Hello Natalie, welcome to my blog and thank you for answering my questions about His Beautiful Wench. I've just finished this lovely, sexy book and knowing more about it is hitting the spot for me!
What inspired you to
write His Beautiful Wench?
I recall pondering the word ‘wench’ and whether I could get away
with having it in a title. I decided to just go for it, and my publisher at the
time didn’t bat an eyelid. Back then, I was still quite naïve about rude words
and the use of them, shy actually, but now, the word wench doesn’t make me bat
an eyelid either. God, I remember when using the ‘C’ word was difficult for me.
These days it’s the same as any other word because I’ve used it so much. I suppose
familiarity deadens the risqué feel of these things.
What made you choose to
write a story that flicks from past to present (although it’s mainly in the
past)?
I’ve always been fascinated with past lives and wanted to explore
what would happen if a woman had fallen in love with a man centuries ago, was
reincarnated, then in the present she was reunited with him. So I have this
dual thing going on, where Amelia is living one life while awake but another
entirely while she’s asleep. But her sleep world is very real—it happened many
years ago, she’s just being shown that now in order for her to recognise her
true love in the present when he finally appears.
Some books are special
to authors, more so than others. Where does His
Beautiful Wench stand on the Special Scale?
Quite near the top. #3 in the list. I really got emotionally
involved in this one. When a certain thing happens in it, even as the author,
as I was writing I was saying, “Nooooo! Don’t do that! Noooo!” and crying. I
know a few people have also cried at that part, and while I apologised, I was
secretly glad (LOL, wicked cow!) because it means they also got the emotion and
were wrapped up in the moment. Invested in the characters, if you like.
Which book is at the top
of your Special Scale?
So easy to answer. Without question, Denial. That book is so
special to me I could cry haha. I was very emotional with that one—to the point
that I had a few months away from writing it because I couldn’t stand how it
made me feel. Overly sensitive and wanting to cry. Sigh…I do love it so. #2 on
the list is Shadow
& Darkness. While I didn’t get emotional in the ‘feels’ sense, this was my
first real trot into erotica. I forced myself to use rude words and show many
different kinks as a test. I used to be crushingly embarrassed when writing
erotica to begin with, and Shadow &
Darkness was my way of making myself not think about what I was writing and
just be cool with the fact that the book is about sex.
Back to His Beautiful
Wench. What can readers expect from this novel?
Hopefully an emotional journey that makes readers think about past
lives and whether we’ve lived before. Also, I hope there’s a sigh at the end,
where the happy-ever-after is so nice that it makes the reader get the warm
fuzzies!
Blurb:
THIS BOOK WAS PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED ELSEWHERE. IT HAS BEEN REVISED
FOR REPUBLICATION.
Drawn to the attic
in her new home, Amelia finds a saucy nineteenth-century wench dress. At first
glance, it’s just a dress, but once she puts it on, desire streaks through her
and she’s transported to the past. Overwhelmed by lust, she is caught
pleasuring herself, discovered by the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, who
turns out to be—her lover?
Amelia and Emmet
join in an explosive sexual union, erasing the months—or is it centuries?—they
have been apart as though they never existed. But suddenly Amelia awakes—alone.
Until the dress
calls again.
Emmett’s not the
only one lusting after Amelia. Lord Graham wants her and he doesn’t fight fair.
He kidnaps her, sends Emmett on a deadly errand and forces Amelia to
participate in his voyeuristic games. Although Amelia’s body betrays her, she
vows to remain true to Emmett, but will he return? And can she escape the
clutches of Lord Graham’s debauchery? Amidst subterfuge, treachery and murder,
Amelia and Emmet’s love grows and they reach new heights of carnal passions.
Excerpt:
He stood at the top of the stairs,
arms held out for her. A sob caught in her throat and tears pricked her eyes.
His sun-weathered face…God, how she itched to touch it, to run her fingertips
over his full lips, to sift her hands in his thick wavy hair.
“Emmett,” she whispered, his name
foreign yet so right on her tongue.
He rewarded her with a wide grin.
“Ah, you couldn’t keep the game going, I see. Come here.”
She ran toward him, all fear gone,
her past obliterated, replaced with the need to feel his chest against hers,
his kiss on her lips. He pulled her into an embrace, one hand on her ass, the
other roaming her back. She nestled her face in the crook of his neck and a
strangled cry built in her throat then left her mouth. She touched her lips to
his collarbone, the heat from his skin searing. His hand left her back and he
weaved it through her hair, fingertips massaging her scalp.
“By God, I’ve missed you, wench.”
His voice sent shivers of desire
through her, his use of wench an almost illicit, daring term that prodded her
need for him higher. She hugged him to her, the planes of his back hard and
recognizable beneath her hands. He smelled of sunshine, salt and that
indefinable scent that was undeniably Emmett Dray. The smell she conjured on
the nights she lay in bed after working at the saloon, hoping the remembrance
of it would bring him into her dreams. The nights she tried to sleep
unsuccessfully, the moans and sighs from the men and women in the whorehouse
below making her wish she and Emmett created those noises. Tears spilled and
she thanked God Emmett had returned to her safe—and prayed he would remain here
for longer than his usual week between voyages. Those days sped by so fast she
barely had time to become accustomed to his arrival before they once again held
one another close beside the dock and prepared to say goodbye.
Don’t think of him leaving when he has only just arrived.
She sniffed and lifted her head,
taking in the sight of him. More lines had appeared beside his eyes—him
squinting due to the harsh sun, she’d wager—and he’d tanned darker than any
other time she could remember. Where had he voyaged, this man of hers, to be so
brown?
He rubbed his nose against hers
then tilted his head, closing his eyes as his lips brushed hers. A thrill
rushed through her and she tightened her hold on him, crushing him closer. She
opened her mouth to invite his tongue in and it met hers. A groan cut short in
her throat and she loved him with her mouth, pressing her pelvis into his. Hard
cock greeted her and she moaned again, the need for him inside her paramount.
He broke the kiss, cupped her face
and stared into her eyes.
Do they remind him of the ocean? Are they the same bright blue?
“It’s been difficult for you this
time, Amelia?” He touched his brow to hers.
“It’s always difficult. Always.”
She sighed and fingered his shoulder blades, ran her nails down his spine.
“I’ll never get used to it. When will you—”
“Hush. There’s time later to
discuss my next voyage.”
He lifted her into his arms and
carried her over to a double bed, its head and footboards fashioned from iron
poles. A multicolored patchwork quilt covered the mattress, a corner folded
over, a sheet beneath. With one foot on the bed, he balanced her ass upon his
knee, her back cradled in his arm, and used his free hand to fling the quilt
farther aside. He lowered her into the bed and looked down at her, the rigidity
of his cock evident underneath his shirt fronts. She held her breath at the
sheer beauty of him, at the reality that he was really here. He raised his arm
and slid his hand beneath her scooping neckline, lifting the material to peek
beneath. He smiled, caressed her swells with his thumb and she released her
breath. His splayed palm warmed her chest and he moved it toward her neck, one
finger tracing the dip at the base of her throat.
“I love you, my beautiful wench.”
Emmett took his hand away and the
loss of contact pained Amelia to such a degree that she reached out to grasp
his wrist. He leaned to one side and took off his boots, her grip steadying
him.
“Come to me,” she said, the ache in
her all-consuming.
She pulled up her skirt and widened
her legs, and he climbed onto the bed, kneeling between them. Amelia stared at
him, wanting to read his expressions and remember them, shelve them for the
lonely times to come. Warm hands smoothed along her calves, over her knees and
up her thighs. Thumb tips brushed her mound and he cocked his head, one eyebrow
rising. He shifted her skirt higher. His eyes widened.
“By God! Did you allow those women
downstairs to fashion your undergarments?”
Amelia frowned and looked down, her
head supported by pillows. A scanty piece of black material covered her thatch,
familiar yet not. Had the women or
Madam created her underwear? A moment of confusion lingered before dissipating
completely.
“It’s nothing more than a strip of
fabric!” His rich laugh filled her attic room and he gazed down at her, blue
eyes bright. “My, you’re an amazing woman. So bold yet so innocent in allowing
those females of the night to influence you.”
He grazed her lower belly, his fingertips
feather-light, teasing. She tensed, waiting for him to ravish her, needing him
to handle her with gentle roughness, yet his hands played over her skin with no
urgency. She raised her hips, conveying to him that he move faster, but his
grin told her he had taken charge.
Emmett bent his head, his breath
hot on her inner thighs, day-old beard growth rasping her skin. Shock waves
buzzed to her core and she fisted the sheet beneath her. He breathed in, his
intake of air long.
Does he do what I do? Remember my scent when in his bunk at night?
Does his throat thicken when he recalls it, tears close?
Love for him bloomed, her chest
tight. God, how she’d missed him, and upon his return she realized she’d missed
him more than she’d thought. Cool air bathed her as he pushed her underwear
aside and parted her with finger and thumb. A puff of hot breath heated her a
second before he swept his tongue up her slit, circling the sensitive nub at
the top. She whimpered, his languid torment sweet yet maddening. She released
the sheet and wound her fingers in his hair, the tresses coarse from sea salt,
the feel of them heaven. He laved up and down, every so often dipping his
tongue tip inside her.
Her orgasm came on swiftly, a
raging burn that spread up her channel to the pit of her stomach. She clutched
his head, willing his tongue faster, harder, but he continued with soft
strokes, drawing out her pleasure. The tortuous abrasion nudged the intensity
up a notch and she cried out as it spread through her lower body. Her nipples
hardened, the peaks achingly taut, and she let go of his hair to massage her
breasts through her dress. Orgasm at its peak, she lifted her hips higher and
Emmett applied a little more tongue pressure, inserting two fingers inside her.
She bucked, loosed a ragged moan and her juices spilled. The sensations receded
and she stilled her hands, resting them flat on her chest.
Emmett raised his head and she
gazed down at him, her eyes half closed, her heart rate fast. Aftershocks
stabbed her and he shifted up, his body covering hers. His kiss tasted of her
juices and she took what he offered, arms about his back. She moved her hands
down to cup his backside and kneaded, loving the feel of him, loving the way he
fitted against her. He rose, hands flat on the mattress beside her, and she
mourned the loss of his mouth on hers. Licking her lips, she brought her hands
up between them and undid his shirt. His flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes
showed his desire and she snagged her fingers in the curls on his chest then
swept over his skin to rest them on his shoulders.
He swooped down for another quick
kiss, rose again and leaned on one hand while the other freed her breast. Rough
with calluses from his ship’s rigging, his skin brushed over her nipple. The
scuff of his coarse skin sent shudders of delight through her and she arched
her back, pressing her breast into his palm.
“You’re a beauty,” Emmett
whispered, his gaze meeting hers. “I dreamed of you every night and sometimes
during the day.” His eyes moistened. “I had many a time when my mind wandered
to thoughts of you.” He rolled her nipple between finger and thumb. “And
sometimes my cock got so hard it ached.”
Amelia snatched in a breath and dug
her nails into him. He pinched her nipple in rhythm with her pulse and she
embraced his lower back, pressing his rigidity to her. His eyes conveyed so
much—so many words and emotions.
“Being with you like this,” he
whispered, “is all I want. All I’ll ever want.”
Her emotions betrayed her and a
tear escaped, trailing a hot path to her temple then disappearing into her
hair. Emmett released her nipple, leaned down and kissed the now cold
tear-track, his soft lips peppering the shell of her ear.
“I missed you,” Amelia murmured,
cupping his ass. “I wish—”
“As do I, my wench,” he whispered,
his breath warming her ear.
Emmett reared up to remove his
shirt then tossed it to the floor. A wave of longing encompassed her, so strong
she followed her instincts and helped remove his breeches. He lay beside her
propped up on one elbow and she caressed the small of his back, fondling her
nipple with her other hand. She bent her legs and let her knees flop to the
bed, their gazes locked. His fingertips swirled a circular pattern on the
inside of one leg beside her knee and her hips bucked involuntarily.
“You like that, don’t you?” he
asked.
Amelia nodded. “Please…don’t tease
me.”
His eyes darkened and he moaned,
swiftly ripping the thin side strips of her underwear and moving on top of her.
His cock speared her hole and she cried out, clutching his buttocks. Wrapping
her legs around his, she lifted her hips, urging him to fuck her hard and fast.
Hands flat on the mattress beneath her pillow, Emmett raised his chest and
looked down at her, his thrusts sharp. She let out a short, victorious moan,
spanning his ass cheeks again, his pelvis grinding against her.
He kissed her with a hunger that
matched hers then lifted his head, his eyes searching for hers. The intensity
of his stare stirred her desire and the spiral of a second orgasm gripped her.
He sucked on her nipple. A spark of bliss fizzled, heightening her steadily
growing pleasure. She released a whoosh of groan-laden air then gasped as his
cock swelled further.
“God…Emmett…I’m…”
Her cunt clenched around him, and
the lust coil burst through her. She dug her nails into his ass and keened,
heady sensations overwhelming her. Tears of joy spilled, as did his seed, the
wet heat of it sending her orgasm to a higher level. Her head went giddy and
she hiked in a breath that snagged in her emotion-swelled throat.
“Christ, I love you, wench.”
