Love in Venice: an uncensored moment of passion from Seduction of Dynasty

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Taken from Chapter 15 of Seduction of Dynasty by Emma Calin

He led the way to the luxurious executive lounge. She accepted a coffee and a couple of salmon and cucumber blinis. This was not her comfort zone. She watched rich passengers guzzling complimentary champagne and rudely clicking their fingers at waiters for more. Spencer glanced at her, indicating his disgust with a tweak of his brow. The truth was money made things effortless. Poorer people served their needs and desires. Red carpets unrolled in front of each step as queues were pushed aside. Drivers polished cars and waited on the whims of masters. She wanted him as the man he was. But could this ever be her milieu?

Of course they traveled at the front of the cabin on wide leather seats. She relaxed and watched him working seriously on his laptop. This was a business trip after all. The absence of chatter somehow allowed a wordless blanket to wrap around them. As they walked from the plane an Italian official greeted them. They bypassed all customs and immigration checks as he showed the way to a waiting burnished motor launch. A couple of minutes later a bowing porter delivered their luggage and they set out across the still lagoon. The sky was white through to midnight blue and turning to rose. The sun brushed its last kiss before fleeing from the night. The scent was of the sea, summer heat, and humanity. The view ahead was a picture postcard. Slowly the Campanile grew larger as the onion-domed roof of the Cathedral of San Marco formed silhouettes against the hot pink sky.

She realized how little they’d spoken. They’d held hands, smiled, and let the presence of the other speak for itself. It was a quietness that was hard to kick-start into life. It had become a pause that had become a question. There was a depth in their simple presence together which their first new words mustn’t trivialize. Shannon knew that these coming words mustn’t fill their moment with chatter. She saw him look at her seriously several times as they sat in the back of the speeding launch. However they moved on from here would set the agenda of her life. She was sure of that. So far they had run headlong like playing children along a corridor towards a door which would either open, or not. They paused breathless and silent looking at each other. They were about to try the handle.

The launch slowed as they neared land. He stood and drew her up beside him. Now the shapes of the buildings of Venice were overpowering against the twilight. He tilted up her chin and kissed her with a soft urgency that left her breathless.

“Such beauty, and the view’s not bad,” he said.

Her mood lifted a little as they kissed again. Other vessels and gondolas were close by. His words had awoken her but had left a void longing to be filled.

“It doesn’t seem real, this city and being here with you.”

“You’re real enough. I don’t have the talent to dream you up.”

“Spencer….” she began, not knowing how she was going to continue.

“This is Venice, Shannon. I have no obligations or rule book here….”

He was fencing and probing. There was no need to crowd him. She studied his strong, handsome face. He was one man with one woman. The world could make whatever it would of the rest of their story. It would never be more or less than that. They were passing La Piazza San Marco and heading up into the wide mouth of the Grand Canal. Ahead was the fabulous church of Santa Maria Della Salute. They both stared into the dusk. The navigation lights of vessels were bright. A bridge spanned the canal ahead of them. She thought to ask its name but let it slide over their heads into the darkness. His arm was firm around her shoulders. She softened into him, willing him to understand his own strength through this metaphor of body against body. She closed her eyes. His voice came deep from his chest.

“I love you,” he said.

The evening of Venice sighed and surrendered into the arms of night. The weight of all the words unsaid lifted from her heart and she was free.

“I love you,” she answered.

“Do you? Do you really? I’d been so afraid to say—in case you ran from some fool.”

“I’ve loved you since we sat by the lake.”

“Yes, that was it for me too.”

“So we’re both fools not to know that such a thing could happen,” she said. “I’ve been fighting it because I couldn’t believe anyone else was as crazy as me.”

The door had opened and they had charged headlong into a new space. She hugged his waist as his arms folded her in to him. Her mind raced ahead. What was was the destination of this love?

“Before I said it, it was the most difficult thing on earth to say. Now I’ve let it out, it’s the only thing I can say,” he said.

“If I love you then it’s total, my hugga-bear. There’s no way back from love or murder. The jealous beast is out.”

“Jealous of a man like me?” he said smiling.

“Grrrrrr,” she replied.

“I wouldn’t want any other kind of love.”

“There is no other kind of love,” she said.

They were at the Rialto Bridge. They clung together in a kiss, oblivious of its magnificence. The launch had cut its engine and was coasting. There were only their words.

“My man.”

“My woman.”

A building rose above them as the boat nudged the mooring.

“This is the Palazzo Coccolare,” he said.

“Cock-o-lah-ray,” she repeated. “Sono Signora Ag-Where-ee from the Palazzo Cock-o-lah-ray.”

“That’s brilliant, you say it beautifully.”

“I don’t want to get lost and not know the address.”

She stepped out onto a stone platform that led up to a monster iron-grilled door. He steadied her arm as the door opened.

“Eccellenza—e Contessa, buona sera, che piacere,” said a dark-haired woman in a maid’s uniform.

“Antonella, e stato un lungo tempo,” said Spencer in obviously fluent Italian.

Shannon smiled as they entered the magnificent marble-floored hall.

“Dottore Ceccarelli non e qui ma la vostra suite e pronta per voi.”

“Grazie, Antonella,” said Shannon, exhausting her Italian vocabulary in one go.

The maid beamed and spoke to Spencer, squeezing his hand joyfully.

“Eccellenza—che bellezza, che felicita.”

A young man in an elegant gray suit picked up their bags and carried them to a lift. He bowed as the doors closed.

“You speak Italian?” he asked.

“Nah, I had a quick run round Google while I was waiting for the car. Sounds like you’re a pro.”

“Tourist level. We used to come here as children.”

“Whose palace is this?”

“It belongs to Dottore Ceccarelli. He’s my father’s cousin. He’ll be showing you the sights tomorrow.”

The wood paneled art deco lift juddered to a stop. He drew back the lattice gate and pushed open the door. She gasped at the sight before her. The floor was a burnished dark wood. A splendorous chandelier hung from a ceiling painted with cherubs, horses, and people in magnificent robes. She stood staring up. The illusion was of a dome rising almost forever. For her, this was an absolute first.

“Did my jaw drop?” she said.

“It is a show-stopper isn’t it? It’s by Tiepolo. He did it in 1720 for one of my ancestors, La Duchesse Feronese. She was the lover of both Louis XV of France and Cassanova. This is really a sketch. The full work is in the throne room at the royal palace of Madrid.”

Her eyes took in the deep red walls hung with massive gilt-framed mirrors. Crimson velvet buttoned chairs and a sofa formed the seating. In the center of the room was a beautiful wooden antique table, so deeply polished that it appeared to glow. Curtains in red and gold brocade swept down from the ceiling to frame open doors leading to a balcony.

“I’m just overwhelmed,” she said.

“Not by me I hope.”

“You’ll always be Spence the welder in sexy overalls to me, but all this stuff….”

“That’s all it is my love. I was born to stuff and titles. We’re all just mortal flesh and ideas.”

“Stuff is trouble. More stuff is more trouble. That’s what my dad says.”

“Then he’s a wise man.”

“And a poor one,” she said, not looking for an answer.

He had put down the bags and turned to her. Her heart raced as she looked into his eyes. For the first time she was seeing this man whom she loved as the man who loved her and risked that soft underbelly of his love. He pulled her to him and kissed her hungrily, almost masterfully. His strong arms held her to him, his hand behind her pressing her groin to his powerful body. She felt a tingle of pleasure and closed her eyes, feeling his lips and tongue with hers in a fusion of erotic emotion. Her heart sang in her chest. This man she adored had said he loved her. Over and over she let the words play in her mind. If the sun fell from the sky at this moment she would at least have reached the peak of human joy.

“You must see the view,” he said.

He led her to the balcony, his arm possessive around her waist. Below them the dark waters lapped against the steps of the palazzo. Mellow lighting danced in reflections on the Grand Canal. Gondolas and a vaporetto water bus flowed by. He had moved a little behind her, his big hands almost encircling her waist. His lips touched her neck. A sigh of pleasure rustled every leaf of joy in her body. She felt his deep voice in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you.”

He pulled her waist back to press against him. She could feel the strength of his arousal. He wanted her and that wanting thrilled her. She let her soul flow into the lapping water and her heart beat with the oars of the gondoliers. In this place beauty was a lust that could be satisfied. The most beautiful thing was their love and lust was its mortal life. She swiveled round to face him and clasped his cheeks, bringing his lips to hers. She held tightly and looked into his brown eyes.

“I love you so much Spencer. Don’t hurt me,” she said, the final words jumping out uninvited. She had never meant to reveal that fear. No one had ever held such a power over her.

“I’ll never hurt you.”

“I know,” she said.

The apartment was spectacular. A dressing room and genuine marble bathroom led off from the carpeted bedroom. The bed was antique Venetian walnut with covers of a deep cream satin.

“I need to clean up,” she began, staring at the bath. It appeared to be a one-piece bowl of black and gray flecked marble big enough for four people.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? They had to put in steel girders to take the weight.” He opened the tap. “Fabio, the owner, wanted something very special for a very special guest.”

“How special can you be?”

“Let’s say for instance, a desperate princess in a loveless life. Maybe she found true love here. I can’t say more because of course no such thing happened,” he said with a tweak of his brow.

She shook her head. These things were hard to take in.

“This is another world to someone like me. This is like being the ink on the page of a celebrity magazine—as if I’m in the story.”

“Shannon, the North Peckham Estate has its stories and secrets too. Royals and aristocrats are no different and certainly no better.

“Thank goodness for that,” she said with a knowing wink. Still watching him she began to undress. She knew she had his attention. She was fit, with a skin of deep olive silk that he longed for. She brushed her hands down over her white bra. He swallowed as his lust rose. She unhooked it and let it fall to reveal her aroused nipples. She was boiling him with desire. How she loved this. How long would he hold back? She could hear his breathing becoming more urgent and irregular. She held his eyes brazenly and slid her hand down to her panties, slipping inside to touch her sex.

“Shannon, for pity’s sake woman, you’ll make me come just looking at you,” he gasped.

“I’m a naughty minx aren’t I? I’m a naughty girl when I think of you,” she said, shamelessly fixing her gaze on his groin.

He swallowed hard and almost desperately undid his belt to free his hard upright cock. She saw at once that the tip was glistening wet with his juice. His seed was bursting to release into the heat of her belly. The sight of his desire shot a thrill through her. She had stopped her own touch but maybe she’d traveled too far. She’d only meant to fire his desire. She closed her eyes. A slight unstoppable tremor had begun. Suddenly he was kneeling in front of her. He pulled her panties aside and kissed a crashing wave of love from her nub and lips. She bent over him as his hot tongue licked her button to pulses of oblivion.”

“My angel, my angel,” he groaned into her flesh.

His lips were on her as if in the most tender searching for her soul, finding her sexual joy answering his gentle love and desire for her. She was helpless as he drew up her pleasure from her well of love for him, her convulsing cries thrilling him as the fruit of his touch. He kissed her stomach and stood, taking her in his arms. She could feel the ruthless steel of his cock pressing against her. She reached down and took it, desperate for him inside her. He sensed her desire as he lifted her, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist. Then he filled her. She squealed as he entered. Orgasm engulfed her, mastering her will and being. His strength was unwavering. She was a weightless toy in his tireless arms. He kissed her lips as his movements beat in time with the rhythm of her need. He held his control, almost watching her. He was smiling and had still not released. He was showing her the power of his own teasing. She had surrendered to abandoned bliss. Before his own touch of the summit, he was taking in the view. The view was her joy that she helplessly spread before him.

“My turn to make you savor your desire, my beautiful temptress,” he said, lifting her from him and to her feet like a child. “We can’t waste the bath.”

They slipped into the smooth warm water. He was still erect. She moved to hold it. He pulled away with a laugh.

“My turn to tease,” he said.

“Spencer—I want it!’

“You’ll get it my love. But first you get some tender care.”

He picked up a small curved colored glass bottle. He pulled out the stopper and poured some oil into the palm of his hand. A scent of wonderful roses filled her senses. He slid behind her and began to massage the oil into her back and shoulders. His powerful hands slid under her arms to her breasts. The first tickle of no return zizzed in her nub. His cock was hard against her back.

“You feel desire, my lovely woman?”

“Yes,” she said, the deepness of his voice and the command of his hands  taking her over. She tried to say more but she became nothing but a voice groaning in sobs of pleasure. He was holding her as she flew with him.

“You remember when we were by the lake when we exchanged our ages. I fell for you in that very second. You said you wanted to give of yourself whatever I gave of myself. Can you remember the scent of lime and the breeze? Think of that moment of first love now.”

His hand slipped to her groove and moved sensuously to her clitoris. He soothed her lips against the soft woman love of her as he spoke.

“I remember your blue eyes and your smile….”

Her mind filled with the memory and of him, his maleness and deep brown eyes. Irresistible throbs of orgasm blended with the beauty of that day in her mind. A mental link between the abandon of sexual release and the powerlessness of the mind before the beauty of nature formed in her mind. The love from this man brought harmony which allowed her to see into some transcendental void of consciousness.

“I have a little mission,” he said.

He stepped out and held out a gloriously warm luxury towel. He patted her dry, lifted her and carried her to the bed.

“Lie down. Let me see your skin against the cream satin. I want a photo for my soul,” he said.

He toweled himself and looked at her. His eyes were warm with emotion. “I can’t believe you are mine and will be mine.”

He joined her on the bed, reached under the pillow and eased her up to a sitting position.

“Close your eyes.”

His lips kissed her back and neck. Something cold touched her chest.

“Voilà. Eccoci qua,” he said, getting up and standing back to look at her.

Glancing down she could see the unmistakable sparkle of diamonds and some slightly darker stones. She sprang from the bed and went to a mirror.

“My God, my God.” She was staring at the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever seen.

“What is it?”

“It’s a necklace.”

“Duh!’

“It’s white gold with pear-shaped rose diamonds.”

“It’s so lovely.”

“It is, now it’s on you.”

She stared at herself naked, the diamonds sparkling against her dusky skin.

“Can I keep it on?”

“Of course,” he said as he led her back to the bed and lay beside her. He raised himself on an elbow and softly kissed her lips. His other hand circled her belly teasing at the top of her groove. Then he touched her more deeply, his kiss drawing up her longing for him. She was already letting go. She pressed her hand over his, urging his hand down to open her. She felt the excited surge of his cock against her side as he explored her wetness. She thrilled him. How she loved his deep groan as he found her entrance. She knew now he couldn’t stop. His broad muscular shoulders were above her. She opened herself to him as he filled her. She could feel the relentless hard heat of his need. Her own tremor began as he quickened. She pulled his flexing buttocks to her, willing him to let go into the depth of her.”

“Come in me—You’re making me come—do it deep in me.”

He moaned a profound voiceless grunt of male release. She felt his spasms as his man cum jetted into her belly. Her own juices squeezed and swirled with his in a hot mix of perfect union. He found her lips as his shock waves shook his powerful body. Each flex of his cock thrust more of his seed into some place of her inner longing.

“I’m coming in you, my darling lover. I’m doing it inside you, my angel.”

His words tipped her over into a cry that merged with his male growl. As they resolved together he kissed her lips and held her eyes.

“No man has ever longed for a woman more or found such a woman,” he said.

“I love you, Spencer. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

A film of hot sweat joined them. She breathed in the scent of their male and female sex lust. Some beast in her gut drank it in. This was the musk of baby-maker man.

“I love you more than there is love in the love bank,” he said, moving to her side and pushing his hand through her hair.

“You’d better get an overdraft. I’m a greedy, exclusive, jealous girl,” she replied.

*******************************

Find out the rest of Shannon and Spencer’s steamy love story and action adventure in ‘Seduction of Dynasty’, available in print and e-book formats for all e-readers http://www.smarturl.it/webdynasty

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The food of love – pasta and shellfish for a romantic quick, gourmet dinner.

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SPAGHETTI CON LE COZZE

screen shot 2019-01-11 at 19.29.36Taken from my companion cookery book ‘Seduction of Taste’ .   Spaghetti con le Cozze, is a dish eaten by the heroine of the romance novel ‘Seduction of Dynasty’ – Shannon Aguerri – when she’s in Venice.  Herbs and shellfish bought in the market that morning and cooked for her by a real Italian smoothie, Fabio.  It’s full of taste, passion and fresh ingredients, guaranteed to stir your libido and power up your loins…..

Pre-preparation:

  1. Scrub and rinse the mussels in cold water.
  2. ‘De-beard’ the mussels – remove any remnants of rope emerging from the shell.
  3. Drain and rinse to get rid of any sand and foreign bodies.
  4. VERY IMPORTANT – discard any mussels that are permanently open as these may already be dead and may give you really bad food poisoning  – not worth the risk IMHO.  If you can squeeze them together and they stay shut you could consider using them – sometimes putting them in water makes them open.  If you squeeze and they re-open – throw them out.

Cooking:

  1. Bring a large saucepan of salted water to the boil (you can add a splash of olive oil too to stop sticking).
  2. Add spaghetti and cook for 2 minutes less than the recommended time.
  3. Add half the butter and the olive oil to a large pan and over a low heat, soften the garlic and chilli.
  4. Turn up the heat to high, add the drained mussels and the wine. Cover immediately.
  5. Cook on a high heat for 5-7 minutes until the shells are opened.  N.B. If any shells are now still firmly shut – discard them. (This also means they were dead before cooking = bad stomach)   Remove any empty shells (sometimes the mussels fall out!)
  6. Drain the spaghetti.
  7. Add pasta to the pan with the mussel mixture and the rest of the butter. Toss well.
  8. Cover and leave for a minute.
  9. Add the lemon zest and a squeeze of juice.
  10. Stir the chopped parsley through the mussel-pasta mixture.
  11. Season with freshly ground black pepper and extra salt to taste.

Eating:

Serve with a green leafy salad, dressed with extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar and crusty bread.

This dish also works well with clams if you can get hold of them – it is then known as Spaghetti con Vongole and is equally delicious. Substitute 500-750g of clams for the mussels.

 

Find more recipes from ‘Seduction of Dynasty’ in my companion cookery book ‘Seduction of Taste’

Or for a combined experience, why not try the 2-book gourmet – ‘Seduction of Dynasty Plus’ and get both books in one edition.  Then you can use the live links to jump between the story and the recipes.  Or when you cook the food, you can jump back in to get a feel for the romance and passion of that moment in the story!

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My hot luncheon date at Bloxington Manor with the Earl – a character interview from Seduction of Dynasty

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Shannon's Law Post 4 photo Bloxington Manor

A character interview from Seduction of Dynasty.

At last I could get out of central London. I’d had an early meeting with my best ever friend, Anna La Salle, Deputy Chief Commissioner at Scotland Yard. These days we’ve all gotten used to soldiers and cops with machine guns mingling with the tourists in Whitehall. I often stand back and reflect at the madness and sadness of it all. I’m excited to be heading south to interview a true aristocrat and sexy hunk, but I never forget the danger that the police and military face on these magnificent streets, every minute of every day.

As I get nearer to Bloxington Manor I’m feeling quite nervous. I mean this guy is a peer of the realm and hob-nobs with the royal family. I remember going to bed after I’d sent Police Constable Shannon Aguerri to meet him. I just didn’t know what I’d find in the morning. I mean she’s got a heart of gold but also a big mouth and a bit of attitude – well honestly a truck load of attitude. That’s why she’d been kicked out of inner city. It could have been disastrous for all three of us. Shannon’s got so much front she’ll just face up to anything. Spencer Chamberlain Knightsmith, eleventh earl of Bloxington is a refined English gentleman and accustomed to respect. At first I didn’t know him myself, he’s the kind of guy who risks becoming a cut out wealthy aristocrat. I sure didn’t expect Shannon to find him welding up an old racing car with his overalls open to the waist and almost certainly nothing at all underneath. The view wasn’t wasted on Shannon.

I pull up in front of the pillared front entrance. Two long haired retriever dogs scamper towards me across the gravel drive. They look wet from the long damp grass of the meadow that runs down to the lake. A commanding voice booms out.

“Jilly, Bobby. Stop!”

The animals freeze and sit. In the distance I see the six-feet-four bear-like form of Spencer striding along the long drive of horse chestnut trees golden in the autumn sun. He’s wearing a tweed jacket, corduroy trousers and of course green wellies. Now my heart is beating a bit harder. This is the first time I’ve spoken to him since I set Shannon on him and put mayhem into his life.

He takes my hand and kisses me on both cheeks, European style.

“Emma – you’ve not changed a bit and you’re always early for appointments.”

“I like to set the scene before I get into the action,” I say.

“What a good strategy. Top class idea. Look, let’s get inside. I hope you’ve got time for some cold cuts while we talk.”

“Cold cuts?” I’d forgotten this old-style aristo language.

“Luncheon – I’m going up to the City later for a board meeting so it’ll be great to combine question with digestion.”

He chortles at his obviously choreographed expression.

“You’ve turned into a bit of a poet Spencer.”

“Well to be honest I do it just to make Shannon groan. She talks at twice my speed and my old duffer act slows her down a bit.”

I’m beginning to see what I set loose on the poor chap. I wanted him to be happier but I’m still not sure if I did the right thing. I look at his rugged face and brown eyes. His hair is still overlong and a little more grey. He eases a commanding hand into my back and smiles. I love his posh accent.

“It’s truly wonderful to see you again. To be honest I never felt we’d got to know each other before, well you know, before Shannon.”

“I was always watching you from a distance, feeling jealous of her if I’m honest. When you started to do things out of character I just had to let you go.”

“Out of character?”

“Like singing Elvis songs to her and taking her to Venice to propose.”

“All that kind of surprised me. You know a man is like a box of toys or something. A woman can’t control what’s in the box but she can choose what she pulls out and what games she plays.”

I stare at him. This isn’t the man I’d abandoned to the mercy of someone like Shannon.

“You’re deeper Spencer.”

“It’s called happiness. When you’re unhappy in life that’s all you are. Unhappiness is a city state. Happiness is a continent.”

His voice is deep and confident. If he wasn’t married I definitely could you know…….

We walk through the entrance hall with the grand stairway and through the long gallery of paintings. The Orangery is still the same with its view of the chapel and cricket field.

Avington-Park-9164“So this is where King Charles the Second consorted with his mistress Nel Gwynn?” I ask.

“Yes, I love that sense of history. I tell Shannon she should read the story of his father, Charles the First and his wife Maria. Now that was a love story.”

“Does Shannon agree?”

“She says she’d rather write a bloody hot love story with me than read one. She lives very much in the present.”

I watch his face in profile as he gazes out of the window. He nods in acknowledgement of the warmth her words convey. He turns to me and gestures me to sit. A maid wheels in a trolley with plates of sandwiches, sliced meat, salads and a range of beautiful fruit. He sits opposite me, his eyes flick to mine. I want to hold them and he lets me linger just a little longer than he would have allowed before. His sexiness is more obvious, more experienced. I’m showing a generous cleavage with a ruby pendant teasing his focus. He’s ten years younger than me. I smile and enjoy the ping in my belly. His eyes come back up to mine and I can see he knows what I’m feeling. I need to get control here.

“Those guys out there – your fans, they want me to ask you some quite personal things. I’m a bit shy to be honest.”

“Me too, but look, there’s only you and me here and we probably like the same stuff.”

“OK – the first moment you saw Shannon, what did you think?”

“You want me to be honest?”

“Sure.”

“Well, we live in a world of sexy images. You get kind of numb and I’d turned off, shut down. When I saw her, even in that police uniform I had a surge like I was seventeen.”

“Do you think she knew?”

“Shannon knows everything. She just has to angle her hips a little, push out her lips a little. I covered things up by bumbling on about the car I was fixing. She moved half an inch into my personal space and, well I wanted to kiss her then and there. She knew.”

“You’ve got to tell me if you were wearing anything at all under those overalls?”

I’m afraid I’ve gone too far and embarrassed him. He looks down and then sweeps his eyes up my body to my face, as if he’s tracing the path with his finger. Oh no…things are getting, you know – possibly humid.

“No, it was a summer day.”

“You didn’t get to say that much. Did you think about her after she’d left?”

He smiles slowly and brings his hand to his chin. I’d followed Shannon’s actions that night so his answer would be news to me too. His expression is wicked and knowing. He speaks slowly in a slightly husky voice.

“Emma, we’ve not met for a while but there’s no one closer to me. Yes, I thought about her.”

“You…?”

“Yes, I took a shower and I couldn’t hold back.”

“Did you ever tell her?”

“No, I’m a English gentleman. I wanted her to want me as only that at the beginning. It seemed my most favorable angle”

Behind my eyes I roll a fantasy of this gorgeous gentle man letting go in his lonely ecstasy of pure sex, thinking of me. I knew what I’d be thinking of later. I take some food while Spencer stands and pours some mineral water. His groin is level with my eyes. I let myself imagine that shower scene, his groan, his release. Several times.

There is a voice in the kitchen out of sight. It’s a female and I know that south London accent.

We both stand as she almost scampers in, her golden skin and crazy black hair somehow shouting her personality without the need for words. Her blue eyes mixed with her complexion made me crazy with jealousy I admit. She was here now but I’d had Spencer to myself for a precious time. A time that would kindle a little heat in me when I needed some private warmth.

We hug. Her body is young and wiry compared to mine. I’d have no chance against her. She kisses Spencer’s lips and glances at me. A woman like me knows that growl from another woman.

“I hope he hasn’t been a sexy charmer. I don’t allow that sort of stuff in here and don’t forget I’m a cop.”

“He’s been a gentleman.”

“That’s what I feared. That’s what had me fooled. By the time I realized his tactic I had my clothes off and it was too late.”

Spencer has returned to his aristocratic look. Just once I caught his eyes on mine with a look of complicity. For sure this man – my man, made love to her but now I knew something of him she didn’t. You can’t ever explain to men how much things like that matter to a woman.

“When I last saw you here you were a regular cop. You’re a Chief Inspector now at Scotland Yard, ” I say.

“Yeah, bullshit will always baffle brains Emma – I know you’ve always worked on that principle.”

“Whoever told you I had any principles?” I say, wondering if her tone had a bit of edge.

Spencer laughs

“Ha! You walked into that one Shannon.”

“Look, it’s only catty cos you’re here giving Emma smiley eye stuff. Bugger off to work and bring me in some spontaneous red roses.”

Spencer rises, kisses her and walks the door. He glances back but avoids my eyes.

“I leave you girls to chat. Emma and I never got to say much and certainly nothing new.”

Once he was gone Shannon pours some tea and sits opposite to me where Spencer had been sitting.

“So, what did you talk about? If it wasn’t about me then lie – I know you make stuff up at the drop of your knickers.”

“Shannon – are you a bit jealous of women around Spencer?”

“Course not.”

I let it drop and told her the truth.

“We talked about you and what happened when you first met each other…….”

Mid afternoon I drive out through the gates and head back to the crazy sprawl and scramble of London. I still feel turned on and you know, damp and naughty. I push a love song compilation CD into the player. I’d be at my flat in Chelsea alone for at least an hour before my man came home. Maybe I’d scratch my my itch of lust on him when he came through the door. Did I want to share that heat with another man? Maybe I’d take a shower with Spencer. Yeah, it’s a private affair and he’s my man after all.

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Shannon Aguerri at the old New Scotland Yard, before her move to Fleetworth Green.Find out more about Shannon and Spencer in Seduction of Dynasty on Emma Calin’s website

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Last Christmas she gave you her heart…a character interview with the hero and heroine of Seduction of Santa

Max and Paula, from Seduction of Santa, invite Emma Calin to catch up with them, one year on…

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It’s a cliché but this really is the time of year when you catch up with friends and family. Our lives are so busy now. You can have thousands of social media connections yet never get to sit down with live breathing people. It’s grey November day here England. Looking up the river from my home in Chelsea towards Westminster and Big Ben, the red London buses criss-crossing Lambeth Bridge play a counterpoint to the mournful melody of monochrome, so often the atmosphere of London – my home and my soul.

I’m taking a black cab. It pulls in and I open the quirky backward opening door. The diesel engine rattles with a sound that to me plays a lullaby of tradition and stability. In my office there’s a half finished book, Seduction of Power, set partly in sun drenched Italy. I was feeling the heat, driven mad with the horn beeping scooters and just had to escape.

“Where to My Dear?”

“Dulwich – head for Camberwell Green and I’ll give you the steer from there.”

The taxi U turns. The cabbie’s eyes are in the mirror. I smile and he gets the signal, taking permission to give me the full cockney performance – well, as cockney as a guy with a sun smile Caribbean heritage can be. He’s wearing a Crystal Palace football shirt.

“You a fan?” I ask.

“Yeah – it’s like death taxes and Crystal Palace – like it or not you’re born into it.”

I don’t mention the league table. We rattle through the streets, the wealth of Belgravia and the bleak concrete tower blocks south of the Thames river. We solve world poverty, unemployment, feminism and create our dream England football team. This is my fabulous mix up of a city and I’m in the mood for more. Driver Stanley leaves me in Alleyn Park, Dulwich – an oasis of gentility a short hop from Brixton or Sydenham. London’s like many cities – villages divided by wallet but united by bus routes. I’ve not seen Paula or Max since the last page of ‘Seduction of Santa’. For sure one thing has changed. The Rolls Royce isn’t on the drive but I know the Ford people carrier won’t belong to Max. Come on – the guy’s just not that type. There’s already Christmas lights on the bushes and a nativity scene lit up in the window. I ring the bell and hear Max’s voice like a barrow-boy trader selling potatoes.

“Come on gal – she’s here.”

I hear Paula’s equally strong London accent and passive-aggressive attitude.

“Well, it’s easy Max, turn the knob to the right, open the door and let the poor cow in.”

I hear him coming. I know his issue and it’s simple. I’m a woman, or at least a female. Max Muswell is a top dog and to a dog, a bitch can mean trouble, or even worse, girlie chat.

“Max – it’s so lovely to see you again. Happy Christmas.”

“Yeah – look , the missus is just upstairs – cuppa *Rosie Lee?” [*Cockney rhyming slang for TEA]

I smile, check the time on my cell. It’s five o’ clock and I know Max wants a beer. He sees my action and smiles. Max Muswell’s quick eyes miss nothing.

“Beer would be better Max.”

“In that case Emma, I might feel forced to join you out of politeness. Paula is coming I promise. I’ll just pop out to the kitchen and get that drink.”

I look around. He’s a millionaire but the place is no palace. It’s a family home with a litter of boys’ toys. I’m happy to see his life has kept the same shape without me.

“How’s your lad Justin?” I call out.

“Yeah good – just look at the bloody place. He’s still got that bloody earth mover from last Christmas. I have to work day and night to buy the batteries.”

That was my fault – I didn’t think of that. As the night closes in, the array of Christmas lights around the house stand out. I’m beginning to wonder where Paula is and what she’s doing. I suddenly realise he called her ‘the missus’. Surely if they’d married I’d have been invited? He comes back with a couple of beers.

“Still in the same line of business Max?” I ask, keeping things more cock than hen.

“Yeah – still breeding the race horses but I sold up the food business to one of the big chains.”

“And you’re staying out of trouble?”

“Course – like what sort of trouble?”

“Like fist fighting gangsters.”

“Bloody hell Emma – how could I risk that these days?

Before I can answer Paula appears. I must admit I gasp. She speaks before I can get my thoughts together.

“He wouldn’t bloody dare,” she says handing me a baby of about ten weeks.

Some instinct in me responds. This warm contented child against my breasts, those tiny hands, pudgy wrists that I long to kiss, that perfection. Paula had been at least forty. She had been a woman alone, longing for a child. Me – I’d just walked away and gone half way around the world with other characters. I’m speechless but this is just normal life to them. I watch her run her hand back through Max’s thick dark fur of hair. He smiles, catches her hand and kisses the palm. These two have brought so much love to each other. The baby stirs, flicks open blue eyes and resettles.

“Um?” I said.

Paula is smiling.

“Of course you don’t know what happened next.”

“I don’t know if no one tells me.”

“I heard you were in Paris, Milan, New York, Rome and Naples with young hot cops and billionaires.”

“Yeah, but all that stuff’s nothing compared to a baby. I mean it’s a….”

“Miracle – that’s the word isn’t it. I know that’s not your style Emma, but that’s how I see it.”

I can see she’d feel that way. Blind faith is tough for me as an independent woman but can I deny her that belief? Holding this beautiful child, knowing the fragility and uncertainty of life, who has any certainty superior to faith?

“I’ll not argue with miracles. I mean I love Christmas and I love it more because of how you guys made Christmas last year. You were running the show but believe me I was there in the background. If I myself, this pathetic little woman, if I could have torn my heart out and made you a miracle baby at Christmas I would have done it. Someone else took it on from there.”

I stop, somehow emotional.

“But you didn’t have to. You left our lives to the spirit of Christmas. That was enough Emma. Look on that innocent child and tell me that peace, love and hope are not enough.”

I take a deep breath. Now I know the meaning of that nativity scene in the window to these people. They are judging life on the basis of their own experience. Nothing else makes sense does it? I’m still holding the child. I’m so amazed I’ve forgotten the traditional formalities. My soul tells me it’s a boy but I hesitate to make a fool of myself. If I don’t know I don’t deserve to be a novelist.

“What’s his name?”

“Oliver Maxwell,” says Max with a note of pride.

I turn to him and smile.

“I love it – I’d have chosen Oliver myself.”

“You’ll be at the christening I hope? We thought maybe you’d be a godmother…”

“Max, I’d be so proud – I never dreamed something like that could happen.”

Paula is looking at me. She’d always been so kind and deep but in a practical way. Motherhood had given her wisdom and that had blended with her police experience.

“Emma – novelists aren’t special – we all make characters. We create an idea of other people in our heads. Kids, friends, colleagues often go their own way. Christmas brings them back to a starting point, to something to share. I’m not saying religious faith for you, but I admit I’ve moved away from you on that. It’s silly I know but the night Max turned up on that community bus the music blaring out was Mary’s Boy Child by Boney M. It’s Christmas again and I have that simple faith in my heart.”

“Paula – for Christ’s sake, everyone can share that spirit. I’m so happy for you.”

She reaches out, takes the baby and hands him to Max. My god, the look in his eyes is almost scary in its intensity. He is a top dog and this poor pup would have a world of possibilities all of his own. For sure he would need his mother. I set these ideas aside. For now they were loved, utterly protected and happy. There was no way I was going to leave it another year before I came back. I couldn’t wait for the christening.

“Are you going back to work as a cop?”

Max intervenes.

“I’m glad you asked that Emma because maybe you’ll get a sensible answer. Would you let a woman with a babe at home go out there against punks with knives?”

“It’s not my choice Max.”

“OK – put yourself in my shoes. Put yourself in this little one’s shoes.”

“For me, I could never do that job, you know that. I get scared over a keyboard.”

“Emma, I’ve not decided. I’ve got a few months yet.”

I knew I’d put my foot in it as soon as I raised the issue. Suddenly I realise I’d caught sight of her in June in that cable car over the Thames after the terror attack incident with PC Helen Marx. Paula must have been pregnant then. I’m certain she hasn’t told Max about that. Someone needs to change the subject. Paula goes over to the hifi system and pushes a button and there’s nothing else but music.

It is Christmas, a wonderful woman has a miracle baby and the rest of the world can wait or maybe even find peace.

Happy Christmas Everyone.

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Freddie in the Flesh – Passion Patrol Character Interview

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An interview with Freddie La Salle – hero from Seduction of Combat, for the Passion Patrol.combat print and ebook

It’s not that I don’t like other women. I just don’t like another woman around a man that I’m around. Ten females around an attractive male is no problem. There’s always going to be some trollop hanging everything out, or some cool fashion type in porn-star specs, or even worse, someone about twenty-five years younger with forward facing equipment. In those cases I can stand back and enjoy the politics or, if I’m lucky, a good old cat fight. The other rejects and I unite to despise the active players and kind of enjoy the sense of detached superiority. If there’s just me and some other female and she’s getting all the attention, that’s personal. I want to talk to Freddie La Salle and I’d far rather do it alone. I just need the right sort of opportunity. So, let me explain what’s happening. A while ago I met Deputy Assistant Commissioner Anna La Salle in her office at Scotland Yard. It’s high summer and hot. She’s in uniform for the TV cameras. London is under threat of serious terror and I mean bad. Confidentially she tells me she’s playing it down but she’s not sleeping at night. Above her head the bosses right up to the royals are letting a situation develop in an attempt to scoop some big fish. There’s firearms and explosives on the street and Anna’s keeping a calm front, waiting for the horror she hopes will never happen.

“So where are you living?” I ask, not mentioning her husband Freddie.

“It’s a flat in Belgravia. I’m usually working until midnight and we brief the government every morning at 6.30.”

“It’s lucky Freddie still has his Michelin star restaurant in Sloane Square.”

Anna gave a wry snort.

“The restaurant is there but he’s in France. There’s four hundred acres of Champagne vines, two kids and an orchestra of cockerels, goats, geese and donkeys.”

Bloody hell, this poor woman is alone with all her power and anxiety. She was always ambitious but she’s paying a price.

“You must miss him.”

“Yeah I do but you know, emotionally it’s easier this way. He’s not a cop and has no security clearance. If he were here I couldn’t share much with him and that’s a block between partners.”

“So who does he talk to?”

“He’s got friends and he’s got a lot of business in France. He’s a TV pundit for two boxing channels and believe me he still works out and gives the wives and girlfriends a little tremble when he demonstrates technique.”

“Do you trust him? Do you trust them?”

She pulled her lips tight to her perfect teeth, running her hand across her brow. Her eyes flicked to mine to catch my tone.

“Yeah, but he’s a very sexy guy. You know – the tank fills up. You know Emma.”

“So, you can handle that?”

“He handles it and we’ve got video calls. Look, Emma, it’s a release and to be frank – you know….It’s not so much me – it’s his desire for me that’s so hot.”

“You like it. Hell, I’d like it.”

“Look I’m a human being. Please – you’re the only person I could talk to like this.”

“I’m happy you’re both coping physically.”

She got up and walked to her window overlooking Westminster Bridge and the Thames. She spoke quickly with a spontaneity not natural to her.

“Emma, could you pop over and check him out? Tell him whatever you like as long as he gets the message that I love him so much.”

“Me? Do you want a report sent back?”

In truth my heart is hammering. It had been my strategy to see if she was tied up in London. I’d planned to suggest casually that I was having a short break in Paris. I’d never touch another woman’s husband but Freddie La Salle is hotter now than he was seven years ago. I can build a library of fantasy just being around that guy. And he’s xxxxxxx years my junior.

“You’re perfect. He loves you, he reads all your books.”

“He loves me?”

“Like a sister or mother even.”

“Like a mother who writes sex scenes to turn him on?”

“Like an older woman, you know….”

I smile. This older woman might surprise her. Believe me girls you just never have to stop if you like it. Never! And I get mail from women with thirty years on me.

“You mean some neutral female input from someone outside the ring?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll fix a Eurostar ticket,” I reply with a deliberate flatness.

“There’s a Queen’s flight for a lot of top brass from Northolt at 2 o’clock. I was hoping to fly out but there’s been a vehicle attack on Parliament. Take my place. I’ll arrange the clearance and send my car to your address.”

We shoot a thick power espresso, kiss and dive back into the swirl of London town. I’ve got a bag to pack.

The black government Jaguar XF, the direct drive to the steps of the aircraft, the sexy colonel seated next to me who’d read my books – man this was a dream. Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, a gendarme driver of a grand Peugeot 5008 with a French flag on the hood opening the door and speeding me towards the famous Champagne region. I’d only ever glimpsed this life in books, but it could sweep me up. The land is flat and lined with grape vines. There are distant castles and swoop of swallows in the still air of evening. At last we take a gravel road to a grand farmhouse which in England we’d call a Manor. There are outbuildings of stone with roofs bowed like the back of an old horse. A boy of about five is playing with a puppy. I step out of the car. This must be their son Xavier. God, he was just starting to walk when I last saw him. The French government car pulls away and I’m a stupid English woman with a goose about to peck my suitcase, or me, or both. This animal looks dangerous.

“Over here – Emma, just walk away,” called an oddly-accented male voice.

I look towards the voice. Monsieur Freddie La Salle one time cruiserweight champion of the world is standing in the wide entrance to a barn. He’s wearing tight blue cut-off jeans. Yes, that’s what he’s wearing. His pecs, lats and abs are pumped and glistening. There’s something reforming the shape of his zipper. Something masculine. He’s tanned and smiling, laughing at a London townie fleeing from a homicidal goose. He steps forward, shoos my attacker and reaches his hand to my shoulder. He kisses my cheek, catching my eye with a soft look as he crosses to kiss the other. This bastard is a teaser. I love it. I can feel his body heat, smell his fresh man sweat. There’s that flicker in me. I can’t help it. I want to touch those triceps just to feel their hardness. I mean some men are bastards but that testosterone is horny stuff.

Combat Quote 1 iphone Xr

“My dear Emma, I feel so bad. Anna phoned to say she couldn’t make it and I was really pissed you know. I decided to work out to burn off the heat. Then she calls to say you’re coming. Just like that I’m smiling again. It almost feels like infidelity.”

I look at that very smile, mainly in his dark eyes. He’s a bloody god to look at. There’s just no way I’d leave him on the loose. Anna must be so sure of their relationship. There’s a couple of crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes now. His tan accentuates the scar on his brow that Anna first noticed. His nose is maybe broadened a little by the boxing. This guy sure still has his bull credentials and I’m trying not to look at them in those cut off jeans. The waistband just hints a thickening of hair where his flat belly disappears under the denim. Look, I don’t have to tell you my reaction to him but the fact is that life is chemistry, OK?  Right now I’m loving that test tube feeling. I’m just happy looking and smelling.

“Freddie, I’m a poor substitute for Anna.”

“Everyone’s a poor substitute for Anna because there’s only one. You’re looking so good at being you Emma.”

OK, this is someone else’s man. I’m fif..blah blah and he must be thirty-nine now. He was expecting his gorgeous wife, probably holding back his pressing desire to let go with her. Now he’s looking at me. I’m wearing a summer floral sleeveless dress, the neckline showcasing my normal presentation. His eyes politely take in my form without any lingering – well only a little maybe – nothing to call the cops about.

“So, you have a gym in the barn?”

“Yeah, I fought at cruiserweight and that’s about where I try to stay.”

His voice still has that American accent, sexily mixed in with the French. I’m happy to talk generally.

“Is the upper weight limit still 200 pounds?”

“That’s it and I’m six feet three inches. I was 195 pounds for the Brennan fight.”

“You don’t look any different. Did you never want to fight again?”

“No, Anna was in my life and I promised her it was over.”

“But, did you ever ever regret that?”

“Not the fights but the training and the build up, the guys in the gym and all that trash with stare-downs with the other guy for the cameras. It’s show-biz Emma and it gets into your blood.”

We’d walked into the barn. There was a weight bench. The seat and back support were still wet where he’d been training.

“I broke up your work-out. If you’ve got up a head of steam and need to release the pressure,” I say with a grin.

“Ten minutes OK – there’s Champagne on ice in the fridge if you want to go across to the house?”

“I could tolerate ten minutes.”

He grinned back, straddled the bench and reached up for the overhead bar. I stood looking towards his tree trunk thighs, each muscle defined. His torso rippled as he pushed up, throwing the bar away from him as if it were nothing. With every thrust his buttocks tightened pushing his groin bulge up and tight inside his shorts. To be honest I could have been very naughty if I hadn’t been a mature lady with a shy nature. I pulled out my cell and took a ten second video. He saw me and pushed the weights with one hand, giving me a wave with the other. The summer evening was settling and the warm air was still. He grunted a little with each lift as the smell of his sweat deepened and troubled me more and more. I’m sorry, but smell is a big thing for me. It’s like a switch and I cannot help it, OK. So there’s this hunk, thrusting and groaning and I’m watching like I’m supposed to be like a tree or something. There’s some heat in the fire and if he doesn’t soon stop there’s going to smoke coming out of my chimney. Look, he knows what he’s doing and it’s only a tease. I can’t imagine I’m ever going to be in a situation like this again. Who needs fantasy? He can’t possibly know that I’m bursting to pull out that cock and finish what he’s started in me.

He stopped at last and slumped forward.

“Can you throw me a towel Emma.”

I go to a table laid out with water and fresh white towels. I walk back to hand it to him. You know, I’m really girlie at throwing stuff so I have to get close. He’s still seated, his eyes at my breast level. He reaches across his front to wipe across the opposite shoulder. His upper arm is rock hard bicep and tricep. I mean rock hard with curve and power. Like this is sculpture. Like it’s not like touching someone else’s husband it’s like touching a work of art. I couldn’t help it – I just had to feel that hot iron, so close to my breast. I’m biting my lip, I’m holding my floor muscles so tight. I have to stand back and smile.

“I just had to see what that felt like. I’m interested in sport science,” I say, aroused, embarrassed, orgasmic, ashamed, ecstatic. The feel of that flesh will never leave my memory. Never.

“That’s cool, it’s not my heart or my soul. That would be a no no.”

“So can I touch again?”

“Maybe better not unless you want to dry off my back.”

I take the towel and get him to turn. The thickness of his neck and the bulge of his shoulder muscles are a thrill to contemplate, let alone touch. I take my time.

“You’re gentle,” he says.

I don’t tell him I feel like ripping off his shorts and making his cock beg for my release. See that helpless abandoned flood. I should stop this right now. But I don’t.

“Anna told me you’ve read my books,” I say casually, looking down his rippled abs to his bulge.

“Did she? Did she say what I thought of them?”

“Not too much….maybe you don’t like them.”

He gave a deep sexy chuckle. I drape the towel over his shoulder and run my hand down his lats.

“You’re so gentle,” he repeats with a lingering longing sigh in his voice

“I’m an art lover.”

He stands on the other side of the bench, towelling off his chest. I look down and I can see he loved my art too. He fixes his gaze on my face, knowing where my attention is. He runs his hands down to his waistband, tucks them just inside. What’s he going to do? Please do it. Please don’t do it. He discreetly settles his portfolio of assets and smiles.

“Shower, Champagne and a lovely woman to share my dinner. I’m a lucky man.”

He comes to my side, throws an arm and around me and escorts me to the house. That was so so close. I’ve never cheated but dear Lord….

He toasts my good health, sips his glass and leaves me with a bottle of Veuve La Salle premier cru Champagne. The lounge is beautiful with exposed wood and crazy angled walls and doors. The floor is flagstones with a riot of rugs. The ceiling has curved wooden beams and old weird farm tools hanging on rusty iron rings. Designers try and fake this look but this is the real stuff. I pour a second glass. Leaving a novelist alone with a bottle of wine is like leaving your dog alone with a week’s supply of food. Temptation has always been an issue for me. I need all my strength for my books so I never waste it on futile struggles with things like Champagne or chocolate.

When Freddie comes back I’m a bit mellow. He smells spicy. He’s wearing a blue shirt and beautifully cut dark gray pants. In clothes, his shoulders look even broader. His hair is swept back and still wet. A strand falls across his forehead and I want to push it back. Mother response? Cougar? I’m drunk. He offers me his hand and leads me through to an open terrace looking out on the fields of vines. He’s a foot taller than me for god’s sake.

“I thought we could eat out here. Yvette is doing something with Reims ham and truffles.”

I look up at him. No, I would not let this guy wander about on his own. He looks down at me. Kiss me. Make me do it. He doesn’t. I’m glad. Kind of. A woman brings through smoked salmon and more Champagne. This could get messy. I sip my newly filled glass.

“Do you still collect art Freddie?”

“Not so much, I’m out of Paris and away from the action.”

“Is your Courbet collection still at le Musee d’Orsay?”

“Yes, you can’t look after paintings like that yourself in a place like this.”

“And you still have “L’Origine du Monde?”

“It will always be my favorite view Emma. I can never see it without thinking of you. That beauty will always be the origin of the world – at least the world of humanity.”

'L'Origine du Monde'by Gustav CourbetWas considered so shocking in it's daythat it was only ever displayed coveredby a curtain

We savour the salmon and some more Champagne.

“Anna’s got a lot of responsibility these days,” I say, not sure where I want this to go.

“Yeah, that’s a fact. She deceived me when we met but after that I knew she was a cop. I still loved her even so.”

“It’s harder to love a cop than some other woman?”

“The worst would be a writer. You’d never know what’s true. A cop – well it’s a timeshare. They love hard because they know the truth and the uncertainty of life.”

“Are you OK alone?”

“That’s a very direct question Emma.”

“If I can’t ask you who can?”

“That’s true. Well it’s complicated. A divided relationship like this would be best if I didn’t love her. Some relationships survive just because they’re so ordinary. Because I’m still a man in love I’m still a man with love to give. Love revs you up and it’s a big motor. When she gets home and we’re together there’s a lot of heat.”

“Have you ever been tempted Freddie?”

He nodded and looked away from me. I wanted to reach out to him. I’d started this and he needed to talk. I poured another glass. Sod it.

“A writer’s true emotional life is with her characters. Did you know that?”

He nodded again and turned his tanned male face back to me. So male. So male.

“I always felt that way when I was with you.”

“I wanted you to find your own way, your own girl and pull off your ambitions. You were a risky guy when I first met you.”

“Anna’s the risk-taker now.”

For a moment I reflected on his response. There was a wistful jealousy there. Did I want to open this guy up? I could get involved here. He was my first. I can’t deny him the truth about myself.

“Freddie, when we were together – you know every day in those days, I had a lot of love to give like you now and I had no one. You were the man I wanted. Then you met that girl in that taxi and I knew straight away she’d take you away.”

“I remember those first days together Emma. God, I couldn’t even keep the same accent.”

“I remember that too.”

I vaguely stretched out my hand and he took it. This was wrong but hell it felt so good. Don’t even think of moving closer to kiss me. Please kiss me. His cell phone was ringing. I knew who this would be. I let go of his hand.

“You were my first.” I said.

***********************************************************************************

combat paperbackFind out more about Anna and Freddie’s romance in ‘Seduction of Combat’ available in e-book, print and audiobook here

If you’ve got any additional questions for Freddie, I’m staying overnight, so fire away in the comments below…

 

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Passion in Paris – an extract from the romance novel ‘Seduction of Combat’

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A Steamy 'Sexcerpt'for

… with no censorship.

(stop reading now if you are sensitive or under 18!)

A clip from my action adventure romance novel, ‘Seduction of Combat‘.

Setting the scene:

Anna is an Interpol Detective. Freddie is a boxer, gearing up for a world title fight.  They meet, by chance in a shared London cab during a downpour. There’s an undeniable spark and they hook up for a drink. Their relationship begins.  But Anna hasn’t told him the truth about her life, she’s enjoying a flirtation with a stranger, without the stigma of being a cop.  Then, by coincidence, with his forthcoming bout, Freddie is revealed as a possible key to a major investigation into mafia match-fixing. Anna’s bosses encourage her to go undercover and use her relationship with Freddie to find out what’s going on. She’s already fallen for him and hardly needs any encouragement. Can she do her duty and still keep control of her feelings?

Freddie has been doing some business deals in Paris and has invited Anna to join him there. Since Anna has been ordered to stay close and ‘get to know him better’, how could she possibly refuse?

Taken from Chapter 11.

Location: Paris, France, Boulevard St Michel.

“They took the elevator to his fifth-floor penthouse. As the heavy paneled door opened she saw into a huge lounge, one wall of which was filled with leather-bound books. An enormous French window opened out onto a balcony looking out over the rooftops of Paris to the Seine. Freddie faded up the mellow wall lights allowing her to see the sumptuous blue carpet and what looked like an original Renoir hanging over an ornate Louis XV fireplace. Antique chairs, clocks and ornaments were tastefully displayed around the room. A large gilt-framed mirror reflected a magnificent chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s so, so lovely,” she sighed as he closed the door behind her with a heavy, quality laden click.

She turned to him as he came to her, feeling his strong arms possess and caress her. Her knees physically buckled. She kissed him deeply, her tongue searching shamelessly for his. As he responded she could feel him hardening against her belly. She curled her leg behind his and pressed her longing secret lips against his tight rippled thigh.

He eased his head back and looked at her.

“You are so beautiful Anna – I can’t believe this cruel world has allowed me to find you.”

She lay her head on the contoured bulge of his pecs as he stroked her hair.

“Champagne?” he asked, “this is Paris and it is from my own vineyard… you can’t say no.”

“I’d love it – but can I get out of these old London and airplane clothes?”

He let her go and she dived into the en suite power shower. She was pleased to see that all the materials were absolutely male. The water revived and enlivened her as it cascaded onto her aroused breasts. She reached down, only too aware of the pleasure of her own touch. She stepped out, spotting a white silk dressing gown on the heated towel rail. She put it on, immediately jolted by his scent and presence. Across the back spread the logo ‘Lonsdale’ and the words ‘Le Professeur – Champion du Monde’. She wrapped it around her, thrilling to its aromatic attraction. She pulled up the hood and breathed in his pure clean yet animal scent. Tying it, she walked back into the lounge, making her own show of jabbing and punching like a boxer getting in to the ring.

Freddie was standing at the window. He saw her reflection and turned to her with a broad adoring smile.

“Wow – you look fantastic,” he said, smiling and handing her a crystal fluted glass of champagne from the table.

“I love this gown – it smells of you.”

“Yeah – sweat blood and tears my love… I wore it at my last fight – you keep it, I could never make it look so good.”

“Then you’ve lost it baby,” she squealed, “I’ll never give it back.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to keep you on,” he said with a soft smile, “here’s to everything that lies ahead”.

They touched glasses and drank.

“God! That’s good!” she said.

“Vintage Chateau La Salle – just for the boss and his lady,” he smiled.

The delicious anticipation of his touch sent seismic thrilling waves through her body. She stood by his side at the window, fighting to maintain a veneer of sophistication. She finished her drink and he stepped back to the bottle and poured them both another. She drank quickly – too quickly – she knew, feeling a glow as her inhibitions burned away like mist in the morning sun. He had come to stand behind her. She felt him rock hard and urgent against her lower back. A jolt of pleasure rocked her as his lips and the teasing lick of his tongue found her neck and his teeth nibbled at her skin. One hand cupped her breast and gently brushed her nipple. She groaned and leaned back against him as his other hand ran down across her belly into the furrow of her moist core. Slowly he began to massage her inner lips against her firm little button, circling lightly yet more and more urgently. Still he licked her neck in the same rhythm, as his other hand matched the pulse of her passion and he gently stroked her nipple. The three pulses of lust began to overwhelm her and at first she tried to hold back as she felt her orgasm building and piling like thunder clouds against a pure blue sky on a summer’s day.

“Freddie – what are you doing to me – I can’t hold back.”

“Let go my angel,” he whispered huskily, “be a woman for me – be my woman, ma belle.”

Spasms of joy rushed through her as she let go, sensing his need for her to abandon herself totally to him. Beyond her, the Parisian night blended into her consciousness and her surrender to pleasure. He held her as she tilted up her lips to his and kissed him in shudders of ecstasy.

“My sweet baby, my sweet soft baby,” he murmured as she grunted out his name in a blur of love and animal passion.

As she subsided for a moment she turned to face him, kissing him deeply. His desire for her was by now all consuming and he felt a desperation for his own release. A trace of her woman scent gripped his senses. He lifted her in his steel arms as if she had no weight, finding her lips with his. She felt herself carried to a huge antique four-poster bed. He gasped at her beauty. Her black hair spread carelessly on the cream satin pillow. He feasted his eyes on the supple softness of her body, quickly removing his clothes and lying alongside her, moving his mouth to her breast and his hand to her gorgeous wet soft valley. The feel of her thrilled him as she opened herself to his touch.

She reached out to him. He was hard and massive and twitched as her hand slowly drew him back to reveal his longing flesh. He groaned but fought to hold back. He wanted to plunge into her haven of warm giving love – for his love for her to unite with her body. His finger slipped gently into her as he turned to move above her. She still held him as he found her entrance and felt the parting of her delicious flooding lips. At last he slid into her, pushing to the limit of her soft depths.

She sighed as his power, length and thickness filled and possessed her. He nudged at the roof of her being somewhere deep in her spirit. Some beast had been released from captivity as his movements touched switches of pleasure and lust. She gripped his buttocks, thrilling at their relentless steel tension. She began to buck upwards in ecstasy as waves of uncontrolled shudders swept through her. She let out some animal sound as she saw his broad shoulders above her and gasped in the scent of his male body musk.

He felt the pulsating grip of her joy beneath him as he moved slowly inside her soft soaking body. The awareness of his power over her pumped him harder and harder as he began to climb towards the top of an irresistible slope.

She sensed his growing need and the tension excited her beyond control. As he pressed his lips to her neck groaning “mon amour – mon amour,” she trembled against him as surges of orgasm seemed to drench her into senselessness.

And now he had reached the summit of his climb. He bit tenderly at her neck tasting her flesh and her sweat. He began to let himself go, feeling the longing sweet agony of need to release. He was gripping her and filling her and she was holding him, pulling him in deeply, pulling in the male of him to her sweet female love flower.

She felt the ecstatic squeezing and pumping of his muscles inside and outside of her as his seed flowed and jetted into her hot molten core, mixing with her own pulsing jolts of their shared climax. He heard her helpless cry as he groaned her name and gave up control to the power of love and the passion of beasts.

She felt his weight as he subsided onto her breasts. Still he was inside her with the last aftershocks of his release still shuddering through him, as if he were a great tree crashed across her as the storm finally passed. Their bodies were damp with sweat and lust. Their scent and fluids mixed into mellowness in the pale thin light of the room. He was the first to speak.

“Anna – my love – there is no other woman like you – I just lose myself in you.”

He lay on his back and she turned on her side placing her leg between his.

“You are my man, Freddie. I’m out of control too with all this but I can’t stop,” she said seriously.

“I never want you to stop… but maybe one day you will wake up and see that you don’t know me…”

“I know enough – no one can ever know everything,” she said calmly.

She rested her head on his chest as he stroked her hair. Idly she ran her hand over the ridged iron six pack of his stomach muscles. He was beautiful – more beautiful than anything she could ever have imagined. His olive skin was like silk and smelled of male mixed with summer sun and sex.

With an athletic swivel he lay her over on her side and spooned into her back, whispering butterfly kisses onto her shoulders.

“You are my baby for ever – my angel,” he murmured as they drifted into warm cuddled sleep. ”

END OF EXCERPT.

Grab a copy of the complete book here.

VIDEO TEASER FOR SEDUCTION OF COMBAT

Anna’s time in Paris with Freddie was a pivotal point in their relationship. Many readers have also enjoyed these ‘Parisian moments’ in Seduction of Combat   and highlighted them on their Kindles. I love Paris – it’s my favorite city in the world,  so I used these highlighted phrases  to create a video monologue – as if Anna were reminiscing about their time in Paris.

The video was made when this book was called ‘Knockout!’. You’ll notice the old cover artwork at the end. Gurus advised us that the title didn’t sound like a romance, more like a thriller,  so we  re-marketed it as ‘Seduction of Combat’.  I think romance readers like a bit of action and adventure and could cope quite well with the original book name….

I’d love to know what you think… which title do you think works best?

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London Calling the Passion Patrol

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Copy of Seduction Series HEaderNow, at last we can all let our hair down.

I’m talking with you guys who’ve just joined me on passion patrol. My girls are passionate, not always model sizes, not always angels and not always completely in control of their lusts or emotions. I know that’s like me and – just a little bit like you, maybe?

I’m a Londoner and a woman. Red buses, black taxis and gray soulful days are in my blood. I’ve never been a cop but two out of three isn’t bad. So why do I write about the inside track on women cops?

“Elementary my dear Watson,” as Sherlock Holmes used to say.

My own broad-shouldered hunk at home is an ex Scotland Yard cop, Interpol and Special Branch detective. My sexy pillow talk is about police procedure, international crime, high speed pursuit driving and firearms. He says I’d make a great interrogator.

If he could write the love for a man from a hot woman’s heart he’d be a romance writer. Luckily for me, he prefers cars, football and boxing. (Also his one finger typing speed is crap). All the same I can still warm him up when I run a quality control reading from a sexy clinch I’m working on. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that but come on – I don’t have to bullshit you guys. The hot stuff in my books is straight from my own desire and fantasy. My greatest happiness is if I connect with my readers. This world has too many barriers, divisions, synthetic attitudes and hang-ups.

I mentioned Sherlock Holmes. Writing about London crime puts two names in my head. Sherlock and Scotland Yard, the HQ of the real Metropolitan Police.

baker street plaqueThe fictional Mr Holmes lived in rooms at 221B Baker Street – from where conducted his investigations as an independent sleuth.  He never worked as a police officer, however in the Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle stories, detectives at Scotland Yard would frequently call on him for assistance when they were at a loss with a difficult case.

Anna and Shannon New Scotland Yard Final inc badge and blues

Two Passion Patrol cops outside the New Scotland Yard revolving sign.

In my first Passion Patrol novel, Interpol Inspector Anna Leyton steps out from the Scotland Yard building into Broadway, just off the city swirl of Victoria Street. The poetry of the London evening excites me just thinking of it.

One song plays in my heart and joins the two addresses. I was sixteen and that sax was so soulful sexy I used to cry for what I didn’t know of this world and play it over and over. Now I cry for what I do know but that sax thrill is a virgin every time.

 

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#Book #Launch News: 99c For SEDUCTION OF WEALTH Another Action-Packed International #Steamy #Romance, the 7th Stand-Alone Title in the ‘Seduction Series’

Banner for Seduction of Wealth by Emma CalinSeduction of Wealth is out there – I mean the book, not just the filthy disgusting seduction of luxury, money, travel and happiness that we all know WEALTH will give us. Well, maybe eh guys! I know, I know – money can’t make you happy but enjoying a perfumed massage with a glass of glass of champagne on my super-yacht would beat a bag of fries waiting in the rain for a bus in my book. And my book is all about rolling in infinite wealth and luxury. No guilt, no shame, no social conscience. Just infinite pleasure and money. I ought to mention it comes at a price – theft, kidnap, murder, betrayal and mayhem. But hey – nothing’s free out there.

Seduction of Wealthy has a strong Italian flavour. Much of the action is set in Milan so I just had to go to get that authentic feel. A novelist simply has to suffer for Art. Just to make the point I tripped on a cobble stone and broke my arm. I ended up in hospital in Rome. I took that pain and stirred it into the hot sauce of the story with an extra pinch of oregano.

So here’s the blurb:

What would you do if your bosses said to break the law? How far would you go before questioning them? What if you’re a cop and your bosses are the law? Cop Kaitlyn Thorn must keep banker Randolf Quinn alive. Betrayed and on the run from her team, she gambles on nothing but her own instincts. Can she trust their love and save them both from destruction? A juicy mix of cops, crime and passion.
Seduction of Wealth cover art
Available worldwide on Amazon on this link for just 99c/99p during launch week ($3.99 normal price)

How To Get #Audible Discount on #Audiobooks Using Free E-Books

Long before there were books there were stories. Long before there were morose writers scribbling in lonely attics there were wonderful outgoing storytellers, drawing in a crowd and creating their illusions.

The popularity of audio books shows us the enduring power of that tradition. And now – I’ve had the chance to join in. Seduction of Combat has been transformed into an audio book by the fabulous actress, presenter and narrator Rebecca McKernan.  She’s a one off gorgeous lady – a kind of Mary Poppins in fishnet stockings, a Mona Lisa with a mojito cocktail. She gets through fourteen accents across Europe and the USA – including a guy who has two, depending on where he is.

NOW HEAR THIS. To celebrate the launch,  the e-book, Seduction of Combat is going free from 23rd to 27th April. So, ladies and gentlemen, roll up and get a free e-book which will entitle you to a discount on your audio book. Make sure you don’t miss out. Let London cop, Anna Leyton take you on a sexy ride of love and combat across London, Paris, the Mediterranean, Monterey California and New York City.

Remember, this little tip works on any book with an audio edition on Audible. Level of discount may vary. Go on – enjoy yourself. You deserve it.