Monday, July 6, 2009


I drove my husband to hospital this morning. He tore one of the crossed ligaments in his knee during a ski race a couple of months ago, and after dozens of sessions of physiotherapy, the doctor finally decided surgery is the best option if he wants to continue to ski, play tennis, water-ski, etc. It’s the first time Mr Prescott has ever been admitted into hospital, which is somewhat surprising considering he’s played some pretty intense sports in his life. But this morning, my poor sweetie has to have knee surgery.

I’m something of a veteran when it comes to surgery. I’m not talking anything major (touch wood...), just a fair share of close encounters with surgical instruments. I’ve had my appendix out, two C-sections, and a couple of other little tiresome interventions. I’ve also always been somewhat accident prone, and seem to have a knack for getting maximum damage from the most insignificant falls. I broke my leg in two places sledging down Verbier’s baby slope at a snail’s pace. I broke my arm playing “What time is it Mr. Wolf?”. I broke my left foot running upstairs (I didn’t want to miss ER’s season finale!). I tore the ligaments in my right ankle lugging my washing basket downstairs. I exploded my left shoulder falling off my horse (one of my more spectacular falls!). Basically, I know how painful certain boo-boos can be. I know about general anaesthetics, allergic reactions to morphine, and, well, post surgical pain! Just thinking about him waking up in a few hours time makes me wince. So I’ll be rushing back to the hospital later today, lips puckered, ready to kiss him better!

In the meantime, I’m leaving you with a “kiss it better” excerpt from my romantic comedy, “Mucho Caliente!”, which is set in Ibiza. In this scene, Gemma and her friends Celeste and Laura are on board a sailing boat with Latino superstar Emilio Caliente and his band. Everyone wants to go and spend a couple of hours at some natural mud-baths, with the exception of Gemma who finds the idea quite unpalatable. Eventually however, Gemma is spared the gloopy experience when poor Emilio suffers a painful encounter with a bucketful of jellyfish. Gemma’s maternal instincts kick in, with somewhat steamy results!

I hope this excerpt makes you smile! And I hope my husband’s surgery goes well...


Lying on the deck, with Emilio stretched out beside me, his eyes closed, his eyelashes shading half his face, I shudder as my twisted mind concludes that the polished skin one obtains after marinating in this natural cesspool is the result of direct contact with an amoeba festival with the munchies. But then again, maybe my aversion to anything less than squeaky-clean stems from prolonged and repeated contact with Richard’s pristine Swissness. Maybe it’s time to get my nails dirty, to imagine how my skin will feel to Emilio when he runs his fingers down my spine after a muddy rub-a-dub.
“Hola, guapa,” says Emilio softly, sleepily, in a voice that immediately transports me faraway from muddy microorganisms with fervent appetites, to a place where a burnished sunset warms the golden sand. There we are, lying together, bathed in the flattering light of the late afternoon sun, sipping something exotic and colourful. I know how it’s supposed to be. I’ve seen the movie more than once. I want to touch his biscuit-coloured skin, to tickle the tiny, sun bleached fuzzy hairs that curl so adorably in the small of his back. I want to lick the salty deposits that decorate his body like diaphanous lace.
He opens his eyes and smiles at me. I pretend not to see the little trickle of drool he hastily wipes on the towel. He may find it threatening to his image. I find it reassuring. Somehow, it restores the balance of power between us.
“Ready to get really, really dirty?” he says, wrinkling his nose to the max.
Oh God! Where has my stomach gone this time? Overboard! Could someone please go and retrieve it?
Then he goes and spoils everything.
“Hey, Philip, quit showing off with ropes. Kirsten’s an expert at tying men in knots. Literally.” Emilio props himself up onto one elbow, waggles his eyebrows and heaves one of those horrendous, deep throated haw-haw-haw laughs, the kind typical of a man trying to let his buddies know how much testosterone lies beneath his underpants. I knew it! He’s slept with her. Or something.
I’m emotionally seasick.
Testosterone levels on board soar as Jorge, David and Philip hoist the flags in frat-style camaraderie. Big belly laughs ensue. Haw-hawity-haw.
Maybe she’s done them all.
“Emilio! You naughty boy,” says Kirsten, tossing her hair, getting up, grabbing a bucket of water and rushing towards him. Nothing wobbles as she sashays towards us. Amazing, really.
Even more amazing is that Kirsten has failed to notice four gelatinous creatures with trailing tentacles floating in the bucket, who seem to fancy tasting Emilio’s salty deposits as much as I do. Kirsten realises her mistake just as she empties the contents all over him. She screams. I manage to jump out of the way and, thankfully, am only blasted with half a bucket of lukewarm seawater. Emilio on the other hand, his eyes screwed up tightly, his body braced in expectation of pleasant refreshment, is in for a shock.
Four jellyfish land on top of him.
I don’t know what Emilio says as he shoots to his feet, but it doesn’t sound good. Kirsten stands there, holding the bucket, wide-eyed, open mouthed, horrified at what she’s done.
“Emilio! Shit, I’m sorry. Let me see…Oh my God!” she shrieks as angry looking welts flare up on his chest and back. “Quick, does anyone have any cream?”
I almost smartass that someone might want to pee on him but think better of it. Kirsten might oblige.
Everyone comes rushing as Emilio collapses onto the deck, writhing exaggeratedly, like a soccer player in need of some TLC. Laura hands me her first aid kit.
“Why me?” I mouth at her, stalling.
“Aller,” she hisses, with stern, get-on-with-it eyes.
I kneel down and take out the familiar tube of cream. “Here, be still.” My voice is surprisingly assertive, very stop-this-nonsense-ish. I’m on top of this. Gently, I rub anti-sting salve into his poor, sore skin. It’s almost as if I’m kissing him better. In fact, maybe I could kiss him better. If I kissed him now, would it be taking advantage of the situation?
“Gemma, I think I need to go down into the cabin.”
Oh. Is this a polite way of saying get your big, clumsy paws off me?
I turn into Thumbelina.
“Would you mind coming down with me?”
I’m Gisele Bundchen, Queen of the Amazon.
I can’t risk eye contact with anyone. It might break the spell, make me lose my nerve. Hiding behind my hair, doing my best to appear casual, I mumble “no problem” and follow him below deck. Hey, no big deal! I go into cabins with glamorous, injured celebrities all the time! I’m only going down there to make sure he’s all right. Jellyfish stings hurt. I know. I’ve been there, experienced that.
I can feel a dozen eyes burning into the back of my neck, each offering a different message.
“Go girl, woof woof woof!” say Laura’s eyes.
“Go girl, just be careful,” say Celeste’s.
“Enjoy,” say Jorge’s.
“Whatever,” say David’s.
“Don’t make a mess,” say Philip’s.
“Is there anything I can do?” offers Kirsten, the only one to speak aloud. “Anything at all?”
But we’re already in his cabin. He’s shut the door. I can hardly breathe.
And he’s kissing me...

“Mucho Caliente!” is available in print from Amazon and Barnes and
It is available as an ebook from BookStrand, Mobipocket, All Romance Ebooks.
It is also available in Kindle from

Have a wonderful, boo-boo free summer!

Lots of love,


Francesca Prescott
"MUCHO CALIENTE! - Wish upon a Latino Superstar"
An effervescent romantic comedy
LASR: Best Long Book of the Year 2008: "Laugh out loud hilarious!"
NOR: Reviewer Top Pick: "A seriously fun book with more twists and turns than expected"
CRR: Hard to put down”


Lindsay Townsend said...

Hi Cesca! I do hope your poor hubby makes a swift, reasonably pain-free recovery from his surgery. Kiss it better from me, please.

Wow - you have been an op veteran! Poor you, to.

XX - kisses for both of you.

Very saucy, steamy, fun excerpt!

lainey bancroft said...

Fun excerpt, Cesca! You're such a tease. Lead us into the cabin and close the door. lol

Good luck to you and hubby. My husband had knee surgery a few years ago. I didn't rush to kiss him better. I just fetched ice and pain killers and avoided him until he stopped growling. =)

Savanna Kougar said...

Cesca, ooooohhh, I luv how that scene developed, then THE KISS.

Oh, and I have been stung by jellyfish and being allergic, it was no fun. Baking soda came to the rescue.

Blessed healing to your husband.
And, my goodness, take care!

Francesca Prescott said...

Hello Lindsay, Lainey and Savanna! Thanks for reading my "kiss it better" post. I went back to see my husband this afternoon and he seemed to be doing ok. I took him his favourite sports newspaper (French "L'Equipe") which seemed mainly concerned by Roger Federer's fabulous win at Wimbledon - did you watch that match? Wow! Poor Andy Roddick! He played so amazingly well!

I also took him a French tabloidy magazine called "Paris Match", which was all about poor Michael Jackson. Not because my husband was particularly fond of Michael Jackson...but because I think mags like that are kind of nice to read in hospital. Anyway, Mr Prescott was a little groggy, but not grumpy at all. The surgery went well. Yay!So I kissed him better, and when I left he wasn't quite ready to dance a jig, but definitely looking far more perky!

About the excerpt, sorry for being a tease, but if you turned the page (!) you'd find out what happens between Gemma and Emilio in that cabin...

Lindsay Townsend said...

Hi Cesca,
Wonderful to know Mr P has had his op and is doing well. Glad you were able to give him a kiss!

I saw the tennis. Amazing. I felt so sorry that one of them had to lose.

Poor MJ. Such a pity, and a ghastly shock.

Lindsay Townsend said...

Savanna - hugs for you and kisses after your encounter with a jelly-fish. NOT nice!

((())) ((())) xx

Savanna Kougar said...

Cesca, glad to know Mr. P is doing well... I always think kisses do make it better!

I heard a medium contact with MJ on Coast-to-Coastam radio... it was revealing and utterly amazing and utterly convincing, given the responses. MJ was in what the medium called the realm of emotions at the time, and in process for a higher realm.

Lindsay, thanks... smiles! Nowdays, hopefully, I'd have my bottle of Aller-Max, a natural supplement for allergic reactions. Works on me like a charm.

Maggie Toussaint said...

Lovely post, Cesca. I adore the zany fun in your writing. And I'm praying your husband has a speedy recovery.

LK Hunsaker said...

You know, breaking your leg trying not to miss ER is really pretty funny. ;-)

Best wishes to Mr. P!

Jane Richardson, writer said...

Great fun excerpt! Loved the bit about their eyes all saying different things. :) Hope your fella is doing well now, Francesca!

Jane x

Bekki Lynn said...

Oh, the poor guys -- I had to do a pain dance -- kisses better make both your hubby and Emilio.