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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Love Bleeds Blue in Paris

Paris and Tonnay Charente 097Some part of me is always in Paris. I know she’s a shabby arrogant bitch who would shrug off my impudent fan mail but I just can’t stop writing them. I could tell her she’s just a heap of stones arranged around a muddy river. I could tell her she’s not as French as I am, that her cool gaze was international and more security cordon than cordon bleu. And she would shrug and rain on me, lifting her skirt above the red and grey reflecting cobbles to show a tease of petticoat.

So, for a while I gave up the fan mail. This time I did a whole novel. I know she won’t care.She won’t read it. She’ll sell it secondhand for fifty cents on a Sunday market stall on la rive gauche. I walk in the tear stained footprints of the wasted and decadent greats. I hum along to the metro jazz and long to soften her lips of stone. A woman should not feel this way – but Paris – I love you so so much.

Paris graphic

Don’t tell me she’s male. No – Paris knows more of love than any man! Tell me I’m wrong guys – please.

Emma Thinx: In a language with genders go for the plural. Get the max.

 

 

 

 

 

Emma Reveals All: But Only Under The Covers.

 

In France we have just emerged from our shelters as Tempete Zeus blows itself off to the east. I knew we would invoke the power of Zeus when we held our prize draw for the naming of characters in the book, since it was he who drew lots with Hades and Poseidon to get the supreme god job. I did notice the wind was getting up as we were selecting the winners. It’s cops, it’s sex, it’s action, it’s more sex, it’s politics,it’s love, it’s comedy, it’s out on April 3rd. I won’t bang on but here’s a short blurb.

Two women, two forbidden loves, one desperate chance. As the old political certainties of  modern life fragment, two fearless women gamble all to re-unite a country and point a way forward to a world in conflict.
pp3-left

Well, tell me what you think of it, please.

Emma Thinx: Falling at the first hurdle means you get to shower in peace.

Love Bleeds Blue Launch Crew – Go to Pad.

lbbdrawAt last, the firing sequence countdown has started. I’m breathing only hydrogen atoms now – they were on a two for one offer at Walmart. Yesterday we took to my French chateau garden for the climax of our VIP Launch Crew exclusive competition for names to be used in Passion Patrol Three – Love Bleeds Blue. Our special guest to perform the draw was Odile Vicomtesse de Saintonge, who appears in Passion Patrol Two.She obtained world wide fame for providing Shannon and Spencer with their historic love bed – a gift from Josephine de Beauharnais, lover of Napoléon.

The three winners have been selected and know who they are – but not their roles in the story. The VIP crew have seen the cover and next week is the grand reveal. Main fuel tank pressure is rising guys, countdown is running.

 

Emma Thinx: There’s a big leaking  dam of luck somewhere up stream.