So what am I doing with all this free time I have now that I'm not blogging every week?
Well, the great thing about The Bet was that it forced me to carve out time very week to write the post (which is actually a lot harder than you'd think. Even when the posts are short, I usually spend ages thinking about what I'm going to put in it, then finding links and pictures to add).
Writing this blog has also forced me to be disciplined - which anyone who knows me will tell you I am most certainly not!
Now that I have a little spot of time every week and a whole lot more discipline, I'm using it to learn all about writing, 'meeting' other writers - and actually writing. And I'm getting really excited about this. I now have a completed short novella!
Yes, me! I've actually finished something. I wrote The End. And wasn't that exactly the point of why my girls made me take The Bet in the first place?
Thanks to a few of my new writer besties, I've even found a cover artist who is going to make me covers for... are you ready for this? ... an entire trilogy!
So watch this space. There'll be news and snippets and cover reveals coming soon!
Wednesday, 3 June 2015
Sunday, 17 May 2015
Book Review: One on One
As I'm probably the least sporty person I know, and I can barely tell one side of a soccer pitch from another, I really didn't expect to be wowed by a romance novel set entirely against a football background. In fact, the football aspect gave it this book a very different, fresh edge compared to other books I've read. The chemistry between Gabe and Allegra sizzled, and I admit I found Gabe very appealing. I am after all a connoisseur of sexy male butts in tight shorts!
Release of this book is imminent, so keep an eye out for it at Amazon now.
This coming week at work we're doing an installation for a client at Clerkenwell Design Week so I'll try not to misbehave. Or at least, not to misbehave more than usual. See you next week!
More about One on One:
Rules are made to be broken…
…but not at Westchester United.
Allegra Alvarez has worked too hard to get where she is to jeopardise it all. Her one and only rule: Stay away from Gabe Morgan, the walking, talking, pant-melting temptation.
Her father, Westchester’s new chairman, issues playboy striker Gabe with a rule: touch my daughter and I will sell you. The only problem is Gabe has never been given a rule he hasn’t broken.
Which will win…his passion for Allegra or his love of the beautiful game?
Sunday, 30 November 2014
Post #33: Beautiful Bastard
I think I avoided this for so long because I was sure it would be a disappointment. After all, how could it possibly match Beautiful Stranger? But it did. If anything, I even liked this book better.
The sex sizzles from page to page without ever getting boring, and the sparky dialogue between these two had me laughing out loud.
The magic in these books lies in that quirky mix of erotica and humour - it's so intense and so clever, and these ladies' writing leaves me in awe.
It's reading books like this that makes me wonder if I should quit messing around with trying to write my own erotic romance and find a new hobby. Except this doesn't feel like a hobby. It's something I've always done, without realising it. I've been telling myself stories since I was a kid, and I've always loved working with words - and it's perhaps the only thing (aside from partying) that I do well. Which is why I get to draft all the press releases at work. Just not as well as Christina Lauren. Yet.
I'll leave you with this delicious quote from the book:
Sunday, 23 November 2014
Post #32: First Attempt
What does a girl do when her house mates are out on dates, and she's not interested in going out alone to score her own? She lies in bed with a bottle of Californian sparkling wine and her laptop, and starts to write a book.
So what do you think of my first attempt?
This was too good to be true. The doorman asleep downstairs, the usual security detail absent, and now the door to the penthouse stood wide open. She hadn’t expected to make it this far.
Lexy tapped tentatively on the door. “Mr Sinclair?”
A stifled moan answered her. Anger burned through her trepidation. Oh great, the legendary Lothario was no doubt at it again. At this hour of the morning!
A grunt.
She stepped across the threshold, shutting the door quietly behind her, and followed the sound. If he couldn’t be bothered to keep the door closed when he had company, then she wouldn’t be bothered to wait for an invitation.
Her heeled boots reverberated across the white marbled floor. The walls were white too, and the high ceiling. The only splash of colour in this vast entrance hall was the modernistic painting hanging on the far wall.
Jasper Sinclair’s art collection was almost as notorious as his love life. It was the art collection that had brought her here today. She couldn’t give a damn about his love life.
She’d come to retrieve what was hers, at any cost.
The door across the hall stood slightly ajar. She pushed it open. Another palatial room all in white, but this one she recognised. This was the living room where he’d been photographed for the article on his foundation’s charity fundraiser. The view beyond the windows was unmistakeable.
The armchair he’d posed in wasn’t in the same place, though. The photographer must have re-arranged the furniture. She frowned. The painting she’d spotted at the edge of the photograph wasn’t here either.
But at least two paintings were missing. Against the stark whiteness of the walls, the marks showing where they’d hung were unmistakeable.
Oh God, he couldn’t have moved them, could he? If he’d put that painting on display, or sold it to a gallery, she’d cut off his balls and feed them to him.
Another low moan. Closer this time. She didn’t care if she interrupted him in the middle of the throes of passion. He deserved it. And she wasn’t leaving without her painting.
She strode across the room, through double doors that stood wide into another living room, smaller, cosier but still that cold, impersonal white. Another painting had been removed in this room. She pushed open the door across the room, the final door, and froze.
Jasper Sinclair. Blindfolded and tied to a hard-backed, spindle-legged wooden chair that looked like it could be an antique, in the middle of a bedroom the size of her entire flat. The white sheets on the bed behind him lay rumpled as if he’d just got out of it.
His hair looked rumpled to, as if hands had run through it.
His head seemed heavy as he tried to lift it, as if he was just waking. Or coming around. He moaned again. It shouldn’t have sounded so sensual. It shouldn’t have sounded do arousing. But it did.
He was even better looking in person than on TV. He wore nothing but long black silk pyjama pants. His arms had been tied behind him, forcing his chest forward. And what a chest he had. Strong, tanned, almost hairless but for the dark arrow above his waistband.
As for those abs...her fingers itched to stroke across that smooth, solid flesh.
“Who’s there?” His voice rasped, dry and weak, and he licked his lips.
This wasn’t some kinky game she’d walked in on. She glanced up at the walls. Another painting gone.
He’d been robbed.
Fury bubbled up. He’d been robbed and her painting was gone. How could he keep such valuable works of art in an apartment with so little security? Did he value them so little?
“Who’s there?” he asked again, his voice stronger now. Almost cocky. Definitely more like the Jasper Sinclair she knew and loathed. “No one you need know,” Lexy answered.
He lifted his head, looking straight at her, and she was relieved the thieves had the forethought to blindfold him. She’d been afraid of what he might say, or do, if he recognised her. This way was so much better.
“What do you want?” He bit out. “I don’t keep cash in the apartment, and if you so much as touch one of my paintings, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
“I haven’t touched any of the paintings.” Yet. “How long have you been out?”
He licked his lips again, a movement that drew her gaze to them. She didn’t normally notice lips on a man, but God, he had a beautiful mouth, full and sensual. She licked her own lips.
“You’re not one of them?” he asked. “What time is it?”
“A little after seven.”
Jasper shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “It was still dark when I woke. Someone was in the room. I think he must have knocked me out.” He looked straight at her again. “Untie me.”
Not if her life depended on it.
And now we're getting to the really interesting stuff... what would you do with a gorgeous, naked, blind-folded man who's tied to a chair?
So what do you think of my first attempt?
This was too good to be true. The doorman asleep downstairs, the usual security detail absent, and now the door to the penthouse stood wide open. She hadn’t expected to make it this far.
Lexy tapped tentatively on the door. “Mr Sinclair?”
A stifled moan answered her. Anger burned through her trepidation. Oh great, the legendary Lothario was no doubt at it again. At this hour of the morning!
A grunt.
She stepped across the threshold, shutting the door quietly behind her, and followed the sound. If he couldn’t be bothered to keep the door closed when he had company, then she wouldn’t be bothered to wait for an invitation.
Her heeled boots reverberated across the white marbled floor. The walls were white too, and the high ceiling. The only splash of colour in this vast entrance hall was the modernistic painting hanging on the far wall.
Jasper Sinclair’s art collection was almost as notorious as his love life. It was the art collection that had brought her here today. She couldn’t give a damn about his love life.
She’d come to retrieve what was hers, at any cost.
The door across the hall stood slightly ajar. She pushed it open. Another palatial room all in white, but this one she recognised. This was the living room where he’d been photographed for the article on his foundation’s charity fundraiser. The view beyond the windows was unmistakeable.
The armchair he’d posed in wasn’t in the same place, though. The photographer must have re-arranged the furniture. She frowned. The painting she’d spotted at the edge of the photograph wasn’t here either.
But at least two paintings were missing. Against the stark whiteness of the walls, the marks showing where they’d hung were unmistakeable.
Oh God, he couldn’t have moved them, could he? If he’d put that painting on display, or sold it to a gallery, she’d cut off his balls and feed them to him.
Another low moan. Closer this time. She didn’t care if she interrupted him in the middle of the throes of passion. He deserved it. And she wasn’t leaving without her painting.
She strode across the room, through double doors that stood wide into another living room, smaller, cosier but still that cold, impersonal white. Another painting had been removed in this room. She pushed open the door across the room, the final door, and froze.
Jasper Sinclair. Blindfolded and tied to a hard-backed, spindle-legged wooden chair that looked like it could be an antique, in the middle of a bedroom the size of her entire flat. The white sheets on the bed behind him lay rumpled as if he’d just got out of it.
His hair looked rumpled to, as if hands had run through it.
His head seemed heavy as he tried to lift it, as if he was just waking. Or coming around. He moaned again. It shouldn’t have sounded so sensual. It shouldn’t have sounded do arousing. But it did.
He was even better looking in person than on TV. He wore nothing but long black silk pyjama pants. His arms had been tied behind him, forcing his chest forward. And what a chest he had. Strong, tanned, almost hairless but for the dark arrow above his waistband.
As for those abs...her fingers itched to stroke across that smooth, solid flesh.
“Who’s there?” His voice rasped, dry and weak, and he licked his lips.
This wasn’t some kinky game she’d walked in on. She glanced up at the walls. Another painting gone.
He’d been robbed.
Fury bubbled up. He’d been robbed and her painting was gone. How could he keep such valuable works of art in an apartment with so little security? Did he value them so little?
“Who’s there?” he asked again, his voice stronger now. Almost cocky. Definitely more like the Jasper Sinclair she knew and loathed. “No one you need know,” Lexy answered.
He lifted his head, looking straight at her, and she was relieved the thieves had the forethought to blindfold him. She’d been afraid of what he might say, or do, if he recognised her. This way was so much better.
“What do you want?” He bit out. “I don’t keep cash in the apartment, and if you so much as touch one of my paintings, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
“I haven’t touched any of the paintings.” Yet. “How long have you been out?”
He licked his lips again, a movement that drew her gaze to them. She didn’t normally notice lips on a man, but God, he had a beautiful mouth, full and sensual. She licked her own lips.
“You’re not one of them?” he asked. “What time is it?”
“A little after seven.”
Jasper shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “It was still dark when I woke. Someone was in the room. I think he must have knocked me out.” He looked straight at her again. “Untie me.”
Not if her life depended on it.
And now we're getting to the really interesting stuff... what would you do with a gorgeous, naked, blind-folded man who's tied to a chair?
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Post #31: Pinterest
I'm on Pinterest!
Please come join me for many happy hours of pinning pictures of expensive clothes, frivolous cocktails, hot (mostly) naked men and Paris.
I'm here: Lena on Pinterest.
PS: You can also come find me on Wednesday at the Giovanni Battista Moroni exhibit at Burlington House. I'll be the one with a drink in my hand.
Please come join me for many happy hours of pinning pictures of expensive clothes, frivolous cocktails, hot (mostly) naked men and Paris.
I'm here: Lena on Pinterest.
PS: You can also come find me on Wednesday at the Giovanni Battista Moroni exhibit at Burlington House. I'll be the one with a drink in my hand.
Sunday, 31 August 2014
Post #20: Beautiful Stranger again
Because it's been a week of meetings, work, and late nights out, and because this weekend is all about devouring Beautiful Bastard (and because Max is still haunting me), here's another teaser from Christina Lauren's Beautiful Stranger:
Sunday, 17 August 2014
Post #18: Beautiful Stranger
Would that this blog title applied to my life, but sadly that wasn't meant to be. Seven weeks since I gave The Argentinian the "it's not you" speech and I'm almost regretting it. Okay, only late at night or when I've been reading something thoroughly igniting.
Beautiful Stranger is the Christina Lauren book that kept me entertained on the cross-Atlantic flight last weekend. The perfect read for a trip to New York, though it would have been even more perfect if life had imitated art just a little.
Sexy, funny, darkly intense, thoroughly igniting. I loved it! Only after I read it did I realise this was actually book 2 of a series. I've already downloaded Beautiful Bastard to my Kindle and can't wait for a quiet few nights to read it. Accompanied by a dark red and even darker chocolate, of course.
My favourite quote:
"And then everything in the moment became about the feeling of his mouth on me, his tongue moving over me, his lips pressing words into my skin."
Sexy, funny, darkly intense, thoroughly igniting. I loved it! Only after I read it did I realise this was actually book 2 of a series. I've already downloaded Beautiful Bastard to my Kindle and can't wait for a quiet few nights to read it. Accompanied by a dark red and even darker chocolate, of course.
My favourite quote:
"And then everything in the moment became about the feeling of his mouth on me, his tongue moving over me, his lips pressing words into my skin."
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