Addicted~So You Think You Can Dance

We're big So You Think You Can Dance junkies at our house. Even hubby watches it (mostly for the sake of myself and the kidlet!). Last night, Mia Michels choreographed a stunning piece of art for Kayla and Kupono. Kayla is one of my fav dancers, and Kupono was utterly mercenary and breathtaking in this piece.

It's about an addict, and her addiction and it made me think of Anais and Lindsay.

Anyway, thought I'd share in case you don't watch the show, or if you saw it and wanted to watch it again!

Here's the link. Let me know what you think!

A Sprinkling of Crumbs

Hi everyone! Sorry to be so late dishing out the crumbs!!! I do have a few things for you. Not too much, but a few…
Here’s an email I received from my editor today…she’s such a damn tease!!!!

Oh, and BTW, I did see some shots of just the model
they used for the cover. He is bee-yoo-ti-ful! All the shots are from the back and he
has amazing musculature! (And he looks really good in his breeches :-))

I seriously cannot wait to see his cover!

This next little excerpt if from a scene which is a turning point not only in the book, but in Jane and Wallingford’s relationship. I really like this scene, how he opens up, and Jane, who is a tough nut to crack begins to weakens.

Jane looked up. His breathing seemed harsh to her ears. His gaze, she noticed, was focused intently upon her. Jane struggled to not look away from that intense, almost passionate gaze.
“We have done what we promised never to do,” he said, his voice husky in the dark quiet of the hall. “We—both of us—thought never to expose ourselves to the prying eyes of others. And yet we have done the unthinkable, we have sold ourselves to each other.”
She could not help but stiffen at his words. Indeed, they had agreed to complete honesty, to shed the mantle of secrets they both wore, and yet, the reminder of it did little to settle her nerves. She had known what she was getting into the minute she stepped into the carriage for Evesham. She had known that her secrets would now belong to him, yet that had not prevented her from coming to him.
“We are both damaged souls, Jane, marred by darkness and sin. We’re both scarred,” he whispered, brushing his thumb against the uneven skin of her top lip. “You wear your scars on the outside, while mine are hidden deep. But they’re there, Jane. You just have to look hard.”
“And will you let me, my lord, look deep?”
He swallowed hard, but nodded, even though it was only a slight incline of his head.
“You’ve made it clear that this is the only way I can have you, Jane.”
“Honesty will set you free.”
He smiled, a soft sound of amusement passed between his lips. “The truth enslaves, Jane. It will chain us, bind us in a way that the two of us will fight to get free from.”
“I can bear the burden.”
“I wonder if you can? Because beyond this door we will cease to be the people we show to the world. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“I will be only Matthew here in this room with you, Jane. Tell me, who, am I to expect? Who are you really?”
“I do not know,” she said, her voice trembling despite her attempts to appear as though she were firmly in control of her feelings. “I always thought I knew myself so well. But then…” The words froze in her throat and she looked away, but he caught her chin with the edge of his fingers and turned her face to his.
“Only honesty, Jane. We promised. We will not go beyond this door until I have your word that you will be completely honest with me, as I have vowed with you.”
“I thought I knew what I wanted—who I was—that is, until that day I first saw you in the carriage. You…you awakened feelings in me that were strange, terrifying yet exhilarating. These feelings were all things I forbid myself—feelings I’ve never wanted to have. I was quit satisfied with never having felt pleasure or passion, and then when I met you, I questioned everything I have ever believed in. You ask me who I truly am? The truth is, I do not know.”
“Do you wish to know?”
“I fear the answer I may uncover.”
His expression seemed to soften. She saw the flicker of something in his eye, before he shielded it with his thick lashes as he watched his thumb glide along her mouth, parting her lips. “I, too, am afraid, Jane. I fear what I will find inside me as well. I fear the things you will ask, and the answers I shall have to give you. Shall we forget this bargain of ours, then? Shall we pretend that we never agreed to bare our souls to one another? Should we forget that we have never met, never touched. Never kissed?”
Suddenly she felt breathless, anxious. “Is that what you want?” she asked, fearing the answer.
“No,” he said in a hard, almost choking voice. “It is not what I want. I want to know you, Jane. I want to understand what makes you different from the women I have known. I want to understand these feelings I had, that I still have.”
“Then we will go forward. And we shall never tell a soul what happens in this room. We will never speak of each other’s secrets or use them to hurt one another once this week is over.”
“Agreed,” he murmured brushing his thumb along her mouth. “Our secret.”
Together they released the latch on the door and stepped into the room. With a quiet click the door closed behind Matthew. They were now completely alone. While clothed, Jane knew that Matthew would strip her utterly naked, and he would not have to remove one stitch of her clothes to do so.

This is for Barbara who coerced a bit of sexy scene out of me….

Matthew’s arms felt strong beneath her as he carried her to his bed. He wore a linen shirt that was unbuttoned, allowing her to feel the hot skin of his corded neck beneath her lips. Aware of the steely strength in his shoulders, Jane slid her fingers beneath the opening of his shirt and caressed his chest. His flesh was taut over the thick muscle, warm and scented with the smell of eastern spices and man.
Feeling brave, knowing that she only had but a week to indulge herself with him, Jane threw caution to the wind and allowed her hand to slide further into his shirt. Cupping his breast, she discovered his chest was nothing but chiselled muscle that felt as unyielding as rock and as contoured as a sculpture. She ran her finger along his nipple and felt it grow taut and erect, pressing urgently beneath her finger.
She wanted nothing more than to discover what his hard body would feel like beneath her hand and what he would look like naked to her gaze. Tilting her head back, she looked up into his face and saw that he watched her with unblinking eyes. His irises had turned to a brilliant, glistening shade of India ink and she could not help but think once more how beautiful and mysterious his eyes were.
He reached the bed and instead of tossing her on it, he gently placed her atop the blankets which were folded back and followed her down until his body half covered hers. Pressing against her, his weight sank them both deep into the mattress. She should have felt smothered by his strength and the strong, large bulge of his arousal that pressed eagerly at her pubes, but she felt only desire and comfort and a strange sense of safety and rightness.
“I was too anxious the last time. I did not take my time to explore you as I should have—as I wanted.”
She covered his sculpted mouth with her finger, stopping his words of regret. “You gave me what I needed, Matthew. And I needed you so fiercely, and somehow you knew that. My body has not stopped crying out for more of it.”
His eyes darkened further and his lashes lowered. She followed the path of his gaze and saw that he was busy untying the strings of her petticoat and she became mesmerized by the beauty and elegance of his long, dark fingers pulling and tugging and freeing the perfectly tied bow. Her breathing became rapid and she felt the light brush of his knuckles along her belly as he parted the cotton over her hip.
“I want to give you more, Jane. I want to savor you, to kiss and lick every inch of you.”
Her womb clenched, the muscles of her core tightened in yearning.
“I want to tongue you,” he said in a deep, provocative voice. Then he flicked the tip of his tongue between the seam of her lips. “Everywhere. Your lips, your neck, your breasts, your rounded belly. Your quim,” he growled, sending a wicked, forbidden tremor throughout her limbs. “I want you to tell me your desires. I want to know what you want me to do to you. And I want to do them, Jane. I want to give you what you need.”
Her corset was off and he tossed it to the side of the bed where it fell to the floor in a heap with her petticoats. She lay partially beneath him in only her chemise and she felt his wide palm slide up her calf, then thigh, nearly engulfing her flesh in his hand. He caressed her to her hip, running his hand appreciatively up and down the rounded contour.
He reached up, above her head, and she froze, stiffening beneath him. It was a silly response, but she could not hide it nor could she look away from his gaze that studied her so quizzically. But he would not allow it, and tipped her chin up so that she could not avoid his gaze.
“Please don’t,” she whispered, seeing how his hand was against the bed curtains. “I don’t want it to be dark, not with you. I...I want to see you—us.”
“I would never want you in the dark, Jane. You were made to be seen beneath a man.”
“I want see you, too,” she said, slipping her hands beneath his shirt. He helped her tug the linen over his shoulders and when his head pulled free, his hair was mussed and she ran her fingers through it, thinking how rakish he looked peering down at her with his dishevelled hair.
Sliding his hand beneath her pillow, he raised himself slightly above her. It was then that she saw how beautiful he was—how strong—how wonderfully muscled beneath skin that was a rich tawny brown. Her gaze skimmed down to his belly that was fashioned out of the same hard muscle and resembled a washerwoman’s washboard.
Black silky hair ran in a straight line from his navel, disappearing below the waistband of his black trousers. Her gaze slipped lower and she noticed that his trousers were tented with a formidable erection. Her stomach curled in a knot, knowing she was going to have him covering her with this hot, hard, very male body.
“You’re beautiful,” she said on a sigh, sounding awed even to her own ears. “You feel like steel beneath this soft skin.”
His fingers sought and found the silk tie holding her chemise and he tugged the ends of the bow taut, freeing it and allowing her chemise to gape open. She barely registered the fact that he was parting her shift, preparing to bare her breast to his gaze.
She let out a deep satisfied sigh as their skin brushed together when he pulled her chemise from beneath her.
Matthew looked down between their meshed chests and studied Jane’s lush body. She was naked now and he watched how the rain drops on the cottage window dappled shadows on her skin. He saw the reflection of a crystal shaped drop snake over the roundness of her hip. He traced it with his fingertip until it ran down her thigh, racing to the shadow of her apex, until another drop followed, then another, reminding him of tears.
Brushing his cheek against her thigh, he closed his eyes, smelling Jane’s skin, relishing her fingers running through his hair, absorbing the feel of her naked body against his. His heart hurt, despite knowing what they would share. It ached at the loss he knew was coming closer, day after day.
They would go their separate ways soon. The secrets and pleasures they shared would forever be kept within the confines of his cottage. Every time he gaze out this window, he would see rain, and the shadowy droplets on Jane’s flesh. He would think of tears and forever wonder if Jane would shed any for him.
“Matty?” she whispered, and he pressed his eyes shut, willing the pain to subside. “What is it?”
She lifted his head from her lap and he smiled, a sad smile, mixed with joy and desire, loss and loneliness. “I want to make you weep with pleasure, Jane,” he murmured, sliding up the length of her luscious body. “I want to take your tears away on my lips and keep them with me forever. And after, I want to paint you like this, with the shadows on your body and the remnants of pleasure casting a glow over your body.”

This next scene was the first scene that came to me for Sinful. I actually wrote it while writing Addicted. I knew then, that Wallingford was going to be really tortured, really passionate and really possessive. Here’s a little snippet.

The door opened and Jane’s gaze darted to the door, only to see him shouldering his way through and pressing his back against the door until it clicked firmly shut. His gaze met hers and then suddenly he was on his knees before her, his face pressed into her skirts as he rubbed his cheeks against her thighs.
“I am in hell,” he groaned, and his fingers fisted into the silk of her skirt. “Seeing you tonight has been my salvation and my agony.”
Lifting her face from the arm of the lounge, she bent over him, kissing the top of his head and running her hands through his tousled hair.
“When, Jane,” he asked, his voice gruff and full of emotion, “when will I look at you and think of you as a friend? When will I see you and not feel my body harden and ache to be inside you?”
His hot hands slid down her calves and snaked their way beneath her skirt so that he could wrap his fingers along her ankles and slide them up along her stocking clad leg.
“When will I stop dreaming of you wearing nothing but crème stockings and lace garters? When will I ever be able to dress you and kiss you and think of you as mine?”
He bent to kiss her ankle then slowly he raised her skirts, pushing the silk and the petticoats up so that her stockings were revealed to him. His mouth was everywhere, nipping at her calves, her knees, and the inside of her thighs. He hesitated for a moment then ran his lips along her mound that she had not been able to bring herself to cover with drawers.
“I dream of this naked, wet flesh. I crave it,” he whispered and dropped a kiss amongst her curls before wrapping his arms around her hips and clutching her close to him so that his face rested on her bare thighs, and his breath caressed her apex.
“When I saw you tonight without your spectacles, I nearly went mad.” He raised his head and looked at her, and she had never seen him more handsome than he was peering up at her from behind the crinkled blue silk. “I’m supposed to be the only man to see behind the glass.” Her lips trembled and she smothered a soft sob of longing. “It is only me that should be removing them. Only me you should see atop you.”
“Matthew,” she whispered shakily, raking an unsteady hand through his hair.
“God help me, Jane,” he cried, grasping her to him as buried his face in her lap. “I cannot do this! I cannot let you be. I swear I need you—need the little piece of Heaven you can give me. I need it so much.” When he looked up at her, his expression shattered her heart. “Please tell me that you’re lonely too, Jane.”

Till next time, guys!!! Hope this satisfies!!!

Sinful Breadcrumbs

Hi guys! Well, as promised, I'm here with a few details about Lord Wallingford and his book, Sinful. I'll try to drop a few juicy tidbits at the beginning of each of month. I hope you'll enjoy them and they'll tide you over until May 2010!

So, I thought I'd start by telling you a bit about the book. It takes place a few months after Addicted leaves off. It's Spring, and most of the book takes place in the north of England, where Lindsay and Wallingford have their estates. Near Bewdley is a village called Evesham, a delightful, quaint, little village with a lot of fruit trees. Evesham inspired me. We have lots of blossoms in Sinful. Orange blossoms, quince and cherry. Wallingford is very, very creative with them. It must be the artist in him!


Years ago, when I was in England, I had the opportunity to travel to Wiltshire, to Stourhead. Stourhead's gardens are world renknowned. My day was just gorgeous, and I came away knowing that one day I would use the gardens on a grand estate, for just the right hero. Wallingford is that hero. He appreciates beauty in all forms. I've included a few pictures of Stourhead, especially the temple. Wallingford's garden has a temple, and there is much misbehaving in those gardens! lol!








The bridge in the mist was most inspiring, and I wrote a scene with Wallingford standing on the bridge in the drizzle, looking down into the water contemplating his life, and Jane. I think it's very atmospheric that picture, and it really set the tone perfectly for that scene.

CindyW asked in the last update if Wallingford dances in his book. He does, Cindy, a few times in fact. But only one special one with Jane, and it takes place in his studio cottage.



This is a picture of the cottage that sits in the gardens at Stourhead. I loved the romantic, gothic look of it and knew I had to have it in Sinful. So, this cottage is Wallingford's art studio. It's his oasis, and the only place he can truly be himself. NO ONE has ever stepped foot inside it, but this is where he brings Jane, time after time. Some of the best scenes (I feel)take place in that cottage. Wallingford is just a man here, and this is where Jane truly falls in love with him.

Music is always a big inspiration for me when I write. The first draft was written to the Pride and Prejudice movie soundtrack. The soft piano pieces are just so haunting, and I was able to really connect Wallingford's emotions with those pieces. However, there is one song, and in particular one part of it that really worked for him, and a scene where he is lying in bed, smoking, trying to pretend that he's not hurting over something that has happened between he and Jane. That song is Outside by Staind, and the lyrics are:

All the times that I've cried. All that's wasted. It's all inside.
And I feel all this pain, stuffed it down, it's back again,
And I lie here in bed, all alone. I can't mend

I heard from my editor a little bit ago, and she says they've already briefed Sinful's cover. She told me that she's very excited about the idea, and that she could tell me that "the cover will have a lone man on it, barechested and shot from the back' WOO HOO!!!! I'm so excited. I do believe that this will be the first lone male cover that Spice has ever produced! I can't wait to share it with you when it's done.

And now for a little excerpt. Keep in my that these teasers are first draft, unedited and may nor may not make into the final book. This is just for fun.

Hope you enjoy a little bit of Wallingford!
Have a great weekend, guys!

Mathew followed his friend’s gaze and saw that it was focused intently on Jane. He didn’t care for the amused glint in Raeburn’s eye, nor did he care for the smug smile that parted his lips.

“My God,” Raeburn drawled as his smile widened, “you’ve gone and done it. You’ve fallen for the little pea-hen.”

Matthew stiffened. “Don’t call her that,” he snapped, his gaze lingering on Jane and the curve of her graceful neck and the whisps of red hair that caressed her skin.

“Why not? You do,” Raeburn taunted. “I specifically recall hearing you say she was nothing but an unremarkable and dower spinster.”

“Well perhaps I might have been wrong,” he snapped.

Raeburn placed a hand over his heart and took a mocking step backward. “Wrong? The Earl of Wallingford mistaken about a woman? Impossible, my friend. You are never wrong where women are concerned.”

Glaring at his friend, Matthew fumbled inside his jacket pocket searching for a cheroot. After locating the wooden box of matches, he irritably swiped a sulphar match against the stone railing and lit the cheroot, inhaling deep breaths of smoke before waving the flame out and tossing the match to the ground.

“Admit it, Wallingford, the pea hen has somehow managed to catch your eye.”

He caught Jane laughing as she sat down beside Anais. Even through the French doors he was aware of her, aware of the way the lamplight would reflect in the glass lenses of her spectacles—aware of the way the firelight would dance along the deep auburn highlight in the hair that was pulled so severely back. Despite the distance between them, his body was as aware of her as if she were standing beside him. He saw her laugh again, then clasp Anais’ hands in hers. Her face turned pink and he was drawn in by the simple pleasure of watching her unguarded and laughing. She was full of life and exuberance, and her skin fairly glowed as she smiled and laughed with Anais.

“She is no colorless bird,” he murmured, not knowing if had intended to say the words aloud.

“Is that so?” Raeburn asked as his gaze narrowed on Jane.

“Indeed,” he murmured, secretly smiling as he remembered her flailing about in the water that afternoon. Grinning, he recalled the colorful epitaphs that had fallen so easily from her lips as she clung madly to his shoulders. “There is something about her,” he said, unable to keep his gaze from her. “Something I cannot describe or understand. She is not the least bit beautiful by Society’s standards, and yet I have not looked at another woman since I met her at your wedding. There is something about her face that draws me in.”

“You find her beautiful?” Raeburn choked.

“Is that so damn hard to believe?” Matthew growled, tensing as his body filled with anger and a fierce protectiveness he had never felt towards a woman.

“Aye, it is,” Raeburn said with a grin. “It is almost unbelievable. I’ve never known you to look at woman with more than a passing glance. Your gaze strays to the most superficial trappings. But it seems you have looked deeper where Miss Rankin is concerned. You’ve seen beyond the spectacles and her severe manner of dress and seen the beauty within.”

“You’re talking rubbish, Raeburn,” he grunted, as he took a long, calming drag on his cheroot. “Obviously your honeymoon has made you into a romantic halfwit. You’re romanticising whatever this...this attraction is I hold for Miss Rankin. An attraction, I fear that is fuelled not by lust or affection, but by pride. She won’t have me, you see, and I am afraid that my ego cannot bear it.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew them for a lie. Knew that at first when he had pursued her at Raeburn’s wedding it might have been a case of bruised pride. However, he had to admit that those were not his feelings now. He had looked deeply—today most especially—and had seen the loveliness in Jane. And what was more, he felt strangely possessive of that rare beauty. He knew he must be the first man to really notice Jane’s beauty, and that realization made him selfish, made him want to hide her from all men. He wanted her to be his, yet he didn’t want her to think that he could be hers—that there could be anything lasting between them. But when he thought of her with another…

“I don’t believe you, you know,” Raeburn said beside him. “You see, I’ve known you too long, and I’ve seen you with too many women—women I may add that you have never looked at quite the way you look at Jane.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Raeburn, nor do I care.”

“You don’t have to pretend, my friend. I understand how damnably confusing the whole thing can be.”

“What whole thing?” He asked as he studied the blunt end of his cheroot.

“Giving your heart to another.”

He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound from deep in his chest. “I have no heart to give, surely you know that.”

Raeburn looked at him with a strange intent gaze. “You have one, I’m sure of it, you just have to find it. However, I’ll wager it’s locked up tighter than the crown jewels.”

Matthew grunted and looked away. Raeburn knew nothing. He had no heart. He was heartless. He was not kind, he was selfish and merciless. He had not given anything—most importantly his heart—to Jane Rankin. And what was more, he didn’t have it in to offer anything meaningful to any woman.

“Night, old boy,” Raeburn muttered. “I’ll see you in the morning for a few hours of fishing?”

Nodding, Matthew turned his back on the French doors and the glittering lamplight pouring out from the salon and looked up at the black velvet sky. Christ, his mind was a mess. He was thinking things he had never once thought of—never once cared about.

“Matthew?”

He stiffened, like he’d been hit with a lash. Jane’s voice, low, husky, tore into his flesh and he curled his fingers around the stone balustrade. How the intimacy of hearing her call his name in the dark made his blood grow hot. How he hated the weakening of his resolve. He was not the man Raeburn was, he reminded himself. He did not love women, or care for their feelings. He did not think of them as wives and mothers and lovers. He thought of them of sexual beings—beings to be fucked and discarded. He was callous and cruel, and he was only deluding himself into believing that he was something other than a libertine.
He doubted that whatever transpired between him and Jane this week would mean a damn to him once they returned to London. He doubted he would even care, or remember all her sordid little secrets. He was damn certain he would not remember the feel of her wet body clinging to him, or recall the way he had felt strong and masculine, protecting her and whispering away her fears with soft words. He would not allow himself to remember the way she had looked up with admiration as he carried her to the river. No, damn it. He was no God damned knight in shining armor. His past a cesspool of debacles and debauches. He could not change what he was, and what was more he didn’t think he could bear to. Because caring who he was would mean that he would have to care about Jane and her opinion of him; and caring about Jane Rankin was something that would only cause him pain.

“Matthew?” she whispered, but this time she rested her hand on his forearm. It was the first time she had ever willingly touched him, and the image of her small hand on his coat sleeve played havoc with his mind. He felt himself begin to soften, begin to believe in this that could not be.

As he looked down at her hand, anger began to rage inside him. And as irrational as it was to feel angry with himself, it was even more irrational to wish to lash out at Jane.

“Do you wish for me to meet you in your studio?” she asked, her voice quiet and unsure. “Or perhaps-”

“It is our bargain, after all, isn’t it Jane,” he snapped, hating the venom he heard in his words, and sound of her startled gasp. Christ he despised the fact that he was lashing out at Jane because he was confused by what he was feeling. He felt utterly worthless and deserving. “As you’ve been attempting to tell me we have struck a bargain, and as we have both given our word, we cannot go back. So, yes, I want you in the studio. You are here for me to paint, and I am here to tell you whatever it is you want to know about me.”

“I think I learned all there is this afternoon,” she whispered, and he saw a fleeting glimmer of what he thought might be hope in her eyes. Hope that perhaps his reputation might be overblown, hope that he was really a gentleman who carried ladies safely from danger. Hope that he was anything other than the notorious, sinful earl.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, lowering his head so that he was glaring at her.

“I think I know you better than you think I do.”

He smiled cruelly. “My dear, you haven’t even begun to know the worst of me.”

Tomorrow's Treat

Join me here tomorrow, 'cause that bad boy Lord Wallingford will be out and center! As promised, I promised bread crumbs.....

See ya then!

visit me at The Scribe Scroll

Hey there, I'm posting at my Sophie Renwick blog and would love for you to come on over and put your two cents in about what readers are looking for when they're searching for new books, new authors or new releases.

See you there!

I'm On the Prowl...

for readers/reviewers to read my erotic contemporary romance, Hot In Here and post their review for pimpage. The book is written under my other name Sophie Renwick. I'm debuting that name this June with Hot In Here and I'm looking for ways to bring reader attention to the book. So, if you're interested in an ARC of Hot in Here, just email me at charlotte@charlottefeatherstone.net or sophie@sophierenwick.com and let me know. I have an electronic format, or I will print it out and mail it to you, within North America. If you want more information, you can visit Sophie Renwick for more information on the book!

Okay, so now that I promised VampFanGirl that I would occasionally dole out some dirt and stuff on Lord Wallingford, I thought I'd give her, and you a few treats. It's not like I can send a chocolate bunny, but I'm sure these visuals will be worth a pound of chocolate! lol!

So, we all know that Lord Wallingford is a prickly fellow. He's closed and aloof, and really doesn't have a good opinion of women, although that does not prevent him from being a promiscuous rake!

One of the inspirations for Lord Wallingford was Richard Armitage's portrayal of John Thornton in the BBC's production of Elizabeth Gaskell's awesome book North and South. I read this book in grade 10, the same year I read Pride apnd Prejudice for my English lit class. I have to tell you that I loved N&S more than P&P! Thorton made me weak kneed, even at the age of 15. I hated Darcy at that time in my life, but Thornton...I don't know what it was, I adored him. That set me up, I think, for loving, and writing the brooding, misunderstood hero.

Richard Armitage's brooding sensuality made me fall instantly in love with him. I have adored this man for years, and it's only natural that I put some of that brooding longing into a hero that is probably, my most favorite character. I loved Lindsday, but there is something about Wallingford that reaches in and takes hold of me. He's so broken, that I want to hug him but he's the type that would bite back and shove you away. Which of course, makes me want to reach out even harder!

I am done with his first draft, but I keep being drawn back to it. Probably because I am writing Bran, the hero of my (Sophie's) contemporary paranormal, Velvet Haven. In many ways, these men are similiar. Both are honorable in their own right, and have a hidden vulnverability that only one woman has ever seen. They can be fiercely loyal,yet surely and closed off. Both carry burdens, and secrets that could destroy them. So, I think it's a natural extension, to be writing Bran and thinking of Wallingford.

So, here's a few facts about Wallingford and his book, as well as some very fine pictures of Richard Armitage portraying John Thornton. In these pictures, the 'looks' remind me so much of of Wallingford.


for two more blog
Facts:
Jane, his heroine is seen briefly in Addicted. She is Anais' aunt's companion.(One savvy reader emailed to ask this question. I was suprised she put two and two together! lol!)

Wallingford is an artist, sculptor and piano player, as well as boxing for release of 'excess desires, pent up feelings, and generalized emotions that make me crazed'

Jane compares Wallingford to an onion, 'you must peel away the layers, and every one of them would you make you cry.'

There is a scene where Jane tells Wallingford that he is 'uninvited' in her life. It was inspired by the song Uninvited by Alanis Morrisette. The words in that song have profound meaning in regards to Jane's speech to Wallingford.

The premise of the book was based on one of my favorite quotes from Anais Nin, it is 'and the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.' It is relevant for both Jane and Wallingford.

The song Broken by Seether and Amy Lee is exactly how Wallinford sees himself. Almost word for word. (You can glean alot about the book from that song!) lol! I wrote a scene to it, where Wallingford is trying to pen a letter to Jane, describing his feelings.

Wallingford's name is Matthew, but Jane, when in the throes of passion whispers 'Matty' in his ear, he becomes completely undone by her honesty.



One of my favorite parts is when Wallingford is monologuing about his life, and his fears. In a very brave moment he realizes that what he longs for the most is a deep human connection. 'He was starved for it, parched, thirsting for a connection with
someone-- no-- with Jane. Greedily he wanted to horde her, to hungrily devour every little word, look, soft inhalation of desire, and selfishly keep it, never to return it her, for it was for him-- his alone. Never to be shared, never to leave the confines of his memories. But there was more, so much more that he wanted from her. Touch, he shuddered at the word, the very thought. Yes. He wanted to be touched by Jane. Outside and deep within his body he wanted Jane's fingers imprinted on him, branding and binding him. He yearned for the feel of her body, her touch, her breath against his skin. He wanted it embedded in his mind, his pores. He wanted her entwined with his body and soul, both which hungered and hurt. Both which were empty and so...' he swallowed and closed his eyes, finding the strength to go on. Both which had never known softness or kindness. Both which were so frighteningly alone and...afraid. What he wanted was the sort of elemental connection that would bind Jane to him for eternity, a connection that would see him well fed and safe, forever. Body and soul. His already belonged to her, and he shook, unnerved by the truth, and the feeling that perhaps, the dawn would for once, be a welcome sight.'

So,there you have it. A Wallingford teaser! I hope you enjoyed it, and it whets your appetite for more of Sinful which be released in May 2010 from Harlequin Spice. (oh, and if you're still loving Lindsay and Anais, you'll get to see them as well!)

What I'm Craving...

Even us authors get a hankering for a good read, and I'm no exception. I've had this book on my wishlist for months now, and today, it arrived in the mail! The cover is gorgeous and the blurb enticing. Emma Wildes is new to me author, and already, just by flipping through the pages, I know I'm going to love her.
Sophie (my contemporary persona) is currently reading Joey Hill, and when she's done, Charlotte will start on this luscious historical. Can't wait to share my thoughts.
The blurb is below....

It’s the talk of the town. In a less than sober moment, London’s two most notorious rakes—the Earl of Manderville and the Duke of Rothay—placed a very public wager on which of them is the superior lover. Now it’s too late to retract the foolish bet, but what woman of beauty, intelligence, and discernment, would consent to bed both men—and declare which is more skilled in satisfying her deepest desires?

Lady Carolyn Wynn is the last woman anyone would expect to step forward. She’s a respectable young widow with an icy reputation, which has kept her firmly off the marriage market. She may not desire another husband, but her brief marriage has left her with some scandalous questions about the act of love.

If the men will keep her identity a secret, she’ll decide who has the most finesse between the sheets. But to everyone’s surprise, what begins as an indelicate proposition turns into a most astonishing lesson in everlasting love…