually shy and quiet; another face in the crowd. By night Elyzabeth’s calm demeanor transforms. Words flow from her fingers giving life to elaborate fantasies of love and desire. Her first novella comes out this December from Silver publishing. Visit her realm at

Author Interview: Amarinda Jones

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Amarinda Jones, all the way from "Down Under" to visit with us today. If Not for You will be released soon from Evernight Publishing. In addition to being a prolific writer, she is also the owner of Scarlet Harlot Publishing, a new publishing company that is just getting started.

From her official bio: "Amarinda believes anything is possible and sometimes just asking for the impossible will surprise someone enough that they will give it to you. Writing is like that. Put it out there and wait for a response. There is always the possibility you may fall on your ass, but after all, that's what cellulite is for. Amarinda believes in taking chances, speaking her mind and aging disgracefully. Twenty years from now she plans on being the neighborhood witch that all the kids are scared of. But then, everyone has to have a hobby."

Amarinda told me she thinks one of the biggest public misconceptions about erotica is that there's not a difference between erotica and porn.

"I believe that erotica, while having similar connotations to porn, is more about writing sex with emotion as opposed to writing sex for the sake of an orgasm."

Another misconception is that erotica writers are crazy, lustful women who have hot and cold naked men running through the house.

"That's only on a Saturday and Wednesday," she assured me.

Amarinda tries to write from her own life experiences.

"If I’ve lived it, felt it, tasted it and believe in it then I’ll write it. I can’t write something I have experienced," she said.

For the same reason, she doesn't read erotica herself--she doesn't want to be influenced by other authors.

"If a friend and fellow author asks me to read something," she told me, "I tend to skip the sex scenes because I’m never going to live their experiences and I like to write purely from my own."

Her own experience is also the best research she knows.

"If I’ve lived it, I can write it," she said. "The mind is a wondrous thing but without practice, inbuilt knowledge and a sense of humor a story is just going to be flat and dull."

Amarinda didn't actually start off to write erotica, though. She wrote three non-erotic novels and someone asked her, "Hey, can you write sex?"

"I thought, 'Don't know, not sure, and what the heck? I'll try,'" she explained. "I'm a great believer at having a go at everything."

The first book she wrote was Rose Perfect, a straight romance.

"I sent it off and got some really nice constructive rejections, all to do with there being no sex in the book. A week or so after those, I got a contract from a publisher who liked the story because there was an actual story."

"What is your favorite erotic book?" I wondered.

"The Story of O. It’s a very harsh, primitive, raw story about sex, domination and what a woman craves. It’s also about breaking free from the constraints of society and doing what’s right for you."

There are some limits about what types of things Amarinda will write about--she will not write about incest, pedophilia, or animals.

"I do not care what anyone says," she told me. "None of these are ever going to be acceptable and none are erotic."

" What does your family think of your writing?" I asked. "Do they read it?"

"My family is not surprised by anything I do. If I didn’t do something out of the box they’d probably think something was wrong with me. No, they don’t read it but they like to print out the covers and show people. That’s nice."

On a personal note, Amarinda would not choose to be anyone else but herself, because she likes being who she is.

"I'm flawed and annoying," she admitted, "but I enjoy that."

" If you had to pierce a body part, what would you pierce and why?" I wondered. "What about body piercing is sexy?"

"Interesting question. I have 3 piercings in each ear and of late I’ve contemplated piercing my navel, clit and brow. Piercing is sexy because there’s that edge of ‘what else is she likely to do?’"

Some things you might not know about Amarinda:

~She can't bring herself to eat baked beans. In fact, she said she would rather starve first, claiming, "They're pukeable."

~Her favorite letter is A. Why? "Because it starts off the alphabet, it’s in almost every sentence and it’s sharp up the top and fat at the base…a bit like myself," she explained.

~Her strangest habit is "doing everything my own way, under my own steam even if it I know I probably can’t succeed and it’ll probably kill me trying to do it."

~Some of the things she enjoys doing when she's not writing include "renovating, gardening and wandering aimlessly enjoying life."

And, some random questions for Amarinda:

"Can you tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi?"

"They have different names."

"Have you ever known anyone who can tie a cherry stem with their tongue?"

"Yes, I am very lucky that I know a very talented man who is most excellent with his tongue."

"Painted toenails.... yes or no?"

"Yes – usually green or blue with sparkles…one must have sparkles."

"If someone were to play you in a movie, what actor would it be and why?"

"Cate Blanchett. We look nothing alike but she’s a tough minded Aussie with a lot of common sense, class and persistence."

Finally, I asked her to leave one piece of advice for new writers.

"Live life. Be daring," she said. "If you know you would do what you want to write about then do it and don’t worry about what others think. Have a thick skin, be persistent, don’t take yourself so seriously and trust no one in the writing game. Harsh? Yes, but you need to look after yourself and you’re the best person to do that."

You can keep up with Amarinda on her blog,

Friday, July 22, 2011

Friday Spotlight: Ericka Scott

An Ode to Dame Agatha

Although my love of mystery stories started with Nancy Drew, Agatha Christie’s stories anchored my love of the genre. So, was it any surprise that when my husband asked me what was one of my “must-see’s” in London, my response was The Mousetrap.

For those of you not steeped in Christie lore, The Mousetrap is a murder mystery play that opened in 1952 and has run continuously since. The world's longest-running play of any kind, the play is now in its 58th year. It was a quick tube ride from our Kensington hotel to the bustling and brightly lit theater district. St. Martin’s Theatre was quaint and plush and exactly the way I’d pictured it in my mind. For two hours I enjoyed a peek into the plotting of a genius and was able to become a partner in crime with Dame Agatha as I swore not to share the secret of whodunit.

As a writer of Seductive Suspense, my own special blend of romance and mystery, the end of the story holds a bittersweet tang. The mystery is solved, the characters take their final bows, and the curtain falls. So ends my spotlight here at The Long and Short of It Reviews. But, before I bid you adieu, I’m going to ask you, dear reader, to be a partner in crime – or more correctly, a partner in preventing crime – with me. As e-books gain in popularity, so does the piracy of the electronic files. Every day, hundreds, if not thousands, of e-books are uploaded to file sharing sites where vociferous readers and collectors download the books of their favorite authors. What many of these readers don’t know, or don’t care about, is that those files are then redistributed over and over again, stealing rightfully earned royalties from the authors one pixel at a time.

So, please, don’t be a pirate. Pay for your electronic book files and ensure that your favorite authors can continue to provide you with many years of continuing enjoyment.

Ericka Scott is a multi-published, bestselling author of seductive suspense. She's written stories for as long as she can remember and reads anything under the sun (including the back of cereal boxes in a pinch). She got hooked on romantic suspense in her college days when reading anything but a textbook was a guilty pleasure. Now, when she’s not chauffeuring children around, wishing she had more than 24 hours in a day, or lurking at the library, she’s spinning her own web of fantasy and penning tales of seduction and suspense. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.

She also loves friends, so come friend her at
She's also on Facebook at and Twitter @ErickaScott

You can find out more about her books at

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Thursday Spotlight: Ericka Scott

Dark Shadows

As a mom, I’m always alert to making sure my younger children don’t watch frightening or inappropriate television shows. I watch suspect movies before they do, and make sure that we record horrifying or disturbing movies or dramas to watch long after my littles are in bed.

Lucky for me, my mother wasn’t so diligent. Perhaps that’s why my love of mystery and suspense developed so early in my life. I still remember plots from her favorite “soaps”, Days of Our Lives and, especially, Dark Shadows. She didn’t hesitate to let me linger in front of the television and soak in the spooky atmosphere of that daylight drama. What she didn’t know is that there were many nights when I’d sneak down the stairs long after I was to have been asleep so that I could watch even scarier shows. "The Living Doll" episode of The Twilight Zone, starring Talky Tina, strikes chills in me even today.

Perhaps this is why I love writing dark romantic suspense like my most recent release, Wild Ghost Chase.

Here’s the blurb to give you a taste of my own special brand of seductive suspense:

Two reality-show ghost-busting teams versus one haunted house.

The first team to successfully exorcise the spirits wins the renewal of their television contract. It sounds like a pretty straight-forward competition, but something or someone at Harrington House has another agenda.

Over the course of a weekend, the two teams with their respective technical advisers, a supposedly impartial network executive, and the beautiful owner of Harrington House find it isn’t just the ghosts who are running amok. A killer is on the loose and if they don’t work together, they could all become permanent residents.
As a side note, you can imagine how thrilled I was to find out that Dark Shadows will be made into a movie starring Johnny Depp and is slated for release in 2012! (And no, I won’t be letting my littles see the movie if it’s not rated PG).

Ericka Scott is a multi-published, bestselling author of seductive suspense. She's written stories for as long as she can remember and reads anything under the sun (including the back of cereal boxes in a pinch). She got hooked on romantic suspense in her college days when reading anything but a textbook was a guilty pleasure. Now, when she’s not chauffeuring children around, wishing she had more than 24 hours in a day, or lurking at the library, she’s spinning her own web of fantasy and penning tales of seduction and suspense. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.

She also loves friends, so come friend her at
She's also on Facebook at and Twitter @ErickaScott

You can find out more about her books at

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Wednesday Spotlight: Ericka Scott

In the Footsteps of a Killer

I received a most wondrous birthday gift this year when I walked in the footsteps of Jack the Ripper. I suspect that everyone knows his story, as Jack is inarguably the most famous serial killer in history.

My teenage daughter, her best friend, and I left our hotel in Kensington and took the tube to Tower Hill. The ride took a bit longer than we expected, so we were fearful that we’d missed the 6:45 pm tour. No worries, at the top of the stairs, our tour guide from Jack the Ripper tours was giving a rousing introduction of the case.

We walked through Whitechapel, an iffy neighborhood even today, shivering a bit from the evening coolness as well as from the suspense of the story as it unfolded. The deaths of five women have been attributed to Jack’s sharp knife, although there may have been more or, according to a dark hint from our tour guide, less!

There must have been a bit of Jack the Ripper in my mind when I wrote Wild Ghost Chase, for my nasty villain is named Jack as well. Here’s an excerpt that gives a little more insight into the mind of my killer.

“One man, in particular, is especially mean. His caresses are slaps; his kisses more like bites that draw blood. I try to scream, but the words are trapped in a throat closed from panic. I am passed from one set of arms to another. When I awake, I realize my dream has become my reality for the man I am to marry, Jack Wild, is one of the men from my dreams.”

Monica turned the page, but there was nothing more. The rest of the journal was blank.

Heartbreaking, but it still told her nothing. She laid the book on the desk and continued the search. Despite checking every book on the shelf, she found nothing more about Crescent Cove or Harrington House. The only other title remotely interesting was one on Gunslingers in the Wild West. Paging through the book, she scanned the pages. Most of the biographies wereof notorious outlaws and lawmen she knew the history of: Billy the Kid, the Younger Brothers, Belle Star. Then, toward the back, the names stopped being so familiar, Black Jack, Pony Diehl, and Jack Wild. She paused. Could it be the same Jack who MaryBelle had married?

Hunkering down on the couch and wishing she had an apple to munch on, she read about his exploits. Whereas most of the outlaws in this book were notorious for their involvement in gambling, rustling, and robbery, Jack Wild had a blacker reputation—he stole other miners’ claims by impersonating them or killing them. He was also a mean drunk and was in the habit of beating up the prostitutes who serviced him.

Nice guy. If he was MaryBelle’s husband, she pitied the poor child and wondered what happened to the newlyweds. Had marriage been the anchor Jack Wild needed to mend his ways?

Ericka Scott is a multi-published, bestselling author of seductive suspense. She's written stories for as long as she can remember and reads anything under the sun (including the back of cereal boxes in a pinch). She got hooked on romantic suspense in her college days when reading anything but a textbook was a guilty pleasure. Now, when she’s not chauffeuring children around, wishing she had more than 24 hours in a day, or lurking at the library, she’s spinning her own web of fantasy and penning tales of seduction and suspense. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.

She also loves friends, so come friend her at
She's also on Facebook at and Twitter @ErickaScott

You can find out more about her books at

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Tuesday Spotlight: Ericka Scott

Raven Watch

I just recently returned from a trip to Great Britain. As an American, I was impressed with the vast amount of history crammed into the country, especially within the city of London, itself. Kings, traitors, plagues and prophecies greeted us from the tube stations (which were supposedly built over plague pits) to the tourist destinations.

At the Tower of London, I’d expected gory tales of treachery and beheadings, the royal crown jewels, and a dungeon full of torture devices. What I hadn’t expected were the ravens. At least six ravens are lodged at the Tower (their attendance enforced by clipping their wings).

Legend has it that an early British King, King Bran Hen of Bryneich (born c.485) was killed in battle and requested that his head be buried, as a talisman against invasion, on Gwynfryn (the 'White Mount') where The Tower of London now stands. Bran is the Welsh word for raven, which is where the legend gets translated to reality. It was Charles II, according to the stories, who first insisted that the ravens of the Tower should be protected. Legend has it that should the ravens ever leave the Tower of London, the White Tower will crumble and a great disaster shall befall England.

Today, these winged guardians of the Tower are cared for by a Yeoman Warder (more commonly known as a Beefeater) designated as The Ravenmaster.

In my own stories, I enjoy weaving bits of history into my ghost stories, as can be seen from this excerpt from Wild Ghost Chase.

To pass the time, Monica did what came naturally; she read. The library was full of old copies of the classics, but none held any interest. She wanted personal histories of the house. Sarah and Sylvie’s diaries had been full of girlish thoughts, dreams, and desires, but shy on actual facts and figures. If she were to figure out what was going on here, she would have to rely on her research skills.

Enigma had taken the book Malcolm had been reading a week ago. She had a digital copy on her desktop at work, but it had been a breezy history of the Harringtons. More touchy-feely than historical.

Three shelves down and she still hadn’t found anything of substance. She resisted the urge to pitch the books on the floor as their titles refused to yield anything of substance. She moved three books of sermons to one side. They were large and thick, full of sanctimony and morality. If things didn’t go well, their lessons might be needed as she prepared to meet her maker. However, she wasn’t giving up.
A small volume had fallen behind the heavy tomes. Trying not to let hope soar in her chest, she pulled it out. Please don’t let it be another one of Amos’s diaries. The man was a cheapskate and took great pleasure in listing pages upon pages of expenditures and costs.

She flipped open the book, recognizing it as a diary; however, the name on the flyleaf wasn’t familiar. To MaryBelle Swan from her loving mother. To Monica’s amusement, the date listed was today’s date, September 13th. The year was 1849. Remembering some of the historical facts Malcolm often spouted, she knew gold had been discovered in this area sometime in 1848. MaryBelle must have been a forty-niner.

The first page read:

I’m to be married today.

Lucky girl was Monica’s thought. She read further, and immediately took back that sentiment. The author of this diary was little more than a child, but had lived a horrific lifetime in eleven short years. One passage in particular chilled Monica. The girl had written of a recurring dream, a dream MaryBelle suspected was not so much a dream as a memory.

“Hands grasp me, pulling at my limbs, tearing the clothes from my body. Rank smelling men paw at me, their faces distorted with lust. I scream, try to fight them off, but the more I struggle, the harder their fingers dig into my flesh. They seem to celebrate my pain.

One man, in particular, is especially mean. His caresses are slaps; his kisses more like bites that draw blood. I try to scream, but the words are trapped in a throat closed from panic. I am passed from one set of arms to another. When I awake, I realize my dream has become my reality for the man I am to marry, Jack Wild, is one of the men from my dreams.”

Monica turned the page, but there was nothing more. The rest of the journal was blank.

Ericka Scott is a multi-published, bestselling author of seductive suspense. She's written stories for as long as she can remember and reads anything under the sun (including the back of cereal boxes in a pinch). She got hooked on romantic suspense in her college days when reading anything but a textbook was a guilty pleasure. Now, when she’s not chauffeuring children around, wishing she had more than 24 hours in a day, or lurking at the library, she’s spinning her own web of fantasy and penning tales of seduction and suspense. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.

She also loves friends, so come friend her at
She's also on Facebook at and Twitter @ErickaScott

You can find out more about her books at

Monday, July 18, 2011

Monday Spotlight: Ericka Scott

What Lurks Beneath

As part of my family’s trip to the United Kingdom, we had the opportunity to travel by the Eurostar line in a high-speed train to Paris. In a little over two hours, we’d traveled from Paddington Station (which brought to mind memories of Agatha Christie’s 4:50 From Paddington) to Gare du Nord, in Paris, France.
Once there, we traded one mode of transportation for another and boarded an open-air bus to see the sights. We had the opportunity to stop off at Notre Dame and relive a little of Quasimodo’s story, and to also stand under the awe-inspiring Eiffel Tower (once viewed by Parisians to be little more than an eyesore, can you believe that?).

We had crepes on the Seine, bought croissants at a local patisserie, and sipped lovely French wines while sampling some delightfully delicious French cuisine (the littles loved le pommes frites).

Sadly, my most vivid memory of Paris is the atrociously dirty public bathrooms, illustrating the fact that even under the most beautiful exteriors, there is sometimes something more disturbing lurking just below the surface.

In the case of Wild Ghost Chase, the opening scene starts out as an investigation for a haunting and ends up as something entirely different.

It was just a house.

From the outside, the residence looked like any of the other recently built tract homes in the development. The only difference was the bright blue trim. Inside, tasteful furnishings decorated the rooms and attractive artwork hung on the walls. Everything smelled new, the chemical scents of the rug and paint vied in the air. By appearance, the house was typical; however, something set this house apart from the others on the block. Their job was to find out what.

Malcolm McFee felt as if he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. In reality, it had only been two long years of standing in Ben Yamamoto’s shadow on the set of Happily Ever Afterlife.

Oh, Malcolm had his fair share of fame, people knew his face, greeted him by name in the grocery store. But, and this was a big one, if he proved capable of running an entire investigation by himself, he wouldn’t just be consulting for the show anymore. Ben had promised him a regular spot, which would give him what he’d always wanted, legitimacy and recognition as a true medium.

Upstairs, a baby wailed.

Malcolm’s gaze shot over to the home owner, Fiona Sinclair. Pretty and petite with a bulging midsection, she had to be at least eight months pregnant. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question aimed at no one in particular. He hadn’t been told details of the haunting. His twin sister, Monica, the co-hostess of Happily Ever Afterlife, had done the intake form and all of the preliminary research. Her carefully schooled expression told him nothing.

He glanced over at Fiona again. Her baby hadn’t been born yet. Was there an older child in the home? He studied her face and demeanor. She wore a frightened expression, however, her body language spoke not of fear, but of watchfulness. He didn’t sense the energy force of a spirit, yet something about her raised his suspicion. From her posture, he deduced she was watching and waiting for something. Not unexpected, as subjects experiencing a haunting often wore anticipation like a second skin.

Monica offered a chair to Fiona. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No. I want you to make it stop,” Fiona whispered. “I mean, that’s what you do. You make ghosts go into the light or something, right?”

Unwilling to give her any assurances before he knew the true circumstances of the case, Malcolm didn’t answer Fiona’s question, but instead, hazarded a guess. “Did the phenomenon start when you got pregnant?” In many cases, hearing a baby crying started the minute the pregnancy was discovered and continued to feed off maternal doubts and worries until the baby was born.

“No, all the odd occurrences began about a month ago,” Fiona replied. To Malcolm’s dismay, she looked straight up into the lens and smiled.

Even as Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, he noticed Ramon take his finger off the record button. Man, for an old geezer, he was quick on the uptake. He’d anticipated her interaction with the camera, known the footage would have to be edited out, and had stopped the recording instinctively. Although Ramon seldom spoke during any of the investigations and most people didn’t even notice him, he was an important part of the team. He documented eyewitness interviews and the walk-through of haunted areas and was also responsible for shooting still photos of each room, and setting up and taking down the sound equipment they used to document EVP, electronic voice phenomena.

Fighting a feeling of frustration, Malcolm tried to be pleasant and failed. “Please don’t speak to the camera.”

When Fiona’s smile faltered, he added, “If you do, don’t worry. We’ll edit that section out for the show.”

“Oh, okay.” Fiona twisted her hands in her lap.

“So, this started one month ago.” Monica shot an irritated glance over at Malcolm. The smile she bestowed on Fiona was a sympathetic one. “Have you made any structural changes to the house?”

“No, but that’s when we decorated the baby’s room.”

“Is the furniture new or antique?” Monica asked. Her dark brown hair fell into her face and she pushed it back with an impatient movement before scribbling notes onto a yellow legal pad.

“Everything’s new.” Fiona craned her neck to see what Monica was writing in her notebook.

Good luck. Monica’s script, combined with the use of a modified version of shorthand, defied interpretation by even the most efficient secretary. He should know; they’d gone through four harried women since the show debuted two years ago. Now, as they prepared to start filming for the third season, Monica had been told she’d have to type up her own transcripts or risk the wrath of the network owner, Mr. Patterson. Malcolm wasn’t sure if the threat would induce her to write more legibly or not.

“So you correlate the phenomena with decorating the nursery?” Monica asked.

“Yes.” The words were affirmative, but Malcolm sensed Fiona was lying. Why?

Malcolm endeavored to read the atmosphere of the house. Perhaps something traumatic had occurred and the negative energy imprinted the events. Like a recording, the activity would play over and over again. The entities involved in a residual haunting activity were unaware of their actions, and did not react to the environment. Much like tire tracks on a dirt road, the imprints faded with time. He inhaled the clean scent of sawdust. Then, he got a whiff of fresh paint along with the assertion that something tragic had happened during the construction of the house.

He screwed up his face in concentration. Deaths sometimes occurred on job sites, but none of those potential occurrences explained the crying baby. Speaking of babies…

Malcolm found himself staring at Fiona. His psychic abilities were limited to interactions with the dead, although he occasionally got intuitive flashes. In his experience, spirits congregated around pregnant women. Mothers or other women who had been important in the expectant woman’s life gathered to support and celebrate the birth. There was no trace of any spiritual energy clinging to Fiona.


“I’m going to start walking around and see what I can pick up,” Monica said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Good idea.” While he watched, Monica laid aside her pen and opened her capacious black shoulder bag. The first piece of equipment she extracted was an EMF meter. A popular ghost hunting tool used to detect unexplained electromagnetic fields often indicative of the presence of ghosts and spirits. With the meter in her hand, his sister began walking around the foyer. As she approached the staircase, he heard her gasp.

Surprised his usually unemotional sister would be taken aback by anything, Malcolm shot a glance at Monica as she studied the readout. She paced the perimeter of the room, approaching the same spot from different aspects as a dubious expression marred her pretty face. “I’m getting a huge EMF spike here at the bottom of the stairs. Malcolm, do you detect any spirits? Perhaps someone who might have had an accident or fallen here.”

He didn’t, but the absence of any visual confirmation didn’t mean no spirit lurked out of sight. The dead were often shy and only seen as flitting shadows. He’d not detected anyone so far, but refused to draw any conclusions from that. While Ramon snapped several photos of the area with a digital camera, Malcolm approached the staircase. If there had been a death here, the photos might pick up orbs, a vortex apparition, or some other anomaly indicative of a ghost or spirit.

The hair on his neck and arms stood on end. Feelings of dread washed over him. Such a strong physical reaction typically indicated a spirit’s presence.

Fiona’s gaze shot from Malcolm to Monica and then back. She scrambled to her feet, hand over her heart and chest heaving. “Did someone die at the bottom of the stairs?”

Malcolm hoped she wouldn’t run screaming out of the front door. He’d only had that happen once or twice before.

“Oh, I don’t think anyone died,” Monica said.


Monica had a fixed smile on her face. She’d picked up on something he had missed. Dismay and disappointment vied inside him, and he tamped down a surge of anger. Damn it all. Why now? Why when he had so much riding on this. All he needed was one legitimate haunting to use for substantive proof of his abilities.

“May I examine the closet?” Monica asked.

“Why?” Fiona’s voice sounded sharp with suspicion. “There’s nothing in there but coats and some old equipment.”

“Equipment?” Before Fiona could protest further, Monica strode to the door and jerked it open.

Malcolm followed his sister and peered in over her shoulder. Surprise, surprise. Inside sat an electrostatic generator. Malcolm wasn’t sure what use it performed on a construction site. Typically used in classrooms to demonstrate the effects of static electricity—cold chills, hair standing on end, and even the feeling of being touched—the machine had often been used by fake spiritualists to imitate a spirit’s presence.

“The contractor must have left that awful machine behind,” Fiona informed him. “My husband called the company yesterday. They said they would pick it up sometime today or tomorrow.”

“Did you know the generator was operating?” Malcolm inquired.

“No. Do you think the ghost switched it on?” Fiona’s eyes widened.

What poor acting. Malcolm coughed to avoid the derisive words threatening to spill out.

“This accounts for the EMF spike.” Malcolm reached around his sister and turned off the switch. “What sort of reading do you get now, Monica?”

“Nothing, only baseline.”

Shit, the haunting was a hoax.


Ericka Scott is a multi-published, bestselling author of seductive suspense. She's written stories for as long as she can remember and reads anything under the sun (including the back of cereal boxes in a pinch). She got hooked on romantic suspense in her college days when reading anything but a textbook was a guilty pleasure. Now, when she’s not chauffeuring children around, wishing she had more than 24 hours in a day, or lurking at the library, she’s spinning her own web of fantasy and penning tales of seduction and suspense. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.

She also loves friends, so come friend her at

She's also on Facebook at and Twitter @ErickaScott

You can find out more about her books at