Romance novels with happily ever after endings are pretty much a given. But are we…have we become too cliché?
** Where a proposal is the sure-fire belief they’ll be together once we close the back cover?
** Professing their undying love before embracing, giving us a heart-searing kiss?
** With only a promise of a return and she stands there watching him go off with the feeling of completeness?
** When the story seems to end, but an epilog has been given to add a touch of more.
There are so many ways to end a happily ever after story, aren’t there?
I recently read a blog post on this topic and thought it interesting. So, what do you think?
Have you read any that were different and inspired you to try different ways to express the conclusion?
I, myself, have done the ends with the epilog, the not-so-surprising end, the cliché ends. There are two rules I follow when doing my ends: they must fit the characters first and foremost; they must be consistent with the story. There’s nothing worse than getting there and the end has completely destroyed the story for you.
One of my favorites is the way I wrote end for A Psychic Hitch.
“When you dump, you do it all the way, don’t you?”
“I told you we’re alike, that I go after what I want.”
“If I don’t say yes, a lot of people are going to be disappointed.”
“Cheri, this has to be something you want, not something to please someone else.”
She wound her arms around his neck. “I want to marry you.”
“You’re supposed to say yes,” Andy said.
Both of them looked over at the two people they hadn’t heard come in the room. “Yes.” She looked back up at Allen and whispered, “Yes.”
And, of course, I don’t do everything conventional. Last Glass of Wine is probably as far from cliché as you can get. In this end, which would require too much space to post, I ended the story while they were making love – and then added an epilog to give the actual outcome of their relationship, which requires a tissue or ten.
I don’t want to be preachy by constantly saying this, but I like the different. The cliché, maybe redundancy is a better word, is why I began writing back in high school. I wanted to take the stories I read and change them up – fill in the missing pieces, better heroes & heroines, open the bedroom door, bring in new storylines. It’s still my goal.
There is so much in life to write about, but looking at the books on the shelves, you’d never know it.
Hail to the different! Hail to those climbing out of the rutted path left for us to follow!
Of course, this is my way of thinking. What is yours?
Bekki
http://bekkilynn.net/
Monday, October 19, 2009
End of the Romance: How Do You Like It?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The Paranormal in my fiction
Paranormal elements creep into almost all of my fiction. Why? Because eerie, hair standing up on the back of the neck moments do happen in life, Also because I place my characters into strange situations and unusual settings, where their senses are heightened to an almost supernatural state.
In real life, people can experience extraordinary things. A woman I know of was passing a man on a staircase and a thought entered her mind: this is the man you are going to marry. She dismissed the idea as absurd - but it happened and they are still married. In life, people under stress can do extraordinary, almost superhuman things. The woman after a car crash lifting an engine block to free her trapped child beneath. We can all experience feelings of disquiet, of something being 'off'. We can all have dreams which can stalk us.
This is very much the stuff of fiction. Romance especially lends itself to the paranormal and supernatural. When we are in love we feel to be in a transfigured state: all senses and emotions are heightened. In addition, I write romantic suspense, where my characters are in danger and those warning senses we have are on high alert. I also write romance set in the past, at times in the far distant past, where beliefs in spirits, strange creatures, omens and gods were part of everyday life.
In modern life we tend to separate religion and state. In the past belief in supernatural forces, particularly malign supernatural forces, was far stronger. How else could people in the ancient world make sense of what happened to them and around them? When the causes of illness were not understood it would seem logical that an outside influence - an angry god or an evil spirit - had targeted that person or that animal.
Belief is a powerful force. If a character believes he or she can do something out of the ordinary, then sometimes they can. In my historical fiction I use the beliefs of my characters to allow them to tap into something larger than themselves. This 'something' can be a thing of delight or of terror. It is the wonder of the story-teller, used in tales before humans devised writing. And when we did begin to write, ghost stories, paranormal stories 'spooky' stories, were among the earliest tales we committed to clay, papyrus or parchment.
Here are a few paranormal moments from my novels. The first is based on an ancient Roman ghost story of a haunted house, which I adapted to use in 'Flavia's Secret'. In this excerpt, the paranormal is used to show wonder and delight in a special, secret place; a place where Flavia finds the strength to tell Marcus her own deadly secret.
EXCERPT:
Walking quickly, to show that she did not regret her decision to share this place with him, Flavia returned along the twisting beaten-earth path between the rampant rosemary and lavender bushes. One more twist of the path and they reached the heart of the garden and its startling secret—a private outdoor pool, its shimmering waters steaming in the sun.
‘By Mithras, what a place.’ Looking around, Marcus halted beside her, dropping onto his knees to test the waters of the deep, lead-lined pool. ‘It’s hot!’ he exclaimed, shaking moisture from his hand.
Flavia pointed to a large lead pipe leading away from the pool in the direction of the deserted house before it was lost in the luxuriant undergrowth.
‘We think the owner fixed a conduit somewhere off the spring waters of the Aesculapius spring and directed some of the thermal water here,’ she explained. ‘The pool drains somewhere, too, but we do not know where.’
Marcus sat back on his heels. ‘We?’
‘Those of us who come here, when we can.’
‘Your own private bathing place.’ Marcus jumped to his feet again and walked around the marbled perimeter of the pool. ‘I am surprised nobody has tried to make money with it.’
‘We are careful who we tell,’ Flavia said, squashing disappointment at Marcus’ mercenary approach, but he was staring across the sun-gilded water at the leaf-strewn timber portico leading to the deserted house.
‘I am not surprised at that,’ he said quietly. ‘It is beautiful.’
He watched a small breeze tumble a bronze oak leaf along a small marble walkway leading from the semi-derelict portico to the edge of the pool. ‘Mysterious, quite eerie, but also...comforting. As if you are in an entirely different world.’ He turned about, pointing to the sparkling spiders’ webs on the lavender bushes, rimed with heavy dew. ‘Somewhere forgotten by the rest of the city. A place where magical things become possible.’
‘You understand,’ Flavia whispered, breathing out in relief.
He smiled. ‘It is more than likely that the old owner saw an easy chance to grab some free hot water, but what he has made here, what time has made...I am not surprised he was thought to be a sorcerer.’
Marcus held out both hands to her. ‘Thank you for sharing this, and be assured—your secret with be safe in my keeping.’
Flavia walked to the edge of the secret pool and joined him in studying the waters.
In 'Bronze Lighting,' set in Bronze Age Europe, many characters believe in and practice magic. Here Fearn and Sarmatia, hero and heroine, are taking part in a sky ritual, a dangerous rite that they believe may unmask a murderer.
EXCERPT:
By this time it was early evening. A pall of dark clouds had gathered over the Sacred Hill. The sun hung over the eastern hills like a bloodstained shield. Fearn looked up at the sky.
'The God will come here when I summon him and we must be ready. Each of you strip off your gold, your silver and bronze. The Sky God does not like the gleam of metal on others.'
He lifted the bronze diadem from his head and laid it on the grass. 'Pile your ornaments here together. Give it to the earth for safekeeping. Quickly!'
At his command, Atterians broke their circle and came to heap their metal broaches, swords, arrows, arm-rings and finger-rings upon the King's diadem. Sarmatia watched Laerimmer take off his golden throat disc and glanced down at her own bronze ring, reluctant to remove it. Looking up, she saw Fearn walking towards her.
'Must I take off my ring?' she asked in Kretan as he reached her. Fearn answered in the same tongue.
'I fear so, Sarmatia.' He looked at her. Men were still gathered about the growing heap of metal. He and Sarmatia had a moment together.
'What is this ritual?'
'Nothing you need fear, Sarmatia. The Sky God knows our hearts. He does not touch those who are innocent. Twice now as King I've been asked to do this rite. The God may take some of our metal as sacrifice and payment, but that's a small thing for the truth.'
Sarmatia took off her bronze ring and gave it to Fearn. 'You must put this with the rest, Fearn. I can't.’ Then, although she already sensed the answer, she asked, 'Is the Sky God the same whose shrine is the Great Stone Circle?'
'It's the same God. And this is the rite the southern kingdoms have forgotten.' He turned and left her.
There are gods in my novels, too. In 'Blue Gold' the gods of ancient Egypt watch mankind from the sun-boat that crosses the sky each day and they sometimes interfere more directly.
EXCERPT:
“What happens now?” asked Astarte-with-the-moon-in-her-hair.
The eastern goddess of love was paying another visit to the sun boat of Ra. She thought the climate good for her complexion.
The blue god Amun, casting an admiring glance at the silver-haired goddess’s shapely long legs, mumbled something about a race. He ran his hands through a thick fleece of cloud, parting it with his fingers. “Look below us. There is my Pharaoh, a true Egyptian.”
“Ah yes. Sekenenre. The king who toils like an ant. He certainly looks to be making haste.”
Astarte leaned forward, the corners of her eyes crinkling at the sight of Sekenenre and his retinue of priests running their chariots again and again at the same high dune instead of doing the sensible thing of going round it. At her high vantage point, the fifteen chariots moving with such fanatical haste from the small water course where they had hidden their ship looked bizarre, like weevils.
No one on the sun boat reproved or remarked on the goddess’s comments. Those long, shapely legs were even better when she bent over the gunwale. From the middle of the boat came a muffled exclamation as the soul of the long dead Pharaoh Unas dropped the sun god’s fan.
“Fool of a mortal,” said old Ra sharply, squirming on his throne, crossing hands over thighs.
Astarte looked round over one shoulder and smiled, but she reserved her warmest look for Amun. “He is a long way from Thebes, your Sek-en-enre. Did you send a dream to instruct him? Does this true Egyptian know where he is going?”
“Pay no attention to anything Amun says. Sekenenre’s dash into the desert is due entirely to me.” Set materialized at her elbow. He directed Astarte to look over the other side of the boat. “Here’s my man.”
Aweserre’s chariot scuttled jauntily along below them.
In ‘Blue Gold’ when these two pharaohs meet, it is a clash of arms, force and beliefs and it leads to the unleashing of more paranormal forces.
Happy Halloween!
Lindsay
http://www.lindsaytownsend.net
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Favorite Halloween Movies?
Wow...this is hard, I'll have to say the Nightmare on Elm street movies.
Ooh! I have LOTS, but probably the movie I tend to watch at Halloween is called "I Walked With a Zombie". It's an old black and white horror film produced by Val Lewton. My partner Drake wrote a review of it for a series of blog entries we did last year covering our favorite horror films over the century. You can read the review (and my review of another great horror film, "The Picture of Dorian Gray") at http://blog.angelacaperton.com/2008/09/20/a-century-of-dark-imagination-sophisticated-shadows-19401949.aspx
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Flash of Vampire Romance
Just for a bit pre-Halloween fun, I thought I’d share my Vampire Serial Flash. Yes, and here’s a sneak photo of Zhario, my hero.
Okay... you got me, it’s not. Still I can dream that Zhario of the Dark Server Unit, will someday, star the incomparable and sexy Adrian Paul.
It was a blast to write on the darker side, and hopefully, I’ll find the time to add more to the story.
In the meantime ~
Zhario of the Dark Server Unit
ONE
Zhario sniffed for the acrid bloom of scent that would rapidly lead him to the mutant he hunted. Hunted to extinction. He laughed inside at his own dark humor. He could hear the swine mutant’s heavy tread in a city alleyway, as he searched for prey, preferably a hapless human. But any stray would do. Covered by the night, Zhario swiftly unfurled his great black wings, and launched from the low rooftop. The odor of the mutant had peaked, meaning he’d sighted a victim. Diving, Zhario caught a yellowish flash of the mutant’s tusk. “Cupid, come back here. Cupid, please!”
TWO
The woman’s shrill desperate voice would have cut to his heart, if he’d had one. Zhario swooped faster along the alleyway. This wouldn’t be an easy kill now. The mutant loped toward the woman, instead of feeding on her pet. Close enough to the ugly brown brute, Zhario’s fangs snapped out. The woman stood in a pool of neon light, paralyzed by fear, holding her dog tight against her bosom. Focusing on the mutant, he arrowed his flight. Landing on the brute’s back, he sank his clawed fingers into the mutant’s thick greasy hide. Rearing back, he unhinged his mouth.
THREE
The woman’s scream bounced through alleyway, eerily echoing. Zhario bit, feeling his dagger-like fangs slide deep into the flesh that served as the mutant’s neck. Greenish blood spurted from a severed vein. Infuriated by what the mutant considered a petty attack that interrupted his dinner, he bucked like a fiend, repeatedly slamming his body against the concrete walls on either side of them, and sending a dumpster flying. Zhario hung on, withdrew his fangs, then sliced them over and over into the mutant’s boar-like strength, shredding his shoulder muscles. The woman shrieked hysterically, as if she could stop their battle.
FOUR
Stabbing his fangs beneath the mutant’s pig ear, Zhario found his artery, and ripped through it. Squealing horribly, the brute grabbed his neck with his pork-steak hand, trying to stop his blood from spurting like a fire hose. Unerringly, Zhario slipped forth his enchanted knife, and dealt the death blow. The mutant disappeared beneath him. At the same time, the woman and her dog were suspended in the sorcery vortex. He had to decide what to do with her. A full mind wipe was impossible. She’d witnessed too much, and the horror was embedded in her psyche. He felt it.
FIVE
Zhario stopped dead in his tracks. Funny, he thought, since he was dead to the human world. Her resemblance to his first love was uncannily similar. His loins lurched. Hellblade, his whole body lurched toward her, and wanted. Savagely wanted and tenderly wanted. His mind wanted to believe it was her, even though rational thought told him different. It was the woman’s face that reached in, grabbing his soul, and gripping his aching hungry balls. Stone-rot, he couldn’t leave her here to endure a lifetime of nightmares. She’d probably end up in a mental institution, drugged into a constant fog.
SIX
Stepping forward in a move he knew he would come to fiercely regret, especially since it was against the Dark Server code, Zhario wrapped her inside his wings. She awakened as he levitated them upwards. To halt the scream surging up her throat, he kissed her, hard at first, then more forcefully as her lips responded. He wondered if it was just her instinctive reaction to his kiss, or if she truly felt a sudden passion claim her, as he wanted to claim her. Barely, he heard her dog ferociously growl at him. Hellblood, Victoria waited for him. Now what?
SEVEN
Despite the attack of her dog, their lips didn’t unlock. Instead, their kiss deepened into a soft rage of passion. Maybe he’d toss the dog at Victoria, now that it had bitten him and would be turned. Victoria loathed dogs, especially vampire dogs. Zhario wrapped his legs tightly around the woman. Unfurling his wings, he soared them toward the rooftop of his warehouse home. To his astonishment their mouths remained fused in a blaze of lust that would have sent him up a bonfire, if real. Was she so terrified this was her primal reaction? Kiss him into carnal surrender?
EIGHT
Zhario silently landed them beside his rooftop entry. With her dog in a stupor of adjustment, he concentrated on her, tenderly parting their lips. “Home,” he uttered as he folded his wings inside his back cavity. “Home?” She blinked and he observed the haze of passion filling her aquamarine eyes. He considered turning her, but that would deplete his strength. If Victoria attacked, he could lose. Besides, he didn’t want to turn her this way. “What’s your name?” He hoped like Hell’s Own she would tell him. “I dreamed about you,” she whispered. “I’m Karra. Are you really a vampire?”
NINE
“Yes, Karra. But don’t be afraid. I don’t want to harm you.” He watched the reality of her situation surface in her eyes. “Oh.” Her breathing quickened. “You saved me, didn’t you? From that beast thing?” Hell help him, she was adorable beyond any words, even more so than his lost love. “I belong to the Dark Server Unit. We eliminate beasts like that.” Cradling her dog in one arm, she draped herself against him. “Thank you. Good lord, you can kiss. My lips are still tingling. Can you do it again?” For instants, Zhario couldn’t recover his voice. “Yes...”
TEN
“Zhario, darling, I see you brought dinner home.” Victoria stood in the entryway, a sly smile altering her perfect features. Fiercely eyeing the vampiress, Zhario demanded, “You will leave my home immediately. I have discovered my High Mate.” Victoria didn’t bat an eyelash. “Prove it. If she doesn’t possess the mark...” Zhario interrupted, “I will prove nothing to you. Leave, at my word.” Karra shifted in his embrace. “Do you mean this mark?” Swivelling her head, she moved her blouse collar aside revealing the black wings of his House. Victoria shrieked, vanishing after an ugly snarl. Zhario kissed his Karra.
~~~~~~
Have a Wonderful and Wild Autumn...
May your most romantic dreams come true...
Savanna
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
~~~
Author of ~
All Shades of Blue Paradise
Red Lioness Tamed
When a Good Angel Falls
Tangerine Carnal Dreams
Murder by Hair Spray in Gardenia, New Atlantis
Black Cat Beauty
Stallion of Ash and Flame
~~~~~~
Monday, October 5, 2009
Keep Romance Alive!
Welcome back, Eydie. Thanks for sharing your latest story with us. I hope you all run over to her website and check out her other work and to read the rest of the story. :)
Romance is not just a story, it’s a lifestyle! To keep the romance percolating in your life I’ve included an excerpt from Basque in the Splendor, my most recent novette. It is part of the Castillo Brothers Trilogy. The story takes place in the Basque country of Spain.
Sensual Gourmet
Estevan followed her outside and led her to his ice blue sports car. Inside she was exploding with delight, this man, this day and this car, she couldn’t believe it! Keeping her cool exterior in place she casually asked him about the car.
“Is this your Jag? A 1974 E-Type, V12, right?”
She said it as though she rode around in this sort of car every day. He was impressed.
“Yes, it is, fully restored.”
Lewella smiled in silence. She didn’t want him to know what a secret car fanatic she was and that this was the car she’d always dreamed of owning. Estevan opened the door and she got into the passenger side. As she fastened her seatbelt, he started the engine. Oh that sound, that glorious sound of the Jaguar’s engine, it was arousing to her all by itself, but sitting here next to Estevan…well it was almost more than she could bear. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath to hold the moment. Her nostrils filled with the combined scents of leather upholstery, expensive cologne and the tiniest hint of something primitively exhilarating that was decidedly male in origin.
Lewella opened her eyes to the uniquely picturesque countryside rushing past her. All around her were scenic hills with tiered plateaus in every tint and shade of green. She was awed by the beauty. Here was a paradise all its own. Wordlessly drinking in the landscape, she noticed Estevan was slowing the car. Ahead was a delightful little café.
“Are we stopping?”
Estevan looked at her and smiled.
“I thought you might be hungry. You couldn’t have had much to eat since leaving New York.”
They pulled into the small parking lot and went in. The air was cool inside and the lighting was low. The interior of the restaurant was far more elegant than its exterior had suggested.
They sat down at a small table in an intimate corner of the restaurant. Fragrant flowers graced the linen tablecloth. Gleaming, sterling silver cutlery waited in their arranged place settings. Soon, an attractive young waiter appeared with menus.
“¿El generalmente Sr. Castillo?”
Estevan nodded and soon the waiter returned with champagne and fresh, plump strawberries. The first sip created a delectable taste sensation as the bubbles hit Lewella’s tongue and exploded in her mouth.
“I hope you do not mind that I ordered for you. As you told me you do not speak Spanish, I thought this would be easier.”
“I’m sure whatever you ordered will be fine. I love to try new things.”
The waiter returned again with an appetizer of fresh oysters. She watched with hungry delight as Estevan lifted one of the shells to his open mouth and let the slippery mound slowly slide down the back of his throat. He looked at her expectantly and Lewella did the same, licking her lips after she swallowed. The waiter was back with two crisp, colorful salads of arugula with slivered almonds and crushed basil, topped with sliced avocado artfully arranged around an open fig. Lewella noticed one, long, thick slice of avocado boldly protruding straight up above the greens below. She picked it up with her fingers, softly pushed it between her lips and gently mashed it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, licking her finger as she slowly pulled it out of her mouth. Estevan smiled, mesmerized.
“My, you do that very well.”
Lewella was mildly horrified. She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. What’s come over me? I don’t usually act like this with people I barely know, especially men, she thought to herself. She didn’t have much time to ponder. Estevan took the open fig from the center of his salad and keeping his eyes glued to hers, he elegantly licked out all of the fruit’s pulp. Finally, he took the spent fig’s outer skin and sucked it dry. Lewella was breathless.
The waiter returned and placed two plates in front of them. On each was an artfully arranged serving of broiled salmon and white asparagus. Lewella realized that she was still completely famished. She ate her salmon with abandon and licked the butter off each piece of asparagus with sensual delight. Estevan watched with rapt attention. Finally, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin and felt complete.
“Would you like any dessert? The Crema Catalana is fabulous here.”
Lewella shook her head no. She didn’t want to spoil the wonderful feeling of having a long, slow-building hunger satiated.
When they got back to the car, Estevan held open the passenger side door for her. Lewella thought she could feel him gently tracing the curve of her back low and slow as she got in. She looked over her shoulder to be sure, but he was already on his way to the other side of the car, whistling a happy tune.
Is your interest piqued? Please visit http://romanticstorytelling.com/ for the complete story. Enjoy!
Thanks,
Eydie
Here's a little bio on Eydie and she'd love for you to know the artist of all her artwork is Johanna Uribes.
Eydie Starling Bio
Born: August 2, 1970, Suffolk, England
Favorite flower: The Primrose
Favorite color: magenta
Ms. Starling was born in the county of Suffolk, England. When she was eight her family moved with her younger brother to Boston. They finally settled in Greenburg, New York taking frequent trips to New York City to see the art museums, ballets and Broadway musicals.
On graduation from high school, Ms. Starling travelled throughout Europe for a year before entering college. She studied at several universities in England prior to receiving her Masters degree in Creative Writing.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
ONLY 82 SLEEPS TO GO....
While our cousins in the northern hemisphere are rugged up against the snow, we’re baking on the beach, slathered in sunblock and swatting away the sand flies.
I live in Auckland, New Zealand. With a population of one million it’s our largest city. But then, the country only has 4 million people anyway, but about 60 million sheep!
So what is Christmas like down under?
It’s barbecues and long summer nights, it’s swimming and surfing (remember we’re a small island nation and so surrounded by the Pacific ocean and the Tasman Sea. It’s wearing Jandals, and going on holiday to the family bach, it’s eating trifle and pavlova. For some of us it’s eating a traditional Christmas dinner – turkey and the trimmings while the temperature outside is in the high 80s. For our family it’s having kumara pie, my aunt’s specialty. It’s seeing kids on Christmas morning in their PJs racing up and down the street on their new bikes, it’s timing phone calls overseas to their Christmas day, because you see NZ gets the fist of the day first – if you get my drift – and when my friends in Vancouver Canada wake up to Christmas day, I’ll already be at the Boxing day sales (the day after Christmas day). So the festivities of Christmas will be all over for us while for others it's only just starting.
But what is Christmas really like downunder. Just like yours. It’s time about spending time with family and friends.
Now… I know as you read this you’ll be saying what language is that woman talking. Kumara? Pavlova? Jandals?
So here’s a translation of kiwi-speak!
Kumara Sweet potato native to NZs Maori (our indigenous people).
Jandals Flip flops/open rubber sandals
to get away from it all
I love reading Christmas stories and so really loved writing DESPERATELY
SEEKING SANTA. I’m also delighted to say that this book will be out in print this Christmas, and TO KISS AN ANGEL is being released also in December.
Just as a teaser, here’s an excerpt of DESPERATELY SEEKING SANTA.
He’d returned. Thankfully.
Her body preened its thanks, arching from the downy folds of the bedcovers, aching for his touch, temptation overruling any coherent thought.
This was her fantasy played out in the shadowy hours of pre-dawn. She welcomed him with open arms, an internal greed of sensual need cohabiting with the desperation of an addict for a fix.
He was her fix. And she wanted him. Now!
Each night proved the same. He came. He teased. And she desperately wanted him.
She couldn’t see him clearly, the mists of fantasy versus reality obscuring him partly. But it was what he did to her that called to her.
His kisses. His touch. His loving.
It refueled her hope he would return.
His hand caressed her breast, tipping her into a world of mindless pleasure.
The staccato buzz seemed a mere whisper at first, slowly intensifying as it became an insistent call to her consciousness. He shifted from her arms and instantly a sense of bereavement washed across her nakedness, left cold and empty by his departure.
“No. Please stay. Love me.”
“Why?”
“Because I...”
The acerbic jangle of her alarm sliced through her dream with a brutal thrust. She jolted upright, shocked by her traitorous body and mind.
She’d been about to say she loved him. But how could she love a fantasy?
Friday, October 2, 2009
Romance is not just a story, It's a Lifestyle!
Eydie Starling is an amazing writer. When she asked if she could guest blog here, I went to her blog to meet her. What I found blew me away. Her blog is full of wonderful stories she's written stemming from life experiences. I'm thrilled to have met her and to have her guest blogging today. And guess what, she'll be back Monday, October 5.
Take it away, Eydie.
Here is an excerpt from Basque in the Splendor, my most recent novette. It is part of the Castillo Brothers Trilogy. The story takes place in the Basque country of Spain. (It is a bit R-rated for those who might be uncomfortable with such things.) Yet, if it did indeed pique your interest, please visit www.romanticstorytelling.com for the complete story. Enjoy!
Thanks,
Eydie
A Summer Evening in the Basque Country
Estevan was prompt and Lewella was ready. The Jaguar roared out of the villa’s driveway onto the short distance of two-lane highway. He turned into the long lane that led to his cottage. The vineyards finally subsided to the left, trailing off into infinity as the car entered a wooded area. The air was suddenly sultry, charged with an unmistakable electricity. On the right, a small cottage of dark wood came into view. Estevan eased the Jag to a stop. The thought of entering Estevan’s home sent Lewella’s mind contemplating sweet pleasures. Finally, she looked up to see that he had opened the car door and was holding out his hand.
“Coming?”
Estevan looked charmingly wicked at that moment.
He opened the door, took off his shoes and left them inside, next to the front door. Lewella assumed this must be the custom for his home and did the same. The inside of the cottage was an open space, yet intimate with a wonderful sense of design. The furnishings were large, masculine, comfortable looking pieces made of wood and leather. The late afternoon sun came through the large front windows and reflected off the amber wood of the floor, making the interior glow with warmth. The cottage had been closed up all morning and was hot inside from the day’s heat. Despite this, it smelled clean and crisp, with faint traces of Estevan’s cologne. As he unbuttoned his white linen shirt, he reached for wine glasses.
“Red or white?”
But Lewella did not answer right away. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sliver of bare chest that she could see between the edges of his open shirt. He was just as beautiful as she had imagined. His golden skin rippled over a hard muscular stomach. There was just enough curly black hair in the center of his chest to make her want to run her fingers through it. He wore his jeans low and her eyes followed down as far as she could go. He caught her and smiling now, repeated his question.
“Red or white?”
“Red will be great.”
“Good choice. Red gives power to the blood.”
He poured and handed her a beautiful burgundy colored, crystal sphere. She slowly let herself enjoy the aromas and flavors of the wine. It calmed her and she knew all would be well with that first sip.
He led her out onto his deck and they sat down. He started to explain some of the history of the Basque region, but stopped abruptly.
“You’re not really listening are you Lewella?”
There, he said her name again. Oh the way he said it…she looked at him directly.
“Yes, er no, I was, no it’s just…”
She decided the truth would be best, just to get it out in the open.
“Look Estevan, it’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever seen such deeply expressive eyes as yours before. I’m finding it hard to concentrate.”
She was instantly embarrassed. God that sounded stupid! Estevan didn’t seem to think so and smiled warmly.
“Why Lewella, are you - as they say in England - ‘Chatting me up?’”
She was trapped and afraid now. What if things didn’t go well with this man? She still had to work with him. Be more professional, she chided herself, but the time for professionalism was long gone, she realized. No, be brave and bold she thought. You only go around once. She took a deep breath.
“Why yes, I believe I am.”
He leaned over and kissed her deeply on the mouth. Then he stood up and taking her hand, led her to his bedroom. They lay back onto the crisp white sheets. The comforter had already been turned down, Lewella noted. She tried to wonder if this meant he had preconceived notions, but was too distracted by what his hands were doing to her body now to care. Kissing her mouth, working his way down her neck, he took his time with her ears, tracing their tight curves with his tongue. He unzipped her little black dress with ease, revealing her lacy black bra and panties. Soon they were gone as Estevan took off his jeans and Lewella tore off his shirt. The feeling of skin to skin was simply too delicious. As his hands cupped her breasts, he kissed them until her little points rose up hard to meet his artful tongue. Now his hands roamed everywhere, making her sigh with each new pleasure. Estevan was an artful lover and Lewella responded. Running her hands lightly down the crevice of his thigh to groin and roaming through the brush of dark hair, she teased him with the anticipation of her touch. She heard him moan with delight. Tracing down her belly with his tongue, he made his way to the place she was aching to be kissed. Pleasure kept building until she couldn’t hold it back any longer. He entered her at the peak of her release, increasing its intensity. He touched parts of her she’d never felt before. On and on the hot friction of their bodies melting into one, moving as one until finally, he exploded inside her. They lay back in each other’s arms, amazed at the power between them.
Thanks so much for sharing with us, Eydie. Ladies and gents, you can check out more fabulous work at http://romanticstorytelling.com/
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