Click To Tweet Facebook Share Pinterest
Now, 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.
The 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.
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.
If you enjoyed this article, please tweet about it Click Here and Facebook Share and pin Pinterest
Awesome music! I think it’s a flute in the beginning is also hauntingly sexy a there is a guitar part that is pretty amazing. Thank you for the introduction to this music.
It’s an amazing piece isn’t it? The instrument at the start is an alto saxophone. The legend is, that it was supposed to be played on electric guitar but the musician didn’t show up and so the sax player volunteered to play it…. Apparently he only got paid £27 (about $40) and the check bounced. Sadly the sax player and Gerry Rafferty both died young but what a legacy. Makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up every time I hear it.