Guest Spot: Sloane Taylor

As they say, all things must come to an end.  Sad to say, this will be the last blog post for the incomparable Sloane Taylor… And I think it’s a great one!  So keep reading… It’s worth it!  And be sure to stop by my web group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/emreadergroup today and talk with Sloane!

BLURB

Lost in the Austrian Alps, psychologist Lonnie Copley is forced to accept help from a Hell’s Angel wannabe. She never expected to be trapped with the Aryan god in deserted Castle Flophouse.

Disgusted with cleaning up his client’s dirty lives, attorney Wolfe Deider is in major career throes. He doesn’t need some insolent woman mucking up his mind, even if she does have a mouth made for kissing.

EXCERPT

“What the…”  Wolfe ducked as slush spewed against the back of his helmet and ice slithered beneath his collar, along his neck.  He had pulled onto the wide shoulder, to rest after the long day’s drive, staring across the Alps in deep thought, when an approaching vehicle broke the silence he craved.  The crunch of ice and screeching tires ricocheted in his ears.

“ScheiBe.”  Shit. The car seemed to be spinning out of control as it slid closer to the edge of the mountain.  No one drove at that kind of speed in heavy, wet snow.  The guy drove like a Dummkopf and whatever happened was just what he deserved.

Then the world moved in slow motion, all the action exaggerated.  The car swung left then right, in what seemed to take an hour.  The brakes screeched, metal grinding against metal, before the dilapidated sedan glided across the shoulder.  It coughed, like an old man who smoked too much, and died, its nose too close to the rim.

“Hey, Kamerad.” He pushed off the old tree trunk, waving his arms to catch the driver’s attention, and fell with all his weight onto one knee. The sharp pain clouded his mind for only a second before he regained his footing.

He waved and hollered again, hoping the man would look up. Then he did; only it was a she, with fear pasted on her face.

He stumbled again then slid closer to the door handle and yanked.

Locked.

“Open it.” The cold air poured into his lungs. “Open the door,” he yelled again.

If the previous time passed in slow motion, her action was like a movie in rewind. She mouthed a few words. With a shake of his head, he tapped on the glass and pointed to the lock. This was getting them no where.

He jerked on the handle, careful not to rock the car any more than necessary. She seemed to finally get her senses back and edged her hand to the armrest controls.

The lock clicked and in a quick movement he flung the door open, flipped the key off, then grabbed her. He yanked with all his strength, but she would not budge. Damn, she still had on the harness.

He leaned across to release the seatbelt. She fought him, flailing, and the car shifted.

“Hey, Fraulein, do not move.” She inhaled deep and briefly nodded her head. “We have to get you out of the car and keep it on the shoulder. The cows below won’t produce good milk tonight if you squash them.” Obviously humor was not working, because when she glanced up, her eyes were filled with tears.

He grabbed her arm and pulled. Ripping cloth and cracking ice echoed in his head. He hooked his hands under both of her armpits and tugged until he thought he would get a hernia. The damned steering wheel trapped her knees. With a grunt and a vigorous yank, she flew out of the car, knocking the wind out of him as he landed ass to frozen ground.

Guest Spot: Inside the Mind of Sloane Taylor

I recently tracked down and cornered my guest Erotica author, Sloane Taylor, and asked her some questions… Here, for your edification, is a recap of what Sloane had to say:

Esther Mitchell: Thanks for being my guest this month, Sloane, and for agreeing to let yourself be interviewed.  Can you tell us a little about your book, French Tart?

Sloane Taylor: Thank you so much for welcoming me Into The Night. You do a great blog and I love your website.

French Tart zipped along at lightening speed and it sure was fun to write. Here’s the blurb:

Determined to prove herself and shed her party girl image, Donatienne Dubois pins her hopes on the exclusive cooking school in Nice, France. One by one her expectations are shattered by a foul-mouthed parrot, a bogus Michelin chef, and a headmistress with a heart of tungsten steel. Her lifesaver is a bad boy hunk too hot not to handle.

Sebastien Reinard is incognito, hating every minute. To pose as a student while protecting a rich wild child is his version of hell, until he partners with the slice of Crème Brule good enough to eat.

Esther Mitchell: What, or who, was your inspiration to begin writing?

Sloane Taylor: One day my insides simmered, then boiled into a story that had to be told. My mentor, mystery writer Beth Anderson took me in hand and taught me the technical side of writing. She has this 2×4 with lots of rough edges and no problem wielding it across my bony backside…hmm, sounds like start of a new novel.

Another writer friend, Yasmine Phoenix, tortured me into taking an online class with Jan Springer, the Queen of Hot, who encouraged me to be more serious. Erotica here I come, no pun intended.

Those three people were and still are my inspiration and I’m grateful to them for being so patient.

What has been your greatest challenge as a writer?

To stick with it and work! Real life creeps in when you least expect it. I’ve had to screen phone calls, cancel my hair appointments to become a natural blonde again (wink), and say no to friends who tempt me with nights on the town. It’s way too easy to do all the fun stuff and worry about the book later. And there’s always that damned internet Mah Jong that tempts me daily! It’s that scary 2×4 that keeps me banging away on my keyboard. LOL

Esther Mitchell: As writers, we all suffer from times when we either lack inspiration, or write ourselves into a corner we can’t figure out how to get out of.  How do you cope with writer’s block?

Sloane Taylor: Not too successfully, I’m ashamed to say. Without realizing it, I fell into a serious depression after my publisher closed. Took me months to get over it. I don’t think I would have if it weren’t for the owner of Aspen Mountain Press. Sandra spent her precious time to have a serious heart-to-heart with me. Amazing to find a publisher with that amount of compassion.

Esther Mitchell: A lot of people say that authors should write what they know.  For many, that means a great deal of their own lives ends up in their stories.  How much of your own life ends up in the books you write?

Sloane Taylor: Since I write erotica, I’m not sure if it’s my own life or just wishful thinking. LOL. Seriously, if I had to give a percentage it would be about 20. I don’t believe an author can’t help but infuse some of themselves in their work.

Esther Mitchell: Do you draw inspiration for books from movies, TV or music? If so, what kinds of each inspire you most?

Sloane Taylor: None really. It seems that driving is when the stories flood me. Very dangerous traveling down the expressway trying to make notes. I have got to find another source. LOL

Esther Mitchell: You’ve got a lot of books currently out there for people to read! Do you have anything you’re currently working on?

Sloane Taylor: No, Esther. I had eight books publish in fifteen months and I’m beat! December is my month to rest and spend time with family before French Tickler releases in January. After December it’s time to get off my lazy duff and produce.

Esther Mitchell: What sub genre of Romance do you most identify with?

Sloane Taylor: Hands down it’s erotica. It just comes naturally. Shame on me!

Esther Mitchell: Readers like to be able to find out more about authors that interest them.  Can you give us links to your website, and anywhere readers might find out more about you?

Sloane Taylor: I’d be happy to! My website is www.sloanetaylor.com, from there a reader would click onto my blog. The other is MySpace,  www.myspace.com/sloanetaylor. A girl can never have too many friends.:)

Esther Mitchell: With the intermingling of TV, movies, and books these days, lots of novels are coming to life.  But every author has at least one character they would prefer to see come to life. If you had to pick one character from your book that you’d be most interested in seeing come to life, who would it be, and why?

Sloane Taylor: Tedd Howard from Teddi Turns On. This character goes through the same life shattering change that most women in the world are forced to face. Outwardly she handles it as well as most. It’s her internal conflict that is wrenching. Teddi finds the inner strength to move on without guilt. Her story just might be beneficial to others.

A big thanks to Sloane for taking the time to sit down with me and provide a glimpse into her life and writing!  For more information on Sloane Taylor, visit her site at www.sloanetaylor.com and don’t forget to check out her guest spot on my webpage at www.esthermitchell.com!

Guest Author Catch-up…

Last week, I was unable to provide a post for the lovely and talented Sloane Taylor, so this week, you’ll see two posts in a row for her – one today and one tomorrow!  Here is the first one, from her enticing novel, French Tart.

BLURB:

 

Determined to prove herself and shed her party girl image, Donatienne Dubois pins her hopes on the exclusive cooking school in Nice, France. One by one her expectations are shattered by a foul-mouthed parrot, a bogus Michelin chef, and a headmistress with a heart of tungsten steel. Her lifesaver is a bad boy hunk too hot not to handle.

 

Sebastien Reinard is incognito, hating every minute. To pose as a student while protecting a rich wild child is his version of hell, until he partners with the slice of Crème Brule good enough to eat.

 

Class takes on a whole new meaning as Doni and Sebastien heat up the kitchen when they discover honey has better uses than sweetening tea.

 

EXCERPT:

 

“Ooh la la, Mademoiselle, voulez-vous à la baise?”

 

Donatienne’s running shoes squeaked to a halt on the cracked, gray linoleum. Fuck him? She didn’t fuck just anyone, especially if she didn’t know his name.

 

“Not unless you have more money than I could ever dream of, you pig.” She refused to turn back toward the crackly voice. 

 

“What?  Is your pussy made from gold?”

 

She gritted her teeth. Insolent bastard.

 

“Yes, it is. And equipped with a set of rusty fangs to rip off anything that tries to get inside.” Smartass answers weren’t her best first impression at the haute cuisine cooking school she’d waited so long to attend. She had to shake the lowlife who thought he could get away with insults before Chef tossed her out.

 

Ignore him. Just keep moving. Doni straightened her shoulders and walked past the double door refrigerator.

 

“Perhaps you prefer to give Pierre a blow job. He would make it worth your time.”  A cackle filled the air. “Come on, baby. You know you want me, you slut.”

 

The fine hairs at the nape of her neck jumped to attention. Doni whirled around, swinging out her arm. She launched her heavy tote at the dumpy man in the splattered apron planted in front of the stainless steel stove.

 

Ooof.

 

A satisfying sound to Doni’s ears as her bag connected with his diaphragm and he buckled.

 

She sprinted a dozen steps toward him, punching air until her fists mashed into his doughy flesh.  He shot out his hands. She dodged to the right, away from his reach. Her feet slipped on the waxed floor. Flailing her arms, she grabbed for anything handy. Crash. A white cloud billowed up, blinding her. They fell to the floor with Doni on top, tangled in a mass of apron and legs.

 

“Protect your balls. Protect your balls. The slut is crazy.”

Welcome Sloane Taylor!

I’m delighted to be joined by the ever-talented Sloane Taylor this month, as my special guest.  Please be sure to check out what Sloane has in store by taking a peek at my site at  http://www.esthermitchell.com/FeaturedAuthor.html also, see what Sloane’s up to by joining us every Tuesday this month in my Reader Group … Now, for today, we have a tasty treat from Sloane’s book, Photo Op! for your viewing pleasure.  Don’t be shy.  Let us know what you think!

BLURB:

Photojournalist Emily Peters is in Paris when the opportunity to expose an infamous sex club sets her on fire. She never expects to be tied up in knots by the Devil.

Restaurateur Nicholas Caine prefers an inconspicuous lifestyle, but when a sex goddess enters his lair there’s only one thing he can do…take her.

EXCERPT:

Her nose twitched as a subtle, yet pleasant, aroma surrounded her.

“It is pear, Madam.”

Another tall handsome waiter, looking good enough to eat, stood at her side and without a word slid a menu in front of her. She glanced up into large chocolate eyes and her heart stuttered.

“Pardon?” Her voice came out on a whoosh of air.

“I noticed your attempt to distinguish the scent.” He waved a large hand in the air. “Many of our ladies have had your same reaction.”

She cleared her throat. “Delightful.”

“At times, late in the evening, the air is infused with a hint of cinnamon and chocolate.” His eyes twinkled as if he were sharing a dark secret. “Tempts one to indulge in a decadent dessert. Would you care for one, Ms Peters?”

A shiver weaved its way up her spine when he said her name. With shaking fingers, she took a gulp of ice water, ordering her oversexed body to behave.

“If nothing on the menu appeals to you, Chef Claude would be elated to whip up whatever you prefer.”

British and gorgeous. And then it sunk in. Chef Claude.

“Is he Claude St. Cyr? The same chef who owns a cooking school?”

The waiter from every woman’s fantasy grinned. “One in the same.”

Now what the hell is he doing in a place like this?

“Ms Peters?” He tapped a well-groomed fingernail on the menu.

“What? Oh yes.” She flipped open the leather jacket to scan the tasty treats, her one downfall. The card read like an international list of culinary sexual pleasures.

Spotted Dick presented by Jon

Bavarian Cream presented by Hans

Hot Soufflé presented by Francois

Mocha Butter presented by Motumba

Emily slipped the cap off her lipstick tube, then did an unhurried swipe along her bottom lip, wondering just how far the presenters would go.

“Do you see anything you like?” His deep voice played havoc with her senses as she squirmed in her damp panties.

“Too bad you don’t offer Cumberland Rum Nicky. I enjoyed it at a restaurant in London a few years ago. Never found it again.” His tanned face paled as if she’d requested to borrow The Crown Jewels.

“Perhaps a dish of Whim Wham?”

“No thanks, I’m fanciful enough.” She laughed at her little joke about the true meaning of the Scottish pie. “I’d really like a Benedictine straight up and a cup of black coffee.”

He nodded and walked toward the bar area.

Of all the waitstaff Emily had encountered or seen during her two hours over dinner, this last was the paix de la résistance. Sable brown hair caressed his white shirt collar. She’d give anything to run her fingers through the thick waves.

The Reverend and ladies met with her lickable waiter at the doorway. He stood to the side, gesturing for them to go first. The tallest of the women stopped and started up a conversation, but he backed away the moment she ran her fingers along his jaw line.

Seems like the help gets to play with the clientele.

Emily pulled the cap off her lipstick tube.

Smile, I think you’re going to like this one.