In celebration of Celia Stuart’s new e-book, Dancehall Diaries: Lynette, I conducted an interview with her very handsome hero.
The following notes are unabridged, and may be offensive to readers with delicate sensibilities!
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.
This evening I have the pleasure of conducting an interview with Jon, a male author of erotic romance. Although I won’t divulge Jon’s last name to protect his privacy, he’s come all the way up from the Texas panhandle to join us and discuss his work. Welcome, Jon!
Jon: Thanks for the welcome. And the discretion.
Raine: So, Jon, please tell us what it’s like to be a man writing erotica for women? It must be fascinating!
Jon: That it is, Raine. I believe that, in order to write sensual stories for women, you have to really LOVE women, love a woman’s body. A woman’s body, you see, is like chocolate.
Raine (thoughtfully tapping notepad with pencil): Really? How’s that, Jon?
Jon: A woman’s body, like chocolate, has so many different colors, textures, varieties, and tastes. And there are just so many ways to ENJOY chocolate! You can have it hard, where you just gotta pound away at it to get exactly the piece you want, ya know? Or you can have it smooth and creamy, so that just the tip of your tongue will make it go soft in your fingers. And then there’s always melted chocolate. Just pour it on top and nibble away ’til you get to the creamy insides, and then…”
Raine: My, my is it getting warm in here?
Jon: Yes, I love women. That’s why, in my latest book…”
Raine: Excuse me, Jon, let’s backtrack for a moment. According to my Dancehall Diary notes, you seem to have a particular fondness for older women. Care to tell us about that?
Jon: Uh…well, sure, but it really doesn’t have anything to do with…”
Raine: Humor me.
Jon: Older women are great. They know exactly what they want, they’re in their sexual prime, and they’re not interested in pointless games. In fact, in my latest book…”
Raine: Hold that thought, Jon. Are you saying you’re not interesting in games? Because right here in my notes it says something about you having a penchant for tying ladies up in bed with silk scarves…
Jon (flashing awkward, boyish grin): Well, that was a little private thing between me and my sweetie, Lynette. You see, we made this deal, and…”
Raine: Isn’t that what that homicidal chick in Basic Instinct was into? Tying people up? Do you swing that way, Jon?
Jon: Now, wait just a durn minute! Is this an interview, or an interrogation?! Lynette and I…”
Raine: Yes, Lynette. I have that here too. ‘Shy, sweet little Georgia peach. Agreed to exchange brownies with ICING for lessons in the bedroom.’ Now, I may be mistaken, sir, but I believe that sort of bartering is illegal in every single state of this Union except Nevada. Am I correct?
Jon: It wasn’t like that! It was consensual, and very hot, and exciting, and…and much like a scene out of my newest book…”
Raine: So you are, in fact, guilty, aren’t you, Jon?! Is that the REAL reason we can’t know your last name??!
Jon: You’re insane!! Give me those damn notes!
(Raine watches, stunned, as Jon snatches the notebook from her hand and storms out of the interview room).
Not to worry, ladies and gentlemen. He can run, but he can’t hide. You can read all about the exploits of Jon, aka ‘The Chocolate Man’, in the new release, Dancehall Diaries: Lynette, now on sale at Liquid Silver Books.
EXCERPT from DANCEHALL DIARIES: LYNETTE, by Celia Stuart
He could feel her watching him as he strolled across the white shag and picked up her latest read. “Peaches” by Lindsay Johns.
“This looks interesting.” He sipped his wine and scanned the back flap. Honestly, who wrote that drivel on the back? Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Lynette’s hands flutter as if she yearned to yank it out of his hands. It was killing her to watch him hold her book, and Jon bit back a grin. “So, does she get her man?”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, reaching out to snatch the book away but missed.
“Does Diana get Roger? Or no?” He held it just out of her grasp.
“I haven’t finished it.” She shrugged and reached for the book again.
“What do you think?” He gently returned the book to its spot on the chair’s arm.
“Well, typically all romances have a…”
“Romance?” he asked, holding the book up. “This doesn’t look like the cover of any romance I’ve ever seen.”
Lynette blushed.
The sepia tinted cover depicted a woman in a low cut blouse, her cleavage and ample breasts clearly visible, as was the lacy detail of her bra. Her head was thrown back and a man’s lips were pressed to her neck. He was obviously bare-chested and one of his hands skimmed just under the heroine’s breast. It definitely wasn’t his mother’s clutch.
“I think they call that…its romance combined with erotica.” She looked like a schoolgirl caught smoking. Her creamy complexion took on a pink hue visible even in the dim light.
He swallowed his laughter, thinking of the time his mother caught him reading Kathleen Woodiwiss’s “Shanna.” He’d been twelve.
“Interesting. Hustler meets Harlequin. So, anything in there you’d like to try?”
Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes slid downward in obvious embarrassment.
Jon waited patiently for her to speak. At the same time, he scolded himself for twitting her. The entire room was extremely feminine and inviting. He had expected no less, and she might be every inch the lady, but he had a strong suspicion she had the soul of a courtesan. “Lynette?”
Her head whipped up as if he’d yelled at her.
“Do you want this? Do you want me here? Because, if you don’t, I’ll leave. Just say the word, okay?”
She nodded even as her color returned to normal and the stiffness in her shoulders visibly eased.
“You’re all right with this? You want me to stay?” He sure hoped so because God knew, he wanted to stay.
“I want you to stay.”
“Good.” He gave her another gentle smile. “Now…anything in there you want to try?”
“Maybe.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and came out sounding like a confession.
“Such as?” He was dying to know which scene she wanted to try. “Lynie, honey…is it okay if I call you Lynie?”
She nodded again, eyes wide.
“Lynie, if we’re gonna be lovers, you have to learn to talk about sex.” While he spoke, he slowly ambled toward her. Jon gently pinned her to the dresser, his legs surrounding hers. “Which one?”
“What do you mean ‘which one’?'” Her voice shook.
“Well, surely they have sex more than once. Come on, you can tell me. Just close your eyes and blurt it out.”
Taking a deep breath, she lowered her lids and whispered, practically choking on the words, “He ties her up…with silk scarves.”
