Flame, I apologize that it took me so long to get this up for you.
Tell us a little bit about yourself- I was born to write, but it took me a long time to find the right publisher. News event inspire a lot of my writing, and strangers I happen to meet who peak my interest. Christmas Eve, my erotic romance Evernight Publishing recently released, was inspired by a trip to Mt. Charleston outside of Las Vegas to play in the snow with my granddaughter.
In a blinding snowstorm on Christmas Eve, the jaded owner of a posh Las Vegas casino mistakes the stranded real estate agent at his door for the classy call girl he's expecting to heat up his holiday.
Passions ignite. Eve has learned men believe bedding her the most direct route to her wealth. Nick's female companions always want the keys to his Ferrari and to his safe deposit box, never to his heart, so he distrusts the entire lot and expects to simply walk away unscathed when his brief time with Eve ends.
Neither expects to give marriage a try, but hearts have a way of going where cautious souls refuse, and after screwing their heads off for six days and nights Nick and Eve discover without love their former lives were little more than empty shells.
Finally. Nick St. Clair took one last look around. Everything seemed in order. Don't let your irritation at your hired date's tardiness show. She might have a reasonable excuse for being late.
Straightening the lapels of his hip-length robe, he crossed to the door. Beneath the robe, black silk pajama pants provided minimal warmth but kept him decent.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," the statuesque woman on his porch said with a bright smile, "but I've done something really stupid and wondered if you—"
"Don't just stand there." Nick opened the door wider, anxious to see what his credit card had purchased this time. "Come in."
"Thanks." After a slight hesitation, the woman stepped gracefully inside. Ice crystals clung to the fine wool scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, and to her stylish boots. She was all bundled up in a long coat, but Nick's mind's eye had no difficulty sketching what he hoped was hidden underneath.
The lady wore far too many clothes.
"I'm afraid my boots are wet." She glanced first at him. His welcoming smile seemed to stun her. She stared at her boots. "Where would you like me to stand?"
"By the fire." Nick indicated the hearth. "You look frozen." Although in need of a woman, he had no desire to bed an icicle. He wasn't that desperate. Yet.
She crossed the room at a slow pace, her fluid movements an aphrodisiac to him, although each tentative step left behind a patch of melting ice. Sex-deprived man that he was, his living room suddenly felt too warm. Things were looking up.
"I've been busy on the computer," he said, surprised by the sudden gruffness of his usually smooth voice. He joined her before the fire. "I hadn't noticed it had begun to snow."
A soft-looking, hooded leather coat covered her to her ankles. What lay beneath all those layers?
To his surprise, the unknown whetted his appetite. "Here, let me help you out of that coat."
No? Her response drew Nick up short.
"That won't be necessary," she said, her sexy eyes wide. "I'll just keep it on, since I'm hoping we'll be going right back out."
Out? Was this some sort of sex game played to excite him?
"Problem is..." She paused, smiling up at him, even daring to bat her eyes.
Unusual eyes, those. Emeralds, flecked with gold, and about all Nick could see of his date at the moment. He found the situation so damned erotic he began to sweat.
"... my car slid in the ditch next door," she added, drawing his thoughts from what treasures her long coat might hide. "I wouldn't bother you, but this mountain seems to be out of my cell phone's service area and I wondered if I might use your phone to call for a tow."
The dimple nestled in the satiny cheek nearest Nick flirted with him as she spoke. Intriguing. Might as well play along. "Sure."
Now for some fun:
Ten Tantalizing Teasers-
Plotter or Pantser? A little of both, I guess. I like to know my stories will come to a satisfying conclusion and the guy will get the gal before I start writing, but I no longer outline in great detail. I like the little surprises my characters sometime have in store for me, and give them more freedom than I once did.
Which Goddess best defines you? Pandora, but I doubt she is considered a Goddess. I'm incurably inquisitive. Who? Why? What? When? And Where? Wanting the answers to those questions is what once made me a successful newspaper reporter.
Favorite Dessert? Praline ice cream.
Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate, of course
Favorite scent? Coffee brewing
Coffee, tea, soda, or water? Coffee. My father drank gallons of coffee every day. I'm not that bad, but I do enjoy a morning cup of good-smelling coffee.
Do you have to set the mood to write? If so, how? I set the mood with roses, scented candles and soft music playing in the background.
Do you have a favorite character? Why? Nick St. Clair, the hero of Christmas Eve, is my current favorite, a man so busy building his fortune he relies on an escort service to provide female companions to heat up his down time. He is suave and debonair and filthy rich to boot, but he doesn't flaunt his wealth and has not forgotten his roots. He knows how to make a lady feel special and isn't ashamed to admit he's a romantic, through and through. Who wouldn't want to be stranded with him in a mountain cabin during a blinding snow storm?
Morning, afternoon, evening, or late night writer? I can write anytime, I just don't make enough time.
If you weren’t writing, what would be your occupation? If I wasn't a writer I'd be a house painter. If I had the time I'd give every room in my house a fresh coat of paint every two years, shove the furniture around to new locations and give replace the windows a fresh, new treatment. I can no long do that and write, too.
You'll find Flame hanging out here:
You can download Christmas Eve here:
Or from your favorite eBook store
Flame Arden speaks talks like a well-bred Southern lady, but writes hot love scenes with squirm factor, so you be the judge.