I’m thrilled with the good reviews I’ve been receiving for IT STINGS SO SWEET. This one is from Seductive Romance Reviews.

There was a lot of “taboo” subject matter in the stories, but there is also love and romance. Each story has emotional attachments and you feel for each character in the story. I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a “sizzling” read.

 

I was featured at the SMI Book Club!

The characters in these three stories will stay with you.  The women are strong and don’t hesitate to voice their opinion on what they need or desire.  They work with their partners to find a balance and satisfaction that doesn’t disappoint.  Kudos to the author!

I’m happy to be participating, once again, in the summer reading trail. Here’s a super steamy bit from my 1920s Erotic Romance novel in three parts, IT STINGS SO SWEET.

In spite of all my bold talk, there isn’t any possibility that I won’t open the door for him. I’ve never been one to turn down an adventure, sexual or otherwise. My body is anxious and eager. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know who the other man is. The truth is, I’d go to bed with a turnip, just as long as Leo was there with me. It doesn’t matter that it’s the foolish thing to do—the one thing I can do that will tarnish the last bit of shiny goodness he may see in me. In the end it all boils down to the fact that I want him so badly I’d sleep with Leo Vanderberg and anybody.

Something’s happening to me. Something awful. And I’m afraid it’s only going getting worse. This man has somehow gotten inside of me, without even taking me to bed. I feel him, just beneath my breastbone, where I breathe in and out. How empty and hollow is that place going to be when we finally part?

I’ve never been so afraid to lose a man before; certainly not before I’ve even had him.

I wear the siren red dress again, with the feather headdress. I’ve no illusion it will serve as any defense against Leo’s charms, but I’m sentimental. When Leo shows up at the door, I paint my lipstick on thick then go to meet him.

He’s wearing an overcoat and a hat that shadows his eyes. His nearness burns a hole through me, but neither of us say a thing. We stand there by the mirrored bureau near the front door, locked in one another’s gaze. He takes a fur from the coatrack and holds it open for me. I step closer and he wraps it around my shoulders, pulling me against him until I inhale his scent and close my eyes.

He hears my sigh and knows it’s surrender. “Are you scared, Clara?”

“Yes.”

“Are you needy?”

“So much that I’m shaking.”

“Does that embarrass you?”

My cheeks must be scarlet. “More every time I admit it.”

“Then I think it’s finally time you get what you want, isn’t it?” he says, stroking me softly, his warm hands carrying the promise of deeper intimacy. “And today, you don’t have to worry about anything . . . except pleasing me.”

“I’d like that. I’d like to please you,” I admit, as much to myself as him.

“You will,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

On our way out past the doorman, Charlie gives a tip of his hat, as if this were any normal day and I weren’t filled with a craving for wickedness. I’m silent in the car ride. Leo takes me to the Moroccan Theatre and escorts me past the velvet ropes into a side door before the crowds catch a glimpse of me.

Then we push through the beaded curtains into the plush anteroom. They used to serve champagne here, before Prohibition, but now the room is reserved for big shots and performers. I don’t know what I’m doing here. The truth is, I love not knowing. I love the idea that any man here might be Leo’s friend who saw my stag film, might be the one he wants to share me with. I love it so much I think I might be the most wicked woman ever born, and it twists inside me with every step I take.

Amidst the opulent Eastern decor of the movie palace, we make small talk with a few people who know me. They seem surprised to see me with Leo, especially when he touches me in ways that leave no doubt that he’s taken me as a mistress. Maybe he wants to show me off. If so, I don’t mind, because I feel a thousand stabs of envy from all the women in the room.

They all lust for the dashing aviator, but he’s mine, at least for one more night.

After a few minutes, Leo spies a young usher with a mop of blond hair. The two men exchange a knowing glance and I think my heart is going to beat its way out of my chest. Leo squeezes my arm in reassurance while he presses an envelope into the usher’s white-gloved hand. The young man tucks the envelope into his jacket, beneath the shiny metal buttons, then bows smartly. “If you’ll follow me . . .”

I begin to sweat at the back of my knees.

The band’s already playing and the lights are low, so the usher uses his flashlight to guide us up the stairs and through the aisles to the balcony box, shrouded with crimson silk draperies embroidered with gold. The empty chairs are carved, polished wood. Only when the usher leaves with our coats do I dare to show my astonishment. “You rented the whole box?”

“I think we’ll want the privacy,” Leo says, crossing his legs and smoothing the crease in his pants.

Apprehension dawns slowly. “Oh, no. Leo, you can’t mean . . . you can’t mean to make love to me here. A movie palace is about as close to a church as it gets for a girl like me.”

“Oh, come now, the whole place is a petting pantry. With all that chatter going on down there, they probably wouldn’t even hear you if you screamed.”

He might be right. Over the balcony, I can’t see individual faces but I hear a sea of voices. People laughing, clapping, engaging with the band. The projectionist has his part to play, too, speeding the movie up and slowing it down for artistic effect. I wonder how it will be when people have to be quiet to understand a movie because they can’t read words on the screen.

As always, I go with hubris. “So what’s the main feature, Ace? I didn’t even ask the name of the movie.”

Leo shifts against me and goose bumps race up my arms. His proximity is something that I’m always aware of, but now he seems to loom over me. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, taking the feather from my headdress. “You’re not going to be able to pay much attention.”

In the darkness, the feather tickles its way down my neck, over my bare shoulder, and down my arm. I react as if he’s singed me with a lit candle, hissing at the trail of heat.

“You’re so responsive. You say a thousand words with every move you make,” Leo says with admiration, as if it weren’t exactly my talent. “Remember how you said that you’d like to please me?”

I nod.

“Then pull up your dress, spread your knees, and touch yourself.”

It doesn’t even occur to me not to comply, so I slide my hand over my trembling belly, burying my own fingers into the heat of my own sex. I’m wet enough to ease the friction, so it doesn’t take but a moment before the sound of the musicians below fades away and I’m slowly pumping my hips in reverie.

“That’s my girl,” Leo says. “Close your eyes and keep doing that. Don’t stop unless I tell you.”

With my eyes closed, the sensation of the feather over my skin intensifies. The tickle of it drives me to distraction as I rub myself. I’m vaguely aware of the curtains rustling near the back of the booth and I gasp, but Leo grips me hard by the knee. “Don’t stop and don’t open your eyes until I say.”

There’s someone else here. Maybe it’s the usher with his flashlight cutting through the darkness. I don’t know. But my desire to please Leo, to do as he wants me to do, is so strong that it overcomes my terror. I tremble from head to toe, but continue to gently stroke myself.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cartwright,” someone says.

The breath goes out of me at the sound of a stranger who knows who I am. Of course he does. The shame of my position, with my dress up around my hips and my fingers sticky with my own arousal, turns my blood to liquid fire. I think I’m going to melt into a puddle, just melt away into nothing.

“You can open your eyes, Clara,” Leo says.

I do but it’s too dark to see more than shadows as the stranger takes the seat next to me.

The stranger’s voice is rich, like he hails from some wealthy New England town. “Don’t let me interrupt. You’ve got the body of a goddess. I can’t blame you for wanting to touch it . . . I know I do.”

Leo laughs indulgently. “Don’t tease her. She’s had about all the teasing she can handle . . .”

“I just want to lend her a hand,” the stranger says, laying his palm on my knee.

My breathing stutters the way delicate ladies breathe just before they faint dead away.

“Let him touch you, Clara,” Leo says. “This is what you wanted. And it’s what I want too.”

And nothing else matters. Not now. There’s no fight in me. I drift away to a place of such frightful submission, that I don’t even think I remember my own name. This is by design. This is happening exactly the way Leo engineered it to happen and that’s all that I care about. He said he wanted to choose my next lover, and he has. I embrace the idea with an open heart . . . and widespread legs.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please touch me.”

The stranger shifts closer, bringing with him the scent of expensive forbidden liquor, and kisses my neck. In a moment, both men are kissing my neck in perfect symmetry. Leo cups my breast with his right hand, squeezing it, kneading it until I sigh with delight. The stranger reaches between my legs and after a few moments of soft petting, he increases the tempo until he’s rubbing my pussy the way one scrubs a pot.

I’ve never been touched that way. I shouldn’t like it. The stranger is touching me the way men masturbate themselves. I’ve passed through fear and shame into eagerly embracing the depravity. I moan low in my throat. I’ve allowed my lover give my body over to a man I don’t even know and I’ve never felt so excited by anything.

It also makes me frantic. I’ve lost my moorings. I need something to anchor me. “I want to touch you, Leo. I need to touch you.”

“That makes me a very happy man,” he says, alleviating my panic by drawing my hand between his legs where he’s hard as iron. I know how to stroke a man through his trousers, and Leo growls his approval of my technique. “Clara, do you want to stroke him, too? You can if you want. Go on.”

With only this slight encouragement, I fumble with my other hand, running it up the stranger’s leg. When I find his rigid erection, the stranger groans. I stroke both men, one in each hand, surprised that it comes so naturally. As if I were born knowing how to do it. The harder they get, the harder I fall. I’ve forgotten the music. The audience. The wispy curtains. The whole movie palace could burn down around me and I wouldn’t care because I’m already consumed with the flames of desire.

Leo’s mouth clamps over my nipple, sucking it through the thin fabric of my dress, and the heat of it shoots straight through my body. The stranger dips his head and catches the other nipple, and then they’re both doing it. Both of them leaving wet spots over each nipple, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but pleasure.

I squeeze my eyes closed as the explosion flashes white behind my eyelids. I swallow back a silent scream as the orgasm washes over me, thrashing my head from side to side. I think both men know they’ve brought me off, but how? It must be that I stop breathing. That I go perfectly still everywhere but my sex, which pulses steadily against the stranger’s palm.

Only when I’m done do I take big gasping drags of air, like I’ve just been born.

Leo whispers, “That makes one.”

“Well, isn’t she splendid?” the stranger asks.

“That’s not all she can do,” Leo says. “Let her put those heart-shaped lips of hers on you and you’ll be a goner . . .”

“Not a bad way to go,” the stranger replies.

Leo pushes gently on the back of my neck, and I know what he wants. It’s the same thing I want, so I slide to the floor. I’m all vamp now, looking up with seductive eyes, ready to perform. I’m kneeling there on the floor of a public theatre, ready to suck off two men. There’s a moment—just a moment—when I start to hate myself.

Then I see through the haze of low light and smoke that both men are staring at me like I’m a sex goddess. And I remember that I’m Clara Cartwright. I can make a grown man shake in his shoes. Now I’ve got two grown men. I’m kneeling in front of them, but they’re both mesmerized by what I might do.

And I’m going to do everything.

To read another free excerpt, check out this page on IT STINGS SO SWEET.

Or you can buy the book wherever books are sold.

Today my white knight returned from work to find me curled up on the couch under a blanket, clinging to a box of tissues and sipping from a cup of hot tea. I think I looked something like this.

White Knight: So, should we just cancel our dinner reservations for tonight?

Me: [after noisily blowing my nose] No, it’s our anniversary. We have to go.

White Knight: But we’re both under the weather and you look…uh…

Me: I know I’m not dressed. But I’m going to get dressed. I swear.

White Knight: We don’t have to go. We could just order Indian food and sit around on the couch watching television all night.

Me: No, I’m pretty sure we have to go. What would our friend, the fabulous wedding planner and romance enthusiast Christi Barth have to say about this?

White Knight: She’d tell you to stay home and get better.

Me: No! She’d tell me to buck up. [hack-hack-cough-cough] She’d tell me that anniversaries have to be celebrated. She’d tell me not to fall into a life of complacency. She’d tell me that we have to go be sparkly and romantic or else we’ll spend all our lives eating take out and watching TV on the couch.

White Knight: But we like eating take out and watching TV on the couch.

Me: True. Let’s flip a coin.

White Knight: [Raising an imperious brow as only he can] We’re going to flip a coin to see if we’re going out to dinner?

Me: Yep. Heads we head out. Tails we stay home and sit on our tails. Do you have a coin?

White Knight: Do I look like I’ve got a coin? I’ve got a credit card…

Me: I’ll use a website. There must be a site that flips coins.

White Knight: Random.org [because he is a computer genius and knows these things]

Me: [tappity-tap on my keyboard]. Aha! Ok, I’m flipping it. Are you ready?

White Knight: So ready…

Me: [Expression of consternation]

White Knight: What? What’s wrong? Was it heads or tails?

Me: I flipped an ancient Roman coin, and I’m not exactly sure which side is heads. I think this is a fertility god…

White Knight: [Eyes bulging in a way that tells me his famed patience is nearing an end]

Me: Ok, ok! I’ll flip a quarter. Look, a vintage Maryland 25 cent coin. [Flips]

White Knight: Well?

Me: Heads. We’re going out. It’ll take me, um, at least an hour to get ready.

White Knight: You do that. I’m taking a nap.

Doesn’t everyone have a park bench in their bedroom?

Here we pause for a brief intermission during which I shower, dress, and don every sparkly object I own in the hopes I will look a little less like a gorgon. Then I ask my husband’s advice on something vital.

White Knight: Did you just wake me up to ask me advice on underwear?

Me: I didn’t wake you up. Your eyes were open.

White Knight: My eyes might have been open, but I was definitely asleep. Wear the red ones.

Me: The red ones? Really?

White Knight: We can at least pretend we’re getting lucky tonight.

Me: When a girl asks you about her underwear, do you always pick the red ones?

White Knight: Who are these mythical girls who are asking me to pick out panties for them to wear?

Me: Good answer.

So I wear the red ones. Then I get all snazzy. And by the time we leave the house, I look like this:

In the car we start to reminisce.

Me: Just think. Sixteen years ago at this time, we were getting ready for our wedding…

White Knight: Sixteen years ago at this time, we were already married.

Me: Uh, no, tomorrow is our official anniversary…

White Knight: Uh, no. It’s today!

[Silence...because, oops, that's awkward. And it's even more awkward because my phone erroneously reminded me of our anniversary two days before, at which point, I'd wished my husband a happy anniversary and he said, 'uh, in two days.']

Me: So, sixteen years ago you were pulling hairpins out of my hair and we were eating room service and we were happy because we didn’t know yet that our photographer was horrible and that we weren’t going to get one single good photo.

White Knight: [Laughing] And we didn’t know yet that one of our wedding guests said [totally inappropriate things] on our wedding video.

Me: [Laughing and coughing] And we didn’t know yet that my mother changed our gift registry and that we were going to spend the next six months getting weird stuff. Or that my mother changed the flavor of the top layer of our wedding cake…the one we saved for a year in the freezer to celebrate our first anniversary.

White Knight: [No Longer Laughing] No, we didn’t know that.

Me: Can’t laugh about it yet? Still too soon?

At last, we arrive at the restaurant, which is lit up with romantic glittery lights that Christi Barth would approve of. And what do I order from the menu? Hot tea. French onion soup, and ice water with which to cool my fevered brow.

No sooner have his scallops arrived than my husband’s phone starts ringing. It’s work. He’s gotta take it. We’ve also got to get back home so that he can put out a fire. I’m surprisingly ok with this because I love my husband, I love that he has a good job, I love the money he makes at said job, which pays for the cold medicine I desperately need.

White Knight: Still, this is totally romantic, right?

Me: [cough-cough-hack] Totally romantic. Look at your salad. It’s as big as your head. There’s even a sign on the wall behind your head that says INDULGENCE and ROMANCE. Can we get a picture? Here, I’ll blow you a kiss.

White Knight: That so doesn’t look like you’re blowing me a kiss.

Me: I’ll try again.

White Knight: Now it looks like you’re saying, ‘Watch me kiss the invisible squirrel in my hand…’

Also, can we get dessert to go.

Me: Oh, god yes. [Sneeze!] I need to go home. [Except I'm so stuffed up, it sounds more like 'I NeeB to GoBe HoBe']

We go out into the night air and it is strangely soothing.

White Knight: Nice night.

Me: What’s that smell? Is that…

White Knight: Jasmine.

Me: [Amazed that I can smell anything, much less jasmine] Honey! Isn’t that romantic? The world made it smell like jasmine for our anniversary.

White Knight: Yep. I’m sure the world made lots of other smells for us too–

Me: Jasmine. The world gave us jasmine, damn it.

In the car, we want to listen to love songs but end up listening to Michael Buble butcher a version of Nina Simone’s Feeling Good. We both agree that the song has been sucked dry of all its soul. Then, suddenly, the radio cuts out.

Me: Is that our punishment for trashing Michael Buble?

White Knight: Yes. Michael Buble is a very powerful man…except when he’s singing.

Me: You know, in our sixteen years of marriage, I think we’ve expanded each other’s musical tastes. You would’ve never even heard of Nina Simone if it weren’t for me.

White Knight: True. And you wouldn’t have heard of any music in the last fifty years if it weren’t for me.

Me: And that’s why I love you, honey.

Back at home, we waste no time slipping into our rumpled plaid pajamas. It’s not even ten o’clock, but we’re on the couch with our laptops and fancy dessert-to-go before you can say EXOTICA. Then we spend the next twenty minutes bickering about what we’re going to watch until, at last, I find the perfect film to cap off our romantic evening…

Me: You know what? [pointing at the HBO on Demand version of BEHIND THE CANDLEBRA] Let’s celebrate our deep and abiding love by watching a movie about a sexual predator who takes advantage of young men, isolates them from their families, and makes them get plastic surgery…

White Knight: Sold!

And you know what, dear reader? That’s how you stay married.

Love you, honey!

True Love!

Guest Post by Sharon Buchbinder

What do you think of when you hear the word “angel?”

Does your imagination conjure up beautiful beings with white fluffy wings, beatific expressions, voices like Adele, and the ability to rescue you? Or do you think of the latest best seller with a male or female on the cover with a body to die for?

While researching angels for Obsession, I pulled out one of my favorite books on Jewish Magic and Superstition in Folk Religion, published in 1939 by Joshua Tractenberg. There on page 69 was my police officer: he was a “deputy angel.” Medieval Jewish Kabbalah and magic were rich with angel lore. In addition to the well-known archangels like Azrael, Gabriel, Uriel, etc., the Kabbalists believed there were “memuneh” or deputy angels. These supernatural beings could appear as humans and act as intermediaries between man and God. Reports of mysterious men appearing and miracles occurring were taken seriously. We’ve grown away from that in the 21st century. Or have we?

The angel literature has never been richer or more diverse. First hand reports of angelic interventions seem to be growing on the internet. Books about angels abound, with over 80,000 titles on Amazon, alone. Could we all be kidding ourselves? Or are we more open to the idea of these messengers and their mission?  Personally, I’m keeping an open mind.  If I’m in a life or death situation or in a battle between good and evil, here’s what I’m going to say what the Australian band Real Life sang, send me an angel. Send me a deputy angel, right now.

In Obsession, the heroine, Angie, struggles with her first hand incidents with angels and her rational mind. Her experience tells her angels exist and that not one, but two—and perhaps even a deputy angel on earth— have been sent to help her save her son. Her intellect tells her there is no such thing as angels, that her mind created them while under duress, and that her father’s religious delusions filled her subconscious with visions of supernatural messengers. No plot spoilers here, however, I do have a question for readers? Do you believe in angels? If yes, what convinced you they existed?

I will select one lucky commenter to receive one e-copy of his or her choice of any books from my back list–except texbooks! LOL! (available to US and International readers).

~~~~~~~~~~

Available now: OBSESSION

A year after a barbaric childbirth, complete with a near-death experience and an encounter with her guardian angel, Angie Edmonds is just happy she and her son, Jake, are alive. She’s finally in a good place: clean, sober, and employed as a defense attorney. But at the end of a long work day, she finds herself in a parent’s worst nightmare: Jake has been kidnapped and taken across the Mexican border by a cult leader who believes the child is the “Chosen One.”

Stymied by the US and Mexican legal systems, Angie is forced to ask the head of a Mexican crime syndicate for help. Much to her chagrin, she must work with Alejandro Torres, a dangerously attractive criminal and the drug lord’s right-hand man. Little does she know Alejandro is an undercover federal agent, equally terrified of blowing his cover—and falling in love with her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Author Bio and Links

After working in health care delivery for years, Sharon Buchbinder became an association executive, a health care researcher, and an academic in higher education. She had it all–a terrific, supportive husband, an amazing son and a wonderful job. But that itch to write (some call it an obsession) kept beckoning her to “come on back” to writing fiction. When not attempting to make students, colleagues, and babies laugh, she can be found herding cats, waiting on a large gray dog, fishing, dining with good friends, or writing. You can find her at www.sharonbuchbinder.com

Paranormal Romance Guild Winner Best Mystery/Thriller, 2012

~~~~~~~~~~~

Where Sharon Buchbinder can be found on the Internet

Buy Link for Obsession http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CGOGT12

Awesome Book Trailer http://youtu.be/f1kujUWoGbk

Website/Blog http://sharonbuchbinder.com/blog/

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4417344.Sharon_Buchbinder

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/sharon.buchbinder.romanceauthor

Twitter @sbuchbinder https://twitter.com/sbuchbinder

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001IODIE2

I’ll be there. I hope you’ll come see me. I’ll be talking about digital publishing and misconceptions about historical women. And, of course, signing my wonderfully filthy 1920s historical erotic romance just in time to honor THE GREAT GATSBY.

Guest Post by the lovely Afton Locke

Thank you for hosting me today. I’m excited to discuss why the 1920s and 1930s are romantic and my recent release, Rose, Exposed, a multicultural historical erotic romance set in the 1930s.

This post is part of the official Rose, Exposed Blog Tour (3/26 – 4/09). The grand prize for the tour is vintage-style rose earrings for pierced ears (U.S. shipping address only). To be eligible, COMMENT on this post. Comment should include the historical time period and geographical setting (when and where) you’d most like to see in a romance. The tour winner will be announced at http://www.aftonlocke.com/RoseExposedTour.html on April 11th.

Why the 1920s and 1930s are Erotic

Beginning with my first publication at Ellora’s Cave in 2008, I have ridden the tides of erotic romance. What goes up comes down and vice versa. I’m pleased that the genre is now on the upswing again. Better yet, it’s evolving. Writers looking for contemporary erotic romances have thousands upon thousands of books to choose from, but what about erotic historicals? I believe the surface has barely been scratched.

Small presses have always been known to offer the non-typical setting and/or time period. The lower costs of producing an e-book allow these presses to take bigger chances. Now that the large presses are offering digital imprints, the differences are blurring.

Even in print, large presses are venturing into new realms beyond the traditional Regency, Medieval, and Victorian eras. I’m pleased to see Stephanie Draven’s recent Berkley release, It Stings So Sweet, because I think we’re onto a trend here. The 1920s and 1930s are hot!

One reason is the clothes. Short flapper dresses exposed more skin than ever before, and though the 1930s were more conservative, evening dresses flowed in beautiful lines and even exposed entire backs. In my latest release, Rose, Exposed, I made Rose’s backless evening dress part of the plot, fueling Leroy’s jealousy when he watches her dance with another man.

The second reason is emotion. The 1920s and 1930s, sandwiched between two world wars, were turbulent times. In my book, everyone is struggling with the Depression and small-town racial tensions. All that drama fuels desire.

Third, the sexual revolution for women began. Along with gaining the right to vote in 1920, women began going on dates and enjoyed new methods of birth control.

Fourth, despite modernity, an enticing element of the forbidden remained. Prohibition only made drinking more thrilling, and women who strove to be nice girls were torn between do I or don’t I? Raised by strict parents, my heroine struggles with her unladylike desires.

Finally, the time periods we consider historical continue to advance as we move further into the 21^st century. The historical line used to be 1900. With popular shows like Downton Abbey, the line is now moving through the early 20st century. The definition of historical is a period far enough back in time to be different enough from today to make reading about it a true escape. Just think, someday the 1970s will be considered history!

I can’t wait to bring readers more erotic romances from the 1930s and other time periods.

Rose, Exposed

Publisher:  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

Release Date:  27 March 2013

eBook ISBN #:  978-14199-45205

Buy eBook:  http://www.ellorascave.com/rose-exposed.html

Stay tuned for reviews and more: http://www.aftonlocke.com/Rose.html

Video/trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bT9x9-Hlhw&feature=youtu.be

(I love creating trailers for all my books!)

Blurb

When Leroy Johnson gets promoted at the new oyster plant on Pearl Point, all he cares about is working hard. When he meets the flirtatious artist Rose Wainwright, however, nothing matters except getting her to the altar and into bed. Healing from a recent loss, he’s not about to let her go too.

Because Rose’s strict, social-climbing father doesn’t approve of dark-skinned Leroy, they court in secret anyplace they can find. Although Leroy’s raw passion can convince her to do almost anything, why can’t he understand she needs freedom, not marriage?

Her father wants her to be white, but Leroy wants her to be black. Playing both sides of the fence leaves this young biracial beauty exposed in more ways than one.

Excerpt (explicit)

Rose, Exposed – Copyright © AFTON LOCKE, 2013 – All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

“You’re so…dark,” she exclaimed. Instead of the disdain he expected, he heard fascination.

Come on, lady. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a colored man before.

“Yes, I’m dark,” he agreed as he politely removed her hand, “which is why it’s not a good idea for us to sit alone together in this car. Someone might come along and jump to the wrong conclusion.”

A conclusion that could get him beat up or worse with the Klan close by on Oyster Island.

But before he could stop her, she clasped both sides of his face and pressed her sweet mouth to his. Aw, hell. A man only had so much self-control, and she’d just shattered his. Unable to stop himself, he plundered her delicate mouth. Her lips reminded him of rose petals, and he sucked the sweetness out of them as if he were a bee. The more he tasted, the more he wanted.

She opened, giving him access to her even sweeter tongue. His penis strained, hard and now wet, against his undershorts. Hell, even his balls must be twice their normal size. Taking a big breath, he pulled away from her.

“We can’t do this. You’re white.”

She looked down at her upturned palms. “Then I really do look white?”

Leroy frowned. “Aren’t you?”

For the first time, her smile disappeared, making him shiver in his wet clothes. “The truth is, I don’t know what I am. I suppose that’s why I took this foolish drive.”

She must be biracial then, he realized, and not forbidden after all. The thought made him want to dance on the hood of the car. She still looked white, though. If he didn’t have the time to court a girl his own color, he sure didn’t have any for a complicated one like this.

“Kiss me again,” she demanded.

Without waiting for him to answer, she locked her hot, damp mouth on his again and tugged hard on his shoulders. Before he knew it, he was on top of her on the front seat. He wished her dress weren’t so thin when two round breasts pushed against his chest and long, slender legs shifted restlessly under his. Dizzy with the scent of rain and her, he froze.

At that moment, nothing mattered except finding out if her cunt was as sweet and yielding as her mouth. He didn’t care if the entire Klan showed up, knocked on the window and caught him thrusting between her legs on this slippery leather seat. It had been too damn long since he’d had a woman. He needed to stop this while he still could.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” Lust had turned his voice into a husky croak.

She laughed and touched his face again. “I don’t know. What am I asking for?”

This girl was crazier than he’d first thought. What if someone less honorable than himself had stopped instead? She could’ve been raped.

“A whole lot of trouble.” He sat up. “Look, this is not the time or the place. Now let’s get you home.”

The sooner he could be rid of her—before she derailed him from his job, family, and everything else that mattered—the better.

WIPs Coming Soon

Rose, Exposed is the sequel to Plucking the Pearl, an interracial historical erotic romance.

http://www.aftonlocke.com/pearl.html

I have two more books planned for the Oyster Harbor series. Next up for romance are Sadie and Henry.

In addition to interracial/multicultural historicals, I also plan to keep writing erotic contemporaries.

Can an older woman find love with a hot male stripper? My current WIP, Two Hours to Entice, will answer that question.

Where readers can find me

I will be attending EC’s RomantiCon Oct 10-13, 2013 in Canton, Ohio – http://ecromanticon.com/:

Don’t miss the book signing on Oct 13^th.

I’m also hosting a Fabulous Fusion workshop with Koko Brown and Eve Vaughn to celebrate interracial erotic romance for EC’s Fusion line.

Web site: http://www.aftonlocke.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/afton.locke

Twitter: http://twitter.com/aftonlocke

Newsletter – The Love Chronicle: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thelovechronicle/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3159922.Afton_Locke

Café au Lait Book Club: https://www.facebook.com/groups/cafeaulaitbookclub/

If you’re in within driving distance of Frederick, Maryland this weekend, come out to talk about the Jazz Age and all things flapper at the fabulous vintage boutique store, Tiara Day.

After my chat, I’ll be signing of my new hot historical erotic romance IT STINGS SO SWEET, and goodies for a Girl’s Night out of books and vintage trinkets.

Saturday March 2nd at 5pm-9pm

Tiara Day Boutique

153 N. Market St.

Historic Downtown

Frederick, Maryland 21701

Even if you can’t come, that doesn’t mean you can’t still win a copy of my novel. Check out this giveaway on Goodreads for more!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

It Stings So Sweet

by Stephanie Draven

Giveaway ends April 21, 2013.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

For an American audience, this week’s episode was bewildering. Not only did we think that Jazz and Flappers were ours, damn it, but we don’t understand Cricket. It’s like baseball, I guess, except incomprehensible. Adding to our confusion was the fact that this episode seemed very long and it was. With two episodes jammed into one, we’ve got a lot to cover.

So let’s get on with it…

Best Moments

• Hallelujah! Mr. Bates is finally out of prison. Yes, we loved seeing Mr. Bates back at Downton Abbey. We loved his cozy new cottage with Ana and their happy domesticity. We loved seeing him get a little frisky. But more than anything, we love that the pie crust prison storyline is finally at an end!
• Bromance. The Country-Solicitor-turned-heir-to-the-Earldom and the Jumped-Up-Chauffeur were not the son-in-laws that the Earl of Grantham hoped for, but the ladies love them. And not just the ladies of Downton Abbey. Those are some fine looking brother-in-laws. Watching Matthew and Tom bond over their plans for the estate fills us with optimism for the future, and watching them become good friends is genuinely heart-warming. It also warms us up a little south of the heart, but I digress…
• Ethel’s Pudding Must Have Sucked. Last episode, the Dowager Countess of Grantham refused to leave a luncheon prepared by a former prostitute on the grounds that it would be a pity to miss a good pudding. Well, this week Violet has made it her life’s ambition to get rid of Ethel. She does it in the nicest possible way, of course: by finding her a new job near her son. The lesson we learn? Never serve a bad pudding to the Machiavellian Dowager Countess nor underestimate her ability to get her way…
• It’s Better to be Gay than Catholic. At long last, Thomas Barrow, the evil gay valet, gets his comeuppance–but it comes about in such a way that makes us feel terribly sorry for him. O’Brien’s plan comes to fruition when she goads Mr. Barrow to take a chance with the second footman. He is, of course, cruelly rebuffed. But things only get worse when Mr. Carson learns what happened and decides to dismiss Barrow from service. Carson says that Mr. Barrow has been twisted by nature into something foul, but is surprisingly sympathetic. Barrow denies that he’s foul. (You are, Thomas Barrow, but not because you’re gay.) Anyway, Carson feels compassion for him and says he’ll give him an adequate reference. We know that Carson is a big teddy bear, so this doesn’t surprise us. The Earl of Grantham’s casual reaction, however, is stunning. He was more outraged by the idea that his granddaughter would be Catholic than to find out that the man who dresses him has a penchant for sneaking into the bedrooms of unwilling men. Then we find out that if the Earl had shouted blue murder every time someone tried to kiss him at Eton he’d have gone hoarse in a month. Whaaaaaat?
  
• Branson Finally Does Something Right. The Jumped up Chauffeur has served as an unexpected linchpin in the story of how class differences began to blur after the Great War. But one thing we learn in this episode is that Branson, the fiery Irish Revolutionary, is actually the mild-mannered one in his family. We meet his brother, who rudely refuses to come upstairs at Downton Abbey because he’d rather make jokes with the staff. (Who all find him hilarious.) But Branson–who has done his own share of rude and hilarious things–isn’t having it. ”My mother-in-law has been kind enough to offer you someplace to stay and dine and I’ll not let you snub her. Now get a move on.” Carson wanted to cheer him. And, frankly, so did we. But the real shining moment came when it’s Branson who makes the speech about how everyone in the family needs to use their talents to make Downton Abbey a success. It’s the first time he’s shown genuine tact and compassion for the aging Earl, who laps up any sign of love from his son-in-law with eagerness. And again, frankly, so do we.

Worst Moments

• And That’s the End of That. One thing that makes Downton Abbey a guilty pleasure is that, after its first season, it shallowed out, but we still watch it for the clothes and the predictable moments of humor. Conflicts run only as long as the show wants them to–with the exception of the prison storyline which went on for-bloody-ever. Lavinia conveniently dies. Matthew conveniently learns to walk again and then conveniently inherits the money that will save the estate. Cora conveniently learns that Sibyl would have died anyway, so she needs to stop blaming the Earl. This time, we only get two episodes to feel sorry for Thomas Barrow and see him struggle. Then the Earl solves all his problems. Thomas could have blackmailed O’Brien himself–but it’s Bates who does it, for no apparent logical reason. And we’re not at all pleased with the way Carson seems to have completely lost control of the downstairs staff, allowing all sorts of shenanigans and rebellions he’d never have tolerated in the old days. Still, we applaud Downton Abbey for finally making it clear that the evil gay valet is just evil because he’s evil, not because he’s gay.
• The Heartless Capitalist Isn’t The Earl. How is it that the women–and even the Marxist Chauffeur–team up with Matthew and get on board for his apparently heartless plan to increase burdens on the tenants of the estate to make it profitable? The Earl is the only one not willing to sign on to a new and harsher way of doing business. (Downton Abbey is wise enough not to get into too many details here about Matthew’s plan to throw people into the cold.) I’m not buying it! It’d be one thing if it were a generational split in the house. Or gender based. But can the Earl really be the only person at Downton Abbey who feels a genuine sense of responsibility and compassion for his tenants?
• A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell Sweeter. We meet a new character in this episode of Downton Abbey. A flighty girl who is somehow related to the Crawley sisters. She is having an affair with a married man and must be rescued from a Jazz Club where we see skin, and black musicians, and close dancing, kissing, flapper fathers, and gowns! Matthew compares it to an outer ring of hell. This vignette is to give us the impression of the decade–something also impressed upon us by the dropped waistlines and raised hemlines of the gorgeous dresses our ladies are wearing throughout the episode. And in this diversion, we get to see Matthew be quite assertive and dashing as he explains to Rose how married men who want to seduce young girls always have horrible wives. In spite of all the swoon-worthy moments surrounding this storyline, Rose’s actress is totally out of her league. Her amateur theatrics are so out of place we cringe to see her share any screen time with the incomparable Maggie Smith! We want Rose packed off and sent into the country never to return.
• Always a Bridesmaid. We’re thrilled for Lady Edith when she takes the job as a columnist, working for a handsome newspaper man who fancies her. But before we can even sigh with a fluttering heart at their romance, it is revealed that he is a married man with a wife in an asylum, who he can never ever divorce. Seriously, Downton Abbey? And so, we are forced to forgive Edith for being a terrible chaperone to Rose and for failing to do Mary the favor of keeping Matthew off the train, and all the other snotty things she does and says because she is apparently doomed to spinsterhood.
• Bates is Charlie Brown. And Thomas Barrow is apparently Lucy with the football. Like the sucker he is, Bates’ first order of business is to stand up for Barrow, who has been the bane of his existence for years. But little does Bates know that homosexuality is apparently the one social subject on earth about which the Earl of Grantham is not an old-fashioned douche. The Earl not only goes to bat for Barrow, defending him from the police, but gives him a promotion over Bates because…because…because the show needs to create new tensions between them in the future, I guess. Either that, or we’re about to learn something new and interesting about which side of the crumpet the Earl really likes his butter…

That’s it for this week, folks, but while I have your attention, I encourage you to check out my recent historical erotic romance novel in three parts, IT STINGS SO SWEET, set in the same period as Downton Abbey.

I was delighted to be interviewed on The DM Zone about my sexy romantic comedy, In Bed with the Opposition. I had a chance to talk about how I start a romance by using a forbidden fantasy to spark a discussion with readers. I also got to mention how my latest 1920s series is like a vintage Fifty Shades of Grey!