His Target His Desire
By: Aspen J Lee
Published by: Siren-Bookstrand
Available for Sale at: Amazon, Siren-Bookstrand, Barnes and Noble, ibooks.
Retail Price for eBook: $4.50
eBook ISBN: 978-163258-722-0
Publisher Website: Siren-Bookstrand
Author Website: aspenjlee
The rules of survival in this line of work: trust no one, hold no assumptions, don’t fall for your target. Bryant Holt breaks all three.
For 1.5 million, Cypress Howard is now his target. Ex-black ops, Bryant finds he can’t resist her temptations.
He’s way out of her league, sexy as hell and asking her out for dinner. It just doesn’t make sense. But Cypress is frightened of letting any one in.
Why? Because Cypress now lives incognito. The real her is dead, or so everyone thinks.
A deal is struck between secret factions and Cypress is now being hunted. Bryant’s claimed her, and he’ll do anything to save her. But first he must unravel the maze of her past.
When her life begins to implode, Cypress’s lover turns into James Bond. Who the hell is he? It’s too late to question, Bryant’s already chained her heart. All she can do is hold on.
Firstly I would like to thank Jennifer for hosting me today. I appreciate the space to talk about my book, because us authors’ love to talk about our books.
I write erotic romance. Why? Because sweet romance is, well, sweet, but erotic romance is fun. Super fun.
I never dreamt I would write erotica. I’m not a prude. I’ve read JR Ward and Fifty Shades and never shied once. But to write it myself and have people I know read it and perhaps wonder if that’s what I get up to in the bedroom, or would like to get up to in the bedroom, was another thing.
Then an author friend revealed her little secret, an erotic ménage novella and the cogs in the brain started turning. I took the challenge and learnt the rules of erotica. What rules? Well there’s not many, but the most important being no purple prose—I had to google that one—which essentially meant he couldn’t undo his zip to reveal his throbbing love weapon and her soft flower of desire couldn’t pulsate.
An erotica newbie, I started tame, hurriedly typing over the spicy bits and half closing my eyes during the editing. To my surprise Siren-Bookstrand picked up Slipping Through His Fingers, and to my even great surprise requested I spice up the already steamy scenes by changing my descriptive wording from tame to explicit. I complied without blinking.
One book later, and some good reviews behind me, the erotic writer was born. So guess what? The spice got hotter. I threw caution, inhibitions (mine and my fictitious lovers), clothes (just my characters), everything, to the wind and dived in, no longer peering through fingers while my hero and heroine enjoyed themselves.
Erotic has been around for centuries. I have a book published by Random House on erotica from an underground magazine of Victorian England, which starts on page one with ‘A journal of facetive and voluptuous reading’. Thank God we’ve moved forward with our wording.
No purple prose please.
(The Pearl, Ballantine Books, 1996).
They both returned to the lounge and Cypress lowered herself on to the leather settee. Bryant sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her and leaned forward, elbows on thighs, wine glass the pinnacle of the arrowhead his arms created.
“So, what’s on the menu?”
She laughed, and the sound touched deep inside him.
“A large carcass with the bowels and bones removed, and cooked by inserting hot coals into the empty cavity of its gut.”
He got the look he desired.
“I hope your joking.”
“I am. But trust me, you’ll like what I’ve cooked. I’ve done a selection in case you’re vegetarian.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
“I like to please, Cypress.”
He placed his glass beside him and slid off the edge of the table to kneel at her feet.
“Shall we get you more comfortable?”
He gave her a heart’s beat to halt him, before he reached down to undo the buckle of her right high-heel. Raising her foot enough, he slid the shoe off and placed it to the side. To his satisfaction, he heard her sharp intake of breath and fought to keep his face impassive, not wanting to reveal the triumphant smile. The left foot came next, and with the release of the buckle, his heart rate notched up a couple of beats. When both were off and out the way, he glanced up, first meeting her lips, which she licked in a titillating way, then further up, a few seconds later, to her eyes. She sat rigid, her hands on the armrests, tracking his moves.
Without releasing eye contact, he trailed one finger up her left inner calf to the knee, feather-light. The right finger trailed up her other calf a fraction later. Her skin was smooth and soft, the sort of skin a man wanted to wrap himself in.