Guest Sylvia Massara and a preview of The Other Boyfriend

Sylvia Massara

Biography:

Sylvia Massara has been writing since her early teens. She has written in a variety of genres, from stage plays to screenplays to novels. Since she can remember, she’s loved immersing herself in a world filled with characters of her own creation.

Sylvia lives in Sydney, Australia, with husband, Nick, and four-legged daughter, Mitzy.

THE OTHER BOYFRIEND

Sarah Jamison is on a mission to find a boyfriend for her lover’s partner; and Sarah’s best friend comes to the rescue with an idea so crazy that it just might work. Enter the enigmatic Mike Connor. Sarah hates the man on sight, but her body tells her otherwise. Mike Connor is smug and full of himself; even so, Sarah thinks that with his help she can finally be with the love of her life. 

(EXCERPT)

CHAPTER 1

A large window behind Monica revealed panoramic views of the city of Hong Kong and though I tried to appreciate the beauty before me, it didn’t work.Nothing worked! I was in the grips of an anxiety attack brought on by desperation and all I could think about was Jeffrey with his de-facto partner, Moira – the ball and chain, as I called her – living in a loveless relationship until the end of time. And as far as I was concerned, the end of time was a long way away.

“Sarah, let me get this straight,” Monica exclaimed in disbelief, taking a deep drag from her cigarette. “You want me to help you find a boyfriend for your lover’s partner?”

I smiled weakly at my best friend. I couldn’t blame her incredulity at what I was proposing. I hardly believed it myself, so how could I expect someone else, who was obviously sane – unlike me – to believe it?

Monica took another drag from her cigarette and expelled a cloud of smoke that momentarily obscured my view of her face – perhaps this was best. I squirmed at the thought of what she made of all this as I reached for the red wine she had offered earlier and gulped it down, almost choking in the process. Meanwhile, my mind was filled with agonising thoughts about the uncertain future of my relationship with my lover, and I hoped against hope that somehow a miracle would bring us together for good.

effrey had told me repeatedly that he didn’t want to hurt Moira’s feelings by dumping her after fifteen years of being together; but staying with her for the sake of pity was just crazy. I fumed every time I thought about it. It was unbearable. Jeffrey should be with me by now. I squeezed my eyes shut and momentarily prayed for that elusive miracle.

“Mike!” I was brought out of my reverie by Monica’s excited cry.

“What?” I asked, somewhat confused, briefly entertaining the idea that Monica had lost her mind. Perhaps the heavy smoking had finally taken its toll on her and she couldn’t think straight anymore. What was this about a mike?

Monica crushed the cigarette butt into a large crystal ashtray that was already overflowing with the remnants of other cigarette butts which had met the same fate.

“Mike!” she repeated in exasperation, frowning at me.

Like I was supposed to know what she was talking about. But I hoped against hope that she wasn’t thinking of a karaoke microphone. Heaven forbid. This was what happened to people when they lived in Asian countries for too long.

Another large gulp from my refilled wine glass and I was ready to focus on what she was trying to say. “Who or what is 'mike’?” I asked, trying to hide my impatience. As she lit up another one of those little deadly cylinders I hated so much, the thought crossed my already tired mind that I was going to have to wash my hair in order to get rid of the horrible, clinging smell of smoke.

Monica rolled her eyes at me. “Honestly, Sarah, you really don’t remember?”

No, I don’t remember. In fact, I had no idea what she was going on about. But it was obvious that some diabolical scheme was forming in her fag-fogged brain, because whenever she was excited about something her British accent became more pronounced.

The view of the busy harbour faded in and out before my eyes as Monica puffed away furiously. I waited, hoping this was just a weird dream I was having; and if luck was on my side, I would soon wake up and things would be normal once more. Or worse still, I suddenly thought in alarm, I really was drunk in some karaoke bar and it was my turn to sing. Ugh! God help me.

“Mike’s the man for the job,” Monica announced between puffs, and much to my relief. I now paid full attention. “You know him,” she went on. “He’s been living here for five years; investment banker from London. You met him at my last Christmas party.”

I had a vague recollection of Monica’s Christmas party, all of it through an alcoholic haze. My blank stare must have registered through the smoky lounge room because she sighed and said, “Never mind,” and dismissed my look of ignorance. “The thing is Mike’s always up for a challenge. And I know he’ll love this.” She threw me a mysterious smile.

“And how do you know?” This piqued my curiosity, despite the fact that I had convinced myself that her cigarettes must be impregnated with some sort of hallucinogen.

“Because he’s gorgeous and he’s never had to chase a single female in his life. Women fall all over him,” she explained, as if I were too slow to understand her meaning.

Poor Mike, I rolled my eyes. Life was sooooo tough for some people. But if women really did fall all over him, as Monica suggested, this might just work. So, for the first time since my arrival in Hong Kong, I felt the stirrings of hope. “Okay,” I found myself saying, as if we were simply planning an outing rather than changing a person’s entire life. “This so-called ‘lady killer’ sounds perfect. But how do you know he’ll do it?”

Monica crushed her cigarette butt into the ashtray. “Because he’s transferring to Taipei next month and he’ll be bored to tears unless he’s got something like this to occupy him.”

Charming! I couldn’t wait to meet this male version of the femme fatale. And yet, Monica seemed so sure about him that I almost believed this man could turn out to be the solution to my problem. “So how do we know he’s going to find Moira attractive?” I didn’t want to give way to my rising excitement just yet; not to mention the fact that Moira might find the guy totally repulsive.

“That isn’t the point, dummy. If Mike says he’ll do it, then he’ll do it.” Monica replied, full of confidence.

“But if he’s not attracted to her, why would he waste his time charming the woman in order to help someone he doesn’t even know? Besides,” I thought out loud, “Moira might hate the sight of him.” Doubt and reality set in, and I saw my dream of a free Jeffrey fading quickly away.

Where to find Sylvia Massara online:

Website: http://www.sylviamassara.com
Twitter: sylviamassaraFacebook: Facebook profile
LinkedIn: http://au.linkedin.com/in/sylviamassara
Blog: http://www.sylviamassara.blogspot.com

Guest Blogger Janice Seagraves talks "setting"

Hi, my name is Janice Seagraves. I’m the author of Windswept Shores.

Today I would like to talk to you about “setting the scene” in your stories. Some people call it backdrop, background or setting.

I set my story on a deserted island in the Bahamas.

“How did you do that?” you might ask.

Easy, by finding out all that I could about the Bahamas, but not using all of it.

I can imagine your reaction, “Huh?”

Well, yes, we don’t want to over whelm our readers now do we?

I broke it down to this:

Color of sea—teal

Soil—sandy loam, sand, lots and lots of sand

I also had a cliff make entirely of sand stone, more sand!

What grows in the Bahamas?—anything that grows in a tropical area, including lots of fruit trees.

Fruit trees+fruit=food

Birds—sea birds including sea gulls—bird+eggs=food (just the eggs, mate)

Fish—tropical fish like what you’d see at your local pet store—puffer, lion fish, clown fish. I used the name of a local sport fish—tarpon, it can get to be five feet in length. Fish=food

Shellfish—mussels, scallops, and conk=food

 Dolphin (the mammal kind)—this is fun, they’re spotted!

Weather—wet+rain+windy=tropical!

I used descriptive words for the sea: ocean, waves, swells, and surf.

You get the idea. I mention the weather a lot in my story, until it becomes almost a secondary character.

Here’s how I set the scene in the first chapter: 

Breathing hard, she flicked a glance at the teal-colored sea. She'd thought a vacation to the Bahamas would be the perfect getaway, would be a solution to the problems she and Jonathan had faced. She'd been wrong—dead wrong. Tears of grief filled her eyes. The never-ending crash of the waves on the beach and the cries of the seagulls seemed to mock her with the reminder she was utterly alone.

Here’s a bit about the weather:

She frowned at her small tent. I don’t really know him well enough to let him sleep in there with me, but what else am I going to do with him? “There’s enough room in my tent for two.”

“Megz, if you’re that uncomfortable I can sleep out here by the fire with the mossies,” he offered. Right on cue, it started to rain. “I don’t suppose you have another tent?”

“That’s the only one that won’t shred in a stiff breeze. I had to make an A-frame around it to make sure it held together. We’ll just have to make do. Give me a moment.” Kicking off her sandals, she slipped inside the tent.

And more with the weather:

The pelting rain filled the silence between them. The tent sides heaved in the stiff breeze. Megan stretched-out on her own small pallet.

He asked, “Ready to catch some Z's?”

Megan turned her small pillow over several times, trying to find the perfect position for sleeping. There never was one. She finally settled. “Yes, unless you want to talk or tell stories?”

“Shall I tell you a yarn?”

“What kind of story would you like to tell?” she asked, turning to face him.

“It’s something we did at home. I’ll tell a story that may be true or it might not be. That's for you to work out.”

“Kind of like truth or dare?” She tucked her arm under her head. The pillow still didn’t feel comfortable. “Can you tell me about Australia?”

Thunder boomed outside.

Megan jumped.  That sounded really close, I hate lightning storms. Maybe Seth's story will take my mind off of it.

***

Okay, now I’ve set the scene. The rest of the story is basically camping out. Growing up my dad really-really liked to fish, so I’ve been literally camping since I was a baby. In fact I almost born at a camp site, but that’s another story.

But it does give me the experience of living out of doors, which is what my characters do in Windswept Shores.

Camp excerpt:

“Great. Follow me.” She pushed aside a bush as she continued up a rise.

Seth followed, leaning heavily on the stick while he watched the sway of her behind. Her meager campsite was neatly laid out; the paths lined with large shells and stones. To one side a tiny fire blazed, a pot with a fitted lid peeked out from a nest of coals giving a delicious aroma that teased his nose.

“A camp-oven? I haven’t seen one of those in years. What’s ever ya got in there has to be tasty.” He salivated. His gaze settled on a small A-frame made from lashed palm logs. Then he noticed a zippered closure. “That’s not a tent is it?”

She glanced at the shelter. “We had a few scientists on the plane with us. They had intended to transverse the cays, camping on the beaches while they studied the flora and fauna. Lucky for me their supplies washed ashore. That’s what has helped me survive these past two weeks.”

“Megz, you’re amazing.”

***

After the scene is set then we can write our story.

Windswept Shores+couple=romance

Read a sample of Windswept.

www.pinkpetalbooks.com/ *** http://janiceseagraves.org/***Windswept Shores

Guest Post by Author Patricia Pellicane (Rated R)

This weekend I'm happy to feature an excerpt from Patricia Pellicane's new erotic romance THEN CAME LOVE.

It's a steamy piece so those who are weak of heart should prepare themselves. In other words it's rated R...put the kids to bed!

And now the excerpt:

THEN CAME LOVE

 

BY

 

Patricia Pellicane

 

A contemporary erotic romance

 

Published by TOTAL-E-BOUND PUBLISHING

 

Released August 2, 2010

 

 

Could they survive the pain only those who love deeply can know?

She hated him beyond measure. After a year of torturous separation her feelings had only grown in strength. When would he leave? She couldn’t allow him to know her most carefully guarded secret. She couldn’t allow him to ever know.

He was tired of waiting for her to come to her senses, to return to him, to realise she’d made a mistake. She was the love of his life, he was taking what she refused to give. Fight him or not, she was his and was always going to be only his.

EXCERPT:

 

How much are you paying him?”

She pulled back and narrowed her gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“Is he an escort?”

“Would it soothe your ego if he were?” She laughed, partly in shock at his accurate guess and partly to cover her sudden nervousness. “What’s the matter, Rick? Is he too handsome? You really are obnoxious, aren’t you? I’m not allowed to have an attractive boyfriend, but you can show off a harem of bimbos. Where do you get them? Sluts R Us? Don’t they have any with less than a double D cup?”

Rick grinned. “Is that what you think they are? Bimbos? I’ll have you know Tracey is a very nice girl.”

Jackie wiggled her brows in unhappy sarcasm. “I’ll bet.”

“You want to know how nice?”

“No, I don’t want to know how nice,” she repeated nastily. “I don’t want to talk about her or you for that matter.”

“How very Jackie of you.”

She pulled back just a bit and frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means just as long as you get to say what you please, there’s never a need to hear another’s side of the argument, is there?”

“What other side?”

He glared down at her, his gaze narrowing in anger. “You know what other side.”

She stiffened. “If you insist on talking about this, I’m leaving you on the floor.”

“Fine, we won’t talk. We won’t do anything but dance.” Jackie easily read the anger in his dark gaze. She didn’t care. He could rage at her from now until forever and she still wouldn’t care.

 

She wanted to pull out of his embrace and run, but to do so would tell him this meant more to her than it should. There was no way she would show this liar the slightest bit of weakness. As far as she was concerned, he was a nonentity, and she felt nothing towards him.

“There’s no point in trying to be romantic. You said yourself this is only a dance.”

“I love the way you smell.”

“Do you? You mean I smell better than Monica? How has she been, by the way?”

Rick stiffened as the mention of the woman. “Damn, but you really are a bitch, aren’t you?”

She glanced up, her gaze hard with hate.  “It’s ‘a fucking bitch’, if I remember correctly.”

“Fine,” he said, knowing she referred to their last argument, the hateful things that were said. The frustration he’d known the night she’d left him, the first night in an endless year of curses. He moved her deeper into the crowded dance floor. Bodies swayed smoothly around them, enclosing them in almost total darkness.

Her head pounded; a pulse throbbed in her throat as his mouth lowered to her cheek. She took a deep calming breath. Her lips tingled. She needed to feel his mouth on hers. She strove to keep her gasping breath as smooth and silent as possible. She felt like crying as she struggled to breathe, while he hadn’t done anything more than brush his lips against her skin in whispery soft promises of pleasure. His mouth lowered again. Now his lips grazed the edge of her mouth. She wanted to turn into the kiss. God, she wanted it more than she wanted to live, but she somehow managed to keep to her control.

“Have you fucked lately, Jackie?” he asked on a low, warm breath. “Has your man been taking care of you?”

“What do you care?”

His hand on her hip slipped down her leg, around the front of her, between their bodies, inside her thigh and up. Under her short skirt, in the near total blackness of the dance floor, his hand moved higher. She didn’t stop him. She didn’t even try. He needed to know nothing he did could make a difference. Higher. His fingers moved higher and higher again.

Under her skirt, inside the tiny wisp of panties she wore, her pussy felt heavy, aching and soaking wet. She trembled with the need she knew for his touch, she was hotter than she could ever remember. Every nerve ending screamed for more, straining towards the coming pleasure. Pleasure only he knew how to give. His hand was inches from her heat. Inches from touching her, inches from where she wanted most to be touched. She forced back the moan that threatened.

Bodies pressed close. No one could see them, and they saw no one as they watched only each other. Eyes glittered with raw emotion, hate, anger, betrayal but most of all lust, a desperate want, until finally his fingers reached under the leg of her panties.

He groaned and closed his eyes in pleasure at the warm creaminess he found, while her knees trembled almost buckling beneath her. She reached an arm around his neck, her cheek against his chest and held on. This was going to be wild. She knew it and hadn’t the power to stop it.

He held her tightly with one arm, while the other under her skirt explored the folds of her body and centred at last upon her clit. “I love it when you cream for me, Jackie.”

“It’s not for you. It’s you and a hundred others.”

She felt his body tense against hers as he asked, “Has there been a hundred, Jackie?”

She hissed a low sound that was almost lost in the music surrounding them, even as she glared her hatred. He had some nerve. How did he dare to question her after all the women he’d been with?

What he was doing meant nothing. They both knew it meant nothing. He had no right to question her. He was a man, and she’d been too long without. It was as simple as that.

She wouldn’t turn away. He couldn’t make her turn away. It had been a year since he’d touched her last. A year of loneliness and pain, but she wasn’t about to whimper, to cry, to beg this liar, this cheat for more. “I don’t know. I never counted.”

God, why couldn’t other men feel like this? Why couldn’t they touch her like this? Why didn’t they smell like this? How did he alone have the power? It had been a year, but had it been ten she knew not one could do the things this man could. Damn him, damn his lying, cheating soul to hell.

Again his mouth brushed against the edge of her lips. “Just a kiss, Jackie. No one will ever know.”

“You will.”

“What? What will I know? Will I know you want me if you kiss me? Is that it? Is that what you’re afraid I’ll find out?”

She didn’t respond.

“I already know it, Jackie. I know you want me.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t. Wanting isn’t love so don’t get your balls in an uproar.”

Rick grinned. “If I promise not to get my balls in an uproar, will you kiss me?”

   Patricia Pellicane

   for romance that sizzles
    www.patriciapellicane.com

        ppellicane@gmail.com
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